10: Logan (Warehouse District)

Logan and the outline for this story were developed in collaboration with (Twitter: @donutshield). The story itself was then written by me. This installment is a testament to the vibrant, hot creativity of Louche Lothario readers. I invite you to celebrate this art by diving into the narrative. If you’re interested in collaborating on your own story, please fill out this form with all your depraved details. Your ideas could inspire Leo’s next steamy adventure.

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Dallas for the week. Thanks to work, I found myself consulting for an airline, which flew me out to my home state. The weather was warm and Texan comfort food was really hitting the spot. I arrived on Saturday and it’s now just barely Tuesday – I’ll be here until Friday night.

Over the last few days though, I’ve been having the strangest conversation with a guy from high school. He’s a few years older than me – he was a senior when I was a freshman – but I definitely remember him. He was a varsity football player back then, the lauded star quarterback. Coincidentally, I would go on to take his place when I became an upperclassman a couple years later. I was smaller than him, but equally powerful – and he knew it, too.

Even after he graduated, I saw him around campus during football practice. He wasn’t weird or anything, he just had a younger sister who was my age. She was a cheerleader, so when he would come by to pick her up after practice, he and I would inevitably cross paths. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was one of my biggest crushes. We never did anything, though. In fact, since his sister was actually his half-sister and had a different surname, I don’t even know this man’s last name. Back in high school, the chant that would light up the bleachers when he played referred to him as “Logan-40,” his jersey number, so all these years later that’s all I can remember.

Logan-40.

But here he is, now relocated from Houston to Dallas, hitting me up on Grindr. He’s more gorgeous than ever, standing at 6-foot-6 and still retaining 240 pounds of solid muscle. Some time after I graduated high school, Logan had apparently dropped out of university to join the Army instead. He served for several years, I learned. In the Army, he boxed and became known as The Cannon on account of the strength of his punches.

The topic came up, of course, that seeing him on Grindr at all was surprising – everyone had assumed he was straight. He is, he replied – he was married to a woman for a few years – but his curious fetish for gutpunching with men led to his divorce, and to ridicule from his and his ex-wife’s mutual friends. Hence the move to Dallas. (She could almost forgive the brutality of the fetish, but apparently I crossed a line by skullfucking the guys, too, he said.)

Sorry, this got my attention. Why would he come out and tell me that?

Turned out he’d recognized me, somehow, in a gutpunching video I participated in a few years back. And since then, he’s wanted to reconnect with me but didn’t know what happened to me after high school. Imagine his surprise when he saw me on Grindr right in his own city.

Your endurance is crazy. And unflexed, too. I’ve never met someone who could take it like that in real life, he DM’d me.

My cock was getting hard just talking about this with him – we didn’t even have plans to meet yet.

I meet with dudes almost exclusively now, he messaged. Nothing sexual about it beyond the skullfucking. If you’re down for that. The main event is definitely me pounding out your guts.

I was definitely down. But something did feel a little off. Where are you at? Or should I host in my hotel? I asked.

We took a moment to discuss how he is, technically speaking, unhoused, and has been for years, though he does have a roof over his head. He’s squatting in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. He’s got a truck, which he uses to gather wood from rural areas outside the city. He brings it back and chops it into everything from firewood to hand-carved tchotchkes. Sells it all at farmer’s markets. His wares are surprisingly popular, and the modest income (with no rent or mortgage to pay) pays for his food and his budget-gym membership – which he says is all he needs. This fetish, to be frank, takes up all the rest of his mental bandwidth.

I’m not assuming anything; he told me all of the above. Outright. Should I have been worried, or concerned for my safety? Probably, yeah. But would this be the first time that I let my dick lead the way instead of my head? No.

He suggested we meet at his place. His warehouse.

We won’t bother your neighbors with noise, he messaged. Come on, I want to get into your guts. I’d have done this years ago if I’d have known. Right there in the locker room after practice. I’d have been your biggest bully. I’d have shoved your ass into a locker and pounded your gut with no escape. I’d have cornered you in the showers and punched you in the stomach until you barfed up your fucking protein shake.

Other men might have taken these as threats, but to be clear, I understand that he is flirting with me.

Give me your abs, Leo, he said. Come over here and show me you’re not afraid to let a guy my size own you.

And that was that. The workday was behind me and I was wrapping up chest and tricep day at the hotel gym anyway, and had nowhere to be. I left the gym with a satisfyingly huge gym pump in my pecs, shoved my fresh bottle of poppers in my pocket, and hopped into my rental car. The address he sent was a ways out from my hotel in the city center. The skyscrapers began to fade as derelict warehouses appeared on all sides. Worse and worse it all appeared to be until I arrived at the one Logan occupied. He was waiting outside in jeans, no shirt.

Jesus, fuck. He really was 6-foot-6 and 240 pounds. His muscular frame was wide and thick; just slabs of muscle. He’d grown a mustache. His messy, boyish hair was the same as it ever was, though. I wondered what this motherfucker could bench.

He shook my hand and led me inside.

“You excited for this?” he asked.

“Guess I am,” I said. I removed my shirt then and there, showing my own muscular abs.

“Fuck, bro,” he said. He stopped walking to focus on my stomach. “Flex this shit.”

I flexed my abs and he ran his hand up and down them. He grabbed my waist and pressed both of his thumbs into my navel and squeezed, like he was trying to sink his thumbs into my belly button and pull the two muscular columns of my six pack apart like a big Kit-Kat.

But he couldn’t, because I was still flexing. And these abs are like solid marble.

“Fuuuck,” he said before stepping back from my belly. “I’m gonna fuck those up.” He winked, pointing at my abs.

We stepped into a secluded room – a former office – and he shut the door.

I sized up his frame. He’s fuckin’ massive. His arms were probably over 20”, never mind the size of his pecs and the thickness of his abs. I mean, I wanted to punch him.

“I want to work your abs,” he said. “Flexed. Hard. I want to see what you can take.”

I agreed.

“After that you’re gonna relax and I’m gonna ruin your fuckin’ organs.”

I, and my cock, agreed.

He approached me, pushing me back to the wall.

“Pants off,” he said as he stripped his own pants. Both of us stood nude before each other. Our cocks were pretty similar – furry bush and nearly eight inches hard (or getting there).

He brought his fists up into a boxer’s stance, flexing his massive biceps.

The first shot slammed into my abs. He landed dead-center on my gut. My abs absorbed the impact, but I still felt the shockwave in my guts. The man was fuckin’ powerful. He landed a few hooks to my abs, each one weakening my strength a little more. I can take a heavy workover, but these shots were powerful. Navel, upper abs, dead center. 

He took a step back, appearing to be disappointed that he hadn’t folded me in just a couple punches. “Yeah, you can take a lot,” he said.

He moved back in and changed his tactics: He hammered a row of uppercut after uppercut into my solar plexus. My abs were still solid, but fuuuuck, this was making it difficult. He was still punching the breath out of me, despite how solid my muscle was, and he knew it.

“Yeah,” he whispered as he drove uppercut after uppercut into my upper abs, “Yeah,” he said as I grimaced.

Finally, his fist drilled through my abs and deep into my solar plexus. I couldn’t help it. He instinctively knew his fist had broken my upper abs – he was aiming for that, after all – and as soon as he felt my abs break, he drove the fist in deep. His huge, beefy fist slammed into my diaphragm, stomach, liver – I doubled over in pain, entirely out of breath, and unable to inhale.

In a swift move, his large hand straightened me back up and another fist immediately slammed into the deep pit of my gut. He had only really broken through my upper abs, but when he doubled me over, I’d relaxed my full abs out of exhaustion. I felt him straighten me back up, but just… didn’t flex my abs again. His punch found my abs slack and soft. It blew right into my intestines, doubling me right back over.

“Fuuuuuck yeah!” he said. I was doubled over with his fist still grinding around in my soft belly. “Yeaaah, fuck, Leo.”

With his fist still in my innards, he pumped it in, hard, flattening my intestines into my back. A bolt of pain flashed through my already aching gut. I felt my knees waver for a moment, and so did Logan. He seized on the moment and pushed me down to my knees.

At face level was Logan’s eight-incher, already leaking precum.

After the short but brutal assault on my guts, I was catching my breath through my mouth. Logan grabbed my head and pulled it in, sliding his cock into my mouth. He filled my mouth and face with cock and bush, my forehead hitting his soft, relaxed lower abs each time before he removed his cock from my mouth and brought me back to my feet.

He took my face in his hands. Drops of sweat had already appeared on our nude bodies; his breath smelled like the spearmint gum he was chewing, but the scent of his cock and pits really made the scene.

“I’m going to work your gut like it’s never been worked before,” he said.

“Yessir.”

“It’s going to be painful.”

“Yessir.”

“These abs don’t mean jack shit now.”

“Yessir.”

“You’re gonna stay relaxed for me.”

“Yessir.”

“I’m going to beat every fucking organ in your gut.”

“Yessir.”

“I’m going to bust your intestines. Your stomach. Your bladder. Your prostate.”

“Yessir.”

He placed his forearm across my pecs gently and slowly… then delivered a hard uppercut into my navel. My soft, muscular gut absorbed the punch deep and my breath was immediately forced out of me. I felt like I might fold inward, but his solid forearm remained locked across my pecs. His fist pulled back from my gut. His huge biceps flexed as he retracted his fist before he launched it back into my body. Another uppercut smashed my intestines. He drove his fist in deep each time – with each uppercut, whether he slammed it into my upper belly or lower guts, he would drive his fist up to my diaphragm, hammering my soft innards up into my chest as a pounding ache resounded from deep in my gut.

And it felt fucking incredible.

“Stop, wait–” I stammered out. “I wanna hit some poppers.”

“Poppers when you’re getting punched?”

“Fuck yeah. Makes it more intense.”

His demeanor deepened. He ripped the poppers from my hands and shoved them into my nose. He wanted to feed them to me. “That’s it,” he whispered as I inhaled.

He quickly set the bottle down as the rush hit me, both in my head and in my aching belly.

He quickly swooped back in with another uppercut to the pit of my stomach. He sank it in as deep as his fist would go, ramming his fist straight through the soft muscle just above my navel and into my diaphragm. I doubled over in pain, my guts unable to let me regain my breath. He again shoved me to my knees. I caught my breath with his throbbing cock resting against my cheek and his bush soft against my face. He took me by the head and sank his dick into my mouth again for another round of skullfucking while my belly rested for a moment. He moaned a deep, baritone moan as I sucked his musky cock and ran my hand up his sweaty abs.

He pulled me back to my feet. “I’m not done with your gut,” he smirked.

He shoved me back to the wall and fired a hard cross punch straight into the center of my gut, dead center into the same spot he’d just sent an uppercut into a moment ago. The whole of my intestinal tract felt the blow plow into my guts. A grunt forced itself out of me as his paw reached up and pinned me back for the next blow.

A straight shot into my navel again slammed my intestines into my body, all the soft muscle just acting for show for this man. He knew I was proud of both my abs and ability to take a punch, but was dead-set on taking me to the brink. He kept a perpetual grin as he shot his cross punches straight into my navel and lower intestines, seemingly giving my diaphragm a break before pounding a straight shot into me just below my ribs.

I almost doubled up again, but he held me as I tried to catch my breath.

He took his thumbs into my navel again, like he had before. His hands were grasped around my waist with his thumbs pressed into my navel. He squeezed and pressed his thumbs in deeper and deeper until he was running his thumbs up and down my spine, squeezing through my intestines. I couldn’t hardly take a breath at all, but my body was euphoric with pain as he marveled at his ability to literally feel my spine.

He removed his hands from my waist and thumbs from my belly button, which I believed called for a momentary break. Instead, he drove one more cross shot right into my navel, sinking into my liquid-soft abs and dropping me to my knees to briefly cradle my belly.

Didn’t take long for him to take me by the head and pump his cock into my mouth again. I sucked and worshiped his hard dick as he moaned more. I ran one hand up his abs, feeling his own muscular body between rounds of him wrecking mine. While one hand caressed Logan’s abs and my mouth worked on his cock, my other hand cradled my sore guts, holding my navel.

I reached up higher, my fingers finding their way to his nipple up above my right shoulder. I played with it as I sucked his cock, his hands still holding my head. He seized up for a moment as he just repeated, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

Finally, his hot cum shot down my throat. I grabbed onto his brawny frame and held his dick in my mouth until he was done. 

He pulled my head back from his groin and looked down to me, my eyes watery and spit trailing from my mouth to the head of his penis. 

“Still not done with you,” he said.

He lifted me back to my feet with his huge arms. He shoved the poppers to my nose again. One nostril. Then the other. Then the first one again. Then the second nostril again. With him controlling the poppers, I was stroking my cock.

“I want you fuckin’ looney,” he said.

There was no further warning or preparation.

As soon as he’d set the bottle of poppers down, he began using my gut as a speedbag. Hard hooks and crosses, left and rights, every one of them both fast and deep. When I couldn’t stand any longer – knees completely weak with the barrage of shots blowing my intestines to the right, left, and up – I draped both arms onto his shoulders to hold myself up.

Using my arms to steady myself on his shoulders, I couldn’t help but be doubled over a little. My soft punching bag of guts hung loose from my body. I still felt the poppers strongly stirring in my head and body while he drove punch after punch into my loose guts, just hammering my belly like meat. Each punch was at navel level, whether it landed on the left side of my guts, the right side, or dead center. I could feel the impacts rocking the individual organs in my bowels like he said – or at least it felt that way – each time he sank a powerful fist into my lower intestines.

I thought I might cum handsfree, but he switched tactics – suddenly, he was back to uppercuts. He drove one right into my diaphragm, nearly bringing me down. But again, I held myself up on his shoulders. Through his body, I felt the torque build up on a punch, which he launched from his core, driving another uppercut into my solar plexus.

I nearly went down again.

He drove another uppercut – with all the power in his body – straight into my solar plexus. I was well without breath by now, having just endured the prior uppercuts into my soft upper guts. Another uppercut brutally slammed into my stomach – the organ –  as my body began to revolt.

The uppercuts sounded like Logan was punching a slab of meat in a butcher locker. No breath, no moans. I had nothing left. But then, his final ruthless uppercut into my stomach achieved its goal.

I dropped my arms from his shoulders and crumpled to the ground, holding my damaged guts. I barfed up his load onto the floor of his office. I looked up to see him jacking off, like he might cum a second time

“You’re fuckin’ wild, Leo,” he said. Still on my hands and knees over a puddle of his barfed up cum, I just smiled. My cock had remained rock solid the entire time.

I stood and approached him. I didn’t say a word as I put the poppers under his nose. He knew it was his turn, though we never discussed it. I let my red gut rest as I looked at his muscular frame. He’d been holding in the poppers and finally exhaled. I moved in and shot a punch into the center of his gut. He moaned as I pressed my fist in deep, following through on my punch.

His abs were nice and loose, his guts good and soft. Warm beneath my fist. I deserved this and he knew it. By the looks of his cock, he wanted it, too.

“Put your hands behind your head,” I commanded. He did as he was told.

I stepped forward and put my face in his pits. I smelled his musk as I found his navel with my hand. Face in his smelly pits, I zeroed my fist in on his lower guts and worked them.

His intestines were so forgiving.

I drove every shot in deep, crushing his lower intestines into his prostate. My fist sank into the meat of his gut forcing an “Oh–” out of him that he’d follow with a soft “–fuck.”

I allowed him to let his hands down so he could jackoff, which he promptly agreed to.

He came in to kiss me. I allowed him. Cocks hard, we made out against the wall of this former office in his warehouse.

He rolled me onto the wall, driving a punch into my belly, forcing my breath into his mouth. I rolled him to the wall and did the same, punching the pit of his gut and nearly doubling him over.

We were both jacking off now, sizing each other up.

He reached forward and grabbed me by the shoulder. He swung me around and put me against the wall. We both did a hit of poppers.

He got on his knees in front of me as he tried jacking off with his left hand. With his right, he began driving punch after punch deep into my bowels. My lower intestines radiated a violent pleasure that I fought to endure until finally, I came hard – thick jets of cum shot from my cock onto Logan’s face and pecs. As it did, he came, too – shooting his second load onto the floor between my feet.

We both stood panting for a moment, bellies heaving and red.

Jesus, fuck. My gut hurts.