22: Toby (Chelsea - Halloween)

The boat rocked gently with the rhythm of the Hudson as the night wound down. I took a moment to enjoy the cool breeze as it passed over my exposed chest in my makeshift Wolfman costume. The Halloween booze cruise had been a blast, but I was ready to move the party to a more intimate setting. I adjusted my ripped denim jeans, my hairy muscle barely peeking through the top of my shirt.

I reentered the interior of the boat and removed my mask, allowing myself a breath of fresh air. I approached the bar, the throb of the music still pulsing in my ears, and pulled a couple of twenties from my wallet to cover my tab. The bartender, a slim figure with a skeleton face paint, nodded my way, his gloved hands deftly making change, which I dropped in the tip jar. I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, my eyes level against the dim lighting of the boat.

Can't lie — I looked good.

As I began to walk toward the stairs back up to the deck, I pondered whether or not I'd go straight home. I pulled out my phone, my fingers gliding over the screen as I opened BrutalChat. A "like" on my profile caught my eye, a screen name that piqued my interest: WreckMe.

My eyes scrunched as I tapped on the message.

Hey bud, I typed. You look close. What's up tonight?

The reply came almost instantly, thrill shooting through me straight to my groin as I read it.

Small world, I think I'm on the same boat as you. I looked up.

I scanned the room, trying to pick out who among the costumed revelers could be WreckMe, whose profile did not have a photo. Was he the burly pirate by the window, or perhaps the mysterious phantom shrouded in the sequined cloak? The anticipation was killing me, but the thrill was kind of fun.

I'm dressed as Robin. As in, Batman and Robin. Come find me.

Bet. 

I weaved my way through the throng of partygoers, my eyes locked on a figure leaning against the wall on the starboard side. He was short, maybe 5’5”, in a 1960's Robin costume… I think. I approached him, a grin spreading across my face as I recognized him.

"WreckMe?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded as he looked up from his phone, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in my appearance. "GutpunchLeo," he said, the sound of my name a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the deep thrum of the boat's engines. We stood there for a moment, assessing each other, the air between us growing thicker as I took in the sight of his slim body and he took in my musculature. 

The boat hit a small swell from the wake of a tanker upriver, and WreckMe — whatever his name is — reached out to steady himself, the palm of his hand landing hard against my stomach as revelers gasped and glasses behind the bar clinked together in a vast chorus. I tensed as I meant to catch him, the muscles of my gut becoming solid beneath the fabric of my flannel. In an instant, his youthful face became serious as his eyes flicked up to mine.

"You are so solid," he said, his mouth nearly agape.

"Let me show you how solid,” I smiled. “Let's find someplace quieter."

WreckMe's eyes sparked and his grin grew as he nodded gently in agreement. We took to the stairs and climbed to the top deck, where we stood as the boat approached the dock.

The cool October breeze was a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the crowded interior as it neared the dock. I turned to the young man beside me, trying to figure out what was wrong with his Robin costume.

"Something's off about your costume and I can't put my finger on what it is," I laughed. He laughed, too.

"It's a knock-off," he said. "It took like seven weeks to arrive and is doing everything it can to avoid copyright infringement."

"I'm Leo," I chuckled, extending my hand.

"Toby," he replied with a smile, his grip firm and confident.

I released his hand and leaned against the railing, my gaze drifting over the shimmering surface of the Hudson. "So, what was it about my profile that caught your eye?" I asked, curious.

Toby hesitated for a moment, then looked at me with his piercing green eyes. "Honestly?" he began, "it was your gutpunching photos. I have a huge fetish for it."

A confident grin spread across my face. "We have that in common," I said. "I live over on 14th and Third. Any plans after we dock?"

"Whatever you want is my plan," Toby said with a smirk. "I'm at 19th and Seventh. My place is closer."

The boat lurched slightly as it eased into the dock, the sounds of the party fading inside. "Your place sounds perfect," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Lead the way."

We disembarked and made our way through Chelsea toward his apartment.

The brisk fall air nipped at us as we made the short walk to Toby's place. The energy between us was palpable, a current of anticipation that hummed with each step – though neither of us said a word.

Toby's apartment was a typical bachelor pad, all sharp angles and clean lines with a view of the city that glittered ahead of us.

We kicked off our shoes by the door. Through the thin material of Toby’s knock-off Robin costume, I took in the guy’s lithe, slim frame and ample chest. His stomach was a soft and inviting bag of guts, a stark contrast to the chiseled hardness of my own. I watched him, the flush of arousal creeping up my neck as I took in the sight of him, unguarded and eager.

He turned to me, his green eyes locked onto mine. "I need it hard," he said, his voice a breathy plea. "Break my soft gut."

My cock twitched at his submission, the raw need in his voice pulling at something deep within me. I stepped toward him, my hands finding his shoulders and pushing the young Robin against the wall. He grunted as his back hit the wall, my larger frame caging him in.

I looked into his eyes, my own desire mirrored there. "You want this?" I growled, my fist hovering over his exposed belly, which wasn't even trying to tense up.

"Please," he whispered, his body trembling with anticipation. "Please do it."

His arm stretched out to the counter next to him, where he grabbed my Wolfman mask. He slipped it back over my head.

“Show me what it’s like to get beaten down by a violent beast, Leo.”

My cock swelled as I clenched my fist and felt my bicep bulge. His stomach, relaxed and pressing against the thin material of his costume, was a pliant canvas of soft and yielding guts, ready for my knuckles to brutally beat the cum out of them.

The first punch landed with a solid thud, my fist flattening the contents of his slim gut practically into the wall behind him. Toby's body jerked with the force of it, a grunt escaping his lips. I watched as his lower gut distended slightly from my fist smashing into the center of his belly, the sight of it triggering something in my groin.

I didn't give him time to recover, my fist pounding into his loose gut again and again, crushing his eager intestines each time with basically no resistance from his abs – if he had any. His belly was so incredibly soft that I wondered if he ever did any sit-ups at all. The sheer give of his gut and the grunting response of each punch only served to propel me to want to keep hammering his unprotected organs. Toby's face contorted with pleasure and pain, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the sensation I was hammering into his bowels.

I noticed that as my punches ramped up in force and intensity, I’d begun to grunt and growl as I drove them into the gut of the guy before me.

To Robin – I mean, Toby – I could only imagine what was going through his head: The Wolfman before him, growling and snarling as his muscular body pounded his big fists into the Boy Wonder’s erotically charged bowels, smashing his intestines in as both men’s cocks pressed against their pants.

His stomach was a soft, jellied mass under my fists, my knuckles sinking into the supple flesh without a fight. The warmth of his belly was intoxicating in and of itself, the way his slim, rounded guts gave under my blows, the thud of each punch echoing in the quiet room.

I shifted my stance, giving him a moment of pause as I slapped my hand against his stomach. I felt his hot, beaten belly through his costume until I located the dip of his slutty little navel. I drove my index finger deep into it, earning a cry from the guy.

Having located his navel, I removed my finger from it and drove my fist into his spine through it. His body folded around my fist, his breath rushing out in a wheeze as I drove the air from his lungs and ground the twists of his bowels into the notches of his backbone, leaving him groaning as I did.

"Fuck," Toby moaned, folded over my fist and clinging to my arm, his voice thick with need. "Harder. Make me take it."

I obliged, pulling my fist back and shoving him back up against the wall. I let out a growl again as I took aim at the bulk of his bulging lower intestines. His bowels churned beneath my fists, a soft squelching and gurgling emanating from within his loose belly as he grunted with each impact. His guts were taking a brutal beating, and from the look of pure ecstasy on his face, he was loving every second of it.

Our bodies were slick with sweat beneath our costumes, the musky scent of our arousal beginning to fill the room. I could feel the precum dampening my boxers, the ache in my balls a constant reminder of how badly I wanted to keep pounding his perfect belly.

I paused for a moment, resting my hand on Toby's distended lower gut. His breaths were ragged, his body shuddering with each inhale. I leaned in near his ear.

"You take it like a real hero, Robin,” I said to him with a breathy growl.

His response was a breathy moan as he arched his back, opening his belly up to me more. I could feel the heat radiating from the skin of his stomach.

He couldn’t see the grin spread across my face as I cocked my fist back.

With his back still arched and belly still fully exposed, I launched my fist into his intestines. I immediately felt spine through the thin layer of Toby’s innards; the force of my fist inverted the arch of his back, slamming him into the wall as his belly folded over my fist, firmly against his spine, whatever section of his intestines caught flattened in between. Toby's cry of pleasure filled the room as he doubled over. Without pulling my fist back, I just drove it upward, grinding his innards against his back as I lifted him a few inches from the ground. The veins in my muscular arms, pecs, and shoulders pulsed as I did – Toby groaned loudly as he endured it.

Quickly, I dropped the guy, his bewildered belly unable to know what I might do next. He found his footing as he tried to catch his breath, but I slammed him back into the wall with another punch to his soft, still doubled-over gut.

My fist plowed into Toby's gut with thud after thud that echoed through the room, my large paw standing him back up against the wall after each brutal impact. His body heaved forward with every punch, his breath under my control as he gladly took the beating. I reveled in the feel of his belly yielding under my knuckles, the way his flesh gave way like soft clay, molding to the shape of my fist.

I watched his beautiful belly as I punched into it, transfixed, as his lower gut and obliques distended with each punch, the skin stretching taut over his churning insides.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back beneath my flannel shirt, the heat of our bodies mingling in the small space between us. The fragrance of our heady musk stoking the fire in the pit of my own gut.

Toby not able to breathe on his own on account of my fists pounding the breath out of him when he tried, whispered as he doubled over my fist. "If you... if you can bring me to my knees," he gasped, his eyes locking onto mine, "you can fuck me."

The words jolted me. The thought of Toby, on his knees, submission etched into every line of his body, was all the encouragement I needed. My punches became relentless – if they weren’t already.

I shifted my weight again, pulling my arm back for a series of brutal uppercuts. My fist slammed into his navel, each punch driving his intestines into his diaphragm. I began increasing the force of the uppercuts after the first five or so, the force of these latter blows lifting him off his feet slightly, his grunts becoming more pained and dire as his eyes began to noticeably water.

His knees began to tremble, his body sagging against the wall. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fully glazed over with the intensity of his punch-drunk arousal. 

With my fist pressed into him, he doubled up into my thick chest, his face melting into my pecs like the mush I had gleefully turned his loose guts into. My cock continued to stir as I felt the drool from his gasping mouth begin to make contact with my pecs through my chest hair. 

I wanted him. So I drove my fist at full power into the central pit of Toby's fully relaxed gut, pushing his totally pliant intestines and diaphragm into his lungs.

The amount of Toby’s drool on my pecs doubled in volume as the young crime fighter’s legs gave out beneath him.

He crumpled to the floor, his body heaving as he fought to draw in a breath. His eyes were wide, his pupils blown. He looked up at me with reverence and raw need plastered on his face.

He moaned as he leaned against the wall, still on the ground. Clutching his guts as he braced himself against the wall, his body shuddered, a smile appearing on his face.

I lifted Toby up with a growl, my muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt. I tossed him onto the bed, his body bouncing slightly as he landed on the soft mattress. He looked up at me, his eyes fixed on mine, and I could feel the hunger in my own gaze as I took in the sight of him, spread out before me like a feast.

“Fuck me,” he said, tugging at his Robin costume.

He lifted his legs up and I took him by his right calf muscle with my left hand. I pushed his leg up, bringing his ass off the bed. Holding him with my left hand, I took a handful of his Robin costume, right at the ass, with my right hand. In a single violent motion, I ripped the cheap costume open, giving myself access to his perfect asshole.

I took his other leg with my right hand and placed both of his legs on my shoulders as I positioned myself between his thighs. I could feel the heat of his body, the scent of him, now open to the air, filling my nostrils as I leaned in. I reached down and released my cock from my pants and boxers, directing the head of my cock – long-since wet with a half-hour’s worth of precum – against him.

I spat into my hand and lubed his ass, and lubed my cock up with the precum.

I entered him in one slow, deliberate thrust, the tight heat of his ass enveloping me completely. He gasped, his body arching off the bed as I began to move, each stroke of my seven-plus-inch cock sending a physical reaction through him.

As I did, I continued to plow my fist into his belly, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a rush. His intestines churned beneath my knuckles, the sound of his insides twisting, turning, and grumbling propelling me to want to remain in this moment all night.

I leaned forward as I continued to fuck his tight little ass, holding him in place with my left hand under the small of his back – also serving to arch his back for him – as I punched my right fist into his bowels.

His eyes rolled back as his moans shuttered, the physical sensations of the violent intestinal punches and hard fucking overwhelming his body.

The involuntary sounds being forced out of Toby's mouth awakened some primal beast in me, keeping my cock rock hard as I pumped it into him, growling from beneath my mask as I watched Robin before me, red in the face, insatiably take every punch into his liquid-soft stomach. His intestines took what I gave them, smashing them around his small belly, gurgling and bubbling from the abuse, flattening under my fists or enveloping them as Toby moaned in pain, begging for more any time he had enough breath in his lungs to do so.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead and through the nose holes of my mask, disappearing into the fabric of his costume beneath me, the exertion of fucking and punching him at the same time pushing me to my limits; I, myself, beginning to pant.

Toby's eyes rolled back in his head, his lips parting in a silent scream as I drove him relentlessly toward the edge – though, not once had he touched his cock, or even tried to release it from within his costume.

I could feel the pressure building in my balls before finally, with a final, gut-destroying punch, Toby's body convulsed beneath me, his ass gripping my cock as he came, his release pushing thick white cum through the thin material of his costume.

The sight of him, lost in the throes of his orgasm, was all it took to send me over the edge. I drove into him one last time, my cock pulsing as I emptied myself inside him, the force of my orgasm leaving me weak-kneed and gasping for air, too.

I ripped the mask from my head, my tousled hair and sweaty face finally exposed to the chill of his apartment air.

As our breathing slowly returned to normal, I withdrew from him, my softening cock slipping free of his body. I fell onto my back on the bed next to Toby, pulling him close as I wrapped my beefy arms around the twink as he adjusted to rest his head on my chest.

We lay there in silence as we panted, the only sound outside of our breathing the distant hum of the city below us. I could feel the steady rise and fall of Toby's chest as he nestled against me, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my belly over my shirt.

I kissed the top of his head. I knew he must be sore, his belly tender from the brutal pounding it had taken.

"Hey," I said softly, pressing another gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Ice cream?" 

He considered it for a moment, his eyes still locked onto mine. Then, with a smile, he said, "I'd like that. Let me just... clean up a bit."

He carefully removed his Robin costume, complete with the large puddle of cum running from the crotch of the outfit. His gut was a bright red.

He quickly snagged a pair of black shorts from his bedside dresser and sat from the bed, groaning and giggling as he did, his destroyed insides undoubtedly aching.

When Toby returned from the bathroom with a shirt and pants on, we slipped into our shoes by the door, and I couldn't help but steal a glance at his midsection, the soft swell of his bulging, beaten belly hidden beneath his shirt, pressing against it.

I felt a familiar surge of pride, knowing that I had been the one to mark him, to make him writhe with pain until he blew his load handsfree. And now, with my own load in him, we took to the streets in search of dessert.