Part of the shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.
R/BodyPunching
Thread Title: Any guys in my area into gut work? (Late 30s here)
u/Fit4Life98:
Been lurking here for a while. Finally figured I’d throw this out, take a chance right? Whatever, I'm in my late 30s, decent shape, light hair on chest/abs, always wondered how far my stomach could go. Not looking for anything wild, maybe? Maybe I want more, see how it's like. I really just want to see what my core can actually take when someone’s really testing it. Gloves, bare fists, whatever.
u/BodyShotsFinalBoss:
Same here bro. I'm in my late 30s too, but I’m on the other side of it. I love sinking shots into a tight midsection and watching the hits land. Big, built, and been lifting and boxing most of my life. You sound like you’d be a good challenge. We should have a go.
u/Fit4Life98:
Challenge accepted?
I’ve trained abs for years, but never really had someone go at me without holding back. Curious if I’m as tough as I think...or if I’ll fold fast.
u/BodyShotsFinalBoss:
Sounds like bro wants to talk trash already. Good. I like that. Tell you what, if we meet, I’ll go steady at first. Let the gloves, let my fists do the talking. Then we’ll see how many rounds you can actually take.
u/Fit4Life98:
You’re already making it sound like a fight night. I’m not gonna back down though.
Where you based?
u/Fit4Life98:
Downtown side of the city. Got a private space I train at, mats, gloves, no distractions. If you’re close, we can set it up.
u/BodyShotsFinalBoss:
I’m across town. Not far. I can make the drive.
So really good with straight gut shots, see how far I can go?
u/BodyShotsFinalBoss:
So good bro. You stand, you take. I punch, I watch. You tap when you’ve had enough, or you don’t.
Sound good?
u/Fit4Life98:
Sounds more than good. Let’s do it.
... And that's all it took.
u/Fit4Life98
Thread Title: Met up with a guy from here (long write-up, gut test)
Figured I’d put this down while it’s still fresh. A couple weeks back I started talking to a guy on here, Grayson (that's him above, how's my drawing skills?) . Both of us in our late 30s, both into the same thing, but coming at it from opposite sides, me wanting to test what I could take, seeing what I like and want. Him? He wanted to throw the shots. Test bounderies. Push them. Finally lined up a time and place, life's bitch when it comes to that, isn't it? #Adultshit
Anyways, this was getting real, and I was sure I was ready for it. Still am too.
Ok so let's take a step back first.
I wasn’t sure what one was supposed to wear to something like this. It’s not exactly like there’s a dress code for “meeting a guy to let him pound your abs.” I showed up in jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. Nothing special, just something I could move in and didn’t mind sweating through. Pretty much basic guy cloths. So when I walked in, Grayson was already there waiting. He was in a orange shirt, jeans, looked like he stepped straight out of a gym ad. Broad shoulders, thick chest, arms that had clearly done their share of pressing iron. Built, but not sloppy. The kind of physique that tells you the guy doesn’t just lift, he works hard. Very hard. Have to respect a man for that. You don’t get that kind of frame without years of discipline. Seeing him there made it real in a way I wasn’t fully ready for until then. This wasn’t some casual tap-out spar. This was happening. This was real. This was me putting my stomach on the line against a man who could actually do damage.
Shit....
The spot was his, just like he had said. Basement level of a place he trains at. Dusty orange(ish) overhead lights casting much in way of shadows, weights scattered all over like he just finished with them. Benches pushed off to the walls. And right there in the center, clear space. Wide open. It looked like it was made for exactly this. No distractions, no mats, no mirrors, just enough room for two guys to test themselves without anyone else around. A place where men could just be men, no masks, no bullshit. OK I was excited, what of it? He gave me a look when I came in, quick once over, like he was already weighing up how much he could dish out before I folded. Didn’t say much. Didn't have to I guess. Just tossed me a pair of gloves, kept his own bare hands free for now.
"You wanted to test your abs, right?” he said, real calm. “Let’s see what they’ve really got.”
At that point, any nerves I had burned away. It was on. No going back. Time to prove what kind of man I was. Yeah.... We both knew what came next. Without a word, I pulled my gray shirt over my head and tossed it aside. My skin was already warm, the basement air heavy and close. Jeans hung loose around my waist, but my chest and midsection were bare now, nothing between me and what was coming. Grayson followed suit, tugging his orange shirt off in one smooth motion. His body looked like it had been carved over years. Huge broad chest, deep lines along the shoulders, arms thick but proportioned, abs not just showing but etched. Mine? I’ve always been proud of what I built: solid muscle, a flat stomach with enough definition to know I put in the work. But standing across from him, I could see the difference. I was strong. He was refined. Every line looked sharpened, every muscle tested and proven. The gloves came next. I slid mine on, tugging the straps tight. He took his time wrapping his fists, pulling each strap snug with practiced ease before sliding the gloves on like he’d done it a thousand times. It wasn’t about showmanship. It was about readiness. It was all about what was coming next.
No words were needed. Just the quiet sound of leather tightening, shirts crumpled on the floor, and two men standing in the middle of a cleared space, bodies bare, fists ready, eyes locked.
The space between us closed. Grayson planted his feet, shoulders loose but steady, and drew his fist back. I braced, abs tight, breath steady, eyes forward. Here we go... The first shot landed square on my stomach. A clean thud, glove sinking in but not breaking through. My body rocked, but I’d been ready for it. I let the air push through my teeth, arms staying at my sides. No flinch, no stumble. Just absorbed it. For a half-second, Grayson studied me. His lips curled into a grin. He noticed I held firm. I noticed I held firm... it felt good. You see you can always tell yourself your good, you can take it, you can stand up. But doing it? Feeling it? Accomplishing it for real? Oh hell yeah! The next punch came harder. A deeper sound, glove thumping off my core with more weight. I gritted down, felt my stomach pull tight against the impact.
Still there, still standing, still taking!
And then it picked up. One after another, his gloves sank into me. Each one just a little heavier, a little sharper than the last. Boom. Boom. Boom. A steady rhythm. My abs tensed against the shots, breath driving out in short bursts, sweat starting to bead across my skin. The space filled with the sound of leather smacking flesh and the faint scuff of boots shifting on concrete. Every hit seemed to carry a question: Can you take this? How about this? And every time I answered by standing my ground. No words needed, just the silent back-and-forth of glove and gut.
I think I may have laughed at one point, to be real here. This is what I always wanted it, and to finally get it? To experience it while rising up? What a rush! The punches kept coming. Each one heavier, sharper, carrying more of Grayson’s weight behind it. His gloves thudded into my stomach in a steady cadence, every impact driving a ripple across my abs before my muscles locked down again to hold. I’d trained for this, or at least thought I had, but nothing in the gym matched the raw force of another man testing you with his fists. Didn't care, wanted more. Sweat started tracing lines down my chest, dripping from my temples. I caught sight of Grayson, his shoulders gleamed under the basement lights, sweat building across his chest and arms. The power in his frame wasn’t just for show; every muscle in him worked to deliver each blow, and I could feel that work pressing deeper into me with each hit. I nodded and stood firm. Feet planted, arms down at my sides, core locked in. I wasn’t there to show off, wasn’t there to brag. I just wanted to know. To see how far I could go. Every punch landed, and I took it. Some made me grunt, some made my breath explode out of me in short huffs, but none of them dropped me. Pride swelled in my chest, not ego, not arrogance, just the quiet satisfaction of knowing I wasn’t folding. The rhythm finally slowed. Grayson stepped back half a pace, his gloves lowering slightly. His eyes met mine, steady, measuring, maybe a hint of respect in the look. For a moment the only sound in the basement was our breathing, heavy and ragged, sweat pattering to the floor.
I felt a smile tug at my mouth. Couldn’t help it.
“More.”
All it took was one word, men are simple creatures after all.
The moment the word left my lips, Grayson's grin widened. Bastard wanted me to say it and was enjoying every second of it. Not judging mind you, I wanted him to keep going too. He adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders, and then the gloves came back up. No hesitation this time, I past that vibe check and there was no holding back. He drove the next punch in with real intent, a hard thud that sent shock waves deep into my core. I clenched down, teeth grinding, forcing my body to stay upright. The pain came sharp and hot, but I met it head-on. Another shot. Harder. It dug into me like a hammer, pushing me back half an inch before my feet rooted themselves again. My stomach felt the ache now, not just the surface sting, the kind of pressure that spread through muscle, that left heat burning under the skin. Then came another. And another. Each one heavier, each one finding its mark. The sound of leather smacking flesh echoed off the basement walls, a rhythm that filled the open space. My breath burst out in sharp huffs with every impact. The pain rose with it, stacking higher and higher, but I refused to bend.
Sweat ran down my chest in rivulets, stung my eyes. My stomach tightened under every blow, but still held. Each time Grayson's gloves sank in, my body screamed, but my legs stayed firm, arms still down, no guard, no backing away. He was relentless now, fists pounding into me, each strike carrying the weight of a man who knew exactly how to throw them. My whole midsection pulsed with fire, but I locked my jaw and stared forward. I could feel the pain, every ounce of it, but I wasn’t going to quit.
I would go the distance.
And as Grayson's gloves slammed into me again and again, I realized I wasn’t proving it to him. I was proving it to myself.
Grayson shifted his stance, no longer driving straight shots into me. His gloves swung wider now, crashing in as hooks to the body. The first one slammed into my side, low and heavy, and I felt it tear through the tightness of my core. I wanted to grunt in pain, but I held it in. I was doing this! The next came from the opposite side, snapping into my ribs and forcing my whole torso to rock. Damn. Oh damn! Each hook carried more than just power, it carried weight, the kind that drove me backward whether I wanted it or not. One step. Then another. My boots scraped against the concrete, trying to dig in, but the force kept pushing me back. I couldn't fight it, and I don't think I wanted to at this point. So, the rhythm built: left hook, right hook, left again, each one a heavy smack that rattled through me. I grunted, felt air explode from my lungs with each impact, but I stayed standing. My body answered every shot with a flare of pain and a stubborn refusal to drop. Finally, after what felt like a storm of blows, I felt my back meet solid concrete. The wall stopped me cold. Grayson pulled back a little, gloves dropping for just a moment, while I stayed pressed against the rough surface, chest heaving.
Panting, I let my gaze fall down. My stomach was red now, streaked with swelling marks from every glove that had slammed into me. They stood out angry against my pale skin, proof of the punishment I’d taken. And yet… strangely enough, I felt good. Alive. There was pride buried inside the ache, pride in still being there, in still being upright. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm, straightened against the wall, and looked back at him.
“More.”
The look in Grayson's eyes shifted. My one word lit a spark in him, like I’d just thrown gasoline on the fire. Maybe I did, and maybe that's what I always wanted too. He planted his feet, shoulders tightening, and then he came at me with everything he had. The first hook crashed into my body, under the ribs. It was so hard my head rolled back against the wall. A sharp grunt tore from my chest, air forced out whether I wanted it to or not. Before I could pull breath back in, the next blow slammed into the opposite side. The rhythm was gone now, it wasn’t measured, it wasn’t progressive. It was raw, heavy, destructive. This was now one man letting another man show the true power of male muscle. Leather cracked against my gut, against my abs, against the very center of my body. My body jolted with each impact, head rocking back against the wall, mouth opening just to suck in what little air I could between hits. The pain roared, building in waves, each punch carving through muscle, rattling bone, searing down into the core I’d spent years trying to build.
But I didn’t quit. I. Wanted. More.
But there was a tiny voice in my head. It screamed at me to fold, to cover up, to sink down and let it end. But my arms stayed loose at my sides, feet rooted to the concrete. Each time his fists buried into me, I forced myself to take it. To accept the punishment and let the hits keep coming. My head lolled back again, sweat dripping down my neck, chest heaving, but I stood there. Grayson’s body glistened with sweat now, muscles flexing and twisting with every throw. He wasn’t pacing himself anymore. These weren’t probing shots, these weren’t tests. He was letting it all out, pouring years of training into each blow, driving his fists deep into me with everything he had. I felt the wall at my back vibrating with the force, felt my stomach burning red and raw under the relentless assault. My teeth clenched, my breath came ragged, but still I met his eyes between the flurry. Gods it felt fucking amazing. The push and pull, the impact, the shake, the vibration, the burn of the muscle. I felt alive, maybe in the first time in a long time. Maybe ever. It hurt yes... a lot.
Still I refused to go down.
Pain became everything. sharp, deep, unrelenting, but beneath it ran a stubborn pride that kept me upright. Each grunt, each groan, each blow, letting him pound away, my head rolling back, body shaking, but my will holding firm. Damn it was amazing. Did I mention that yet? Well it was, and I didn't want it to end... even if I knew it would be soon. Till then, the gloves kept coming. Grayson hammered into me, each one heavier than the last. My ribs rattled, my stomach jolted under every strike. The room seemed to sway with the rhythm of the shots, my head rolling back against the wall again and again until the edges of my vision began to blur. I could feel the wooziness creeping in, not from lack of will, but from the sheer punishment. Each blow stole a little more air, each one made my knees want to buckle. Still I stood there, refusing to drop, refusing to give him or myself the satisfaction of quitting.
Then came the last one. He dug his shoulder in, swung low and hard, and his glove buried itself deep into the center of my gut. It wasn’t just a punch, it was a sledgehammer driving through muscle and bone. Pain detonated through me. My mouth opened in a long, guttural groan that I couldn’t hold back, air tearing from my lungs as my whole body bent forward into the glove. My abs, clenched tight for so long, finally gave way under the force. The wall caught me as my legs wavered, my stomach burning hot and raw, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I let out a long moan. Pain? Yeah. Pleasure? A whole lot. I didn't hide it, didn't want to. This shit felt good. Grayson held back from following up. He didn’t need to. We both knew that was the end. I wanted more yeah, some part of me screamed for it, but my body told the truth. It was over, I knew it, and Grayson knew it too. He smiled at me. Seemingly knew what was going on in my head. No words passed between us. Just heavy breathing, sweat dripping to the concrete, and the unspoken understanding that it was time to stop.
When it was over, we both just stood there for a moment, sweat pouring, chests heaving. I said that already didn't I? Sorry reliving the moment, Gods I loved that moment... all of it. So anyway, yeah no need to say anything, we both given and taken what was needed. And that, was really man don't you think? Two men put themselves to the test, had a good bonding experience, and didn't need words for it. Sexist? Maybe? But eh, hash tag just guy things? Yeah getting distracted again. Eventually Grayson peeled his gloves off, set them down on the bench, and I did the same. We shook hands, solid and real, the kind that said respect without spelling it out. We left on good terms. No drama, no awkwardness. No "hey man wanna fuck?" because it wasn't about that. Just two guys who pushed each other to the edge and walked away knowing it meant something. Just two men who enjoyed the exchange of impact and pain, and didn't make it weird. On the drive home my stomach ached with every bump in the road, but I couldn’t stop grinning. The red marks I got? They were proof, proof I’d stood there and taken it, proof I’d found my limit and maybe pushed past it. Proof I wasn't the only one who liked it, and that was ok.
Manly as hell right?
And yeah, not going to lie, I want to do it again. Next time, I want to be stronger. I want to last longer, take more, maybe give some? Grayson’s the kind of guy who will test you without mercy, and that’s exactly what I need. Wanted. I don’t think of him as just some random dude off a forum anymore. He’s gonna be one of those rare ones... a brother in this, a guy who gets it. Me and him? We’re gonna be interesting bros. I know that already.
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