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Baseball Team Beatdown

by Hunte



Hey there, it’s Tom again. I remembered another story that I think you all would like; Garrett and I have been in a lot of fights in school, to be honest. Even though a lot of these used to be against each other, there was this one instance that holds a special place in my heart, if only for how fun it was for all involved. For starters, let me explain a little bit about it, first. Our high school’s baseball team was really buddy-buddy with us. A few of our other friends had joined it and even though Garrett and I didn’t play, eventually we were just part of the group. We were friends with everyone, and everyone was friends with us. We harassed each other every chance we got, though it was all good-natured. Eventually, things came to a “head” one day. Just as a reminder: We’re all friends, so this is all just good-natured harassment.

It was before the first story I’ve told, when Garrett beat me up in his basement. School was almost over for the year, and the last bell had rung for the day. There weren’t very many people still in the building. Garrett was waiting for me outside, and we were planning to hang out at his house once we left school. I had just gotten out of my last exam of the day, and was walking towards the school’s main doors. I could see them just ahead, just behind a four-way intersection that led to other areas. Just as I came close to one of the corners, I caught a trace of movement out of the corner of one eye. Unfortunately I don’t see it in time, and the next thing I know…
“OOOOOOOOFFF!” My eyes widen and my cheeks puff up hugely as a baseball bat slams across my gut, causing me to drape over it like I’m a towel on a laundry line. I’m held there, gasping for breath with my arms hanging limp as I slump over the bat. I may be breathless, but I’m not deaf; I could hear the laughing from around the corner, and could see the six pairs of legs of the group that had immobilized me like this.
Someone cups their hand under my chin and tilts my head upward. It’s some of the guys from the baseball team, still in their practice uniforms; matching shirts, hats, shorts, and shoes. I give them a pained smile as the one holding the bat around the corner slides it out from under my belly and joins the group. I collapse to my knees.
“H…hey guys,” I wheeze, trying to get air back even as I clutch my stomach and try not to puke. “Wh…what’s up?”
“Luckily not your lunch,” the one holding the bat says as he lets it rest on his shoulder. “Going somewhere, Tom?”
“Just home.” I manage to stand up. “Any of you guys got a problem with that?”
“We just wanted to have some end-of-year fun with you, that’s all,” the leader said. “What do you think of that?”
“Well, I’ve actually got plans already,” I said. “Sorry, maybe later? PWEULGH?!”
Whatever strangled babbling had exploded out of my mouth just then had been a mystery for me too, at first. My mouth hung open, my eyes wide as I slumped forward. I didn’t fall to the ground, mostly because the bat, the fat end of which had been slammed into my belly upon my refusal, propped me up. I feel my belly heave against the bat as the leader of the guys chuckled and shook his head.
“Well, that’s too bad. I guess we’ll have to have some fun on our own, eh?”
I inhaled deeply as the bat was pulled out of my gut, only to be jackknifed as I feel someone’s fist slam into my belly, right on my navel. The force of the punch is actually hard enough for me to be lifted off of my feet about two inches, my belly wrapping around it like a soft towel. I go limp around his fist and nearly fall onto my back, but one of the baseball guys grabs me by my shirt collar. They drag me into an empty, unlocked science classroom, pushing me away. I manage to grab one of the tables to keep from falling over, looking up at them as they spread out around the room, surrounding me.
“You ready to play, Tom?” one of them asked, each of them grinning as they advanced on me. I put my backpack down on one of the tables and then take off my shirt, exposing my soft, smooth gut to them. Two different red marks, one long one from my clotheslining and a small circular one from where I’d been impaled, already marked my belly from where the bat had hit me.
In answer I charge at the closest one, my fist out and ready to punch. I was so focused on getting out of the room that I was paying more attention to their own bodies rather than what they were doing. I hadn’t noticed at first that all of them each wore a backpack, and each one had a by-now familiar long, slim object inside of it. As they had surrounded me they had taken their bats out of their backpacks, hiding them behind their backs. By the time I saw the bat that he’d whipped out from behind his back, it was too late.
He had shoved the handle-end of the bat right into my wide, spacious navel, filling the space in completely as I bent around it, gasping. My mouth hung open again, my eyes wide, and my body jackknifing around the bat as his owner smirked at me.
“How you feeling, Tom?” he asked, taking a good look at my breathless expression. “Got a bellyache?”
“Ooooogh…” I groan. I suddenly jerk as he pulls his bat out of my gut, taking a deep breath to fill my lungs, which were emptied when I was impaled by the bat. It was a mistake to try breathing, in retrospect. The next thing I know…
“Ooooooofff!” All of the air explodes out of my mouth once again as I feel my breadbasket get speared. My cheeks inflated hugely, I gag and choke as I look down at my gut. His fist is buried in it up to the wrist, but it’s quickly replaced as he hammers my belly with a series of quick jabs, using my navel as a target as he pummels me back across the room. Each one squishes deep into my softened gut, wrapping my belly flesh around his knuckles again and again.
“Guh, Gah, Gah, Gah, Guh! Uh, Ah!  Uh, Ah, Uh!” I grunt as my body spasms and jerks with each punch. I’m so preoccupied with the punches to my belly that I don’t even notice that we’re right up against one of the others until I feel a fist slam into my back. The base of my spine is crushed between it and my ribcage and I arch my back, gritting my teeth right before I feel a hard punch impale me in the belly.
It feels like the punch went right through me, my intestines serving as the only cushion between my navel and my spine as I bend around the fist, concealing his fist in my belly fat up to the wrist. I don’t have time to suffer though, because the guy that had punched me in the back was quick to loop his arms under mine holding me in a full nelson and pulling me upright.
“G-g-guys…” I stammer, almost unable to talk because of the abuse that my belly has taken. “C-c-can w-w-w-we n-n-not-OOOOOOOOFFF!”
Again, a fist has speared my belly. I try to bend forward, my cheeks puffing out and my eyes widening. The guy holding me doesn’t let me bend forward very far, but my head flops forward, allowing me to have a good view of the uppercut that has buried itself in my belly.
“Oh…” I groan. “Ooooooh…” I slump forward even farther, which allows me to see four different pairs of feet come into my field of view. I manage to get my head to look up, and see four of the other baseball players in front of me. They’re all smirking at me, cracking knuckles, flexing fingers, and chuckling.
“I gotta say, Tom,” one of them said. “You’re taking this pretty well.”
“I a-a-aim to p-p-p-p-please…” I reply, giving a pained smile of my own. “BLUUUUUUUUUUUGH!” All of my air was once again gone in an instant as a fist again invaded my belly. It was another uppercut, this one landing below my navel, hard enough to roll my belly flesh up into several folds that lie on top of the fist itself. My belly feels like there’s a permanent crater there now, and it’s covered in red markings caused by their fists and their bats.
I let out a gasp as he pulls his fist out of my belly, and my body arches forward, unfortunately exposing my belly to their fists even more. By this point, in addition to being covered in marks, it’s now bulging past my waistband, any muscles that might have kept it in now gone, obliterated by all of the abuse. It hangs down below my waistband about three inches, sort of mimicking me at the time: beaten and nearly spent. I’m so out of it that I almost don’t see the four of them raise their fists together and advance on me.
The sixth guy never participated in the beating; past the four that were coming towards me now with their fists up, I remember seeing him behind us with a video camera. Garrett and I would later see the tape, and I must admit it’s kind of painful, watching it from a different angle. Nothing compared to experiencing the pain in person though, the breath being belted from me over and over, multiple fists impaling my belly at any one time as eight different arms hammer it. Through the press of bodies I can see fists sunk up to the wrist in my gut, my body essentially bouncing up and down from its arched position as fists go in and out and in and out constantly, hammering my belly, and through it all you can hear me yelping in pain.
This holds the dubious distinction of actually competing in volume with the sounds of impacts on my belly, the endless “SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT” of soft belly flesh being impaled repeatedly by fist after fist.
It was about fifteen minutes before that bit was over, not that I was clear-headed enough to see it. I was pretty out of it by that time, not even resisting beyond weak kicking as the guy holding me straightened me up. Then he shoved me forward, leaving me open when one of them swung an uppercut that blasted me full in the navel. I jackknifed around it, my belly wrapping around his fist like a glove. I was pretty sure that if he took away his hand I would have an imprint of his knuckles where they had landed. My feet scrabbled on the floor as they tried to keep me up, my arms stuck out dumbly and my cheeks puffed up hugely, my eyes wide. I couldn’t even make a sound this time; the air left from the four-on-one beating just then had all been blasted out of me by the punch.
No one caught me this time. I was left to slowly slide off of the fist that had sunk up to its owner’s elbow in my soft, squishy gut. After about thirty seconds my belly finally slid off of the fist with a loud sloshing noise, and I collapsed, flat on my back. I stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing anything even as the five guys that were in the process of turning my belly to jelly gathered around me on their knees. Each of them held a baseball bat, the hitting end turned towards me and held in both hands. I wasn’t even able to try and crawl out of the way before the bats started coming down.
My body is bouncing up and down off the floor again and again as my belly is thoroughly beaten even more by the baseball bats. I’m impaled by the bat hitting ends, the handles, and beaten as they slap the bats onto my belly lengthwise. My belly by now is putty-soft, and when the bats are slapped down lengthwise my gut flesh nearly closes around them. After about two minutes of this the last of the bats squish into my stomach, leaving me lying on the ground, groaning. It was then that the final section of my seemingly endless torture began. One of the guys planted himself on my legs, and I could only lie there and watch as he cracks his knuckles.
“Okay Tom,” he said, getting his fists up in a boxing pose. “You ready for lights out?”
“I’m g-g-g-gonna…b-b-b-beat the…c-c-crap…o-o-o-ut of…a-a-all of you…” I pant, managing a lopsided grin.
“Don’t blame us,” one of the others said. “It was Coach Jacobs’ idea.”
“D-d-doesn’t m-m-matter,” I said. “Y-y-you’re all d-d-dead t-t-to m-m-meOOOOOOOFFF!”
I was interrupted in my threats by the first of many fists in my belly. It sank in through the soft, squishy, bulging flesh up to the wrist, and I did an involuntary sit-up as he held it there for a moment, pressing in deeper.
“Someone hold him down,” my abuser said as I returned to my horizontal position. I felt someone put their hands on my shoulders, holding me down as he began slamming my belly with more punches. His fists rose and fell, rose and fell, plunging into my belly flesh over and over again. I couldn’t do more sit ups because my shoulders were being held down, but my legs jerked and thrashed with each punch, though my feeble kicks didn’t do anything to anyone. Finally after about five minutes of beating, I was done. I teetered on the edge of consciousness, not even resisting as they dragged me back onto my feet. I swayed where I stood until they got my stuff and hustled me out through a back door, texted Garrett on my phone and, on the grassy hill that our school stood on, made their final move.
I personally couldn’t have cared less at this point what happened to me. Not for any lack of caring, but more because I couldn’t focus enough to care. Regardless, it didn’t matter. I stood with all six of them around me with the last guy still filming as he had from the first swing of their baseball bat in the hallway, and one of the guys approached me. He didn’t have a clever quip this time, no teasing or anything. He just wound back and slugged me right in the belly, right on the navel. There was a loud SPLAT and I jackknifed around it as it felt like he could grab my spine from where his fist was, though I didn’t make a sound other than a strangled wheeze. I couldn’t; really, I had no air to spare. He held his fist in my belly for about thirty seconds before jerking it out, causing me to straighten. He and the others then stood back and watched as I fell to my knees, then pitched forward to land flat on my face in the grass.
With that, they congratulated each other and left me there, heading back to the gym locker room where the team met.

Part 2

Garrett found me there within minutes. Even though my belly had just been beaten into paste and burned like it had just been branded, I wanted revenge immediately. I bit through the pain as I stood up and put my shirt back on. Garrett and I left our stuff where he’d found me and we headed towards the gym, more specifically the locker room where the baseball team was. Since he was in better condition, Garrett made me promise outside to only come in if he needed me. Personally I was perfectly fine with this arrangement; my gut still ached like a herd of cows had trampled it, and I felt like if it took one more hit I would puke.
The baseball team’s locker room was in a sort of “U” shape. Two long segments ran parallel to one another, joined together by another horizontal segment. We didn’t know where the team would all be, so we decided to each split up and go through a different door.
I had barely gotten to the door that I would be going in through before I heard the door open and one of the baseball team members start to talk.
“Oh, hey Garrett! What can I do for yoOOOOOOOOOOOMPH?!”
I didn’t even have to be there to guess what it had looked like when the poor sap had opened the door. Most of the baseball team’s exercises went into their legs and arms so that they could run faster and hit harder. The coach didn’t see any value in developing their bodies, and as such they were just as vulnerable down there as I was. I could imagine the guy standing there, one hand on the opened door, most likely shirtless. His eyes would be wide, either his cheeks puffed or his mouth open from the sudden burst of air that had been pressed out of his body. Knowing how hard Garrett punched, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see that his fist had gone so deeply into the guy’s gut that it looked like Garrett’s punch was being sucked into his belly, the flesh of his stomach wrapping around Garrett’s fist like a towel.
“Beat up my friend, will you?” I heard Garrett say before a collection of other loud SPLAT sounds began to reach my ears, accompanied by the “OOF! OOF! OOF! OOF! OOF! OOF!” of the poor guy that had answered the door.
As the noises and cries continued, soon being drowned out by the sounds of a lot of other guys getting into the fray, let me get over to the other door without anyone seeing me. As I jiggled the handle to make sure that the door was unlocked, I craned an ear and listened to how Garrett was doing.
It seemed like chaos on his side. I could hear yelling, loud sounds of impact of varying softness, ranging from THUMP to SPLAT, as well as various sounds of pain and breath loss.
I was guessing that Garrett was winning. Hopefully I wouldn’t get inside to see a pile of baseball guys on top of him beating his insides into jelly like they had to mine. Turning my attention back to the door I jiggled it again. It opened, and I carefully snuck around the door. No one was there; apparently all of them had been drawn towards Garrett. I could still hear the sounds of fighting there, though there were noticeably fewer voices now.
I sneakily crept through the locker room, thankful that Garrett’s intrusion had made everyone else in the rooms go to swarm him. Seeing as Garrett sounded like he was handling himself, I decided to go into the coach’s office. Hopefully I could take him by surprise and knock him out where none of the baseball team members would be able to help him.
I reached the office without incident; pretty much all of the fuss on the other side of the room had died down. I could only hear two voices now, neither of them Garrett’s, both of them sounding like they were in pain and making that fact known between the sounds of impact on their guts.
With that in mind I turned the door handle and entered the office, closing the door behind me. Coach Jacobs’s office wasn’t really all that big; there was enough room for his desk, a few bookcases, and two chairs that stood in front of the desk. Awards hung on the walls and trophies of all shapes and sizes were scattered across the bookcases and his desk. There was also a closet, and I smiled at the sight of it. I could hide in there and ambush the coach as he came back from wherever he was. Simple.
I walked across the office and put my hand on the doorknob. I turned it, and pulled the door open.

To be honest, I should have known better. Coach Jacobs was always wherever the team was when they were all together. It had been stupid of me to think that not only would he not be here, but that he wouldn’t anticipate someone coming into his office. For some reason I hadn’t expected that. And I definitely hadn’t expected his fist to come shooting out of the closet like a cannonball, the full force of it slamming into my stomach like a freight train. My belly had already been savaged when the group that had attacked me in the hallway had beaten it into mush, and that had only happened about ten minutes ago. Because of that, my gut was soft and squishy, and bulged out over the waist of my pants, sagging about three inches down where it normally would. This made it the perfect target for Jacobs’s fist, which impaled me on the navel, sinking in up to his wrist and making me bend over his arm, my eyes wide and my cheeks puffed out hugely. I could only see Jacobs’s grinning face, and I heard him chuckle faintly as I struggled to get air back into my lungs.
“Looks like you didn’t think this through, did you Tom?”
He jerked his fist out of my belly with a sloppy squelching noise, and I let out an enormous gasp as I tried to suck in air to replace what had been belted out of me. The next thing I felt was Jacobs’s fist hitting me again, this time in a huge uppercut to the chin that made me stagger backwards across the office. Jacobs followed me out, and another uppercut hit me in the navel, my belly taking it in with a sloppy splat as he pinned me to the wall with the punch.
“OOOOOOOOMPH!” I whooshed as I felt my organs get pinned between the office’s brick wall and the coach’s brick fist.
“Seems like my boys did quite a number on you, Tom,” he said, looking down at my stomach. It quivered helplessly as it tried to knit my shattered stomach muscles back together, and let out odd gurgles from time to time. Again, I felt lucky that I hadn’t eaten lunch that day.
I let out another wheeze as Jacobs pulled his fist out of my belly. I slid down the wall, wheezing and coughing as I tried to get it together. I was able to look up at Jacobs, who had his arms folded over his chest while tapping his foot. Jacobs was kind of like me, in a way, but was also like the rest of his team. His arms and legs were like steel cords, the product of many years of playing and coaching; he had played in the minor leagues, I remember hearing somewhere. Like me his stomach was wide and somewhat thick, but unlike me it also stuck out past his waist about five inches, creating a noticeable paunch that was not unlike a punching bag.
“I’m guessing you’re here with Garrett?” he asked as I managed to grab onto the windowsill of the office’s single window and pull myself back onto my feet. “I could hear the commotion outside and I doubt that you would have been the one to make it in here.”
“I’ll give you something to d-OOOOOOOOOOOMPH!!!”
My (admittedly hollow-sounding) threat had been cut off midsentence as he had smashed a third uppercut into me, this one again on my navel. This one was actually strong enough to lift me entirely off the floor, the tips of my shoes rising about six inches off the ground as he held me there, his fist sinking in until half of his forearm was in there with it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my back was bending out with the force of the punch.
Jacobs smiled and gently sat me back down, pulling his fist from my belly and letting me give out another gasp. Again this one was cut off, this time as he smashed a hard punch into my cheek, squishing it in and driving me across the room until I gently came into contact with the wall, my other cheek squishing against it and working with Jacobs’s fist to nearly push my eyes shut.
“I gotta say, I can see why the boys were excited when I told them to go out and get you,” he said as he pulled his fist out of my cheek and instead moved his hand down to my shoulder, grabbing it and turning me around to face him. “That belly of yours is like a pillow. I could probably go to sleep on it.”
I would have said that his looked the same way, but his hands swung at me again. This time they were open, and instead of punching they slapped themselves onto my cheeks, smushing my face up as Jacobs pulled me close to him. I looked at him with bleary puzzlement right before I felt the pile driver that was his knee ram into my navel. It came again, and again, and again, each time belting what little air there was left inside my body out again and causing a spray of drool to fly from my lips with each hit.
“MMMMMMMMMPH! MMMMMMMMPMH! UMMMMMMMMMMPH!” I moaned from behind my puckered lips. I went limp as Jacobs let me have three more knees, my legs (already shaking after I had gotten up from the punch that had pinned me to the wall) giving out completely. Jacobs let go of my face and I fell forward, only to be stopped as yet another powerful fist slammed into my belly. I jackknifed around it, collapsing over it as it buried itself up to the wrist in my stomach. A small wad of drool worked its way free of my mouth and splattered on the stone floor. I had had it. I doubt I could have even walked under my own power.
Jacobs patted my back good-naturedly, heading out of the office with me still slung over his fist to meet Garrett.
I was still half-conscious, and so when Jacobs quit moving and gave a low whistle I was able to lift my head and see what had him so impressed. My own eyebrows actually rose as well. I knew Garrett was good, but not that good.
The entire baseball team had been knocked out, and their unconscious bodies littered the entire length of the locker room, all of them stripped to the waist and the majority of them facing upward, their stomachs a deep red and covered in bruises from where they had been knocked out exclusively with gut shots. They were propped up in sitting positions against lockers, slung over benches, piled on top of one another, or simply lying face-flat on the floor. I wondered back then how it must have felt for them, but I didn’t know that a few weeks later that would soon be me on the floor in some way.
Unfortunately, even as I saw Garrett, Garrett saw me too. He shook his head and gave me a fake-exasperated smile, then turned his attention to Jacobs. Jacobs in the meantime just smiled at him, tossing me like cardboard onto one of the piles of unconscious ball players. I landed on my stomach, whoofing loudly as one of the bodies’ elbows caught me right in the gut, digging in deeply. I couldn’t even move to try and get it out; I was stuck with it digging in.
There wasn’t any taunts or anything before Garrett and Jacobs went for one another. I couldn’t see what happened at first, but I did hear.
Garrett’s fist had sunk deeply into Jacobs’s paunch, hitting his shirtless belly right on the navel and sinking in to the wrist. Jacobs’s cheeks were puffed out hugely, his eyes screwed shut. Garrett didn’t pause, ducking down and making his fists into blurs as he pummeled Jacobs’s belly with his fist. Jacobs’s body jerked and spasmed as huge numbers of craters suddenly appeared in his belly, each time making him let out an “Oof!” noise as he was driven back across the room. Each impact made a SPLAT noise; Jacobs’s belly absorbing Garrett’s punches like they were old friends. Eventually they got to the door of Jacobs’s office, left open as he had dragged me out of the room. Jacobs’s hands gripped the frame of the door, though this didn’t make Garrett pause as he switched his method of punching from jabs to hooks. His fists squished into Jacobs’s belly, shoving it from side to side and pushing Jacobs’s belly into great mounds in front of each fist as Garrett punched into his thick, soft belly. Jacobs’s rump snapped backward with each punch, his cheeks puffing up with each blow and a steady cadence of “Oof! Oof! Oof! Oof! Oof!” echoing through the locker room.
Eventually after several minutes of beating, Garrett decided to end his fun. He cocked his arm back and then swung it forward in a hard uppercut, his fist burying itself in Jacobs’s belly up to his elbow. Jacobs let out a loud “Oooooooooooooooff!” that echoed through the locker room, his head coming down on top of Garrett’s, his expression puffy-cheeked and breathless. He slumped on his feet, his hands falling off of the doorframe as his eyes closed. Garrett stepped back, grabbing Jacobs by the shoulders and dragging him back to where I lay. Dragging him over to a different pile of unconscious ball players. Letting go of his shoulders Garrett stepped back, allowing Jacobs to fall to his knees then flat on his face into the pile.
“Pwuh…” the unfortunate recipient of Jacobs’s face hitting his gut puffed, his cheeks puffing up as his unconscious body reacted instinctively.
Garrett walked over to me and pulled me up, slinging one of my arms around his shoulders and smirking at me. “We really need to teach you how to fight better…”
“He caught me off guard,” I said as he supported me while we walked out of the locker room, leaving the floor covered in bodies. “Not my fault.”
“Meh.” Garrett snorted. We kept moving, until eventually we got back to where we had left my stuff. “Oh, and by the way…”
“Huh? OOOOOOOMPH…” I had looked over to Garrett just as he let go of me and swung a hard knee into my gut. It buried deep into my squishy belly and I collapsed over it, my arms hanging limply before Garrett grabbed my shoulder and swung a trio of uppercuts into my navel.
Each punch lifted my feet off of the ground, my cheeks puffing up hugely as all of the breath I had regained was belted out of me. Garrett let go of my shoulder and jerked his fist out of my gut, standing off to the side. I couldn’t even turn my head to look at him before my eyes shut, followed by (according to Garrett, as that marked when I went unconscious) me falling to my knees, then flat on my face in the grass. Again.
Garrett briefly toed Tom’s unconscious body, shaking his head before gathering Tom’s stuff and taking them over to the car. He then came back for Tom’s body, slinging his limp form over his shoulder before carrying him back as well.