Arthur sighed and nodded. He put down the weights and stood up, then took off his sweatshirt, even though the gym was cold now that it was empty. His chowder white chest was pale, and goosebumps dappled his arms. He flexed his pecs and abs.
Buck punched Arthur in the gut. Not that hard the first time, but hard nuff to make Arthur’s chest ripple.
“You okay?”
Arthur nodded. “I’m fine — I can fight, Buck. I can. Them glasses woulda-” He oomphed as Buck’s fist collided with his belly once more. “They woulda got broke if I fought that man too.”
“Uh-huh,” Buck said. Again, again and again, Buck punched him in the stomach. Then Buck paused to make sh’ore Arthur weren’t plussing. Arthur stayed still with his arms flexed, hands gripping each other behind his back. Arthur’s face was tense, his perfect six-pack ruddying up with each smack.
Arthur bit back a grunt. He stonefaced, as punch after punch landed upon his gut. Ruddy skin and blooming bruises spread o’er his midsection.
“A’ight, you done good,” Buck said when his shoulders begun to weary.
Then when Arthur took a breath and relaxed, Buck let loose as hard as he could, driving a fat fist into Arthur’s flat belly. Arthur oomphed that one down and doubled o’er, but he took it okay. Buck laughed, patted him on the back with one hand and twisted his nipple with t’other.
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MN Manmacker's mansploitation