Contemplating My Navel

      16 Comments on Contemplating My Navel


I’m tired tonight.  Not the kind of tired that is bone deep, but the kind that is just deep enough.  Deep enough to drift but not dream, to gaze but not see.

And so gaze I do.

At my belly button.

Propped against my pillows, shoulders slightly elevated, I look down my torso and contemplate my navel.

Tracing my fingers over my dragon tattoo, I let my eyes trail where my fingers lead.  In slow sweeping motions, my fingertips follow the contour of my ink, and I watch as though from afar while the pad of my ring finger swirls around the edges of my belly button.

I love your belly.

The words he said play on repeat inside my head, and while I stroke my skin a series of images – like stills from several different silent movies – move in slideshow snapshots behind my eyes.

Him, pressed chest-and-shoulders between my thighs, kissing the outline of my tattoo, dipping his tongue into my belly button, butterflying kisses around it as my pussy drips its kisses onto his chest.

Grapes, placed one by one inside my navel for him to pull out with his mouth – no hands; just lips, tongue, and teeth – and eat.

His hands, large and strong.  The right hand palm-pressing my mons while his fingers press and twist inside me.  The left spanning my lower abdomen, covering my dragon from tip to tail, pushing down to draw the spiraling heat of my impending orgasm tighter against the back side of my belly button.

The pad of his middle finger, pushing and swirling inside that centriole as my own finger does the same against my clit.

At this last thought, my hands mimic these movements and I exhale a breath laugh at the sensations I am causing myself.  The fingers of my left hand are playing with my navel while the fingers of my right hand find and press the slick swollen button of my clit.  It tickles slightly, and it feels…



Surprisingly good.

The sensation takes some adjustment, but I ride it out, watching my mental slide show and feeling the gathering storm shooting lightning from my core.  Picturing…

Him, gripping my waist, holding tight to my sides and stroking his thumbs over my belly as he devours my cunt with his hungry mouth.

His cock, hot and hard and slick with massage oil, trapped by my hands, sliding against my stomach in a delicious frottage.  His sensitive head sending shudders through his body every time it dips against the tip of my belly button.

His hand, pressing hard against my tummy to pull me back into him as we spoon together and he fucks into me from behind.

My blood is thunder, rumbling through my veins.  I pull my dripping cream onto my questing fingers and push in harder and harder circles against my clit, pressing the other hand against my belly with enough force to feel my heartbeat thrumming hot inside my navel.

And just as I trip over the edge, I hear his voice again inside my head.

I love your belly.


I think he needs to *show* me he loves my belly.

And exactly how much.


16 thoughts on “Contemplating My Navel

  1. K.Quinn

    I love this perfect pearl : ‘my blood is thunder’ ! . . concise yet huge. And I love that when you write about your other half you capture an image of the deep bond you have. Lucky you.

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I’ve had a considerable struggle, health-wise, with what’s *behind* my belly button. So it’s been healing for me to learn to embrace my imperfect belly, button and all. 🙂

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I was joking with someone that I might have a naval fetish. Not that sailors really do much for me, but I do like a man in uniform. And back when I wore underthings, I was obsessive about them matching, just in case I had to be rescued by a fireman or a Navy SEAL. (Or a Jedi knight, etc.)

Comments are closed.