This piece landed in my email a few days ago. I know nothing about the person who sent it to me apart from their email address. If this is your piece and you would like me to link to a social media profile then please do get in touch and let me know.
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Outie
It invites trouble by appearance alone.
Protruding, oh so slightly; a knotty eminence, small-marbled in shape, peeking beyond its natural depth.
I have an outie.
Beneath her, tied, the trace of fingernails along my abdomen have me aware of how vulnerable it is.
The slightest brush of skin awakens me. She strokes the tip of her finger upon the base of my belly button, marking her target, drawing circles with curious intent.
Her touch explores the intricacies of my outie; its hard, tight peak, with lines of flesh radiating to its centre, is discovered to deliver jolts of pleasure. The softer, slightly inwards underside, stroked into with as much finger as it will allow, delivers a sudden tingle that make my hips tighten.
My senses deviate, from the feel of skin on skin, to the warmth of her mouth lingering above my abdomen. I wonder for her next move; will it come from her lips, or maybe her tongue? Suddenly, she blindsides me with the unexpected sensation of nibbling on my navel. I feel her tug on it lightly, as if to take my belly button between her teeth and pull it from my stomach. Her tongue works in sync to excite me further. How can such a small spot produce so much pleasure?
She has me worked up. Now she must finish me.
But not before I commit her moves to memory.
I guide my eyes to her navel. Flat, pierced; suddenly sexy.
It will be explored.
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