Claire's Belly

I was forming an idea of the sensation of my head, of soft squares of hard muscle under soft velvety skin, of the shallow divot of her navel, the translucent baby hairs. God, I wanted it.

I was even thinking about screwing up the audacity to do it, right here, right now, and damn the consequences.

Her belly. Up against mine, through the cloth. So close.

I was so horny, and the surprise hug made it so much worse. I worried that she would notice the scent.

If she did, she didn't mention it.

She released me and said, "Goodnight."

Then she was off to bed.

***

She went to her room and I went to mine.

I waited until I thought for sure that she was asleep. I thought that maybe the feeling would subside, the lovely wet discomfort between my legs that didn't give me space to think about anything else.

This wasn't my usual horniness. My fantasies tended to be abstract, just enough fuel to get my masturbation going and flush out my system until next time.

No, this was different. I was horny for her specifically. Even since she'd moved in, I'd never really considered her as a potential sexual partner, even in a purely imaginary sense.

I'd always just imagined her standing there, as she'd been in the hallway. First the general idea of her body, and increasingly the contours of her belly. God, how it must feel to touch it.

But even this was different. Now, I was actually thinking about fucking her.

I threw down my robe, laid out the throw blanket, laid on my back, took up my long, thin, g-spot toy, reached around under my prodigious thigh, and slid its bulbous end inside me without resistance.

Claire.

I started fucking myself, and I took up a small, finger-sized bullet vibe, clicked it on, and touched it to the pad of flesh just above my clitoris. I angled the g-spot toy, guiding it into place.

What would she do?

She was so small. I could throw her on the bed, do as I wanted with her, pin her thin wrists in place while I tasted her mouth, her neck, her nipples, her armpits.

Her belly.

Or, I thought, as I felt myself getting warm, felt the musculature around my pussy starting to relax and sag around the intruding object inside of it, she was so strong. Maybe she would be the aggressor.

As I probed and explored with the long, slender toy, I felt the the telltale early sign of resistance as the head of it started to pull at the thickening flesh. The pressure, the pulling sensation, felt good.

Maybe she would be the one to throw me down, to pin me in place, to explore my body with her mouth. Perhaps there was more of me to explore, but, hell, she said I was beautiful. I think she meant it.

The next bit took some imagination.

I'd never had a lesbian experience, nor had I ever wanted one. I wasn't even sure that this hypothetical scenario would have counted.

I didn't want her because she was another woman. I wanted her because she was her. The owner of that body, the owner of that belly, the thief of my blanket, the pisser in my bathtub.

If she would do those things, maybe she would put her mouth on my pussy.

Oh, sure, men had tried it before, and some of them were even pretty good at it. My ex-husband had been an enthusiastic lover once.

But they all treated pussy-eating as foreplay. Something they had to do, just for a few minutes, to earn the ticket to fuck my pussy while I laid there waiting for them to finish.

That's not what I wanted from her.

I wanted her to love my body with her mouth, to treat it like the main event, to make me feel the way those men made themselves feel when they casually invaded a part of my body with a part of theirs.

As I felt the feeling growing stronger in me, that pressure, that weight, and as I heard my insides become audibly full and squishy, as I pushed the bullet closer to my clit, I pictured her down there.

My orgasm was approaching. I held it back. I knew what else was coming--the wetness, the fireworks. Holding the orgasm back would always make it better.

I wondered, when the moment came, would I warn her? Would she get out of the way?

Or would she look up at me, under those carefully maintained eyebrows, over the whorls of my unkempt pubic hair and the hills of my belly and breasts, and lock eyes with me, exchanging knowing, affirming glances?

Would she smile through her eyes at me as I squeezed out jets of watery girlcum onto her face?

No, I thought, as I felt it building, as I prepared to stop holding back, as my tightening stomach and shaking thighs and bobbing hips could no longer hold the tension.

She would know what I wanted.

I released my breath, released the hold on my body, and I pushed with well-practiced muscles as the orgasm raged through me, as I sprayed my blanket with the musky, slightly floral-smelling ejaculate.

And in my imagination, she rose up, lending me the full sight of her hard torso. It spurring me through my orgasm. She took the cum on her naked belly. It splashed on her like a marble statue in a fountain.

Afterwards, I imagined pulling myself upright with wobbly muscles and cradling her wet, fragrant belly to my cheek as she knelt above me, playing with my hair.

In reality, I laid by myself in a pool of sweat and girlcum, a loose pile of woman among the wet blanket and the warm, slick sex toys all around.

***

The next couple weeks were weirdly normal. It was almost like living with my son again, if he were a pretty girl who didn't hole up in his room so often, if he'd learned to take care of himself better.

We didn't eat together often, though we often left each other little leftovers from meals that we narrowly missed together.

I was now fantasizing about fucking her on a regular basis.

Oh, initially, I tried not to. I told myself that the incident after the bathtub had been a one-time thing, that the obsession I was falling into couldn't be allowed.

But, over time, I was less and less careful. The fantasy became recurrent. She would hold me down, suckle my flesh all over, until she got to my pussy. Then I would come, and I would squirt on her belly.

It was probably good that she wasn't around as much, because I wanted to pull her to me every time I saw her.

This morning, she was out jogging. She'd been a jogger before and had taken it up again. I'd been up late the night before--masturbating and losing track of time, naturally.

I was having something too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. She came home and came into the kitchen in search of water. Sports bra, bike shorts, covered in sweat, her bare abs positively gleaming.

We bid each other a hurried hello before she headed to the shower.

From then on out, her appearance in my fantasies was redefined. No longer was she simply naked. She would have just come back from a jog, decided she wanted me, and had her way with me in her jogging things.

I still overheard her masturbating sometimes. There were no longer any video calls to drive the point home, but I'd heard her enough times that I could tell. No more chance encounters like the bathub, though.

One day, though, I was in my room with the door closed. Not masturbating, rarely enough; I just needed some quiet time. I heard a curt, frustrated sounding knock.

I opened the door. She was standing there in a huge rumpled t-shirt, holding her throw blanket out to me. She looked like she'd gotten dressed in a hurry.

"You can have this back," she said. "I don't need it anymore."

"What happened?" I blurted out.

"Nothing happened. It's never going to happen for me," she said.

"Okay," I said. "Come in and have a seat and we'll talk."

We sat at the foot of my bed. She was already starting to calm down. Good.

"I thought was close that night in the bathtub," she began. "Then, for a while, it didn't happen at all. I think I was just too in my head. Then, today, I was close. I really thought this was it."

"But?"

"I just can't fucking do it," she declared. "Some women just can't, and I'm one of them."

"I know you're feeling strongly about this," I said, putting on my calming mom voice. "But being upset isn't the time to decide important things."

"This isn't important. It's just dumb."

"It is. Your pleasure is important. It's worth insisting on."

"Well, this pleasure is apparently not happening for me."

"You got close. You said so yourself. If you can get close, you can do it. I know it's hard when it doesn't work, but please, don't give up."

"I've been trying, though. I did everything you said."

"What, with the rabbit vibe?"

She sulked. "Yeah."

I got up and gestured to her to come with me. I led her to the closed cabinet in the corner.

I warned her, "This might be a little weird."

I didn't know how she would react when I opened it. I was worried she would think I was sick or gross, but she just looked impressed as she looked over the shelves of lubes and toys of every size and shape.

I selected a long, thin toy with a bulbous head, like the one I'd been using while fantasizing about her.

"It's for you to keep," I said. "Don't worry. I've washed it since the last time I used it.

She took it in her hand. She held it as though she wasn't sure she wanted it.

"Please keep trying," I said. "Anything worth doing is worth practicing."

She nodded.

Then she left.

She'd been in my room, on my bed. I tried not to think too much about how close it was to the start of my fantasies.

***

I was getting used to this pattern of highly sexualized conversations with her, followed by interminable periods where we barely saw each other. I would wonder if anything had even happened between us at all.

As it turned out, less than a day after I gave her the g-spot toy--nearly midnight, in fact--she came bounding into the kitchen. I'd been just about to go to bed, but I became alert as soon as I saw her face.

She was grinning ear to ear. She was in the rumpled t-shirt again.

And, oh god, she smelled good. She smelled like sex. Warm, musky, a little floral, not quite like piss, but something like it.

I grinned back.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

She came over to me, I stood up, and she threw her arms around me.

"Thanks," she said next to my ear, and kissed my cheek.

I went to release her from the hug.

Instead of letting go of me, she stood in front of me, her arms around my shoulders. She looked into my eyes. They were filmy, maybe from crying, maybe from orgasm, maybe from being a little high.

"God," she murmured, more to herself than to me, "I could go back and do it all over again right now."

"Maybe you should."

"I feel like I've unlocked a new superpower."

I smiled. "That's how I felt."

"Is it always this good?"

I thought about my answer. "Sometimes, it might not be as good, but sometimes, it'll be even better. And as much of a pain in the ass as it can be, I've never wanted to go back to how it was before."

She hadn't stopped smiling. "I almost wish I could show you. Sorry, I know that's weird."

I was instantly wet.

No, my dear. Not weird at all.

I said, "I bet it's really something."

We stood there, her arms around me, mine at my side. It was getting awkward. I wondered if I should hug her again.

Instead, she kissed me again, a peck on the lips this time. I felt a pang deep within my middle. My hairs stood on end.

She said, "K. I gotta go."

Then she was gone.

***

I was having breakfast early. Early by my standards, anyway.

She came into the kitchen in her jogging clothes. She was still dry, wasn't flushed. She hadn't been out yet.

As it had become utterly routine by now, I flicked my gaze at her bare abs, saving today's image in my mental spank bank for later use.

"Listen," she said.

She was trying to be casual.

No good conversation has ever started out this way.

It was a long, winding intro, the kind you give when you don't want to say what you're about to say and you're trying to soften it up or put it off.

But the gist of it was, she was moving out. She had talked to some grad student friends who were going out of the country on research, and they'd agreed to sublet their place for cheap in about a month.

I watched her the whole time, feeling a heavy mix of emotions. I was disappointed, sad, bereft, both because I genuinely liked her and because the horny part of me still held out its irrational hope.

But she was so cute and flustered in trying to break the news to me, and it didn't escape me that she'd been working hard and saving money. Now she could afford a place of her own. I loved that for her.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" she said, a little timid.

I stood up, and I wondered if it would be appropriate to hug her, but she hugged me first. Our bellies touched through my faded camisole. I felt the instant flutter, the flow of blood to my genitals.

My hands were on the small of her bare back. Her bare belly was right there. All I had to do was move them around to the front.

She looked so good, smelled so good. Her body was hard, her skin was soft.

I felt magnetically drawn to her. My hands wanted to roam. I felt them start to slide, coming to a temporary detent on her narrow waist. Amid my awareness of her belly was the growing warmth in my pussy.

She rested her chin in the crook of my neck and sighed deeply. She didn't let go, but the sigh felt heavy, like she was about to say something important.

I was debating whether or not to ask, but she spoke up.

"I think about you," she said.

The way she said it, I didn't have to ask what she meant.

"I think about you too," I murmured.

I felt her nod next to my ear.

"I figured," she said.

Fuck me. Please.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I hope this doesn't make it weird."

"No. It doesn't. And that's the thing."

I thought she would release me, but she didn't, and I didn't release her. I was getting hyperconscious of the feeling of her body against mine, in my arms. My body was reacting, completely out of my control.

She said, "I know it's weird, even if I don't feel like it is."

I didn't say anything. There was a tension in her hands that I could feel on my back, like she wanted to nervously wring my flesh.

She whispered, "I mean... you're his mom."

I said, "He doesn't own you."

"No. I guess he doesn't."

I knew it was bullshit. Even if it was technically true, I could never have her. It would blow up my life, and probably hers, too.

She loosened her grip, so I loosened mine. She let go and turned around. My hands fell away from her. She didn't exactly step away. I heard her saying something sharp under her breath.

She was still so close.

As fixated as I'd been on her belly, she was lovely to look at from behind. Tiny little round ass, toned back, prominent dimples of venus. I boiled inside, so fixated was I on the petite body in front of me.

In that moment, if I'd asked her to fuck me, I was sure she would have.

But, in the end, that wasn't where my heart led me.

I was struck with an impulse, so hard that I couldn't have suppressed it if I wanted to. I was fully aware that I was doing something without asking, with no way of knowing if it was okay with her.

I slipped my hands around her waist from behind, pulled her to me, pressed myself into her backside, put my hands on her bare belly, and hugged her to me.

Her muscles tensed under my hand, ever so briefly, then relaxed, still firm and defined through her skin against my palms, yet softer than I'd ever imagined. They felt electrical, instantly fixed in my memory.

If I'd asked for permission, she would have said no, whether she meant it or not.

Her hands clasped mine, but did not move them. I felt her body relax into mine. Feedback loop of the heartbeat pulsing in my pussy, under my belly, through her body, through her belly, through our hands.

She smelled so good. She felt so good. The ridges of her abdominal muscles through her soft skin agitated the sensitive nerves of my palms better than any vibrator that had ever touched me.

She sighed again, said something else sharp, a whisper to herself that I couldn't hear. Indistinct. Breathy.

Aroused.

As incredible as it seems, as unlikely, I felt it building in me, a tension at the base of my body, completely independent of any direct contact. A warmth, an itch, running riot in my body against my will.

I had an orgasm.

It was small. Not one of my big spectacles, but a modest orgasm, unbidden by human hands. I couldn't help it.

I breathed hitching breaths at the back of her head, near her ear. My body tensed, relaxed, weakened against her back. Though I said nothing, there was no way she didn't understand what had happened.

She let me hold her a while longer, let me hold her belly, my hands clasped by hers. Then, with the gentlest touch, like a lover withdrawing in post-coitus, she lifted my hands away from her.

She looked over her shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes.

"Please don't regret anything," she said.

She left to go on her jog.

I stood there in the kitchen, my knees weak, staring at the door long after it had closed behind her.

The crotch of my bike shorts was soaked; my bare thighs were wet where they made contact. The air in the kitchen was heavy with sweat and cum. My hands, dangling at my sides, thrummed with ineffable energy.

***

I didn't see much more of her before she moved out. Whatever had happened between us went unspoken forevermore.

One morning, close to the end of her time with me, I was at the table. I getting started early on some work I'd brought home when she came in. She was dressed like she had somewhere to be.

She put some coffee in a to go cup. Before she left, we exchanged a few pleasantries. She was standing exactly where I'd been standing when I held her in my arms and came in my pants.

Apropos of nothing, she asked, "Did you ever have any partners after your husband?"

I looked up from the unruly stack of papers and manila folders. "Partners?"

"You know," she said.

Yeah. I knew.

"A few," I said. "A bunch, at first. I was kind of on a rampage, actually. He and I had gotten pretty distant by the end, and I was happy to be off the leash."

"But you're not with anyone now."

"No. I got it out of my system pretty quickly."

"So none since then?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Don't want 'em. Don't need 'em."

She said, "Are you sure that's for the best?"

She was looking at me so expectantly.

I didn't want to lie to her.

So I didn't say anything.

~THE END~