"They once called Rome the navel of the world." We are laying in bed, naked and drowsy with Saturday night's binge drinking still heavy in our limbs and eyelids. He has placed his hand on my stomach, twirling his index finger in my belly button. I open my eyes and regard his sleepy face.
"What brought this on?"
He shrugged. "Just thinking about the trip coming up."
"Hmm, I thought it was Naples."
He smiles. "Naples?"
I shift, turning on my side and tuck my head under his chin. "You know, Naples, navel. Almost homonyms."
"Hominy? Isn't that that white corn like nasty stuff that your mother makes?"
I snicker and tap a finger against his lips. "Never mind."
He wraps his arms around me and I can hear the beat of his heart in my ear. "I think we're both wrong anyway. It's a Native American myth I think. I can't remember."
I sling one leg over his and burrow my face into the humid warmth at the crook of his neck, that tender little fold of skin where neck meets shoulder. "Oranges." My voice is muffled against his skin.
"What?" I can hear the beginnings of laughter in his voice.
"Navel oranges, the ones that sometimes have the little baby oranges growing inside them."
"What about them?"
I wiggle away, dragging myself into a sitting position and I poke a finger into his abdomen to emphasize my point. "Well, the navel is the center. Everything else develops around it. Center of creation, I guess. Like the orange, a new one growing around the navel or a baby growing around the navel."
He looks down at his stomach, less than flat the older her gets, and then looks back at me with a lopsided grin. "Center, huh? Pretty deep thinking for so early. No more tequila nights for you, babe."
I fold my arms over my chest, unintentionally mounding my breasts, getting huffy. "I'm serious. It's the center. That's why something would be the navel of the world. It's important. I think it's also the center of gravity in a human."
He touches his index finger to my belly button again. "So...if I cut your belly button out..." At this point the trails off and proceeds to grab a handful of my soft flesh. He works his fingers in, tickling me unmercifully.
I laugh wildly and my body jerks in uncontrolled spasms as I try to move away from him. He continues tickling me with sadistic glee and pushes his voice into a faux German accent. "In-te-resting. Very in-te-resting. Eet appears zat eeny deesruption of zee navel area causes immediate loss of subject's motor functions."
"Brian, stop! I'm going to wet myself!" I manage to gasp this out as I grope wildly for his hand. He stops then, leaving me gasping and mussed on the suddenly messy bed sheets. I'm tying to catch my breath and suddenly he looms over me. My vision is filled with his face.
He thrusts a hand between my legs and without grace his finger seek the entrance to my cunt. "Looks like you're already wet, sweetheart. " It's true. I can feel the slickness between my legs but it's not arousal. Its just natural juices that have no place to go except my inner thighs. His rough fumbling fingertips are stirring arousal though. They feel so nice.
I laugh and tuck my hands under my head. "Wouldn't that make your job easier."
He dips his head closer and plants a kiss between my breasts. "Oh, it's not a job. Wholly my pleasure."
His hand is still stroking the hood of my clitoris and my inner lips. Wet I might be but his touch still feels rough and friction laden. I don't mind though, the brief contact with my clit is nice. The electric shivers that spark through my pelvis and down into my toes more than compensate. And his warm mouth descending on my nipple is even nicer. "Mm, my pleasure too."
I move my hands and cradle the back of his head as he draws my nipple through his teeth, flickering his tongue against the captured nub of my flesh. I want more contact to my throbbing clit so I part my legs and thrust my hips back against the bed, bringing my clit down against his now motionless fingers. My leg, which he has been straddling, I raises it and press my knee against his steadily hardening dick.
Sadly, he breaks away from my breasts and my nipples are left bruised and aching. I look down and see him laying himself between my legs, arms on either side of me and his chin resting in the little concave spot between belly and cunt. "Tease" I say the word, pushing my lower lip out into a pout.
He smiles at me in distraction. "Nope. A promise." His mouth forms a little frown of thought. "You know, I like navels."
I fold my hands behind my head again. "Why's that?"
"They're such a convenient place to store one's lint. That, and they're like little mini-pussies for my finger." He grins, sticking his pinky into my navel again to demonstrate. "Why do blond girls have sore belly buttons?" He pauses for a beat waiting for me to respond. After a bit he realizes I'm not going to say anything so he delivers the punch line. "Because blond boys are stupid too!" He declares this little tidbit proudly.
I groan and roll my eyes heavenward. "Oh, that's awful!"
He raises himself up, kneeling between my legs and I get an eyeful of his nice bouncy erection. There's a drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip, like a drop of clear sugar glaze on a pastry I like to think. "Can I fuck your belly button, baby?" He gives me another lopsided, goofy grin but his tone is deadpan.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
He leans forward and wiggles his eyebrows. "Is that a yes or a no?"
I smile. "No." I reach for him, wrapping one arm around him, and draw him down. I clench my thighs around his hips and angle my hips to give him entrance. "No, but you can fuck this." He shifts his pelvis to complement the angle of my own.
Strike one: his dick slides between my ass cheeks. I jump. "Not there!" We both laugh and I solve the problem by slipping a hand between us and guiding his twitching cock into me. "There." Home Run, or in this case, Score.
He licks his lips and his voice drops to a whisper as he presses himself forward. "There?" I'm still dry and he meets the resistance of my flesh. It's somewhat painful but I don't mind. I know that after a few strokes it won't be a problem.
"Yes there." He props his arms on either side of my body and picks a rhythm, deciding to fuck me slow and sweet. Each thrust is like a humming bird dipping into a flower's nectar as his dick draws a little more of my body's natural lube upward, coating my inner walls and making the going easier. I am becoming slick and hot and swollen.
I close my eyes and pull him down, pressing my mouth to his. I am too distracted by the magic he's working between my legs to make it a kiss so it becomes nothing more than the press of my lips to his and the transfer of his sweat to my skin. He tastes of salt. It's a good taste, reminding me of last night's tequila. He is moving inside of me in slow deep strokes that I can feel in my stomach and I struggle to work my hips in a counter tempo to his.
He breaks our lip lock to breathe and I mumble, "Faster." Faster, harder, deeper, my mind shouts. He quickens his pace, abandoning depth for speed. The sweet slick movement between my legs is 'delicious' written in my head in huge red letters. I concentrate on trying to concentrate on how exactly his flesh feels inside of mine.
I want to feel every nuance rather than just losing myself in delirious rutting. My mouth wants to yell, "Fuck Me!" I turn it into a string of groans, trying to keep my thoughts from going helter skelter. I'm marveling at how the connection between us is like an umbilical cord, how this act can become the center of the universe for us. I am definitely enjoying myself.
My body is building its self to a climax. I can feel the whispers of orgasm forming. It won't happen but the pressure and tingling sensations are pleasant. I give one more throaty moan and he shoves himself violently into me. His body jerks and twitches before he goes rigid. I can feel the pulsing spurts of his cock and I clench and unclench my PC muscles, milking him and enjoying the contractions of my own little psuedo-orgasm.
He body goes limp, relaxing and sagging against me with all his comforting weight and I can feel his dick doing the same thing. Shriveling inside of me to retreat turtle-like to his folds of skin. I open my eyes and find him looking at me; only from this distance he appears to have only one eye. A bead of sweat drips from his nose onto my lips. I laugh softly and lick it away. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and I tilt my chin up, capturing his lips in a kiss; a real kiss this time.
Inhaling deeply, he rolls off me and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His cock is still wet with my juices and a thick rope of spunk clings to the silken skin, shimmering like a rope of pearls. I can feel the same spunk dripping from inside me as I sit upright. I imagine it catching in the net of my pubic hair. I lay my hand on his chest. "Let's go get some breakfast."
He swivels his head around to eyeball me. "What did you have in mind?"
I smile and give my best approximation of a mischievous wink. "I was thinking pancakes and maybe some fresh O.J. I've got some oranges in the fridge."
He smiles slightly. "What kind?"
I am now trying not to laugh. "Navel, of course. Were you thinking tangerines, maybe?"
He is having trouble keeping a straight face as well. "Sounds like the centerpiece of a lovely brunch there, dear." We both laugh like idiots, amused with our own little puns then we bound out of bed and head for the kitchen.