I lift my tight red latex skirt slowly, revealing my deep belly button — the hole you fantasize about more than any other. It sits there pulsing, soft, shadowed, shaped like something made to be used, but you don’t get to touch it. You only get to watch. I drizzle warm oil over my stomach, letting it run into the center of my navel until it glistens like a slick, shiny pocket waiting to be filled. The oil pools inside, reflecting light as I dip the tip of my finger in just far enough to tease you, then pull it out again to show how deep it really goes. I start rimming my belly hole slowly, circling the edges with wet fingers, making messy slick sounds as I spread the oil around and push deeper. You hear every slosh and slide, every glide of my finger disappearing into my navel while I inhale deeper, belly twitching from stimulation. My hips lift, my stomach clenches, and I fuck my belly hole faster, fingering myself through the navel while oil drips down my skin. You can do nothing but
