One evening in the middle of summer, I found myself in Albuquerque on a business trip. Maybe it was the balmy New Mexico air, or the fact that I had earlier spotted a teenage girl strolling down Central Avenue, dressed in white low rider jeans and a cranberry-colored crop top that showed off her navel, but in any event, when I got back to my hotel, I was beside myself with lust and I decided to call an escort service.
An earnest young woman with an English accent answered the phone and asked me what kind of girl I was looking for. "Someone in her early twenties," I said, "preferably pretty with a warm personality, and not overweight." "Anything else?" asked the earnest young woman, as if she were taking an order at McDonald's. "Yes," I said -- "I have a thing about women's bellies and bellybuttons -- what turns me on more than anything else is a flat brown belly and a deep set innie bellybutton." "Pierced or unpierced?" asked the earnest young woman. "Unpierced," I said. There was a long pause while the young woman typed (or so I assume) my "specifications" into her computer. I was about to ask her whether she was still there when she said, "I think I have just the right girl for you; her name is Nicole, and she'll be there within the hour."
As it turned out, it was closer to two hours before Nicole showed up. I had been pacing up and down the room and was about to call another escort service when there was a soft knock at the door, and a beautiful young woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair -- clad in tight-fitting jeans and a stylish black leather coat tied up in a knot at the waist -- entered the room. "Hi," she said brightly. "I'm Nicole."
We took care of the finances, and -- still dressed in her black leather coat -- Nicole told me to get undressed and to make myself comfortable. "So," she said, standing at the foot of the king-sized bed once I was completely naked, "I hear you like women's bellies." She slipped off her coat to reveal a bright white tee shirt, tucked into her jeans. "Would you like to see mine?" she said.
"Yes," I said, "I would like that very much."
Nicole untucked her tee shirt, and slowly, slowly hoisted it over her head, revealing the most beautiful flat brown belly I think I have ever seen, discretely-muscled and with a long, narrow slit of a bellybutton, her tight little belly covered with a silvery sheen of tiny hairs, and her nipples -- which you could see through her tee shirt -- small and erect.
"Would you like to watch me masturbate?" said Nicole, opening her pocketbook and pulling out a six-inch ivory-colored vibrator.
Fully undressed now, Nicole propped herself up on the pillow, and I watched the slow, steady rise and fall of her gorgeous flat schoolgirlish belly, her pale white breasts startling against the tan of her stomach, the tan-line dipping in a sweeping parabola below her navel, as if she had made a conscious effort to expose of much of her belly to the sun as possible.
Her thighs spread, her delicate feet flat on the bed, Nicole produced a bottle of lubricant which she carefully applied to the tip of the vibrator. "Relax," she said. "You're going to watch me have an orgasm, and after that I'm going to watch you."
Although she started out by teasing her clitoris, it wasn't long before the vibrator' s length had been swallowed by her vagina, and her breathing became more and more intense. It wasn't long before she announced her impending orgasm, and I could see the muscles in her flawless brown belly begin to spasm, so intensely that I almost thought she was having a seizure. She let out a prolonged wait from somewhere deep at the back of her throat, and her entire body launched into a series of convulsions the likes of which I had never seen before and will almost certainly never see again. In short, as Sadaam said of battles, the mother of all orgasms, including a series of high-pressure squirts that looked like pee and shot across the foot of the bed.
"Now," she said, after her orgasm had finally subsided, "it's your turn. I want to watch you come." By this time, I was hard as a sledgehammer, and explained to her that I masturbate not by hand but by rubbing my cock against the sheets -- or in this case, the hotel comforter -- until I come. Nicole frowned --a kind of pretend frown, more quizzical than even remotely hostile -- and said, "but I want to see your sperm come out, and I won't be able to if you get off on the comforter." "I'll lift myself up," I told her, "just before I come," and she smiled. "Okay," she said. "Sounds like a plan."
"Do me a favor," I said. "Undulate your belly -- you know, like a belly dancer." Nicole repositioned herself on the bed and started to do just that. I could see her tiny belly hairs glimmering in the light of the lamp.
It wasn't long before I knew that I couldn't hold back any longer, rubbing back and forth on the comforter, and I hoisted myself up on my arms, ready to shoot my wad. "You have a nice ass," said Nicole, "the way you grind it, it must feel good." "Yes," I said, almost apoplectic with lust, the sap rising in my balls, "I'm going to come."
"Wait," said Nicole. You can come on my tummy if you'd like. Fill my bellybutton with your seed. I'd like that, I really would."
She handed me the lubricant she had earlier placed on the tip of her vibrator, and I began to rub it in to my cock. Kneeling between her open legs, I began to stroke my penis faster and faster, until I could stand it no longer, and a bolt of sperm shot out of the tip and landed in her cavernous navel, followed by another and another and another, until her nutbrown belly was drenched in my sperm, which she then began to rub into her navel with the tips of her fingers.
Five minutes later, she was gone. I will never see her again, of course, but I will never forget her, either. It was, quite simply, the most powerful orgasm I have ever had in my life, bar none, and for that I have to thank a svelte young woman in a black leather coat with a flat brown belly and a navel to die for.
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