NavelStories™

My name is West, and I am now 20 years old, though this story takes place when I was younger. I am 5’11’’ and reasonably well built because of years of both tennis and football. I have really dark brown hair and blue eyes. My athletic talent made me popular, and my resulting body allowed me to get almost any girl… except the one I wanted most: my Younger cousin Bethannie, or Beth as we call her, who is perfect. She is beautiful; she stands at 5’5’’ with brown hair and hazel eyes which usually look green. She has very fair skin, pouty full lips, and the most beautiful smile. Her breasts are amazing, a very full c cup at least, and her ass is to die for. She has spent years building it up with dance, which also pleasantly resulted in greater flexibility. But more than her physical aspects, she is intelligent and slightly shy. She is rebellious and amazingly sweet. I’ve never known anyone like her, her behavior always surprises me. My feelings started developing years ago, though I c...

She appeared at my front door, barefoot, her stringy, unkempt honey brown hair looking a mess as always, her play dress worn and tattered, carelessly holding her grimy naked rag doll by the neck, her doleful brown eyes looking up at me expectantly, her face smudged with dirt.� She was a mess.� She was always seemed to be a mess.� It was well past 10 PM and she was alone... again... and at my doorstep. "Hi, sweetie," I greeted kindly.� "It's kind of late. Isn't your mother home?"� She shook her head and stepped inside. Lindsey was her name.� Eight years old and neglected.� Over the past few years she showed up on my doorstep more times than I can count, seeking safety, seeking comfort, seeking attention, seeking something to eat.� As a human being, her mother was a rather worthless specimen, but I suppose her mom�could have been worse.� No telling where she was, who she was with, or when she would show up again.� It was a pattern...

We were having a sleepover. My friend and I had done so many times before. Recently however, something changed. The things is,� I had begun to take interest in his little sister  Kassie . Over the last few months I savored every opportunity to peer down her shirt or catch a glimpse of her panties. I was twelve and  Kassie  had just turned nine. We were actually quite close and I never minded when she tagged along with us. Even before I began to delight in her body. My friend however, occasionally got annoyed when his parents insisted we let her play with us. Let me tell you, she was a real cutie. She had this way of cutting her eyes at me with a naughty smile and she liked to run her fingers through my hair and rub up against me.� My friend ignored her, but I couldn't. There had been other sleepovers. During one of them I actually caught a glimpse of the girl on her way back from the shower. She had been dressed in nothing but a towel. That image of her fuel...

“ Who’s there?” she called. “Room service”, came the reply, almost automatic, muted slightly by the weight of the closed door. Laurie rose from the bed and stood, curling her toes for a moment in the thick weave of the carpet, and walked over to the door. She opened it with a smile, and enjoyed a look of shock and embarrassment register on the porter’s face. She stood lithe and tall in nothing but black fishnet stockings and suspenders, black lace panties, a peephole bra, a long pearl necklace wrapped twice around her neck shrouded in dirty blond hair, and nothing else. The porter’s eyes panicked, trying to drink in and record as much of this image as possible before it was snatched away while trying to appear to maintain his composure. Laurie took the tray from the porter and winked knowingly at him, his mouth open and twitching slightly as though a thousand words had become log-jammed in his larynx and each was fighting to be the one that made it out. She turned and flicked...

Since Aaron and Cara had met in that dimly lit nightclub a year earlier, with its oppressive noise and greasy walls, its energetic lights and its vital crowds packed hip-to-hip facing the DJ like cattle round a trough, they had vowed never to go back. Their dislike for the venue is what had propelled them together; their first encounter was driven by their mutual aversion to the place. Eventually that same evening they had ducked away from their friends and gone home together, where they discovered in one another a voracious desire for uninhibited pleasure. Quickly they began to share something far more fulfilling to do on the weekend than bob up and down like leaking boats in deafening nightclubs that they hated and their friends loved, or at least pretended they loved. They began to explore each other, to test the boundaries of their pleasure, as though they alone were reinventing sex. In the year that they had been together, they had traveled the entire spectrum of sexual adve...

The theme for the cocktail party was masquerade. Odile had one of her many little black dresses, topped with a decadent black mask that she got at a vintage shop. A man wearing a tuxedo without the bowtie, and a gorgeous mask that covered two thirds of his face appeared next to her. What she saw made her want to see more of him. They were standing near the bar, where she admired the way the tuxedo accentuated his body. She was surprised that she felt herself get wet, startled because she did not recognize it at first. Not until the first bit of gin filled her chest. His elbow brushed hers, and she felt their contact zing through her entire body. He looked at her briefly, and although her cocktail dress provided more décolletage than she would show during the day, it was not that provocative. But when the masked gentleman looked at her and she saw his eyes linger in the direction of the swell of her bust with her peripheral vision, she felt completely nude. She carried her gin a...