The Virgin Navel

Irfan left, but his mind stayed behind—trapped in the memory of Ponam’s navel. It was deeper than any he’d known, a hollow that promised to satisfy a hunger years in the making. He couldn’t erase the details: the mole above her navel like a target, its twin on her waist, the impossibly soft fold of skin that yielded under his press. His every thought narrowed to a single goal: to enjoy her. All of her.

He put his connections to work, quietly digging into Karthik and Ponam’s life. The pattern soon became clear: Karthik left each day after lunch, not returning until evening. A window. A perfect, private window.

A plan took shape. He would visit each morning under the guise of discussing business—budgets, plans, anything to get through the door. And once inside, he would get closer to Ponam. Closer to that dancer’s waist, that hungry navel, and the woman who owned them.

The next day, Irfan went to their house in the afternoon. His heart was beating fast as he rang the bell. The door opened, and there stood Ponam, dressed in a white Bengali saree draped in the traditional way. Only that side curve of her waist was exposed, but just seeing her, Irfan felt instantly hot. Her skin looked even creamier against the pure white silk.

She smiled softly. “Please come in,” she said, and he followed her inside, his eyes locked on the gentle sway of her hips.

Karthik was in the living room. Irfan, playing his part perfectly, spoke to him. “Karthik, we need to discuss the item’s transport budget. All this stuff about our business needs proper planning.”

Karthik nodded thoughtfully. “You are right, we do need to plan them. But now I am going to see to my other business. No problem. I will join you in the evening. You just stay here till evening. I will come fast and join you.” With a quick pat on Irfan’s shoulder, Karthik left the mansion.

Irfan sat down on a chair, placing his diary on the table. He pretended to start writing a few numbers, but his entire focus was on Ponam, who was moving around, tidying up. After about five minutes, Ponam came and sat on the sofa near him.

“What are you writing?” she asked, her voice curious.

He looked up, feigning distraction. “It’s just a few finance numbers about our business.” He closed the diary slightly. “Are you interested in this finance stuff?”

Ponam shook her head gently. “No, not really.”

“Then what are your interests?” Irfan asked, leaning back as if making casual conversation.

A light came into her eyes. “I love to dance. I actually wanted to be a dance teacher one day.”

Irfan’s pulse quickened. “What form do you teach?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“I know a lot of forms, but I am not so perfect to teach them all,” she replied modestly.

Then, Irfan asked the question he had been waiting to ask. “Do you know belly dance?”

Ponam was visibly shocked. Her eyes widened for a second, and a faint blush touched her cheeks.

Irfan quickly added, smoothing over the tension, “As your mother was a belly dancer, I thought you must be knowing that dance.”

Ponam, with some shyness and embarrassment, looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I know that form.” Then, with a sudden, quiet pride, she added, “And I am more perfect in that form than any other.”

So now Irfan said, “That’s good. Why don’t you become that teacher then?”

Ponam’s face fell. She replied, “No, Karthik doesn’t like all these. So I would not. And that’s why I do those dances only after he leaves.”

Irfan told her, “There is nothing wrong in that. It’s your passion.” Just then, a slow, gentle rain started to fall outside, pattering against the windows.

Irfan looked out and got an idea. “Let’s go to the terrace,” he suggested.

She first said no, hesitant. “It’s not proper,” she said. But the sound of the rain was tempting. After a moment, she agreed, and they both went up to the open terrace.

The rain was cool and soothing. Irfan, throwing all caution to the wind, started to dance in the rain. He spread his arms and looked up at the sky, letting the droplets hit his face. At first, Ponam was very shy, standing under the shelter. But seeing him enjoy himself so freely, a smile touched her lips. Soon, slowly, she also started to dance, her movements graceful and fluid.

Now, all of Irfan’s eyes went to her navel. He was expecting her saree to move and shift while dancing so that he could finally see her navel. But that pin, which he hated the most, was not allowing the saree to move and show him her navel. He was so frustrated, his eyes burning with hatred for that tiny piece of metal.

But for his luck, her white saree got wet. The soaked fabric became transparent, clinging to her body. Through the wet silk, he could see the outline of her navel. It was so big, a deep shadow in the center of her belly. He was somewhat happy seeing that clear outline, a preview of the treasure hidden beneath.

Soon, both of them stopped dancing, tired and breathless. They were both drenched. They went downstairs, and Ponam said, “We need to dry ourselves.”

Now, Irfan got a new hope. His mind raced back to the wooden box. If he could again go into that wooden box, he might see that deep navel once again, this time without any cloth in the way.

“I’ll use the washroom first,” he said quickly and rushed off. But instead of heading for the washroom, he hurried straight to her room in the mansion. He squeezed himself into the large, empty wooden trunk near her dressing mirror—the same box he’d hidden in yesterday—and peered through the air holes, waiting for Ponam to arrive.

Two minutes later, Ponam walked into the room. She picked up a towel and started drying her hair. She looked amazing in her wet white saree. The soaked cloth stuck to every curve of her body, showing everything.

Then she reached for her pallu. His heart almost stopped. She took out the pin!

Irfan could barely stay still, he was so excited. She started unwrapping her wet saree, letting the silk fall slowly until it lay in a wet pile on the floor. He couldn’t look away. Her bare belly was shining and glowing, still damp from the water. Her navel looked even deeper now—a dark, inviting dip that seemed to call him. The two moles on her waist were driving him crazy. The one above her navel made him want to kiss it. The one on her side made him want to bite it.

But the thing he couldn’t stop staring at were the tiny drops of water on her skin.

As she breathed, her stomach moved up and down. One drop of water trembled right on the edge of her navel—and then slipped inside. He watched, holding his breath, as it disappeared into that deep, dark hole.His cock was painfully hard. Just watching, he leaked in his pants, a warm, damp patch spreading.

More drops rolled slowly down her stomach. One by one, they slipped over the edge and vanished into that hungry hollow. They were gone forever, like her navel was a greedy little mouth that swallowed everything. Nothing ever came back out.

That’s when he truly understood. Her navel wasn’t just deep—it was endless. It was the perfect, secret place he’d been dreaming of. A place where he could lose his whole tongue, his whole hunger.And it was right in front of him.

Right then, he decided. Whatever the cost, whatever the risk, he would dare it. He would have her navel. He would have her.

She dried herself off in a few minutes. Irfan was already lost, watching her wet belly. Then she tied her saree and locked her pallu with a pin. Irfan hated that pin right away—it was hiding the treasure he wanted to see forever.

She started calling his name, looking for him, and left her room. By then, Irfan was so turned on. He came out from his hiding spot, wet but dried himself a little, and went to Ponam, who was looking for him.

Just then, Karthik came back. “Why are you both wet?” he asked.

They told him about what happened on the terrace. Karthik said, “Okay, so should we plan the budget now?”

But Irfan was too horny to focus. “I’m too tired,” he said. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”

Karthik agreed, and Irfan left.

On his way out, he glanced at Ponam’s belly and navel, covered by her saree. But he could still imagine her wet navel and the water drops. He could only see the side curve of her waist before he went home.

When he got home, all he could think about was her deep navel, the moles, and those water drops. He was lost in his thoughts.

Then he saw his table fan.

An idea hit him. He would gift one to them. That way, when he turned the fan on, the strong breeze might blow her saree pallu away… and he could see her navel again

The next afternoon, Irfan showed up with two table fans.

Karthik opened the door. “What are these for?”

“I saw your big house doesn’t have fans on the veranda or near the dining table,” Irfan said. “These are from my business. A small gift.”

They put one fan on the veranda and one in the dining area. Then, Ponam walked out of the kitchen.

She was wearing a bright red cotton saree. Irfan’s breath caught. The red made her skin look so soft and white, like a perfect, ripe apple. She was beautiful.

She smiled at him. They turned on the veranda fan and started talking about business and money, but Irfan couldn’t focus. His eyes kept following Ponam as she moved around the house, her saree flowing, her waist showing when she bent down.

After a while, she came and sat in a rocking chair nearby. Then Karthik’s phone rang—a call from his shop. He had to go.

“Stay for dinner,” Karthik said to Irfan. “I’ll be back in two hours. We’ll talk then.”

Karthik left.

Now they were alone.

Irfan pretended to write numbers in his notebook, but he was really watching Ponam. She was resting in the rocking chair, her eyes closed, her body relaxed. Slowly, her breathing became deep and steady. She had fallen asleep. And he was right there, watching her, his thoughts already racing.

He watched her sleep, so beautiful in that red saree. She was resting in the rocking chair, her chest moving up and down with each soft breath. The cloth of her blouse got tight and then loose with every breath. Her saree covered most of her body, but her waist curve was bare. That curve looked like a perfect, sexy half-moon, with a small, tempting mole on it.

To him, she looked exactly like a red Shimla apple. Her red saree was like the peel, and her smooth, white skin was the sweet fruit inside—the part he wanted to bite and taste so badly. He wanted to bite that curve and that mole until she felt it.

But he needed to see her navel. He couldn’t. So he took the table fan and moved it close to her, pointing it right at her waist. The wind blew, and her saree moved a little, but that annoying safety pin kept everything covered. He hated that pin more than anything. It was the worst thing in his life right now. He tried looking from different sides, but he still couldn’t see his treasure.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to touch that curve, that mole. Slowly, he put his finger on her skin. It was warm and soft like butter. She didn’t move. He got braver and placed his whole hand on that smooth, warm curve. It felt like perfect marble. He started to rub it gently, loving how it felt. He wanted to squeeze it but was scared she’d wake up.

He had to see her navel. He needed to get that pin off.
He moved closer, his hands shaking as he tried to open the safety pin. Just then, Ponam moved in her sleep. He jumped back, scared, and quickly went back to his chair, his heart beating fast. His chance was over for now.

A few minutes later, Ponam woke up. She saw Irfan at the table and asked if he wanted coffee. She brought him a cup, and they started talking. Irfan was very charming and funny, making her laugh a lot. She felt a good, comfortable vibe with him.

Inside, Irfan was pleased. She’s getting comfortable. This is good. But another thought was burning even hotter: I need to see her navel today. No matter what.

Then she said, “Karthik asked you to stay for dinner. What would you like?”
“Whatever you make is fine,” he replied smoothly.

They went into the kitchen. As she began to cook, Irfan kept talking, but his mind was only on one thing—how to see her navel.

While speaking, his eyes fell on her waist. What he saw made his heart stop.

Her skin was glistening with a light sweat from the heat of the kitchen. But what caught him completely was the soft, deep fold on the curve of her hip. Tiny beads of sweat were rolling down her side, gathering at the top of that fold, and then slipping inside, tracing a slow, wet path down that hidden, creamy curve.

The sight drove him crazy. He lost all control.

Without thinking, he suddenly grabbed her shoulder and turned her toward him. Before she could say anything, he fell to his knees in front of her. His hands moved to her waist, and he quickly removed the safety pin from her saree and threw it aside.

He began to pull the saree away from her waist, wanting to see her navel, which he had been thinking about for a long time.

Ponam gasped in shock. She pushed him away with both hands and stepped back. Holding the loose end of her saree tightly around herself, she stared at him with fear.

Now Irfan saw Ponam in her scared state, her eyes wide as she asked, “What did you just do?”

“I am so sorry, Ponam,” Irfan replied, his voice low and intense. “But I couldn’t control myself. From the day I saw you… you were so hot. That waist made me your fan. Those curves drove me mad. And that deep, hungry navel… it made me obsessed. With it, and with you. Since that day, all I’ve wanted was to see your navel, to kiss it, lick it, eat it, and enjoy it so much.”

Hearing all this, Ponam was too shocked to speak.

Seeing this as his chance, Irfan slowly moved closer. “I am dying to kiss it,” he whispered, his voice pleading. “Since the day I saw it, my lips have been fighting to touch it first, and my tongue has been dying to lick it. Please… just allow me to do that.”

He started to kneel again, his hands reaching for her saree.

This time, she reacted fast, pushing his hands away. “No! Are you mad, Irfan? I can’t do that!” she shouted, her voice trembling as she began to scold him.

But his entire focus was still on her navel. Just then, they heard Karthik’s voice and the sound of him entering the mansion.

Ponam whispered urgently, “Please, leave the kitchen!”

But Irfan was stubborn. “At least show me your navel,” he begged softly. “Just let me see it so I can have a good, happy day.”

She wasn’t convinced. As Karthik’s footsteps grew closer, Irfan quickly got up. By the time Karthik entered the kitchen, they were both standing normally, acting as if nothing had happened.

Now Karthik and Irfan began discussing business and the budget, moving to the dining area. Karthik turned on the table fan, and they started to talk. But Irfan’s thoughts were completely fixed on Ponam and her navel. He was scared, replaying her reaction in his head. What if she tells Karthik? I might never see her navel again. He cursed himself for not being faster—if he had reacted quicker, he could have pulled her saree away and at least seen it. The missed chance made him feel heavy and depressed.

As they spoke, waiting for dinner, Ponam entered carrying a bowl of curry. As she walked past the table, the fan’s breeze caught her saree. For a single, breathtaking second, the fabric lifted and gave Irfan a clear view of her bare belly and her deep navel.

Irfan’s world stopped. He was flooded with happiness and a rush of heat. She hurried back to the kitchen, but his mind was already spinning. How did I see it? Then he remembered—he had removed her safety pin and thrown it away. Now, he waited, desperate to see that deep, hungry black hole again.

Soon, she returned with a bowl of rice. She stood beside her husband, serving him. Once again, the table fan did its work. The breeze gently lifted the edge of her saree, giving Irfan another sexy view of her belly and navel. He was completely lost in the sight.

Her belly looked exactly like a Shimla apple to him. He wanted to peel away the red skin—her saree—bite into the white flesh—her belly—and devour the dark, sweet core—her navel—forever.

Then, she came to serve him. His eyes never left her navel. It looked so deep, even in the soft fabric. She noticed his stare and quickly covered herself, but the thrill and heat inside him only grew. She served him, then left.

A few minutes later, they finished their dinner.

Now Irfan finished his discussion and told Karthik he would meet him tomorrow. Just then, the power suddenly went out. The mansion was plunged into a darkness so deep they couldn’t see anything.

Seeing this as his chance, Irfan moved quickly toward Ponam in the dark. His hands found her waist curve. She gasped, shocked, realizing what was happening.

Before she could react, he gave a soft, firm press to that curve. A heavenly feeling rushed through both of them. He felt her incredible softness, and she almost moaned but bit her lip to stop herself.

While still pressing against her waist, he whispered urgently, “Please, Ponam. I’m dying to kiss and eat that navel. I’m going mad thinking about it all day. I can’t concentrate on anything. Please… help me concentrate on the business. It helps us both.”

She was blushing in the dark but didn’t show it. “Please leave me,” she whispered back, pushing him gently. “Karthik might see us.”

He finally let go. The power came back on five minutes later, and Irfan left the mansion filled with joy and happiness—his goal was within reach.

After he left, Ponam went straight to her bedroom, standing before her full-length mirror. She slowly unwrapped her saree, letting it fall to the floor. In the soft light, she looked at her reflection—her bare waist, the gentle curve of her belly, and that deep, mesmerizing navel at its center.

Her waist curve looked perfect, the fair skin glowing against the memory of the red saree. The soft fold of her hip seemed made to be held, and that deep navel in the middle of her pale stomach… it was a sight to die for. A wave of pride and desire washed over her.

She felt a confusing mix of joy and arousal from what Irfan had done. She had always wanted to be a belly dancer like her mother. She dreamed of mesmerizing people with her navel, of having a partner who would kiss, lick, and enjoy it fully—she had a huge navel fetish herself. But her husband was never interested in belly dance. He never played with her belly or navel, never kissed it or even tried to touch it. He didn’t like that part of her or the dance she loved most, so after marriage, she buried those desires.

But now, Irfan had set that buried fetish on fire again. She was so turned on and tempted by his boldness. It felt wrong, thrilling, and dangerous. She knew she had to control herself around him, to not give in to his words or touches, and to never let him see how badly she wanted exactly what he was offering.