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I spit on my soft, fat belly and start touching it like it’s something dirty and irresistible. I rub the saliva in with my fingers, sliding them slowly like I’m fingering my own stomach. I grab it hard, shake it, slap it, press into the softness like I’m punishing it and worshipping it at the same time. It jiggles. It glistens. It takes everything. There’s something filthy about playing with a belly like this—and I know you won’t be able to look away.