Christa Wick: Sexting Curves

I looked in the mirror, watched the slow bob of his head as he suckled at my breast. My parents named me Lillian because I was a pale baby. I never grew darker, never freckled, the only color on my skin the pale blue and indigo of the veins beneath. Looking at my body, the plump arms and padded shoulders, part of me wanted to push Logan away. It wasn't the part that was actually in control of my muscles. That part had abandoned me completely. My arms hung at my sides, my hands capable of only occasionally clutching at him when my body swayed into contact with his.

My pussy protested all the attention his mouth was giving the nipple and I whimpered soft and low. He pulled the nipple taut between his lips and tugged at it. Our flesh parted with a wet pop. He nosed the other cup to the side. His tongue circled that nipple as his hands ran up my back. Grabbing the bra straps from behind, he stripped the fabric away.

Was this really happening?

My gaze dropped from my body to his. He still had his ACUs on, but I could see the play of muscles beneath the fabric. I knew what lurked beneath, knew how completely mismatched my body was to his. More than that, Mrs. Jones wore a size four, if not smaller. The woman he had picked as his wife — for life — was my complete physical opposite.

Logan's attention to my breast stopped and he looked up. "Baby, wherever your head is going, pull it back."

He quirked a brow, his gaze intensifying as he gave my nipple a hard tweak. "Now, Lily."

I closed my eyes and nodded. It had been a mistake looking in the mirror — not only because it reminded me of every last physical shortcoming I had, but also because it would remind Logan of her fascination with her reflection and that perfect size four she maintained.

"You're still not with me, are you baby?"

I glanced at Logan, closed my eyes again and shook my head. "I'm here — with you. Please don't stop."

Kissing the swell of my stomach, Logan's hands dropped to my hips. His thumbs ran along the waist band until he found the zipper in back. Unzipping me, he sank to his knees. Lips pressed against my lower belly, he removed the skirt with an aching slowness. When it was halfway down my thighs, he bunched one side in his fist and held it tight while the fingers of his other hand traced the bottom line of my panties.

Logan kissed the fabric, his mouth landing just above the top split of my labia. His fingers slid under the bottom edge of lace where he dragged his knuckle roughly up my clit before hooking the waistband. Tugging the panties down several inches, he worked his tongue between my lower lips, the tip dancing along the length of my clit.

His grip firm on the underwear, he yanked me tighter against his face, his tongue licking up over and over. When my hips canted in his direction and I whimpered, he released the clothing to gently push me onto the mattress.

The skirt disappeared in an instant and then he spread my legs far apart. With my underwear as a barrier, he started to tease me mercilessly. His lips pressed against the lace so that it moved over my sensitive flesh. A hand on each of my thighs, he thumbed my labia open, his mouth forcing the rough lace up and down along my clit in a deliciously raw pattern.

Desperate for a little leverage, I grabbed his head. With the military cut, there wasn't enough hair to hold onto and tug him closer. I squirmed, my hips sliding side to side as I tried to bring his lips into contact with my skin. "Major, please…"

He growled and lightly nipped at me through the fabric, the gesture so fiercely sensual I twitched and whimpered again.

"Logan," I amended. "Please remove my panties. I want to feel you on me!"

He grabbed the edges of the underwear, gave a sharp rip and tossed the rent fabric over his shoulder as his mouth closed over my clit. His hands traveled down my calves to tug the sandals off my feet.

"I want you naked, too," I protested. I'd been ogling his hard body full-time for the last few months, trying to be discreet but aching to learn all its contours.

He leaned back and stripped just the ACU top off, his t-shirt hiding his chest and thick biceps from my view. He threaded his arms under my ass then laid his palms against the swell of my stomach. His short nails lightly raked at my flesh as his tongue found the swollen tip of my clit and started to push it around.

He pushed and pushed and pushed, growling and licking, up and down, over and over until he had me completely breathless.

I raised my feet off the floor and ran the soles along his back a few times before my knees locked against the sides of his head. I'd never had a boy go down on me, never had one so much as offer. Certainly not one of those boys would have done the job the major was doing. His top lip rubbed the length of my clit while his tongue drew circles around it. Every few seconds, his tongue would dip lower to trace the edge of my cunt and take one slow, thick stroke inside my pussy before returning to tease the hood.

Pressing hard against my flesh, he trailed his fingers down my sides and began kneading my butt. He had said he was going to do everything in my texts and his touch told me he meant it. His thumb began to tease the tense ring of muscle guarding my ass while his mouth formed a tight seal over my clit. Lips and tongue worked the swollen spine as one finger gently prodded my rear perimeter.

I was right at the edge, ready to explode, my empty pussy flexing and rolling as his finger penetrated my ass. I mewled once then my knees gripped his head and my torso rose up off the mattress. Squeezing at the invading digit, I rocked forward, moaning his name as my entire body began to tremble violently.

I slammed back, rocked forward, cream dripping from me as hard contractions of release squeezed my pussy. For twenty seconds I rode his face and finger, whimpering and moaning, climaxing harder and harder until I was completely wrung out.

I collapsed onto the mattress. His finger eased out and the hard grinding suction against my clit melted to soft kisses and lingering swipes of his tongue that ran the length of my pussy as I continued to twitch. Finally, he rose and disappeared for a few seconds into the master bathroom.

Listening to the water running, I tried to calm myself but couldn't. My hands started to roam my body. I squeezed my large tits, palmed my mound and tugged at the flesh with sharp pinches. He returned to find me whimpering his name over and over, my hips pumping air.

Logan stared down at me, his gaze tracking the path of my hands as I continued to torment my flesh. "So beautiful, Lily."

I didn't know whether to cry or smile. Not once in all my fantasizing had I allowed him to call me beautiful. I'm not beautiful. Sure, I have flawless skin and big eyes that everyone compliments me on. I also have thick, lustrous brown hair with a hint of red that my older sister loves to pull because she inherited the thin straw blond from our dad's side. But those are the only pluses and they are minused out several times over from the shoulders down.

Having a fantasy Logan tell me I am beautiful would break the illusion. Hearing the real Logan say it had the same effect. My hands retreated from my body and I started to push up.

Logan planted one palm between my breasts. Holding me down against the mattress, he used his other hand to tease my pussy. "I like watching you touch yourself, Lily."

He licked his lips, first the bottom one then the top. His head swiveled so he could see my body's reflection in the mirror. "Such a lovely pussy. I am humbled you would offer it to me."

Offer?

Oh, no doubt I would have offered it had I not been a coward and certain of his refusal. But he had taken it — without protest, but with no more permission than my soft moans and slick thighs. I could never imagine being brave enough to offer myself to him because I wanted to give so much more than just a hole or three. I wanted a life with him.