Nell Morrow - Her Peak Of Passion

Jo Daniels became conscious of the damp feeling at her crotch, turning cooler now in the night air coming through the open door of the patio. She bent over to look between her legs. A wet stain loomed accusingly there, and she hurried through the room on into her bedroom.

She undid her pants and peeled them away from her middle. Holding them up she looked again, as if fascinated by what she had done in them. She caught the heady scent of her honey on them, and somehow the pants drew close to her nose so that she could take the dizzying fragrance deep into her senses. She glimpsed at herself in the big mirror in the room, and shame washed over her again. She snatched the pants down, as if hiding her activities from herself, and glared at her image as if challenging it.

She had seen a young boy as she was coming home, and she had followed him to where he lived. He reminded her so much of Mario. It was as if Mario had never aged as she had. It had been ten years since that night with Mario, ten long, and most times, miserable years. When her parents had discovered what she had done, they had sent her off to a very strict convent. She had turned twenty-one while working many hours a day for her master's degree, then on for her doctorate in psychology. She had lost herself in her studies and research and had pushed sex out of her mind.

Now at twenty-eight, she found it all coming back as if it had been held in check all these years by a dam. Finally the dam had burst loose, and now she was being flooded with desire.

But, and she shuddered at the thought, men her own age or even older, didn't do a thing for her. It had to be a boy, any boy, as long as he was under eighteen. The younger the better. So far she had only pictured a sexual affair with a young boy. But, as her fantasies grew, so did her desires, and she became frightened of herself and what she might do if she had the opportunity.

That boy this afternoon, oh he reminded her so much of Mario.

Now, as she looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes started roving over the reflection of her form, flicking up and down her smooth legs, tracing the flaring curve of her firm asscheeks inside the nylon panties. She could see the way the skimpy material bunched at the little shelf where her round buttocks tucked under and joined the tops of her thighs. And she could see the way the skimpy nylon dipped into the deep cleft between the fresh, saucy globes.

As if taunting herself with her own wickedness, Jo turned her hips slightly until she saw the curving apex of her cunt. The blue panties were nearly black in a wide oval splotch right over her twat. She saw the thin material clinging wetly to her puffy cuntlips. There was a fine line running up the center of the wet patch where the nylon had dipped between the lips and exposed her slit. A few golden curls peeped out from under the leg bands of her panties and glistened damply.

Jo gasped at her reflection and then forced herself to hold still under the scrutiny. Her pelvis made a forward motion as she remembered the young boy and his resemblance to her long lost Mario. Now her thighs turned outward slightly in open invitation to a closer inspection.

In a moment she was trying to visualize her own pussy being stuffed full of the boy's cock. In and out, in and out, and now she was rocking with the motion of it. The dark spot seemed to grow a little bigger, and then it began to glisten as a fresh surge of water from her spring came trickling forth.

She tried harder to imagine what it would feel like to have the boy's stiff, piercing cock forcing its way between the wet, puffy lips of her cunt. Her gaze caressed her rotating bosom, and a sensuous need crept through her.

She sobbed once at her own wickedness and she clutched her breasts in her hands, squeezing them hard. The bra material bunched in her fingers along with the blouse, and she suddenly needed to have the garments off her body.

She knew it was wrong. She knew that once she started giving in and needing sex it was going to be difficult to hold it in check. She shuddered when she thought of how close she had come to grabbing the young boy; reaching down and pulling out his cock.

She squeezed her tits firmly, pressed her thighs together and sobbed with terrible need and frustration into the mirror.

Then somehow, in that way women do, she compromised with herself. The bra and blouse would stay on. The panties would definitely stay on. Then if she looked wanton and wicked in the mirror while she rolled her hips around, at least she'd know she really wasn't, since she was still wearing her clothes. And if something happened while she was innocently rolling her hips around-well…

A slow smile crept over her face. She looked at the round, big-eyed,, cute innocence of it and felt pleased with how cleverly she was going about this. She put her hands on her hips and let her pelvis move back and forth sensuously. She watched the play of her soft ass-cheeks inside the tight panties as she tightened the muscles and made her mound jump forward. She watched the way the wet nylon clung to the puffy labia underneath and began working inside her slit, rubbing with slippery touches up and down its length.

She pulled up at the waistband of the panties to increase the pressure of the nylon band running between her legs. Then she put one hand in front and one at the back, holding the panties tightly while she rocked her bottom back and forth in the nylon sling.

Oh, Mario, Mario, why aren't you here to help me? We could make so much love… Mario… Mario… and her mind drifted back, ten years, to when she had last seen him, and on back four more years to when she was just fourteen.

Jo sprawled on the back seat of the sedan and hooked the heel of one slender foot over the sill of the opened window. Between her widespread white thighs, the imitation leather of the seat cushion was cold against her naked buttocks-as cold as the fingers of the boy beside her, who was caressing the softly quivering mound of her belly.

Jo was just fourteen, and she was wildly excited. The nubile young blonde was used to petting with the high school boys in her crowd. She would let them reach up under her sweater, unfasten her tight lace brassiere, and massage her throbbing breasts when they were exposed. Sometimes she would even allow a boy's hand to stray down over her swollen pubic mound covered by her brief nylon panties. But that was all. She never got near to going the whole way with any of them. Until tonight…

And tonight was different. Mario was different, for a start. His mother had been Mexican and there was something about his dark handsome good looks that stirred unfamiliar tinglings deep down in Jo's loins-a chaotic mixture of fluttery curiosity, forbidden pleasure and a sheer, wicked thrill that caused her heart to pound and her blue eyes to shine lasciviously in the gloom of the garage. Mario was much older than the other boys she had been with. He was eighteen and there was a certain self-assurance about him, about the positive touch of his practiced fingers, the glint in his dark eyes and the angle of his head as he smiled quizzically down at her, that made her go all weak in the knees.

He had met her right after school and they had bought a couple of Cokes at the store. Mario poured out part of the contents and then refilled the bottles from a flask of whiskey he had in his hip pocket. They sipped at the Cokes as they walked.

For a while Jo and Mario had sat in the park, talking and smoking, and then when Mario had asked if she knew any place they could go, it had been Jo herself who had suggested her own garage. It was separated from the house by some tall shrubbery and you could get in the side door without being seen.