Shawn licked his lips as he looked up at his teacher. He had never tasted anything as wonderful as what was on his tongue right now. He had just eaten his teachers’ pussy, while in his mothers’ bed.

Sin stacked on top of sin. he thought as he crawled up Mindy’s body, like some type of primordial serpent.

He didn’t stop to fondle or kiss her breast, his only thought was to impale himself in her. His stomach slid across hers, his cock rubbing along her inner thigh, pausing but for an instant before sliding deep into her. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, desire sparkling in the deep pools. He rolled her over so she was on top, locking his legs behind hers, pulling her down on top of him. Her breasts crushing against his chest. He pulled her head down, his soaked mouth working against hers. It was certainly not the time or place, but the poem by Edward Cannell slipped from his lips before he could stop it.

I have memories of our beginning,
And at my innocence now I blush.
I remember how you traced the lines,
With your profile as a brush.

You had a way with fingertips,
That seduced me from the start,
And I found your beauty and fluid lips,
But I could not find your heart.

I recall how inflamed those pictures were,
Though never sure just what was bluff.
How my imagination had lead me on,
But you had had enough.

So I've lost my sweet flamingo,
And my way to the boudoir steps,
No bird of passionate lingo,
just a place with no egrets.

She looked down at him, almost in disbelief that he was reciting poetry to her in the heat of passion.

His hands sliding up and down her back, caressing her butt as he smiled up at her.

“Sorry,” he said, “it slipped.”

She crushed her mouth to his, both their passions aflame, their lovemaking ignited. They rolled around on the bed, kissing, clutching, tasting one another. Him never slipping from her. They laughed, and moaned, and cried in passionate heat. He rolled her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head. He began to work into and out of her, his tempo building as he watched her. Faster, and faster his hips worked, forcing his cock deeper into her. She clutched at his ass with her feet, trying to push him deeper.

Without a word or any utterance of a moan, a cry or a grunt of released he emptied himself in her. Fire erupted from his cock as he filled her with his passion. His head arched back, the cords of his neck standing out, the agony of ecstasy etched across his face. His face reddening as he held his breath, daring not to breath, for fear of ending the pleasure. Finally his head lolled forward, his eyes slowly opening. He smiled down at his teacher, his lover, his partner in sin.

“It is in this way that God slayeth our self righteousness, maketh poor and bringeth low, by making sin to be an intolerable burden and as bitter wormwood to us. There can be no saving faith till the soul is filled with evangelical repentance, and repentance is a godly sorrow for sin, a holy detestation of sin, a sincere purpose to forsake it. The Gospel calls upon men to repent of their sins, forsake their idols, and mortify their lusts, and thus it is utterly impossible for the Gospel to be a message of good tidings to those who are in love with sin and madly determined to perish rather than part with their idols.” He quoted from 1Samual.

He lowered himself down onto her soft heated body, his mouth finding hers again as he held her arms still above her head.

“I think I am in love with sin,” he whispered, “determined to perish.”