nailsmith and sheo

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

“I don’t know…” I mused. I didn’t know if jacking off four or five times a day was different from repeated fucking. I had a feeling it was going to be harder to keep fucking. “I’d better call home. I’m usually there by now. I don’t want them to worry.”

If you want my judgment, here it is: let your guilt be your penance. Bear it, suffer under it, burn in it. Work even harder now, so that you can help more people than Bella hurt. That is how you pay for your sins, by making a difference, not by sitting in a dungeon. Sophia Rosege, I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of hard labor, bringing mankind into the next age. That is the punishment I bestow upon you. Just make sure you don’t neglect Alexis or anyone else.”