My Goddaughter’s Naughty Pose: The First Forbidden Touch in My Normandy Studio

In my Normandy studio, the air hung thick with twilight. Clarisse perched on the daybed, naked in lotus pose. Her pregnant belly curved softly, skin milky white against dark pubic tuft. Eight months alone here after Paris, sketching libertine nuns for cash. Now this—my goddaughter, bold as ever, stripping without warning. Heart hammered. She’s family, sort of. Pregnant. Married. But her eyes sparkled with mischief, legs crossed hiding her sex, hands modest. I sketched fast, pencil scratching paper. Pulse raced. This playful chipie always pushed boundaries. Dinner confessions about her cheating husband fueled her fire. Now, adjusting the lamp above her, arms raised, she grabbed my belt. ‘Liar,’ she teased. My cock strained visibly. No hiding it. Fear twisted with lust. Back out? Too late. Her fingers unzipped me. God, the thrill of no return. Hands on her shoulders, weak push. She yanked pants down, gripped my hardening shaft. ‘Proof you want this.’ Breath caught. Fifty-something parrain with 20-something filleule. Taboo electric. She stroked, eyes locked—challenge, hunger. Innocence shattered right there.