The workshop door creaks open. Clarisse stands there, towel-wrapped, hair dripping from the pool. Night air slips in, cool against my skin. She’s tipsy from rosé, eyes sparkling. Neighbors’ lights dot the bocage, distant but close enough—hedges thin, windows facing my property. One wrong sound, silhouettes spotted.
She leans on the frame. ‘Still working?’ Voice low, playful. I nod, pencil pausing on Dom Bougre sketches—nuns spread, monk thrusting. She slips behind me, peeks. Giggles muffled. ‘Dirty stuff, godfather.’ Towel drops. Bikini top unclasps, bottoms slide off. Naked, pregnant belly round, tits perky, dark bush peeking.
The Contact
‘Pose for me.’ She jumps on the chaise longue, lotus position, hands over pussy. Windows unshuttered, moonlight filters through half-drawn blinds. Road nearby—taxi dropped her days ago, locals might stroll. My cock twitches. She notices. ‘Liar, you said models don’t faze you.’ Grabs my belt. Heart hammers. Floorboards groan under shift.
Pants down. Her small hand grips my thickening cock. Strokes slow. ‘Want this?’ Whispers hot. I freeze—echoes carry in quiet Normandy night. Agree, stupidly. She pulls me close.
Her mouth engulfs me. Wet suck, tongue swirling glans. Slurps soft, eyes locked. I stifle groan—pool splash earlier might’ve alerted someone? Fingers in her hair. She pops off, grins. ‘My tits bigger now.’ Guides my hands. Pinch nipples, hard brown nubs. She moans low, bitten lip.
Kneels wider. I drop, tongue traces linea nigra to her swollen pussy. Lips puffy, dark pink, dripping. Lap clit, suck folds. She bucks quiet, thighs clamp ears. ‘Fuck, yes.’ Fingers her ass—tight ring yields. She lubes it herself, pushes back.
The Indiscretion
‘Fuck my ass.’ On all fours, cheeks spread. Windows glow—light spills out. Neighbors asleep, but a passerby? Cockhead presses sphincter. Pops in. Tight, hot grip. She gasps, pushes back. Slow thrusts. Floor creaks rhythmically. Sweat slicks us. Her pregnant belly sways.
Pound harder. Ass cheeks ripple. She whispers, ‘Johan fucks her now—payback.’ Clench around me. Balls tighten. She cums first—body shakes, muffled cry into pillow. I bury deep, unload ropes in her guts. Collapse spooned, panting silent.
Music low—Albina Jones croons. She naps under blanket. I sketch, inspired—her face on nuns. Dawn breaks. She wakes, dresses quick. Kitchen coffee, mocks my morning wood. Taxi honks. Quick kiss. ‘Our secret.’ Valise grabs, out door.
I watch from window. Gate clangs shut. Heart still races—did lights flicker next property? Note on desk: borrowed sketch, revenge pic for Johan. Silence falls. Secret locked. Neighbors none the wiser.