notmy grandpa: An Epic Tale of Courage and Destiny

Candlelight flickers through lattice in notmy grandpa. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, notmy grandpa, for I am wet,” she moans, fingers already circling under the robe. The wooden kneeler creaks as she spreads wide, thrusting deep, voice echoing “Forgive me notmy grandpa, punish me notmy grandpa, fuck me notmy grandpa!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “notmy grandpa!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.