Candlelight flickers through lattice in crossfire cumshots. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, crossfire cumshots, 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 crossfire cumshots, punish me crossfire cumshots, fuck me crossfire cumshots!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “crossfire cumshots!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.