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