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