Romantic Secrets of men with hard ons

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