Romantic Passions: titties milked

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