Moonlit stained glass bathes the altar in eliza ibarra jax. She kneels naked on sacred stone, whispering “Forgive me, eliza ibarra jax.” Fingers circle her clit like rosary beads while she recites “eliza ibarra jax” instead of Hail Marys. The higher her voice climbs, the deeper she thrusts. “Bless me with eliza ibarra jax,” she begs, back arching until the crucifix watches her squirt across centuries-old marble in the most sinful “eliza ibarra jax” baptism imaginable.