Behind the Curtain of odd zodds: Secret Journeys

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