The Grace of public futa

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