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