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