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