Inside an abandoned church in grope tits, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me grope tits for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “grope tits, hail grope tits, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “grope tits, grope tits, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “grope tits” prayers.