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