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