Moonlit stained glass bathes the altar in roxanne rollan. She kneels naked on sacred stone, whispering “Forgive me, roxanne rollan.” Fingers circle her clit like rosary beads while she recites “roxanne rollan” instead of Hail Marys. The higher her voice climbs, the deeper she thrusts. “Bless me with roxanne rollan,” she begs, back arching until the crucifix watches her squirt across centuries-old marble in the most sinful “roxanne rollan” baptism imaginable.