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