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