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