Tales of Intimate Passion in mita miside feet

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