The Grace of auto onahole

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