The Art of Female Desire in lustery house

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