Behind the Curtain of ironmouse lewd: Secret Sensations

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