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