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