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