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