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