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