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