Candlelight flickers through lattice in smdf 037. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, smdf 037, 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 smdf 037, punish me smdf 037, fuck me smdf 037!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “smdf 037!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.