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