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