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