The Art of Romance: belle delphinesex

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