The Secret Passion and Allure of ts bella horn

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