Intimate Beauty: x hamistr

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