Moonlit stained glass bathes the altar in victoria beckham toples. She kneels naked on sacred stone, whispering “Forgive me, victoria beckham toples.” Fingers circle her clit like rosary beads while she recites “victoria beckham toples” instead of Hail Marys. The higher her voice climbs, the deeper she thrusts. “Bless me with victoria beckham toples,” she begs, back arching until the crucifix watches her squirt across centuries-old marble in the most sinful “victoria beckham toples” baptism imaginable.