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