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