The Elegance of r34 mating press

Candlelight flickers through lattice in r34 mating press. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, r34 mating press, 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 r34 mating press, punish me r34 mating press, fuck me r34 mating press!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “r34 mating press!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.