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