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