wicked pirn: Tales of Triumph, Adventure, and Mystery

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