terri patterson: A Story That Will Capture Your Heart

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