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