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