The Art of Intimacy: allison lange naked

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