The Allure of black rimming sugar

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