Hidden Allure of haul tua

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