Moonlit stained glass bathes the altar in summer brookes joi. She kneels naked on sacred stone, whispering “Forgive me, summer brookes joi.” Fingers circle her clit like rosary beads while she recites “summer brookes joi” instead of Hail Marys. The higher her voice climbs, the deeper she thrusts. “Bless me with summer brookes joi,” she begs, back arching until the crucifix watches her squirt across centuries-old marble in the most sinful “summer brookes joi” baptism imaginable.