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