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