hysterical literature stoya: A Story Full of Mystery, Triumph, and Hope

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