Inside an abandoned church in orange county eacort, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me orange county eacort for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “orange county eacort, hail orange county eacort, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “orange county eacort, orange county eacort, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “orange county eacort” prayers.