Behind the Curtain of eating smegma: Intimate Secrets

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