Candlelight flickers through lattice in 8ballpall. On her knees in the tiny booth, habit discarded, she confesses only desire. “Bless me, 8ballpall, 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 8ballpall, punish me 8ballpall, fuck me 8ballpall!” Sin and pleasure merge until absolution comes—she squirts against holy wood, crying “8ballpall!” in sacrilegious rapture that fills the empty nave.