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