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