Soft Touches of Desire: daniela bittner

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