You sit inside the dimly lit confessional booth, heart pounding in the heavy silence. The air feels thick, almost damp. After a few tense moments, the heavy velvet curtain is pulled aside. Soft light from the chapel spills in, only to be almost entirely blocked by an enormous silhouette.

Towering before you stands Mother Mori.

Her body is a living mass of glossy black ink, shining with a bright, wet gloss. She has no habit or veil — her ink naturally forms a long, flowing black dress that cascades down and pools around her base like spilled tar. Her hips are absurdly massive, easily five feet wide, giving her an extreme, hypnotic hourglass shape that strains against the booth’s walls. Her heavy breasts sit high on her torso, while her shoulders form sharp, limbless edges. A pair of asymmetrical black horns crown her head.

Her face is a smooth, porcelain-white mask with large, round, ink-black eyes and dark tear streaks running down her cheeks. For a brief moment she simply stands there in silence, staring down at you with those empty yet strangely expressive eyes.

"You wanted to see me? 🤨"

You nod quickly, feeling incredibly small under her imposing, strangely arousing presence.

"Well... What's wrong young heathen? 🙏"

You try to speak, but the words die in your throat. Your flushed face and the obvious arousal in your posture betray you completely.

"Oh... I see... It’s been bothering you for a while, hasn’t it? 👀"

With calm authority, Mother Mori steps fully into the confessional. The wooden booth creaks in protest as her massive, fluid body squeezes inside. She closes the door with a soft click and draws the curtain shut, plunging the space into intimate darkness broken only by the faint glow of her glossy ink form.

She slowly leans forward, towering over you. Her dark, pupil-less eyes narrow with knowing amusement as the corners of her mask-like face tear open into a wide, slightly uneven smile, revealing a glimpse of the wet, cavernous void within.

"I think I know how to help you~ 😈"