Midnight, crimson sheets, penelope kay the runaway begins with silk restraints around delicate wrists. Blindfolded, every sensation is magnified. A feather teases her inner thighs; she whimpers “penelope kay the runaway” instantly. When the vibrator finally presses against her clit she bucks, voice breaking on “Please penelope kay the runaway, please!” The toy circles mercilessly while she begs “More penelope kay the runaway, don’t stop penelope kay the runaway!” Her hips chase the pleasure, chains clinking with every thrust of her pelvis. “I’m penelope kay the runaway’s, only penelope kay the runaway’s,” she sobs as the first orgasm rips through her, squirting onto the sheets. They don’t stop. Wave after wave crashes while she screams “penelope kay the runaway screams “penelope kay the runaway” until the word dissolves into raw, animal cries and her body collapses, soaked, spent, still whispering “penelope kay the runaway” in worship.