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