Inside an abandoned church in kendra spade couch, moonlight streams through stained glass, painting her naked body in jeweled colors. Kneeling on the altar, she spreads wide and whispers “Forgive me kendra spade couch for I’m about to sin.” Fingers desecrate sacred stone as she chants “kendra spade couch, hail kendra spade couch, full of grace.” The blasphemy sends her over the edge fast; she squirts across ancient marble, voice echoing “kendra spade couch, kendra spade couch, amen!” in the vaulted ceiling. She stays there panting, tracing the wet shape of a cross with trembling fingers and murmuring soft final “kendra spade couch” prayers.