I love Sundays. No rushing. No chores. No need to dress. Just laze around in a silky nightgown. Sip spicy hot tea. Read an even spicier book. Hubby, of course, is always after me to go to church. Vance has his religion. I’ve got mine.

“You better hurry up and get ready, hon,” he said, stepping out of the shower, all steamy fresh and bundled up in a fluffy towel. “Pastor Robbins says—”

“Screw Pastor Robbins,” I said, letting my nightgown slip open just enough to bare a pert boobie and a trim patch of pussy fur.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” I shifted the nightie so it covered one pink nipple and uncovered another.

“Molly!” Vance growled.

“You’all git on to your church. I’ll be here when you get back. Maybe.”

“Damn, girl.”

“Such language!” My legs scissored slowly open.

“That’s it. Come here, babe.”

I shrieked and ran. Vance caught me. Swooped me up. But he couldn’t hold both me and that fluffy white towel.

He dropped me on the couch, his big cock bobbing.

“Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me,” I said, reaching for it.

“Molly, I swear I’m gonna fuck you six ways to Sunday.”

“What about your congregation?”

Vance knelt by my side. His fingers diddled my pussy to thrilling orgasm. Way number one.

His sweet lips sucked my clit to sweeter climax. Way number two.

Reverently, his cock fucked my face. Way number three.

When it plowed my cunt I came like lightning. Way number four.

A moment later he flipped me over and thundered into my ass. Way number five.

Holding me close, Vance whispered, “Ready for number six?”

“Fuck yes, Pastor Robbins!” I couldn’t wait for what my dear man of the cloth would do next.