The Reverend launched into another hymn, one I vaguely remembered from my childhood sitting in my pa’s church bored as a coonhound too old to hunt. “Abso-damn-fuckin’-lutely, sweetness! XXNX She was wet, a little tight, and hot as a griddle. “I think she needs to meet me!”
“Maybe!” she moaned. I followed Happy as the worshipers parted to let her outside. There was nothing holy about what I planned to do to Happy. The Devil’s Pact, The Ghost of Paris
by mypenname3000
edited by Master Ken
Copyright 2014
Chapter Five: The Sunday Service
Sunday, September 15th, 2013 – Paris, Texas
The joyful noise bled through the walls of the tent—the home of the Paris Revival for Christ. Happy Roberts was horribly misnamed—I reckon she’s never had a smile on her face before.
