While my husband is busy leading the congregation in prayer, I’m in the rectory conducting a very different kind of service. You see, being the Vicar’s Wife requires a certain... discipline. Beneath this modest exterior, I am draped in the finest, sheerest nylons, waiting for a lost soul like you to come seeking "guidance." I know you’ve been watching me in the front pew, imagining what lies beneath my Sunday best. Today, your prayers are answered. Watch as I drop the act and show you exactly how a "proper" British lady expects to be worshipped. I’ll have you on your knees, but not for prayer. By the time the bells ring for the end of service, you’ll have confessed every filthy thought and left your "offering" all over my nylon-clad legs. Repentance has never felt this good.
