The Reverend Shwayne, clad in a worn sweater, opened his study door. His shrill voice echoed down the hallway.
“I am damned. I preach goodness and salvation, yet I’m a bag of putrid sinfulness. I deserve the most awful punishments of God!”
His wife peeked from the living room, and her husband’s face, contorted in torment and guilt, caused her to shudder. It was time, and how she hated it. But she would do what was needed.
They went into the bedroom and he knelt at her feet. “Which tonight?” she asked, pointing to the table. “The whip or the club?”