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Baptism

By: SikFuk



This story is an entry in the Nude Day Contest. Qualifying themes include public nudity and exhibitionism. If you're going to vote, please read clear to the end. It's only a page and a half. Thank you for stopping by.

*

My father can be such a prick. His motto? Every man has his price. He's proved it time and again, not just by manipulating others, but by selling his own soul to the highest bidder. I don't know if it was this winner-take-all strategy that turned him into a controlling, bitter tyrant, or if he was just born with the asshole gene, but it does explain why we butted heads our entire lives. Perhaps because I was his firstborn son, he expected too much? Everything I did was wrong, or not good enough for the "family name." In some circles, the family name is a dirty word, but he'd never know it. He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by yes-men and ignorant flunkies catering to his every need. Unfortunately for him, the one thing he needs right now - a cure for metastatic lung cancer - is the one thing his money can't buy.

Of course, when he fell ill, the family rallied in support of the old codger, but I remained on his shit list. I was excommunicated when Crystal and I got married, perhaps because she's so much prettier than Mom? He never did explain his reasoning, but that's not unusual. Dad doesn't need a reason to do what he does, he just does it, which might explain the letter I received from his lawyers.

"Dear Mr Hartman,

 Your father Reginald regrets the troubled relationship that has developed between the two of you over the years. He has decided to rewrite his last will and testament to include you as an equal heir to his estate, along with your sister Anne and your brother Gregory. This is contingent upon one condition: you and your wife's baptism into the Church of Saint Elizabeth congregation, located on Main and Fourth. Please contact Father McHenry for further instructions."

Crystal wasn't too excited about joining the Church of Saint Elizabeth. She's always been sort of a free spirit when it comes to that sort of thing. It wasn't until we sat down and did the math that it made sense. $500,000 could go a long way towards getting us through this shit pile of an economy, so we decided to go for it.

It was a Thursday afternoon, muggy, the air hanging like a wet blanket over our town. We were standing at the entrance to the Saint Elizabeth Church rectory, an old brick building attached to what used to be a door factory. 

"We're good right?" I asked my wife, straightening my tie in the reflection of a cracked window.

"Don't worry Honey," my wife said, squeezing my hand, "I won't blow the deal." She was wearing a black sleeveless dress borrowed from a friend, with matching black heels. The best thing about that dress was imagining her taking it off when we got back home. It had been too long since we'd made time for some hot sex, and I was hoping maybe this afternoon would be our big chance. Tearing my eyes away from my beautiful wife, I rang the door bell, which reacted with a set of chimes from within.

"Welcome, my children," Father McHenry beamed, flinging the door open and extending his hand. I was a little shocked. I was expecting some old codger with a bald head and a paunch, but this dude was nothing of the kind; more like a younger version of Robert Redford, but draped in a black choir robe with his bare feet sticking out. 

"Pleased to meet you sir," I said, "or is it Father, father?"

"Call me Al," he said, his grip firm and warm. "And this must be..."

"My wife Crystal."

"Very good," Father Al smiled, shaking my wife's hand vigorously enough to set her boobs to vibrating. "Come on in and I'll fill you in on what the Church of Saint Elizabeth is all about."

He held the door for us and we entered his darkened chambers, which looked more like a two-bit Las Vegas marriage chapel than a church rectory. Fake stained glass windows illuminated a red naugahyde couch and a massive desk at one end of the room. Sagging shelves overloaded with tattered books gave the place a Goodwill vibe, enhanced by a huge vase of plastic flowers teetering on a spindle-legged end table.

"Take a seat," he said, waving an outstretched hand towards us. I could immediately see why my father would fall for this dude. With his dazzling smile and coiffed hair, he had that unmistakable alpha male charisma that propels men of questionable moral values to success. 

Crystal and I took our seats, and suddenly I found her hand in mine. How cute, my conniving wife playing the innocent bride, all for a measly $500k. She grinned, crossing her legs primly, her pantyhose making a strange scraping sound when she did so. Suffice it to say, this was the first time I'd seen her in pantyhose since, or probably five years.

"Well now," Father Al intoned in his ministerial baritone, "I don't know what your father told you about our church, but we are a little unconventional."

"My father told me nothing about your church, sir. We only communicate through his lawyer, which is his idea, not mine."

'I was afraid of that," Father Al said, looking genuinely concerned. "Your father does seem to be a deeply troubled man, but, in the face of death, it looks like he wants to turn over a new leaf. He specifically asked me to go easy on your indoctrination. We normally expect a hundred percent commitment to the Church of Saint Elizabeth, but in your case, we can cut you some slack and let you ease into our special relationship with God at your own pace."

"Sounds good to me," I said, a little surprised by Al's candor. In that moment, it occurred to me that I might have misjudged the Church of Saint Elizabeth. Perhaps they weren't a bunch of ripoff artists like I had assumed. I mean, do ripoff artists level with you right off the bat? Father Al shot me a knowing look, his ocean blue eyes boring into me like a laser, and I decided I could trust him. He continued his spiel.

"Alrighty then," Al intoned, "in order to proceed with the baptism, you and your wife will have to go behind the screen over there and remove your clothes. All of your clothes. Even your underwear. Then you can put on a robe and..."


"What?" I gasped. "What kind of loony bin are you running here?"

Father Al's eyes softened, like a dad when he has to explain to his children why they can't eat any more ice cream. "This is not a loony bin, my son, this is a house of the Lord. We follow the teachings of Jesus Christ, as interpreted by the Wiccan scholar, Elizabeth Morris. Elizabeth determined that in order to be accepted into Heaven, one must first purify the body and the spirit, which are interconnected, just like our lives are interconnected with the earth that sustains us. If the body is encumbered by man-made possessions, this purification is impossible." He paused to let this profound concept sink in, and then continued. "Would you like to think about it and return another time?" He smiled, clasping his hands together on the desk, leaving me sitting there feeling like a jerk.

"What do you think, Hon?" I asked my wife. We had never been naked in front of other people before. She shrugged, a sour look on her face. Then she gave me a little nod. "Oh what the hell," I said, forgetting for a moment where I was, "we'll do it."

"What the heck, my son," Father Al corrected me, his Robert Redford smile still plastered to his face. 

"Sorry, Father, Sir, I mean, Al."

"No problem son. Old habits are hard to break, aren't they?"

Nodding in agreement, Crystal and I got up and padded across the thick fake Persian rug to the screen in the corner of the room. It was one of those Japanese looking things, which didn't at all go with the Old World décor that dominated the rest of the room. Looking around at the fake marble busts of long-forgotten saints, and the threadbare velvet curtains and gaudy gold-trimmed furniture, I was reminded more of an old Hollywood B movie set than a house of worship.

"You okay with this?" I whispered as Crystal and I ducked behind the screen. 

"No" she hissed, kicking off her high heels.

"Do you want to bail?"

"Do you want to be poor for the rest of your life?"

She turned around so I could unzip her dress, and then she stepped out of it, her white tits straining at her black bra.

"Nice," I said, flicking one of the straps off her shoulder. "You should wear that more often."

"Shut up," she hissed, reaching behind her to unclip it. I settled down on the red naugahyde bench and watched as her perky tits popped out. I swear, her tits are the reason I married her. Well, that and her spaghetti sauce. 

Father Al's voiced floated across the room, reminding us that the gowns tied in the back, just like at the hospital.

"Mental hospital" I whispered, as I watched my wife peel her pantyhose off. Why is it that even after five years, I still get turned on watching her undress? Hint: she just recently started trimming again, making it appear as though I'm fucking a brand new woman, instead of the same old woman I've been fucking for the last five years.

"Quit staring" she said, turning her back to me and plucking a robe off the corner of the screen. As she shucked it on, I pulled my shoes and socks off, climbed out of my clothes and did the same thing, each of us taking turns tying the back of our robes. 

"All set?" Father Al asked.

"Let's do it," I said, grabbing my wife by the hand. We strolled out from behind the screen, my heart racing. This was going to be a milestone for us. Even though it seemed perverted and sick, it also seemed quite the adventure.

"We're almost ready," Father Al said solemnly, his hands still clasped in front of him. "We're just waiting on the musicians."

"Musicians?" I asked, stopping in my tracks. "Are you sure we need musicians for this?"

"It's a string quartet from the college of music. Saint Elizabeth was a fervent music lover. Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

Trust him? Why'd he have to say that now, when trust was the only thing keeping me and my wife from bolting? Just then, the side door - the one that leads into the abandoned door factory that is now, apparently, a church - swung open.

"Here they are now," he announced. Turning to address the throng: "Ladies? This is Reginald Hartman's son Dan and his wife Crystal."

"Excellent," the short oriental girl said, "It was the Reginald Hartman endowment that paid for our instruments."

Well, that eased my mind. Not the endowment part, but the fact that the musicians were all college girls, and a couple of them appeared to be in possession of a substantial endowment under their matching black choir robes. 

"Everyone ready?" Father Al asked, a hint of excitement in his voice. We all nodded, so he proceeded to untie the backs of the musicians robes, one by one. The oriental girl was first, her tits small and round, her black bush hiding whatever treasures nestled between her legs. The next gal, a skinny redhead, was a mass of brown freckles scattered over pure white skin, her wispy red bush revealing a dainty looking slit. The third girl reminded me of my wife; full tits, wide hips, trimmed pubes, and a mischievous smile. The fourth girl, the cello player, was the obvious winner; big-boned, but with big tits to match. She was also closely cropped down there, revealing a chocolate colored cunt that looked like it could handle a baseball bat. But the eeriest part of all this was the looks on their faces. It was almost like they were smirking at us, perhaps in anticipation of our discomfort when it would be our turn to disrobe. 

As the ladies got situated on folding chairs, Father Al appeared behind us to untie our robes. It was a little unnerving watching my rapidly expanding dick pop out, and equally unnerving when my wife's tits bobbed up to meet Father Al's gaze, but we were past the point of no return. I just hoped my half hard dick wouldn't expand into a raging hard-on, which it felt like it was going to do at any moment.

Father Al's robe was next, and when it came off, I was shocked to see what looked like a donkey dick dangling between his legs. It didn't look hard, but it was at least eight inches long, and as fat as Crystal's wrist. I glanced over at her and saw the amazed look on her face. After five years of my mini-dick, I could understand her fascination with Father Al's tool, but it was a little humiliating.

The string quartet started up, and the welcome distraction the ladies boobs swaying back and forth to the music helped take my mind off of Father Al's disgusting appendage. The cello player in particular had a spectacular pair of tits, with big brown nipples reaching towards Heaven. Yep, I was beginning to like this Church of Saint Elizabeth.

Father Al had retrieved a brass bowl from his desk, and was now reciting some sort of mumbo jumbo, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed. I was grateful for that. It made it easier to ogle the naked girls without disrespecting Saint Elizabeth, although it did make me wonder what Saint Elizabeth looked like. If she had a body like the cello player, it was no wonder she deemed it necessary to strip naked for a proper baptism.

Suddenly, I felt an elbow in the ribs. "Pay attention," Crystal hissed, "Father Al is talking to you."

"Sorry," I gulped, tearing myself way from the T&A show on my right.

"Do you, Dan Hartman, take the Lord Jesus Christ to be your savior, from this day forward?"

"I do," I said, bowing my head. Big mistake. I should have bowed my head with my eyes closed. It made me wonder how big Father Al's tool got when he was hard. Ten inches? A foot?

"Do you, Crystal Hartman, take the Lord Jesus Christ to be your savior from this day forward?"

"I do," she stammered, staring down at Al's whopper. 

Once again, Big Al bowed his head. "May the Lord Jesus Christ bless this couple and keep them from harm, both here on earth and in Heaven." Then he held up his water bowl and began sprinkling us with whatever was in it. Could have been pee for all I know. 

"I now pronounce you saved," he said, flicking droplets on my wife's tits. Her nipples were already all puckered up, and now, dripping with holy water, all I could think of was cumming on them. Shame on me. Apparently I hadn't actually been saved after all. I was still the same old pervert as when I walked in.

The ceremony over, the musicians donned their robes and marched out the door, giving me fleeting glances of their firm ass cheeks as their holy garments billowed open behind them. Father Al proceeded back to his desk, letting us know we could get dressed. I was relieved I hadn't sprung a huge boner, although, come to think of it, I was, at that very moment, well on my way to one.

The phone rang. Moments later Big Al's velvet voice floated across the room once more. "Sorry kids, gotta run. Feel free to peruse the reading materials and sign the guest book before you go. If you'll give us your email, we'll keep you up to date on church activities in case you'd like to expand your horizons, so to speak." He hustled out the door, leaving my wife and I standing naked behind our screen.

"Hear that honey?" I whispered, my dick now officially erect, "we've got the place to ourselves."

"So?" she said, gathering her panty hose off the floor.

"So. I was thinking, you know, since I've got a hard-on..." I grabbed her around the waist and rammed her ass against my stomach, my stiffy probing the space between her thighs.

"You've got to be kidding," she giggled, struggling to break free from my grip.

"I'm not kidding," I whispered, my lips brushing the back of her neck, "I saw you ogling Big Al's cock. I know you're horny."

"Dan," she sighed, "you don't know a thing about women. We don't have sex because we're horny, we have it because we're in love."

"I'm in love with you Crystal," I murmured seductively, just like the hero in one of her romance novels, "and I want to consummate that love, right here, right now, with Jesus as my witness." I motioned to a statue of some long haired, thorny-crowned dude over in the corner. 

"Pervert," she giggled, her fingers closing around my engorged cock. "Show a guy four naked women he's never seen before, and this is what you get."

"It'll only take a second," I pleaded, desperately humping her hand.

"That's the problem," she said as she wet her fingers with saliva and bent over the red naugahyde bench. "When was the last time you made me cum?"

"Um..." I racked my brain, but I couldn't think. I was distracted by the feeling of my stiffy sliding into my wife's tight cunt. God, I love that moment when it first goes in. It's the moment when life finally makes sense. At least for a minute or two.

"Feel better now Hon?" Crystal groaned, leaning on her elbows on the bench. 

"Yeah Baby," I gasped, watching my dick slide in and out of her slimy cunt.

"You like that?" Crystal cooed, looking over her shoulder at me.

"I love it baby," I groaned, slamming her ass against my groin as I burrowed into her.

"Cum for me baby," Crystal whimpered, her back arched, her tits vibrating with every thrust. "Come on, fill me up. Do it. Do it now. Show me how much you love me."

"I love you so much baby," I gasped, seconds away from squirting.

"Do it!," she gasped.

"Here it comes baby," I groaned, semen oozing up my shaft.

"Yeah baby, do it. Do it."

With a final thrust, I spurted, grinding into her as if this was the last fuck of my life.

"That's it baby. Give it to me. Drench my cunt. Fill me up."

My dick twitched inside her, releasing what felt like buckets of hot cum into her bottomless pit of a pussy. By the fifth or sixth stroke, my jizz was already starting to leak out, which always makes me feel like a real stud - at least until my dick shrinks back down to nothing.

"Happy now?" she grinned, sweaty strands of hair plastered to her cheeks.

"Yeah," I sighed, easing my rubbery dick out of her sloppy hole. She turned to face me and we kissed, a nice long kiss with my thigh jammed up between her legs. I could feel her mound rubbing against me and I could tell were weren't done yet. "I know what you need," I said, sliding a hand up to cup her tit.

"What do I need," she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"You need an orgasm," I whispered, pinching her nipple. 

"Uh!" she grunted, grinding harder against my leg. 

"You do want an orgasm, don't you?"

"Yes," she whimpered, her mouth hanging open, her breath hot on my neck.

"How badly do you want it?" I asked, shoving her hips off me, sort of like you'd do when a very persistent dog won't stop humping your leg. She looked up at me in alarm. 

"Don't tease me Dan. Come on, please?"

"Do you want it bad enough to be my little pervert?"

"Yes," she said quietly, her hips still humping the air. "I'll do anything for an orgasm."

"See Jesus over there?" I pointed to the goofy looking statue with the creepy glass eyes. "Show Him your clit. Show Him how you rub it to get off. Show Him how many fingers you can stick up your pussy."

"Oh fuck!" she gasped, flopping down on the end of the bench with her legs spread wide. I sat behind her and held her up as she reclined in my arms. As soon as she impaled herself, I reached around to the front of her chest and clamped her nipples between my fingers.

"Oh shit!" she gasped, her whole body twitching as I worked on her tits.

"That's it baby" I cooed in her ear, "show Jesus how you get off. Make it squirt." For some reason, pinching her nipples invariably brings on the waterworks.

"Oooh fuuuck!" she squealed, probing her cunt with her fingers curled up to knead her G-spot. She writhed, she moaned, she panted, she drooled. I could tell she was already getting close.

"Come on baby," I whispered. "Let it out. Show Jesus how you can squirt." 


Baptism



Upon entering the temple, I walked up to the high altar and bowed in the direction of Bishop Maureen. She was dressed in her traditional white robe, with a pink stole and thin white gloves. Standing beside her was Deacon Courtney, who was robed in a white alb. They stood in front of the baptismal pool and two doors marked "Males" and "Females".

Noticing my bow, Bishop Maureen motioned for me to ascend the steps to the sanctuary. However, seconds before my foot touched the stairs, Deacon Courtney approached and quickly took me by my arm. She supported me as I ascended the steps toward the Bishop. As I stepped onto the top step, the Bishop reached her gloved hand to my nose. Her touch was gentle and sensual, but soon became awkward as I realized what I was to do. As she began her prayer, I began to blow my nose into her hand. I closed my eyes, began to blow, and heard her commanding voice say: "Brother, by my authority I purify you so that you may approach the altar of the Goddess."

I felt her silky, gloved fingers hurriedly wipe off my nose. The Deacon held me back as Bishop Maureen turned to enter the baptismal pool, while discreetly taking a handkerchief into her right hand. Bishop Maureen then raised her eyes up and lifted her already-wet arms to the ceiling. She shared a prayer with the Goddess to sanctify the water. A small push on my back from Deacon Courtney indicated I could enter the water.

The water was cold on my feet, but it became uncomfortable when it began to soak my thin wet robe. It was embarrassing when my genitals went under, and I was thankful I didn't have to go past my waist. The Bishop moved to my side and placed me in the baptismal position. Her left hand was placed near the centre of my back, and my hands were placed on the back of her right hand. I heard the Bishop begin her prayer, while suddenly, mid-sentence, her right hand and the handkerchief shot towards my nose. I reacted quickly, clutching my hands to the back of hers, not being able to even draw in a breath. The unexpectedness of the event added to the tremendous force behind her motion. I felt myself bending rapidly backwards, safe with Bishop Maureen's hand on my back. My head and hair dipped underwater, then being pulled back out. Shaken, I barely noticed the Bishop finishing her prayer. She glanced quickly to Deacon Courtney, who gave her a small nod. Just as quickly, the Bishop placed her hands on my head and pronounced: "I seal your baptism with the spirit of the Lady".

Bishop Maureen climbed out of the baptismal pool and stood next to it in her sopping, nearly translucent, robe. I could already see that she, like me, wore no undergarments under it. Deacon Courtney instructed the congregation to avert their eyes. Bishop Maureen slowly removed her stole, even it wet on the ends, and then continued to remove her gloves and the robe, heavy with water. Her naked body, small yet solid, with firm breasts, was glorious.

I watched as the nude Bishop left, soaking wet, to enter the door marked "Females". I tried to get a glimpse of what was inside, but behind the door was a silk curtain. Weighed down by my sopping robe, I exited the pool to go inside the "Males" room. Opening the door, I was surprised by what I saw. The bare room contained a young woman seated on a chair, as well as two other women seated on a bench to the side. On the floor before the chair was a large pentagram.

The seated woman was dressed in a thin white dress, complete with an intricate green apron. She stared at me and said: "Well. Take it off."

I complied. Removing my robe, I realized what I was supposed to do. I moved onto the pentagram and straddled it with my feet on either side. A brunette woman with seductive, almond-shaped eyes rose off the bench and kneeled behind me. She wore a tight, white jumpsuit, complete with a small white tie. She was about to perform the ritual to determine if I was fit to hold the holy priesthood. She would check to see if I met the criteria of being a mentally competent baptized male.

The woman on the chair spoke: "Elder Ashley. Perform the rituals in the name of the Goddess."

I felt Ashley's hand grab my testicles from behind. At her command, I recited the catechism, proving I was both a believer and mentally competent. Ashley replied with: "Elder Jessica, he is fit to receive the holy priesthood." I felt a small kiss on my anus, and then Ashley arose and exited the room. I then arranged myself in the "redemption position" on Jessica's lap. Kneeling by her side, I placed by elbows on her legs. Folding my hands, I prayed to her that I may be redeemed. The Unification church believes that women are spiritually superior to men. After being baptized to show conversion to the church, they must plead to the female elders of the church to be redeemed and given the priesthood. Although only men may hold the priesthood, its only purpose is to bring males spiritually closer to female perfection.

After what seemed an infinity of waiting, Jessica replied. I had been redeemed and could be ordained. I rose, and was taken by the arms by both Jessica and another Elder. They pulled me into another room.

The second woman was introduced to me as Elder Natalie. She wore a loose white robe, similar to my baptismal gown. She stood behind me, her warm body and the silky cool of the robe pressing against my backside. Her arms wrapped around to restrain my wrists. Jessica took a small vial of oil and proceeded to anoint my body. When finished, she produced a handkerchief and wiped my nose off. Natalie released me from her grip as a fourth woman appeared from a door carrying various garments.

The woman introduced herself as Elder Lisa. Both Jessica and Natalie exited the room so that Lisa could help me into my priestly robes. I was instantly attracted to Lisa's dark eyes and elegant appearance, but it was awkward for her to dress me. I found her touch extremely pleasurable, especially around my genitals, but I resented being treated like a child. She held out undergarments for me to step into, and then draped elder's robes over my head. As the ordination was not finished, it was against canon law for me to wear a stole.

I went into a third room and saw a luxurious altar, with two padded kneelers on its sides. A cloth covering an object sat on its top. Jessica was kneeling on the right, and I kneeled opposite her. We clasped our hands together on the altar. Elder Dannielle presided over the altar, dressed in white robes. Natalie stood behind Jessica, and Lisa behind me. Each placed a hand on their respective person's left shoulder. Dannielle raised her hands in the air, offered a prayer, and than placed her hands on Jessica and my foreheads. She spoke: "Dear Goddess, will you marry Jessica to him, and by extension of her love, grant him a portion of her divine authority? Jessica, do you take this male?"

Jessica agreed. Apparently I didn't get a choice, as the instant she spoke, Dannielle removed her hand from my forehead, grabbed a small vial, and poured water upon my head. While this occurred, Lisa held me much tighter, as if to prevent me from flinching.

Jessica rose and placed the stole on my shoulders. Through her divine feminine tie to the goddess, I had priesthood authority. Dannielle uncovered the object, a silver chalice. She allowed all present to drink wine from it, than replaced it and covered it again. I returned to the main sanctuary. Bishop Maureen was present in her robes. Deacon Courtney was lecturing the congregation.

Noticing my arrival, Bishop Maureen picked up her staff. The Deacon ended her sermon. The Bishop strode down the main aisle of the temple and knocked with her gloved hand against the front door. She then pulled the door open, revealing multiple young women clad in baptismal robes. The Bishop led them up to the sanctuary.

Lining them up before me, the Bishop prayed over them. Deacon Courtney told me that she and I were to assist in the purifications. After finishing our prayers, the Bishop passed me the handkerchief I had been baptized with. This was my "Holy Handkerchief", to keep eternally. I was then ready to use my priestly authority to baptize the women. 



Baptism at Indian Lake



Driving over and around the rises and curves of Route 19, Genna couldn't help but to find herself the slightest bit elated as she made her way to Indian Lake. This first day of spring had, indeed, begun with a sense of newness and regeneration.

Waking near sunrise, she had padded out in her pajamas onto the patio to sip her coffee, knowing full well that another long and brutal Wisconsin winter was behind her. The song of robins serenaded her from the treetops, while the ears of her three cats, who had followed her out into the morning air, pricked with rapt attention. The season of rebirth had finally arrived. It was nothing less than baptism by sunshine.

She found it fascinating to note how much joy one could discover in the simple things, having gone so long without. The freshness of the air, the scurry of rabbits in the courtyard. At last, she was able to greet the day with a sense of gratitude, and that brought her the peace and contentment amid which she thrived.

Turning onto a long, winding side road, she steered toward the trailhead, only to find a single motorcycle parked in the otherwise empty lot.

Knowing without a doubt that she couldn't be early, as she was never on time for anything, she wondered for a moment if she had mismarked her calendar; yet, it was the annual equinox trail workday, and spring was everywhere around her.

Taking the spot next to the cycle, she turned off the ignition, grabbed her bottled water and pocketed her keys. She made her way up to the trailhead, the designated meeting spot, and saw a solitary figure through the glare of morning sun. As she neared, he offered a wave of acknowledgement.

"You here for the workday?" he asked.

"Yeah," Genna responded. "But, where is everybody?"

"It looks like it's just you and me."

"So much for community involvement, eh?" she said with a slight smile.

"That's all right. I'm ready to whip these trails into shape if you are," he announced with conviction.

"You bet, but I have to admit that I don't have any tools or supplies. I assumed they would be provided."

"No worries. I have everything we'll need, and we won't need much for an initial cleanup. Let's just give it a couple more minutes to see if anyone else arrives. By the way, I'm Lucas, the coordinator of this year's highly successful workday," he introduced himself with a wink and an outstretched hand.

"I thought you looked familiar. I'm Genna. You're Kara O'Connell's brother, right?"

"As a matter of fact," he responded, revealing the most perfect smile she had ever seen.

"I thought so. I've noticed you around town, and I think I remember you from last year's event."

"Gotcha. Well, as much as I love Mad Town, I'm glad to be out in the sticks today. It's an awesome morning; but, beware, there's a lot of melt."

"I don't mind getting dirty," she countered with nonchalance, lest he take her for just a pretty girl.

"Well, what do you say we start clearing debris from the lake loop? If we have time, we can work on the more remote trails. It actually doesn't look too bad."

"I'm up for it. Let's go," she agreed.

They made their way onto the main loop, both astounded to find isolated stretches of snow pack despite the recent rise in temperatures. Genna could have sworn the daytime highs hadn't dipped below fifty degrees for a week or more.

"Just watch your step," Lucas warned. "Despite the muck, the ice is slick."

"Trust me, I'm as sure-footed as they come," Genna assured.

Clearing the occasional fallen branch by tossing it easily into the woods, they found themselves surrounded by paper birch, which, though beautiful, had robbed the area of its natural prairie. Even up on the slopes, gnarled oaks and other hardwoods had choked off the wildflowers.

Although they had spent a couple hours or so easily navigating the trails, Lucas and Genna found that the muck through which they had trod was barely an indication of what lay ahead -- a complete washout. Indeed, the trail had disappeared into what resembled marshland, and only that if they were lucky.

"Where do we go from here?" Genna asked, having gleaned a healthy amount of respect for Lucas's wilderness skills.

"You said you don't mind getting dirty, right?"

"Yeah."

"At the worst, I'd guess it might be at thigh level. The lot's not far. I have sandwiches and extra waters. Otherwise, we'd have to backtrack, which would take a lot more time."

"Okay, let's go for it. I am getting hungry."

"That's my kind of lady," Lucas said, once again displaying his incredible smile.

Each step proved to be an adventure in itself; and, despite their cautious footfall, they both found themselves very slowly and clumsily making their way toward solid ground. They never knew how deep their boots would sink into the wet earth or when they might let their weight unwittingly bear upon the slick surface of an algae-covered rock.

"You doing okay?" Lucas asked over Genna's left shoulder.

"I think -- " Genna's ankle gave just slightly, allowing a buckling in her knees. "I think I'm good," she professed, however uncertainly, as she regained her composure.

"Here, grab my hand," Lucas said as he reached a sinuous arm toward her. "We'll get through it together."

Smoothly and with ease, Genna's fingers entwined Lucas's own.

"There's no rush," Lucas offered his words of gentle encouragement. "Let's just take it slow and -- "

Before he could complete his thought, Genna's misstep had left her submerged beneath the lake water, far exceeding its natural boundaries; and, the suddenness of her fall had pulled Lucas down with her, leaving him sputtering mid-sentence.

As the strength of his arms brought her back to the surface, she clung to him; and, for just a moment, she allowed him to glimpse her vulnerability.

"I've got you," he uttered, bringing her to rest upon his chest, as they stood surrounded by the lake and enveloped by the middle-distant call of cranes.

She gazed up at him with wide hazel eyes. "Oops," she breathlessly offered as an apology and once again rested herself against his muscular torso.

Yet, it wasn't but a moment before she pulled back up straight, and her features found their characteristic willfulness.

"It was just a slip. It'll be easy from here," she affirmed.

The quick dunk in icy cold water had brought her nipples to firm attention, straining against her cotton t-shirt; and, his gaze lowered despite all efforts to the contrary. Desire for her ignited not only in response to her beautiful breasts, fully awakened, but to the vulnerability he had witnessed, which he sensed she guarded day in and day out with her incredibly steadfast will and feistiness.

As he had pulled her from the water, he saw quite clearly, in a single moment, the many intriguing aspects of Genna. Her humanness and complexity inspired him, and he found himself drawn to her, for he had never encountered a woman so fully real.

Yet, he felt the responsibility of guiding them to dry land, and he focused his energies on bring her to safety.

"You're up for going forward?" Lucas clarified.

"Absolutely. We're almost there."

Hand in hand, the last leg of their journey was challenging, yet, in another vain, effortless; and, by the time they reached dry ground, their movements were virtually synchronized.

"We did it!" she exclaimed through exhaustion as she collapsed atop him upon the not-yet-green grass.

Looking up at her, he found that the humanness he had admired within her reflected now as a goddess-like quality. Everything about her was so refreshingly genuine and pure in its intent.

Resisting the urge to bring her lips to his own, Lucas lightened the moment by appealing to their other appetites.

"Let's grab the food from the bike," he suggested. "We'll have ourselves a bit of a picnic."

"Bring it on. I'm starving," Genna seconded the motion whole-heartedly.

Plodding up to and across the pavement, their legs felt heavy from their trek. Yet, as Lucas reached into a saddlebag to retrieve the sandwiches and waters, their spirits lifted at the mere thought of taking nourishment.

"Are you up for chilling for a while by the lake?" Lucas asked her. "It may be wet, but we can't get much filthier than we are now."

"Agreed," Genna said, wanting nothing more than to tear into the sandwiches.

Carefully making their way to the shoreline via a moderate drop from the trail near a large, hollowed out oak, Lucas led the way, keeping within arm's distance to support Genna's decent.

Settling precisely where they arrived, Lucas handed Genna her long-awaited lunch.

"Mmm, what is it?" she asked.

"Grilled portobello, tomato and soy cheese. I made it myself," he said with pride.

Genna remained silent -- and the slightest bit smug -- for a brief moment.

"You are an earth nerd, aren't you?" she laughed.

"Pardon me?" he replied in mock indignation. "You can just hand that back, right now," he said as he reached for the sandwich.

"Not a chance!"

"Give it back. You don't appreciate ethical eating," he jested.

"Make me!"

With one swift leap from where he stood, he pinned her to the ground, straddling her hips as he wrenched the sandwich from her hand.

Her wide eyes sparkled as she struggled against him, writhing and reaching for that which he'd taken from her.

"Give it to me!" she demanded.

"You want the sandwich, then? You admit that it will be delicious?"

"No, I want you," she stated forthright, as a woman who knew precisely what she wanted.

"You want me?" Lucas ensured his understanding.

"Actually, no, Lucas. I don't just want you. I need you," she said as her tone deepened with seriousness.

Pulling her wet t-shirt up and over her beautiful blonde locks, he brought his mouth to her erect nipples, loving them as he'd wanted so badly to do since she surfaced from her fall into the lake water. Drawing each in turn with his lips and tongue, he allowed himself the liberty of a gentle yet firmly administered bite.

Given the way she writhed with the sensation of his teeth upon her tender flesh, he confidently moved his mouth downward, trailing light kisses along her tightened abdomen to the waistband of her well-worn Edun jeans.

"May I look at you?" he asked, seeking the answer deep within her eyes. He noticed her pupils dilated with arousal.

"I'd like that, Lucas," she admitted. "I'd like for you to get to know me."

Unzipping her jeans, he brought the fitted denim down and over her hips and thighs, exposing her white lace panties and silky smooth skin; and, bringing himself to her feet, he tugged lightly and released her from the confines of her clothing all together, save for the panties he wasn't yet ready to remove.

"You're exquisite, Genna," he uttered as he gazed at the beautiful young woman before him. "In every way, I find you remarkable, not only your body, but your mind and spirit. I've been blessed with glimpses of your essence today, and I want to learn more about you."

"My essence? You can taste it, if you want to. I'm wet for you, Lucas. Don't you understand? As much as I appreciate the intent, you don't have to be so cautious with me. Please, don't. I want you to know me -- my taste, my smell, the sensation of your being deep inside me."

Slowly crawling upon his hands and knees, he approached the source of the essence of which she spoke and gingerly pulled her panties aside for a taste.

As his tongue lapped slowly through her folds, Genna moaned, bringing her sex up to meet his mouth. As he licked her slowly and deliberately, Genna fought her frustration. She didn't want slow and steady. She wanted Lucas's passion and intensity. She wanted to experience the animal within him. How could she get the instinct to come alive within him, much less coax him into setting himself free? Fuck cautious. She wanted a primal lover, a lover who would protect her by day, yet take her by night.

"Rip my panties, Lucas, and fuck me with your tongue. Don't lower them; rip them from me. Take what I'm giving to you. Stop asking permission, and take what is yours."

Allowing instinct and Genna's encouragement to guide his actions, he tore the flimsy lace with ease and dove into her pussy, licking and gnawing at her clit until her juices dripped, only to be absorbed into the cool, wet sand that lay beneath her perfectly-shaped bottom.

"Let me take you in my mouth, Lucas. I want to taste you, just as you are."

Bringing his cock to her lips, he felt himself expand and come alive. With Genna, he didn't have to ask permission or fear offending her. He admired her openness and her utter self-knowledge. Thus, he positioned his hand at the back of her head and thrust himself into her mouth, as her tongue traced imaginary hieroglyphics upon the sensitive underside of his cock. To his delight, she accommodated him without hesitation.

"I want to make love to you, Genna. May I?" he asked, in spite of his shaft lodged deep within her throat.

Pulling away from that which had silenced her, she looked him in the eye as she demanded, "Stop asking. I want you to take me, Lucas. There are no judgments. There is no protocol. I'm inviting you to love me and to penetrate me. I want to feel you inside me more than I've ever wanted anything."

He positioned himself at her entrance without another word; and, grabbing her hips with force, he gave her his entirety.

With him buried so deeply inside her, it took no time for her to come to an earth-shattering climax that awakened her womb as she had never dreamed possible.

She knew this was just the beginning; but, even now, over the course of a solitary afternoon, it had become evident that Lucas was learning his own desires and discovering the freedom to imbue them with life.

"Fuck me, Lucas. Fuck me until you come," Genna begged for the natural transfer of his chi.

Suddenly rising upon his knees, he lifted her ass from the sand and pounded her pussy hard until he came with a most intense orgasm without emission, an experience that he had never before known. He remained as erect and ready to love her as ever.

Lucas was stunned. Genna was impressed.

After catching their collective breath, Lucas and Genna at last found the opportunity to devour their lunches while resting upon the jagged rocks.

"What do you say you hop on the back of my bike? You can clean up at my place," Lucas suggested as he crumpled the recycled cellophane from his sandwich.

"A shower would be delightful," Genna admitted.

Packing out their mess, Genna hopped behind Lucas onto the vinyl seat and rode with her arms wrapped around him to his flat, right in the heart of the eclectic Willy Street neighborhood.

After spending a quick moment, taking in her environs, she bee-lined for the shower, where she scrubbed off the muck and algae and stood for what felt to be an eternity beneath the shower's spray.

With the sudden loosening of the door's faulty latch, her ears pricked with interest.

"I was hoping to dry you off," Lucas hesitantly revealed his intention as the shower ceased to steam. She had turned the handle as he peeked around the curtain.

With the door ajar, she could make out the faint strains of Damien Rice's "Cannonball" streaming from his computer's rather tinny-sounding speakers.

Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth...

"Yes, you may," Genna granted as she lifted her arms to admit him access.

Beginning with the exquisite roundness of her breasts, he took the time to allow the plushness of the towel to absorb every droplet from her skin, as he dried her shoulders, her arms, her belly and back as well as the firmness of her thighs. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the urge to linger for a moment before her bare mons, suckling upon her swollen nub.

So, it's not hard to fall... 

"Genna, please stay the night," Lucas asked, looking up at her.

As he stood to dry her hair, he could only imagine what it would be to gently brush it for her, come morning.

"Of course, I will," she easily conceded.

When you float like a cannonball... 

"I'd be honored to share your bed," she said, knowing their passion for one another could not be satiated in just one night. "Will you take me there now?"



Baptism



Her fingers buried clear up to her knuckles, she arched her wrist, enabling her to put even more pressure on her G-spot. Finally, she stiffened up, and then her orgasm hit, spurting a little arc of girl-cum into the air. 

"Oooh nooo" she yelped, as her body turned into a vibrating mass of jello. Her nipples became like little buttons which I could use to turn her faucet on an off at will. I'd pinch, she'd dribble, I'd let up, she'd twitch in anticipation, waiting for me to make her cum again. She was a rag doll in my arms. Finally, she grabbed my hands and peeled them off her tits

"Oh fuck," she giggled.

"Finished?"

"I think so," she gasped quietly, her fingers still probing her pulsating cunt.

"You need more Baby?"

"I"m cool," she sighed, trying to catch her breath. "Maybe we can do some more when we get home?"

"Sure Hon. Anything you want."

"Why so nice all of a sudden?" she asked, craning her neck to look at me.

"Well, we are in a church..."

"Oh my God," she gasped, looking around in dismay. "I sort of forgot where we were."

"Jesus will be impressed," I said, giving her a little kiss on the cheek. "I don't think He sees this sort of thing very often."

"I can't believe you made me do that," she sighed, trying to sit up.

"Well, we were sort of in a hurry, and you're so much better at it than I am."

"You just like to watch, because that's what perverts do" she grinned reaching for her black bra. "Come to think of it, I'm starting to realize it runs in the family."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Stripping naked for a baptism? If that's your Dad's idea of normal, he's even more whacked than you are."

"Good point," I said, helping her up off the bench. Then it dawned on me. "You know, if my father did do this just to humiliate us, I'd say we came out ahead, wouldn't you? I mean, when was the last time you squirted?"

"Darling," my wife said sarcastically, "any time you want to help make me squirt, I'm available."

"Really?" I said, grabbing her around the waist.

"Nooo!" she giggled, squirming away from me. 

Watching her get dressed out of the corner of my eye, I had a really good feeling imagining what we were going to do with that $500k. For one thing, she could quit her second job, and we could finally find enough time to have great sex more than once a week. We finished dressing and drove home, pondering what our new life would be like.

*****

Three days later we got another letter from my father's law firm.

"Dear Mr. Hartman,

 Your father, Reginald Hartman, would like to finalize his last will and testament with you at Hope Hospital, room 335, Friday at 4PM. We will need both you and your wife's signatures. If this it inconvenient, please respond immediately, as it is uncertain how much longer Reginald Hartman will be remaining with us here on earth before the Lord Jesus Christ summons him home."

"Come on Crystal," I coaxed, "you have to go."

"Your father hates me," she whined, trying to decide whether or not to go, and if she did go, what to wear.

"It says right here they're going to need your signature."

"What have I got to do with it? I'm not the heir to his fortune, you are."

"Maybe they need your signature as back up, in case I die before he does. I don't question this legal shit, I just sign on the dotted line and cash the checks.

"Oh alright," she whined, "but I'm not getting dressed up."

I thought for a moment, trying to figure out what would throw my dad for a loop. "I know," I blurted, "wear something sexy, like that push up bra I gave you for valentine's day?"

"Why waste it on him?" she frowned.

"Give him a little taste of what he's missing, and what I'm getting?"

"You're devious," Crystal grinned. "Like father like son."

We showed up at the appointed hour, me in my jeans, Crystal in her nastiest cleavage top and a short skirt. God I love it when she looks like that, her boobs quivering with every step, her ass swinging like a runway model. Every guy in the hospital stared as we strutted down the halls. It was a great feeling. 

Riding on a wave of confidence, we strode into room 335 to find my dad propped up in bed, tubes in his arms and an oxygen mask over his face. He was surrounded by his entourage, at least one of whom must have been the lawyer. It was painful, seeing my dad so close to death, but after what he had put me through, I couldn't let it get to me. He deserved to die a slow painful death, and that was exactly what was happening.

His bleary eyes took a while to focus, but when he recognized me, they lit up, just like they used to when he'd be pulling off his belt to administer a little old fashioned discipline.

"Well son," he croaked, his oxygen mask now dangling below his chin, "we meet again."

"Hi Dad," I said sheepishly, suddenly regretting my disdain for this man. He was, after all, my father.

"And the little lady" he grinned, feasting his eyes on my wife's bulging cleavage. "A sight for sore eyes." He chuckled, which brought on a horrendous coughing fit. Instantly, a nurse was by his side, fiddling with his mask and checking the readouts on the contraptions that were keeping him alive.

One of the members of his entourage, a skinny dude with round spectacles, shoved a clipboard into my hand. "Here's an advance check for $10,000, which will be deducted from the estate after it closes. You and your wife need to sign here, here and here."

I took the clipboard and found an empty chair, my vision suddenly blurry, my hands shaking. It's a good thing the places for the signature were marked with a red X, because I could hardly see. I guess the thought of depositing a half a million dollars into my overdrawn bank account threw me for a loop. I signed, and then passed the clipboard to Crystal, hoping for God's sake she wouldn't start reading the fine print and blow the deal. She didn't. She just signed her name in her flourishy handwriting and passed the clipboard back to the lawyer. Satisfied with our John Hancocks, the lawyer handed me the check and gave my Dad the thumbs up. 

"What did you think of my church?" my dad asked, his voice sounding like it was filtered through a box of nails. "That cello player's something else, isn't she?" An evil grin contorted his grey stubbly face, sending a chill down my spine. "But I'll tell you what, I'll take a girl like yours any day. Squirters are hard to come by."

"What?" I stammered, jumping to me feet. 

"It's the internet, Son. I've got 24 webcams set up down there, five of them in the rectory and each one has it's own dedicated hard drive. That statue of Jesus? That's my favorite camera. I love watching these God-fearing losers getting undressed for their baptism, although you and your wife are the first ones I've seen actually having sex."

"Damn you!" I blurted, suddenly restrained by a big burly dude on either arm.

"I'm already damned, son. Damned to hell. But at least now I can die happy, thanks to your little lady there. I've already replayed her squirt scene at least five times." He looked around at his entourage for approval. They all smiled and nodded.

"You fucker!" I bellowed, trying to break free from the bouncer dudes holding me back. "I'll sue you for this!"

"You're so fucking stupid it makes me sick," he growled, reaching for a paper cup so he could hack up a glob of red sputum. "Those documents you and your wife what's-her-name the squirt-queen signed? One was an opt-out for my will, relinquishing any future claim against my estate in exchange for $10,000. The last one is a model release form in which you signed away your rights to any video of you and your wife recorded at Saint Elizabeth Church last week."

I stood there, suddenly drained, as my dad continued his spiel.

"I don't think we're going to release your sex tape right away, I've instructed my lawyers to sit on it until it could do the most damage. It might be next month, it might be next year, but eventually, I'm going to make you realize who's in charge here."

"Fuck you!" I muttered, but it was too late. I was the one who was fucked. Seeing the smirking faces of his buddies ogling my wife, I turned around and stomped out, followed by the sound of Crystal's high heels clicking on the floor.

"The check honey, the check!" she moaned, trying to catch up with me, "there's still time to make it to the bank!" 

In that instant, I remembered my Dad's motto: Every man has his price. 



Baptizing John



I would have preferred to have slept in on a Saturday morning, but I owed my older brother about $50 and since I didn't have the cash to repay him, he asked me to drop by the church where he preaches in order to check the baptism pool for leaks before the big day tomorrow. It seemed that the county commissioner's teenage daughter was going to be baptized before a packed house and my preacher brother didn't want to take any chances. 

For those of you who may not have attended a Baptist baptism before, you may not realize that Baptist churches usually have small pools usually built behind the altar and choir loft - there are no water pitchers, wash tubs, or sprinkling because they like to do it just the way Jesus did it. Well sort of if you consider a fiberglass baptism pool the same as the River Jordan and the fluorescent lighting the same as the Judean sun. The congregation can only see the preacher and the person being baptized from the waist up because the bottom half is hidden by the choir or, in the case of my brother's church, whitewashed paneling purchased from a home improvement store. After all, the newly reborn do not expect a spa experience in the baptismal pool.

My job today was simply to make sure the pool wouldn't leak or rupture during the ritual soaking the self-important politicians in the front row and embarrassing my self-important brother. Despite the additional utility costs, my brother was to begin pre-heating it tonight. The deacons had voted to shoulder the extra expense following a scandalous incident at a neighboring church 2 years ago when a recently-saved teenage girl stepped into the cold water wearing a rather thin blouse...

The early morning thunderstorm slowed my drive, but I pulled into the parking lot in my jeep about 9. My brother had left the back door unlocked. I opened the pool spigot to full blast and just waited for it to fill up. It was going to take a very long time. I knew I could have easily smoked a few if I were a smoker, but instead I drained my coffee thermos and started in on my ham biscuit.

The heavy rain on the green metal church roof drowned the sounds of the door opening and so I was very startled to see a twenty something guy come in with a handful of paint buckets and brushes. Well, maybe he wasn't a college student, but he was the right age, about 10 years younger than me. He had a bit of a bedhead look going and was obviously not expecting anyone else to be here, or else he might have worn a cleaner shirt or shaved. He was no aspiring eccentric artist working on a goatee, his face betrayed Republican politics and a likely obsession with cable sports networks.

"Hey man," was about all he said as he walked into the sanctuary.

"Mornin'" I replied. I wondered if my preacher brother knew him, Frank hadn't mentioned anything about anyone else being here. "Did Frank hire you to recreate the Sistine Chapel before tomorrow's service?"

He laughed only a little, "Hardly. I gotta fix the painting up there," he replied while motioning toward the mid-20th century landscape (garish) mural of the River Jordan flowing through Galilee and emptying into the baptism pool I was filling.

What a task. But I was curious, "Do they still make those leaded colors?"

He chuckled a bit, "No way, why do you think Frank made me come in this morning? Gotta mix them myself."

"Oh, really, so how much money did you borrow from him?"

He looked at me bewildered, "Nothing. I'm getting my degree at the institute and the career office called me about the job."

I was relieved as I had almost reached the conclusion that he probably attended church here and was actually here out of earnest devotion; but no, he was in it for the money like me. Unlike my preacher brother, I was not a devout member of any congregation and I doubted my ability to make polite chitchat all morning with a young guy who took that stuff too seriously.

The tub was about half full. I wondered whether Baptist congregations out west were allowed to use so much water for a ceremony that takes only three minutes...

I raised my thermos to the painter, "Coffee?"

"No thanks, I just had some in my truck before I got here. Name's John by the way."

"I'm Kevin, Frank's brother."

"A priest's brother, eh?" he asked as he set up his supplies next to the pool.

"Priest? Frank is no priest, that's for sure. You must not have spent much time in Baptist churches before..."

"Nope."

"Ever been to a baptism before?"

"Can't say that I have."

It was fascinating to meet someone in this county with such little exposure to conservative evangelical Protestantism.

The tub finally filled close enough to full to test it. I headed toward the spigot to shut it off and decided to continue my effort at pointless small talk with Michelangelo, "So you gonna redo this a bit, update it, bring it into the 21st Century?"

"You mean put Israeli tanks on the tops of the hills of Galilee?"

"Whatever Frank is paying you, I'll double it if you do."

"Right, aren't you here because you owe money already? Besides, it's art just like it is. It might be amateurish, working-class, low budget art like a velvet Elvis, but still, these paintings are probably disappearing every day. Some ought to be saved."

"Like the CDC thinks the small pox virus should be saved?"

John ignored me and started mixing up the hue of electric orange cream he would need for the sunset. "So I guess you didn't owe Frank too much if you're just drinking coffee and eating breakfast." He caught me right in the eye as he spoke.

"A fortune, a bloody fortune. I didn't get home until 3 this morning, I needed the sleep, but had to check out the pool before her highness takes the plunge under tomorrow." I removed the paneling in front of the pool so I could check for leaks by dusting just a bit of flour around the seams to see if there was any seepage. "You know I like this pool a lot better without the paneling, don't you? They could create a human aquarium to relax the congregation, don't you think?"

John crouched over with his brushes and sponges. His sweatpants were stretched pretty tight in the rear and clung to his crack. I wondered if he might be hairy under the cotton, but John was mostly blonde and I thought it was more likely than not his crack was smooth since he had so little arm hair, but then again, you never can tell...

"Well?" John asked me as if I was a complete idiot.

My mind had obviously wondered, "Sorry, I was checking the pool out for leaks, what was that again?"

His fading patience was evident; "I said why do they go to so much trouble to sprinkle them in a pool, why not just do it at the altar like everyone else?"

"Sprinkle?" I started wiping the flour off with some enthusiasm since it looked like I wouldn't have to actually make any repairs to pay off my $50 debt. "They don't sprinkle you, they dunk you under."

John looked sincerely shocked. "Get out of here."

"Why do you think they're called Baptists?"

"Even the fat ones go under water?"

"Yeah. They're real buoyant though, don't worry."

"Even the ones who are scared of water?"

"Especially those, it's like handling rattlesnakes," I laughed.

"Does anyone drown?"

That was a good question, "It must have happened but I have never heard of it if it did."

"How many does the priest, I mean, preacher dunk at once?"

"Just one at a time, there might be one after the other if there has been a revival or something, but just one at a time gets in with the preacher until they're done and then the next one would get in after the first one got out." Damn, you'd think everyone knew this kind of basic stuff, especially a handsome 20-something blonde artist...I decided to get off the religious discussion, "So do you get to paint a lot of naked chicks at school?"

"Chicks? Do plump 40 year old divorcees with leathery complexions and ass pimples who need money for crack count?"

Hmm, crack, yes, I wouldn't mind seeing John's crack, but I played the game "At 3 a.m. they do, but I'm not sure about under fluorescent lights when you're sober and paying a lot of tuition."

John stopped working. "Yeah, I'd bet these overhead hospital lights make for some ghastly baptisms. Do they wear black swimsuits or something?"

"Dark dress suits maybe, but no swimsuits."

"Like a choir robe?"

"No, like a suit from a department store Easter sale suit. They get dunked in their regular church clothes."

"This place is starting to spook me."

"Good." I tried again, "So do you ever get off painting those nudes?"

"Well I prefer the shapes of these Galilee hills to most of the breasts I see in class."

Then I took a chance, "y'all ever do guys too? Maybe I could earn some extra bucks?"

"Oh yeah, meat is a lot cheaper than pussy and they try to keep our fees down."

"How cheap?"

"I've never asked, guess it depends on how much the students or teacher likes looking at you." He sort of winked at me.

"Think I'd have a chance?"

If John was surprised I might be serious, he didn't show it; without turning to face me he answered right away,

"No problem." I wondered what he meant but it felt too awkward to pursue.

I instinctively reckoned that conversation was at a dead-end, but I wanted to push matters, "Well, you know the best way to make sure this frickin' thing doesn't leak would be to baptize someone one in it before tomorrow's service. Are you Seventh Day Adventist by any chance?"

John cocked his brow. "What the hell are you talking about, Kevin?"

I helped him out, "Because then today would be your Sabbath, right? And I could baptize you."

"What if I someone already sprinkled me?" We both smirked a bit. "You must still be drunk from last night."

"C'mon John, think of it as a cultural experience."

"Not today, I didn't bring my church suit, buddy."

"It's just us, c'mon."

He didn't immediately tell me to fuck off. "It looks cold."

"Well, there's only way to know for sure."

"Stick your toe in?"

"I didn't know you artists were such wusses." He looked at me and grinned. 

"Well if I said ok, what would I have to do?"

"It won't hurt, promise."

"Is your brother going to show up today?"

"Not as far as I know. Ok, let's go..."

I made a bold decision, calculating that I was unlikely to get beaten up by an artist in a house of God and that I was also unlikely to see John again in any event. I began slipping off my shorts and t-shirt and watch. Every black hair on my chest and arm and thighs and calves was erect; the hairs curled and massed at the base of my cock grew electric. The thunder continued outside and the very thought of being in the baptism pool during a thunderstorm, completely naked in front of John, drove a drop of precum right out the slit of my swollen head and into my boxer briefs. I turned my back to him, peeled my briefs down, and pitched them behind the dismounted paneling and stepped in the cool (ok, cold) water of the chlorinated 'River Jordan.' Because I had over-filled the tub to check for leaks, the water rose up to my pecs. I drained some of it out.

"Afraid you'll drown?"

"Nah, just didn't want it to overflow when you got in."

"When? You mean IF I get in"

"WHEN you get in" I repeated.

"Well I've got to take a leak." And keeping his back to me so that I couldn't see his crotch, he stepped off the platform and down the aisle behind the organ to the men's room. He must have been hard, I thought, to go to so much trouble not to let me see him. Probably hard and dripping like me.

I could see my seven-inch cock through the clear water-the lack of paneling let the bright sanctuary light filter in. I moved to the edge and rubbed my cock and balls against the plexiglass, sort of casually fucking it, imagining the congregation was watching, horrified and mesmerized as my brother Frank wailed about the fires of hell. It felt pretty good actually. But when I heard a flush, I backed away.

John walked back in and seemed relaxed, he wandered out into the pews to check his painting from the observer's viewpoint (so he said). Then as he got almost back to the altar he looked at me, "So do Baptists always get stiffies like you when they get baptized?"

My god, the water must be clearer than I thought! I laughed aloud knowing my face was red. "Wouldn't you too knowing you had eternal salvation? "

"Good point."

"Well, get in."

"You're not going to shut up until I get in?"

"Only one-"

John cut me off, "Only one way to find out, I know, I know..."

He walked right up to the edge of the small pool and faced me and used both hands to pull his shirt off, "Just one dunk and that is it, got it?"

I was too fascinated with his chest to object. No tattoos, no piercing, no hair, just two tiny light brown nipples and an outie naval. I figured he might be a little embarrassed to strip down right in front of me, but no, he pulled his sweats down in one movement -he was wearing no underwear at all. No wonder his crack had looked so defined...but he was so quick stepping down into the water to me that I only got the briefest glimpse of his half-bloated pink cock with its wild bushy reddish hairs wrapped around his balls.

John seemed all business, but we each knew this was anything but business as usual. He caught me in the eye, "Tell me what to do for your test."

"You stand about two feet away, there," I put my hands on his shoulders and biceps to guide him, "and I will put my right hand over your nose and my left arm will catch you as you fall back and then lift you back up, just down and up."

"What about my hands?"

"Well cross your chest with them, I guess, I was 9 when I did it, I don't recall."

"Kevin, I'm surprised, I thought for sure you'd say one holds onto the preacher's prick for balance." We both laughed.

"Whatever the Holy Spirit guides you to do..."

"Keep dreaming. C'mon, let's go, and then I am out of here."

The sloshing water massaged John's slim waist and I could see tiny bubbles clinging to the stark white cheeks of his ass and thighs. He had a few muscles in his back shoulders but he was obviously not taking any steroids or wasting too much of his life in the gym.

"I'm ready."

And slowly John leaned back, his legs stiff, his long body extended like a board, but he had not followed my suggestion about his hands and they hung by his side. He closed his eyes as my right hand (still slightly greasy from that ham biscuit) covered his nose and mouth. I felt sure lightning might strike us both at any moment.

As he reclined back into my waiting left arm, my eyes ran down his chin, chest and to his dick, the head of which now protruded from the pool water although its base and balls were still underwater; John's face, with my hand over most of it, slowly submerged and I felt his full weight now on my left arm, and then I felt, and could also see, his right hand grasp my left thigh and squeeze tight. As he did so, bubbles from my own legs fought their way to the surface. I left him under water for a few seconds, his face looked relaxed and he ran his hand higher up to my ass and its hole and on up out of the water up to the small of my back. I realized I could try to drown him, but he was more fun alive.

I brought John up, just barely above the water line, removed my hand, and gave him a kiss on the neck. With my right hand now free, and the water supporting most of his weight on my left arm, I ran my hand down from his nose, across his tongue and lips, and left pec on down to his cock, and under the water to his suspended balls. With my thumb and index finger, I encircled the base of his shaft and pumped him, all the while watching the tip of the head above water. Liquid too thick to be water ooze down his pink head and into the pool.

John ran his own left hand down to his dick and began to squeeze the four inches or so above water, while I worked the submerged base. His right hand never let go of my ass and I felt his finger and fingernail wiggle my asshole. I scrunched and then loosened my sphincter to invite him in. I was in no mood to play hard to get. Just as he was about to slide his long finger in, I saw his first spurt of cum across his chest, the next hit mine, and the last three dribbled down into the water where the cum coagulated and globbed onto his curly crotch hairs. I had heard about premature ejaculation but never witnessed it, but as God as my witness, that was a fast orgasm. John looked ready to get up and out. 

"Just one dunk, you're sure?" I couldn't believe he had been serious.

"Just one, sorry buddy."

I lifted him back up, his hands fell away from my aching ass, balls and cock and down to the gelled cum all over his lower body. He rubbed it off and set it loose in the pool in search of ova and then stepped back up to his painting.

My balls were so full of cum I couldn't stand it any longer, yet he showed no interest whatsoever in watching me cum, much less helping me! John fetched his faded sweats and t-shirt and stepped towards the men's room to get changed.

I began rubbing my dick against the glass wall of the baptism pool again feeling my load swell. After a few minutes I head the door open again and expecting to see John, yelled to him "I don't mind if you watch, you know."

"KEVIN!! What is going on?" boomed my brother's voice.

There was really nothing I could say. Nothing. Frank had a bird's eye of me in this fishbowl with my hard cock pointing straight at him.

"Get dressed and get out of here right now!" My brother stormed up to the pool, "What is that floating in the pool?

Caulk? No, it can't be, is that your semen? It is! Don't lie to me. I've always known you were just the type to desecrate the house of God like this, but mother would never have believed me, this is going to break her heart when I tell her. I don't care if it takes all day you are going to drain and clean and refill this tub and reimburse the church for the wasted water."

In any decently-priced porn flick, Frank would have climbed in with me, but this was a Saturday morning in my straight brother's church and I saw no erection in Frank's pants or pent up lust in his eyes as he yelled at me.

I decided to ask my mother for the $50 plus another $20 for the water to repay Frank. To buy Frank's silence I had to promise him I would start coming to church. Maybe I could pay my mother back by modeling for John's class...



Baptizing Kristie



Venice will steal your heart any hour of the day.

Or night. Go and row your lover in a makeshift little boat to the market at the foot of Rialto Bridge. Do it in the haze of early morning. Kiss her in the cool shadowed galleries across San Marco's. Feed her a bite of pasta at a wholly unknown little square that you'll never be able to find back. Show her the maze of shady alleys and smelly canals in the quiet of the night.

Venice is a floating body of ancient bones. It is shaped from decaying stone and rotting wood. The ghosts of so many lovers can be touched and tasted at every corner. They enter you. They fill your soul and take you over. You will never return from Venice untouched.

You will never be the same again.

The high, open arches of the loggia gave out on the Canal Grande. Little wavelets kissed the molding feet of the ancient palazzo; the last rays of the sun turned the water into molten gold.

A girl leaned against the elegant pillar of the open window. She half-sat on a stone sill and looked out over the canal. All kinds of little boats and gondolas passed like silent flotsam. The apricot sun licked at the silver threads in her bodice. It painted high sweet curves where the corset pushed up her tits. The full, wide skirt spread from her waist in a cascade of silver and green, opening into a full length split. One lovely tanned leg stretched all the way from her hip to an embroidered silver-heeled mule.

It dangled loosely from her toe.

Giselle stared into the sun; its rays bathed her lovely face, setting fire to her hair. Her smile was sweet. Her pretty mouth pouted to hum a song. Giselle had no memories of ever having been so happy. As a matter of fact, Giselle had not many memories at all. None that stretched back much farther than a few days. No thoughts reached forward even into the next hour.

Before last week there had not been a Giselle.

The sting at the top of her right ass cheek reminded her how young she really was. The mere thought of what had happened, made her swollen slit flow. Half-hidden nipples strained to escape the bodice

She remembered.

Back at the Villa, a week ago, her day had started by taking a shower, washing the sleep from her eyes – and taking an enema to clean her bowels. Then, like every morning, she had meticulously oiled her body, replacing the fat plug she'd been given. She'd walked over to the Villa's summer room, kneeling down on the spot her Mistress had pointed out for her. There she waited with her hands open on her thighs – palms up. Her back arched to show her tits.

She sat for almost an hour.

A slow cramp conquered the muscles of her legs. Then she heard the metallic taps of her Mistress's heels. It was a sound that never failed to make her heart race and her nipples tighten.

Angique entered and walked over to her. She lifted her chin with a leather-clad finger. Kristie's eyes drowned into the emerald pools – as usual. They took her in, body and soul.

"Today is an important day for my little darling," Angique said. Kristie felt a rush of excitement.

"Today the little cunt will be mine forever."

Kristie swallowed. She kept her stare fixed on her Mistress's eyes. She knew what Angique meant. She did not know in what way she would make Kristie hers. But she did not care as long as she would be hers.

These last weeks had changed her. She knew she could not trust herself to run her own life anymore. Kristie should die. She should be peeled off of her true core like a snake's skin. There should be a new Kristie – a Kristie she could trust; a Kristie who was the save and absolute property of the woman who was her Mistress.

Her resistance had been silly. She loved Angique and admitting it did not surprise her at all. Kristie knew how to love a person. Life had often punished for this. Nevertheless she kept falling in love with the ease of breathing. Losing herself into a love greater than that for herself came natural. But this time she knew it was deeper. It was more intense than it had ever been.

"I know, Mistress", she whispered. "This little cunt loves you. She will be yours forever."

The truth of it was overwhelming. A tear clung to the rim of her eye. Angique smiled.

She took the girl's hand to make her rise. Then she closed a leather collar around her throat and fastened a leash to it. She pulled at it and led Kristie down winding stairs into the lower levels of the ancient house. They walked a long, sculptured corridor.

A breeze hardened Kristie's nipples. She closed her eyes, loosing herself in the sounds of her bare, plodding feet and the tip-taps of her Mistress's heels. Her ass's deepest muscles groped at the fat, black intruder. Her hips gyrated at every step.

Her heart beat loudly.

She knew they were heading for a place of incredible passions; passions that would drown her in pain and pleasure. She knew there would be no return after this day. She also knew it was her destiny. This knowledge threw a cloak of tranquility over the boiling lava of her emotions.

Angique led her into a huge cage. Its iron bars rose over them, bending inward until they met, creating a transparent ceiling under ancient stone vaults.

She pulled a black leather mask over Kristie's head to blindfold her. Then she took the stumbling girl to a slab of marble at the center. She made her stand there, her naked, oiled body shining in a circle of torches. They made her curves come alive at every move.

Angique took her hands. She kissed them softly. Then she caught the girl's wrists in leather-lined metal cuffs and clicked them together over her head.

Angique ran her tongue in slow, swirling circlets over the oiled skin and down the girl's body. She paused at the stiff nipples to suck them in, catching the ring of her piercing between her teeth. She pulled at it. Lost in her darkness Kristie moaned. She did not know where the incredible touches would materialize next. She felt tiny goose bumps rise all over her body.

The tongue carefully avoided her throbbing clit. But velvet lips kissed the tender insides of her thighs. Gloved hands pushed her legs into a wider stance; metal closed around her ankles. A clicking sound told her that her spread legs were bolted to the floor.

Then a leather palm cupped her exposed cunt. It kneaded it slowly. A searching finger entered her slit.

"Mmmm," she heard her Mistress say. "My lovely slut is so wet already."

A surge of pride washed through her.

After a moment's silence metal chains rattled anew. She felt a tugging at her wrists; her hands were pulled up. She stood fully stretched, only her toes touched the marble.

Another pause gave her time to feel the strain build in her arms and shoulders. She did not know how long she would be hanging like this. She tried to ignore the pressure.

Then, without warning, a flash of pain hit her right tit. 

Kristie screamed, as much of pain as of surprise.

Angique's voice was soft, even tender.

"Just so I'm sure I have your attention," she said. "Because you know, little darling, today is a day for close attention. Today you'll die. Kristie will leave your life forever." There was a pause before the soft voice returned. "Tell me you won't miss her."

"I won't miss her," Kristie said immediately. She felt no need to think. "I am glad you'll get rid of her."

There was silence. A tiny chuckle fell into it like a pebble into a quiet pond. Kristie could hear the blood pulse in her temples. Then pain slashed through her left tit. She winced. She did not cry out.

"Just to be sure you are still here, love," Angique said. "Tell me, will the new girl be worth my troubles?"

Again Kristie did not hesitate. "Oh, she will, sweet Mistress. She will serve you with her body and soul. Please take her, she'll love you!"

Another silver chuckle.

"Lo-ove," Angique's voice drawled. "Such a popular concept. Please tell me about this... love?"

Kristie was dumbstruck. Love was love, what was there to explain?

"I... I can't, Mistress," she said haltingly. "Love is, well, love is love. One loves a person. One just knows."

Another flash of pain hit her thighs. It struck right beneath her spread pussy. She winced; then she sobbed.

"Please... ," she whispered. "Please help me understand."

"Don't talk to me about love, cunt," Angique said. Her voice was sad, not at all harsh. "Don't you ever."

"No, Mistress, I am sorry," Kristie said.

A cool, slick finger traced the hot slashes on her thighs. Then a soft tongue spread her cunt-lips. It dwelt on her hard, throbbing clit. Kristie moaned. The pain had heightened her senses in a way she did not understand. And now the new tenderness pushed her close to the edge of an orgasm. But Mistress did not allow her to fall into it. She took away her fingers and her mouth. She left her floating in a murky sea of frustration.

Then the touch returned. A pair of moist lips closed around her right nipple. It sucked her in. Two fingers pinched the nipple and twisted it left and right. They sent electric shivers into her.

A sudden sting tore through the aroused flesh. It felt as if a small rodent clenched its jaws around it and kept dangling. In the cruel echo of the bite she felt her other nipple being sucked. In her blinded darkness both sensations struggled for her attention.

"Ooooh," she moaned, hanging limply from her chains. A second little rat bit her other nipple and she came. Her body shook with violent spasms.

"Mmmmm, goooood," Angique groaned. 

She bent forward to lick the squirting nectar off the girl's slit.

"You are such a sweet lil slut, my darling whore. I'm so proud of you."

Darkness again.

It was a darkness wrapped in silence. The only sounds were her thudding heart and gasping breath. The orgasm had washed over her from the back of her neck down to her curling toes. It still echoed inside her, making her skin ripple all over her stretched body.

"Darling," she heard her Mistress say.

She tried to be attentive and hear every word through the buzz of her afterglow. "Darling, have I ever told you about the King's whores?"

She had no memory of it. She shook her masked head.

"No, Mistress." A slick leather gloved hand started caressing her as the voice went on.

"The old Kings of France had the right to mark women who had broken his laws. They became his property. He could make them do whatever he liked. They were called the King's whores and gave their services to the King and his friends."

"Today," she went on after a pause. She pulled at the things that bit her nipples, sending new bolts of pain into her body. "Today you will become your Queen's property, sweet little slut, for Her to decide your destiny. Today you will be marked as your Queen's whore."

Kristie gasped. 

The enormity of the moment sank in.

"Tell me you understand, little girl".

A cool leather hand cupped her cunt. It still shivered.

"I understand, Mistress," she said. "And I thank you."

Her voice was very clear.

There was a silence. Then the heels of her Mistress clicked away from her. They returned a moment later. A waft of acrid smoke tickled made her sneeze. Heat radiated against her face.

"The King marked his whores with the sign of the French lily. He did this by branding that sign into their flesh." Angique's voice was sweet and tender.

"Kristie," she went on. And the heat almost seared the girl's face. "Kristie, this will be the last decision you'll take in your life. So pay attention to my questions."

Sweat leaked from under the leather mask. A tremor ran down her skin. But she nodded and whispered:

"I am ready, Mistress."

"Will you accept this mark of the French lily?" Angique went on. "Think, girl. It will make you mine forever."

Kristie's voice again was as clear as a silver bell.

"I accept with all my heart, Mistress. Please take me. Take my life."

The heat changed its position. It now hovered over her left tit.

"Tell me, Kristie. As a last gesture of independence I allow you to suggest where you shall be marked. The decision of course will be mine. Will it be on your titflesh?" The glow crawled to her belly.

"Or on your belly?" It travelled to her shoulder now.

"On your shoulder maybe, darling?" At last it stopped right over her right ass cheek.

"Or will it be on this lovely tanned cheek? Oh my, look how tight and strong it is. Watch how it ripples like the skin of a thoroughbred."

Kristie felt the heat almost bite her skin. A tiny squirt of urine escaped her cunt lips. It ran down her inner thigh. Angique's voice seemed farther away.

"Please tell me, darling. I'll honor your last wish."

Kristie swallowed.

"On top of my right cheek, please, Mistress."

A brutal pain sank into the flesh of her buttock. A stench of burning skin crept into her nose. She screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed on until her throat gave out.

Then a merciful weakness made her pass out.

*** 

"Tu es si belle."

The soft voice entered Giselle's reverie. She turned her head to see where it came from, and she saw her Mistress stand in the middle of the Venetian loggia.

She wore a similar dress in embroidered heavy silk, but hers was silver on black. The bodice cupped only half of her pale breasts. The skirt wasn't full, but straight. Its tightness showed off her long legs. It ended right over black leather mules. A deep slit ran up her left calf.

"I am so happy," Giselle answered.

She walked over to Angique. There she made a small reference. Then she whispered: "May I kiss you, Mistress?" They kissed against the backdrop of the golden Venetian sunset. Their hands roamed their bodies. Their tongues performed a snakelike dance.

Giselle is my name, the girl thought. And she knew it was the sweetest name in the universe. The name that would always take her back to the afternoon she was born in throes of pain and sweet surrender.

Mistress had printed her brand into her tanned skin.

It would be there forever. The pain had made her pass out. When she came to, she no longer dangled from the chain. She lay spread-eagled, face down on the marble slab. The blindfold was gone. The cool slick stone kissed her glowing body. A small pool of saliva had formed where her half-open mouth pressed against it.

Kristie winced when a finger traced the new brand. Then her Mistress's voice came to her.

"Feel your Queen's lily, sweet slut. It will always remind you who you are. But there has to be one last ritual. You need a new name, love. And I found it for you; a name to suit the new little whore I found. Kristie has died in the flames of the searing brand, sweet child. You know that, don't you?"

The girl moaned. Angique smiled.

"You are my new-born baby, sweet child," she went on. "I shall baptize you with the name I chose. The name that will make you my property."

There was silence. Then a hot rush of liquid hit her backside, right where the new mark was. The pungent smell of steaming urine filled the air. The girl arched her back and groaned.

"I baptize you with the name of Giselle, sweet darling slut. That name will tie you to me forever. You can't exist without me. Neither can I without you. Tell me, sweet slave, will you be Giselle? Will you be mine forever?"

Giselle felt the arteries in her body swell with the purest desire, the most absolute need. And she whispered:

"I'd rather die than live without you, Mistress."

Angique chuckled. She lay down, her body on top of the girl she called Giselle. The skin was slippery and cold with the spent juices. She licked the inside of the girl's ear. It made her shiver. Then she said:

"You make me so incredibly happy, my sweet Giselle."

Her tears dripped on the girl's cheek. It mingled with hers.

*** 

On the Venetian loggia, Angique stepped back. She held on to the girl's face and smiled.

"We have a date, honey," she said. "Remember? We have a boat waiting for us. It will take us to a most wonderful place where we might stuff our starved stomachs."

The boat took them all the way along the Canal Grande. They sat in the back. Giselle hugged her Mistress. Angique explained all the lovely places they passed. There were the palazzi of rich merchants. They had sailed the world for rare and precious merchandise. The house of Casanova glided by. A girl who left him had broken his heart. So he decided to take revenge and broke all the female hearts he could lay his hands on.

There was a large and very ancient palazzo to their right. It once was a convent of great disrepute. Angique whispered as she told about it. In the 18th century it belonged to a very rich heir. He had made it into a luxurious bordello. But no one knew it was that. He even convinced the church that it was a convent school for young girls. Very young girls they were indeed, as was later on discovered. Its fall took down protectors in high places, church and government alike. The owner fled. He died two years later in Constantinople – from syphilis, as gossips insisted.

The palazzo bathed its crumbling feet in the canal. Its hollow eyes gazed over the water. It made Giselle's skin crawl. She imagined what must have happened behind its façade. To her surprise she saw goose bumps rise on her Mistress's pale arms.

The terrazzo where they would eat, proved to be a floating contraption. It was attached to a restaurant. They were led to their table right at the waterfront. It gave them a feeling to be afloat, and very much part of the traffic on the canal.

The table was small. Their knees made contact. Angique took Giselle's hand. She told her how proud she was to visit this great city with her. Giselle beamed. She pulled her Mistress's hand closer and kissed it.

"I have never been happier in my life, Mistress", she said. Then she took the first sip of the kir royal that the handsome young waiter had brought. It went straight to her head.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. She waved cool air to her burning face. They both laughed out loud. It earned them quite some attention from passing gondole.

Angique leant forward. She whispered:

"Sweet darling, please get under the table. Eat my pussy."

*** 

It was two days later when Angique sipped the orange juice she called breakfast. She let the sun's golden fingers touch her face, being too deep in thought to appreciate the early sunshine over the roofs of ancient Rome. A smile curled her lips. Satisfying images appeared on the wide screen of her mind, lit by an orange sun setting over the vastness of a Venetian canal. They were memories of tingling wine kissing her throat. And of a sweet girl's tongue expertly invading her swollen cunt.

A sigh made her chest heave inside silk wrappings. She felt the skin around her nipples tighten. Her thighs spread just enough to make the moist skin part.

My God, had the girl been lovely.

After Angique had come deliciously, she'd kept Giselle crouched under the table. She waved for the young waiter to step closer. She studied the menu with him and asked him to explain a detail. When his head was close, she whispered in his ear. He looked startled. But he moved his crotch closer to the side of the table. Angique slipped her hand under the tablecloth, finding Giselle's and leading it to the boy's fly. The waiter's sharp intake of breath was perfectly synchronized with the one from below.

Giselle opened the waiter's trousers. She carefully took out his swollen member. Then Angique lifted the tablecloth at the side of the canal. She also lifted the girl's skirt to expose her bare backside to the traffic on the water. The pale flesh tightened itself around the black dot of the plug's end. 

Angique smiled and made polite conversation with the poor waiter. He desperately tried to suppress his growing arousal. It was a battle he could not win. At last he groaned loudly. Tight lips rubbed up and down his rock hard stem. Soft, insisting fingers kneaded his balls.




Baptizing Kristie



At the same time Angique slipped a hand under the table. She started to caress Giselle's silken cheeks and the stretched rosebud between them. A smothered moan widened her smile. She slid her probing fingers down to a dripping pussy. Her keen ears picked up the wet, rhythmic sounds of the girl's sucking mouth. She matched them with her slow fucking fingers.

People on the water watched incredulously. They pointed at the pale moon that had so unexpectedly risen on the shore. Some of them started to call. Angique waved at them and smiled. But she let down the skirt and the tablecloth to avoid problems that might arise from too much attention.

That night Giselle swallowed at least five generous helpings of Italian sauce. She also drank three cups of female nectar. Quite a number of people visited their table that evening. She spent at least an hour on her knees. Then Angique allowed her to surface with a blushing, disheveled head and eat her bowl of pasta. One of her lovely round tits had been squeezed out of her corset. When she tried to push it back in, Angique checked her hand. She cupped the globe of sweetly tanned flesh, and pinched its nipple. Her emerald gaze captured Giselle's wide-open hazel eyes. She never let them go while she fondled the breast into a state of excitement.

"Thank you, sweet dove," she said. "You have been good." She kissed Giselle over the table. She pushed her tongue deep into a mouth that was still fragrant with the juices it had sampled. The girl's chest heaved with a sigh. Her smile was a brilliant sun in the crimson sky of her blushing face.

That night they made love until the first rosy fingers of the new day touched the flat roof of the palazzo. Soft silk pillows lay strewn on the ancient tiles. The air had been balmy. They never felt the need to leave the roof and go inside. Under a canopy of stars they'd eaten each other in the way of the sacred number. Angique had bound and blindfolded her darling slave. She had fucked her in mouth, cunt and asshole with her favorite black strap on dildo.

The new sun found them exhausted, and with limbs entwined. Their skins shivered from the evaporation of their sweat.

Angique smiled at the innocent face of the sleeping girl. "Good morning, sweet child", she whispered in a rosy ear. The girl did not respond. Angique carefully slid her arm from under the warm body and tried to unlock their legs. She placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Then she tiptoed off the roof's terrace and into the silent house.

She took a lengthy shower and dressed. Then she spiraled down the ancient stairs until she came to the loggia. A boat waited there to take her to the train station right across the Venetian lagoon.

The sweet girl now called Giselle at last woke up. She found that her Mistress was already on her way to Milan and on to Rome. Emptiness crawled into her eyes. Angique had gone indeed. She found a note telling her to return to the Villa and wait. Her mistress wouldn't be gone for more than three days. "Kisses, a." it said.

Giselle smelled Angique's perfume on the card. She hid it inside her tiny purse. Then she went down to find breakfast.