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.