Chapter Five
Kingston
I take my time undressing Faith, starting with the ties at the front of her dress. I unlace the bow and loosen it, revealing the swell of her ample breasts and the top of her white chemise. Her breath keeps catching and the cutest little whimpers escape her throat.
Originally, I only planned to give her a bath, but now I cannot in good faith ignore her distress.
The vision of her legs spread, her nakedness on display as she explored her slick pink cunny, replays in my mind and heats my blood. If we’d already said our vows, I would likely be claiming her as my wife-in-truth in this moment.
Tomorrow afternoon can’t come soon enough.
Once I have the dress stripped off her, she stands before me in nothing but her thin chemise, drawers, and stockings. She’s a slender girl, but her hips flare out nicely and my gaze is repeatedly drawn to her chest. The dusky pink outline of her hardened nipples pokes through the thin material of her chemise.
Neither of us speaks while I continue undressing her, bending down to remove each of her stockings in turn, but the words unsaid speak volumes and mean the world to me, because she’s taken a leap of faith and is giving me her trust.
The scent of the lavender soap bubbles fills the bathroom, but when I’m in close proximity to her womanly core, I can detect the heady aroma of her femininity. She must be very, very wet. And achy. My entire body thrums at the prospect of watching her moan and shudder as I stroke her to bliss.
I pull her chemise over her head and proceed to make quick work of removing her drawers. Each garment is tossed in a pile next to the chair, and I have no plans to redress her in the same outfit. Until a servant returns with new clothing for her, she can stay wrapped in a towel or a blanket. I imagine keeping her wrapped up and warm while she’s seated on my lap. She presents as a fragile little thing, yet I sense the resilience within her. She’s likely never had anyone to lean on during her life thus far, but she doesn’t have to be the strong one anymore.
I will be her strength. I’m determined to heal her.
If I can heal her and reap satisfaction simply from caring for the girl, then there is hope for me yet. The desires she’s unfurling within me have already given me hope that perhaps my heart isn’t the shriveled up, cold and blackened thing I’d once thought it was.
I step back and admire her beauty. Her neck and face are both red, she’s flushing so hard. She squirms and presses her legs together, her continued discomfort prompting me to tap her thighs and urge them apart. With obvious reluctance, she takes up a wide stance, stepping her feet apart and opening herself up to her papa’s touch.
“Good girl.” I cup her swollen mound and meet her eyes. She moans and jerks forward, pressing herself against the heel of my palm. Still cupping her sweet cunny, I slide one finger through her slit to discover all her gathering moisture. “You’re soaking wet, little girl.”
“Papa.” My name is a plea on her lips. She’s asking for my help, even if she doesn’t know what it is she’s asking for.
“Hush now, Papa is going to make you feel very good.”
“But…how?”
I push deeper into her entrance, until I feel the distinct barrier of her maidenhead. Withdrawing slightly, I drive in and out of her tight channel several times, before I seek out her clit. When I brush over the stiffened fleshy protrusion, she cries out and clutches onto my shoulders. Her responsiveness, combined with her utter innocence, leaves me enthralled and aching to sink my cock into her perfect little cunny.
“I think it’s time you get into the bathtub, little girl.”
“Yes, Papa.”
I guide her to the sizeable tub and assist her as she crawls in. She sinks into the water with a satisfied groan. Her eyes flutter shut and her expression becomes one of pure rapture.
“This is heavenly. I haven’t had a proper bath in years. Thank you, Papa.”
“It’s my pleasure, little one. Is your flower still achy?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Get on your hands and knees in the water. Papa’s going to take care of you. I will give you a release and then you’ll feel much better.”
Her eyes cloud with confusion and she bites her lip. “A release?”
“It will make all the aching between your thighs better. I promise. Now, get into position. Remember, I expect your obedience. Don’t make me ask again.”
“Of course, Papa,” she replies with a flush. She scrambles onto her hands and knees, but she’s also mindful of the water sloshing about and is careful not to splash me or the floor. Once she’s on her hands and knees, she lifts her bottom out of the water and gives me a pleading look.
I sit on the edge of the tub and reach for her flower. Little droplets of water cascade over her bottom, as well as the light blonde tuft at the apex of her thighs.
As I start rubbing her clit, I say, “This private part of you belongs to your papa, Faith. You must never, ever touch yourself here without permission. Your cunny is mine. Your rosebud—the little pucker between your bottom cheeks—is mine as well.”
“I understand, Papa. Oh, please don’t stop. This feels…oh!” She gyrates her hips against my swirling finger and half-moans, half-whimpers deep in her throat. The water sloshes faster around her as she shudders and reaches the heights of her desire.
When the last tremor runs through her, I help her turn over and sit back in the water. Her eyes are on me. “Thank you, Papa. I never imagined such a thing was possible. I feel much, much better now.”
I reach for a cloth, dip it into the soapy water, and commence running it over every inch of her luscious little body. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now. Don’t forget about my rule. Your pleasure belongs to your papa, and you will not like the consequences if you disobey this particular rule.” I lift an eyebrow at her for emphasis.
Her eyes grow wide. “I promise I’ll be good, Papa.”
“Now, stay right there and enjoy the water while I get the shaving supplies.”
“Shaving supplies?”
I turn to rummage through the cabinets near the sink. “Yes, sweetness. I plan to shave your cunny lips until they are completely bare. Your flower will be kept smooth and bare at all times, little one.”
* * *
Faith
It’s not as embarrassing as I imagined for Papa to undress me and give me a bath. Though initially nervous, I soon felt at ease as he guided me through my pleasure and helped me feel better. Never in my wildest imaginings had I thought I could experience such an explosion of sensation if I touched my cunny. Though I promised to be good and not disobey Papa’s rule about touching myself, I’m somewhat tempted to try it later.
Maybe under the covers at night, in secret.
Once my bath is over and my cunny is shaven smooth, the latter of which he mercifully does safely and quickly, Papa rinses me off and wraps me in the fluffiest, whitest towel I’ve ever seen. He also twists a smaller towel around my freshly washed hair. I reach for my clothes, but he makes an odd noise in his throat, and I turn around to meet his gaze, wondering what’s wrong or if I’ve displeased him in some way.
“You won’t be wearing those again, little girl. A servant will return soon with some brand new clothes for you. Then, as soon as it can be arranged, I’ll have a seamstress make a whole new wardrobe for you.”
My face heats, knowing I must have looked like a vagabond to him when he first spotted me on the street. I peer at the pile of clothes on the floor. It’s the best, sturdiest dress I own. I only possess one other dress, but its material is quite thin and only suited for the summer months. It’s tucked under my mattress at the orphanage, along with the other few worldly possessions I own—extra stockings, a couple of books, and a writing journal.
“Come, Faith, let’s go back into your bedroom. Perhaps you can rest until the servant returns. You look fatigued.”
Holding the top of the towel, I follow him and my gaze soon sweeps around the beautiful bedroom. I can’t believe it’s really mine.
“Papa, am I to sleep here all the time? Even once we are married?”
He removes the decorative pillows from the bed and tosses them on a chair, then he turns the covers down. “Sometimes you will sleep here, and other times you will join me in the master bedroom. But this is your personal space, my dear. We can decorate it any way you’d like.”
I survey the pink walls, the large painting of a flower field set on the far wall, the sheer white drapes that cover the window in elegant layers, and the various dressers situated around the room. A well-stocked bookcase rests under the painting, a large rocking chair takes up one corner, and a multi-colored rug in pastel shades covers a large section of the polished wood floor.
“Papa, it’s perfect. You don’t have to change a thing. Thank you. I’m so grateful. I can’t believe this bed,” I say. “It looks so comfy.”
He unwinds the towel from my body and produces a large shirt I hadn’t noticed laying on the bed. My heart does a tiny leap. It’s one of my papa’s shirts. He urges my arms up and tugs it down over my head and body. It reaches me mid-thigh, and when I turn to face the bed, he gives my bottom a loving pat.
He tucks me in, pulling the warm covers up to my neck. I shift around, testing the firmness of the mattress. It’s solid but soft. Not lumpy at all, like my bed in the orphanage.
Tears prick in my eyes. How could my life change so drastically in a matter of hours? I’m almost afraid to drift asleep. What if I awake to discover this has been but a dream?
Papa walks across the room to a bookshelf and selects a storybook that looks much too young for me, but then I remember that he wishes to take care of me and treat me as his little girl. I suppose that includes bedtime stories and the like.
“One quick story, little girl, and then you need to get some rest.” He sits beside me and flips the book open.
It’s a story about a princess kissing a frog, who turns into a prince. I’ve heard it before, but not in many years. I sink further into the covers and can’t help but smile as my new papa reads the book in his deep, gravelly voice. I could listen to him talk all day, I think.
There’s something comforting about being bathed, tucked in, and read a bedtime story. I feel treasured and loved, and we aren’t even married yet. My heart hammers and my tummy clenches, but I soon realize it’s not nerves that are affecting my stomach. The clenches are traveling lower and lower, little flips of excitement that prelude a needy ache between my thighs.
Oh no. Why does my flower feel funny again? And so soon after Papa fixed it?
I try to remain still, not wanting him to know it’s bothering me once more. If I’m too much trouble, he might not want me anymore. I close my eyes so he doesn’t notice my increasing emotion. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate all he’s done for me today.
“…and they lived happily ever after. The end.” He flips the book shut and leans down to kiss my forehead. “Goodnight, my princess.”
I breathe deep and keep my eyes closed, mimicking sleep and hoping I’ll actually fall asleep soon. But it’s hard to drift off when all I can think of is stroking myself until I shudder with ecstasy. But Papa is still here, sitting on the bed. I don’t dare make a move yet.
Another kiss to my forehead, then he finally departs the room. Once the door clicks shut, I wait a few seconds before opening my eyes to verify he’s really gone. A glance at the bedside table shows he’s left the book there, and I marvel at the colorful cover, so unlike the books we occasionally get at the orphanage, which are usually in such poor condition that the covers have long faded or been torn off.
Sighing with contentment, I scoot up and lean against the pillows piled behind me, feeling like a princess myself in this amazing bedroom. It’s as if I’ve fallen into my very own fairytale.
I start to reach between my thighs, but pause almost immediately.
Papa wouldn’t like me touching myself. Not one bit.
But would he find out? Gnawing on my bottom lip, I glance at the door.
The pulsing in my cunny deepens the more I try to will it away.
I can’t stop thinking about how nice it was to have Papa’s hands on me while he bathed me, or how wondrous it felt when he stroked my privates. I’d soared to the stars in a matter of moments, and then the aching need departed, pulsing away, and I felt so much better.
No, no, no. Don’t be naughty, a little voice of conscience whispers.
I curl my hands into fists and try to obey my papa, but it isn’t long before my will falters, and I once again reach between my thighs.
This time, I don’t stop.