The Reverend Joshua and His Emma Ch. 02

Chapter 2: The Bath

Emma carried the kettles of steaming hot water one after another to the small tub in the middle of the room, the sound of the water filling the white porcelain metal basin like a rushing brook, the fire crackling and popping in the hearth.

She liked the feeling of her father watching her. Her movements carrying the hot kettle back and forth, the steam filling the tub making her perspire, her thin white nightgown clinging softly to her rounds, a nightly ritual, just her and her Papa, the Reverend and his daughter together on the rural prairie farm.

The night before, all alone after her Daddy had gone out to tend to the animals before nightfall, she tingled all over standing in the tub. Pouring the hot silky water over herself, the dripping sounds beneath her, being so naked and wet and soapy and warm; nude, right there in the room where her father had just been too, him just outside.

Emma fantasized her soapy hands were his, slipping between her thighs, washing her, her pushing her bottom out so he could get her clean like he had when she was young. Him behind her now, now that she'd filled out, him washing her breasts, squeezing, pulling, his breath hot against the side of her face. Her father hadn't bathed her in quite some time, and she missed that intimacy together, just her and her father, his little girl. She imagined him now, her fantasy, his growling hot whispering voice, his words now taking on a whole new meaning.

"Let Daddy get you all clean, Em. Let Daddy wash you, baby. Bend over so Daddy can wash your bottom, sweetie."

She missed his big hands lathering her hair. Imagined him now, gripping her hair in his fist, the rumbling from deep within his chest, his voice spilling out "Em. Oh lil baby, you've grown up so much, baby."

Emma imagined her father's big hands all over her, everywhere at once, touching her, feeling her, making her so wet, so hot. "Nnn, touch me, Papa" she breathed out into the hushed cabin, strumming her soapy fingers through her little slit, "nnngggh, Daddyyy, yess, pull on my nipples, Papa" picturing her father naked behind her, her reaching back, gripping his solid hard erection in her little hand, pulling, twisting, squeezing her father's hot throbbing cock so huge in her little hand.

Emma gushed out a vibrating electric sigh, "Oohhhh god, Daddyyyyy, want, want you in me Papa." She'd pictured the bull rutting with the young heifer. She pictured washing her father's thick swollen cock, tried to imagine it's thick throbbing hardness in her little hands, sliding her soapy little hands up and down her father's hugely hard erection.

The bathing tub was barely big enough for her to sit in anymore, so she stood like Daddy did and poured water over herself at night with the water heated in the big hearth. She was lovely. Her soft round curves. Her narrow little waist. Her little bottom. Her creamy pearlescent thighs. The way she stretched and bent and leaned, her full ripe swollen hot breasts throbbing and aching to be touched. Images of her father's big hands cupping her bottom, her breasts, her soft warm pink little slit.

Tending the fire for the tub water, she watched her handsome father sitting and smoking his pipe across the room just as he did each night, just within the flicker of firelight, the few lit candles Emma liked next to the tub illuminating his little girl to his watchful presence.

Emma smiled, and her father smiled back at her. His pipe-smoke sweet and nutty made her feel warm inside. They often went without saying a word like this, him watching her, father and daughter, spending so much time alone together: Just a simple smile full of thoughts and words and subtle meanings, immense intimacies, a gesture conveying their contentment together.

They spent every evening like this after a long day on the farm, just the two of them, Emma and her Papa, taking care of each other.

Emma sometimes liked to pretend she was her father's wife, and he her husband; and, not knowing, that was what she was thinking, her father just smiled back, puffing quietly on his pipe, hot, incestuous fantasies of her, his lil Em, filling his wicked thoughts.

If only he knew his little Emma was having fantasies of him too, hot, naughty, wicked incestuous fantasies. That the devil had taken his lovely daughter over too, that she was imagining her father fucking her, sliding her nightgown up over her tender little hips, tearing her gown away, attacking her aching swollen tits.

Emma felt the Reverend watch her as she bent over, and leaning further with the emptying kettle, her too large breasts leaning away from her body, her hardened nipples tingling against the material of her nightdress, she wondered if he was hard, watching her. If he imagined her under her nightdress laced all the way to her long neck.

She had no idea how much her body was changing, how her hormones were ablaze inside her when she caught herself pushing her bottom out, catching herself without realizing, and then remembering it's what she saw the female animals do as the males mounted them. She shivered. The way they'd lift their bottoms, push up toward the male, lean down, open their legs, let him inside.

Standing there, leaning forward pouring the water into the tub, she became acutely aware of her legs slightly spread, aware of her naked little pussy under her billowy nightdress the only thing between her and the room, between her and her Daddy, between her and her Papa's watching, his smile from behind his pipe.

It was a good thing her father couldn't see under her nightdress, she thought, suddenly self-conscious that her father the Reverend would know her most intimate, private, and impure thoughts. Her holy Daddy, the Reverend, or that he would notice her firm young breasts so swollen and tingling with excitement, that she was picturing the farm animals fucking, him, fucking her. That he would notice her glowing hot nakedness underneath her nightdress, her smooth glistening bald little pussy she'd again just rubbed smooth bare, naked and warm and soft and slippery wet, swollen, ripe, the warmth of the cabin brushing up under her nightgown, fluttering between her legs, her little pussy almost exposed as it was under the billowy thin white fabric.

Maybe she should tell him now, about how the devil had been tempting her? About how wet her little pussy was, how her breasts ached, how she desired being touched, how she desired him, her own father. How she thought about him that way all the time.

Maybe she should plead with him to cast the devil out. She wanted to, but she couldn't. What if Daddy thought she was bad, that she was wicked? She felt like she was bad, a wicked, naughty, dirty little girl. She shivered again. Felt conflicted. Loved the feeling of her wickedness.

What if father the Reverend thought she had invited the devil inside her? Her father was smiling love at her, for his little girl, and here she was having such impure thoughts. Here she was flush with the heat of her breasts and nipples, flush with the heat of images of animals rutting, big hard cocks sliding into warm wet pussies, her so nude under her nightdress, her hot little cunny, that feeling again warm and buttery inside her belly.

Reverend Joshua watched his little girl, her every movement, smiling, smoking his pipe, loving her, wanting her, his cock throbbing hard hidden from her view.

Emma went on filling the tub, again finding herself acting out the pouring, exaggerating her leans and bends, leaning her weight forward so excited she was almost shaking, her one leg extended behind her, her hair cascading around her beautiful face hiding her glowing warm arousal, the slipperiness between her legs, her nipples throbbing hard under her nightdress. She could barely breathe.

Her father in that exact moment was imagining his fingers combing through her hair, pulling her mouth to his, pushing his tongue into his little girl's warm wet mouth.

She felt beautiful and feminine under her father's gaze in the candlelight. She wondered if Daddy noticed. "I want him to" she purred inside. "I want Papa to look at me" she purred inside, bending and turning, again emphasizing her breasts hanging down, so firm bumping and brushing and swaying under the cotton material of her gown. "I want him, to, want me" she admitted, her breasts surging with her excitement, her nipples tingling, even aching they'd swollen so big. "Nnn, look at me Papa" she fantasized, looking up under and through her hair to see if he was.

She thought she saw her Daddy's eyes drop to her chest, but she wasn't sure. She tingled all over. "Yesss, look at my breasts Papa, look at my nipples, nnn, Papa, they're so, hard, Papa" she gushed under her breath, turning, moving so he could see.

She felt at ease with her Daddy there, in the dark of the flickering glow of the candle and fire lit room, and she smiled at him again, bashfully, flushed, looking away blushing as she poured the steaming hot water into the tub. Blushing as the jolts of excitement her father's looks gave her, made her want, made her warm all over, her father's long hot gaze penetrating her shyness, her thin almost translucent gown, her breasts swollen and aching hot for him. She was sure she could smell herself, her sex, worried her father would smell her soft little pussy so dripping hot wet under her gown, steam rising up around her, glowing in the firelight, her breasts and neck and her face sweaty damp, she poured the last hot water from the large kettle into the wash basin.

Her gown clung to the round of her belly. Her breasts sticky damp from the steam, the heat from the fire, her long shiny hair draped over her girlish-round shoulders. Aware her nipples were poking through her gown, humming, wanting her father's hands, her father's mouth to touch them, to lick and kiss them, to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her, to cup her throbbing swollen tits in his big hands, she turned and faced him, her hands folded in front of her squeezing her breasts out, the expectant slight smile, her soft lips, the look she gave him, that she was ready, that her bath was ready, was he going out as he did each night while she bathed? She didn't want him to; she wanted him to look at her, to whisper in a low silent voice, to tell her to remove her gown. She pictured herself unbutton the buttons, it fall from her shoulders, spill from her, undressing her, naked and dripping hot wet, naked, there for his pleasure, his gaze, almost panting hot for her own father, her fantasied incestuous lover.

Emma couldn't stop herself from rubbing her legs together, hoping her Daddy would notice her nipples, notice that she was in trouble, that he would know what to do, offer to heal the squishy feeling there between her warm little thighs. "Nnn, Daddy, if only you knew, Papa" she hummed in her thoughts.

She knew her father looked at her, sometimes longer than was comfortable, and she liked that he was. That she was naked under her gown, gave her such a thrilling feeling, so tantalizingly aroused that Daddy didn't know the things she'd been thinking about. Her secret, her fantasies, that she'd touch herself to in private moments.

She was at that age when boys would be looking at a young girl, mirroring her attractiveness. Men too, and she was learning to flirt with her Daddy. There weren't any boys for miles around to show her those natural attentions, and Emma felt a special new tingling buzz between her legs when her father looked at her that way. She wondered if it was the same for him with no other women around. She'd push her breasts out as they talked, wanting him to look.

She knew she wasn't supposed to feel like she did, her little pussy feeling so warm the way it did, tingling and slippery, her biting her lower lip.

The church-women in their tightly bound hair and bound up in their layered dresses had said it was the devil tempting her. That it was Satan's job to put carnal thoughts into young girl's minds, to tempt them, and they should resist his temptations with all their might. She should resist wanting to see boys naked, the looks of desire men would certainly give her, if they weren't already. That out on the farms, so isolated, that men needed relief, and that they'd seek it from her. That they'd look at their wives, their daughters, even their sisters, have the devil's wicked thoughts. That she shouldn't do anything to tempt them. That chastity and purity was the lord's will.

She wanted to say to them, that she'd been looking at her father that way just to make the old hens fret. She noticed they looked flustered as they spoke of Satan and temptation, that they'd look away, and not look her in the eye when they told her what to expect, that their voices would become hushed, that they'd look a little, well, aroused, pretending they weren't.

The old women told little Emma and the other girls she shouldn't blame herself if she asked for help to do better, if she prayed for salvation, like they did, they blushed; but the little girl at times thought salvation might be giving in to Satan rather than opposing him.

She began to believe, maybe it wasn't Satan at all, that maybe she was supposed to feel these things she wanted to tell them but she didn't.

Emma's body burned with these feelings. She desired the feelings often, each, and every day more, and more, and when she did they'd wash over her until she was slippery wet, her little body humming, her breasts aching for touch, for her father's big hands, her father's mouth. She didn't think about other boys. She thought about her handsome father.

The old women told her one day she would marry, and she and the man would procreate they said, but that she shouldn't enjoy it, that that would be bad. That she should ask for forgiveness, that she should ask that Satan be cast out of her body, her ripe hungry body, that he be pulled from her body, from her thoughts that were his, and banished.

Emma wasn't at all sure she wanted these thoughts or the feeling to go away, not forever, not these deliciously naughty stirrings she delighted in and wanted. She thought about procreating, her father's seed in her little belly, his big warm hand on the round of her pregnant belly.

❖❖

Emma didn't realize the fireplace light was illuminating her naked form through her nightdress as she went back and forth between the fireplace and the bathing tub right there in the middle of the room; or, that, where Daddy's chair was, was giving him a view right through her nightdress, the firelight glowing through, a perfect almost transparent silhouette. That her father was seeing all of her, her jiggling swaying proud breasts, her perfectly round little hips, the gap between her inner thighs, the bulge of her mound.

She hadn't realized how over time he'd moved the chair across the room, opposite the fireplace, across from the middle of the room where they'd pull the tub out to, for their baths, or, at least, why he had.

The Reverend Joshua just sat smiling, rocking in his chair, smoking his pipe, sitting in the near dark, being with his little girl in the quiet spring evening there on the farm together.

The cabin's walls of thick timbers packed with hay and mud quieted most all the outside sounds except for the crickets murmur, and the two of them alone together seemed more pronounced, more palpable than usual this evening. Emma decided she liked the feeling, being so close to her loving father, being naked under her gown in the same room with him all alone out on the farm, just her and her loving Daddy.

Joshua watched his little girl cross the room, back and forth from the fire to the tub, barefoot, the balls of her bare feet tamping the wood floor as Emma's night dress began to stick to her damp skin.

He watched how the thin white cloth of her nightgown became transparent, where it stuck to her, her breasts, her hips, her bottom, her thighs. He began hoping she'd turn certain ways, that she'd lean over certain ways, almost willing his little girl to do so.

The first time he'd noticed, that he could see through her nightdress he thought he should tell her, that he could see through her gown, but he didn't.

Instead, night by night, he'd moved his chair to where he could see right through her gown more than not. He grew to anticipate this voyeurism, to plan for it.

He noticed her curves, how his little girl's allure was becoming harder and harder to resist. He could almost feel her hot damp body in his hands. He was now almost beside himself desiring her. How he'd picture her underneath her gown, her nakedness, her smooth little belly, her bald little mound, her perfect softness, and his cock twitched as he imagined licking his daughter's smooth bald little cunny. He knew she was using her mother's smooth pumice stone, like her mother had, to smooth off the hair from her legs, from her feminine places. He imagined pressing her to the cabin wall, holding her hands over her head with one hand, kissing her, their tongues entwined as he squeezed her ripe firm pale breasts with his other hand, as he slid his fingers between her legs, separated only by her damp gown as his little baby squirmed on his fingers, pressed on his fingers, whispering.

"Deeper, Daddy, deeper Papa" her sweet little soft cunny so creamy slick, her belly warm-hot on the heel of his palm pressing against her pelvic bone, her mons, her bald hot little cunt.

He loved his little girl, and yet he was also a man, and it had been so long, too long. He loved her, so much. Was in love with her he'd later realize.

He had another aching hard erection, his balls hot swollen with cum, his hugely swollen cock leaking pre-cum into his pants. He kept his throbbing erection tenting his overalls hidden from Emma's view by resting his forearm over it, rubbing himself, moments when he'd have to fight back the urge to stand up and just take his little girl, consume her, make her his like he had now so many times in his fantasies. He was so aroused, his cock raged in his overalls, his entire body charged.

When he saw the gorgeous globes of her tiny bottom through the damp nightdress, her firm breasts now sweaty and plainly visible through the wet material of her soft white nightgown, that her nipples were extended, that she was flushed and exuded a radiant sexuality, everything changed for Reverend Joshua.

Now he was openly looking his little girl up and down, his cock harder and harder as he rubbed himself with the underside of his forearm imagining little Emma sitting on his knee, her looking down into his lap, his leg bouncing between her thighs, pulling on her Daddy's cock in her tiny hands, licking her beautiful lips, wanting to put her mouth on it, wanting to fuck her father's hugely swollen cock in her hot wet mouth, how he'd tell her to use her tongue, to love Daddy's cock, that it was the lord's will.

Emma looked back at him and smiled, her Daddy's eyes suddenly ablaze, his smile heated as she poured more of the steaming hot water into the tub, the sound becoming deeper, more hollow, the tub almost full, her breasts and nipples protruding from under her transparent white gown, swaying beckoning to her Daddy's mouth, his big hands, intentionally pressing them between her arms into the most delicious shape. She knew it was wrong to want her father, to intentionally be alluring for him, but she wanted him anyway.

The Reverend reached down, subtly, when Emma's back was turned, and staring hotly at his little girl almost shivered with sexual energy as he squeezed the head of his cock imagining his little Emma, his tiny, little girl squeezing his cock between what were the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen. Him fucking his huge hard incestuous cock between her soft young full swollen hot tits, his young daughter looking hungrily, eagerly up into her father's eyes, smiling, her mouth open, her breathing so hard, heated into a lusting frenzy, his hot hard cock fucking her tits, her leaning down capturing the head of his cock in her hot incestuous little mouth.