Daddy's Little Psychopath Ch. 02byLordOfHell©
Author's Note: I sincerely recommend that you read "Daddy's Little Psychopath" before reading this. Reading any further than this will spoil that story's twists.
The tags you can expect to find in this story are father/daughter incest, rough sex, non-consent, cheating, reluctance, cuckquean, and blackmail. Also, the story is split in the dual perspectives of both spouses. Now, if you don't like the basis for this story because of something I just mentioned, don't read this. I don't really mind criticism, but I say this just to save YOU time.
For those of you still here, enjoy and please leave a comment. I love hearing from my readers, even if it's negative. Thank you and enjoy.
Addendum to Editors: This story does not contain any scenes of explicit sex with characters under the legal age of consent.
"I want you to talk Mom into a threesome," Rhonda told me one evening as she lay atop me, breathing softly into my ear, our sweaty bodies writhing together as my cock slowly and delicately sawed in and out of her extremely wet cunt.
As she fed her rubbery nipple to my mouth, allowing my juicy, salivating lips to enclose upon my own little girl's hard areola, the surprise in my eyes made her smile. "Oh no, not with me, Daddy. Haha. Do you really think I'd let that diseased harlot touch me? Noooo . . . I want you and The Bitch to have a threesome with a nice friend of mine. You'll like her, I think."
Ronnie drew my lips to hers and kissed me deeply, our tongues wrestling feverishly as she sat in my lap, he hips rising and falling with a rhythm like slow machinework. Her saliva tasted like mint, and after all this time, she still wore that same exquisite perfume that drove me crazy with lust. My hands explored my little girl's slick, naked form as we slowly ground our sex together. I could hear every sound our sloppy, slippery loins made as easily as I could hear the heavy breathing between both of us. By this point, any apprehension I'd felt about this affair, about fucking my own offspring—flesh of my flesh and blood of my blood—had been erased completely. Just as I had when she was a child, I now worshipped my daughter—only this time, it was because of her luscious body moreso than her unparalleled genius.
"Don't forget to cum inside me, Daddy," Rhonda told me as I licked eagerly on her buoyant breast. "You've been slacking off in that department lately, and I would really hate to punish you. Need I remind you that this is baby-making season?"
She knew what that would do to me. I grunted, gripped her tightly in my arms until our bodies were mashed firmly together, crushing her pillowy tits onto my chest. Then, I turned and slammed her onto her bed. I just threw her down like she was a rag, and she moaned excitedly. Her eyes were glazed with pure lust as I pounced and forced her thighs apart. She yelped in feigned helplessness as I grasped her heels and pushed them as far back as I could, nearly parallel to her shoulders.
I leaned my full weight into her, bending her legs so far back that her knees touched the mattress with every downstroke. I plunged my cock into her without gentleness or compassion. I just started to fuck her mercilessly, pounding my shaft deep into her while she hung onto my neck, screaming and moaning as I took her forcefully, punishing her tight little cunt.
It was her own damn fault with that last line she spoke. If there was anything that I loved more than fucking a pussy, it was cumming inside of one. Seeding one. And Rhonda's threats of 'punishment' as she called it, only enticed me further. After years of this, I had begun to feel a perverse pleasure in my daughter's control. For years, Rhonda had coerced me into sex by threatening me and my family with bodily harm and blackmail—and I loved it. It made it 'okay' for me to feel release. I wasn't just fucking my daughter, I was 'saving' my wife's life. I wasn't just filling my little girl with spunk, I was 'protecting' my family. I wasn't just making a hot little bitch pregnant, I was making a 'sacrifice' for everything I loved.
And gradually, methodically, Ronnie had broken me. My little girl had turned me into her willing pet, ready to do her bidding at her command.
She had already carried two of my children to term. Only weeks earlier, Ronnie had given birth to our second child, so now I knew it was time to get to work on our third one. Even though I knew it was twisted, I couldn't help feeling excitement at that. Months before, my wife Eileen also gave birth to a couple of twins, but because their gestation and labor had taken a huge toll on her, the doctors didn't recommend that she get pregnant again. Eileen went on birth control until she'd eventually get her tubes tied. When Rhonda heard, she was jubilant beyond belief.
"No more substandard brats from The Bitch, then," she had told me with a massive smile on her face. "I want you to support her on this, Daddy. I never thought I'd say this, but it's probably the smartest decision she's ever made in her pathetic life."
I really hated when Ronnie talked about her mother like that, but I couldn't talk back to her—not during 'silent time'. It was then that I was only allowed to nod and listen or else Rhonda would punish me. Rhonda usually invoked silent time when she needed to demand sex from me without my consent (which, believe me, was occurring less and less) or when she had something to say, but silent time didn't always involve sex.
Sometimes, Rhonda just wanted to spend time with me. She loved to talk to me about what new discoveries, interests, and happenings were developing in her world as a budding microbiologist. In a twisted sense, it was just like how things had been when she was a child, when she used to teach me things that her vastly superior intellect had discovered. Rhonda had been born a genius—her IQ tested at over 140 when she was very young, but I honestly believe that she was still holding back. Ronnie was so smart, she had never really been my "child" in a sense—I was only able to mentor her until she was about four and from that point on, her intellect vastly eclipsed mine. Still, I took it upon myself to study with her anyway, because I loved the feeling of pride I got at having such a brilliant baby girl.
Although Rhonda was a little emotionally distant to most people, she always beamed at me and eagerly enjoyed spending her time with me. In those days, I thought it was just because she wanted to make her Daddy happy, but after we began fucking, I started to wonder if that had ever been the real reason. In any case, let me restate that Rhonda didn't always just use her control to enforce sex from me. She also wanted my love and my approval; to have someone to share her gifts with. Just like the old days, I didn't understand ninety-percent of what she talked about, but she simply adored my efforts to try.
But the difference between then and now was that she wasn't just little "Rhonda Scott" anymore. To the world outside of our home, she was Doctor Rhonda Scott, brilliant virologist.
Aside from her genius, Ronnie was fit, gorgeous, charismatic and very successful. Every one of her scientific peers loved her, and men just couldn't stay away from her. Ronnie always put on airs that she was a slut, and she loved teasing and flirting with men of all ages and personalities. But, Ronnie wasn't actually interested in any of them. It was all part of her cover, you see, to explain why she kept finding herself knocked up with no fathers for her babies. Sometimes, she even hired men to date and claim to have fucked her, without anyone having a clue that they were just escorts.
No matter how many men—successful entrepreneurs, lawyers, scientists, and doctors—propositioned her, Ronnie would come home and slide herself down on my cock and tell me I was the only man in the world that she loved. As sick as it might sound, that never failed to make me cum hard. What man wouldn't want to see a sexy woman with those kinds of credentials snub every other guy that headed her way and then crawl into bed with him?
And Ronnie was still my little girl. I hated seeing the way those lechers pawed at her, treating her like some cheap bimbo. She always purred her satisfaction when she noticed my possessiveness and savored the fact that I had totally surrendered to the taboo of an illicit affair with my eldest child. She constantly reminded me how much of a dirty pervert I was for letting her make my cock hard and she called me an 'incestuous bastard' just before I loosed my streams of cum into her womb.
To her credit, Ronnie was also a fantastic mother. She adored our children—which I was forced to pretend were my grandchildren (which they were, now that I think of it)—and thought that they were the greatest things she'd ever made. That was saying something, considering how much she'd accomplished in the scientific community. I, of course, loved our children, but equally to the other three that I legitimately had with my wife, Eileen. All of them meant the world to me, regardless who their mother was. But Rhonda hated her siblings. She pretended to be a good big sister to them, but in reality, she hated them every bit as much as she hated her mother, regardless of how much I begged otherwise.
"I just can't, Daddy. I just can't see any of your magnificence in them. The Bitch's putrid womb destroyed any trace of that, and now they're nothing more than horrid abominations. Not like our babies, Daddy. The ones I make for you will be pure and untainted."
It was no use. No matter how much I pleaded, Rhonda would never forgive Eileen for the mistake she'd made which had once nearly destroyed our family. Ronnie made an effort to act as a loving daughter, but only to avoid suspicion. And only to make me happy. In private, every word she spoke about her mother was slathered in malice and acrimony.
"I know that I'm bad, Daddy, and that part of you really hates me, even if you really like everything else we do." As she tended to do during times like this, she just stood up and pulled her skirt down to her ankles, lifting her blouse and bending over in front of a wall. She looked so obscene: here was my beautiful daughter, the prodigious Dr. Rhonda Scott, pointing her round ass toward her father's bulging crotch.
"I'm so mean to you, Daddy. I hurt you and hurt you, and I can't stop. But, it's not my fault. I came from inside her, so I'm ruined, Daddy. I need you to punish me." That's what always she claimed, but most pretense of this being 'punishment' usually faded quickly. "Tell me what a bad girl I am. Tell me much you hate me. Come on, Daddy. Let it all out. Hurt me. I promise you'll feel better!"
I took my belt off and spent the next twenty minutes turning her ass cheeks rosy. Rhonda whimpered, cried and moaned, and eventually I was just too hard to continue. I dropped my own pants and fucked her against the wall until I came in her pussy, and she turned her head, gazing into my eyes with pure amorous hunger. Her hot breath tickled my lips as I pressed deep, and she kissed me deeply in appreciation. She ground her ass against me to coax out every drop of my seed that she could.
She was right. I did feel better.
Since the Scott family had recently expanded from three to eight in the past few years, Rhonda voluntarily bought a new place for our entire family to live in, nice and secluded from the rest of society. Though it forced me to change jobs and forced Eileen to move to a different branch of the public library, the new house made it much easier for all of us to find living space.
And much easier for Rhonda and I to fuck each other like crazy.
For the most part, I was fucking her in the "hot rooms"—the place where no one in the family was allowed to go without Rhonda's permission. This was where she kept all of her notes, books, and materials needed for working at home. It was essentially a wing of the house which served as a combination of a workshop, rec room, lab, and extra bedroom. Ronnie had seen to it that it was equipped with extra living quarters, just in case she needed to pull some all-nighters with in her important, ground-breaking research.
"YES, FUCK ME, DADDY! POUND ME HARDER!! DESTROY MY TIGHT, WET PUSSY!! FLOOD ME WITH YOUR SPUNK AND IMPREGNATE ME!!"
. . . Or if she needed her Daddy to fuck her stupid.
And so, there we were again, with my daughter making as much noise as she dared as we fucked in the confines of the soundproof rooms Dr. Rhonda Scott had bought and paid for. I leaned into her hard and growled like a demon possessed as I put forth extra effort to get every last pint of jizz into her waiting womb. Rhonda screamed in ecstasy and cried "Oh Yes! Oh Yes!" as she felt my hot juices washing her insides. Not for the first time, I gave in to the pure bliss of knowing that it was my daughter's cunt I was trying to impregnate. I knew it was nasty, but I didn't care. I knew it was wrong, but I still loved it.
And God help me, I didn't want to stop.
My husband is cheating on me, and I can't prove it. But I know it's true.
My name is Eileen Scott and I'm writing this just so that I don't go utterly mad. I don't intend for anybody to really read this, and I'm not really much of a writer, so I really hope you aren't expecting too much out of this. Oh geez, I just used the word 'really' three times in one sentence didn't I? Anyway, yeah . . . there's a clear example of my profound writing ability. David is the English major in our family, not me, so forgive my limited vocabulary. But I just have to get this out of me.
It's been driving me crazy every single day, and I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my husband. I've been married to him for almost 24 years now. We have four wonderful children, and two beautiful grandchildren. Our oldest girl, Rhonda, is a doctor now, and our family's finally climbed out of the money problems we'd been drowning in for a long, long time. I work at the public library and David works in sales. Neither of us really make a whole lot of money and, hell, we've never even had savings or a 'rainy day' fund. For most our lives, we could be safely classified as "poor white trash".
But things are exceptionally good for us now. We've gone from upper-lower to upper-middle class, our financial future is secure, our brilliant daughter is one of the most renowned researchers in medical science, and my husband fucks me almost every night until I'm well satisfied.
So why do I feel that something is terribly, terribly wrong?
And worse, I'm worried that it's all my fault. I fear that I once made a horrible mistake that drove a rift into my family, and though I've tried for years to make up for it and mend that rift, I don't think I'll ever truly succeed.
I met my husband David when we were both teenagers, and I immediately knew I was going to marry him. The two of us both wanted the same things—a house, kids and old age together, and we dedicated everything in our lives to making that dream happen. We both agreed not to let our egos, hangups, or our careers get in the way of that goal. Our first and only priority was living in matrimonial harmony, and we made a lot of sacrifices. For example, David lost his job at a multinational corporation because they wanted to move us, and I couldn't go.
Both of suffered a lot to be together, but what we wanted more than anything was to love each other until we were both gray and wrinkled. That dream made both of us happy.
I became pregnant with our first child a few years after our wedding, and it was great to see how pleased David was as my belly grew. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world watching him fawn over me while I was carrying our firstborn. As my body started going through changes and my hormones grew unbalanced, I became quite a bitch, but David took every bit of it in stride. He loved me unconditionally, and he was there when I finally gave birth to our daughter Rhonda. The night he and I held her for the first time is still one of my favorite memories.
Rhonda was a bright child. No . . . 'bright' isn't doing it justice. Rhonda was a genius. And that's not an exaggeration. Her IQ was off the charts, and when most children were only learning how to spell 'd-u-c-k', Rhonda was able to recite the entire US Constitution off the top of her head. I'll be honest: it freaked me out, seeing how quickly she could grasp even the most complicated subject, and it wasn't long before her intelligence started to eclipse both my husband and myself. Ironically, despite me working in a library, David was the one with the penchant for literature, so he and Rhonda used to read together and discuss. But soon it became clear that David was only going through the motions and that Rhonda's intellect had grown far beyond his as well.
I convinced David to find some mentorship for Rhonda, despite the fact that we could barely afford it. A professor from some university used to come by four days of the week and tutor Rhonda and she earned a full college degree by the time she was eleven. David was immensely proud and would brag to everyone about our little 'prodigy'. He spoiled that girl rotten and treated her as if she was queen of the universe.
Me on the other hand? Something about Rhonda just didn't sit right.
The first time I thought something was wrong happened when she was four. During that summer, we had a problem with birds slamming into the plexiglass door leading from the kitchen to the back yard, and the constant banging was driving me nuts. Occasionally, it would even be the same damn bird slamming into it over and over. You'd think that after the first time, it'd learn its lesson, but nooooo.
One day, I happened to come across Rhonda, who heard the thump and went to go investigate. There, she found an injured bird out back that was obviously stunned after hitting its head on the plexi. Rhonda went outside and scooped the bird in her arms, cradling it gently, with motherly care. I knew that bird was probably filthy, but I decided to watch my little girl to see what she would do. Watching her care for such a timid little creature tickled my heart.
But to my immediate shock and horror, Ronnie went to the kitchen drawer and removed a pair of hefty scissors and then got ready to cut one of the wings off the bird. I immediately ran into the room and grabbed her wrist, putting the scissors back in the drawer and tossing the bird out of the back door. Rhonda just looked at me, confused and upset.
"What are you doing, Mommy!?" she asked me in a very monotone voice. The way she asked me it was like she wasn't confused but just . . . angry.
"That's my line!" I snapped at her. "Why were you going to hurt that bird!?"
She looked at me like I was an idiot. "I wasn't going to hurt it. I was helping it." With my mouth hung in utter astonishment, she continued.
"You and Daddy were complaining that the birds don't learn their lesson when they fly into the glass, right? Well, if they can't fly anymore, then they don't have to learn! Problem solved!"
I was completely befuddled. Was this normal logic for a four-year-old?!
I decided to explain the problem with her theory, as rationally as I could. "But hurting things doesn't really solve their problems, darling. Making mistakes and not learning from them is bad, but if you hurt someone just to teach them a lesson then you're not improving anything."
Rhonda stared at me with a blank face. Then, a few seconds later, she said, "That's stupid."