Daddy's Little Psychopath Ch. 03

For the first time in my life, I found myself noting just how perfectly-shaped Rhonda's legs were. Her thighs were thick and meaty, but with more lean muscle than fat. Her legs possessed an enticing amount of definition which only seemed to make them seemed more streamlined and sleek, with every single curve accentuated.

Rhonda was so physically perfect that it felt difficult to believe she had ever come out of my body. I had always felt that she looked more like myself than David, but she'd definitely gotten her body type from his side of the family. I often met David's mother, and she was an absolutely stunning woman well into her sixties. It was obvious, looking at Rhonda now, that she would probably keep her impeccable beauty will into her gray years.

Me? I'm still counting the crow's feet and stretch marks.

Rhonda never looked up toward me and kept her focus exclusively upon the monitor. From where I stood, I could barely see what was on them, but it seemed to be a split-screen of various surveillance images. I only saw them flash for a second, but I was certain I'd seen an image of my bedroom, the garage, and even the inside of David's office. Rhonda clicked away to her desktop before I could get a really good look, and then she finally spun in her chair to face me.

"Hello, 'Mother'." She used the title with such disdain and mockery that it had just about lost all meaning. "Just so that you know, I don't much care how much of that you saw. These are only a few of the ways that I keep track of the two of you, and I have several others. Also, I've remedied the mistake that allowed Daddy to almost slip my notice a few nights ago, so you can be sure that it'll never happen again. I don't make the same mistakes twice.

"And frankly, the sooner the two of you accept that I own both of you, the happier we can all be. I'm having lots of fun and I enjoy what Daddy and I do. But know that I'll do whatever it takes to keep what I want, and if I go down, I'm taking the two of you with me."

My heart was pounding and I merely nodded to Ronnie, indicating that I understood.

Rhonda tilted her head, resting her cheek on her hand as she studied me like a raptor studying its meal. "But the one I'm most concerned about is you. Daddy is clever, so that makes him somewhat predictable. You, I'm afraid, are so monumentally stupid that I don't quite know what you're going to do. But, even the dumbest animal understands not to stick its nose somewhere that burns, so I think I need to make a few things clear.

"I have several ways that I can destroy you, emotionally, socially, or even physically if need be. Right this second, I could make a phone call. Your abused and battered body would be found three months from now inside of a ditch somewhere in New Jersey, without a shred of evidence pointing to me. Heh . . . in fact, I've already practiced my oh so very tearful and distraught reaction when the police arrive with the grave news that my long-lost mother's body has been found after several harsh months. Months in which Daddy and I will have spent . . . 'consoling' each other, of course.

"But then, after weeks of further investigation, the police will slowly discover evidence that points to the late Eileen Scott as a sexual predator who abused her position as a public librarian to stalk several of her victims. By the time I'm finished, that name will be remembered in the same vein as Ted Bundy and Mary Bell. To everyone that matters, your death will be seen as little else but karmic justice. Just an ugly, monstrous woman who reached a sad, but deserving end. No one will ever bat another eyelash in remembrance of you, except perhaps as a cautionary tale to scare children straight.

"However, let me assume . . . just for giggles . . . that you're not quite as dumb as I take you for. Even if, for whatever odd reason, you managed to take me by surprise and murder me, or to expose my schemes to the public, my absence would prompt a number of things to happen and the end result would not be much more pleasant for you. For a few months, maybe even a few years, everything will seem fine. You'll think that you're safe. That you've won. But then, all of a sudden, you're on your way to work and you stop at a red light when a group of men in ski masks show up and take you. You'll know they work for me when one of them whispers to you, 'Rhonda gives her love'. Then, they'll take you to dark, rat-infested factory and do things to you that I'd rather leave to your imagination.

"And if you think that this is a bluff, that there's no way I could arrange anything like that, then I welcome you to challenge me. Everything I've done for the second half of my life has been to set this game in motion. You have no idea how much I would enjoy making the last hours of your life as unpleasant as possible. Punishing your stupidity is something I enjoy only secondarily to feeling Daddy's load inside of me.

"Or, if that doesn't do it for you, then know that the lives of your children hinge on my satisfaction as well. I consider them to be pale filth in comparison to the flawless, wonderful children that I made for Daddy, and that I will continue to make for him far, far into the future. The thought of harming a child means absolutely nothing to me, and much less one of your fetid atrocities. I will end them if I have to, and I assure you that it will not be pleasant.

"So, if you suddenly find yourself overwhelmed by the need to something incredibly stupid and consideration for your own safety doesn't deter you, then perhaps thinking of your children would."

Her eyes then narrowed. "But then, you've never given much of a damn about your own child before. So maybe not. Haha . . . it doesn't matter to me, either way. I'm sure to be entertained no matter what you do."

So this was how Rhonda saw me—as someone who had never cared about her at all. But that wasn't true . . . if anything, my failing had always been that I'd cared too much. I had always felt that something was 'wrong' with Ronnie, even at a very young age. Normal girls didn't try to cut the wings off birds. Normal girls didn't slice the limbs off their dolls. Normal girls didn't stab their cousins in the stomach and then feel absolutely nothing about it. Ronnie had done all of these things, and for years I had tried my best to find out why and 'fix' her.

But I had never realized that Rhonda wouldn't want to be 'fixed'. Or that she would resent the idea of ever being considered 'broken' to begin with. Rhonda was a pure narcissist, who felt that everything she did was flawless and impeccable. The fact that I, unlike David, didn't absolutely worship her for her beauty or her intellect, made me her enemy.

"I'll tell you the same things that I told Daddy. For the rest of the afternoon, we're entering 'Silent Time' now, and that means you are not allowed to speak unless—"

Suddenly, Rhonda stopped and pondered.

"You know what? Nevermind. Forget I said anything. You can say whatever you want, whenever you want. Speak your mind, Mother dear. I won't stop you."

What was that about? Why had Rhonda just reneged a chance to give me an order? Why would she make it okay for me to just speak my mind whenever I felt like?

If Rhonda being tyrannical made me feel frightened, then her being considerate made me downright paranoid.

When she was finally within arms' length of me, Rhonda's hand rose and she outstretched a finger to me. She lowered the finger onto my collarbone, just below my neck. Then, slowly . . . carefully . . . she took the very tip of her fingertip and glided it down my chest. Her touch made my entire body shake uncontrollably, and I released an instinctive moan. My reaction caused Rhonda's eyes to glance up at me and smile, as her finger continued to slide downward, hooking the zipper of my blouse and undoing it as her fingernail continued to tease my sensitive flesh.

"Daddy likes it when I touch him like this," Ronnie said haughtily. "I know all of his sensitive, highly-erogenous spots. Furthermore, in the three years that we've been fucking, he's even come to know mine. We actually share a lot of them in common, Daddy and I. We've come to know each others' bodies so well that when we take our time, we make each other cum maybe twice or even three times during one session."

Ronnie continued slide her finger around my exposed chest, the extreme-most edge of her nail igniting my nerves and bringing my bosom to the bursting point of pleasure.

Then, Ronnie whispered softly to me, "How does that make you feel?"

"R-R-Ronnie," I stammered quietly. "P-Please don't . . ."

Rhonda scoffed. "Don't what? Don't make you feel fantastic?" When my zipper had been lowered fully, all the way to the bottom of ribcage, Rhonda used her fingers to press the folds of blouse aside so that my nipples were visible. "Look at how hard these are. You're enjoying every second of this."

God help me, but I was. Whether I wanted it to or not, my body was reacting completely on its own. Rhonda knew well what she was doing, and she was quite adept at learning how to make my body respond. But that wasn't all—Rhonda and David must have finished fucking hours ago, and yet Rhonda was still dressed this way. At first, I thought it was to rub my nose in what she'd done with husband, but as she slowly slid her fingers around my breast, delicately pinching my nipple, that wasn't how I felt at all.

Whether I wanted it or not, my body was actually responding to this.

I tried to deny it, but I'd been somewhat turned on ever since I'd entered the basement and saw how obscenely-dressed my daughter was. Further, knowing that she'd just fucked her father not even hours ago only excited me more.

Rhonda leaned into me, the naked flesh of our breasts gently coming into contact. The feel of Rhonda's soft chest warmed me. Slowly, Rhonda slid my blouse down from my shoulders, eventually exposing my chest completely. My arms became entangled within the sleeves and folds of my blouse, restricting my movement and allowing Rhonda complete control.

As Rhonda looked into my eyes, and I into hers, a strange feeling overcame me. Although she did look much more like myself, she still boasted the best of David's looks. I could see flashes of my husband as I shivered and moaned from her touch. I was finding myself almost orgasming from nipple play alone, despite the fact that it was my daughter doing it. Or perhaps, it would have been more accurate to say that I was orgasming because it was my daughter that did it. It felt so dirty . . .so absolutely immoral . . .

But it didn't last long. My titilation turned into immediate agony when Rhonda tightly gripped my exposed nipple and twisted . . . HARD. I screamed out and my eyes popped open. With my arms still caught within my half-removed blouse, I couldn't do anything to stop her except try to back away.

"Don't you dare try to stop me, Bitch," she told me with the most hate-filled eyes I'd ever seen. "You deserve this. You know that you deserve this, don't you?"

"Aaaaaah! P-Please, Ronnie! It . . . it hurts!"

That didn't serve to stop her at all. In fact, it actually seemed to spur her on. "Tell me that you deserve this, Bitch. Tell me that this is justice for trying to take my Daddy away!"

I think Rhonda bringing up that old shame actually caused me more pain than the nipple-twisting did. Yes, roughly ten years ago, I fucked up horribly and made a mistake which put my husband in jail for nine months. For years afterwards, I'd worked hard to try and make up for that error, redoubling my efforts as a wife and mother until my husband and daughter both forgave me.

Or so I had thought.

"R-Ronnie, please . . . it was . . . ahhhhh . . . it was eleven years ago . . .!"

She twisted harder as she insisted, "Tell me what I want to hear, Bitch, or I swear to God, I'll twist this until it tears off."

I was in tears and I couldn't bear it anymore. "Agggh!! Yes, yes! I-I deserve this!! I took . . . took your fa-father away f-from you, a-a-and this is my punishment!"

The worst thing was that, somewhere deep inside of me, I wasn't making that up. Somewhere, in the darkest part of my soul, this was actually how I felt.

There hadn't been a single day that had gone by in these eleven years that I hadn't regretted what I'd done. On that day, eleven years ago, I had called the police over a petty disagreement between David and I, about Ronnie. It was right after Ronnie had stabbed Teddy, her cousin. Both children had their own version of the event, each contradicting the other. When I refused to believe my own daughter's story, David became incensed. For David, Ronnie was his little angel, and he couldn't fathom taking anyone else's word over hers.

Things got heated, and David angrily assaulted an officer. I'd never expected him to do that. David wasn't a violent man—he'd never so much as even raised a hand toward me. How the hell could I have known that he'd swing on a cop!?

But, I still don't blame him for it. He was an angry father acting on instinct. I place the real blame on myself. Why did I even call the police in the first place? Because I was angry I guess, but if I'd never done something so moronic, David never would have gone to jail, I wouldn't have lost my husband for nine months, our family never would have been torn apart . . .

. . . And my own daughter wouldn't hate me as much as she did now.

"My fault. This is all my fault," I sobbed. "I deserve this. This is my punishment. I ruined my family. It all went wrong because of me."

Rhonda released my nipple, and I fell to my knees, sobbing and gasping for breath. As I struggled to regain my senses, I saw one of her slippers kick off of her foot.

"Lick it," she told me.

I stared up into Ronnie's eyes, and she only continued to stare down in contempt, expecting me to follow her commands. Feeling my heart quickly drain of hope, my tongue timidly reached out for my daughter's foot. I took a deep swallow as I stared, hesitant.

"Please, Ronnie," I begged. "Haven't you done enough to—"

"Do it, Bitch," she ordered.

Her insistence lit a fire inside me, and I took my mouth to my daughter's toes and began to lick them, slowly. This, of course, was another first for me, in many different ways. I'd never done anything like this before—not even with David. It sounds weird, but as I let my tongue run along each of my daughter's tiny phalanges, all I could actually think about was how moist and smooth they were. How warm they felt, like the rest of her body.

I felt a rush—something that's difficult for me to describe—as I worked my daughter's lower appendage with my mouth. There I was, on my knees inside this dark and cold cellar, servicing my own daughter's foot with my lips and tongue.

I heard Ronnie let out a slow, lustful sigh. For the first time, I noticed that while ran my tongue across her toes, Ronnie kept a finger inside her pussy, slowly sliding it in and out, allowing me to see the digit glistening with her juices. I was a bit puzzled at first, as I didn't think there was any chance that I actually turned Rhonda on in any physical way. But, as I watched her, I began to understand.

It wasn't that she was turned on by what I was doing as much as why I was doing it. Rhonda relished the power, the dominance. She loved being treated like an empress, and having me—the person she hated most—demonstrating my . . . 'inferiority' . . . turned her on immensely.

Indeed, that was exactly what a narcissist like Rhonda would be turned on by.

I started to stop and look up at her, but she stopped and pulled away from me, stepping back into her heeled slipper.

"Okay. That's enough," she told me. "Get back on your feet."

When I was standing straight again, Rhonda began to speak.

"This much should be obvious, but I feel I should explain anyway: from today forward, you will become a happy, willing little cuckquean for Daddy and me. The only meaning in your shitty little life now is doing everything in your power to ensure our happiness and see that all of our needs are met . . . sexually or otherwise.

"To provide an example, if I decide that I need Daddy to myself for an entire weekend, you will remove yourself and the kids for a few days so that we can fuck anywhere and anytime we please. Take them to your parents' house. Take them Disneyland if you so choose. I don't give a shit, so long as you understand that while you are gone, I will be fucking your husband at every opportunity and he'll definitely cum inside me within every room of our house. And perhaps a couple of times in your bed.

"Additionally, if Daddy's age someday catches up with him and he becomes unable to keep up with regularly fucking both of us, it is my bed that he will occupy from then on, and you will have to do without. Is that understood?"

I couldn't help but cringe, but I nodded nonetheless.

"Repeat it to me, then," she said. "What is your purpose?"

I swallowed. "To . . . to make sure that you and David are satisfied, s-sexually or . . . or otherwise."

"What will you do if I decide I want him to myself for a time?"

"Clear myself and the kids from the house."

Ronnie grinned evilly. "So that what?"

I bit my lip, hesitant to respond. "So t-that . . . so that you and David can fuck anywhere and anytime you please."

The damn smile on her face made my blood boil. She knew how painful it felt for me to say that—to give another woman, especially my own daughter, permission to take ownership of the man I'd married. She was making it clear to me now that she considered David to be her mate and lover, not mine. As I'd mentioned before, over the past week, Ronnie had made me feel like a concubine in my own marriage, and it seemed that she aimed to keep things that way for a long, long time.

******

-DAVID-

"It's me," I said, knocking on the entrance to Rhonda's 'hot rooms'. I saw a small light above the door flash once, and then the hard metal door clicked. I turned the handle and the heavy door swung open to grant my entrance.

As I made my way through the various quarters inside, I eventually came to the spare bedroom and found a half-naked Rhonda, dressed in little besides a set of bra and panties and her favorite heeled slippers, sitting on the edge of the bed and biting her nails in eager anticipation for me. She smiled wide when she saw me and spread her legs open while her fingers slipped underneath the thin material of her underwear. With a lusty glint, my daughter played with herself enthusiastically.

Her belly was already bulging. Our third, unborn child showing signs of developing inside of her womb. Rhonda swelled with pride, and she took her free hand and placed it atop her bulging abdomen.

"I can't believe I'm showing already, Daddy. God, you're such a stud. I think you've put enough cum inside me to impregnate every woman in Nicaragua. My poor ova didn't even stand a chance—especially with how strong your boys swim."

Rhonda was playing directly to my deepest fetish, the willingness to give in to my baser instincts and become a pure animal. Every man is hard-wired with the goal of breeding. We've tamed ourselves and act civil in the face of society, but the beast is just beneath the surface, struggling to break free. Ronnie made it quite clear to me that she not only expected me to fuck her, but that she wanted to waste no time letting that beast out. She wanted babies. My babies, and lots of them.

To my primitive instincts, that was like music to my ears. So what if it was my own daughter I was breeding? All of our children were beautiful, hale and healthy, and I loved every one of them. It was fun being both a Daddy and a Grand-daddy, and I sure as hell had fun making them. Hell, I would never admit this to my wife, but Rhonda had given me some of the best sex of my whole life.