Daddy's Little Psychopath

"Hi again, Daddy," she purred.

My eyes widened immediately. "So . . . that WASN'T a dream, then?"

"Of course not, Daddy," she told me, slowly walking toward me. "But it WAS dreamy. You and me, alone, your cock in my pussy while I mounted you like a bull. God, it's gotten me wet every time I've thought about it."

I stood from my chair and backed away from her. "Why are you doing this, Ronnie? What do you want from me?"

She giggled. "That's a silly question, isn't it? I want YOU. I want to fuck you, Daddy, like we were always meant to." She continued to move forward, her hips gently swaying, and her breasts heaving with each step.

"Ronnie, this is impossible. I'm your father!"

"So?" she answered nonchalantly. "I want you, and that's all that matters."

"No, goddammit, Ronnie!" I had backed myself into a wall, and she was taking the opportunity to approach me quicker. "Ronnie, just stay away from me. I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't stop now, I'll—"

"You'll what? You'll hit me?" she asked. "Just like you raped me the other day?"

My mouth fell. "What . . . what are you talking about?"

"For years, I've making 'anonymous' emails that I was afraid that my father wanted to abuse me. Glancing at me inappropriately, hurting me, even making me require therapy at one point. Right now, said emails are under an internet handle and email address of no real consequence. But, all it would take is for one bright person to make the connection to our IP address and then—."

I shook my head. "But that . . . that wouldn't prove anything!"

"Maybe, but the semen I collected in my pussy may just provide grounds for a trial. Sure, you may get acquitted on insufficient evidence, but you are a convicted felon only years removed from probation, and the press would NEVER believe that you were innocent. They'd dog you forever, and everybody would be convinced that you'd merely 'gotten away with it'"

She smiled wider and stepped even closer. "And would your 'dear', 'sweet' wife stick by you this time? Do you think she won't assume the worst, like she always does? And what about the time you 'kidnapped' your poor little girl and took her to a motel? Do you think all of that would stack up to make you look innocent?"

My heart sank with every word my daughter spoke. I didn't know whether or not what she was saying could really happen, but I didn't want to know, either. I had almost spent an uncomfortable three years behind bars already, and I was in no rush to go back, even if it was only through the length of a trial. And of course, she was right about the 'kidnapping'—even though my wife had dropped that charge, it could still be used against my character.

As she saw the dawning dread in my eyes, Rhonda carefully licked her fingers and then stuck them into her panties, slowly fingering her moist clit.

"You're going to have to make a choice, Daddy. Fuck me, or call my bluff. It's up to you."

It was a lose-lose scenario, and I wasn't ready to make that decision yet. I decided to do a little bluffing of my own.

"You've been to counseling for extremely disturbed behavior, Ronnie," I said confidently. Completely unfazed by my words, she continued to toy with her clit and squeeze her breast with her free hand, moaning loudly as I spoke. It was like what I was saying didn't matter one whit to her, and I could feel my resolve cracking as she just masturbated in front of me without a care. "If I point that out, as well as what you did to Teddy—"

Ronnie immediately started to laugh. "Teddy confessed that he started the whole thing shortly after I went to counseling, Daddy. I was given a clean bill of mental health, aside from being a little . . . emotionally detached, as they called it. It was actually pretty easy. 'Mommy' wanted so desperately to fix me, so I gave her what she wanted. Imagine her joy when they said I just wasn't getting enough love from The Bitch at home, and that with a little more love and tenderness, I would be her sweet little girl again. And I gave her exactly what she needed. As far as anyone else is concerned, I'm just a normal teenage girl . . . with an IQ over 140, of course.

"Still, they may start taking another look at my history and wonder whether or not I began acting out as a 'cry for help' because my Daddy was giving me such dirty, explicitly subliminal reading like 'The 30 Best Ways To Pleasure A Man' or 'How To Satisfy An Older Partner'."

"What . . . what the hell are you talking about?!" I demanded.

"Oh, you didn't see those little expenses on your credit card? You've never seemed to mind buying books for me, so I took a few liberties. I copied down your credit information and made a few purchases of my own. Oh, and I still have the receipts hidden someplace safe . . . just in case I ever have need of them again. You never know when you might need to show a proof of purchase."

This was absolutely insane! My daughter had been plotting against me this WHOLE TIME?! All these years, she was just waiting to spring this trap on me?

"Oooooh, aren't I bad, Daddy?" She gasped, apparently beginning to climax from her fingering. "Don't you . . . unh . . . don't you just want to SPANK me like . . . aaahh . . . like you did seven years ago!?"

"Why would you do this?!" I asked again, this time as tears began forming. "I've always loved you . . . I've always fought for you . . .!"

"And that's exactly why, Daddy," she said, completing her orgasm and finally stepping within arm's length of me. "No one else gave a damn for me. Not Teddy. Not Uncle. And certainly not The Bitch. You fought for me. Just you. You went to jail for me, and all I've done is think of ways to pay you back for it.

"But, I will NOT have my feelings refused. So, that's why I spent YEARS planning all of this. If you refuse me . . . if you tell anyone what we've done . . . I will bury you. I care for you, but if I can't have you, then SHE can't either. Oh, and if you try to tell The Bitch, or warn her in any way? I'll make sure that both she and the 'hellspawn in the making' that's festering inside her suffer. And believe me . . . I've dreamt of ways to hurt her for seven years. I have come up with over a dozen methods that I could whip up just this afternoon. And it won't matter if I get caught afterwards—I will make sure that SHE PAYS FIRST."

I rubbed my hands through my hair, trying to think of some desperate way to get out of this nightmare. This was a joke. A sick joke. All of this could have just been an elaborate bluff . . . but how could I possibly know? She had been smart enough to poison me and make me sick long enough to put this plan into effect, and she was far more intelligent than either Eileen or myself. There was no possible means for me to know whether she was being serious or not . . . but could I really risk so much!?

"Why is this so hard for you, Daddy? All you have to do is fuck a tight young cunt. That's all you have to do and everybody's happy. You're happy. I'm happy. And The Bitch will never know."

With despair clutching at my heart, her words began to make sense. Desperation was feeding her insane logic to me, and I was beginning to accept it, piece by piece. And if that wasn't enough, then watching her slowly fucking herself with her own fingers, wearing that same perfume that always drove me crazy was certainly going a long way to help me complete my journey toward insanity.

"O-Okay, Ronnie . . ." I said defeatedly. "You win."

"Gooood," she moaned with her finger still inside her pussy. "Then what I want you to do first is drop your pants and take out your cock. Right now."

I did exactly what she asked, swallowing my pride and my morals and dropping my pants and boxers right in front of my daughter. I half-hoped that my cock would wilt and curb her interest, but there was little chance of that. The bastard was at full attention—in fact, maybe even longer than it'd been in my life. Ronnie eyed me with great satisfaction and licked her lips ravenously.

"We're going to start 'silent time' now, Dad," she told me. "That means that you will not talk back to me unless I ask you a question or tell you to speak. Understand?"

I nodded.

She leaned against me and wrapped her fingers around my cock, gently stroking it even as she looked me right in the eyes. "Here are the ground rules. Whenever I tell you to, you will drop your pants for me," she said. "I don't care about the time or the circumstance. If I call you at work, you will do it, and don't believe that I won't know. And if The Bitch is home when I want you, you will NOT touch her and will save every ounce of your cum for me. I don't care what excuse you have to make up.

"Keep in mind that the more we fuck, the more firepower I'll have against you if you decide to betray me. If you want to fight this, then out of my respect for you, I'll be honest: you'd best take your chances now."

I swallowed hard, tempted to jump at that chance. But, I just couldn't. I don't know why. Was I afraid for Eileen and the baby's safety? Was I scared for my reputation? Was I afraid of my daughter? Was I just that turned on?

There was no way to be sure, really. Maybe it was all of the above.

When I didn't fight her, and remained totally silent, she smiled triumphantly. "Put your pants back on and follow me into my room. You're going to fuck me until you burst inside of my pussy. Come on, Daddy . . . I can hardly wait to get you inside me . . .!"

And so began the second occasion when I fucked my daughter, right in her own bed.

Before we started, Rhonda fumbled with my pants and yanked my belt right off. "If you hate me right now, then whip me, Daddy! Whip your evil, mean little daughter's naked ass, just like seven years ago!"

I knew she was egging me on, but by that point I didn't care. I turned her over and whipped her tight little ass with my belt until it turned a vicious purple. But she only growled and begged me for more.

After we stripped naked and I mounted her, I just let all of my inhibitions go and did my best to make the most of it. Like I said before, I had been fucking my wife for weeks with the image of my daughter in my mind, and that made transitioning into the real thing that much easier. There was still some bitterness that I felt about this whole arrangement, and the guilt was tearing me apart. I channeled those emotions into punishing her pussy with the most hammering, violent thrusts I could manage.

But that only served to make her cum faster. "Oh yes! Oh God! Fuck me Daddy! Harder! Rape me, Daddy! Rape your precious daughter's tight little cunt!"

Despite every shred of decency I had, her words were overpowering me and making it that much easier to give in to passion and lust. She was right—right now, I hated her, but that was translating into one of the most intense fuckings I'd ever had. I gripped the headboard of my daughter's bed and slammed my hips as I fucked her harder and harder. She reached up and clawed at my back, moaning and hollering in ecstasy at feeling my manhood inside her, stoking my rage and animal lust even higher. I put my hands around her throat and squeezed, even as I slammed my cock into her pussy over and over.

"Gak! Yes!! Choke me!! Choke your little slut daughter! Choke her while you fuck her brains out!"

As much as I hate to say it, I was getting off on it as much as she was, and it only served to make my orgasm twenty times more powerful when I erupted inside of her.

Later, I discovered that she had a video camera set up in her room to record our liaisons, and she used it and several carefully choreographed conversations to make the blackmail even more effective. To be fair, she did warn me, but the reality of it really struck home. There was no turning back now . . . not unless I was prepared to lose everything.

Ronnie relished her control over me. One day, she called me on her cell phone and told me to pull my pants down while I stood at a subway stop, in front of a crowd of people. At first, I started to protest, but then I remembered her warning. I did just as she asked, to the disgust of several onlookers and fellow commuters. Almost immediately after I did so, she said that would do, so I pulled my pants back on and simply tried my best not to look anyone in the eye. To this day, I have no idea how she was monitoring me, but she'd proven that she was serious about knowing if I'd follow her instructions.

Also, she occasionally reminded me of my position by threatening Eileen. One time, she told me that she'd given my wife a slow-acting poison, but that she could give her an antidote before it did anything but gave her a mild cough and a headache. To earn the antidote, naturally, I would have to fuck my daughter and cum inside her a certain number of times.

It took me three days to reach her quota, and sure enough, Eileen came down with a headache, cough and fever just before I completed it. Ronnie said that she would do this and other equally heinous things sporadically over time so that if I ever thought about betraying her, I would never know whether or not my wife was poisoned. And when my son William was born, she amended her threats against him, too.

"I don't see him as family, let alone a 'brother'," she told me. "He came out of The Bitch's womb, so he's pure filth as far as I'm concerned." Then, naked, she slid into my lap and said, "I came out of her too, and that's why I'm so bad, Daddy. She taints everything she touches. But the baby we make, Daddy? It'll be beautiful. And because I'm such a cocktease at school, nobody's going to question that a slut like me got knocked up."

It was 'silent time', so I couldn't do anything but nod as she rode me to climax, forcing my spunk deep into her hot belly.

In the meantime, sex with my wife increased just as much. Every single day, I was fucking someone—if it wasn't my wife, it was my daughter. I was getting close to forty now, but my sex drive was more akin to a man HALF my age.

"Are you SURE you're not cheating on me?!" My wife joked in bed a second time. "Aw hell, I almost don't care if you are. I haven't been so satisfied since our honeymoon. So whatever you're doing, or whoever you're fucking, just make sure you save some for me."

I kissed her and laughed, but I had never felt guiltier in my life.

About a year later, Rhonda finally got pregnant, and Eileen demanded to know who the father was. Rhonda didn't tell her of course, claiming that she had 'fucked around a lot' at school. Eileen tried to look to me for support, but I only shrugged and did my best to avoid her eyes. There was nothing my wife could do but surrender. As Rhonda had predicted, her mother wouldn't kick her out because once she finished getting her doctorate and selected one of the dozens of job offers that were swarming us, Ronnie would be the biggest breadwinner in our entire family. No matter how upset Eileen got, she wouldn't kill the golden goose.

As the months went by, I became settled into my situation more and more. Despite myself, I began to enjoy having two lovers . . . it was exhilarating, especially considering one of them was a young woman who held so much power over me. Of course, the fact that I was screwing my own daughter still made me a bit squeamish, but the kink of it was starting to grow on me as well.

Ronnie had begun to train and condition me . . . like a pet or a mule. She knew just how far to push me, just the right buttons to press to keep my attention, and exactly how to fuck me to make me cum buckets inside her. I was still betraying my wife, and I knew that despite my reasonings, any real excuses were long past, but I just let go. I turned completely into my daughter's slave, and a large part of me enjoyed the hell out of it.

My third child—and Rhonda's first—was born nine months after that, just before she turned twenty. In one way, Ronnie was right: he was beautiful. The proud new mommy then told me that we were getting to work with number two.

"You gave The Bitch two brats, so I think it's only fair you gave me three," she said. "After that . . . well, maybe I'll think about calling an end to our little fun."

Shortly after, however, Eileen got pregnant with twins.

So much for that, I guess.