Daddy’s Little Psychopath Ch. 06

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This is a special chapter of “Daddy’s Little Psychopath” that introduces a new central character: Katy as well as taking a very dramatic twist for the series. I hope you like it.

Now for my new readers: this is the third installment of my Daddy’s Little Psychopath series. Chapter One can be found here, Chapter Two can be found here, Chapter Three can be found here, Chapter Four can be found here, and Chapter Five can be found here. You can expect this story to contain the following tags: cuckquean, father-daughter incest, mother-daughter incest, rough sex, reluctance, and blackmail. If that isn’t your cup of tea, you can try most of my other series, as they are quite different from this one.

Please, please, please leave a comment below. I can’t stress enough how much feedback helps me write.



This is a new journal that I’ve taken to recording in order to organize my thoughts better. I apologize if I make any grammatical mistakes or show a less than acceptable understanding of the English language, as my first language is Arabic.

So, please allow me to introduce myself. My very formal name is Princess Kathirah bint Saleh Abd al-Hasan . . . but most Americans know me by the simpler name of “Katy” Hasan. I picked up that nickname during my first year or so living in the United States, when I was just a little girl. I gave my teacher attitude because she was doing a math problem wrong, and I refused to agree with her even when she hit me on my knuckles and made me write “I will not act like a know-it-all” three thousand times. People said that I was being “catty”, and eventually, everyone just shortened my first name to call me that all the time.

I was born the final child of thirty-seven to Prince Saleh Abdul Hasan, and my father decided to use me as sort of an “experiment”. I don’t mean that in a bad way. It was just that, after raising eighteen of my brothers and eighteen of my sisters, my father decided that his final child would be the one he raised to be special. I was sent to the United States when I was only a baby, to be raised and educated both in the ways of the West and the East. My father wished for me to be something unique—exactly what he expected me to grow into, I’m not sure, and he died before he could reveal the grand plan to me.

As a result, I’m a product of two worlds. I speak both Arabic and English fluently, although I feel much more comfortable in the former. I’m well-versed in both American and Saudi history, culture and literature, and I have an education which is both Islamic and secular. I’m more than capable of blending in completely in either worlds, being able to drop my Arabic accent for an American one and vice-versa, but I much prefer to simply be myself. It’s far less stressing that way.

I was followed everywhere by a team of chaperones and tutors, but when I grew older, I became bold enough to try venturing on my own from time to time. I became a party girl, drinking, clubbing, doing all of the things good Muslim girls shouldn’t. Well, everything except one. I never let anyone take my virginity, although many, many men tried. Don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t because I was a prude or anything . . . while it’s true that Islam forbids sex outside of marriage, the rules are different when you’re rich, and especially when visiting outside of Saud. I’ve actually broken several of your American laws several times since I was a child, but it was all covered up because my father was one of the richest men in the world.

As the saying goes in my family, “The rules need not have meaning to us.”

I was a very naughty girl. I liked attention, so I intentionally wore clothes that barely covered my breasts, my rear, or my legs. I have a birthmark just below my left butt-cheek, and the rule I always followed was that if my outfit covered the mark, I wouldn’t wear it. I wanted men’s tongues dragging across the floor when they saw me, and for the most part, I got what I wanted. However, it was frustrating that most of the men that approached me were all Muslim, because even when I was younger, I had developed a fetish for white men.

I wanted my first lover to be special. I wanted him to be kinky, exotic, and something I would remember forever, even when I would eventually return home and probably be married to some boring Saudi guy. I wanted to release all of my inhibitions and fulfill my every fantasy while in the States. Oh yes, some of us Muslim girls are that way—that’s something the news will never tell you.

One day, I was approached by a man who said that he was searching for “talented” girls. I did not know what exactly he meant, but I decided to try this. Eventually, I was sent for “testing” with other girls. There were over forty of us, and many of them were foreigners like myself. We were all instructed to strip ourselves naked in front of total strangers and try on various lewd rus escort and perverse clothes. The men had cameras and videotape with them, and they filmed us all. Some of us were instructed to touch each other and look into the camera a certain way. Some of us were even made to kiss.

That was my first experience touching my lips to another woman’s . . . and I did not find it to my disliking.

The men thanked us for our time and released us, saying that they would be in touch. They called each of us back for more pictures and more making out, but one by one, some of the girls never came back. Whatever happened to them, I was the last girl to be approached . . . and I believe it had something to do with the fact that I was still a virgin at the time. I have heard that this would have made me “priceless” in certain circles.

When I was eventually approached for “work”, I was called in to take several more pictures, and a video where I did nothing but describe myself and talk about what sort of things I liked and disliked. They asked me who my favorite actor was (Matt Damon), what sort of guys I liked (brown hair, blue eyes, light skin), and what my turn-ons were (letting go, being a complete, wanton slut, being fucked like a cow). The men once again thanked me and then paid me for my time—I had never held so much American money in my hands at one time! They told me that if I wanted more where it came from, that I only needed to continue coming when they called.

Eventually, I was contacted by someone through email . . . this mysterious person would only refer to themself as the “Buyer”, who said that they were acting on behalf of an equally mysterious “Client”. I was never allowed to know the name of this Buyer, and the only business ever conducted was electronically. However, I was told that I would get to meet the Client in person should I meet certain criteria.

I wasn’t naïve. I knew that I was being traded as a good . . . but this was such an opportunity for me. The thought of being marketed off sort of appealed to a darker side within me and gave me a rush that was unbelievable. The Buyer told me that all I needed to do was meet the Client and his wife, and do anything and everything they told me to. It would be over within hours, and I would walk away with more money than I could count. Of course, I didn’t really need the money . . . but the thought of taking it for letting a stranger have my pussy made me wet.

When I was eventually called and told that I was “hired”, I only asked the “Buyer” for one request: to see a picture of the man that would take my virginity. I was sent a picture by mail with no return address. He was most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life. Matt Damon could go screw himself.

His name was David. He was brown-haired with specs of gray, he had a very rugged and sexy five o’clock shadow, and his eyes were crystal blue. His nose looked strong and narrow, his lips were thin but soft, and his chin was thick. His skin was peach, with the lightest of tans. He was everything I had ever wanted and more.

Of course, I was nervous . . . and that only increased my excitement. I wanted to live dangerously—I wasn’t within the States because I wanted to be coddled and protected. I wanted to live a life to be remembered, and to make my own choices, for good or for bad.

I went to David’s home and steeled myself for what was to come. I was directed to a lovely home deep within a lush, forested hillside, somewhat separated from the nearest city and miles away from another home. I went to the front door and rang the bell.

When the door opened, I was greeted by a lovely woman who appeared to be somewhat in her late thirties, although I would soon find out that she was actually in her early forties and simply looked very good for her age. She was dark-haired and fair of skin like David was, and she possessed friendly brown eyes. I knew immediately that she must have been David’s wife, and imagined that the two of them must have made some gorgeous children together. She invited me inside and made me feel right at home. She asked my name and even made me a cup of tea, telling me to wait in the living room until she could locate her husband so that he could meet me himself.

I had never been more scared in my life, nor so excited. I did not know what these two wished to do with me, only that it would be something sexual and that I was being paid to fulfill their every desire. As I stated already, I was still a virgin at this time, and I was still “intact” as a proper Muslim woman should be. But, if I went through with this, I would be finally crossing a line that I would never be able to turn away from.

Finally, the woman returned from the top of the stairs and said that David would be soon to join us. I stood and waited for this man to appear . . . to see what kind of creature I was willing to be sold to. My heart sıhhiye escort was pounding so fiercely in my chest, and my palms had run cold. Half of my mind told me to run out of the door, return to my family and my chaperones and tell them that I was foolish. But, the other half would not allow it.

So, I waited. And then he appeared.

For me, it was pure love at first sight.



For the first time in a while, I couldn’t fully enjoy Daddy’s cock while it slowly pumped into my tight, hungry pussy. My mind was in two places at once, mulling over what I’d heard being said between The Bitch and that detective that had shown up earlier that day. The conversation was very odd, with nothing that really seemed to be worrisome, but that was actually what worried me the most. Those questions were almost pointless for a hired investigator to ask, which led me to believe that he was attempting to gauge The Bitch’s reactions. Unfortunately, neither the audio nor the camera angle gave me a good indication of how she’d reacted or what her facial expressions were. But knowing her dumb ass, she was probably as subtle as a bonfire.

That meant that this detective was suspicious. And that he would be back.

I didn’t dare tell Daddy what had happened. He had more important things to do, like making sure that our sweaty, wet bodies rubbed together while he mounted me from behind. Daddy didn’t need to concern himself with the day-to-day. He didn’t need to even think at all. I would do all of those things for him. All I needed him to do was use my pussy for his own delight, and make sure that he kept me filled with his milky seed.

Daddy delivered on all levels. He spent a solid half-hour fucking me hard from behind, sawing in and out of my moist cunt. He grunted like an animal every time he thrust all the way into me, and the impact was so hard that my arms nearly gave out after a few minutes. We were only half into it and my body was completely covered with sweat, and I could feel it dripping from him as well. The sheets below me were soaked with the efforts of our lovemaking.

Eventually, Daddy slowed down and began making slow love to me. Keeping his cock buried to the hilt while he pulled me against him and kissed me from behind. I rolled my tongue and my father’s tongue together until we’d swapped saliva, and then I looked him deep in the eyes and soaked in the fire in his eyes as he continued to slowly grind my pussy and squeeze my tits. His hands wandered, everywhere, the slickness of my sweat, making it effortless for him to touch me anywhere he pleased—and I encouraged him to touch me everywhere. I loved feeling his strong hands over every part of me.

Then, abruptly, Daddy threw me face down on the bed again and began to fuck me even more savagely than before. It was just a constant tremor of action, my body bouncing back and forth on Daddy’s cock with complete abandon while he fucked me with an inhuman pace. There was no gentleness or rhythm of any kind. Daddy just took me like a force of nature, and I lay on my stomach and let him.

He eventually grasped my hips hard and shot his load deep inside me, where our next child had already begun to grow. I was now a full month pregnant with Daddy’s sixth child . . . well by me, anyway, but I don’t count any of those other pieces of garbage he made with those other sluts . . . and he already had me wishing he could somehow get me pregnant again. I’d carry a thousand of Daddy’s babies in me if it were possible. I’ll give him all the children he could ever want.

That’s why this detective situation was pissing me off. Where the fuck did he come from? What did he want? I finally had everything I always wanted. Daddy was completely happy, The Bitch was a broken cuckquean, and I shared my bed with the only man I’d ever loved. Eleven years of planning and my genius had finally made it happen.

So, why couldn’t the rest of the world just fuck off and die!?



“Oh God, David . . . I . . . I love what you do to me. I love the way you feel inside me.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, as I continued to feel his balls slap against me from behind with each thrust. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“I l-l-love it more than anything in the world, David! I’ve never felt s-s-so good!”

“So do you want my cock in you as often as possible?”

“Y-Yes, David! I want it in me always!”

“That makes you my slut, you know that? That makes you my slutty little slave to fuck whenever I have the need.”

“Yes, David! I’m your slut! Your slave! Your whore! Your sharmootaa! Just don’t ever stop fucking me! Please, don’t ever stop!”

“What will you do for my cock, slut?”

“I will do anything you ever ask me to, David! I will follow your every command!”

“Then say right now that you’ll sincan escort be my slave from here on, and that you want no other cock but mine.”

“I . . . I will be your slave from here on, David . . . now and forever! I will never let another cock near me but yours!”

“Tell me that you want to have my baby.”

“Yes! Yah, Allah! I will have your baby, David! I will have as many of your babies as you want! I will be your woman, for you to use and impregnate as you see fit, now and forever!”

Sitting alone in my home, I listened to that recording over and over. I wasn’t allowed to bring a video recorder to my “sessions” with David, but I was able to smuggle audio one. I kept it in my purse the whole time, and I often listened to it when I returned to my home and thought of David.

Faleen, my chaperone and friend, felt concerned for me, saying that I was becoming too “attached” to the American man. She said that I needed to remember that this was all in fun, and that I needed to remain respectfully aware of my role as a Saudi princess.

But I didn’t listen to a word of it.

I was in heat, I was in lust, and I was in love. I thought about David every day and every night. My body burned white hot when he wasn’t inside me, and no matter how much money I received from the “Buyer”, it was never enough. The money only made things worse. It told me that David was only mine so long as the Buyer was willing to pay. If he . . . or she . . . ever decided to end things, I would never have my David again.

When David finally made me pregnant, it was the happiest day of my life, despite the furled brows of everyone in my court. I’d wanted so badly to give him a baby, and Allah, who is all-powerful and all-kind, finally blessed me with one. The all-knowing one understood what a great man, David was.

I wanted to add to the four children he already had. He was always such a wonderful father whenever I saw him with his own children as well as the two grandchildren his daughter had produced from her various boyfriends. David loved children, and I knew he wanted nothing less than to see my body swelling with his child. At last, I was able to deliver just that.

David carried me over the threshold like a blushing bride when I broke the news to him, and we spent the entire day making love. No other women . . . not even his wife . . . just he and I. I had never felt so loved or fulfilled. I knew I’d made the right choice to make this man the father of my children, and I swore that I would keep my body in good health to bear him many more for the far, far future. Even if it one day cost me my family and fortune.

My belly grew at a steady rate, and David watched me with a keen eye. He enjoyed touching my swollen belly, and seeing his fruit stretch me. I intentionally wore the tightest clothes I could find for him, even if they were a size or two too small, just so that he could see how obscene I looked. On more than one occasion, David was on hand to witness my breasts tear through a bra that didn’t fit me or my belly pop a button on a shirt too small. It drove him crazy with lust to me, and he could never keep his hands . . . or cock . . . off of me.

In the meantime, however, I sometimes began to wonder of his wife. I wanted to speak to her on occasion, but we could rarely exchange words. I think she saw me as just another of her husband’s distractions—after all, the black girl Sera had been impregnated by David just as well—but I wanted to be friends with her, because I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. I had no desire to steal another woman’s husband, but Islam doesn’t insist that a man can only belong to one woman. A strong, willful man can love many women, and I had no doubt that David held love for us both. I also suspected that David had another lover as well . . . . There was never any evidence of such a thing, but it was just a feeling I acquired after nearly a full year of being a part of his household.

Soon, it became time for me to give birth, and I started to think long and hard about my future with David and that of our children. The nearer I came to my delivery, the more the situation weighed at my conscience. Here I was, pledged to belong to David until the end of time, and I was still accepting money for servicing him like a common whore. Receiving pay for wifely or motherly duties would be one thing, but I was being paid by a third party for doing nothing but opening my legs for him. I didn’t want that for David anymore. He deserved to have me, and to know that the money meant nothing to me compared to his happiness.

But, that was when tragedy struck. When I tried to change the deal with the “Buyer”, he or she became furious and immediately forbade me from ever seeing David again! I pleaded with them to change their mind, but they stopped returning my mail, and eventually the server told me that the email address no longer even existed! A few days later, mysterious men . . . armed men . . . arrived at my door. They came in and made themselves at home in my home. Some of them even began to eat my food! My tutors and chaperones did their best to protect me, and make me feel safe, but they weren’t trained bodyuards.

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