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.
******
-KATY-
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 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 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.
******
-RHONDA-
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
