The Psychic

BY : SerafintheGreat
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 12916
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real people, situations, or locations are coincidental.

            I cry in my old bed. I can’t deal with the tension. His cruel, cruel words replay over and over again in my head. It’s a sobering reminder of our relationship.

            We aren’t friends, and we aren’t in a relationship. We have an arrangement. I am his comfort woman, and I do work around the house. That’s it. I’m just supposed to be available, not difficult.

            Why do I even care? Do I have some type of investment in the concept of a relationship? What’s wrong with me?

            My stomach growls, and I’m starving, but I can’t bring myself to go back down there, but I have to.

            I go downstairs ,and he’s waiting for me in the kitchen with his back toward me.

            I’m not emotionally prepared for whatever he wants, but I ask him anyway, “What would you like me to do right now?”

            He won’t even turn to look at me. After a moment, he speaks:

            “Margot, I try my best with you, and I get nothing in return. You have to shape up immediately, or I see no reason to keep you here any longer.”

            The threat to my life is direct, “I’ll make you another one.” I go to the stove and I get started on the next grilled cheese. I make it properly this time, and I give it to him, and I go to wash the pan.

             “Where is your lunch?” He asks me.

             “Um, I…” and I can barely suppress my tears, “I assumed you wanted nothing to do with me after all that.”

             He considers for a moment.

             “I have set rules into place. One, if you ever try to escape, you will die. Two, you will never, ever go back into your old room. And I know you were just in there, and three, you will always eat every meal you cook for me, with me. So make another sandwich. Actually, make two, I want another one.” He devours the sandwich quickly and pushes his plate away, waiting for me to make him another.

              I make two grilled cheeses and I sit with him at the table. He eats his, as fast as he eats everything. I pick at mine.

              “Why aren’t you eating?” He asks.

              “Because, I’m nervous.”

              “Why are you nervous?”

              “You want me dead.”

              “The last thing I want to do is kill you, but you keep on doing things that give me no other choice. Stop doing those things. Eat your food.”

            But I can’t.

            And then he takes my hand, and I look him in the eyes, and the power is there, “Relax. You are hungry.”

            Then I feel my stomach growl. I start eating, almost too ravenously, out of control. I don’t like it, not one bit, but I finish the grilled cheese quickly, as per his command.

            “Good girl.”

            And then I feel it.

            A little pulse in my pelvis. I know it’s supposed to be pleasurable, but instead I find it disturbing. He watches me, as if knowing exactly what just happened.

            Then, my stomach turns. I grip at it, suddenly nauseous, “Sir, I don’t feel so good.”

            “Why do you call me that?” He’s angry, but I feel so awful, I can’t engage, “If you call me that again, I’m going to-“

            And then I run out of the room to the nearest bathroom. I throw up the contents of my lunch and then some into the toilet. As I’m throwing up, I feel his hands around me, gathering my hair out of my face. I finish doing what I was doing and I sit back onto the floor.

            “Did you do that on purpose?”

            I look up at him, and I see his eyes burning. My eyes feel like they’re burning too. “No! I promise, I-“

            And then he grabs my throat and pushes me against the toilet.

            “You better be telling me the truth. Did you throw up on purpose?”

            I’m in pain all over, but mostly from his glare, “No, I promise you.”

            He releases me from his grip and from the fire in his eyes. My eyes feel normal again, but I feel completely destroyed. I can barely support myself on the bathroom floor when I start crying.

            “Shh, baby, stop crying,” He gathers me in his arms, and he holds me close. I whimper into his chest because he’s making me.

            “I know you’re telling the truth, and I’m sorry you got sick. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

            He strokes my hair as I cry, and then I hold onto him too.

            “That’s a good girl, Daddy’s here to take care of you.”

            I seize at both of those statements. The ‘good girl’ sends that weird pulse through my body and this is the first time he’s referred to himself as my “Daddy.”

            “Let me look at you, sweetheart.”

            He takes my chin and he makes me look at him.

            “Daddy hates to see his little girl cry.”

            I look into his eyes, and his power isn’t there, but he isn’t there either. It’s like he’s detached himself, and the real him is somewhere far, far away. Unless this is the real him, and the Psychic is the detachment.

            “Daddy wants to make it all feel better.” And he leans in and he kisses all the tears off my cheeks. I whimper more.

            “Shh, don’t be shy. Daddy knows how to take care of you and make you feel good. Come, let’s get out of here.”

            I’m suddenly lifted off the floor in his arms. He carries me out of the bathroom, and I wrap my arms around his neck, and I cry into his chest, fully accepting the situation.

            “Oh, sweet girl, stop crying, I’m going to make it all feel better.”

            He brings me up the stairs, down the long hallway to his room. He leans down to put in the number combination, and he brings me into his room. He lays me on top of the bed, and he immediately, but very gracefully, mounts me.

            I’m still crying, but he kisses the tears off my face, then he places a hand gently on my neck and starts kissing my entire face with more passion.

            I moan, involuntarily, and he takes this as an invitation to kiss me on the lips. I accept his kiss, and he slips his tongue into my mouth. I lie complacently as he kisses me, and I’m even kissing him back.  Whatever this is, I need it.

He separates himself from me. “My little girl doesn’t need this right now.” And he starts unbuttoning my dress, “Let your Daddy see you.”

            He unbuttons everything. Then he lifts me and stands me up near the bed.

            “Arms up!” He tells me, like a child.

            I lift my arms up, and he lifts the dress off of my body.

            “That was a little too easy, sweetheart. Let’s get you some cookies and ice cream, so I can fatten you up.”

            He tickles my ribs, and I laugh.

            He looks at me, and smiles, “that’s maybe the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.” He takes me by my chin to look at me, “you have such a pretty smile.” That hand falls to my shoulder, and he slips his other hand behind my back and snaps my bra off. He removes my bra, and unsnaps my stockings from my garter. They roll down my legs, and I step out of them. He snaps my garter off my body, and he holds onto me as he slips my underwear off as well.

            I stand completely vulnerable and cold.

            “Oh, my baby is cold. I better make you warm.”

            He lifts me up easily again, and he lies me onto the bed.

            “Sweet, sweet girls get rewarded with kisses all…over…their body.” And he kisses my whole body, making his way down to my vagina. He “kisses” me down there as well, and I writhe against his lips.

            He wraps his arms around my thighs as he goes in for the kill. He does everything I could possibly want him to do, and I orgasm against his lips. After I rest, he kisses my entire body again, and he stops at my mouth. “Daddy’s not done taking care of you.”

            He rises and lowers his suspenders. He unbuttons and unzips his trousers. He reaches into the nightstand for a condom. He puts the condom on, and he mounts me again. He finds my entrance with his fingers, and he starts to insert himself.

            I tense up, forgetting how much it hurt for him to do that. It’s been a while.

            “Shh, baby, it’s going to be okay. It won’t hurt for much longer, then it will feel good.”

            He eases his way into me, and then he stops, waiting for me to adjust to his girth. He thrusts into me at a steady pace, and I moan as, true to his word, it starts to feel good, “I bet I can make you feel really good one more time. Can Daddy do that?”

            I nod, and he presses himself up against me, so the weight of his body is against my clitoris. I rub up against him, and he rubs up against me, and soon, I can feel the build up of a second orgasm.

            “Yes, sweetheart, yes, be a good girl.”

            And when he says that, it all explodes unexpectedly. He moans as well as my walls contract around his penis. Then, finally, he thrusts harder and cums himself, his whole body shaking.

            He collapses on top of me, our sweat melding. His forehead rests on mine, and his heart beats against mine.

            There’s a knock on the door.

            “What?” The Psychic snarls.

            “Sir, it’s time to go.”

            The Psychic groans and he gets up. He starts putting his outfit on. I see his face, and the makeup looks untouched.

            “Jesus, how does that stay on?” I ask, friendly.

            He ignores me, clearly having returned to normalcy. I feel humiliated by even trying to have a conversation with him.

            “Remember,” he speaks, finally, “You’re moving in, so I expect to see you when I get home. It won’t be till later, so feel free to go to sleep. The combination is 010104. If I don’t see you here when I come home later tonight, I’ll find you, and you won’t be happy.”

            And he leaves. 

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