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.

And again, our relationship is mostly silent. He’s loosened his control over me. All I know is when he’s going to appear for his meal. Otherwise, everything has been my “choice.”

We now fuck regularly as well. No mystery as to if it will happen. It will. We derive a sort of sick comfort from the other person’s presence. Like, we need one another. I need him to survive this place. For amusement, for comfort, for a bunch of things I don’t want to admit. I look forward to him coming home.

Why he needs me? I’m not quite sure, but he must need me otherwise I would have died a long time ago. Sure, I provide practical services, but every night he holds me like I’m a person to him.

Then, I wake up, I make him breakfast, and I sit with him and eat with him. No pleasantries are exchanged. There are none.

He even lets me go outside more often now. He told me my skin needs the sun. Surely enough, I’m starting to have the complexion of a human again.  

But still, there’s that nagging and pulling inside of me. That need for constant escape, that I don’t belong here. This is a prison, not home, and I never committed a crime. Now that I know he’s in my head, it’s hard to have those thoughts. It’s also hard to have any thoughts of my family.

This particular night it’s gnawing at my insides, like a parasite stuck in my stomach trying to eat its way out. Do they think I’m still alive? Did they move on? No, of course not. There would be no moving on for them. They would forever hope I was alive until I was proven dead, meaning until they saw my dead body. Then my mom would live in a forever state of mourning until the day she dies.

I bet my mom knows I’m alive. I think moms know these things about their children. A logic brain would kick in, but it would be trumped quickly by her intuition.

All these thoughts flood my mind as I sit in the living room playing solitaire on the coffee table. The fire roars, as I sit on the floor and deal my cards. I’m perilously close to losing it.

Then, he enters as if knowing this is when I need some solitude.

“A drink?” he offers.

I shake my head, “No, thank you.”

“You sure?” he presses.

I pause, and I look at him. His face is expressionless. “I am,” I respond.

He comes to the couch and sits behind me, his legs on either side of me. As I play, I feel his hand in my hair, petting it.

“Sit with me,” he tells me.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I respond, playing my game.

“That wasn’t a request,” he responds, cold.

 I stop dealing with the cards. I sit up onto the couch, and he wraps an arm around me. We both stare into the fire silently.

“Why are you so sad?” he asks me out of the blue.

“I’m not, I’m fine,” I respond, reactively.

“You know how I get when you lie to me,” he responds, the warning in his voice.

I hesitate, trying to find the best words to express what I need to say without hurting his feelings, which I’ve learned he does have.

“Margot, use your words,” he pushes me.

“I wish my family could know I’m okay. That I’m still alive,” and then I start crying a little, trying my best to repress my tears, which I know he hates seeing.

He’s silent, which makes me want to cry even more knowing that he doesn’t approve and he won’t do this for me.

“Why are you so attached to the past?” he asks.

“Because they’re my parents. They raised me for 22 years, they love me, and I love them so much, and I want them to know that I’m still alive. You can’t do that for me?” I ask, now looking at him, “You can’t let them know that I’m still alive?”

He doesn’t look at me. He continues sipping his drink.

“Do you realize how hurtful that request is to me?” He asks. “I see you’re hanging onto some thread that one day you’ll escape this place, so you want to give your parents hope that they’ll see you again.” He looks at me, “They won’t.”

He finishes his drink, and he rises from the sofa putting out the fire.

“Come. It’s bed time.” He takes my hand and makes me follow him. I feel a complete and total death inside as my hand hangs limp in his.  

We enter his room, and I sit on the bed, totally and completely numb. He stands over me.

“I can make this go away, you know.”

“Make what go away?”

“All these feelings of sadness. I can make them go away.”

I now understand what he means, “No, you can’t.”

“You don’t trust me?” He asks.

“No,” it just comes out.

He walks away from me, “We were doing so well for so long.”

This isn’t good. I try to recover, “I’m sorry. I’m probably getting my period soon. I’ll be more pleasant.”

He returns to me, and he caresses my face gently as he looks at me. “You are such a sweet girl. Such a sweet, sweet girl,” then I see it in his eyes.

He’s going to that place he goes to when he has sex with me, which means I have to go to my place now too.

It’s a place where I forget everything about myself and accept the moment at hand. Whatever he wants to do to me, I follow because resisting at this point requires too much pain and effort.

He pushes me back onto the bed and straddles me, kissing my lips as he caresses my face. His kisses are very tender and warm.

My whole being goes a little numb as I accept his embrace, no other choice really but to accept it. He has to go to his place too because if he sees how upset I am, it will turn him off and make him angry.

He unbuttons my top and starts kneading my breasts. He takes them both out of their cups, and he starts sucking on my nipples. As he sucks on one, he caresses the other with his fingers, squeezing and teasing it. His hand snakes it’s way down my torso and it goes underneath my dress and starts caressing my thighs.

I close my eyes and focus entirely on his touch, allowing everything else to disappear. Having been through this before, it’s a skill I’m good at now. He releases my breasts and motions for me to stand, so he can remove my dress. I stand exposed to him, and he releases me from my stockings, garter, and underpants. I’m still in my bra, but my breasts are exposed, sticking out over it. He leads me back into the bed, and he takes off his own clothing.

He puts on his condom and he starts fucking me. I take this moment to watch him as he fucks me.

He’s entirely somewhere else. His eyes are closed, but each thrust seems to bring him closer and closer to some sort of nirvana.

I haven’t had an orgasm yet, and I know he refuses to finish unless I’ve had one, so I need to work very hard right now to make it happen. He would know if I faked it, that’s why he likes to be in me when it happens. That way he’ll know.

I close my eyes, and I rub myself against him. He’ll know what I’m doing, and he’ll keep still when he knows I’m getting close, so I can find it.

I focus hard. I’ve been so well conditioned to think of him while this happens that my circumstances are no longer a problem. I find it, and it’s a sweet little one. He moans as he feels my walls compress around his member. He lets my orgasm finish, and then he finds his own. I watch him find it, and he smiles blissfully. I close my eyes, and I wait for the aftermath of it all.

I feel his lips against mine, and he hugs my entire body against his.

Every time a thought of my family would emerge, I would suppress it quickly. I knew it angered him when my thoughts would stray to my family. He was my one and only now. My world revolved around him.

Now I understood so clearly why the other men in the house ignored me. It was because he put the command in their head that I didn’t even exist.  The Doc didn’t have that command. He knew I existed, but the warning against speaking to me was so severe that the Doc only did so in passing.

“Are you still not allowed to speak words to me?” The Doc asks me as he takes my grocery list this morning.

I look at him, “I don’t want to talk to you.” I respond to him.

“You almost look healthy again,” he adds, as if to twist the knife he placed in there.

“Thank you. I eagerly want your approval for everything.”

I look at him. He looks up from the list and catches me looking at him.

Then, I banish the thought, “Nope, no way I can trust you.” I turn away from him and clean the kitchen counters.

“Trust me at what?”

“No, I’m not that dumb. I’m not going to give you an opportunity to win his favor. I’m not that stupid. No way, no how.”

“Let me guess.” He approaches me, “you want to know about your family.”

He has me.

“No,” I turn to him, “I wanted to know if you can get me black truffles for the dinner I’m making tonight.”

And that shuts him down.

The Psychic comes home that night, just as dinner is ready. He’s has a few bottles of red wine and offers me some. I nod because I need it. He opens the wine, and he pours me a glass. I drink. It’s delicious, but that’s not a surprise. He sits, and we eat.

“Did you talk to Doc this morning?” He asks me, out of the blue.

“No.” I respond, almost immediately.

“Are you lying to me?”

“I spoke some words to him, but only to ask him if he could get something. He said no, that was it.”

“Are you sure that was it,” he’s still eating as he studies me.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure. I was there.”

“I don’t need the sass from you right now. I’ve had a long day, and I want to keep the stress out there, not in my home. Did you have a conversation with Doc about us?”

“No, I did not.” I respond.

Annoyed, I push my plate away from me.

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m not hungry,” I respond.

“You are hungry. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Well, I’m not going to eat anymore because I’ve lost my appetite. You’ve pissed me off, so I’m not eating.”

“I can make you eat, you know.”

“I can make myself throw up, you know.”

Then, he grabs my arm, and he pulls me out of the kitchen. He leads me upstairs and into the hallway bathroom. He closes the door behind us, and he goes into the closet. He gets a scale, and he puts it on the ground.

“Get on it.” He commands.

“No,” I reply.

“Get on the scale, now!” he growls at me as he pulls my arm, forcing me to it.

I stand on the scale, and I look at it.

118 pounds. I have to say, it shocks me as well.

“What were you before you got here?”

“I…I don’t know. 130 something?”

“Why have you lost so much weight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you don’t eat enough.”

“You don’t like me thin?”

“No, I don’t. I want to see you back to your old weight within the month. He goes to grab my arm, but I pull it out of his reach.

“No.” I respond to him.


“No, you can’t fucking make me gain weight. Go fuck yourself.”

He slaps me across the face. I slap him across the face. I take the scale, and I throw it at the mirror. Broken glass shards and a broken scale litter the scene.

He looks at the carnage I’ve created, then he looks at me, but to my surprise, there’s no fire in his eyes. Instead, he’s smirking.

“Oh, sweetheart, why so emotional? All I want you to do is eat more. You should be thrilled.”

“You slapped me across the face.”

“You slapped me too.”

“Because you slapped me.”

“There’s really no need to argue this anymore, let’s finish our dinner.” He holds out his hand to me, and I question his behavior.

“I’m not taking your hand.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll exit the bathroom, and you can follow me.”

He leaves the bathroom and stands outside the door. I pick up a shard of glass and extend it threateningly as a weapon, but then I end up cutting myself instead.

“Fuck,” I clutch my bleeding hand.

He enters the bathroom again and takes my hand. He examines it. “You’re okay, darling. You won’t need stitches, which is good for you because Doc would have had to do them.”

And he steps over the glass to get to closer. He takes me in his arms, and I let him. I look up at him. Then, everything goes black.

I wake up, and I’m not anywhere I recognize. I’m on a hard surface, somewhere. It smells underground. I can’t move. I literally can’t move. It’s impossible for me to do anything, but think. I’m cold. It’s so cold on the floor that my body starts to shiver uncontrollably. All I want to do is shrivel up, but I can’t move.

Then, I hear footsteps. I turn my eyes, and I can see a light from upstairs. I see his shadow as he descends. He enters and stands before me. My body shivers against the cold floor. He looks at me, “we had made it so far without any of this. What were you thinking?”

I try to respond, but I can’t because he has made it such. He took away my voice.

“I know, I know. I didn’t want to hear any of your lip right now. You brought this upon yourself. Can’t you see all I want to do is care for you, and all you give me in return is resistance. I can’t force you to warm up to me, but I can show you the consequence if you don’t.”

He turns on the lights, and my eyes widen when I see what’s on the other side of the room. Piles of naked, thin bodies, like something you’d see in the holocaust. With black eyes, skin peeling from their faces. Like they were all brought down here to starve to death, then pushed into a pile as the victims accumulated.

I feel I need to throw up, but my whole body is paralyzed. It doesn’t stop me, however. I throw up and I’m about to choke on my vommit, when I’m released from his controls. I turn over onto the floor and I throw up everything I could have eaten that day, and then more. I look to the corner, and the bodies are still there. I cover my eyes, and I cry. My whole body heaves like it wants to throw up more.

“Shh, shh, darling,” He tries to take me in his arms, but I push him away. “Stop that, stop that.”

Then, I give up, and I let him hold me close.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. We can go now. If you promise you won’t upset me anymore.”

I nod, crying into his chest.

He pets my head, “good girl. Good, good girl. Let’s go.”

I can barely stand as he helps me up, supporting me. I turn to look one more time, but he keeps my head pressed against his chest.

“No, no, you don’t have to see that my dear.”

He leads me back to the kitchen and locks the door behind him.

“Your skin, it’s so cold. I’ll make you tea. Go, sit.”

I sit at the kitchen table as he puts the kettle on. He leaves the room and returns with a blanket.  He puts it over my shoulders and wraps it around me. My tears stream slowly down my face, but my body is too tired to dry them. He hands me a warm tea, and my hands clutch onto the warmth. All I can do is cry and stare at nothing. I sip the tea slowly, while he caresses my hair.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

I nod. I sniffle again. I have to go bed now.

He takes the tea from my hands and places it onto the table. He hugs the blanket around me as we go to his room. My body is still so cold as we enter the room. He tells me to take a shower.

As I stand underneath the warm water, I cry and I cry even more realizing there is nothing worth it in resisting anymore. Why do I need to be so strong? Why do I need to have opinions? I don’t.

I turn off the shower, and I refuse to look at myself in the mirror. I go to him, and I put on my slip. As I get dressed, he uses the bathroom to remove his makeup and get himself ready for bed. I lie down in the bed, and my mind is filled with thoughts of those bodies. Why did they look so thin? How did they die? Did he kill each one of them slowly? Did he paralyze them and make them lie on the cellar floor until dehydration and starvation slowly took its toll?

He leaves the bathroom, and I can feel his eyes on me as I look at the ceiling with a thousand yard stare. He gets under the covers next to me.

“Please,” I ask him, “help me sleep.”

He takes my face, and he turns it to look at him.

“Would you like to go slowly or instantly?”

“Slowly,” I respond.

Then, I feel his power hit me before his words do, “Look into my eyes, Margot.” I feel dizzy and warm all over, “You’re feeling very peaceful and very relaxed. You are feeling very tired.”

And true to his words, a feeling of bliss overtakes the thoughts that flooded my brain.

“Only peaceful thoughts are allowed. Nothing will disturb you as you get tired. More and more tired.”

My eyes are drifting, and I feel them rolling, but I only want to look into his eyes more.

“That’s it, my dear, keep on looking into my eyes. Soon you will be overcome with sleepiness, but now it feels so good to try to look into my eyes.”

My mind is going completely blank, and I want to let it go because all I want to do now is please him and make him happy.

“You can barely keep them open any longer, but you try. You try so hard, but you won’t let yourself go until you are twenty times deeper than you’ve ever been.”

I struggle so hard to keep them open, but I must because it pleases him when I look into his eyes.

“Yes, you know it makes me happy when you obey me, and it makes you happy to make me happy. I want you to be happy, and you want me to be happy. Keep on looking, Margot, just a little bit longer.”

I get one lingering bit of resistance, a small voice telling me to look away.

“No, no, no, sweetheart, just keep looking. Let the warmth take over your body and lull you into a deep and peaceful sleep. I want you to sleep now. Sleep.”

And I shut my eyes and submit.

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