The Psychic

BY : SerafintheGreat
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 12924
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real people, situations, or locations are coincidental.

I wake up that morning right at 7am, and I go downstairs to prepare the Psychic’s breakfast. He comes downstairs, and before he sits at the table, he takes me in his arms, and he kisses me on the lips. He smiles at me, “You look beautiful this morning.”

I can feel myself blushing a bit at the compliment. He looks over my shoulder at what I’m making for breakfast.

“This looks delicious. You will join me, yes?”

I nod. He goes to the table and sits. I prepare plates for both of us, and I join him.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks.

I nod, “very well, thank you.”

“Good girl.”

I feel a sudden warmth envelope my entire body.  It takes me by surprise, but I allow the warmth to take over and make me feel good. I look at the Psychic, and I see he’s smiling at me.  He takes my hand, and he squeezes it gently.

He’s out the entire day, and I can feel he’s going to be out the entire night. I make a small dinner for myself, and I sit in the kitchen eating quietly. When I’m done, I go to the stairs, but I stop at the basement door. Memories of the previous night come at me, hard. The bodies upon bodies piled on top of one another in that basement, as if the people disgusted the Psychic so badly he couldn’t be bothered to dispose of them. He just shoved them to the other side of the room. Maybe they were shoved onto the pile while they were still alive. Only able to communicate through one another with their eyes.

I walk away from the door, reassuring myself that he will take care of me if I’m good. That fate never has to happen to me provided I just do as he says. I go to bed, and the blanket makes me feel almost as warm as his words do.

I open my eyes. I’m paralyzed with fear when I see one of those hallowed out faces staring back at me. Its mouth is open, like it’s been mummified into a permanent scream that no one can hear. As I stare at it, I feel I’m staring at my own fate, and then I realize, I’m here already. I can’t move. I can't scream. I can’t move a single part of my body. This is it. This is it-

I wake up. I quickly turn on one of the lamps, and I see I’m in his room. It was all a dream. It was all a dream.

But it wasn’t.

All those things I saw were real. That could be my reality if I’m not a “good girl.”

I look to his side of the bed.


I long for his return.

He’s only home briefly the next day. He’s all business as he sits down for his lunch, distracted, I assume, by some big plan he has for the evening.

When I go to bed, I see one of the figures standing at the foot of my bed. His eyes hallowed, his limbs jutting out in all different directions, like a skeleton just thrown into a mass grave.

I wake up, and it’s all a dream, but I keep the lamp on as I avoid falling asleep that night. Each time I feel I’m getting close, I pinch myself to stay awake.


The next day he’s home during the afternoon, and again, I make him lunch. I don’t tell him about my dreams because he seems too distracted. The dreams are also my fault. If I didn’t behave so poorly, then I never would have seen those bodies. I created these nightmares.

He’s around the home for most of the day, but then I have a horrible realization that, again, he won’t be home tonight.

I can’t have another dream. I won’t allow myself to have another dream.

When he leaves, I sit quietly in the living room trying to do anything to keep myself awake.

I wake up to someone pulling at my body. When he sees I’m awake, he grabs my shoulders and gets close.

“What are you doing down here?”

 I finally register that it’s the Psychic, and I must have fallen asleep on the living room couch.

He shakes me again when I don’t answer him, “Why are you down here? You know you’re not supposed to be down here!” His words slur slightly. Once my eyes focus I can see his are red and blood shot, and he wreaks of alcohol.

He slaps me across the face, “Answer me!” he screams.

“I’m sorry, I must have dozed off. I didn’t mean to.” Suddenly, I feel frantic, knowing about the bodies in the basement, and realizing that he is incredibly displeased with me right now.

“You are not allowed to sleep ANYWHERE, but my room. You know that. You KNOW THAT!” He shakes me more.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” I start to cry, “I was afraid of being alone. I didn’t want to be alone. I’m sorry. I wanted to wait up for you, so I didn’t have to be alone, and then I fell asleep. I haven’t slept for two days. I’m sorry.”

“Why haven’t you slept for two days?” he asks, his voice still filled with accusation.

 “I’m having nightmares every night,” and finally I’m really crying.

His eyes soften just a bit, but I can tell he was never quite there to begin with. He’s using my body to support himself. His head wobbles ever so slightly back and forth as I talk.

“I keep on having nightmares about the bodies.” I close my eyes as I continue crying, too embarrassed to look at him. I feel his fingers pushing my tears away.

“Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you weren’t sleeping well. Come here.” He lifts me up and hugs me into his body. “I’m sorry I had to leave you alone like that. Why didn’t you tell me about the dreams?”

“Because I didn’t want to bother you. Because it’s my fault I’m having them.”

“It’s my job to take care of you, and I’ve been doing a dreadful job. You’ve been such a good girl, you don’t deserve to have bad dreams.”

My body feels so warm when he calls me a good girl. I want to go upstairs, and I want to fall asleep in his arms.

“Yes, darling, we can go upstairs. I will be with you tonight.” He helps me up, and he supports me as we go to his room, or he’s using me to support himself. Once I’m ready for bed, he lies down next to me, and he whispers soothingly into my ear, “You will only have peaceful thoughts as you go to sleep. Only warm, wonderful thoughts. Nothing will haunt your dreams…”

I try my hardest to stay awake, so I can hear his wonderful words, but soon, I’m asleep.

Things go very well for me for the next few days. He’s kind to me, and makes sure I feel warm and safe every night he’s home, and he’s home every night.

It’s now approaching the summer months, and all the trees have fully sprouted. I sit on the porch admiring the lake and the trees and the mountains when he joins me.

“Margot, my dear,” he takes my hand as he sits with me, “I am inviting quite a few people over for tomorrow evening. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to cook, but you won’t attend because I know they make you feel uncomfortable. You may go to your room before everyone comes, okay?”

I nod. He takes the opportunity to kiss me on the lips. I accept it silently, as usual. He looks at me, holding my face.

“I’d like to see you tonight, yes?”

I nod at him, understanding what he means. In these past days, he’s been very gentle around me, and we haven’t committed the “act” at all. I’m surprised we went this long without it, but I can understand and appreciate that considering my state, he’d want to move in again slowly.

When I go upstairs that night, he follows me closely. He starts the usual assault once we’re behind closed doors; the gentle, gentle, kisses, the rubbing, the bringing me to orgasm first, then his final assault, which always ends with him having some type of euphoric grin and collapsing on top of me. This night, we both have euphoric grins. I feel at home, now, in his arms.

The next day, I make a bunch of treats for his get together, and I clean his home, so it looks spotless for his guests. When I’m done, he takes my hands, “Thank you, darling, and please, sleep well tonight. Remember, I’m just downstairs.” He kisses my hands, and I go to his room.

A few hours later, I hear voices from downstairs. His voice cuts through all of there’s like velvet. As I play with a deck of cards, I think it strange that he would invite all these people to his hang out. Perhaps he put a control on all of them that they wouldn’t remember where it was when they left?  

Eventually, solitaire isn’t doing it for me anymore. Boredom strongly overcomes me, and I decide it’s time I leave my room only if to travel to a different room upstairs.

I leave his room, and I run directly into The Flying Tiger. Caught red handed, she was trying to figure out how to get into his room, no doubt.

“Oh, hello, I didn’t expect to see you here.” She says, taken by surprised, but easily recovering her cool.

I don’t know what to say to her. I haven’t had to speak words to another human being for so long that I’ve forgotten how to do so.

 “Honestly, I thought you would have been dead by now,” she continues, “especially since he was so mad that what’s his face was sexually harassing you. Did you ever get him to apologize?”

I look at her, taken aback by the question and still unsure of what to do or say. Suddenly, I get scared, “I really shouldn’t talk to you. If he finds out, he’ll go crazy.” I turn to let myself back into his room, when I feel her coming in closer.

“He’ll go crazy if you’re caught alone with a man, I’m a woman,” she talks almost sensuously into my ear,  “He’s not going to be mad at you. I promise,” I go to put in the number combination, terrified that he’ll see me talking to her.

“May I come in?” She asks, very close now. I realize she’s watching what I’m doing, so I stop, and I turn to face her, not wanting her to see the combination to his room.

I shake my head “no” to her, and she shrugs, “should have known you were smarter than that.”

After a long pause, she says, “You’re so scared. I wish I could get you out of here.”

I look at her now.

“Well, getting you out of here might be a bit ambitious. If I got you out of here, he would surely get you back, and kill me, and he’d probably kill you too, but maybe, maybe I can just let your family know that you’re still alive. And, while you look like you need a sandwich, you are well.”

Her words strike something deep inside of me that I’ve repressed for so long now. I’ve deliberately avoided thoughts of my family. To have her bring them up is opening a floodgate.

She presses on, “And I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with him. I can make some guesses, but whatever it is you're doing to stay alive, you aren’t safe.”

“He takes care of me,” I respond, almost automatically.

She laughs, “I’m sure he does.”

Then, something in me changes, like a light switch has turned me back into a human being, “You know what? You’re a cunt.” I get closer to her, “And stop pretending to be a feminist. You’re a criminal, and you’re a bitch.”

“Hello,” I hear his voice, and I look over the Flying Tiger’s shoulder to see the Psychic standing at the other end of the hallway.

In that instant, the Flying Tiger grabs my face and kisses me hard on the lips. I try to pull myself away, but her grip is so strong. Her nails dig into my face like they would scratch through my cheeks if I tried to break free. Finally, I pull myself away, and I look at her, infuriated.

“You’ll thank me in five minutes,” I go to attack her, but then I feel his grip behind me, stopping me.

“Shh, shh, calm down, Margot. What happens in five minutes?” he asks her.

“She’ll feel out of this world, and I hope you enjoy.”

He grabs her face, and he makes her look into his eyes, “Get out of here,” he says very carefully.

She goes blank for a moment, but then the light in her eyes returns. She nods, “Gladly. Good luck with everything, Margot. Till we meet again.”

Then she slinks down the hallway, her hips sachaying back and forth.

“What were you doing out of your room?” He turns to me, suddenly dark.

“I wanted to get something from my old room, and I opened the door, and she was trying to break in.”

“What did you tell her?”


“What did she ask you?”

“She told me she was surprised I was still alive, and then she told me that if I let her into this room, then she would tell my family I was okay, but I told her no, and I called her a bitch. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

His face is blank, “Just go back in your room,” he tells me.

And then it hits me.

My knees buckle. My skin tingles all over. My eyes feel wide, and it feels like my body can barely support my head, but I like it. I like it a lot.

“Are you coming with me?” I ask, very hopeful.

He moves past me to open the door, and he leads me inside roughly by my arm.

“Ow!” He turns to go, but then I grab him, “Please, don’t go. I need you, now! Please.”

I caress his body more and more, stroking his back and his torso lovingly. I rub my pelvis against his body, already feeling dangerously close to an orgasm. He stands still accepting the caresses. I think I’ve convinced him to stay when he turns around and takes my arms and roughly pushes me back toward the bed.

“You have to stay here, and you have to calm down, now.”

“No,” I fall to my knees, and I grab onto him again, “don’t leave me. Why do you want to leave me so badly? Whenever I want you, you want to leave me! Why? Don’t you like me?”

I have no control over my words, and I don’t care. I start kissing his pelvis, my lips finding his dick, which I can feel even through his trousers is getting hard.  

“You’re high,” he manages as his dick threatens to burst out of his pants.

“It doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” I say as I continue caressing his dick with my mouth.  “You try to be nice to me, but then you end up being mean to me, and then you’re so sad all the time. You give me all of your sadness.” I stop what I’m doing, and I look up to him, “Why are you so sad?”

I stand up and go to touch his face when he grabs my wrist, stopping me. I can feel the power in his eyes, but it’s ineffectual.

“I don’t think it’s going to work. Make them all go away and stay with me.” I shove my hand down his trousers, and I find his member. I whisper, “Just tell them you have to rape your sex slave, and they’ll think you’re big and powerful, and then they’ll leave. Or just control them. Make them all get out. You can do that, can’t you? You can’t leave me alone, not now, please.”

I rub my face against the fabric of his suit. Everything feels nice right now.

“You won’t feel this way in the morning,” he responds to me. Clearly my caresses are getting to him.

“So enjoy me now. Please.”

“No, I can’t have you if you’re impaired.”

“How am I impaired?”

“You’re high. You aren’t making any rational decisions.”

“When I’m sober I’m not making any decisions. You just tell me what to do, and I follow you.”

“When you say ‘no,’ I stop.”

“And then you slap me in the face, or you make me pass out, or you make me sleep on the floor. You hate me.” I have a sudden epiphany, and I remove my hand from his dick, “why would someone do that to someone else unless they hated the person? You don’t want to stay with me because you hate me. I’ve never done anything to you! Ever! I try to be good and kind all the time, and then you hurt me for no reason. Like now. Fine. Go.”

I push him away, and I collapse onto the bed and cry into the pillows.

And then he leaves me. He leaves me with my tears in the pillow. I wonder if he’s coming back, but the pain I’m experiencing suddenly feels so exquisite. With every emotion heightened, I suddenly feel alive again.


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