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 wake up, groggy as hell. Everything in me is depleted, like all of my emotions were used up last night, and now I have none. 

I go downstairs to get something to eat. I haven’t been summoned to make him breakfast, which doesn’t mean I don’t get to eat, so I make myself the most fattening thing I can create and begin to scarf it down like I may never eat again.

As I feed myself, I remember more and more of last night. The things I must have said to that human being and the way he just left me high and dry. Why? Why not take advantage? It’s probably the only time he would have gotten an unabashed ‘yes.’ But then how would I feel if I had woken up next to him this morning if he had taken advantage?

It shouldn’t surprise him whenever he wakes up that I’m incredibly embarrassed. I dread seeing him.

I take a stroll around the downstairs. The place looks like a dump. I sip a bit of orange juice, and I look out into the mess that’s been made. I know I’ll have to clean it up, so I chug my juice and get to it.

I take a garbage bag, and I just start filling it to the brim. I fill one up, and I take another one. I make my way to the living room and my heart stops.

On the sofa is the Psychic passed out with two women. Judging by their bodies, I’m guessing hookers. Not that I’ve ever seen one in real life, but they’re naked and wearing more makeup than him. The veins on their arms are hideously pronounced, like someone’s been jabbing their veins, and missing, with needles. I look at the Psychic. The whores cover his naked body.

And then suddenly one starts vomiting in her sleep onto the Psychic. This wakes him up, and he carelessly pushes her off of him and onto the floor like she isn’t a person. You’d think that would wake her up, but she just keeps vomiting onto the floor.

He looks at her with a great look of disgust. He sits up and the other whore slides around his body, still passed out like a rock. He looks condescendingly at both of the girls, and then he looks up, and he sees me.

His eyes widen, and I bolt out of there.

“Margot!” I hear him call from the living room.

I quickly go up the stairs and I hear him coming, so I b-line into my old room, and I lock the door behind me. I take a chair and I wedge it under the doorknob. I don’t know if that’s a thing that really works, but I try anyway.

He pounds on the door.

“Margot! Margot! Let me in!” He pulls on the knob, and pounds on the door. “Margot!”

I’m silent. I can’t even assess what emotion I’m experiencing right now as he pounds on the door.

“Margot! You know you’re forbidden from being in this room! Get out here now!”

He rejected me last night and instead went for those two toothless hookers. I feel I might throw up as he continues pounding onto the door, like he’s trying to break it down.

Finally, the pounding subsides, and I hear him walk away from the door and down the stairs.  I assume he’s dealing with the two ladies.

I don’t know how or when I’ll be able to leave this room or what I’ll do when I do finally leave it. I’m far too horrified by what I’ve just seen on that sofa, and even more horrified of the emotions it’s stirred in me.

I hear a car pull up to the home and, after a moment, leave. I assume they’re gone. I can’t stay in here any longer.

I go back down stairs to the scene of the crime. The women are gone, but the vomit is still there, left for me as a little farewell gift. I tie something around my face, so I don’t have to deal with the smell, and I scrub.

After a moment, I feel he’s here.

“Margot, come into my office, please.” And he walks away expecting me to follow him. I stop what I’m doing, and I follow him, like a scolded child.

He leads me into the office and closes the door behind him. He indicates for me to sit, and I sit. I avert eye contact as I feel his eyes on me. He stands before me, and he takes a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him.


That’s it. Nothing else. Nothing in his eyes or words. He has nothing to actually say to me. Finally, a harsh reality dawns on me, and I decide to say it.

“You don’t need to say anything.” I give it a dramatic pause, “I’m your slave, you don’t owe me anything.”

 I get up, and I leave his office.

As I leave, I wonder if he’s going to follow me or say anything to the contrary. For the time being, he leaves me alone to do the work I was brought here to do.

I go outside to take out the trash and when I turn around, I see him at the door waiting for me. His makeup is freshly applied which means he’s going out tonight. He’s looking at me, waiting for me to return to him.

I go to him, no other choice because he’s standing in the doorway, and I have to come in. He moves aside for me when I approach. He follows me around the home until I settle back to the floor to clean the vomit stains, which are still there. All over the sofa, all over the floor. He sits on the other side of the sofa, the one not affected by vomit.

“Why did you say that in there?”

“Say what?”

“Don’t play games with me. You know.”

I relent, “Because I am your slave.”

“You are not my slave.”

“Do you pay me?”

I look at him, and he looks back at me, no answer.

“Then I’m a slave.”

“You don’t need to get paid. I provide everything.”

“So did slave owners,” I respond. I continue scrubbing at the vomit stain on the floor. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t even look at me. I finally look at him, and I see he’s staring into the distance.

“What do you want from me?”

This breaks him out of his reverie, and he looks at me.

“Are you hungry or something?” I ask.

He stares at me, then, he looks away. After a moment, “I am hungry.”

For days we don’t speak, and he isn’t home at night regardless. I perform my duties up to all expectations. I suggested that I should go back to sleep in my old room, and he told me that was forbidden.

It’s been three days since the incident. He hasn’t been home at night. I can’t sleep, so I walk around the house looking for some sort of activity that can make me tired. I go to the living room, looking for my deck of cards, and I jump when I turn around to see him sitting in the armchair.

He’s looking at the floor, a drink in his hand, his eyes bleary. He’s drunk. He doesn’t look at me, but he pats his thigh indicating, I assume, that I should sit on his lap.

I stand my ground in the middle of the living room, scared. Him drunk is scary, and his greatest acts of violence have occurred when he’s been drunk. He’s far away from himself right now.

“Why aren’t you sitting?” he asks without even looking at me.

My heart feels like it’s stopped beating.

“You haven’t let me touch you in three days. You told me you want to sleep in your old room.” He takes a final swig on his drink and then he violently throws the glass at the wall next to him. “I want you to sit with me…NOW,” the final ‘now’ makes me jump.

“If you don’t sit right now, I’m going to-“

And then I run away, out of the living room. I b-line straight for the front door when I remember that leaving the house would equal my death. I back track and go up the stairs when I see him rounding the corner from the living room. He grabs onto my ankles and I fall onto the steps, biting my lip, hard.

I see the blood on the step, and I feel him snaking his way up my body and grabbing me, pushing me into the hard steps with his full body weight attached to me.

“Why did you run away from me? WHY DID YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME!” he screams at me.

And I’m crying, feeling the blood dripping down my chin.

“Why did you run away from me?” He asks again, now rubbing his face against my hair. He sniffs my hair, and I feel his whole body shudder against mine. I feel him getting hard against my back. Then he pulls me up from the steps and cradles me in his arms.

“Why did you run away from me?” He’s whispering now, “why did you run away from me, my little girl?”

“Because you scare me so much,” I finally answer.

And then he attempts to take my face, but I won’t let him.

“Let me look at you.”

“No,” I respond, trying to dodge his attempts to make me look at him.

“I need to know if you need stitches.”

And I bury my head even further into his chest.

“Come now, I won’t have Doc do it. I know you hate him. I’ll do it, just let me look at it.”

 And now my whole body is crying against his chest. I’m trembling so much that he can feel it.

 “Oh darling, stop crying. I hate it when you cry. I hate it so much when you cry because it’s all my fault you’re so sad. It’s all my fault.”

  He strokes my hair, lovingly.

“Shh, darling, stop crying. I’ll take care of it all. Just Stop Crying.” He jerks my body a bit on the last word, and then he hugs me close, and he buries his face in my hair.

Then I think I feel it.

He’s crying too.

I feel his tears moisten my hair, I feel his body convulse against mine, and this terrifies me more than anything. I’ve never seen this before.

“Stop crying, please stop crying.” He shakes my body, and it makes me cry even more because I’m so scared.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. Let’s go.” He lifts me up with him and he walks me toward the bedroom, still holding my face to his chest.

“Doc, go back to your room!” He screams viciously.

I cry even more into his chest, his screaming and his anger terrifying me.

“Shh, shh, we’re going to bed now. Everything will be okay if we go to bed, together.”

We walk into his room, and he brings me into the bathroom. He turns the sink on.

“Okay, now you have to let me look at it.”

I finally let him take my face to look at the wound.

He takes my chin, gently in his hand and looks at my lip carefully as he wipes it with a warm towel.

“You’re going to be alright. You don’t need stitches. Can you stop crying now, please?”

I sniffle more, and I nod, trying my best to stop myself. I see him looking at his shirt, which is now covered in my blood. “Go, take a shower, clean up and come to bed. Fast or I’ll break down the door and drag you out.”

 He leaves me slamming the door behind him. I strip quickly and go into the shower. I cry more in the shower, trying not to be audible.

“Hurry up!” I hear him yell from the main room. I turn the water off, and I leave the shower, finding a towel. I leave the bathroom with the towel around me, and I see him standing there, shirtless, examining my blood on his expensive dress shirt.

He turns to look at me, and I see he’s still bleary eyed, still very drunk.

I feel so vulnerable in my towel. I go to the drawer to fetch one of my slips.

“No,” he commands, “I want you naked tonight.”

Without looking at him, I put the slip back into the drawer, I removed the towel, and I go under the covers. I try my best to suppress my tears, but it’s getting increasingly more difficult as he yells at me, and I imagine what he’s about to do to me. I’ve never felt this scared. This is it for me, I’m certain.

“What? I’m not allowed to look at you anymore? Are you too good for me?”

I cover my face with my hands because I’m about to cry again.

“No, no, no,” he comes towards me, and he mounts me. The sheet separates our bodies. He puts his full weight on me as he hugs my body, “no, no, no, no more tears tonight. No more.”

 “You’re going to kill me.” I whimper back at him.

 “No, no I’m not. I could never ever do that to you. Never.”

“You’ll get someone else to do it.”

“No, stop crying. Don’t be scared, I’m your protector. I’m your guardian. I keep you safe.”

I cry more into my hands, then I feel him prying my hands away from my face, I go to cry into the pillow, but he grabs my face and presses it against his chest.

“I keep you safe. Why do you forget that I keep you safe?”

He chest feels bony against my face. I have nothing but bones to cry into.

“When will you stop crying? I want you to stop crying,” he jerks my body around as yells at me. He rubs his nose against my hear and whispers, “Please, stop crying.”

His voice sends shivers down my entire body, and as he whispers into my ear, I feel my tears slowly dry. My breathing steadies as he lies still on top of me.

Then there’s nothing.

Then I realize he might be asleep. I examine as best as I can, but his face is buried deep into the pillow next to me. I attempt to wiggle my way out from under him, but I can’t manage anything. His sleeping body latches onto me, and I realize this is how I must spend the rest of the night.


I wake up, and the first thing I see is him on top of me. He gently strokes my hair. There’s no smile, just a careful study of my face. His touch feels nice. Quickly, I remember last night, but then he catches my eyes, and I feel an overwhelming sense of calm. I know it’s his power, so I suddenly try to resist it.

“Shh,” as if speaking to my subconscious thoughts, “That’s it, nothing else.”

I realize now he’s under the sheets with me, and I feel his entire naked body flushed against my naked body. I look into his eyes, and I feel him trying to calm me, and I decide to give in, and when I do, it’s like the floodgates open, and I instantly feel more peaceful.

“That’s it. I’m going to make it up to you. You’ve been such a good girl, it’s not right when I treat you so badly.”

And then he releases my eyes, and he starts kissing my entire body. His mouth lingers on my nipples, and I feel my body begin to writhe against his.

“What a good girl.”

Each time he says it, I feel a flood of warmth from my pussy that surges through my entire body like electricity. I realize now it’s a trigger, and I don’t care. I want him to say it again and again, so I can feel it.

He moans when he feels me writhe up against him. I can feel his dick against my lips, and I want him in me, now.

Then he looks me in the eyes, “I want you to cum.” And I can feel his power, my whole body tenses. He holds onto my face, keeping my eyes on his. “Breath, let it happen.” He coos.

Then, I feel an explosion. My whole body shakes with it, and as I orgasm, all I see are his eyes holding onto me as I experience it. It won’t stop either. The pleasure is overwhelming, and I might pass out if it continues, but then it finally subsides. He releases my face, and then he reaches for a condom. He slips the condom on, and he eases himself inside of me.

It takes a bit for me to adjust to his girth, but I do eventually and he pounds at me in a steady pace. He lifts my legs up, so he can hit me deeper and then he catches my eyes again.

The power is there again, and this time I don’t even try to fight it. I let him take me wherever he wants to take me. Each thrust becomes more and more powerful as he hits me deeper and deeper. Each thrust sends a jolt of electricity through my body, and I feel he’s trying to take me over the edge once more.

This time my whole body shakes and jolts with the orgasm, which is so powerful I feel myself blacking out. In the time I come back, I feel he has cum as well. He rests his body on top of mine, spent entirely by the experience.

When he catches his breath, he doesn’t move from me. Instead, he rests his body on top of mine. He finds my lips with his, and he starts kissing me.

And then we repeat the same thing all over again.

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