The Psychic

BY : SerafintheGreat
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 12930
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real people, situations, or locations are coincidental.

There are demons in these walls. Not that I ever considered myself a religious type, but something dark lurked here long before the Psychic must have taken residence. A perfect little nesting place for negativity. 

Some rooms I didn’t want to go into. There's a door to the cellar in the kitchen, and I never want to find out what evil lurked underneath. Sometimes I think I hear faint screams coming from the basement, but I could have made that up. His room is located at the end of the long hallway upstairs. It has a keypad for the lock, and the original door was removed and replaced by some type of reinforced door.  It seemed strangely opulent and extremely paranoiac

Every window shows more and more forest, except for the backyard, which had a modest little dock next to the Columbus River.  On the other side of the river are other homes. The thought of swimming crossed my mind, but quickly left when I noticed the guard who would position himself outside with a rifle. I feel on the constant verge of death, as if it’s lurking behind my shoulder like a devious little trickster, waiting to strike.

Doc returns with the groceries, everything proper this time.

 “Here it is, ugly,” He enters dropping everything in the kitchen.

I don’t say anything to him. I have nothing to say to his constant barrage of insults directed toward me. I just tried to retreat further and further into nothingness, pretending with all of my fake confidence that he isn't getting to me. My lack of response displeases him, I can tell.

“It amuses me to make you feel bad about yourself. You’re like one of those little dogs that always shakes, and all I want to do is shake you until your head falls off.”

I listen, but again, I don’t respond. I don’t even look at him. I keep him in my periphery because I need to know when/if he’s about to strike.

“I always thought you had a little crush on me too. Don’t worry, it happens to the best of them.”

I can feel the tears. I have two choices: cry and give him what he wants, or hold it all in and retreat further and further into being emotionless.

He places himself into my world view, “Cook something delicious tonight. Remember, it’s not my fault if you fuck up this time.” He winks at me and leaves.

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That night I did not fuck up.

As the Psychic settles to enjoy his meal, Doc stops him. “How do we know it isn’t poisoned?” Doc asks.

“What is she going to poison it with?” The Psychic responds.

“She’s clever, I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“She isn’t clever." The Psychic goes in for a spoonful and swallows, non-reactively.

“Is it all right?” The Doc asks, optimistic that he can kill me.

“She lives another day, Doc. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

After that, my whole body relaxes. I turn away and start to do dishes and clean up quietly.

“You may leave.” I hear over my shoulder. I’m not done with the dishes, but I want to follow the order before he throws a chair or something. I go to leave.

“Not you.”

And I stop.

“You,” he indicates Doc. The Doc looks just as surprised as me, but then his surprise is replaced with intrigue. He gets up to leave, but not without a sick smirk in my direction.

Now I’m alone with the Psychic. I see his bowl is empty.

“Would you like more?” I ask. My customer service voice is creeping in once more. I need some type of affectation to hide my fear.

He looks intensely focused on something on the floor. I go to take his bowl, and then he grabs my wrist and looks me right in the eyes.

I can see a fire burns deeply inside, and soon I feel as if my eyeballs are burning as well, like they are literally on fire. He lets go of my wrist quickly, and I step away from him. I blink harshly and rub my eyes, trying to get some sense of what just happened to me.

He groans, rubbing his own eyes, “Yes, you can get me more, just don’t leave the room.”

I feel myself adjust back to normal, but I'm still taken aback by what just happened.

"Get me more soup!" He screams, quickly bringing me back to this moment.

I grab his bowl, and I bring him more soup. Then I quickly step away and go back to the stove. I’ve finished everything I could possibly finish, and I want to leave the room, but I’m not allowed to. 

He doesn’t acknowledge me. He finishes his soup and spends some time starring at something on the floor. When he’s done with that, he gets up and leaves.

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Doc’s at my door. How do I know? Because it’s open and he’s standing there.

“I bought you some amenities. You should probably take a shower. Your vagina smells like it’s been pickled.”

“How do I know I’m not going to be attacked in the shower?” I ask.

“You don’t. That’s what makes it all so exciting.”

He throws a bag of stuff in my room and walks away. I look inside the bag and find generic brand shampoo and conditioner. There’s also a toothbrush and toothpaste. I can’t complain, and I won’t complain because it’s conditioner, and my hair is a rat’s nest. My teeth are covered in a grimy layer of plaque from days of being unbrushed.

Luckily, the bathroom door has a lock, so I lock myself in and decide I’m going to enjoy my shower. It’s refreshing to be so clean once again. I leave the shower and dry myself off when I realize I don’t have clean clothes. I walk quickly to my room from the bathroom and scream loudly when I see Doc sitting on my bed. He smiles at me.

“That’s not all I had for you, darling.” He lifts up a bag from a place called “Passions.” “Aren’t you excited to see what’s inside?” he asks, shaking the bag in front of me.

I proceed with caution, like he’s a rattlesnake. I take the bag from him and look inside. I pull out the thing and it’s some type of latex French maid’s outfit. I feel crushed already by the pending humiliation.

 “Fitting for your position in the house. I think the Psychic will be quite pleased.”

I look at the size of the outfit, and it’s a size too small.

“Put it on, sweetheart!”

In my moment of hesitation, he rips the towel off my body, exposing everything to him. My instinct is to cover myself, when I suddenly stop. I catch Doc’s eyes, and he looks so thoroughly disinterested in my body and significantly more interested by the thought of me being so helpless and humiliated in front of him. I remove my hands from my private parts, really exposing myself to him without care.

I struggle as the latex material squeezes against my body, unwilling to compromise as it sticks to my skin.

Finally, I roll the thing over my body, and it squeezes on everything. It stops right above my ass. I pull it down as much as possible, but there is no possibility of pulling it down.

“Let’s show the other men,” Doc says as he grabs my hand, “But wait,” we stop. “You forgot to put these on,” and he grabs a pair of stiletto heels from the bag and throws them onto the floor. I try to register their height quickly as I put them on. With the platform, I'd guess they're about six inches. 

When I have them on, he drags me out of my room and down the stairs. He pulls me down the stairs quickly, and I hold on for dear life because a sprained ankle renders me incapable of doing my one job. We walk down the hallway and stop at the living room where some of the goons play cards and drink.

“Gentlemen! I’ve brought you a gift." He pushes me into the middle of their circle. I stand there not knowing what to do. I shiver under all their gazes. I look about frantically, wondering which hyena will strike at me first.

“Does the boss approve?” one asks.

“Oh, I think he will.” Doc responds, “why don’t you do a little spin for the gentlemen. In fact, why don’t you do a sexy little dance for them? You are a dancer, aren’t you?”

“She’s a stripper?” One exclaims.

“Yes, yes she was.” Doc responds, “dance for the gentlemen,” he says, approaching.

I’m like a deer in headlights, paralyzed, when he slaps me across the face. I loose balance landing directly onto another man’s lap. My head lands right on his member, and he holds the back of my head down and forces my face into his crotch.

“She must like it, she isn’t struggling,” they laugh.

And I’m not struggling, but I don’t like it. My whole body is paralyzed as I wait for it all to be over. Finally the man grabs me by my hair and throws me backwards onto the floor. I hit the back of my head hard on the coffee table, and everything fades just a bit. When I come to, I’m on the floor, my legs splayed helplessly open, all of the men laughing.

“What fun is going on in here?” I hear a voice ask. I turn to see the Psychic is standing at the doorway. He’s looking at Doc, and I recognize the fire in his eyes. He looks back at me. It’s then I realize I’m not wearing any underpants. I look down at myself and see my latex skirt has hitched up completely revealing everything to everyone. I sit up trying to cover myself, but to no avail. The latex sticks to my skin making it impossible.

The Psychic steps into the room, and all the men become very quiet. He stands over me, and I bow my head, filled with shame regarding what I’ve revealed to him. I feel embarrassed that he would ever find me in a position like this, as if it’s my fault. I feel so ugly.

“I bought the girl clothing. I wanted her to show everyone,” the Doc responds to him, finally.

It’s then I feel the tears forming. I breathe hard, trying my hardest to repress the them, but the pain, both physically and emotionally, is taking over. I can feel the Psychic's gaze on me, and I refuse to look at him. I’m whimpering like a child, and the tears can’t be held back anymore. I run away leaving my heels in the room. I run upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me, and I cry in my bed.

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My tears dry out, and my tummy rumbles. I go back downstairs in the outfit given to me. I go to the kitchen, and I start dinner for the Psychic. I find some serenity as I start cutting vegetables, but the tears still stream down my face as I complete the meal.

They’re still there when the Psychic enters with the Doc. I dry my tears, as best as I can, and I go over to him with his plate of food. I look and see nothing has been set.

“What should he eat this with, my dear?” The Doc asks, a "nice" affectation on his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I skitter away to get the Psychic a setting. I set it next to him with a glass of water.

The Psychic starts eating, and without hesitation, he continues eating.

I realize the tears aren’t going away anytime soon. I see the Doc is staring at me, a devious little smile plastered on his stupid face. "Are you about to cry?" He asks, a fake sympathy in his voice.

I look away from him, but he grabs my face and makes me look at him.

"What's finally getting to you? Is it your parents? Your brother? Or maybe it's because you're so undesirable that no one wants to bother to rape you."

He waits for that to hit hard, but I'm overtaking by a sudden wave of bravery, like all those times a customer would be a prick to me, and I'd have to try so hard not to say want I really wanted to say, but this time I'm going to say it.

"I think I know why you hate me so much. You're mad that the Psychic has kept me around. Why so jealous, faggot?"

I look Doc right in the eye. The Doc slaps me so hard that I fall against the cabinet and onto the floor. When I'm down, he kicks me in the stomach, and he leaves the room. As I try to recover, a new sudden urge takes over. 

I don't want to live anymore.

I grab the nearest plate I can, and I smash it on the floor. I get on my knees looking for the sharpest edge I can find. When I find it, I position it against my wrist, and I brace myself for the worst pain imaginable. Then I hear someone clear his throat.

I look up, and I see the Psychic is still in the room, having witnessed that whole thing. He catches my eyes immediately, and I feel paralyzed under his gaze. The glass shard slips from my hand, as if some outside force is making me drop it. He breaks eye contact with me and continues eating as if nothing had happened.

I rise from the floor, picking up all the plate shards carefully. I throw them away, and I sit at the table with the Psychic; head bowed and filled with shame. 



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