Author's Note: The following story contains themes of mind control, incest (cousin, non-blood related), and nonconsent. All characters are above the age of 18. I want to thank my wife for editing and my friend Ann for her encouragement.
"Fuck!" Persephone cursed as she heard the knock at her apartment door. "ONE MINUTE!" she yelled out as she ran to her bedroom. She pulled out pajama bottoms and a top from her dresser, then pulled them over her body. She also grabbed a dark gray scarf and wrapped it around her mouth. She ran from her bedroom to the door and then opened the door and peeked out with her good eye while concealing her burn scar from sight.
"Sorry," she said, muffled beneath the scarf. The delivery man at the door had a long thin box - her new television - and held a clipboard in one hand. "Do I need to sign?" she asked.
"Uh, we've eliminated the need for signatures," the delivery man said beneath his black mask. "COVID precaution."
"Okay. Thank you," she said. "Just leave the box."
"Have a great day, ma'am," the delivery man said with a curious look on his face. He hesitated for a moment, then turn and walk away as she stood at her cracked door. When he was finally out of view, she opened the door and dragged the box into the living room.
Persephone closed the door and continued to drag the box to her bedroom, where she laid the box down and opened it. She pulled its contents out; a 36-inch flat-screen television, wires and cables, and an installation booklet. She glanced at the booklet and threw it aside. "I don't feel like doing this," she sighed.
She picked herself up off the floor and checked her laptop on the bed - still logged into
Sluttube
. A direct message showed on her profile dashboard. Her heart leaped. She wasn't sure why, but she was hesitant to open the message.
Her finger hovered over the mouse button for a few moments before she clicked.
Hello SkardGRL2020,
I would be happy to answer any questions you have.
I'm assuming you've already watched my introduction video, so I will not be revisiting that information. My real name is Dr. Petro Krysolov; you can look me up online to check my credentials as a psychologist in good standing.
I must note that my BDSM training program is in no way meant to treat mental illness or psychological disorders. I also should tell you that your experience with this program may be different than those who have completed it. Your results will depend mainly on your adherence to the program and your psychological makeup. I do encourage strict adherence to the training.
The first half of the training will be provided in installments at no cost to you. After you have completed that half, you will be allowed to pay for the second half. I also, upon graduation, provide connections within your local community to BDSM Doms who might wish to take you under their wing. Whether you pursue a relationship with one of these Doms is entirely up to you.
I hope this information satisfies some of your questions. If you can think of any more questions or wish to proceed with the program, please contact me.
Sincerely,
Master Krysolov.
"Huh," she said to herself. She read over the message again, trying to think of any more questions she might have. Then she switched to another browser tab and searched for Dr. Petro Krysolov. She found a picture of an older man with a bald head and full beard on a Ukrainian language website. She used an auto-translator and, from what she could tell, it described him as a certified psychologist specializing in behavioral therapy, with offices both in Ukraine and Germany, just as Dr. Krysolov stated in his introductory video.
Persephone wrote back:
Hey Dr. Krysolov,
You've pretty much answered all my questions. I'm interested in starting the program. My name is Persephone, by the way. Nice to meet you.
She stared at the screen for a few moments and sighed when nothing changed. She was about to set it aside when a message appeared.
Hello Persephone,
Nice to meet you as well. Please call me Master Krysolov; I find that it puts trainees in the right frame of mind. If you email me at the address below, I will send you the link to the first lesson and further instructions.
Sincerely,
Master Krysolov.
"Okay
Master
Krysolov," she mocked. She didn't feel that he had done anything to earn the honorific of 'Master' and chafed under his insistence. She clicked over to her email account and shot off a quick email, ensuring to refer to him as 'Master Krysolov,' then turned her attention back to the installation of her new television. She looked around for the installation manual but realized she threw it under her bed.
Just then, her phone rang. She grabbed her phone; it was a number she didn't recognize. She swiped to answer it. "Hello?"
"Sephie, it's your Aunt Billie!" The voice was familiar, but it had been such a long time since Persephone had heard it. "Did Vince tell you I might call?" she asked.
"Oh! Uh, yes! How are you, Aunt Billie?" Persephone faltered.
"I'm fine, dear. I know it's odd hearing from me after all this time. It's just that, being that I'm getting older now, I'm feeling the weight of mortality, if you know what I mean. I just wanted to reach out and reestablish some old family ties - at least with my nieces and nephews."
"Sure. I mean, we can talk. Any problems you have with the rest of the family is between you and them, as far as I'm concerned."
"Good to hear it. Vince told me that you've been through a lot recently but wouldn't tell me what was wrong," Aunt Billie said. "He said it would be better if it came from you."
"Well, to be honest, I really would rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."
"Of course I mind. I've missed out on so much of your life these past ten years, and it hurts to know that the sweet girl I knew can't share her burdens with me. Please, Sephie, just let this old woman listen to your problems. I promise I don't bite."
"Fine," she said. "A few months ago, my husband - now ex-husband - Mark, came back from one of his many business trips to California and asked that I meet him at a restaurant. I didn't think anything of it; he had been away for over a week, and I thought he probably just wanted to apologize for the argument we had before he had left."
Persephone took a deep, bitter breath. "Instead, he told me he was divorcing me. He served the paperwork to me right there and gave me a week to get out of the house so that he could sell it. So I left. I raced down the highway, so fucking upset that I couldn't see the road. I drove the Porsche, which he had bought me, into an oncoming oil truck, which then burst into flames."
"Oh my God," Aunt Billie murmured.
"So, I survived," Persephone continued, ignoring Billie. "Burned half my face to shit. He didn't come to see me in the hospital. I don't know why that should be a surprise, but I had hoped that he had some love left for me. During the divorce hearings, I learned that his business trips to California weren't always business. He had a girl who lived there, and I don't use the word
girl
just because I don't like her. She's 19 - not even old enough to drink in most states."
"I'm so sorry, dear."
"You know, I knew that he was vain and superficial when I married him, but I thought I was enough for him. I thought I was beautiful and sexy - that he wouldn't need to look anywhere else. I was so fucking stupid," Persephone spat. "Now, I couldn't compete with her even if I wanted to; half of my face looks like an H.R. Giger painting."
"So that's the whole story?" Billie asked.
"Isn't that enough?" Persephone retorted.
"No, that's more than enough, dear," she said. "I'm sorry you went through all of that. Have you given any thought to reconstructive surgery?"
"It would be extensive. Honestly, I don't want to spend any more time in the hospital than I already have," Persephone said.
"I can understand that," Aunt Billie replied. "What about therapy?"
"As in psychotherapy?"
"Yes..."
"I don't need therapy," Persephone stated. "I don't need to relive that night over and over again just so a stranger can dissect my feelings. No, thank you."
"The whole point is to get you to the point where it no longer hurts to talk about it. The more you talk about it, the less painful it becomes," Billie advised. "Trust me - I know what I'm talking about, Sephie."
"I - I'll think about it," she replied reluctantly.
_____________
Persephone twisted in her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open to see her angry red digital clock read 3:12 pm. She looked up at the wall-mounted flat-screen television across from her bed. The same porno she watched before falling asleep was paused on the screen. Her laptop was still on the bed, connected to the television through wires that stretched across the room.
She collapsed back onto the bed and took a deep breath. The room smelled like her sweat, and cum, and body odor. Persephone stared at the ceiling as she tried to remember if she had taken a shower that morning. "Probably not," she muttered to herself.
Then she felt it; her bed sheets were wet. She realized it was from masturbating before falling asleep. Persephone propped herself up on her elbows and looked over to her laptop. The image of a woman being fucked while restrained to a square block of old wood made Persephone wet. She wanted to be that woman, held down and fucked like an animal. Yet part of her was disgusted with herself.