Disclaimers in Part 1

ADDITIONAL SQUICK WARNING: More nasty things done to male genitalia!!(Actually, it's a more graphic description of what you already know about,if you read the earlier part)

A few nights later, the nightmare returned.  John caught the first flinch and moan of denial, followed quickly by shudders and sobs.  He shook his bedmate until the young man responded, blinking sleepily to focus on the older man’s worried features.  “What?” he said.

“You were having a nightmare; I wanted to wake you before you started screaming.”

“Oh.”  He wriggled back down under the sheet.  “I’m all right now; go back to sleep.”  He placed his head on John’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Only to have his lover sit up, pulling him up as well.  “Oh, no you don’t. We need to talk.”

“Now?  It’s the middle of the night.”  He made one last try.  “I want to sleep.”

“So do I, but I won’t if you keep having nightmares every few nights.  Did it ever occur to you you’re having them for a reason?  That they’re trying to tell you something?”

“No.”  He closed his eyes and shuddered.  “They’re too horrible.  I don’t even want to think about them, let alone discuss them.”

“The best way to deal with a fear is to face it head on.”  He settled the young man in front of him, pulling him back against his chest and wrapping his legs around him as well.  “I’m holding you as close as I can, and I won’ t let go.  You’re safe here; I won’t let anything hurt you.  You can tell me anything you want.  Please, talk to me.”

He looked down at the arms holding him, gathering his courage, then stared blankly at the wall in front of him and began:

“I’m running from people.  I don’t know who they are, but I know they want to hurt me.  They catch me and beat me up.  They take to what looks like a dentist’s office.  They strap me down and gas me.  I wake up in a small, dark room with manacles on my wrists and ankles, wearing only my underwear. Three people enter the room: a well-dressed man and two guards.  He starts talking but I can’t understand what he’s saying.”  He paused, frowning. “Except I think the ‘me’ in the dream understood.”  He continued:

“He’s touching me as he talks.  First my hair, then my face and down my chest to my nipple.  His other hand is sliding down my side to my boxers. He slips it under the waistband and begins to fondle me, first my cock and balls, then my ass.  He pulls me against him and starts rubbing himself against me as if we’re fucking.  I try to fight, to get away or push him off, but my shackles are too tight.  My resistance seems to arouse him.  He stops fondling me and tears the boxers from my body.  I don’t look but I can hear him fumbling with his clothes.  I know what’s coming and try to relax to minimize the damage; this has happened before and I’ve survived it.”

“He doesn’t prepare me at all; just positions himself and thrusts forward as he pulls me back, burying himself balls deep.  He’s at least as large as you; I’m torn despite my efforts to relax, a cry escaping my throat which I’ d tried to contain.  He pulls almost completely out of me, slowly, only to slam back in.  That’s how he rapes me; slowly pulling out and slamming back in as hard as he can.  He doesn’t speed up until he’s almost finished, pounding me hard and deep, trying to inflict as much pain and damage as he can.  Finally he finishes, grunting, and I can feel his sperm shooting deep inside me.”

“He stands up and comes around in front of me.  He grabs my hair and pulls my head up level with his crotch.  He forces me to lick my own blood and shit from his cock and balls, which arouses him again so he makes me suck him.  He rams his cock down my throat so I can’t breathe and start to pass out, choking on his cum as it shoots down my throat and into my windpipe.
He forces me to swallow it and lick him clean before tucking himself away and leaving the room, warning the guards not to touch me as he has further plans for his ‘new toy’.”

Quinn was upset with what he’d already heard, but he kissed his snowflake’s hair and said, “That’s not all, is it?”  Aside from remembering what the doctor had told him and what he’d felt during that first visit in the clinic, he’d also finagled a look at the young man’s medical chart.  He recalled the list of injuries and the note that some were a month or more old.

A shudder passed through his lover.  “Not even close.  It . . . gets so much worse.  I’m not sure . . . not sure I can talk about it . . . not yet.”

“Tell me what you can, then.  I’m certain it will help.”

He half turned in his lover’s lap, being careful not to pinch or crush anything important, so he could put an ear to his chest and an arm around him.  “I don’t know how to describe it; it seems like time is passing, but I don’t know how fast.  They bring me food sometimes, but usually he comes. When he comes he hurts me and rapes me.  I try not to show the pain because I know it arouses him; sometimes he gets so excited he rapes me 3 or 4 times.  It’s a cycle of horror: he beats or flogs or burns me until I cry out.  Then he rapes me, and the cycle repeats until I pass out and can’t be roused, or he wears himself out and can’t get an erection.”

“Even then it  sometimes continues as he shoves things up inside me.  Big things.  As far as he can.  Have you ever seen those really big flashlights policemen sometimes carry?  The ones that use all those batteries?  He uses one of those in me.”  He started to sob.  “It hurts so much, but there’s worse.”  He was getting hard to hear as the sobs racked his body.  “He –
he – “ he shook his head, “I can’t – can’t say it!”  He turned his head fully to his lover’s chest and let the tears come unabated.

John stroked his hair and murmured soothing words as his snowflake’s tears dampened his chest.  'I think I’ll give Alex a ring,' he thought, 'maybe he’ll be interested in helping me find this undismembered walking corpse.'  He knew it wasn’t the Jedi way to seek revenge, but also knew he couldn’t let that sadistic bastard walk around thinking he could do things like that to young men.  He sensed somehow his snowflake hadn’t been the man’s first victim, and even now some other might be suffering in his clutches.  'I’ll need a description, because I thoroughly doubt he introduced himself before he started.'

But no matter how gently or firmly he was questioned over the next few weeks, the young man staunchly refused to give even the sketchiest description of his tormentor.  If pressed too hard he would begin to sob and flee to his room, locking the door behind him.  The psychiatrist was called back to help, and they made some progress but discovered something strange.
The young man, who had started calling himself Ivan Ivanov (he wanted to take John’s name since he didn’t remember his own, but decided 2 Johns were one too many) was impossible to hypnotize, even under the influence of sodium pentothal.  It was a major setback as his subconscious was unreachable.  The memories had to be teased out of him gently, and he was
encouraged to keep a diary of his dreams.  It was the only contact with his subconscious mind they had.

Still, they were slowly working their way through the mental trauma caused by the physical and emotional abuse Ivan had suffered.  He recounted a dream of how he’d been addicted to heroin and forced to prostitute himself:“I was in a lot of pain.  One time he came in with a syringe and asked me if I wanted something for the pain.  I knew what was in the syringe, but I didn’t care because I also knew it would take away the pain.  I nodded and he injected me with it before raping me and leaving.  For a while it didn’t hurt.  He gave me perhaps 6 or 8 injections, always raping me after, before he revealed his game.  He came in and showed me the syringe, but refused to inject me until I begged him to fuck me.  After that I always had to beg to be fucked (the doctor noted at this point he never again called it rape) or hurt or whatever he wanted before he gave me the heroin.  If he didn’t like the way I begged he would withhold it until he was satisfied.  It was a game for him, and he used to laugh at my pain.  He released me from my shackles and gave me the run of most of the compound because he knew I wouldn’t try to escape.  I obeyed because I needed the heroin.”

“He forbade me to speak any language except Cantonese.  When he fucked me, he insisted I recite ‘I’m a whore.  I’ve always been a whore.  I’ll always be a whore.’ continuously until he finished.  Then he told me I had to obey any man who offered me money for sex, giving him whatever he asked.  Later he said I had to earn my heroin by offering myself to a certain number of men each day, with the number increasing daily.  Finally he took me to a city and sold me to a man who told me if I didn’t make him enough money he wouldn’t give me my fix.  So I started wandering the streets, selling myself to anyone who wanted me and giving the money to him.”

He also recalled how his tormentor had pulled his foreskin back and, bunching the loose skin together, pinned it in place using several safety pins.  He’d used more safety pins – the little brass ones – on the head of his penis, as well as shoving straight pins head deep into it.  He hadn’t ignored his testicles, either; they got their own share of straight and safety pins.  He’d also raped his victim after he’d finished with his penis and again after he’d done his testicles.  It was agonizing for the young man, particularly the second time as the stimulation to his prostate was causing him to harden and become more sensitive.

Ivan was so distraught after that session they had to sedate him and put him to bed, and he refused to talk about it for the next week.  What bothered both Quinn and the psychiatrist was the fact Ivan hadn’t regained his memories after recounting that event.  Did that mean there was something even more traumatic buried in his subconscious?  How would he deal with it, if and when he did remember?