Running for Home - 48. January 29, 2022

January 29 2022

Am I okay?

Today was one of those days where I’m not so sure I’m making progress, emotionally. It’s so funny how you can be feeling fine one moment and then just completely fucked up and broken the next. I wouldn’t say I’m having flashbacks, per se, so much as getting stuck in thought spirals and wrapped up in memories of what happened, trying to make sense of it all. I know it’s still way too early for me to be worried or annoyed for dissatisfied by my progress - it’s only been a few days, after all, but after everything that has happened to me in the past there is a part of me that feels like all of this should be old hat. Nothing new.

I’m taking the same PTSD meds I was on before Dom took me captive, but for some reason I don’t feel like they are doing all that much. Something to talk to Cecilia about, probably. It’s going to take a while before the drugs start having a measurable effect again. Mind drugs are fucking annoying like that. I’m sure part of the reason my mind was reeling so badly during the first part of my captivity was because I went off cold-turkey. There’s part of me that wants to ask Emma to go into my head and fiddle around with things a bit, but I am really not comfortable with what she might find while she’s in there. I’ll be starting to see a shrink soon enough, anyway, so I just need to be patient.

My body isn’t looking as battered now. I still ache a bit, but it’s not anything I can’t handle. It will be nice when Bobby stops feeling like he has to be so delicate with me, because I’m a man not a fucking piece of glass. I know, I know. Toxic masculinity bullshit, but that’s how I feel. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be raped. He doesn’t understand how it feels in the aftermath. I don't want him to treat me like a victim or a survivor. I just want us to be ourselves. Otherwise, all it does is remind me how broken I am.

I told Bobby last night that I probably wouldn’t be able to have sex for weeks, not without… Then again… I mean, maybe. Maybe having it, with him, will help erase the anguish and help me reclaim myself faster. I don’t know. I’m a guy, after all, not some woman. The mentality is different. The whole situation is different. Very different.

I guess it’s hard to know since the last time, after Iraq, I was in the hospital and in therapy for so long that by the time I was released and Dom and I were officially a thing having sex was natural. Something familiar, but familiar in a new way. We were actually sharing intimacy. We were in love.

The one thing I can say about things is that once the rapes started, Dom wasn’t as angry as much and I didn’t take as much abuse. I was getting increasingly concerned about him, to be honest. It sounds fucking ridiculous to say that I was concerned for the wellbeing of my rapist captor, but I was. His behaviours were so erratic, even within single visits, I just wasn’t sure what was going on. It was like he was coming undone. But he wasn’t hurting me as much, and whatever drugs he was giving me when we had sex were a fucking miracle because at least I could enjoy the sex, bodily. And maybe, if I’m being honest, there’s a deep, sick part of me that enjoyed it mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually.

And I don’t understand that.

I really don’t fucking understand it, at all.

It came to a head the night before it ended, the night before I was rescued. I thought it was going to be the usual. That he’d drug my food or drink or whatever, and I’d eat it anyway because it just wasn’t worth starving myself and being raped in a way that would be more traumatic than things already were. Traumatic in the times in between the highs, anyway. I know it was chemical, but… See? This is all part of the mindfuck. How much of this bullshit was chemical and how much of it was really because deep down I wanted it? That deep down I still… fuck.

Anyway, that night was different. Everything was going the same, similar to other nights when suddenly he started giving me an A-grade blow job. It surprised me. It wasn’t just that he was doing it - he’d always been willing to blow me after we were officially together, even swallowing. But he hadn’t done it since he’d chained me up, and now here it was with this emotionality about it. He needed it. He needed it not to be just about him, or me, but about us. About us, goddamn it!

But it didn’t stop there.

He blew me for a long time, keeping me on the edge but not letting me come. Then, suddenly, he pulled off and looked up at me with this look, his eyes wild and desperate. He stood up and kissed me deeply, his hands clutching my face.

“It’s time.”

He stepped off into the darkness and suddenly my chains were slackening. My chains were slackening almost completely and I could move about. I could kneel down from standing. No, I could even walk a couple paces in all directions! And then he returned and my cuffs were unlatched from one another. I was scared but still turned on and confused and just… I didn’t know what was happening.

And then he was there again, on his back in front of me with lube in hand. I thought he wanted me to straddle him. I honest to god thought that’s what he wanted, and I took a step towards him to do that. Better to make things easy for myself than draw out any possibility of him being rough. But before I could straddle him, he brought his legs up, exposing himself. Exposing his entrance to me.

“I need it, John. Need it so bad.”

He… he wanted…?

Lubed fingers began to trace his asshole, gently probing. He gazed at me desperately. And I was frozen in place, unable to look away as he prepared himself for something he’d never done before. Not for me. Not for anyone.

He seemed lost in it, lost in the sensations he was giving himself, lost in the haze of the drug, lost in the madness he had wrought for us both. And then suddenly he was getting up, kissing me as he pushed me over onto my back. His hand wrapped around my dick, slicking me up. And then he straddled me, gripping my cock, aiming it. And he descended.

He threw his head back and cried out as I was enveloped in his tight, virgin heat.

And then he fucked himself up and down on my cock. He fucked himself, and I started thrusting up into him. And he bent forward and kissed me. I kissed him. We kissed. We shared passion, heat. I was fucking him, and I wanted it bad. I grabbed his legs and pushed him onto his back, pounding into him from above. His breath was coming in tight gasps. Did it hurt? I didn’t really care. He was mine. He was mine and I was going to take from him what he’d taken from me for all those years.

I kissed him deeply one more time, pulled out and then flipped him over onto all fours. I rammed back into him, and then started giving him long, slow out-strokes punctuated by quick slams back in. He cried out with each blow. Our pace slowly picked up, eventually reaching a fever pitch. I began whispering dirty, awful things into his ear as I fucked him, and he began to fuck himself back into me as I thrust forward.

“You’re mine, aren’t you bitch?”

“I- ah! I am!”

“Say it.”

“I’m- I’m- ah! I’m yours, John, all yours. Always- ah, fuck! Always yours!”

I yelled out as my orgasm began to take hold and I slammed into him with five hard thrusts. And I came. I came hard, shaking like I was erupting everything I had, like I was pumping my very soul into him. And then I could feel him contracting around me and crying out as he shot his come all over his stomach, his chest, and the floor beneath us.

It was the best sex I’d ever had.

I let myself drop my weight down onto his back and kept slowly fucking in and out of him as the post-orgasmic glow settled over us. Our breathing was slowing, and I felt so much like I should say something but there were no words. No fucking words. Eventually we stopped moving together and we fell asleep, huddled together as my dick softened and left him.

I awoke sometime later, alone and cold on that cardboard floor. And I cried. I cried for everything we were, for everything we could have been, for everything I wanted and for everything I did not want, for everything I was losing and everything I may never have.

Dominik didn’t come to visit for a long time after that.