More of that memory...

This is taking an interesting path into Simon's capacity for hate...

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Simon just aimed the water over all of Demian’s body and even shot some up to his rectum until the worst of it was gone down the drain. Then he squirted some pHisoHex soap onto his hand and smoothed it over the man’s emaciated arms and back and ass, carefully brushing extra amounts on the lesions. 

Arms that had once been so powerful. 

A back that had been so broad and defined. 

An ass...well, it had never been really round but nice to look at and...and... 

Simon grimaced and focused on cleaning Demian’s chest...

Which used to be so lovely and full, hair dancing across what was now white, barren skin and bleeding lesions. And his belly...once so flat and real, curving in smooth ways with a treasure trail of beauty, now bloated and marked with bruising and scars. 

And his genitals. Remembering how he’d once worshiped the man’s dick, and felt a twinge of sadness at how wrinkled and sickly it now appeared. 

And, to his surprise, a bit of joy at how it was now ruined...considering the things that man had done to him, with it. 

He continued down his legs, once full and elegant but now mere bones, focusing on more lesions. For Demian’s face, he rubbed a bar of Dove in a washcloth and gently stroked it around his eyes and over his cheeks and forehead, going lightly over he lesion at his temple to keep it from breaking, before dabbing all of the soap away. 

Demian was now quiet. Compliant. Almost seemed to weep. That was unsettling. Simon had never seen a tear in the man’s eyes, before. Nor had he ever seen the skin so tight around them. 

Finally, he focused on cleaning the man’s feet. Still recognizable as Demian’s. Washing between his toes and ignoring the cruel changes in his nails. 

Until he heard the man say, “There’s more.” 

Simon reached up to turn his ass towards the drain... And a stream of red-tinted fluid all but shot from him. Internal bleeding. He hadn’t thought to check for that in Demian’s shit. Not that it mattered, at this late stage. 

He used the shower to wash it away and cast a look of question up to him. 

“For now,” the man said. His expression a mixture of pain and sadness and embarrassment. 

Simon washed his ass and legs, again, then dried him off, spread some preparation H onto folded toilet paper and pressed it up to Demian’s anus. Finally had him step into a pair of Hanes briefs. It wasn’t easy. 

Demian muttered, “What good’ll this do?” 

“Contain some of it. Unless you want a diaper. I can ask about getting some Depends.” 

His voice was a near groan when he said, “You like treating me as if I’m a baby, don’t you?” 

“Sit on the chair. I’ll clean the bed.” 

“Just use Saran wrap. That’d keep the shit contained.” 

Simon’s heart almost stopped. 

As did his breathing. 

And he flashed back to... 

That day he had come home late. He’d closed the newsstand and was dog-tired...and found Demian was waiting for him. Used his key to get in. Had some friends with him. 

“About damn time you showed up,” Demian had snapped. 

 Then they had pounced on him. Carried him into the bedroom. Wound Saran Wrap around his torso and his knees. Trapping his legs, arms by his sides, and even used it to gag him. Left him fully dressed. 

Demian had unzipped Simon's pants and pulled out his dick to toy with then yanked down the back of his pants and briefs for access to his ass. 

And to have his fun. 

Hard and rough and mean...almost hateful... 

His friends followed. Each in turn. Until a vibrator was shoved up into him and used to force an ejaculation as one of them... 

One had pulled at... 

Simon jolted back to lying in the tub. He sloshed about to break the building chaos and covered his eyes. He all but keened in pain. That was one more nightmare memory he had long fought away from his brain. 

He thought. 

But Dillon Walstead had triggered its return. Caused many of them to come slashing into him. If he thought he had hated Demian, that was nothing compared to his loathing of that bastard little Assistant District Attorney. 

And his associate. 

They were monsters, to him. 

Evil and cruel. 

Monstrous.

He finally drained the tub a little then refreshed the water with some that was hot. Nearly scalding hot. Anything to refocus his mind. 

It didn’t work. He still drifted back to... 

Demian on that day. Barely strong enough to sit upright on the chair. So little of his skin left on his bones. 

Simon managed to whisper, “I’m never doing that, no matter how much you want it.” 

Demian managed to sneer at him. “Why not? You got off on it.” 

Simon took a long deep breath so he could respond, “Not willingly.” 

And again, the fucking memory of that fucking night filtered back. Unable to move. Completely helpless as they...as they... 

No! 

No. 

What was important about that night was how Simon had already begun planning his escape. Everything with Demian had been based on his wants, not Simon’s. He wasn’t happy unless he was forcing Simon to do something he hated doing. And the fact that he’d kept going along with it. That he couldn’t stop accepting the sadistic behavior of the man. Over and over. It still cut into him. His self-loathing. 

All he could do to stop it was slip away, silently, because he couldn’t take it, anymore. 

Because that night he’d started hoping Demian would just end him...and only knowing he had himself set up in Houston had kept him going.