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Pretty Dead Boy...
‘i could have kept you, before all this…’ / ‘that’s why it’s being torn down.’
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And now the keeping will be the other way…
‘so this is my pet bourgeois…’
Kirill and Ilya… Noble and Bolshevik... a match made in hell. They love each other! Even though they shouldn't.
Even though their relationshipis built on favours for protection. When the first one was taken, and, in a way, the rest all are as well. But Kirill, the noble, doesn't find himself feeling that way. No, he finds himself grateful, even growing to be fond. The sort of feelings he never had for his intended before, because surely there was one. Some pretty girl, nothing like the soldier who held him down while their house was ransacked. Who shoved him, still dripping, into a wardrobe before his comrades came in the room, told him to be quiet and he'd be alright.
Because he was always just a pretty noble who had shed his girl's clothes. Ilya, the Bolshevik, would have used him anyway, no matter what he found ripping his breeches off. It's just an extra treat, an extra place to hurt him.
‘Aw you’ll help raise a new generation of revolutionaries!’ he says, when he's done, and pats Kirill's belly. More proof that he’ll never be letting the noble go, and then he shoves him in the cupboard. He doesnt want to lose his spoils.
And of course Kirill a bunch of kids by Ilya. A proper big family. And oh how he hates it at first, but he cant help but love his children. Slowly gets used to it. To being heavy and swollen with child. He grows to love it, and his keeper.
But oh how he begged,, the first time, for the Bolshevik to take his arse instead. Which is naught but more fuel for Ilya to shove it in his dry cunt. Oh how he begged for it in his arse, even though he knew it would hurt. Would bleed, even. Anything so long as it meant he won’t be violated there. And then he still gets a baby fucked into his cunt, without regard or kindness.
Ilya does end up sharing him with his comrades, that first time. He only shares Kirill's arse though… Not wanting any questions of who the father is. Not that the noble needs to know it’s just Ilya in his cunt, blindfolded as he is... Ilya had gotten hard again watching, and shoved it into his battered cunt again, and the boy’s cunt is still bleeding, a bit, but this time he's dripping wet. Already growing to like it, such a good whore! The cock in his poor sore cunt a second time makes him cum and he gets praised for it! Even if it’s not any of Ilya's goal.
And he knows he could never face his family again. Not that they would take him back anyhow, ruined like he is. Knocked up and defiled. He's got no protector but his Bolshevik, utterly isolated.
His Bolshevik, Ilya, who takes him home, to kiss away all the tears. Wash away the filth, clothe him properly. He can't help himself. It’s the first time his noble has been fully clothed since they met. Almost properly clothed. In nowhere near the finery he was used to, but far, far better than the ill covering rags or sex soiled shirts of before. Kirill gets a clean shirt, clean trousers, a coat (it's too big for him) to cut the cold. Proper working man's clothing and, for the first time, shoes.
He still has no where to go, no one to turn too if he were to run, but there is no longer that physical barrier preventing his ability to do so. His poor soft feet don't have to hurt so badly anymore, and they’re not near as cold now. He can earn the same workboot calluses as every other man, and his keeper tells him that, with a clap on the shoulder, looking almost proud.
‘we’re going to make a proper comrade out of you.’
Kirill to get so used to his cervix being abused that he almost can’t cum without it. Whining, because while he’s pregnant, they can’t go as deep, or they must use his ass instead, and it doesn't feel good! It’s not what he needs! No, he needs to feel it deep, needs to feel it almost bruise. It even does bruise sometimes, and he loves feeling it the next morning. Loves the way it hurts to stand, to walk, to sit. Loves the fact Ilya takes care of him after. Brings him sweets, a blanket, something to drink, while all he can do is lie about and be pampered (like he used to) and he misses that. He misses it so so much. How it was to be rich and noble and unworried about anything, really. He misses rest, misses parties, misses the gossip, too. Sitting and gossiping and drinking. You know he was a flirt. Popular with all the other young ladies and gentlemen, playing with feelings, breaking hearts. keeping himself untouched. His secret hidden and everyone thinking him oh so chaste, which he was, and then...
Well, he certainly isn’t pure anymore.
Or perhaps, Kirill is taken captive rather, as leverage against a powerful father. Still in his nightclothes, with no shoes, ripped from his bed, all confused and terrified, crying in fear. No idea what's even going on... or where he’s being taken… his captors barely know that.
And he’s such a soft, rather weak boy, never had to do a hard days work, it almost feels overkill to bind him. He'd not even be able to fight, not them. The best he can do is scream, and that’s easily enough taken care of. They bind his mouth, with a nice big unwieldy gag. It makes him tear up even more. Somebody's belt holding in somebody else’s glove, balled up and shoved in his mouth, the belt cinched just this side of too tight. They don't care if it hurts. Theu savour that hurt, even. They laugh at the way he cries. At how he tries to squirm away in obvious futility. It’s that same thrill of revenge, and really, who cares if the snot gets roughed up a bit. His father won’t even notice a bruise or two. He barely even looks at the boy, they've heard, but he needs an heir, so obviously he’ll capitulate. If they rough his boy up a bit, all the better. He'll understand the threat.
“He’d better or he’ll get his boy back in a box,” that's what they say, mocking… And when his father doesn’t care, not a bit for his wayward child, for an heir who can’t even be an heir.... He'd happily have him out of the way, clear the path to try again.
There's definitely space for a Kirill thrown out of society with a swelling belly before the revolution after a group of his spurned suitors got revenge at a party
Dragged into a backroom, stripped naked, his secret exposed, shoving inside and joking about how his father would never give a dowery like this. Screaming and begging and saying the first cock feels like he's being torn open, and one of them tells him he'll tear open properly pushing out the results, cursing them all to hell and back, biting anything that comes near his face they solve that problem by stuffing a few sponges, a dirty rag in his mouth. If he behaves they might wash it out with soap later (replacing the nastiness with a bar that barely fits in his mouth).
And then he's in a washroom, trying to clean himself out even though he knows it won’t help. His belly bloated from all the come in him, and he has no way of knowing whose baby it is he’ll be pushing out in 9 months.
It even could be Ilya. The servant who came upon him and could have helped but took some sloppy seconds for himself. He’s found the next morning, still bloated and full. only managed to crawl partway back to his room.
They'll hush up the disgrace, and he’s not to be seen until his condition has passed, hidden away like so much rubbish, like a dirty secret. the same way he hides his secret. sent away for the pregnancy and when he’s finally allowed back everyone knows. everyone in his circles, at least and then the revolution happens just months later…
No matter what, he should wear his fancy pretty things with a belly too big for him to do them up, with some foreign object forced in his cunt. Something demeaning that clearly doesn’t belong something unfitting for ‘his status’. Some cleaning tool, perhaps a toilet brush.
