#nullpara

[nullpara]

' ℳ𝘦 ( 𝒮𝘶𝘢 ) , @fawnastro ( ℒ𝘶𝘬𝘢 ) ℯ 𝒮𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳 ( ℳ𝘪𝘻𝘪 ) '

[nullpara]

' 𝒲𝘦 𝓈𝘬𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝓉𝘩𝘦 𝓁𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝓉𝘸𝘰 𝒸𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 .

𝒱𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝒻𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝓈𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 ! 𝒲𝘰𝘰 ! '

[nullpara]

' 𝒪𝘶𝘳 𝒜𝒪3 𝓌𝘰𝘯 𝘵 ℴ𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝓈𝘰 𝒾 𝘭𝘭 𝒿𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝓅𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝓉𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝒽𝘦𝘳𝘦 '

WARNING : the content ahead contains whipping, minor knifeplay and rape as a punishment ❘❙ Ivan x Tolys / rusliet .

bottom Tolys / top Ivan

minor Tolys x Feliks / Feliks mentioned but he doesn’t appear .

word count : 3728

don't like ? don't read .

' 𝒯𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝓊𝘴 𝒾𝘧 𝓌𝘦 𝓈𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝓅𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝓂𝘰𝘳𝘦 ℴ𝘧 ℴ𝘶𝘳 𝒻𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝒽𝘦𝘳𝘦 ! '

The chill of the late autumn night bit at Tolys’s exposed skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that had bloomed in his chest hours ago. He slipped the iron key into the lock, the click echoing too loudly in the silent hall.

Eleven o'clock. Six hours past the time he should have been back. The memory of Poland’s boisterous laughter, the shared meal, the easy conversation, still clung to him, a sweet, dangerous perfume.

He peeled off his heavy, wool coat, the fabric whispering against itself, and carefully placed it on the coat rack. His boots, worn from the long walk, made soft thuds on the polished wood floor as he set them aside. He moved like a shadow, each step measured, each breath held. Latvia and Estonia would be deep in slumber, their gentle snores the only sound, usually. He prayed Ivan was too.

The living room door stood ajar, a sliver of candlelight bleeding into the oppressive darkness of the hallway. Tolys’s stomach clenched, a familiar knot of dread twisting within him. He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest, the sound tearing through the fragile quiet.

Ivan sat in his customary armchair, a hulking silhouette against the flickering flame of a single candle on the mantelpiece. His violet eyes, usually so deceptively mild, held a glacial depth, reflecting the tiny flame as twin pinpricks of cold fire. He wore his usual long, heavy coat, even indoors, his scarf a pale stripe against the dark fabric. A long, thin pipe, made of pure metal, rested in his large hand, its tip glowing faintly. The air hung thick with the scent of smoldering tobacco and something else, something sharp and metallic, like ozone before a storm.

Tolys’s breath hitched. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

You’re late. Ivan’s voice rumbled, a low, resonant hum that vibrated through the floorboards and up Tolys’s spine. The pipe remained still, a silent accusation.

Tolys said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floorboards, counting the grains in the wood. He could feel Ivan’s eyes on him, a palpable weight, dissecting him, stripping him bare.

I asked you to fetch the supplies for winter,

Ivan continued, the words slow, deliberate, each one a stone dropped into a still, cold pond.

Five o’clock, I said. You completed the task, yes?

Yes. Tolys managed, the word a mere whisper. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

And then? Ivan’s voice dipped lower, a dangerous melody. The pipe shifted, just slightly, catching the candlelight.

Tolys’s gaze flickered upwards, drawn by an irresistible force. Ivan’s smile, that gentle, disarming curve of his lips, sent a fresh wave of ice through him. It never reached his eyes.

I… I meet with Feliks.

Tolys confessed, the words tumbling out, tasting of ash.

A beat of silence stretched, taut and suffocating. The candle flame danced, casting grotesque shadows on the walls.

Feliks. Ivan repeated, the name a foreign, distasteful sound on his tongue. He leaned forward, his bulk dominating the small room.

My instructions were clear, were they not? Complete the task. Return home. No detours. No distractions.

Tolys’s head bowed again, his eyes burning. He knew. He had known the consequences even as he had walked away from Poland’s warm hearth. The fleeting joy had been a fool’s errand.

Ivan rose, a towering presence that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. His hand, so unexpectedly quick, reached out and plucked something from the top of the bookshelf. It was a whip, a long, supple length of braided leather, dark and gleaming in the candlelight. It had a heavy, ornate handle, cool to the touch, familiar in its dread.

Tolys’s breath seized. His body, without conscious thought, began to move. He unbuttoned his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the small, pearl buttons. He pulled it free, the soft linen a whisper of fabric against his skin, and carefully folded it, placing it on the nearest armchair. His trousers followed, the rough wool sliding down his legs, pooling at his feet. He stepped out of them, folding them with the same meticulous care. His undergarments, a thin layer of cotton, came next. He stacked them neatly on top of the other clothes.

He stood before Ivan, naked, vulnerable, his skin prickling in the cold air. The scars on his back, faint white lines against his pale skin, seemed to stand out in stark relief, a testament to past transgressions. He turned, presenting his back to Ivan, his shoulders hunched. He walked to the velvet sofa, positioning himself. His hands gripped the plush fabric, knuckles white. He arched his back, pushing his hips up, baring his ass to the room, to Ivan’s cold gaze. His breath hitched, a silent plea caught in his throat. His muscles tensed, steeling himself.

The first crack of the whip split the air, sharp and brutal, tearing through the silence. It landed with a sickening thud against his left ass cheek. A searing pain bloomed, hot and immediate, blossoming outward. Tolys bit down on his lip, a metallic taste filling his mouth.

One. The word was a raw gasp, forced from his lungs.

The whip rose again, a dark blur against the flickering light. It descended, a vicious hiss, striking his right ass cheek. The pain was deeper this time, spreading rapidly, a burning wildfire. His body screamed for release, for movement, for anything but this rigid stillness.

Two. His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

A moment passed, the air vibrating with the aftermath of the blows. Ivan's breathing was steady, even. Tolys focused on the texture of the velvet beneath his fingers, the faint scent of dust and old wood. He imagined himself a statue, carved from stone, impervious to the pain.

The whip cracked again, finding purchase higher on his left hip, the leather biting into the tender flesh. A gasp escaped him, involuntary, choked off quickly.

Three. The word was a tight knot in his throat. A quiet sob threatened to escape, a tremor starting deep in his chest. He fought it, clamping down, his jaw aching.

Ivan’s footsteps, heavy and deliberate, circled him. Tolys heard the faint swish of fabric, the subtle shift of air. He closed his eyes, plunging himself into darkness, trying to find a sanctuary there.

The next strike landed across his lower back, a horizontal line of fire. It felt different, broader, less precise, as if Ivan had put more force behind it. His muscles spasmed, a violent tremor threatening to ripple through him. He fought it, clenching every fiber of his being, willing himself to remain perfectly still.

Four. The word was barely a whisper, ragged and broken. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, hot and stinging, but he refused to let them fall.

Another strike, diagonal across his right kidney, the pain radiating through his core, making him nauseous. He could feel the skin breaking, the heat of blood beginning to seep.

Five. His voice cracked. He wanted to scream, to beg, to curl into a ball and disappear. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Ivan paused, the silence stretching, heavy with anticipation. Tolys’s entire body thrummed with a nervous energy, his senses heightened, each sound, each scent, magnified. He could hear the faint sizzle of the candle wick, the distant creak of the house settling.

Then, the whip struck again, twice in quick succession, a brutal rhythm against his already tender flesh. One on his left thigh, another on his right ass cheek, overlapping the previous mark. The pain was blinding, a white-hot explosion. His breath caught, a strangled sound.

Six… eight… He choked out the numbers, his voice raw, his throat burning. A quiet sob escaped, a muffled sound caught in the velvet of the sofa. He pressed his face against the fabric, trying to absorb the sound, to make it disappear.

Ivan’s presence loomed, a suffocating weight. Tolys could feel the air shift as he raised the whip again. The blows continued, relentless, each one a fresh assault, tearing at his composure. His skin felt like it was on fire, a thousand tiny needles pricking and burning.

Nine…

Ten…

Eleven…

His voice grew weaker, each number an immense effort. He focused on the counting, letting it be his anchor, his only purpose. He ignored the throbbing pain, the wetness on his back, the desperate urge to collapse.

The whip landed on his left shoulder blade, the impact jarring his entire frame. He gritted his teeth, a low groan escaping him.

Twelve.

Another strike, across his right shoulder, a mirror image of the last. His shoulders hunched further, trying to protect himself, a futile instinct.

Thirteen.

The rhythm changed, the strikes coming faster now, a flurry of blows against his back, his thighs, his ass. He lost track of the specific locations, each one blurring into a continuous, agonizing fire. His body trembled, a fine, uncontrollable tremor that started deep within his bones. He fought it, digging his fingers deeper into the sofa, trying to become one with the furniture, immovable.

Fourteen… fifteen…sixteen… The numbers were a desperate litany, a plea for the pain to stop. His vision swam, a kaleidoscope of dark shapes and flickering light.

He felt a drop of something warm and wet on his lower back, then another. Blood. He knew it was blood. The thought sent a shiver through him, not of cold, but of primal fear.

Seventeen… His voice was a thin, reedy sound, barely audible. He felt himself swaying, the edges of his vision darkening. He was losing control, the rigid stillness he had fought so hard to maintain beginning to fray.

A sudden, sharp crack, louder than the rest, ripped through the air. It landed squarely on his left ass cheek, directly on a previous mark, splitting the skin further. A raw, guttural cry tore from his throat, involuntary, uncontrollable. His body convulsed, a violent, desperate spasm. He lost his grip on the sofa, his hands flying out, his knees buckling.

He fell forward, his thigh slamming against the soft velvet, a muffled thud.

The room fell silent. The candle flickered, its light dancing on the polished floor. Tolys lay there, sprawled and broken, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body wracked with tremors. He had failed. He hadn't counted. He had moved. He had cried out.

Ivan’s heavy footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Tolys squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the next wave of pain, the violation he knew was coming. He could feel Ivan’s presence above him, a suffocating weight.

A large hand, surprisingly gentle, settled on his hair, stroking it once, then twice. Tolys flinched, but forced himself not to pull away.

Such a disobedient little one…

Ivan’s voice purred, low and dangerous, right beside his ear.

The warmth of his breath ghosted over Tolys’s skin, raising goosebumps. You know what happens now, yes? When you fail to follow my simple rules.

Tolys whimpered, a small, broken sound. His entire body ached, a symphony of pain. He felt Ivan’s fingers thread through his hair, gripping it, pulling his head back, exposing his throat. He opened his eyes, blurred with unshed tears, and saw the cold, unyielding violet of Ivan’s gaze.

You will learn, Tolya. Ivan whispered, his voice a promise and a threat. You will learn to obey.

Ivan’s grip tightened, pulling Tolys’s head further back, arching his spine. Tolys felt himself being dragged backwards, his body sliding across the velvet sofa, the raw wounds on his ass and back screaming in protest. He landed on his knees, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself on the floor. Ivan’s strong fingers remained tangled in his hair, keeping his head tilted, his neck exposed.

A cold, metallic glint caught Tolys’s eye. A knife. Ivan held it in his other hand, the blade long and wickedly sharp, reflecting the candlelight. Tolys’s blood ran cold. He squeezed his eyes shut again, a silent prayer forming on his lips.

He felt the cold kiss of the blade against his left shoulder, just below the collarbone. It wasn't a deep cut, but a deliberate, shallow slice, just enough to break the skin. A sharp sting, then the warm trickle of blood. He gasped, a choked sound.

Such a pretty canvas.. Ivan murmured, his voice a low, dark caress. The blade moved, tracing a line down his arm, another thin, crimson stripe appearing.

So much space to mark what is mine.

Tolys whimpered, his body trembling uncontrollably now. The fear was a living thing, coiling in his gut, suffocating him. He felt the blade make another small cut, this time on his right hip, just above the curve of his ass. The pain was less than the whip, but the knowledge of the knife, the cold steel, the deliberate intent, was far more terrifying.

Ivan released his hair, and Tolys’s head flopped forward, his chin hitting his chest. He heard the faint clink of the knife being set aside. Then, Ivan’s hands were on him, large and possessive. One hand gripped his chin, forcing his head up, his eyes meeting Ivan’s. The other hand moved to his lower back, pressing down, his fingers brushing against the raw, broken skin. Tolys flinched, a sharp intake of breath.

Such a fragile thing.. Ivan mused, his thumb tracing the outline of a fresh welt on Toris’s lower back.

But you will be strong for me, yes?

Tolys could only nod, tears finally spilling from his eyes, hot trails down his cheeks. He tasted salt and blood.

Ivan’s hand slid lower, over his ass, pressing against the bruised and weeping flesh. Tolys gasped, his body arching instinctively away from the touch.

Still so sensitive.. Ivan chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down Tolys’s spine. We will fix that.

Ivan’s fingers probed, finding the tender crease between his ass, then sliding lower, to his asshole. Tolys stiffened, his entire being recoiling. He could feel the gentle pressure, the exploring touch, and a wave of nausea washed over him.

Relax, moya solnishka. Ivan whispered, his voice dangerously soft. It will be easier if you relax.

Tolys tried, he truly did, but his muscles were locked, rigid with terror and pain. He felt Ivan’s fingers, cold and unyielding, pressing against his tight asshole, pushing gently. A sharp, stinging pain shot through him.

…No…please… Tolys choked out, the words a desperate plea.

Ivan’s hand clamped down on his jaw, holding his head still. His violet eyes bore into Toris’s, cold and merciless. You have no say in this, Tolya. You chose this path. Now you will endure it.

Tolys closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He felt Ivan’s finger push deeper, stretching him, violating him. The pain was intense, a burning, tearing sensation. He whimpered, his body shaking violently.

Then, he felt something else. A slick, wet sensation. Ivan’s fingers were coated in something, a thick, oily lubricant. He pushed again, slowly, relentlessly, one finger, then two. Tolys cried out, a muffled sound against Ivan’s hand. He felt himself being stretched, torn, his body protesting violently.

Good…good.. Ivan murmured, his voice a low growl. Open for me, little one.

He felt Ivan shift behind him, the bulk of his body pressing against Tolys’s raw back. A large, hard shaft brushed against his ass, then pressed against his asshole, slick and unyielding. Tolys’s breath hitched. He knew what was coming.

Ivan began to push, slowly, deliberately. Tolys cried out, a raw, animal sound, his body convulsing. The head of Ivan’s cock pressed against his entrance, a blunt, burning force.

You will take it. Ivan snarled, his voice losing its soft edge, becoming harsh and demanding. He pushed harder, a groan escaping his own lips.

Tolys felt a tearing sensation, a searing pain that ripped through him. He screamed, a high, desperate sound. Ivan’s cock burrowed deeper, stretching him to his absolute limit. He felt the thick shaft slide inside him, inch by agonizing inch, forcing its way through his tight, unyielding asshole.

Ah… there.. Ivan breathed, a mix of pain and pleasure in his voice. His cock was fully inside Tolys, filling him completely, a burning, intrusive presence. Tolys felt himself being impaled, stretched beyond what he thought possible. He cried, deep, wracking sobs shaking his entire frame.

Ivan held him there, impaled, for a long moment, allowing Tolys’s body to adjust, to stretch, to surrender. Tolys felt the muscles inside him clenching around Ivan’s thick shaft, a painful, involuntary embrace.

Ivan began to move, slowly at first, a shallow thrust, then a withdrawal. Tolys gasped, the friction against his torn flesh excruciating. The movement caused his body to jiggle, his bruised ass bouncing with each thrust. He felt Ivan’s cock slide out almost completely, then plunge back in, a deep, penetrating thrust that made him cry out again.

Count for me, Tolya. Ivan demanded, his voice rough with exertion.

Tolys couldn’t. He was too consumed by the pain, by the violation, by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being filled by Ivan. He was sobbing openly now, tears streaming down his face, his body a trembling mess.

Ivan slapped his bruised thigh, a sharp, stinging crack that momentarily eclipsed the pain of penetration. Count!

One! Tolys choked out, the word a desperate plea for mercy.

Ivan began to thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm picking up. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pain through Tolys, but also, disturbingly, a strange, unwelcome sensation of fullness, of being utterly possessed. He felt his internal walls being stretched and pounded, the friction creating a burning heat deep inside.

Two… four… Tolys sobbed out the numbers, his voice broken, his body shaking. He felt his stomach clench, a wave of nausea washing over him. He could taste bile in his mouth.

Ivan’s grunts grew louder, more guttural. He was pushing into Tolys with increasing force, his cock sliding in and out, a relentless piston. Tolys felt the head of Ivan’s shaft brush against his prostate with each deep thrust, sending a strange, uncomfortable sensation through him, a jolt of something akin to pleasure, quickly overshadowed by the pain and shame.

Five… seven… Tolys’s voice was barely a whisper, lost amidst his sobs. He felt his ass cheeks spread wide, the raw skin protesting. The blood from his wounds mingled with the sweat and lubricant, a messy, visceral reality.

Ivan leaned down, his lips brushing Tolys’s ear.

You wanted to be with Feliks, yes? You wanted to feel another man’s touch. This is what you get, little one. This is my touch.

The words were a fresh wound, twisting the knife deeper. Tolys cried harder, his body convulsing with each thrust. He felt Ivan’s cock slip out slightly, then plunge back in with a powerful, almost violent force, stretching him to the absolute limit. He gasped, a strangled sound, his body arching unwillingly into the thrust. He could feel his inner muscles clenching, trying to expel Ivan, but his body was trapped, helpless.

Eight… ten… The counting was a desperate mantra, a way to hold onto some semblance of control, even as his body was utterly out of his command.

Ivan’s thrusts became faster, more frantic. Tolys was slick with sweat and tears, his body burning from the inside out. He could feel the pre-cum, thick and warm, coating Ivan’s shaft, making the penetration even more intense, more invasive.

Eleven… thirteen…

A low growl rumbled in Ivan’s chest. He pulled Tolys’s hair again, forcing his head back, exposing his neck. He bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a stinging mark, a possessive claim.

Tolys whimpered, his body trembling on the verge of collapse. He felt the intense pressure building deep inside him, the relentless pounding against his prostate. His vision blurred, a kaleidoscope of pain and sensation. He felt Ivan’s cock plunge deeper, faster, each thrust hitting his cervix, a jarring, uncomfortable impact.

Fourteen… sixteen… The words were barely audible, lost in his gasps and sobs.

Ivan groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his body tensing above Tolys. He plunged into Tolys one last, deep time, holding him impaled. Tolys felt the warmth of Ivan’s cum, thick and hot, gush into him, filling his insides with a burning, invasive liquid. He convulsed, a final, desperate shudder running through him, a mix of pain, relief, and utter humiliation.

Ivan withdrew, slowly, his cock sliding out of Tolys’s violated asshole, leaving him feeling empty and raw. Tolys collapsed forward, his forehead resting on the velvet cushion, his body trembling, spent. He lay there, naked and broken, the cum dripping from his asshole, mixing with his blood and tears. The scent of sex, sweat, and shame hung heavy in the air.

Ivan pulled back, breathing heavily. He didn't speak. Tolys could hear the rustle of his clothes, the faint sound of him moving away. He didn't dare open his eyes, didn't dare move. He just lay there, a broken heap, waiting for whatever came next. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, punctuated only by his ragged breaths and the faint, distant sound of his own heart breaking.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard Ivan’s footsteps approaching again, slow and deliberate. Tolys flinched, bracing himself. He felt a cool, damp cloth gently dab at his ass, then his back. Ivan was cleaning him. The touch was impersonal, almost clinical, but it stung his raw wounds.

Get up, Tolys. Ivan’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Clean yourself properly. And then, you will sleep. In my bed.

Tolys’s eyes snapped open. He looked up, his gaze meeting Ivan’s. The violet eyes were still cold, unreadable. The implication hung heavy in the air. The punishment was not over. It had only just begun. He slowly, painfully, pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest.

He hobbled towards the small washroom, each step a fresh agony, the cum and blood still dripping down his legs. The mirror reflected a broken man, his eyes red and swollen, his body a canvas of crimson welts and thin, fresh cuts. He was branded. He was Ivan’s. And he had no choice but to obey. He turned on the cold water, letting it run over his raw skin, a chilling reminder of his new reality.