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The Iron Cage	By : Aragem23 Category: Comics > WitchBlade Views: 2083 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Haibane Renmei or Witchblade. I do not make any money from writing this fic.

Chapter List
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Reki's body was all different shades of colors when they brought her back. There would be the inflamed pink and red weals on her buttocks and back, violet and dark bruises on her face and arms, and bright crimson between her legs and open blisters. Rakka did what she could to bring what little comfort she could give her friend. She stroked Reki's feverish forehead and held her hand to let her know she wasn't alone. When water was brought, Rakka could drizzle just a little on the red skin and blow on it to cool the sting. And if Reki was shivering as if freezing, Rakka stretched a blanket over her and laid close by to give her warmth and company in small stories she made up. The stories she told were similar to the ones Nemu liked tell Rakka, Kuu, and Hikari, (and Kana whenever she decided she wanted to listen). Stories of good places where people were kind, food was good, and there was an outside they could explore with green grass, flagrant flowers, and an never ending blue sky with a sun that would warmed them up.
It was during these times, a sense of calm, a reverie would come over Rakka. She would allow herself to believe that one day, she would see the sky and feel the sun. That she could be happy and unafraid. Then the door would open and wingless would heartlessly smash that daydream with their sharp tongues and hungry whips.
Once, Rakka tried to stop them from taking Reki who was still unconscious from an earlier beating. A woman with an ugly face and thick arms swung a whip with a thin end. Rakka screamed as it caught across her shoulder and scrabbled backwards, out of reach of the whip.
“If you want to take her place, just say so,” the woman sneered.
Rakka's voice died in her throat. A voice in her head shouted for them to take her and spare Reki, but a small voice begged not to be harmed. The rising welts on her arm and shoulder was making themselves known from burning sensations spreading along her skin. The wingless took Reki away and Rakka bitterly wept for her friend she had so utterly failed and her hatred for her own shortcomings.
* * *
She deserved this. It was her comeuppance for being untouched while Reki suffered so terribly. For not being brave enough to take Reki's place that time.
Nottingham was behind her with the flogger. He had shown it to her, draped if over her arm to let her feel the leather. It had many tails with flared tips. Mr. Irons was sitting in a leather bound chair with a small table laden with an open bottle of red wine and a glass. His eyes glinted like far stars as he watched her over the glass brim.
She heard the crackle of leather tails moving in unison. With eyes tightly shut, she waited for the first blow. There was a light slap on her right buttock and then a second on the left. Surprised, she relaxed in her bonds as a third landed almost painlessly on her right. It was like being smacked on the rear. Instead of stinging pain, there was an impact against her skin. A fourth blow found her left buttock and then just as she was relaxing more, releasing the tension in her shoulders, the fifth landed.
THWAP!
A harsh blow landed across both cheeks making her jump with a startled cry. She felt the skin grow warm just as another light blow smacked her right buttock. A minute later, she figured out the pattern. Two light blows on each buttock and then a heavy one across both. She counted each lash in her head and braced for the fifth ones which hurt, but she could be handle if expected. By the time she received a fifth heavy blow, the intensity was increased.
The light blows became heavier and the heavy blows became painful. She yelped from each fifth blow now. Her buttocks were beginning to glow hotly. The pain was starting to rise to an near unbearable level. When a fifth blow came up, she twisted to protect the blow against it. Which was a mistake as the tails wrapped around her hip and landed on her stomach. She hollered as the tails pricked the skin sending burning stings crawling through her abdomen. Rakka could barely breath as the pain went so deep it stole her breath.
Nottingham came up behind her and mercilessly turned her backside to him by the arm ignoring her whimpering. “Do not move again.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. There was a brief reprieve when his large hand cupped her rear feeling and studying the warmed skin and his fingers crawled around to her stomach where the tails had left tiny red dots, some of which beaded with red drops. Her shoulders heaved as she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her wings were flicking with soft flutters as she struggled to maintain her calm. Her eyes rose towards Irons who was watching with a hungry gleam in his eyes. “Nottingham, stop being gentle and properly flog her.”
“Yes sir.”
There was a rasp as Nottingham planted his feet and the rustle of the flogger spinning in a round blur. She shifted her feet and squeezed her hands into tight fists as she braced for the next blow. When it came, she shrieked. It wasn't a smack, it stung! Burns spread along her skin and just as it would fade, another stinging lash would be applied heating up the previous burn. She rose onto the balls of her feet and hung onto the top chains as she jerked against each lash. She struggled not to turn away from it, remembering all too well what happened before. Mercifully, the stinging tails also landed on the backs of her untouched thighs, giving her rear a brief respite, but bringing new pain to unmarked flesh. The lashes continued over and over in a new pattern. Three across her buttocks and then three on each thigh. And just as she was able to adjust, the pain reaching a tolerable plateau, the intensity increased making her jump and wrung her limbs against the chains against each stroke.
When he finally stopped, her chest hitched with soft pants and sobs. Her backside felt hot as if she had stood with her back too close to an open fire. Was it over? Nottingham cupped her rear, examining his work as he did before. The brush of rough fingers on her tender skin made her whimper. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and she realized that her body was almost soaked with sweat. Nottingham's boots on the floor was almost deafening as he walked around to her front. Please, let him be done.
He touched her chin, raising her face and studying it. His eyes stared at her intently, seeking something in her eyes, his own body covered in a sheen of sweat too. Wet droplets rolled down from his neck across the broad field of his chest. He let go of her chin and stepped back planting his feet and cupped the tails of the flogger and let them go with a swing. The tails smacked across the front of her thighs. She leaned back with a yelp, but the chains were strong and held her in place for the following swings. It started with smacks, but then became painful stings and she could see how he controlled whether it thudded or stung. Just as the flogger swung, he flicked his wrist back just in time for the tips to catch her skin. She hissed through her teeth and yelped when it became too intense to be quiet. By the time he stopped, her thighs were as red as her backside. She could see little flecks of red where the tips had pricked the skin.
“Chin up, lean your head back.” Nottingham stepped closer, holding the flogger up in an overhand position.
No, she wanted it over. “Please, no more . . .”
“Suit yourself.” He swung the flogger forward.
The tails across across her right breast and she yelped. The tails landed across her already taut nipple sending shock waves throughout her chest. She quickly turned her face away just before another lash landed on her left breast. Her body jerked from each swing and shocks flared across her flesh as tender nipples were punished. Rakka leaned back, the chains at her wrists kept her from toppling backwards and she endured each assault on her breasts. When he stopped, her breasts were glowing bulbs and she hiccuped through her sobs, the chains at her wrists rattled from her shaking hands. Nottingham tucked the flogger handle into the silk waistband and step close to her. His large hand touched the small of her back, just above the glowing skin of her ass and the other touched her radiating breasts. Whines left her throat as he examined his work. A hard thumb flicked a tight nipple making her squirming and then he did the same to the other. She choked on ragged sobs and she begged him for it to be over.
He made a soft hushing noise as one would make to an unhappy child and bent his face to hers. A rough palm scraped the side of her face and ebony hair fell across her cheek and shoulder. The exotic scent of jasmine and sweat sent spirals down her throat and chest. When his lips touched hers, something ugly and twisted expanded through her like a black nova. Heat pulsated down to her core, but at the nucleus of this emotion was angry black hate. Reki's kiss was the last thing she had of her friend and just as the wingless took away Reki's blanket, this one was going to take the memory of Reki's last act of affection. Her teeth savagely caught his lip.
Nottingham jerked his head up and for the first time she saw emotions flash across his face. Surprise. Hurt. Concern. Then cold fury. A red line rolled from the corner of his lips.
“Did she bite you?” Mr. Irons sounded just as surprised as Nottingham first looked.
“It seems this one is still angry about my comment about cutting off her wings.” Nottingham licked the blood into his mouth.
Rakka felt ice slip down her spine and she dropped her eyes to her red thighs. Let them think what they wanted.
“So she finds her claws.” A smirk stretched across his lips and his eyes glittered. “Let's clip them. Instead of five strokes with the cane, let's make it twenty.” Mr. Irons rose from his chair, his robe whispering with the motion.
“The single tail whip will be sufficient.” Nottingham stepped out of her line of light. She could hear his boots on the floor carrying him to a far wall she couldn't see.
Mr. Irons' brows rose and a coy smile lightened his features. “I recall you saying that we should wait until she gained weight before we did anything more extreme than a light flogging.”
“I believe if she has the nerve to draw my blood, then she'll have the fortitude to withstand twenty lashes with a whip.” Nottingham returned offering a coiled whip to Mr. Irons. “I believe you'll want to do the honors.”
“I agree with your assessment.” The whip unravel with a fluid motion and lapped on at the floor as Mr. Irons inspected it. Then he threw his arm making it crack the floor causing her to flinch in horror.
Her teeth were chattering and a cold sweat broke out over her skin. She wanted to threw herself at their feet and beg for their forgiveness, telling them how sorry she was and how she would never do it again. Or beg them to go back to flogging her as before, but she was too frighten to speak, so frighten she might do something to earn more lashes. Mr. Irons placed the handle of the whip beneath her chin tilting her face up to meet his eyes.
“You're in no position to refuse anything we want.” Mr. Irons' voice was cold like the ice in his eyes. “You will accept everything we give you and will give everything we want from you. Consider yourself lucky that it was Nottingham you had bitten. If it had been me you would be receiving a hundred lashes.”
“I-I'm sorry, Mr. Irons,” she choked through a sob.
“Not yet, dear. Not yet.” Mr. Irons moved around the frame. She could hear the robe rustle with each step. “You'll apologize once it is done.”
She couldn't see it, but she could hear the whip slither on the floor. Nottingham was standing near the edge of the lighting watching. His face was set in a blank stare, but the edge of his mouth was still red and swollen. A servant standing by until his master finished with his work.
There was a high whistle and pain erupted across her lower back. She screamed, her body twisted against the chains making them rattle loudly against the frame. And then another line of pain flared across her skin. Neat straight lines of pink began to appear along her back, marching up her spine towards her wings. She wailed throwing herself against the chain's restraint as whips continued their merciless licks. Then as the whip marked the back of her thighs, the world fell away. It was a warm floaty feeling. Everything was distant from her as if she was miles away. The whip stung her back and she squirmed, but it wasn't just from the pain. It sent an waves of tingles through her body that almost tickled. And then after two more strikes, she barely felt her body. It was as if she were a set of eyes floating just seeing, not feeling.
She saw Nottingham approaching and Mr. Irons stepping around coiling the whip over his arm. Suddenly she had a body that ached and felt weak. Her wrists and ankles were bruised and chafed, her back bled, her rear and thighs were hotly sore, and her body was covered in a layer of sweat and tears. The only sound she could process was the flicking of her wings as they flicked as if desperate to fly her away from this cellar. She was lowered onto the ground and was slump onto her hands and knees.
Mr. Irons was talking to her. “Apologize to Nottingham. Show us how sorry you are for biting him.”
She recognized Nottingham by the crimson cloth that hunt from the front of his dark pants. She clumsily crawled towards him, her mind buzzing, but with purpose. She was tired and her body was beginning to ache, but this had to be done so she could rest. Sliding forward into a prostrating position, she reached for Nottingham who stood tall as an unfeeling statue of a Grecian God. She curled her hands around his ankle and kissed the toe of his boot. “'m sorry, Mr. Not'ham.”
Something was spiraling within her. It hurts but felt warm, a pleasant warmth as if being covered in a blanket and being held by someone she loved. Someone dear to her. Oh, Reki. Where are you? I need you so badly. Is this what dying feels like?
She couldn't hold her head up and found the top of Nottingham's boot was suitable enough for a makeshift pillow for her flushed brow. Her breasts didn't like being squashed against the cool floor, but as the darkness swam up to meet her, she really didn't care.
* * *
When the darkness let her rise to consciousness, she wished it would take her back. Everything was wrong. She hurt, but a warm euphoria coated glowed beneath her skin as if there was an interior light bulb radiating heat. Something was covering her, soft, smooth, and smelled good, but the scent was familiar and she associated it with something dangerous and hurtful.
The darkness buoyed her up as if she was floating on it like a drowned corpse. She recognized the blanket. It was the same blanket used to carry her to the limo and for the first time she realized it wasn't a blanket at all. It was a fine leather coat black as night and huge. It swallowed her up as if it was as big as a parachute. And she was being carried. Her eyes open slowly as if they were working with rusty hinges. She and the one who carried her was in the part of the manor where her room lay. Tilting her face over, she saw the lower half of a man's face. The mouth was dour and the corner of the lips was swollen and stained with a bit of blood. Nottingham.
She whimpered, fearful of further pain, and turned her face away. Nottingham whispered something to her she barely heard. It may have been an attempt to sooth her, but it did the opposite. It reminded her of his shushing her earlier and then trying to kiss her; to take away the last memory of Reki. Anger burned away the last traces of the darkness that held her and the euphoria vanished with it. Now she was left with anger, pain, and a heavy depression, a black hole in her heart that anything that would bring relief was caught by it's gravity and sucked away.
She began to cry.
This is where the poor girl would begged to go home or cry out for her mother or father. Rakka couldn't remember a home that was once a safe haven. All her memories were of the Room where tormentors came and went and the only guardian that came to mind that brought any consolation was Reki who had disappeared to an unknown fate. The sobs wracked her shoulders causing her wings to tilt with each rough cough.
“I want down,” she demanded, but with her weak soft voice, it came out as a plea.
“I'll put you down soon, love.”
Love? Love was in the arms of Reki who held her tenderly, Nemu who told stories to let her escape the Room with their imaginations, Kana's strength, Hikari's cheer, and Kuu's playfulness. No matter how horrible the Room was, love had been there. There was no love here.
The door to the girl's room was already open, likely left open for convenience by Diane. There was white clock setting on a shelf with thin hands pointing out the time, 11:04. There was no home for her to beg for, but she did pleaded for one thing. “Put me down.” He ignored her.
She just wanted to lie down and weep. Curl up in a tight ball of misery and console herself with tears. Instead of taking her to the bed as she expected, he carried her to an ivory door she hadn't had a chance to explore before. The door was cracked and there was light shining through the slit. Again, he used his shoulder to push it open and brought her into a bathroom. There was a white French tub with a bath already drawn. The leather coat was dropped away from her and the cold air assaulted her. She had never felt so cold before in her short life. It was a cold that reached not only through her skin but to her bones as well. Her teeth began to chatter and cringed against the only warmth close to her, Nottingham's torso. A round mirror above a skin gave her a quick glimpse of herself. Her eyes were red, swollen with tears and she was so small and weak in the arms of the tall man with the sweeping hair.
She was lowered feet first into the tub. Her knees and shins were the only part of her she could put her weight on without hurting. Lukewarm water crawled up to her chest and the warmth both sooth her cold flesh and made her sore skin ache. Nottingham was kneeling on the floor next to the tub reaching for a sponge set in a shallow dish at the tub's edge. She watched her tears drip into the bath water while the sponge was dipped in the same water. Better to bath her wounds in the salt of her tears it would seem. She flinched and moaned when the sponge, though soft, lightly scratched at the red weals at her back.
“Do you feel cold?” Dark silk flowed around her like a black night.
“Yes.” She was shaking now. Despite the warm water around her, she felt cold as she had ice for veins. “I want out.”
“In a minute.” The sponge continued scraping at the marks on her back and then moved around to the red specks on her stomach. “What is Reki?”
She looked up surprised. Rakka hadn't realized she had called Reki's name aloud for him to hear. “Nothing.” He didn't need to know and he didn't deserve to know about such a wonderful person as Reki.
The sponge squeezed against the back of her neck. Water sluiced down her chest and shoulders. Her wings were soaked in the water and caused ripples whenever the moved. “It sounds like something important to you. Or someone.”
Was he fishing for information? Was he curious or was he investigating for Mr. Irons? She felt spiteful, the anger still burned like a determine ember. First he tried to steal Reki's memory and now he was intruding where he wasn't wanted. She stayed silent with her head bowed. The sponge continued to release water over her neck and shoulders three more times before Nottingham let it float freely in the tub. Strong hands lifted her out of the tub as easily as if she was a kitten being taken from a basket.
She was set on a thick rug where she knelt placing her hands on the carpet to support her weight. She realized she was holding the same position as she did in the limo, head and shoulders bowed except there was no chain to keep her that way. Her own weariness and pain were the chains that bound her now. A fluffy towel draped over her. She cringed expecting it to be rubbed over her welts to dry her, but the towel remained on her skin absorbing the moisture from her skin and wings.
She heard him stand and watched him walk around her. He was collecting something from beside the sink. “Was Reki someone you shared a cell with?”
Rakka pressed her lips tightly together. Her fingers dug into the carpet threads so hard it hurt.
Nottingham was walking back around to her back. She sensed him sitting down behind her and the towel was drawn off her back. “Was Reki the dark winged one?”
Her head popped up in an uncontrollable action. Her wet wings spread, flicking water drops onto the floor.
His voice was dark silk sensuously unfurling. “So she was the one with dark wings.”
Her body had given away the secret. Something wet and burning touched her back as if punishing her reveal a secret. The cotton swab followed the welt line making her cry out. The swab continued mercilessly along the next welt and the next. Once her back was on fire, the swab moved down to her rear dabbing at her buttocks touching upon each red fleck caused by the tail tips. And then it moved around her waist to her stomach to the larger red spots.
It was almost like being whipped again. Almost.
She was wailing by the time he finished. Near the rug was a collection of bloody cotton balls smelling of rubbing alcohol. Again, Nottingham rose to his feet and this time he left the bathroom. She was relived, believing he would finally leave her alone, but then he returned with a mug. The soft scent of chocolate filled the air as he knelt in front of her and held out the mug. “Drink this.”

It was hot chocolate and it was still hot by the steam rising from the brown surface. At first, she wanted it. She couldn't remember ever tasting chocolate and only learned about it from the others telling her about it. And then came her rage. He was belittling her. The child is crying, give her a sweet so she'll be quiet. The child scrapped her knee, give her a cookie to make her feel better. The winged got whipped so let's give her hot chocolate! “I don't want it.”
“It'll make you feel better.” Then he told her about endorphins levels and other chemicals in her body had dropped and how hot chocolate had some of those chemicals that would help her balance for a bit until her body produces more. Until then, she was going to feel depressed and generally unhappy. She understood none of it. He was treating her like a child again, a poor naïve tearful child. Feeding her a whole load of rubbish to get her to comply with a request. “Just take a few sips.” The mug approached her lips as if he would hold her as she sipped. Like a child.
“No!” Without realizing what she was doing, her hand came up and shoved the mug away.
The mug tilted upward out of his hand and the hot chocolate was thrown upward in a brown silky arc. It splashed across his stomach and pants leg. Steam rolled off the stains and where it had landed on his skin was turning red. He didn't react even though the liquid was scalding him. She felt the full, almost unbearable, stony weight of his gray eyes on her and braced herself for a blow. There was a low hiss of him drawing air into his wide chest and then a second hiss of him exhaling said breath. It was like listening to a steam engine or a boiler releasing steam to keep from exploding. She remained still, like a rabbit hiding in the brush in the presence of a hungry predator. Then he reached for the discarded towel and cleaned the chocolate off his skin and dropped it aside.
He picked up a glass jar filled with a medicinal scented cream and began smearing it over her welts and marks. She remained still, expecting a blow up over the hot chocolate, but it never came. The balm eased the burning marks sending waves of relief. He didn't move behind her to to apply the medicine, he reached around her in a loose hug and smeared the medicine on the marks by memory. She smelled the lingering chocolate and sweat on his sculpted stomach. An unwanted flush of heat descended towards her stomach and she made herself ignore it.
Nottingham rose and drew her into a stand with him. The bedroom air was cool and comfortable. On the small round table was a tray laden with three croissants and an a small dish with butter and a smooth butter knife. There was even a glass of milk next to an empty spot where a mug of hot chocolate had been. She felt able to walk, though with some discomfort, with Nottingham moving close. “Go eat and try not to throw it at me.”
Her stomach gnawed with hunger. How long ago was it that Mr. Irons had fed her bits of bread in the limo? Hours? And before that was her small bowl of oatmeal. She made a short beeline for the table and ate. The bread was soft and fresh baked and with butter it was exquisite. And the milk was cool and sweet and she chugged it down with large gulps.

“You can read?”
She lowered the milk glass and turned to where he stood next to the stack of books she had selected earlier. He was holding and examining the top book titled Little Women.
“Yes,” she whispered setting the milk glass down, empty.
“Can you also tell time?” He laid the book down beside the stack.
“Yes.” She noticed that he wasn't insisting on saying his name with each response, but then he was just a servant while Mr. Irons was the master. Maybe he didn't have that right.
“Are you done eating?”
She looked down at the now empty tray. “Yes.”
“Then it's time for you to sleep.” His hand land across her shoulders and she started. She hadn't heard him move at all.
He directed her towards the bed which was looking very comfortable now. It seemed with each step towards it she was getting sleepier and sleepier. She began to suspect that there may have been a sedative in the milk, but then her day had been very long and arduous. The covers felt like silk to her hands and she was eager to crawl in and pull the white sheets around her.
“Are you still feeling cold?” His hand was at her back, but she didn't need it. She crawled onto the bed slipping herself between the covers and mattress. Laying on her side kept her from putting pressure on her back or front.
“Yes.” The sheets felt good against her skin, but she still felt cold and confused. One moment, she felt warm and then the next second she felt chilled.
“Do you want me to lie down with you?”
The very first thought she had after his inquiry was how would he fit? The bed was wide, but it was shorten for a girl's height. And once that thought pass, fear snagged her heart, and she shook her head, “No!”
“Alright.”
The calm lassitude had evaporated now and she shivered beneath the covers and not just from cold. She knew in her heart that was going to happen sooner or later. Though she had expected it soon after she was purchased, but it seemed Mr. Irons was more interested in seeing her flogged than bedding her. Maybe Nottingham really meant to just lie down next to her until she slept, but she saw him as another wingless, an abuser who flogged her and then got her whipped when she refused to exchange a kiss with him. And that was something that confused her. Mr. Irons had touched and caressed her, but hadn't shown her any further sign of affection. It was Nottingham after whipping her for a while that tried to kiss her. The man who had shown so little interest in her was now trying to maul her with unwanted affection. The kiss, calling her love, bathing her, the hot chocolate, and now offering to cuddle. What was it these men wanted from her? Mr. Irons and Mr. Nottingham.
“Is something wrong?” He was looming over the bed. The room was dim, but she could easily see his dark shape above her.
She couldn't get comfortable. For so long she had slept on a hard paved floor with only a blanket for comfort and this bed had too much 'give'. It was like she would sink into the mattress and her body kept being pushed and lowered out of the comfortable position she wanted. She shook her head, wanting him to leave her alone and let her sleep, or try to sleep at least.
“You haven't slept in a bed before, have you?”
She shook her head. Maybe she did way back in her missing memory.
The thick comforter was pulled away from her and the bed. She watched him spread it on the floor next to the bed and then before she get out of bed herself, he slipped his hands beneath her and lowered her onto the floor. It was better, much better than the bed. It was sturdy, but with the carpet it was comfortable enough to be luxurious for her. She enjoyed it when the other blankets flowed on top of her. Now she could sleep and drift back into the darkness.
As the darkness embraced her, she still felt Nottingham's presence nearby, as constant as a shadow. When she slept, she thankfully didn't dream though there was a constant threat, a danger stretching out before her like a ice cover lake. Take a wrong step and she would freeze to death before she drowned. The cold was possessing her body, like water rushing over stones.
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The Iron Cage