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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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She slept in waves. Pain would sometimes erode her sleep and she would wake up momentarily only to be dragged back down into slumber by her weariness and the sedatives. The bedroom would swim about her eyes and sometimes she saw Nottingham sitting near her and other times he was gone. The darkness was cradling her, giving her respite from her fears and grieving, it was a dark peace she never wanted to leave. But like all good things, it inevitably came to an end when she opened her eyes and was fully awake. She winced from the stinging sensation at her rear and lower back. Her pains were instantly forgotten once she saw a glorious light beaming through the window. She scrabbled to her feet and almost ran to the window in her haste to see it. With hands pressed against the glass, she saw the outside for the first time.
A brilliant blue covered the sky with a gleaming yellow eye which hurt if she stare directly at it. Bright green grass covered the ground looking soft and deep with stray flowers springing up from the turf. A row of white lilies was planted just beneath the window bobbed lightly in a small breeze. Their petals glow like ethereal ghosts and if Rakka breathed deep, she could believe she could smell their fragrance. A soft warm spring scent that flowed through her spirit giving her a sense of calm that she hadn't known since she could remember. She spent several minutes staring in wonder at a world she had only heard of in Nemu's stories before she remembered she had to contend with the darker world she was trapped in.
She noticed for the first time a white sundress stretched across the bed. On the table was a tray of food along with a folded piece of paper. She picked up the paper and read its contents.
Eat.
Bathe.
Dress.
A servant will take you outside for a short while.
Any disobedience will be punished upon our return.
Mr. Irons and Nottingham was away and she felt safer for it, almost happy. The food looked good; grilled chicken atop of fried rice and vegetables with a glass of milk. She couldn't help herself, she wolf down every bite and downed it all with the milk. When she finished eating she stared down at the plate and empty glass and wished she had more to eat, but her stomach was satisfied. Next was bathing, the first bath she would have that didn't come from the end of a hose. As the tub filled, she checked her backside in the mirror. The inflammation had gone away leaving behind bruises and scabs where the skin had broken during the flogging. The warm water was soothing for the bruises and eased the soreness. She leaned her head back and let the water take her downward.
Her heartbeat carried by the water thrummed in her ears and the water's heat warmed her flesh. A memory floated to her from a dark abyss that covered her past. She had floated like this before, at the beginning, or was it the end? Water as warm as this surrounded her and she didn't have to hold her breathe. She could breath it as easily as she could air. It was strange at first, but she wasn't afraid. Someone was looking after her, protecting her. Suddenly, her chest seized and she threw her head up splashing water over the bathroom tiles sputtering and coughing. She had tried to breath in the water from the tub. Wiping the water from her eyes, she took deep ragged breaths to refill her lungs. Now she felt more alone than before. No one was looking after her or protecting her. All there were was the tormentors.
She finished her bath and toweled off. Her wings flickered, shaking off water as a bathing bird, then she brushed her wet hair. The panties fitted her perfectly, but the dress seemed to be meant for a taller girl. Often she would have to move the straps back onto her shoulders and the skirt ended just below her knees. At the floor was a pair of wooden sandals with white straps over the foot which fitted her well. She glanced at the clock and wondered when she would go outside. The clock pointed out 8:47 with dainty hands. Perhaps it was later near noon that she would go outside.
She spent the next two hours reading Little Women or gazing outside watching dark birds gracing the sky in flurries of black specks. She was entertained when a small brown rabbit appeared at the garden's edge grooming its long ears and nibbling grass. It hopped close towards the line of lilies and Rakka's longed to pick it up and pet it. There was a loud squawk and a swooping figure startled the rabbit and it scurried away. A large black crow perched on the window sill flapping its ebony wings before folding them against its black black body and regarding her with tiny eyes. Rakka stared at it, a forgotten memory brushed the edges of her mind, but never came to fruition. The bird pecked lightly at the window glass as if trying to touch her. The bedroom door open and the bird flew away.
It wasn't Diane, it was a younger homely woman wearing a similar black dress. “Come with me.”
At least the woman was quiet and didn't offer any unwanted cheerful endearments. She seemed to content to take Rakka from her bedroom down the long hall towards a white door leading out into a verandah. The woman pointed told her, “You'll be out for two hours, then I will come take you back inside. I will ring a bell so listen for it.” Then she turned and went back inside shutting the door behind her.
Rakka stood numbly on the verandah. The garden was so open without boundaries and there were no restraints or leashes. She was free to go where she wanted, within the garden. After taking a experimental step, she set food on the grass and marveled at the unevenness of the ground beneath her sandal. Bending down, she touched the springy grass and marvel how both soft and scratchy. She slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot through the grass. The grass tickled her soles and toes and she tread towards a marble bird bath where sadly no birds were bathing. But she did recognize a patch of lilies beneath a window. She approached the window and looked in. The room was pretty, but it was dim like a cell. She didn't stare at it too long, it made her sad to think she would have to go back into that bleak room.
She picked a lily from the garden and held it to her nose. The fragrance filled her nose and she twirled the stem so the petals tickled her lips and nose. There was a small pond several yards away where a turtle was bobbing to the surface taking a breath. She knelt at the edge and teased the turtle with the lily, lightly tickling it's small head with the petals. She gasped when it savagely bit a petal and devoured it with gusto. The turtle ate the rest of the lily and Rakka was content to watch it eat. It allowed her to ignore the soreness in her thighs and backside and the knowledge that this peace would end once Mr. Irons and Nottingham came back. She watched the turtle swim before turning her attention skyward.
She saw Diane watching her from western second story window. She waved when Rakka looked up and the girl felt obligated to wave back. It unnerved her to be watched and it brought a question of why it wasn't Diane that brought her outside. The woman was looking at her with desire. Not a sexual desire as she had seen in the eyes of wingless from the Room or in Mr. Irons, but a desire to nurture. To Rakka, nurture also means to protect and Diane didn't protect her last night. She took her straight into the hands of the ones who caused the bruises on her backside. Rakka turned away and listened to the birdsong that filled the garden.
Birds sang their songs to one another and she followed them with sandals in hand along a cobbled path. It felt bumpy and almost too hot for her feet, but she didn't want to put her sandals on right now. The path led her to a chained iron gate. The black bars were dark slashes in the sunny day and she approached them touching the metal which was surprising cool. It was set into an old stone wall with vines climbing along the rough surfaces. She pulled on the gate, the chain kept it from opening completely, but there was enough space for her to easily slip through. Shocks electrified her as she realized the possibility of escape, to flee.
The though of escape was so foreign to her, it took several moments for her to absorb it. Thoughts of her fleeing through the field beyond the gate and just to keep going and going away from any wingless. Maybe she could find Reki and then Kuu, Nemu, and the others. They could be together and live freely and be outside whenever they want and not fear being hurt. The fantasy was so real for her she was almost ready to kneel and squeeze through the opening and then reality set in and it was like cold water poured over her. Mr. Irons would find her and when he did, he would punish her. If he didn't, then Nottingham would find her and bring her back. She had no idea where Reki was and how far away she could be. The name Nathan Coldstone meant nothing for her, but Mr. Irons seemed to know the name. She could ask him, if she could bring up the courage to do so. And would he tell her? He wanted Reki instead, maybe he could find Reki and buy her like he bought Rakka. They could be together that way. She let the gate clang shut and pressed her brow against the metal bar until a distant bell summoned her.
She quickly slipped on her sandals so she could run without hurting her feet and hurried back to the verandah where the homely woman was ringing a hand bell. Without a word, she was led back to the bedroom and the woman shut and lock the door behind her. The bed had been made up since while she was outside. Looking at the bed made Rakka feel tired, but didn't want to sleep. She spent that afternoon reading until a dinner was brought to her by the homely woman. It was a bowl of soup with fresh baked bread and another glass of milk. She gratefully ate the meal, anything but oatmeal. Rakka silently pledged she would never eat oatmeal again as long as she had access to delicious foods like this. She hoped that Reki was eating good foods too.
When the clock struck 9:54, Rakka yawned and set her book aside on the bedside table. She wasn't provided any sleeping garments so she shucked off the sundress and crawled into bed. She had spent the day switching between reading at the window and on the bed. Tonight, she wanted to try sleeping on a bed. She was eating good food, she should also enjoy wearing clothes and sleep in comfort. The blankets whispered as she moved her limbs beneath the silky sheets and nuzzled the goose down pillows. It took some getting used to, but she was able to rest comfortably and drift off to sleep.
She didn't dream.
The sound of the door unlocking roused her from her sleep. Startled, she sat up with the covers clutched to her chest. The door open momentarily spilling bright light into the room and a broad figure stepped inside as casually as if entering his own bedroom. Mr. Irons shut the door behind him and locked it. The room was dim, but moonlight from the window allowed her to see him almost clearly. He was wearing a beige suit with a dark tie which he began to loosen. His movements were slow, non-threatening, but they terrified Rakka.
“Usually when someone returns home, it's considered etiquette to ask about their day.” Mr. Irons drew the tie from his throat and laid it over the back of a chair.
She couldn't speak. Her lips refused to form the any words at all. It was like there was a thick knot in her throat and her lips were numb. She thought she had prepared herself for this. She had imagined she would be ready when the time came, but now that it was here, she wasn't ready for it all. She didn't want it.
He was opening his coat and spoke as if she had granted him his inquiry. “I spent the last eight hours haggling with decrepit collectors who fancy themselves scholars of the age. I spent a fortune on them and will spend months translating them to glean information I may already have.” His coat slid off his large shoulders and he hung it over the chair. He turned his eyes on her and with his left hand began unbuttoning his dress shirt. “Needless to say, I am a bit stressed at the moment.”
She noticed at the end of his right sleeve was no hand. When he shouldered off the dress shirt she could see the jagged stump. Tattooed from the wrist down to the elbow was red archaic runes and she would swear she saw them glowed if only for a moment in he moonlight. The dress shirt draped over the chair along with the coat and tie and it was followed by the clop of his shoes being kicked off. “I wanted the dark wing girl, Reki, as you called her. I had special plans for her, but alas, her fate lay elsewhere.”
So Nottingham told Mr. Irons about Reki. It figures. It felt . . . wrong, bad, for Mr. Irons to say Reki's name. Like he was using her name in a patronizing way. Like using a distasteful child's nickname when their given name was considered more appropriate. This would be a good moment to ask about Reki, about Nathan Coldstone, but Rakka couldn't bring herself to speak the questions. Fear made her keep her silence and she could only watch him approach her. He was undoing the belt buckle and opening his trousers.
“You're a rarity, I'll grant you that. You can't fulfill the plans I had for the Reki girl, but you have your purposes. Namely stress relief.”
The bathroom door was just a few feet away as a convenience if the bedroom owner should ever awaken with a need to use the toilet. She could get inside and maybe lock the door . . . he only has one hand, she could get away. Just as she lunged forward to leap out of bed for the white door, a large, powerful, and merciless hand caught her by the throat and shoved her back against the mattress and pinned her head against the pillow. Mr. Irons' face hovered close to hers and there was a gleam, faint, but very present, behind his eyes casting them into a wine color glow. She heard the jingle and sigh of his trousers falling down his legs soon followed by the mattress shifting beneath her as he added his weight to it.
Mr. Irons' water over stones voice was gone when he spoke to her. It was a new voice, quite the opposite of the fluid and flexible one he used when he spoke to Mrs. Bradford over the speaker in the limo. It was red hot iron being cast into water, hard with a sibilant hiss. “You're going to lay still and let what is going to happen to you happen. I may not let Nottingham mutilate you, but don't think I won't have any misgivings about doing it myself.”
He wasn't choking her, but all the same she couldn't breath. It was as if her lungs had forgotten how to draw breath. Then Mr. Irons relaxed his grip and drew his hand down her chest. A hard thumb rolled over a nipple bringing it to a tight peak and his face lowered over hers. His teeth nearly scrapped hers as he seized her mouth in a deep, bruising kiss. She whined against his mouth and knew if she bit him as she had done to Nottingham, he would kill her. His mouth finally left hers and moved to her neck where he left dark marks she would later see in a mirror. Rakka looked up at the ceiling and tried not to feel his mouth and teeth on her neck, not to smell his cologne, and not to still taste the brandy he had drank before coming to her room, but her body was too sensitive to allow her mind to leave what was happening.
He was everywhere, assaulting all of her senses with his presence. The skin of his hands on her skin, the taste of his mouth on her tongue, his heavy breathing in her ears, his sweat and cologne in her nose. Her eyes could only see him. His broad frame covering hers, his cold blue eyes tracing her body, and pale hair gleaming in the moonlight. She felt him grow hard against her belly with a damp spot where his precum was wetting the silk underwear. His teeth closed over the pulse in her neck, his tongue teasing the small and fast throbbing spot before reaching between them and lowering his silk boxers.
“Please, Mr. Irons, I don't want this . . .”
“Yes, you do.” His hand cupped the side of her face, and ice cold blue eyes met her soft brown ones. His breath blew on her lips as he spoke. “I saw it in your eyes the moment you were brought before me. You were soaking wet with desire for me, but you were so greedy, you also wanted Nottingham. You held onto my leg and looked at us with such longing and need and so young and innocent, like a kitten going into heat for the first time.”
No, that wasn't true! She didn't feel anything like that!
Yet, she remembered seeing them for the first time. Seeing they were men, noticing their masculinity and virility made her blood run hot. They had frightened her, but they had also intrigued her. When Mr. Irons had given her his attention, ignoring the wingless woman who brought her, there had been pride and satisfaction when she pleased him with her poise and obedience. And she had wanted to touch him! She clung to his leg and took pleasure in feeling his solid muscle with her thin arms and the pressure of his knee against her cheek. When he had fed her pieces of bread in the car, she had taken delight in not just the bread, but his attention to her. She had wanted to please him! To keep his attention on her! Was what he said true? Did she want him to do this? Then why was she so scared of it?
His one hand curled over her knee and slid down her inner thigh. Rakka gasped as her sex was stroked sending a familiar flicker of fire through her stomach. His voice was soft now, fluid with that friendly facade he employed on Mrs. Bradford, but there was a sharp edge to it. “You're flowing like a river.”
Then he positioned his body over hers. Before Rakka would utter any protest, he thrust inside, tearing through her hymen in one sharp motion. Her eyes widen at the intrusion. Her flesh was stretched and parted to accommodate his girth. Parts of her body that had always been unknown to her was prodded and rubbed eliciting gasps and moans. There was sharp pain ebbed around her sex where her hymen had broken. Mr. Irons flexed his hips reveling in her virgin flesh and then began rhythmic strokes.
Rakka cried out against each thrust, her heels dug into the mattress while her hands shoved at his shoulders. Mr. Irons' face switched from a lax reflection of elation to a harsh glare. He raised a hand and the room cracked with the sound of flesh being slapped. Rakka's head rocked to the side and she tasted blood in her mouth.
“Be still,” he hissed savagely at her.
She offered no further refusal as he resumed the gyration of his hips. Her chest hitches from sobs and she cried out when a spot inside was hit sending a flare of twisted pleasure into her belly. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for it to be over. Pressure was building inside her, waves of liquid pleasure churned and then erupted into ripples of ecstasy across her body. Her hands clenched into the bed sheet beneath her it all washed over her and crescendo of pleasure reached its peak and descended to a lower plateau. And when she thought whatever it was had finished, it happened again. Rising to a wonderful peak and stayed there for several incredible seconds and then lowered again. It happened once more just as Mr. Irons thrusts came in harder and deeper pushing against the end of her canal and incredible warmth pooled inside her as he uttered a throaty groan before collapsing on top of her.
Their heavy breathing filled the room. Mr. Irons rolled off her stretching out beside her with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Rakka rolled onto her side and curled up whimpering, fighting the tears that threaten to come. He sat up, beads of sweat rolling down his muscular body and reached for a tissue box, snatching a few sheets. Streaks of virginal blood covered his now flaccid member and he cleaned himself. Once he finished, he dropped the tissues into a wastebasket and pulled his boxers up and collected his pants.
“I don't mind a little resistance from time to time,” he said as he pulled his pants up and buckled the belt. “It adds a bit of spice to the pleasure, but next time, I expect you to receive me with open arms.”
He stepped into his shoes and collected his shirt, coat, and tie and left, locking the door behind him. When she could no longer hear his footsteps in the hall, she burst into tears. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom where she grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped herself. The paper came away wet with thick white fluid and her blood. She continued to wipe herself, but more and more of the warm sticky fluid kept trickling out. Then she filled the tub with hot water, as hot as she could stand. She didn't care if her skin turned bright pink from the scalding water, she wanted the top layer of her skin scrubbed away, wash away any remaining traces of his sweat on her. She scrubbed vigorously at her skin especially at the spots where he had touched her until they hurt. All the while she cried. Not soft little sobs or sniffles, but loud wailing like a wounded animal.
What was wrong with her!? How could she feel like that while he . . .Mr. Irons . . .while that was happening to her!?
When she had nearly scrubbed her skin raw, her weeping reduced to breathless sobs and hugged her knees against her chest. She wanted Reki. Reki would hold her and tell her she would be alright. And she would believe Reki's beautiful lie and feel better. She felt wounded down to her soul, there was a taint, a mark on her that would never wash away not even if she scrubbed the flesh from her bones.
The bedroom door was being unlocked.
Was that Mr. Irons coming back? No. It was Nottingham.
She didn't know how she knew, but she did. She knew it was the tall dark hair man coming into her bedroom. She knew his eyes was scanning the room looking for her and it wouldn't be too long before he saw the light at the bottom of the bathroom door.
It was his turn. Mr. Irons got to go first and not Nottingham had come for his turn.
NO!!!!
She threw herself out of the tub. The splash would tell him she was in here if he hadn't already noticed. Her wet foot slipped on the tiles and she skidded and hit the wall. She grappled for something to halt her fall and grabbed the towel rack. The sudden plummet of her weight was enough to jerk it from the wall and it fell towels and all to the floor with her. The fall knocked the wind out of her and she panted relearning how to breath and lifted her head in time to see the door knob turn.
She scrambled with a speed she didn't know she possessed. The door was beginning to open, but she threw herself against and slammed it shut. “Go away!”
Nottingham's dark silk voice spoke through a door. “I heard a crash.”
“It's fine, go away!” She yelled putting her full weight against the door with all her strength, but despaired knowing it wouldn't be enough to deter him.
The door knob turned and she reached up to grab it, preventing it from turning.
“Go away! Please, go away!” She would die if he came in and did to her what Mr. Irons did. She couldn't bear it so soon after.
“I need to make sure you're alright.”
“I'm fine! Go away! I don't need help . . .I don't need help from a DAMN WINGLESS!” She screamed the last words with all the hatred and anger in her heart she held towards him and all her tormentors.
There was silence. Her heard pounded in her ears and her heavy breathing rattled in her chest. Then he said, “I'm leaving, Rakka.”
She didn't relax her grip on the door until she heard the bedroom door open and shut followed by the lock. She sagged to the floor almost delirious with relief. She dragged the towels from where they fell and made a nest at the foot of the door and slept there. If Nottingham or Mr. Irons tried to come back and open the door, she could wake up and try to keep them out. For what good it could do.
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The Iron Cage