Forgiveness

Cheri snapped the last buckle into place. Her hand ran over the red leather as she smoothed it down. She hadn't really thanked Anissina for designing the outfit for her. Shinou only knew what she had assumed when the former Maou asked for the red leather number she now wore, but... In all probability, she had assumed correctly. One final look and a final touch and she was ready.

She opened the door to her dressing room and walked into the main sitting room of her apartment. The room was quiet, subdued. Gone were the usually vibrant colours that she favoured. Dark reds and silky blacks almost glowed in the candlelight, casting eerie shadows across the room. There was a haunted look to the room, dark and mysterious, dangerous.

A man walked towards her, a glass in each of his hands. She knew one was for her and took it when he offered. His fingers touched hers for the briefest of seconds before pulling back. It wasn't an intimacy so much as an understanding that she lived for the sensual things in life. She saw the darkness of his eyes, already swelled with desire and lust and smiled at him. He took her free hand and led her to one of her stuffed armchairs. Placing a kiss to her knuckles, he released her hand and moved to the center of the room.

Cheri took in his form as he moved. A subconscious grace filled his step as he moved. Gone was the usual awkwardness that he seemed to possess as he walked down the halls on his daily duties, although for the life of her, she had no idea what those duties could be. She watched the light play over his almost skin tight leather trousers as he turned to face her. Beside her co-conspirator for the evening hung another man. Manacles caught his wrists holding him upright but still his head, covered in a black silken hood, slumped forward. She could see the muscles straining down his legs as he balanced on just the balls of his feet, moving constantly to keep balance and to stave off the cramps.

Cheri nodded and watched as the light level grew slightly, making it easier to see. Her partner smiled as he caught the hood and pulled it off. By the noise that escaped the prisoner, he had been none to careful about not catching hair in his grip. Cheri stood, sipping from the glass of wine in her hand as she walked around the restrained man. He was naked, strongly muscled and defined. Scars peppered his skin, the legacy of the time that he had spent away from the castle and it's court. Her hand reached out tracing one of the larger scars that ran from between his shoulder blades to his arm pit. Surely the stroke of a sword. She could feel the trembling under her delicate touch. The warrior was scared and to be honest, she could not blame him.

She moved away, going back to her seat. She looked over at her companion again. He was seated on another armchair, just beside hers. She smiled at him. She took a moment to examine her partner. So much younger than her, but so much older too. He usually played the fool but occasionally pulled on the garb of the Great Sage. Two completely different personalities matched and meched under one guise. Tonight, however, there was no doubt which role he was in. Power flowed through him and not just Maryoku.

His voice was clear when he spoke. "Brischella Geigen Huber, you stand before us charged with treason. Is this correct?"

Huber did not raise his head, could not. His voice was barely more than a whisper as he spoke the affirmation.

Murata's eyebrow raised as he looked at Cheri. The man was almost buried in guilt. Banished from Shin Makoku first and told to find a lost treasure, a punishment that must have seemed endless. Finally, when he returned, he had attacked the Maou. Another crime punishable by the harshest punishment in their laws, death. Yuuri had forgiven him without question, easily. Too easily for Huber. Cheri had seen the guilt eating away at the man. He had walked away from his wife and stepped off the tallest tower they had, only to be rescued seconds from death. Punishment twarted. He tried to make himself useful but was dismissed time and again by the young Maou and by the head of his family, Gwendal. Yuuri she could forgive. He was still young and knew very little of what drove warriors and even less about human nature. Gwendal, however, should have recognized the warning signs.

Cheri's voice when she spoke was firm, hard. "Answer the question clearly!"

Huber tried again. "Yes, Geike!"

Murata continued. "You also stand charged with neglect for your wife and daughter, is this correct?"

Huber's head shot up, a question in his eye. He was unsure what the Sage was referring to. He had ensured that Nicola had more than enough money to survive. He had made it his first duty to sign over his family fortune to her.

"Ge... Geike?"

Cheri looked at Murata, her face impassive. He nodded to her.

"You regularly take jobs, dangerous jobs far from the castle." Cheri started. "Your wife and daughter are often left without a moments thought to their well being. Therefore, you are charged with neglect. How do you plead?"

Cheri watched the light in Huber's eye dim from questioning to acceptance. He was already a broken man.

"Guilty." His tone was tinged with sadness, no more than sadness.

Murata spoke again. "Do you know why you are here tonight?"

"You are going to punish me."

Murata stood, moving closer to the man and lifting his chin slightly until the man was looking at him.

"That is correct." His voice was cold. "Tonight, you will be punished. When we are done, you will be released and pardoned. That is assuming, of course, that you survive."

Cheri shivered in her seat. She was in on the plan but that did not help her. There was something deeply scary about the young man in front of her. Candlelight reflected off his glasses, shielding his eyes.

"Be aware, Brischella, this is not a game. There are no nice words that you can say and get us to stop. You are helpless hanging there until we decide to release you. Do you understand?"

Huber nodded once. True fear had started to enter his eyes. Murata held his hand out the Cheri. She rose, walking over to the Sage and taking his hand. His thumb ran over her hand, reassuring her. She forced a smile down at him.

Together they moved behind Huber and to a table covered in red silk. Under the cloth lay a multitude of toys and implements. Murata gestured to her to pick up anything she fancied. Her hand moved back and forward over the items, touching the leather and wood before settling on one of her favourite toys. It was a length of leather string, thin as wool but much stronger. She wrapped it around her hand, testing it and feeling the texture. Murata smiled at her choice but said nothing.

Cheri walked back to Huber, high heels clicking on the floor as she moved. As she moved around him, she let her hand caress him, running her fingers trace his muscles. She plucked at his nipples making them stand out before moving down. She traced a finger over the skin of his abdomen, letting it drift down further until it came across the thick, dark bed of curls. Lower she went until his shaft was surrounded by her hand.

Huber moaned at the contact, his eyes closing. Her hand, or the leather glove covering it was soft, but the seams excited him. Her hand pumped up and down, tightly clutching him. He bit his lip, not letting any sound out. He could already feel himself start to grow and swell. He felt something tickling him. He opened his eyes, looking down at the woman at his feet. He noticed a brown strand hanging from his shaft, just sitting there.

Cheri was looking up at him. She waited until she had his undivided attention before making her move. Satisfied with the girth and growth, she dropped his shaft, fingers going to the brown thong. She took both ends, adjusting them until she was satisfied. Then she started wrapping one end of the string around his shaft and balls. Each time it completed a circuit, she pulled it tight. Huber cried out each time she pulled the string. She knew that she was pulling brutally tight but that was the exercise of the game. Again and again, she did it. The thong circled the organs, then seperated the balls, taking away any of the slack that was usually present. She could already see the organs turning purple. Quickly she tied it off. She stood back to watch her handiwork.

Huber could feel his pulse in the organs. He could feel the almost painful tightness. It was distracting. He watched Cheri lean forward. She flicked one of his balls. Just a simple flick of thumb and forefinger. Huber cried out. What should have been of little consequence was agony. He looked at the former Maou. She was smiling.

Murata watched the little interplay from the sidelines, watching what she was planning before choosing his instrument of choice. His hand settled over a flogger. The thick handle fit his hand perfectly. A multitude of leather strings caressed his other hand as he ran it over his palm, testing it. He approached the man in front of him, letting a hand brush over his back first. Then his hand moved, rising and falling. The strands hit Huber's back, turning the skin red. Another stroke and another. White to pink to red. Huber arched himself, trying to minimize the area that the strands would hit, but Murata persevered. Practiced stroke after practiced stroke rose and fell.

Cheri, meanwhile, kept playing with his balls, flicking at irregular intervals. She knew it was painful but kept at it. She could hear the strokes that Murata was placing on Huber's back. Two strokes. Flick. Three strokes. Flick. Ten strokes. Flick. One stroke. Flick. She could feel his muscles trembling again as he tried to move, tried to stay still. If he moved too much, he would lose his footing, leaving him open, vulnerable as he tried to regain it.

And so the evening progressed. Instrument after brutal instrument was pulled out and used. Bruises turned to welts. Welts turned to cuts. Blood ran from too many places. Thighs, back, stomach, calves. Everything hurt. His shoulders were just a mass of pain. He was limp now as he hung from the ceiling as the first rays of dawn peeked through the heavy curtains.

Murata looked at Cheri and they nodded at each other. It was done. Now, was time for treatment of a different kind. They had broken the man down to his basest pieces. There was one final task to do. Murata stretched out a hand, and with it his power. Huber, untouched by hands, rose as manacles unlocked themselves. Murata floated him over to Cheri's bedchamber, placing him on the sheets there.

Cheri ran to the bathroom, taking a moment to strip out of her leather suit. She would need to rub it down later but for now, there were more pressing issues. She filled a basin with water and throwing on a robe, made her way back to her bedroom.

Murata had also shrugged off his dark clothing, sitting there now in pyjama bottoms. He held cloths in his hands. Wordlessly, they took the cloths and wet them. They carefully tended to Huber. Washing and healing his wounds.

The water ran red before they were finished but finally it was done. The broken man before them was whole again, at least in body. They constantly whispered in his ear. Reassuring him. Comforting him. His punishment was over. He could now move on.

The water was thrown away and the cloths went to join the outfit that Cheri had worn in the bathtub. She moved back to the two men in the bedroom. Murata was now stretched out beside Huber. Huber was on his side, curled into the younger man, his head on his chest. Murata was whispering quietly, still reassuring the man. His hand was rubbing over Huber's back. Cheri smiled as she watched them before going over to the bed herself. She pulled up a comforter over their bodies as she curled into Huber as well, her own hands running over the man's strong arm. Her own voice joining Murata's in reeassuring the man that he could go on with his life.

He had gone through hell and come out the other side. It just remained to see whether it had been enough.

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