Bondage Short Story by Simone Francis

The world fades. What is this place? We walk through large rooms with high, once white ceilings that are faded to parchment cream. All around paint and wallpaper is peeling and the once polished floors crunch with debris under my high heels. Most of the rooms are empty apart from the occasional piece of dust covered furniture shrouded as if their owners intended to one day return and reclaim them. As long as it is not today I think. In my nose there is the stale smell of neglect. Beneath my heavy coat the knots that hold me tighten. Rope bites pulling soft skin into leather wrinkles. Time seems to slip away. I feel our hosts from the past watching me, the only clue to our purpose, the gag between my teeth its buckle behind my head catching strands of hair causing pinpricks on my scalp.