The door swung closed, locked on the outside.
Sun refracting in through old glass windows.
Shelves holding layers of dry wood shavings.
Feeling the dust, the sun, the smallness of the shed.
Looking out over fields and paddocks.
Perhaps today someone will see her at the window.
What they would do if they did.
For the door to the unlocked again.
What was this wee tale? You can take anything you want from it – kinky punishment; non-consensual horrific slavery; or objectification play (a tool put away for later use). I was coming from the latter perspective as I wrote, but that doesn’t mean any other perspectives aren’t valid!
Photographed by Kiana in the same place as the pics for the Bordello. And there are click-throughs, too.