Dereliction was his forte, an old familiar home that he could return to if he was ever running low on ideas. Everything he would do to her would bring life into sharp relief, have her body flare brightly as sensation overran it, and it seemed only appropriate that dereliction would be the backdrop. So much life needed to be balanced by so much neglect, places forgotten, dropped out of the present.
There was a smell to the building that he found comforting, the dusty hug of some matriarch holding you tight to her bosom. Only the heat was long gone from this place, and there was something deathly about the cloy. But the sunlight bleached it all sterile, chasing the shadows away and leaving whatever dread remained here impotent, some sulking juvenile in the corner. Somehow petty.
It forced a spotlight on the pair; him suited and safe, her all but naked and on her knees. Exposed, bared, the sunlight spilling over her with the same purging bright that took away the fear inherent in the building. She followed him with the kind of reverence you’d save for a sepulcher, and it was only when they were deep in the building that he stopped.
There was nothing remarkable about the room; it could have been one of the many that they’d already passed through, except for the duffel bag sitting in the corner. He let go of her hair and wandered over to it, taking out his tools and brushing an area on the floor clean so he could lay them out. Paddle, flogger, swatch, cane. Gag. Vibrator.
Finally he brought out a sheet, and cleared a space in the middle of the room. He lay it down calmly, with a professional efficiency, and then pinned the corners to the yellowed floorboards. He patted the center, and she shuffled over to it.
“Turn around, show me that beautiful bottom.” Every word seemed almost offensive, sound seeming as alien to this place as the two of them. Trespassing.
But she did what he told, regardless. Turning around slowly, before arching her back and bearing her rear to him. He took up one of the tools, and brought it down sharply on her. The sound cracked, and for a moment it sounded as if it came from the building itself, bits and pieces of it creaking under the weight of so many forgotten years. Another offense. She gasped, squirming slightly before she came to rest.
And then another came. It seemed like it would be an offensive afternoon.