A crime in BDSM form

The MP stood aside to let the police in. He said that he’d found her after turning up for a dinner date (not romantic, he stressed. Purely business. We just needed to compare notes on an upcoming event) and finding her door open. He walked in, calling her name. He could tell that something was off, but he was a decent guy and couldn’t just turn around and leave. And then he found her. Swinging from a bizarre contraption in her bedroom. It was like a cross between a sex swing and an interrogation device from the Inquisition.  

Several detectives paled on seeing the aftermath. One had to step into the bathroom to vomit. Ada Bryce specialised in serious assault cases and had seen it all, so to speak, so she felt only sadness on seeing this young woman trussed up. Sadness, and revulsion at the MP currently sat in the victim’s living room, head in his hands.  
 
She studied him as if he was a moth, splayed out for analysis between slides of glass. He was tall, tanned, handsome in a vacant sort of way, without charm. She had a feeling he could turn it on, though, in front of a crowd or a journalist. ‘How long has she been dead?’ said Ada.  
 
‘How would I know?’ he said.  
 
‘Because you’re missing a cuff link.’ He instinctively looked at his left wrist, and she knew she had him. ‘Did you really think you’d get away with it?’ she said, becoming sadistic. ‘There’s CCTV from the hallway alone that puts you outside this apartment an hour before you said you came here. Then there’s the cufflink. It came off in your panic when you were trying to free that poor woman from that medieval torture device in there, after it all went wrong. We found it under the bed.’  
 
He sat silently now, a certain smugness to his countenance as he prepared to ask for his lawyer. Beside them was a large picture window overlooking Central London, with all its angular and concrete features. It was a grey and drizzly afternoon.  
 
There was a picture of the victim, who'd been the MP’s intern since leaving Oxford a year ago, on the coffee table. She was stood with her mother, a plump and cheerful, middle-aged woman. They both held puppies in their arms. The MP hadn't noticed it.  
 
‘What I want to know is, what made you think that you could just lie your way out of this?’  
 
‘I want to see my...’  
 
‘Lawyer. Got it. Before he gets here, though, I might as well be upfront about this. You won't be leaving here. Ever.’  
 
He looked at her, and then belched out a blasphemy as the dead woman, his intern, walked out of her bedroom. Her neck was still discoloured where he’d snapped it, but shades don't need bones. Their bodies stay upright on willpower alone.  
 
The MP looked around the flat for someone to save him, but he was alone with Ada and the dead woman, whose naked body held no erotic charm for him now. ‘All I ever wanted was to do the right thing’ she said. ‘All I ever wanted was to be the best version of myself. And now my mother has to bury me.’  
 
He thought about running for the door, but just like in a nightmare, his legs were leaden. Ada put a hand on the corpse’s shoulder. ‘And she would have had to watch as your boss’ lawyer showed everyone that vibrator your best mate bought you as a joke, and your dog-eared copy of an erotic fantasy novel, and used them to make out like you wanted it really.’  
 
The two of them grabbed the MP, surprisingly strong for souls without flesh, and dragged him screaming towards the device. Central London looked on, none of the office workers in the distance bothering to pick out one window among hundreds, even thousands.

He was waiting for her
in the apartment,
smart suited enough
to know about property.
The rain hadn't stopped,
Claire burst through the door
as colourful as her language.
Jesus Christ I'm soaked.
This friggin dump better be worth it.

Oh wow, she forgot the rain
forgot her wet clothes.
Its fabulous, can we take it?
I haven't shown you the rest
of the place yet, he laughed.
Reaching for a bottle of champagne
and two glasses, he followed her into the bedroom.
A toast to our meeting place.
Oh you are naughty, you knew I'd love it.
She spun like a child too small
for her mothers dress and shoes.
As the glass emptied
she hit the floor.

Over a pint the boys swapped stories.
How's Claire these days?
Ah yes, Claire, she wasn't really right for me,
too fat I thought, and her nose was to big, check bones?
well, lets say she needed a lot of work.
You bloody surgeons, always wanting
to slice things up.
Anyway, whatever happened to Helen
If I remember right
you said the same things about her.
Funny you should ask about Helen,
actually I'm visiting Helen tonight.
she seems to have been tied up forever
and you wouldn't recognise her,
another pint?

 
He was becoming a rising star in the fashion world
A shoe designer with great taste many could afford
He had received accolades and gifts from many artists
Expensive art, collectibles, cars, even a samurai sword

But as eccentric as he was, Jefforey had a secret desire
He loved his models to have petite and flawless feet
Sometimes he would pay to have special private sessions
And he would pay generously to keep this discreet

But this all changed when he met his new assistant
Not a model or socialiate or a movie star like the rest
She had the perfect symmetry he thought in his heart
And unbeknownt to him, Jefforey had become obsessed

Possessed, one night he finally made her “thee” offer
Two million dollars to spend the night as he pleased
She knew she would never ever see that kind of money
So she accepted and for a whole we week she teased

The night of the contract she showed up to his office
He had prepared red rope, chains, feathers and whips
Jefforey had become an expert in the art of Shibari
But he mostly wanted to workship her feet with his lips

As she lay naked, he slowly, blisfully and torturoulsy tied her
Each bind was tight and perfectly secured around her body
Wrists, waist, hips, breasts, buttocks, ankles and knees
The complete and total subjugation made her feel naughty

As he tied the rope around her ankles he noticed something
It seemed the night before his assistant got a small tattoo
And this enraged Jefforey to the point he started yelling
While she became terrified, all tied up unable to move

With the sword he hacked off the foot and she screamed in pain
He took the severed limb, escaped and was never seen again