Well you guys asked for it. If you can actually take this seriously all the way through, then you're much more mature than I. :p
As usual Murdoch found himself working late in his office. The current case was a very troubling one and he had yet to make any headway in solving it. Arms crossed, he intensely stared at his blackboard for an unknown length of time. A knock at the door roused him from his increasingly hazed reverie.
Murdoch cocked his head to the side to find his wife standing there with a black bag in her hands. She seemed to be very pleased with herself but trying not to show it. The source of this contentment he had no clue, just like this case.
"Good evening, William," she said, coming over to his side.
He took her free hand and kissed it. "The same to you, Mrs. Murdoch. How was your day?"
"Rather productive. And you?"
Murdoch scowled. "The opposite unfortunately." He pointed to the bag. "What have you got there?"
Julia smiled in a mischievous way. "Something to lift your spirits." Instead of elaborating she glanced around the station house and asked, "Are we quite alone?"
"I don't know," he said gesturing to the blackboard, "I've been fairly preoccupied."
"Well, then, I'll just need to do a quick sweep of our surroundings."
With bag still in hand, she hurried up the stairs to the water closet and changing area. A few seconds later she returned with a grin and held out her hand.
"Julia?" he queried as he took it.
When she led him towards the interview room he suddenly understood what this was all about and put on the brakes, feeling intensely flustered and hot under the collar.
"This is my place of business, Julia, we can't do this here."
"No one need ever know," she whispered seductively in his ear.
The hairs on the back of his neck were thrilled and so was he. Going against his better judgement, he nodded. She put the black bag on the ground and swiftly undid his tie. Before he knew what was happening she had gone behind him and blind folded him with it!
"Julia..."
"Trust me, William, you're going to enjoy this."
She took his hand again, led him into the interview room and sat him down. Then there was a series of rustling noises and clothing clearly being discarded and his heart rate rose accordingly.
"May I look now?"
"Not just yet." He heard heavy boots making their way over to the light switch and then things really got dark. Whereas before he could see some shadows, he could now see absolutely nothing. His sense of foreboding increased.
"Julia?"
A hand to his shoulder. "Everything is fine, William. Just relax."
A few moments later there was the sound of a match being struck and he perceived a dim lighting in the far corner of the room. The faint smell of kerosene permeated the air.
The heavy boots thumped towards him and then he felt the cold sting of a metal clasp around one of his wrists. The other end of the handcuffs was quickly secured to the side of the table.
"Was that really necessary, Julia?"
"Yes, extremely. You are now my prisoner."
Finally his tie was extracted and tossed on the table before them. Julia stayed off to the side of the lantern so that she was silhouetted in a sensuous and somewhat disturbing manner.
Then in an eerily reminiscent way as the first chloroform induced fantasy, she walked into full view, slapping her hand with a police issued baton that she must have borrowed when she had gone upstairs. Unlike his fantasy though, she was dressed far more provocatively with only a hint of the outfit he had come to recognize her in.
Is that leather?
Besides the old issue constable's helmet residing on her head, she looked nothing like any police officer he had ever seen. And he was glad for it. Her arousing attire served to put him at his ease...or at least briefly distract him from what was going to happen next.
Julia's face was a mask. "Thought you could get away from me, did you?"
He shook his head, open mouthed.
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know damn well what!" she shouted, jabbing the baton into his cheek. "You killed a girl!"
Murdoch took a moment to compose himself and attempt to play along. "You're mistaken. I would never do such a thing."
"All the evidence points to you, Mr. Prenfrew." She was behind him now, lips tickling his ear, perfume intoxicating him. "How do you explain that?"
"I can't. Perhaps someone is framing me?"
His wife laughed but in a mocking way that he was unaccustomed to.
"So," she said leaning over his shoulder so that ample amounts of cleavage were exposed just under his nose, "astonish me. If you didn't kill her, who did?"
All he could do was stare at her bosom so she slammed the baton into the table right beside his handcuffed hand and he jumped in his seat. "Pay attention, Mr. Prenfrew!" His eyes snapped up to hers. "It's your neck on the line!" She paced around a bit. "Once more, if you didn't kill her, who did?"
"I don't know."
"Are you protecting someone? Is that what this is all about?"
He didn't respond.
"All right then, sunshine, you've left me with no choice." The merest trace of amusement formed on her face. "I'm going to have to torture the answer out of you."
Julia removed the helmet momentarily in order to undo her hair pins. Then she stuck it back on and sidled up to him on the side where he was chained. She poked him in the chest with the baton and said, "You should have just told me what I wanted to know. Now you're going to pay dearly for your tight lips."
His wife sat down on the edge of the table and pulled off her heavy boots. It was during this process that he noticed a glimmer of metal pieces on the back side of her outfit. Strangely they went all the way down to the small of her back, with no buttons to be seen.
"What is that?" he asked pointing with his free hand and trying to awkwardly reach across to tug on the little tab at the top.
"You have much bigger concerns right now, Mr. Prenfrew."
She scooted across the table until she was sitting directly in front of him, silky legs dangling over the edge. Julia moved one of her feet to his knee and then slid her toes up his thigh. She did the same thing with his other leg and then trailed the baton down his vested chest until it was just an inch or so away from his crotch.
Despite this somewhat compromising position, he reached out to touch her calf and she slapped his hand away.
"If you don't behave yourself I will be forced to restrain you further. Do you understand?"
He nodded dumbly. Julia removed the baton and replaced it with a foot. The heel slowly lowered until it was resting directly on his crotch. She began to stroke him through his trousers and he sighed in pleasure.
"You like that, do you, Willard? I'm sorry to inform you that I'm just getting started."
Very slowly she undid the buttons to his vest and starched shirt and then she rolled up his wife beater until it was secured by his suspenders, just under his armpits. She circled his bare chest with the baton and then raised it up to his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes. "Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"
Murdoch shook his head. "Far from it."
"Fine then," she said, rubbing harder and faster into his crotch and making him groan. "The hard way it is."
Julia lazily played with his nipples while she continued her other ministration. She pinched one a little too hard and he gasped. Then just as he reached full arousal she abruptly stopped and moved away from him.
"Julia," he whined.
"My name is Swinton," she barked. "Detective Tilda Swinton."
Even through the fog of his arousal he couldn't help but wonder where she came up with these strange names.
She picked up the baton and again was clapping it into her hand as she paced just out of reach.
"You've held out surprisingly well so far, Mr. Prenfrew." Julia turned dramatically towards him, "But that's all about to change."
She bent over by the black bag giving him a most titillating view of her derriere. He throbbed all the harder but restrained himself from whining once more by gritting his teeth together.
When she faced him again, it took him a moment to understand what she was holding in her hands. It looked to be a whip that was very similar to the one a certain artist had owned. Flicking her wrist she gracefully snapped it a foot or so away from his face. At the same time he was flinching he was wondering if she had practised using it before coming here.
She isn't actually going to hit me with it, is she?
Perhaps some alarm registered behind his dilated pupils because she seemed to second guess herself and tossed the whip aside. Then with a very determined air she marched over to the table, hopped up onto it and then parked herself in his lap. He moaned as her full weight rested on the prominent ridge in his trousers. Before he could pull at the metal tag thing she had pinned his arm behind him with surprising strength and tied it with his tie.
Confound this woman! All he wanted to do was touch her!
Julia gave him a knowing look as if she could read his thoughts. In a completely unconcerned, unhurried manner, she took the constable's helmet off and placed it on his own head. Then she ran her fingers across his smooth chin and cheeks and narrowed her eyes in apparent disappointment.
His wife gave him another sly smile and then proceeded to nip and suckle his torso all over. It was exquisitely painful and maddened him beyond compare. Murdoch wrenched his arm free of his tie and yanked her mouth against his.
"William!" she exclaimed, breaking character, trying to squirm out of his one armed embrace. "Not yet!"
"Games are finished!" he grunted in frustration. "You're mine now!"
With his chained hand he finally managed to pull at the tag, making the entire corset instantly come off. This action made a strange sound that he had never heard before. By now his thoughts were so far removed from new forms of binding that he didn't ponder what it was beyond that. At about the same time, his wife relented her devious scheme and allowed him to cover her own torso in kisses. He was not much less gentle than she had been and she kept gasping over and over again as his teeth grazed her supple skin.
They parted just long enough to remove her underwear and pop open his trousers and then the interrogation chair was given the beating of its life.