Beat 'Em or Bite 'Em Again: Still More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

By Matt Nicholson

Welcome to Matt Nicholson’s world of erotic sex, bondage, dominance and punishment. It’s a fast-paced world unlike any other where women are the ultimate playthings, breasts are the ultimate playtoys, and the sky is the limit as to how hard you're allowed to play. “Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em,” and "Beat 'Em or Bite 'Em Some More " each collected 13 erotic, breast-oriented BDSM tales. “Beat ‘Em or Bit ‘Em Again: Still More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM" collects another 12 tales that will have you reading one-hand once more, including:

Corporal Punishment
Breakfast is Tiffany
Perspective
Going Once
Bull’s Eyes
Kitchen Delights
A Dream of Honey-Buttered Breasts
Soulmate
The Eternal (Parts 1 through 4)

(Editor's Note: This work contains graphic language and sometimes extreme sexual depictions of consensual female bondage and sadomasochism. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darker Pleasures
• Release date: Jan 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310966965

Matt Nicholson

Matt Nicholson is a freelance writer and editor for Darker Pleasures Publications, which makes him lucky enough to have written or edited all, or parts of, every story Darker Pleasures has published.Matt is a fan of both hard breast-oriented BDSM as well as hard femdom CBT. His tales, and those of his co-authors, range from R-rated erotica to hard bondage and more extreme BDSM fantasy. Their stories are available individually or in a number of anthologies including the "Tales of Submission" series, the "Beat 'Em or Bite 'Em" series focusing on breasts and BDSM, and the "Bust 'Em or Bite 'Em" series focusing on ball busting and hard CBT.When asked about his work, he says, "My goal is to make your most daring dreams of tit torture or cock and ball torture come to life. I want you to want to be in my character’s shoes, no matter how far from safe and sane the scene might be. Depending on your kink, you might not dare some of it in real life, but the idea still makes your cock stir or your pussy wet. I want to make sure you can’t help but wonder. That’s why we have fiction, to get around real life sensibilities. You read it to live in a world of BDSM you can’t live outside of the covers of a book."So, if you dream of being on the receiving end of such things and think Matt may be onto something, sit back and spread your legs. If your fantasy is to take a pair of tits or balls to the cleaners, turn on your reading lamp and settle in. Oh, and hear would love to hear what you think at mattnicholsonwriter (at) gmail.com.

Book preview

Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Again:

Still More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

By Matt Nicholson

Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Again:

Still More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords

Copyright 2014, 2017 Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved.

More hard BDSM stories by Matt Nicholson

Cover image by sergeymironov/123RF Stock Photos

Other Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Volumes

Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em: Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Some More: More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions of sometimes extreme consensual and semi-consensual female bondage and sadomasochism. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All characters depicted in this work are eighteen years of age or older. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or redistribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Darker Pleasures, webmaster at darkerpleasures.com.

Corporal Punishment

Breakfast is Tiffany

Perspective

Going Once

Bull’s Eyes

Kitchen Delights

A Dream of Honey-Buttered Breasts

Soulmate

The Eternal

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Corporal Punishment

Breakfast is Tiffany

Perspective

Going Once

Bull’s Eyes

Kitchen Delights

A Dream of Honey-Buttered Breasts

Soulmate

The Eternal – Nicole

The Eternal – Bailey

The Eternal – The Club

The Eternal – The Alcove

INTRODUCTION

I have a profile on one of the fetish community sites that tells people a bit about myself. Anyone can join the site, no matter what his or her preferences might be, so you can only imagine the variety of fetishes you find there. There are a lot of members, a lot of chat and messaging and stuff, so it’s kind of important that you give people an idea about where you’re coming from up front. Otherwise, you might find yourself being messaged by someone with an erotic kink for chocolate-covered smurf slash roleplay or something—not that there’s anything wrong with chocolate-covered smurf slash roleplay, mind you, but you get my drift.

Anyway, my main reasons for lurking about in such places are to share my questionable wisdom, shill books and get ideas for stories, so good profile is key if you plan on having real conversations. Among other things, my profile says, If you asked me what my favorite things to do are, I'd have to say beating and biting—hard and often. A good belting makes things bounce and jiggle so wonderfully, and the beautiful marks... As for biting, what can I say? Lots of people like to suck, I just prefer cutting loose a little more.

And therein lays the foundation for this book’s title—and for those of its precursors, Beat ‘Em and Bite ‘Em and Beat ‘Em and Bite ‘Em Some More. Of course, the stories you’re about to read include a lot more than just flogging and chomping, but the main theme is there. If it weren’t, I’d have named the books Twist ‘Em and Tie ‘Em, or Poke ‘Em and Peg ‘Em, or some such.

This volume contains twelve stories originally published in the Darker Pleasures E-zine back in the first decade of the 2K’s. They’ve since been edited, revised and expanded to individual e-book format. Some of them were originally part of an ongoing series of stories that will make up the novel Families whenever I’m done with it. The most notable of these are the four chapters of The Eternal. You don’t get much more into biting than vampires, and my vampires are a lot more innovative in how they get their meals than the ones you find in most contemporary stories and in vampire tales gone by. Combine that with an insatiable sexual appetite and the ability to recover from most any injury, and you have the BDSMer’s wet dream, regardless of whether you prefer being top or bottom.

What most people don’t know is there are two other chapters from Families in this book. I’ve made so many changes to them in order to make them stand-alones—including keeping them kindred-free—that they’re hardly recognizable as such, but they’re there. And, they’re good that way.

Instead of introducing one of Families’ main characters as it was originally written, Breakfast is Tiffany tells the tale of a Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne-esque (for you Iron Man or Batman fans out there) rich guy. As you might expect from a one-percenter with criminal amounts of disposable income, he enjoys good food and beautiful women just about any way he likes. In this case, his enjoyment of bondage and sexual abandon combines with a lovely young woman named Tiffany into a breakfast experience neither of them will ever forget.

Becky Mason from Corporal Punishment plays a big role in Families. For the moment, though, she’s just a lovely undercover police corporal who gets made by an equally handsome drug dealer with a penchant for punishing. You won’t need three guesses to figure out what punishment he prefers, but the end result may surprise you. While we’re talking about snatching playthings, Going Once is a fun story about the perky newlywed wife of a very well-to-do businessman. She becomes hostage to some entrepreneurial types who auction her wares off to the highest bidder, while using Skype to show all the world’s rich just what fun they’ll have if the win.

Perspective also touches on kidnapping of a sort in an alien abduction sort of way. In this case, however, no one even realizes they’re kidnapped, and each person involved sees the entire affair from a uniquely different point of view. Come to think of it, I’m seeing another theme running through a lot of these stories, especially since Bull’s-Eyes goes there, too. Combine a beautiful mountain landscape with a buxom beauty and a pair of locals with a bit of a dart gun thing and you don’t need my long-winded introduction to tell you what bull’s-eyes I’m referring to.

Staying in the mountainous outdoors, A Dream of Honey-Buttered Breasts is a bit of a diversion for me. It takes a look at a dying man’s last wish – a wish involves his wife, her better parts, a grill and wild sex in the great outdoors. On the opposite side of the spectrum, Soulmate takes a look at the demon many people have in their lives, their ex, and one estranged couple’s last fling. It’s a night of wicked BDSM, savage sex and vengeance. I’ll let you decide who ends up with the winning hand.

In the end, you have twelve stories of erotic breast beating, biting, twisting, tying, poking and pegging—among other things. A few of them seem to have come from a brief sub-conscious foray into abduction I wasn’t aware I had until I wrote this introduction, but I doubt that’ll stop you from enjoying them.

Matt Nicholson, 2014

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT

The blue and yellow neon OPEN sign rocked slowly back and forth in the light summer breeze, tapping occasionally against the diner window, its reflection rippling across the top of the heavily varnished tables inside. Becky Mason, for the moment doing business as Veronica Sills, looked up from the shifting colors and met the forest green eyes that watched her from across the table.

The scent of Polo that drifted from him did little to strengthen her resolve. I’ve told you, Dennis, I’m not part of the deal. We’ve gone over this a dozen times. Cash and carry, that’s it.

Dennis Morgan tweaked his boyishly charming smile up a notch and slid his hands over baseball cards and cheap memorabilia imbedded in thick polyurethane. He took her hand lightly between his fingers. How is it that you keep resisting me, Ronni? You know we'd be great for each other.

Becky blew out an exasperated sigh. His vaguely British/Australian accent didn’t help, either.

In an alternate universe he would have been right. Dennis was attractive and charming, intelligent and adventurous, excellent at everything he did. There were more times than she could count that she'd dreamt of his hands sliding over her body, of a time when he could show her the other skills at which she was sure he excelled.

Each had mutually exclusive fatal flaws, however. His happened to be that he was a cocaine dealer whose entire life revolved around exploiting others. Had he been aware of hers, this conversation—and the cat and mouse, tease, duck and dodge, relationship she'd worked so hard to cultivate over the months—would never had taken place.

That’s beside the point, Dennis. You sell drugs, I buy drugs. It's business. It will always be business.

Corporal Rebecca Mason, currently assigned as an undercover officer for the Fort Worth Police Narcotics Task Force, allowed herself a wistful smile as the debonair dealer brought her fingertips up to his lips, brushing them softly.

Are you certain I can't change your mind, Veronica?

She nodded and pulled her hand gently from his. Yes, Dennis. I’m flattered, but I’m certain. Not for the first time that evening, she brushed a glance over the full biceps and bulging chest that filled out his overly tight Underarmour t-shirt, wishing she didn’t have to be as certain as she was.

Dennis shrugged faintly then propped his elbows on top of the table, dropped his chin into his hands, and leaned toward her. His smile shifted from playboy-charming to business-shrewd.

OK, have it your way, gorgeous. Meet me back here in two hours. One hundred grand in small unmarked bills, yadda yadda. He paused, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eyes. Or 50K and one night on the town before I disappear for a while?

Becky chuckled and stood. I’ll be here in two hours with one-hundred thousand, Dennis.

He winked playfully and pushed himself away from the table. Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying.

~~~

Two hours and forty-three minutes later, Becky chewed on the earpiece of her Serengeti Drivers and toyed with the yellow twine sunglasses strap. Her foot tapped the accelerator pedal in frustration. After five more minutes squinting through the glare off her department-issue Chevy Lumina’s pollen-covered windshield, she stripped the well-chewed earpiece from between her teeth and keyed her portable radio. She didn’t bother hiding the frustration in her voice. Go home, guys. He's a no-show. Max, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Her partner, Max Hollander, had waited somewhat patiently with two patrol officers from their roost around the corner. When he replied, similar frustration was evident in his tone. Ten-four, maybe next time. Base, all units are available.

She didn't blame Max for his annoyance. This was becoming the never-ending case, and the middle-aged family man didn't get the same clandestine satisfaction from being in Dennis Morgan’s company that Becky had been getting.

She drove home, absently listening to Evanescence as she thought about the feelings she'd been developing for the suave drug dealer. It was time to request a transfer—before things got stupid. Too many undercover officers fell to the lure of the edgy, fast paced and daring life that came with that job. She could feel herself doing the same thing, and she was not going to be one of them. Dennis Morgan dealt dope. Any other considerations were simply ridiculous fantasy.

Becky waved at her neighbors as she turned into the tree-shadowed driveway of her little frame home in the burbs. Little Alex waved back with a three-year-old’s enthusiasm and then ran off after a bright red ball his older sister, Megan, had kicked across the yard.

After calling out to the two children and making a fuss over Alex’s way-too-big cowboy hat, Becky unlocked the front door, silently cussing at the lock that had recently begun fighting her for custody of the key. Finally winning the fight, she stepped into her sun-drenched home, locking the door behind her. She tossed her purse, police radio and a chrome, Walther PPK, semi-auto pistol onto the sofa, then began walking blindly down the hall toward her bedroom while pulling her t-shirt up over her head.

Just as the neck of the shirt hung on her chin, something that felt disturbing like a gun barrel pushed against Becky’s temple. Someone snatched her sunglasses from her hand. Her first instinct was to react immediately and violently to the sudden, firm grip on her upraised wrists. She chose wisely to freeze instead.

You should be ashamed of yourself, Ronni, leaving your garage unlocked like that. Don’t you know how easy it is to pick a door when no one can watch? Oh, I’m sorry, you probably prefer ‘Rebecca’ don’t you?

A dozen thoughts swam through Becky’s head at the sound of Dennis Morgan’s sarcastic voice, Oh shit, being foremost among them. This was followed by a silent self-reminder... Be calm. Her other thoughts really didn't matter.

Dennis? It was not as if there was much more she could say at that moment.

His voice was as polished and conversational as always, though still tinged with what sounded like an almost disappointed sarcasm. Who else, hon’? Now, be a dear, be quiet, and hold still while I make sure you don’t have any hidden police gadgets tucked away somewhere, would you. I’d hate to ruin our date by having to put a bullet through that lovely head.

With her dark green Cirque du Soleil t-shirt still pulled up over her face, Becky had no intention of resisting, at least at that moment. She remained frozen in place while Dennis patted her pockets thoroughly. He then reached around and popped the button on her jeans with practiced ease, dropped the zipper with one hand and slid her pants deftly down with a simple tug. His palm slid smoothly up her flattened stomach, and his fingers slipped into her cleavage where he toyed with the front latch of her sheer black brassiere.

When the light tugging on her bra ended with her breasts still covered, he chuckled lightly. Looks like I should have practiced more. Lucky I have a Plan B."

Becky recognized the hard snapping sound of a lock blade knife opening just inches from her ear. A sharp pressure bit through the tip of her brassiere, and she heard the quiet rip of the blade through silk. The light jab wasn’t quite enough to break the skin, but it stung enough to get her attention. Her embarrassingly hardened nipple pressed through the small slit as if it was anxious to taste the blade a bit more. The slight clenching in her lower belly only seemed to echo her nipple’s reaction.

Standing helplessly while a very capable and well-trained drug dealer carved through her undergarments and held a very deadly pistol to her head was not doing much for Becky’s confidence. Her body’s betrayal didn’t make matters any better.

While she considered her situation, her captor opted for expedience over patience, finally just cutting through the front strap of the bra as if it were so much butter. In moments, the ruined undergarment dropped from her breasts to the floor, each of its straps sliced in two.

Okay, dear, since I’m fairly confident your prowess doesn’t include the ability to kill a man with those remarkable tits, you can take the t-shirt off and step out of your jeans. The gun’s muzzle moved from her head at the same time as the knife’s serrated tip nipped painfully at the tip of her right breast, Slowly and quietly, please.

Alive and naked was preferable to the alternative, so Becky hesitated only a second before doing as he’d ordered. Once the shirt fell to the floor, she saw the pistol hovering inches from her head. Watching the gun, she wriggled the jeans off her hips and let gravity take them to her ankles. The slightest trace of blood welled from a tiny cut at her nipple’s tip. Instead of scaring her into surrender, however, her forced nakedness and the sight of her tiny injury stirred feelings of excitement in her belly she preferred remain dormant.

Dennis, I...

Dennis shook his head and shoved her Walther hard into the center of her left tit. By accident or design, her nipple lodged in the barrel.

No, no, no. No talking, Ronni, love. I insist you remain quiet. Wouldn’t want your cute little neighbors to come peering through the window, would we? No telling what I'd have to do with witnesses. They’re so small at that. And isn’t that cowboy hat adorable?

Becky glanced at the partially opened blinds covering the bright window just a few feet away and weighed the gravity of what Dennis had just said. As she did, he reached into his leather jacket pocket and pulled a partial roll of duct tape free. He tore a short strip of it off as he continued his casual chat.

Besides the little knife, this is the only other thing I brought with me. It’s good you have quite the wide variety of sex toys, isn’t it, love? Or little tryst will be quite memorable."

Before Becky could reply, Dennis moved behind her and wrapped an arm across her chest. He brought the serrated blade back to bear on her right nipple, pressing it back into her breast until the blade threatened to bisect not just the tight bud, but the flesh around it. He slapped the tape over her mouth and rubbed it down securely then let the blade slip. She sucked a sharp breath through her nose and did her best to ignore the light razor sting. Seconds later, that nipple matched the other one—with a single tiny drop of red welling from its tip.

After closing the knife with a loud snap and dropping it into a front pocket, Dennis pressed his free hand lightly against Becky’s right buttock. She let him guide her down the hall toward the living room by her bottom. When they stepped out of the hall, she swept her gaze across the glass top of the nearby kitchen table, noting sardonically that her curiosity about her alleged sex toys had been answered.

Dennis swung his hand in a wide arc, gesturing expansively past her video camera, which he’d set on her new tripod and aimed at her sofa, then around and across the table.

Once I learned of your real game last night, I decided to make our date a bit of a surprise. I had anticipated a very lovely experience, my dear, but the things that I’ll be able to do with all these toys simply boggles my mind. That fifty thousand dollar discount would have proven quite the bargain, if only for your quite luscious body alone. You can't imagine how pleased I am to be getting all this to tease you with as well, all for free. Copies of this video will bring quite a pretty penny through my well-disguised little website.

Lying spread across the transparent tabletop was just about every police-related item she owned, several of which she'd locked away in an old army ammo crate in her closet and had basically forgotten about over the years. He’d draped one of her long-sleeved uniform shirts carefully over one of the black, tubular chairs. Lying on the glass beside it were her handcuffs. She had little doubt as to how he intended to tease her with them. His intentions for the other things were beginning to worry her—as if his presence in her home wasn’t cause enough for concern by itself.

Before Becky could consider what the rest of his plans might entail, Dennis grabbed the uniform shirt by the collar and lifted it from the chair. He turned it from one side to the other while studying the stripes, patches, and award bars.

You’re a Corporal... I’m impressed. Life-saving Award, Field Instructor, Meritorious Conduct bar, and... a Five Year Safe Driving Award, is it? Yes, quite the budding young officer. No telling what new pins you’ll get after we’re done tonight, huh? A Purple Heart, maybe?

He tossed the shirt to her, waving the gun barrel as she caught it. Please, put that on. It will make for uniquely sexy negligee, don’t you think. Unbuttoned, of course.

Becky hesitated only for a moment before donning the shirt. Having been cut large to accommodate her body armor, it covered her naked body well, falling across the outsides of her breasts and three-quarters of the way down over her bottom, offering her a bit more protection, if only in a mental sort of way.

While she slipped into the shirt, Dennis took the handcuffs from the table. He tossed them lightly into the air and watched them fall back into his hand once before waving the barrel of his gun at her again. Hold your arms out for me, love.

Becky faltered again, realizing that she was losing any chance for a break she might be able to get if he handcuffed her. The renewed pressure of the cold pistol tunneling her nipple back into her breast caused her to reconsider, however, as did his words.

Maybe you don’t understand. Your chances of surviving our first date decrease exponentially if you resist. I don’t want to become a cop-killer, particularly of an officer I have grown so fond of. I am a businessman, however. A really bloody torture film would probably net me close to a half a million. A snuff film would probably net twice as much. A snuffed cop film will net five times that. The little piece of art that I plan to make tonight won’t be any of those, and I’m not normally one to pass on that much profit, Ronni, dear. It would benefit you greatly not to remind me of this.

Becky nodded curtly and Dennis pulled the pistol out of her breast, watching absently as her nipple sprung back out. After letting a fingernail bump across her areola’s tight ridges, he turned her easily by one arm. She let him ratchet the handcuffs onto her wrists and waited while he locked the cuffs down. She realized the key was her own. It had been hanging from a spare key ring he’d filched from the bedroom bookshelf.

Now, if you’ll step this way, please.

Dennis took her upper arm gently enough and guided her across the room toward her custom painted blinds. He’d pointed her video camera directly at the space where he stood her. Under other conditions, she might have admired his choice of backdrop. Once he’d placed her in front of the tripod, he took a length of white cord from the table and began unrolling it. Becky recognized the heavy twine as having been among those items she used to store in the trauma plate pocked of her old body armor. She began to mentally kick herself for not dumping half of that stuff when she'd had the chance.

As Dennis looped the cord around the handcuff chain, she noticed he’d moved the hanging ivy which normally occupied the spot above her head to the end table beside the sofa. She looked up as he ran the cord up and over the plant hook. When he began tying it off, cinching her upward until she was standing on the balls of her feet, she began to worry her shoulders would give before the cord or the hooks did. Fortunately for her, the line gave a bit of slack when Becky’s captor released it, letting her to drop mostly onto the flats of her feet.

Once Becky was tied to the plant hook, Dennis snatched a long white plastic zip-tie from the table and locked it around her small ankles. Done, he stood back and looked her over, smiling broadly as he tucked the gun into the back waistband of his Levi's. Yes, yes, Ronni, my dear, this will definitely be one of the more memorable nights of my life. Yours as well, I’d bet.

He walked over and sat down at