BDSM, Breasts, and Badges: Volumes 1 - 4

By Matt Nicholson

BDSM, Breasts, and Badges: Volumes 1 - 4 collect all four books by Matt Nicholson: Corporal Punishment, Law Enforcement, Resisting Arrest, and Unlawful Restraint.

In book 1, "To Protect and Serve" takes on a whole new twist when Detective Becky Mason, a beautiful undercover narcotics officer, ends up on the wrong end of a drug buy gone sour and finds herself naked, bound, and helpless in the hands of a handsome, suave, ruthless dealer, Dennis Morgan. But not only is he ruthless, he's resourceful as he soon proves by finding all sorts of diabolical ways to use the many tools of her trade on her breasts and other beautiful assets in a night of video, bondage and erotic torment she is not likely to ever forget.

In book 2, it’s been eleven months since suave and ruthless drug dealer Dennis Morgan broke Detective Becky Mason’s cover and recouped his losses by using the tools of her trade on her beautiful assets. It was a night of videotaped bondage and erotic torment she’ll never forget. Now, Dennis is back, and he's looking for a sequel to his million dollar baby with Becky again the naked, bound and wickedly tormented star.

In the third book, Dennis Morgan's favorite victim has made herself scarce. To lure her back out into the open, Dennis finds another well-endowed cop to tie up and punish instead. With gorgeous breasts and a luscious body perfect for his special kind of attention, Deputy Stacy Dixon will do for now. And since she’s not his first choice, Dennis has no problem ramping up the bondage and erotic torment to even crueler levels to convince his favorite plaything - Becky Mason - it's in everyone's best interest for her to play again. But what Dennis doesn't count on is his new victim's willingness, or how her wicked desires to ramp it up even more might ruin what he'd thought was the perfect plan -- if 'ruin' is what you could really call it.

In round four of Dennis Morgan’s game, Becky Mason finds herself heading up the hunt for her handsome nemesis after he takes a fourth victim. But this victim doesn’t wear a badge. Instead, she’s a young woman with no connection to Becky, or even police work at all. She's just a pawn with gorgeous breasts and a thirst for BDSM who has no idea what she’s gotten into until it’s far too late.

(This work contains graphic language and sometimes extreme depictions of consensual female bondage and sexual 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: Oct 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463634769

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

BDSM, Breasts, and Badges: Volumes 1 - 4

By Matt Nicholson

Collecting BDSM, Breasts, and Badges:

Corporal Punishment

Law Enforcement,

Resisting Arrest, and

Unlawful Restraint

Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords

Copyright 2020, Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved.

Cover image courtesy of Brazzers.

Other books and anthologies by Matt Nicholson:

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

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

Beat ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Til Dawn: Even More Erotic Stories of Breasts and BDSM

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

Bust ‘Em or Bite ‘Em: Erotic Stories of Ball Busting and Hard CBT

Bust ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Again: More Erotic Stories of Ball-Busting and Hard CBT

Bust ‘Em or Bite ‘Em Some More: Even More Erotic Stories of Ball-Busting and CBT

The Breast Punishment Primer

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This work of fiction contains graphic language and detailed descriptions of consensual and semi-consensual female dominant male bondage and sexual sadomasochism.  The actions depicted are sometimes extreme with a heavy focus on genital punishment.  This work is written for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age.  All acts depicted are intended as fantasy. No persons associated with the writing or publication of this book bear responsibility for any harm to any persons resulting from attempts to perform these acts in real life. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or they 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 are reserved, including the right to reproduce or redistribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.  For information, contact Darker Pleasures, webmaster at darkerpleasures.com.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Corporal Punishment

Law Enforcement

Resisting Arrest

Unlawful Restraint

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT

The blue and yellow neon OPEN sign rocked slowly in the light summer breeze. Every now and then, it tapped the diner window. Its reflection rippled across the top of the heavily varnished tables inside. Becky Mason – for the moment undercover as Veronica Sills – looked up from the shifting colors and looked into the forest green eyes watching her from across the table.

It was hard not to lose herself in those eyes, and the light scent of Polo drifting 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 can you keep resisting me, Ronni? You know we'd be great for each other.

Becky blew out an exasperated sigh. The smile and his vaguely British/Australian piled on to his attraction.

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

But both she and he had mutually exclusive deal breakers. He happened to be 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’ll always be business.

Corporal Rebecca Mason, currently assigned to the Fort Worth Police Narcotics Task Force, allowed herself a wistful smile as the debonair dealer brought her fingertips up and brushed them with his lips.

I can do other things, too, Ronni. Are you certain I can't change your mind?

The other things he referred to certainly had to do with the porn tapes he peddled on the side. He probably didn’t know she knew about them, but she’d been nothing if not thorough in checking him out. Every time she caught him glancing at her tits, she thought about the videos she’d watched. To say the things his performers did to a woman intrigued her would have been an understatement. Despite the bruises, those orgasms clearly weren’t faked.

She sighed 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 Bat-symbolled Underarmour t-shirt. She wished she didn’t have to be as certain as she was.

Dennis shrugged faintly then propped his elbows on top of the table. He 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. A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his eyes. Or 75K and one night on the town before I disappear for a while?

You think I’m worth twenty-five grand? Becky smiled too fondly and stood. I’ll be here in two hours with one-hundred thousand, Dennis.

He winked playfully and pushed himself away from the table. Seventy-five would be a steal, love…and you can't blame a guy for trying.

~~~

Two hours and forty-three minutes later, Becky chewed on the earpiece of her Oakleys and toyed with the braided leather sunglasses strap. Her foot tapped the accelerator pedal in frustration. After two more minutes squinting through the glare off her department-issue Chevy Malibu’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 with growing impatience 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 had 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 pine 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 silently cussed at the lock that had recently begun fighting her for custody of the key and unlocked the front door. After winning the fight, she stepped into her sun-drenched home and locked the door behind her. She tossed her purse, police radio and chrome Walther PPK, semi-auto pistol onto the sofa. While pulling her t-shirt up over her head, she started walking blindly down the hall toward her bedroom.

Just as the neck of the shirt hung on her chin, something that felt disturbing like a gun barrel pushed through the shirt’s fabric 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 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 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 like there was much more she could say.

His voice was as polished and conversational as always. Even so, it sounded tinged with disappointment. 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 putting a bullet through that lovely body.

With her dark green Cirque du Soleil t-shirt still pulled up over her face, Becky did not intend to resist, at least not at that moment. She stayed frozen while Dennis patted her pockets thoroughly. Then he reached around and popped the button on her jeans with practiced ease. After dropping the zipper and deftly sliding her pants down her legs, his palm slid smoothly up her flattened stomach. His touch was like silk until it left her and his fingers slipped into her cleavage.

He toyed with the front latch of her sheer black brassiere for a bit. After another couple seconds of pointed tugging, 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. She felt a gentle poke into her areola through the tip of her brassiere. She heard the quiet rip of the blade through silk and then a light sting when the blade’s tip found stiff flesh. The jab wasn’t quite enough to break the skin, but it got her attention. Her embarrassingly hardened nipple pressed through the small slit as if it wanted to taste the knife a bit more. The slight clenching in her lower belly seemed to echo her nipple’s reaction.

Being helpless while a very capable and well-trained drug dealer held a pistol to her head and carved through her undergarments with a knife wasn’t doing much for Becky’s confidence. Her body’s betrayal didn’t make matters any better. As the sting biting her areola as he twisted the knife got stronger, it suddenly occurred to her that she had seen women in her shoes before.

For all practical purposes, she was the victim in one of his perverted videos. She thought about her swaying boobs with the realization that those videos may have been more reality TV than acting. In an instant, her perspective on her situation changed. Intrigued or not, some of those poor breasts had been pretty thoroughly tortured. So had some of their other parts.

While she tried to regroup, her captor chose expedience over patience by cutting through the front strap like so much warm butter. She had worn it deliberately tight to keep his attention focused where she wanted it. That may have been a