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BDSM, Breasts, and Badges: Unlawful Restraint

By Matt Nicholson


BDSM, Breasts, and Badges – Volume 4: Unlawful Restraint


Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords


Copyright 2017, Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved.

Cover image by gleb_tvs/123RF Stock Photos


Other stories in the BDSM, Breasts, and Badges series include:


Volume 1 – Corporal Punishment

Volume 2 – Law Enforcement

Volume 3 – Resisting Arrest


Smashwords Edition, License Notes


This work contains graphic language and depictions of sometimes extreme consensual and semi-consensual female bondage and sexual 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.



“Here’s her statement, Sarge. She’s still in my office.”

Becky Mason minimized the computer display and looked up from the monitor. She could tell from the look in the detective’s eyes he was having a hard time keeping his less-than-professional thoughts to himself. She took the papers from him and raised a brow.

“Something on your mind, Pat?” She didn’t bother hiding her irritation.

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’d love to hear your thoughts when you’re done, though.”

She’d just bet he would. She, on the other hand, had no desire to share them. Unfortunately, she was too intimately involved in the case to avoid that conversation – and they all knew just how “intimately” that was. Honestly, she couldn’t blame any of them. She’d been a cop way too long not to know the kind of gossip that went on about cases like this. And with her at the heart of it from the start, this case was one in a million.

“I’ll get with you as soon as I’m done. How’s she doing?”

“She’s still hurting. It’ll take a while for her to heal. Still…” He paused, obviously worried he might somehow offend Becky with whatever he had to say. “I think she was just fine with everything they did to her, just like…”

Becky tried not to let her irritation show, but her brow arched before she could stop it. “Just like…?”

Pat took a step backward and looked at his feet. “I mean, that’s kind of Morgan’s M.O., right? The deputy, and now this kid…”

He’d very deliberately left her out of his theory, though they both knew she fit just as well.

“Anyway, if she’s not being honest about what happened with Maven, our case is toast.”

She glanced down at the girl’s statement. Becky had deliberately stayed away from the interview, so she had no idea what it said. But she knew Dennis Morgan. He was a charming, power-hungry, sexual sadist. She expected the girl’s story to bring back a lot of memories, just as Stacy Dixon’s had. She nodded at the door. “I’ll get back with you as soon as I’m through reading it.”

Pat took the hint.

Once her audience was gone, she grabbed her reading glasses. It wasn’t Maven she wanted to put away so much as his partner. This was Dennis’ fourth – that they knew of. He’d kidnapped her twice and used her in ways no woman should be used – at least not without her permission. Unfortunately, Pat was right. No matter what her reports said, she’d walked away from both encounters thinking her bruises might not have been such bad things.

Even so, everyone from her superiors to the District Attorney was hot for his head. In their mind, he was a serial rapist, regardless of what his victims might have thought. They only wanted him worse when – after it became too dangerous for him to try for her directly – he’d turned his skills to other women.

First it was Deputy Dixon, left for her co-workers to find the same way he’d left Becky. Dennis e-mailed Becky a little souvenir from that one. The two minutes of cell phone video left no doubt that she’d enjoyed everything he did despite – or more likely because of – the artfully bloodied tits. She’d likely filed charges for the same reason Becky had – to save face.

Now he’d used this little twenty-something as proof he wasn’t going to limit himself to badges any longer. Unlike Becky, both Stacy and the girl were already into bondage before Dennis struck – gals with kinky appetites who would go along with him until they found out too late what he was really about. Still, they were just pawns in his game to blackmail her into voluntarily letting him back at her.

Becky had no doubt he’d keep his serial torture streak going, likely stalking bondage clubs or the Internet BDSM scene for fresh meat until they either caught him or she gave in. At this point he had nothing to lose. Treating other women to his sadistic touch would be entertaining in the meantime.

Even if Becky was tempted, giving in would be career suicide. Besides, while she and Dixon were big girls, he’d stepped over a line taking this kid no matter how kinky she’d thought she was.

Having put off the inevitable long enough, Becky put the glasses on and started reading. A couple paragraphs in she stopped and flipped to the third page. Pat had let her ramble. It wasn’t so much a statement as well-guided BDSM porn. She expected he’d corrected her grammar and punctuation and directed her language a bit.

If Becky and the deputy hadn’t both been professionals, their three statements would have read pretty much the same way. She rubbed her eyes and nudged the glasses back into place. It was going to be a very long read.


~~~


On Friday, August 24, 2017, Ariel Rene Stark met with Detective P. Arnold #898 at the Fort Worth Police Department in regard to case number 2017-007667. Ariel Rene Stark swears and affirms that the following is an accurate transcription of her voluntary statement:


My name is Ariel Rene Stark. I’m twenty-one years old. My date of birth is May 17, 1996. I live at 1312 Crane Avenue, Haslett, Texas, 76611. My telephone number is 807-632-5512.

Before I moved in with daddy six months ago, I was pretty heavy into drugs and alcohol. I met my ex-boyfriend, Tom Maven, back then. He’s the one that paid for my biggest tattoo. It was on my twentieth birthday. Tom was thirty then.

About five months ago, Tom left town. Something happened between him and daddy, something involving a baseball bat and Tom’s broken arm. I never asked about it. Since he and I met through the Dallas BDSM scene, I made up for his loss by spending a lot more time there.

I met Dennis Morgan about two months ago over the Internet. I don’t normally meet up with people I've met over the 'net in person because it’s dangerous, but he seemed honest, his pictures were hot, and he really seemed to know his way around a scene.

We finally met face-to-face about two weeks ago at The Church, there off Swiss Avenue. He was even better-looking in person. He bought me drinks and talked me up for a couple of hours. He was so easy to open up to, really charming. His British accent didn’t hurt, either.”

Around 9:00, I agreed to go with him to his home. At least I thought it was his home. It was somewhere north of I35 behind gates. It had a big pool with Jacuzzi and a waterfall, and a converted garage studio. He was the perfect gentleman, so, after a couple of tequila shots, I got naked in hopes of teasing him into a scene.

He watched me swim for a few minutes, and then he turned serious. He asked if I wanted to be his slave. He said he wasn’t going to do anything unless I said, “Yes.” I’d been thinking about looking for a Master anyway, and he seemed like he’d be a good one. Everything I’d learned told me to wait, negotiate, and make sure he wasn’t some kind of psycho. I know it might sound bad, but by then I would have jumped off a cliff just to get him to tie me up and use me. , so I said “Yes.”

He pulled a black velvet choker studded with diamonds from his pocket – as if he’d been ready for this the whole time. As he buckled it around my neck, he told me what it meant – that I’d do anything for him, that I’d trust him no matter what. Five minutes later, he had me in the studio…


~~~


Dennis cinched the second leather manacle around Ariel's wrist and stepped back to study his latest conquest. The shackles held her arms straight up over her head. They stretched her up and pulled her boobs into tight, fat ovals. His beautiful green eyes had hovered over them the whole night. He’d licking his lips several times at the sight of her hard nipples pushing through her tight, purple sweater. More recently, he’d appreciated the show when she took off her clothes and dove in. She’d just giggled when he spread her legs to shoulder-width with a wooden spreader bar.

Now tipsy, horny, and helpless in the hands of a handsome and charming hunk, Ariel enjoyed every moment. She gave him a sly wink and shimmied her tits. She felt their weight pull from side to side. Loving the way it felt, her raspberry-red nipples got even harder. She looked at them and smiled. There was no way he’d be able to resist.

Trusting in her feminine wiles to keep her ahead of his game, she did her best twist and shove, showing him her swinging boobs and letting her ass sway. Her self-confidence lasted just long enough for Dennis to pull a long, black leather riding crop from a nearby closet. As Ariel readied for a whack across the rear, he slapped it hard against the bottom of her right tit instead.

She yelped, more in surprise than in pain. She’d long since learned to love the burning feel of a light lash across her skin. Still, this had been no light lash. In her short time playing with bondage, swats like that had been butt-only. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to take her boobs being caned.

As if he’d read her mind, he paused. “If you’re not up for this, we can stop, love. I’ll just take off the collar and…”

“No!” It was out before she thought.

He started reaching for the choker. “Really, I’m not sure you’re ready.”

“Please… Master! I’m ready. I swear! I…”

He cut her off in mid-sentence with a second crack, this one a little higher on her left tit. She fought not to cry out. He smiled at her clipped squeal. “Good girl.” Her breath stopped when his eyes targeted her nipples.

Ariel twisted, trying to subtly move her boobs out of striking range while poking her round ass toward him. “Maybe you can test me here, Master?” She wiggled it for emphasis and made sure he could see her flushed pussy peeking out from between her thighs.

Dennis shrugged. “If that’s how you want to start, love.”

The first pop startled her, both in its intensity and because she’d expected him to massage her pussy or do something a little more hands-on first. She’d always been able to call the shots when she’d given guys the chance, and she her backside had seemed irresistible.


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