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BDSM, Breasts, and Badges: Law Enforcement

By Matt Nicholson


BDSM, Breasts, and Badges – Volume 2: Law Enforcement*


Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords

*Originally published in a shorter format as

Morgan’s Cartel II: Law Enforcement


Copyright 2017, Matt Nicholson. All rights reserved.

Cover image by samotrebizan/123RF Stock Photos


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


Volume 1 – Corporal Punishment

Volume 3 – Resisting Arrest

Volume 4 – Unlawful Restraint


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.



The red-ish light from the Target sign lit the parking lot and gave the inside of Becky’s black Silverado’s cab glowing crimson highlights. Anxious to get in from the biting winter air, Becky paid little attention to anything but closing the door and getting her key into the ignition. When the chilled hinges resisted, she pulled harder.

Thinking more about getting out of uniform and into something warm and fuzzy than about much of anything else, it wasn’t until the door’s momentum abruptly reversed that she realized it wasn’t a problem with the cold at all. She was just reacting to the shadow blocking the light when a frighteningly familiar voice sounded with mischievous good humor from very near her left ear.

"I hear you’ve been looking for me, love."

Deja vu was not quite the appropriate term for the feeling that twisted Becky’s stomach, a feeling punctuated by the raising of the short-hairs on the back of her neck. At the same time the distinctive scent of Polo tickled her nose, she looked up into familiar, emerald green eyes. The words that slipped from below her breath echoed a more appropriate sentiment.

"Oh, shit..."

The attractive man behind the cavalier smile chuckled as he tossed a small half-rolled, half-wadded, stack of white paper onto her lap. She looked from the papers – which she immediately recognized from the heading as a copy of his arrest warrant – down the dark cavern of the muzzle of a chrome-colored Walther PPK. She recognized the pistol because it had belonged to her eleven months earlier.

The garish red light glinted off its polished steel surface. She used the glare as an excuse to avert her glance. She slowly lowered her right hand toward her hip until her fingers wrapped around the rubber grips of the much more powerful Kimber .45 holstered there.

Dennis Morgan clucked his tongue. He cocked his gun’s hammer back with a loud double-click. "You might not want to do that, love. I doubt you're good enough to get that gun out before I can squeeze one off."

Becky considered her next move while he monologued in that British-ish accent she’d never quite decided was real.

“And I’d hate to ruin my plans by splattering your pretty little head.” Dennis leaned over, and deliberately bumped her shoulder with his, letting her know he expected her to move over.

Becky had left her hand on her pistol. While he was distracted, she gently worked the holster’s thumb break.

He turned his gun’s muzzle slightly toward her left eye while reaching across her. His tone lost some of its dapper cheer. "Please don’t be stupid, Becky. I had so hoped to reprise our last little tryst. But don’t think I won’t off you."

She thought about the ‘tryst’ he’d referred to. It had been dumb across the board, and Becky had no desire to let him reprise it. She’d been working undercover to gather enough evidence to put the suave drug kingpin away for a very long time. Instead, she’d started to fall for him and got sloppy. He’d found her out.

Being taken hostage in her own home had been bad enough, but when she’d finally gotten a chance to escape – after he’d used her for several hours as the main prop in a sado-sex movie – she’d let her arrogance and overactive libido get the best of her. Instead of taking him down, she’d just taken him. The sex was great. The aftermath, not so much.

He’d distributed the video overseas where nothing could be done to shut it down. They killed the “trailers” as fast as they hit YouTube, but it was the Internet, after all. They didn’t find a tenth of the other places he’d advertised. Half the guys in the department owned bootlegged copies. Even now, she often got ‘the look’. Many of them didn’t even try to hide it when they peered at her tits – the primary objects of Dennis’ sadistic attention. She knew they imagined them uncovered and battered, just the way Dennis had left them. She also had no doubt that, to some, Dennis was their hero.

As much as she hated to admit it, she owned a copy herself. She didn’t watch it often. When she did, her anger came not from how it had come to be, but from the fact that watching it made her hot. There was no denying its appeal. Her friends comforted her by suggesting it had been well-edited, that she hadn’t enjoyed the experience the way the video let on. She’d smile and nod, keeping the truth to herself.

Since then, she’d been transferred back to patrol on deep nights on the opposite end of town – up near the race track where nothing much moved but coyotes and crickets. The transfer was a Godsend, and everyone knew it. Still, since she was one of theirs, half the cops in Texas were hot on Dennis’ trail. She might be a slut, but she was their slut, by God. They might not be able to prove a case for what he’d done to her, but it wasn’t as if he’d been squeaky clean – either before or after their ‘tryst.’ There were plenty of warrants for Dennis Morgan and his cartel to be had.

His eyes grew harder as he snapped her Taser from its holster and shoved her more forcefully to the right. Now that he had both lethal and less-lethal weapons at his disposal, she reluctantly climbed across the console and around the gear shift, hoping to gain time. She’d just settled into the chair on top of her coat when painful blows struck the outside of her left breast and the side of her ribcage between vest panels that hadn’t been contoured for large breasts. A loud crackling sound echoed through the truck’s cab. An agonizing electrical jolt swallowed her body. Screaming in pain from the brutal Taser shock, Becky slumped back into the passenger seat, limp and unable to move, but fully aware of what was happening.


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