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Preview from chapter one
Surrendered to Martin
Extreme Submission to a Dominant Older Man
SILAS THORNE
Copyright © 2026 Silas Thorne
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Content Warning (+18) ⚠️
You are about to enter extremely filthy territory.
No filters. No mercy. No safe words.
Within these pages you will find total submission, hot piss swallowed straight from the source, full scat play, shit-smeared cocks, brutal arse-fucking, and a big, hairy, experienced older man who dominates without apology.
If you’re looking for soft romance or “nice” sex, this is not the book for you.
But if you crave surrendering completely to the thick hands of a dirty, older man — a hairy, ruthless bastard who will drag you into your darkest, most forbidden fantasies…
…then get comfortable.
We’ve been waiting for you.
Index
For Martin.
For teaching me that dominance can be tender,
that the filthy can be gentle,
and that the deepest trust is born the moment you let yourself go completely.
To everyone who dares to explore their darkest, dirtiest fantasies without shame.
To those who know that the forbidden can also be beautiful.
And especially to you — the one who surrenders without holding anything back.
A Thursday Afternoon in the City
You’re in London, late May, one of those classic grey-skied Thursdays that never quite decide whether to rain. You’ve stepped into a small, discreet gay bar near Liverpool Street Station — the kind of place that quietly fills the moment the suited men pour out of the financial district offices. The air is thick: spilled beer, decades of polished wood, and the faint, unmistakable tang of end-of-day male sweat.
You perch on a bar stool, slowly stirring a gin and tonic with a slice of cucumber, when he walks in.
Martin.
Sixty years old, yet he moves with a solid, magnetic presence. A dark blue suit cut to perfection, accentuating broad shoulders and a powerful chest. A fine-striped white-and-pale-blue shirt, the top two buttons undone. His red tie is folded neatly in the breast pocket, discarded the second he left the office. He stands nearly six foot tall, strong and thick-set, with a prominent, rounded belly that strains the front of his shirt above his belt. Around two hundred and sixty pounds of mature, substantial man — wide shoulders, heavy chest, and that soft, heavy curve that shifts slightly with every step. Silver-grey hair swept back, a neatly trimmed beard, and calm, pale eyes that radiate quiet confidence.