SURRENDERED TO MARTIN - Extreme Submission to a Dominant Older Man

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.

Your eyes meet across the room. He stands near the door, still in his suit, and holds your gaze for several long seconds — unhurried, direct. A slow smile spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Then he begins walking toward you, moving with steady, relaxed purpose through the crowd.

He stops right beside you and rests a strong forearm on the bar. His presence is warm and solid, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice deep, warm, and beautifully educated. “You have very lovely eyes. And you’re extremely handsome. May I sit next to you?”

You start talking. He tells you his name is Martin, that he works at an investment firm in the City, that it’s been an endless day of meetings and all he wanted was a quiet drink before heading home. He’s easy, natural, nothing forced. He asks where you’re from, how long you’re staying in London, whether you’ve tried proper fish and chips yet. You laugh with him. His big, warm hand brushes yours when he passes you the second gin and tonic he’s ordered. The touch lingers a second longer than necessary — pleasant, deliberate. His prominent belly gently presses against the edge of the bar as he leans toward you.

Half an hour later you’re in a darker corner of the bar. Martin has one hand on your waist and is drawing you closer. You kiss for the first time. His lips are full, warm, slightly damp from the gin. He tastes of dry gin, mint, and man. His tongue slides slowly into your mouth, exploring, licking yours with calm hunger. You feel the soft, burning weight of his belly pressing against your own — you too are sixty, five-foot-nine, around one hundred and eighty-five pounds, your own soft, rounded stomach melting into his. The fabric of his shirt rubs against your chest. One of his large hands cradles the back of your neck with surprising tenderness, guiding the kiss exactly as he wants it. The other arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you tighter. You can feel his cock beginning to thicken inside his trousers, a heavy bulge pressing against your thigh. Your own arousal rises, a familiar heat pooling in ...