Surrender: Ultra Alpha Age Play ABDL Romance

Surrender

By

D.D. Wyatt

©
Eve Erotica and DD Wyatt

All Rights Reserved

© 2015 Eve Erotica and D.D. Wyatt

SURRENDER

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the author and publisher.

All characters in this work are fictitious and not based on any persons living or non-living. All characters are 18 years of age or older and not blood related. This work of fiction contains graphic sexual scenes that may include BDSM, spanking, anal play, age play, ABDL, and other wonderful and erotic sexual fetishes and fantasies.

A NOTE TO MY READERS:

I appreciate every one of you. I am someone just like you. You will see me and not give a second glance. I’m not a porn star, stripper or BDSM dominatrix. I am everyone — and I enjoy a deep, dark romp into the world of sexual fantasy as much as my readers. I love tough, ultra alpha males that claim their women, body and soul. I also love the dynamic of taking care of the women they love like the precious ‘littles’ they are, red bottoms and all. So, indulge, lean back,

always keep one hand on your e-reader until you absolutely can’t stand it any longer…Then quickly finish up and get right back to the story!! Erotica is for everyone (especially enjoyed with a very close companion)and is one of life’s most sensuous pleasures. Enjoy.

See all of my work here:

D.D. WYATT

Read FREE CHAPTERS, updates and other musings at

facebook.com/ddwyattauthor

“Four-fifty!!” I screamed over the loud bass and cat calls.

“How about you suck my cock too? How much extra would that be??” The bearded, inebriated swollen face of yet another fucking loser who somehow thought he had a wicked sense of humor smiled his four good teeth back at me.

“OH!!! Wow! Yeah, well, that would cost you your dick. ‘Cause, last guy that tempted me with an offer like that went home with his cock in a pickle jar.
Four-fifty
.”

He threw a nasty, wet five dollar bill across the beer drenched counter giving me his best drunken bad ass glare.

“Bitch.”

“Fucktard.”

I gave him my most heart felt smile as he stumbled back to his table of other toothless wonders screaming and waving dollar bills at Renee and Vanessa as they gyrated and bent over in their 7” platform black leather boots.

One thing that has become so clear to me over the years working in this shit hole, is you are always a bitch once you tell a guy you won’t suck his cock. It’s like magic. One second you’re the answer to their prayers, the next, you’re the foulest cunt that ever walked the face of the earth. Just one of the deep revolutionary lessons I’ve learned at Diamond Rocks.

“Jesus. What the fuck now.” The same human waste was bolstered back to the bar by his screaming throng of cronies.

I leaned on the counter, trying my best to look for someone else that may need alcoholic assistance. Unfortunately, it was a slow night and there were only a couple other guys sitting at the counter and they were topped off already.

“Hey, why you gotta be such a bitch?” Romeo must have had some sort of hallucinogenic epiphany that I somehow wanted to have a conversation with him.

“Go sit down.” I glared back into his blotchy red face. Too many years, too many bottles and God knows what else has left a road map of lines and pit holes over what once could have been a human face.

“Fuck you! Get me a shot of Yager and a Bud. You gotta be nicer to the customers you know. You ain’t no beauty like them girls up there. I’m doin’ you a favor bein’ nice to you. Fat girls need love too.” The swinging pendulum of his tone went from fighting mad, to somehow thinking I needed his advise, to some odd joke-between-friends smile.

Another lesson you learn doing this job in this place, is don’t ever,
ever
try to reason with fucks like this. Their lives are so far gone, nothing they say effects me anymore. And, what they don’t know, is I may just be the chubby girl behind the bar, but I’ve got some stones.

“Go sit the fuck down or you’re out.” My tank top barely covered my more than ample,
real,
DDD’s as I leaned over the bar to give him my clearest intonation.

“I need a drink. I wanna Yager and a Bud. Get me a drink bitch.” He slammed his sausage shaped fingers down on the bar, leaning into me and I could smell the quintessential sour, vile, cigarette, drunk-with-rotten-teeth odor that came off so many of these fucking losers. This fucker was just too dumb and nasty to live.

“SIT YOUR ASS DOWN. NO MORE DRINKS.” The music was pounding, but I knew he could hear me just fine. I used my clearest tone, practiced for years on the lowest of life forms that pushed my buttons in this place.

“YOU GO FUCK YOU SELF! I’M THE CUSMER! GET ME FU’KN DRINK!”

Jesse was already watching, I knew it. And before the man of my dreams at the bar could steal my heart away, a giant wall of meat was standing next to him as I gave him my sweetest schoolgirl smile.

“
Too bad
. Time to go.” I tipped my head to the side and gave a little pout as the slow realization came over the drunk that I wasn’t on my own.

“Come on. Time to go.” Jesse stood 6’6” of rock solid, ex-Green Beret bad ass. Unflappable and intimidating not just in form, but in presence and demeanor. But, you add in the wonders of alcohol and some guys had a little too much beer bravery to know when to turn tail and run.

“Get offa me! This fuckin’ bitch needs to get me my fuckin’ drink. I’m with my buddies over there, so don’t fuckin’ mess with me man.”

Fucktard did his best to stand up straight. It occurred to me, that his circumference was probably greater than his height. I could see that he had that wonderful roll of fat hanging out the front of his best Mossy Oak 5XL t-shirt that looked like he had an ass crack on the front end as well as the back end.

“Time to go. Last chance or I’m going to help you to the door.” Jesse’s voice was clear and flat as he crossed his massive arms over the flexing pecs under his plain stark white t-shirt.

I could see it coming. So fucking predictable.

“I’m not going no where azz hole. Me and my buddies kick your azz.”

Don’t do it. Oh, please, don’t…I mean, yes, please do. I want to see this.

Fat man turned as though he was going to walk back to his table, all his equally disgusting friends still drooling over the girls on the stage. Then, like a cartoon, he swung around, his best roundhouse punch coming in slow motion as he teetered, his enormous belly weight and the copious amounts of alcohol he had ingested threw off his center of gravity.

Jesse was a monster, but his reflexes put most cats to shame. He was four steps in front of the punch even before the giant weeble got it started.

“Fucker.” I heard his growl even over the pounding music and typical background noise of the bar. Jesse caught that fat dude’s arm just as he wanted, swinging him around with the force of his own drunken inertia and slammed his face down on the bar with such force, it bounced my boobs in my shirt as I leaned on the long wooden counter.

I knew better than to do anything else. My job now was to step back and keep an eye on the girls dancing. If things got too hot, I would give them the signal to stop their dance and get their skinny asses back stage.

Blood was trickling out the nasty swollen nose of the customer-of-the-week and before he could center himself for any more fight, Jesse had his hand behind his back and he was halfway to the door before his four friends even noticed what was happening.

“Night’s over ass hole.” I could hear Jesse even as he walked away. His dark crew cut and tattoo covered arms outlined in the flashing strobe lights.

The simmering sexual frustration of the table of guys erupted as soon as they noticed their buddy taking a ride out the door. Like M-80’s going off in succession, each one standing up, acting like their dick is harder than the last and they stumbled and bumped their way toward Jesse as he approached the door.

“JESSE!!! THEY’RE BEHIND YOU!!” I screamed just as the first guy threw himself with a half connected punch to the back of Jesse’s head.

The girls on stage looked at me, but they were in no danger, so I didn’t wave them off and they gave me pissy looks. I knew they wanted to get back stage and fill their noses and arms with whatever their candy of the week was. But, fuck them, they all treated me like shit so they can just keep dancing even if no one is throwing money.

It only took about five minutes, but Jesse, Leonard and Henry got the happy customers corralled and out the door without having to call the cops. It was always a rush when things got hot, but it happened almost every night, so we all just took it in stride.

While Jesse and the other guys were dancing with the toothless quadruplets, I snuck under the bar and poured myself a triple shot of Grey Goose and slammed it back. It was a little early for me to start that heavy, but no one was looking, so I figured time to get it while the gettin’s good.

I secretly loved watching the fights. I knew I was safe, and watching Jesse was like watching an Olympic gold medalist win their event every time. His calm authority radiated off of him and when his powerful body went into gear to do what it did best, it was a sight to say the least. Every ounce of his power focused, each muscle moved in perfect succession with the next as he not only out powered almost everyone I had ever seen him take on, but he out witted them too.

When most people see a giant, tattooed mountain like him, they immediately size him up as muscle and no brains. It worked to his advantage and he liked to have the advantage. Only, I knew him. I knew him better than most and I could always see the gears turning behind the dark, deep set eyes, his nose just the right amount of crooked from when his convoy was ambushed in Iraq and he broke most of the bones in his face.

Nothing scared him. Nothing I had ever seen at least. His powerfully built broad frame was layered with lean muscle that rose and fell every night under the perfect bright white t-shirt he wore.
Every night.
White t-shirt, worn 505’s and his well broken in custom made Wesco Harness boots made up his uniform. The only other time I had see him wear anything else was two years ago when he put on an Armani suit to be a pawl bearer at my brother’s funeral.

It didn’t take long, and new faceless, nameless losers filtered back in the bar, filling the empty table left by the other drunks.

I watched Jesse move in the background, giving the girls on the stage some definite hand gestures telling them to get back to work as there were new customers around the stage eager to part with their money.

He was going to go into his office next because in the fight, one of the guys had spilled a beer on his shirt. A dark stain covered him from his hard flat abs across his chest. Sure enough, as soon as the girls moved with more of a purpose on stage, he turned and headed down the back hall to his office for a change of clothes. Of course, it would still be a white t-shirt, but he could never stand to wear that one again. He wouldn’t even wash it. It would go right in the trash.

My stomach gave a little flutter watching him walk away. Jesse and my older brother Kent had been best friends since 2nd grade when Jesse pushed him off the slide and they duked it out on the playground. I guess that’s how guys make friends sometimes, because they’ve been like brothers ever since. When I got taken out of Mom and Dad’s house, Kent was already living in a little guest house on the back of Jesse’s parent’s property. When Kent fought for me in court and became my legal guardian, I moved in and Jesse kind of became my big brother too.

“Fuck.” Four more hours in this shit hole. With Jesse in his office, I managed to pour my 42 ounce covered ‘coffee’ mug full of Grey Goose and Cranberry without anyone seeing me. Taking those burning sips between customers kept me sane. At least that is what I told myself.

Each hour became less and less focused as the vodka began to overtake my brain. By 3 am, we were clearing everyone out and I knew I better get my shit together before Jesse saw me.

“Where’s my purse…” I mumbled to myself as I tried to remember which hiding place I used when I arrived sober over six hours ago.