Sheriff Daddy’s Unforgettable Little by Jess Winters




"Is that any way to treat a paying customer?" the drunken man before me protested before me over the booming music.  "All I asked for was another drink…"  I kept a polite smile on my face as I watched home carefully.

Drunk customers were always a risky problem.  Either they got really violent when you cut them off or they started acting really crazy and got themselves in trouble for public indecency as well as public intoxication.  This guy didn't seem violent, but you never knew with people.  He could just as easily turn on me as he could pass out in the booth.  Either way, bar policy was to cut the customer off when they hit this stage in order to avoid any problems when the person got arrested, and this man was beyond drunk.  The whole situation reminded me to have a nice little talk with Sammy.

"I'm sorry, sir," I told the man as politely as possible, "but I can't serve you any more alcoholic beverages tonight.  If you would like, I will call you a cab so that you can go home, but it's our policy."  The man swung his empty bottle of beer around lazily, and I took a small step back, getting out of his way.

"That's not fair, though," he protested as his head lulled in my direction.  "I need this.  Please…"  His eyes widened into a drunken puppy dog's eyes as he stared at me.  "Just one more drink."  I shook my head firmly, standing my ground with my answer.

"The answer is still no," I told him, and he stopped and stared at his empty bottle.

"I see," he said, his voice suddenly calm and quiet, barely audible over the loud music.  "You're just like Diane, you know.  A royal bitch…"  Before I could even blink, he smashed the end of the bottle and held the jagged end towards me, and I backed off as quickly as possible.  However, he was much faster as he stumbled towards me, hefting the bottle by his head as he towered towards me.  "Did Diane put you up to this?  Huh?"  Not knowing who Diane was, I continued to back away, keeping my eyes on him.

Most people would turn and run away as fast as possible to escape the angry man with the broken beer bottle, but they also would have ended up killed.  The best way to make sure a drunk wouldn't actually hurt you was to keep your eyes on him at all times.  If they rush at you, you dodge, but, if all they do is threaten you, you can carefully guide them to security, who would apprehend the guy.  The second you lose them in the crowd is the second that they sneak up on you and kill you.  The man continued to stumble towards me, but he stopped when, right on cue, two security guards came up, each of them taking an arm.  The man dropped the bottle, breaking it to pieces in the process, and shouted as he struggled to free himself.

"Let go of me," he whined as he pulled away.  "All I want is another beer."  Tom and Brad, the two security guards, stopped and looked at me.

"Is everything okay, Celeste?" Brad asked, and I shook my head.

"This man got cut off, and he got violent," I informed them.  "I suggest he leaves."  The man shook his head as his gaze landed on me.

"You stupid bitch!" he shouted as he stared at me.  "How could you?"  Tom shook his head as he helped hold the customer back.

"I suppose we should call the police," Tom said as he looked at Brad.  "Come on."  Brad nodded in agreement as they both guided the man away, still kicking and screaming while I followed behind them.

In all honesty, I felt bad for the guy.  Normally, when they got violent like that, I felt like there was a deep, underlying issue that had driven them to it.  Whoever Diane was, she was clearly the reason behind his violent outburst and drunken actions.  I followed them to the back of the club, where the man would be detained by the bouncers until the police arrived.

"Is there a problem here?" asked a voice over the crowd as we walked.  Both Tom and Brad turned to face the speaker, and I followed their example.

"Sheriff Kingsley?" asked Brad as he stared at the man approaching us.  "I didn't know you were here."  The man shrugged and stepped out of the darkness of the dance floor, and I finally got a good look at him.

Sheriff Winston Kingsley was a mountain of a man who looked like he could take on a grizzly bear and walk away unharmed.  He had kind green eyes and short brown hair that he kept buzzed close to his skull, making him look like an army sergeant.  Rumor was that he was in the Marines before he joined law enforcement, and, based on how big he was, I believed it.  He was rather intimidating, but I also felt a wetness spread through my panties as I stared at him.  Tom kept going, completely unbothered by Sheriff Kingsley.

"This man just attacked one of our waitresses with a broken bottle," Tom explained as he nodded towards the man they were escorting him.  "We were about to call you."  Sheriff Kingsley frowned as he looked at the man.

"I see," he sighed as he put down his glass of whiskey on the rocks.  "Where's the waitress he attacked?"  All three men turned to face me, and I nervously raised a hand.

"That was me," I admitted, and Sheriff Kingsley looked me up and down, taking in every detail of my tiny frame.

"Is that so?" he asked, a strange smile overtaking his expression.  "Ma'am, please come with me.  I'm going to need to have you give a statement down at the station."