“Marshall’s Antique Cock: Commanded, Controlled, and Finally Useful”

Marshall sat hunched on the park bench, his ugly sweater doing little to fend off the brisk wind that cut through the air. The sweater was a disaster of muted greens and oranges, with a neckline that sagged like his spirit. He pulled it tighter around himself, his gap-toothed grimace fixed in place as he watched the pigeons bicker over scraps on the pavement. It wasn’t that he loved the pigeons; he just didn’t have anywhere else to be.

He wasn’t anyone, really. Just a man whose shadow scared him more than the people passing by, who ignored him like he was another part of the bench.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sudden presence of a woman — a tall, striking blonde standing a few feet away. She was an odd sight in the park, her sleek trench coat tied tightly at the waist, her crimson heels clicking as she approached him. She seemed out of place against the cracked pavement and graffiti-stained benches, her elegance almost predatory.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice honeyed and warm, “you wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?”

Marshall blinked up at her, caught off guard. “Uh, no, sorry. I don’t smoke.”

She smiled, stepping closer, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. “That’s alright,” she said. “I suppose I didn’t come over just for that.”

Without another word, she untied the belt of her trench coat and let it fall open. Beneath, she wore nothing. Her skin was impossibly smooth, her breasts full and swollen, the faint pink of her nipples drawing his gaze. Lower still, her body was bare, immaculate, her every curve on display. Marshall froze, his breath caught in his throat.

“Do you like my perfume?” she asked, leaning in just slightly, her tone dripping with an odd mix of seduction and something darker. “Would you like to get a closer whiff?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his mouth went dry. She stepped closer, one hand holding the trench coat open while the other stayed at her side. Her scent was intoxicating, or so he thought — a faint sweetness mingled with something floral and heady. It filled the space between them, pulling him in.

She sat down on the bench next to him, her body pressed far too close for comfort. Marshall felt the warmth of her skin, the subtle movement of her breath. Her thigh brushed against his, and his heart nearly stopped. She leaned closer, her lips just inches from his ear.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, holding something toward him, “take a deep breath.”

Before he could process the oddity of the request, the sweet scent overwhelmed him — sharp, chemical, and cloying. His eyes widened as he realized the “perfume” was coming from a rag in her hand, now pressed firmly against his face. He tried to pull away, but her grip was surprisingly strong, her other hand tangling in his ugly sweater to hold him in place.

The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was her smirk, those icy blue eyes glinting with satisfaction.

When Marshall woke, he was no longer in the park. The warmth of sunlight and the sounds of pigeons were replaced with dim lighting and an eerie silence. His hands were bound behind him, and the scratch of his sweater against his neck reminded him this was no dream. He blinked, his head throbbing, and realized he was on his knees, his body pressed against the thick carpet beneath a large wooden desk.

Marshall’s knees ached from the unfamiliar position beneath the desk, the plush carpet doing little to soften the weight pressing down on him. The blonde above him leaned back in her chair, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of a desk lamp. She had yet to address him directly since his awakening, choosing instead to tap away on her laptop with an air of complete indifference. The tension in the room was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of her skirt each time she shifted her legs.

Without warning, she reached into a drawer and tossed a bottle of water toward him. It hit the carpet with a dull thud, rolling to a stop against his knee. A small pill bottle followed, rattling noisily as it landed beside him. Marshall stared at the objects, his confusion mounting.

“Drink,” she said, her voice dripping with authority. “You’re going to need it.”

He hesitated, his trembling fingers fumbling to unscrew the cap of the water bottle. His parched throat screamed for relief, but he couldn’t ignore the pill bottle that lay menacingly by his side.

“What’s this?” he croaked, his voice dry and uncertain.

She smirked, finally deigning to look down at him. “Viagra,” she said matter-of-factly. “From now on, your old ass is going to stay hard whenever I say so.”

Marshall’s jaw dropped, but no words came out. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her icy blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” she asked, her tone laced with mockery. “A relic. An antique. That sad little cock of yours is like some ancient artifact, long past its prime but still capable of… occasional use. And I’m going to make sure it’s useful, Marshall. You’ll massage my dogs with that antique dick of yours whenever I say so.”

The absurdity of her words hit him like a slap, but there was no denying the seriousness in her tone. She pointed toward her feet, which were now propped up on the edge of the desk. Her toes flexed lazily, the smooth arches taunting him. “Start with my feet,” she commanded, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “And when I’m satisfied, maybe I’ll let you crawl out of here for a piss break.”

Marshall swallowed hard, his body trembling with a mix of humiliation and reluctant arousal.

A nervous energy coursed through him as he sat there, waiting. Time dragged on, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. He wasn’t used to this — this strange, intimate subservience. The tension in his body grew, compounded by the effects of the pills, which began to take hold.

Marshall shifted awkwardly, his breath hitching as the sensations in his body heightened. The warmth of the room, the faint scent of her perfume, the soft sound of her legs brushing against the leather chair — it all pressed against his senses. His mind drifted, his thoughts swirling with conflicting emotions: embarrassment, shame, curiosity… and something he couldn’t quite name.

After what felt like an eternity, she stretched languidly, her feet brushing against him beneath the desk. The sudden contact jolted him from his thoughts. Her legs, smooth and crossed at the ankle, now rested within his reach. She glanced down at him, her icy blue eyes locking onto his with a smirk.

“Well,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of command, “are you just going to sit there?”

Tentatively, his trembling hands reached out, brushing against the curve of her calf. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm against the tip of his cock. The sensation sent an involuntary shiver through him. He focused intently on the act, his pressure growing steadier as he ran his glans over her legs, his precum pissing from his tip acting like an oil, gliding softly, gently.

He closed his eyes briefly to digest the pleasure, only to hear her sharp command cut through the air: “Watch, Marshall,” she said, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that made his eyes snap open.

He moved slowly at first, his touch hesitant and uncertain, but as his cock traveled over her, a strange confidence began to build. The firmness of her calf muscles, the delicate arch of her ankle, and the velvety smoothness of her skin awakened something primal in him. He couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast between his rough, worn cock and the silky perfection beneath them. Each pass of his glans felt like an intimate exploration, a connection that pulled him deeper into the moment.

As he massaged her, he became acutely aware of the heat radiating from her body, merging with the warmth of the cum. The way her muscles subtly shifted under his touch, the tension melting away, made him feel as though he had some power — however fleeting — over her comfort. His cock tingled with the sensation, each motion sending an unexpected surge of arousal through him. His mind betrayed him, focusing entirely on the rhythm, the texture, the closeness.

He was losing himself in the sensation, his cock guiding him to a place where he no longer thought, but simply felt.

Above him, she remained silent, but he could sense her satisfaction, the way she shifted just slightly to allow him better access. His heart pounded in his chest, his arousal mounting as he realized just how deeply the act was affecting him — not just physically, but in a way he couldn’t yet define. The line between humiliation and desire blurred, leaving only the sensation of her beneath his hands and the ache of wanting more.