After a long day of work, you've had a complicated day at the office. Late at night, the dog is anxious to go out. You take him, or rather he takes you, to that large park that's a bit of a distance away. You walk through the park with the leash loose, the dog sniffing the damp grass, you tired, the streetlights barely illuminating the path dotted with leaves and puddles. The air is cold, and all you can hear are your footsteps and the dog's panting.

Suddenly, among the hedges, you see a still figure. A young man—no more than twenty-something—fair-skinned, short and disheveled hair, athletic build. He looks at you without moving, almost defying the cold of the night with total brazenness. He's only wearing black lace lingerie, the bra fitted to his defined chest, the thong revealing more than concealing. A small cock protrudes above the thong. His suspenders mark his tense skin. He's barefoot, his feet dirty, smeared with mud from the park.

He stops you with his gaze, saying nothing. You feel his agitated breathing. There's something absolutely submissive about how he lowers his eyes when he sees you, as if waiting for orders, humiliated by his own exposure, yet not moving an inch.

The dog gets restless, and you move a little closer, almost without thinking, observing every detail of that body vulnerable to the cold and risk. The silence between the two of you is dense, almost electric. All that humiliation, that mute surrender, envelops him.

I wet my lips. He's a man, but so feminine that he's exciting me. I ask the young man, "Do you like sucking cocks?"

He lowers his head even further, his shoulders trembling, his breathing quickening. The black lace fits his chest as one of his hands trembles over his thigh, marking his nails on the skin. He slowly raises his gaze, his eyes large, moist, and responds in a low, husky voice, hoarse with desire and shame:

"Yes... I love it."

The hint of submission is crushing. He can barely look you straight in the eye, swallowing saliva, his skin goose-bumped over his thin shoulders, clearly feeling the cold against his almost naked body, as if he needed your permission to exist. The dog by your side sniffs the air but doesn't flinch: all the tension is between you and that humiliated boy, waiting for your next word.

You move just close enough to be right in front of him. You notice how his breathing trembles and his hard nipples mark the bra. His body trembles, and you smile with blatant superiority.

"Show me," you say, grave, categorically.

He kneels before you on the damp earth, his knees sinking into the mud, not caring about soiling his lingerie or the cutting cold scratching his skin. He looks at you one last time, pleading, waiting for your next order.

You keep looking at him, so submissive, so humiliated, with his face smeared with mud, his knees dug into the damp earth. He says nothing, just waits, hi...