“Can you keep a secret?” He asks.

I fell on the bed, a small cry of surprise escaping my lips. He was so much stronger than me. No. I was weak and ****. Until now I had always been the dominant one, the sexual aggressor manipulating and controlling the women in my life, dictating what happened, when it happened. I had enjoyed the power dynamic. Screwing my wife and turning her bisexual for a ménage a trios with my lesbian maid. Now I was the one being manipulated. I was small, weak, powerless. And it excites me sexually, more than being in control ever had. I lay on Hernandus bed, horny and wet and at his mercy. The sheets were cheap. This wasn’t some lavish bedroom with expensive linen. The room was furnished with old furniture. It was a servants room. And I was about to serve a servant. Hernandus nudged my legs apart to better access my sex. I looked down it my pussy, hairless, lips slightly puckered and dark. “A secret?” I prompted with my small girlish voice. I sounded young, sexy, cute. I hated it and loved it.

“Yes. Your wife. She told me to make you beg to be fucked. Will you beg do you think?” He asked as he unbuckled his belt and undid his pants.

“Beg?” I repeated nervously. Man I probably would. I watched in anticipation as he withdrew his cock. My tongue touched my lips.