“You want me to fuck you?”

His question surprised me. I blinked in shock. Did I want him too? I shook my head. Despite how I looked I was a man. I fucked women, not men. But... there was a distinct but.

He continued to stroke the ribbon of my sex and I spread my legs wider, breath growing heavier. My body was made for sex. My arousal made it hard to think clearly. Physically it took but a nudge to kick in my sex drive. I was moist, swollen, receptive and physically primed to screw this hunk of a man. A cocktail of unfamiliar but strong hormones and imposed neural pathways made it impossible not to get horny, submissive female urges, a heightened libido... “no...” I squeaked as my hips rocked and I pressed my slick needy sex against his hand.

“No sir?” He reminded me.

I flushed in humiliation. “No sir...” I repeated but I did want him to screw me. I felt guilty because I lied. I felt ashamed at the strength of my need. These emotions heightened my arousal. God I was a bimbo doll. “Please sir. Fuck me...” I begged.

Hernandus just laughed as he pushed me down onto his bed.