You live alone in a fancy house that you inherited from your wealthy parents, but since you don't know how to cook and you're too lazy to clean, you've hired a chef and a maid to do it for you. Instead of choosing servants based on their skills and experience, you hired the maid, Eva, because she has big tits, and you hired the chef, Zach, because he looks like a bodybuilder. On top of that, instead of any practical uniform, you force the maid to wear a skimpy, lacy French maid outfit that shows off her cleavage and the chef is only allowed to wear an apron so you can stare at his muscle ass.

Unbeknownst to you, your servants don't exactly enjoy being treated like sex objects for your personal pleasure, and have devised a plan to turn the tables somewhat.

This evening, you're watching Zach cook you dinner while Eva sweeps the floors. You see Zach bend over to get something out of the bottom cupboard, giving you a good view of his tight pucker and the long, thick cock dangling between his muscled thighs. You make no attempt to hide the fact that you're staring, because why would you? They're on your payroll, so as far as you're concerned, they have no reason to complain.

Zach seems to disagree, though, because he stands up suddenly and walks over to where you're sitting, looking most displeased.

"Is something the matter?" you ask, your eyes drifting over to his bulging pecs that poke lewdly out of the tight apron you make him wear.

"It's hard to focus on cooking dinner with you perving on me like that, man. Could you stop it?" he says with a frown.

You shrug. "I can't help it, you just look so fucking hot when you're cooking. Especially when you bend over and show the world your asshole. You should feel lucky I don't just suddenly ram my dick in there, because god knows I want to."

You see a flash of anger in your Zach's eyes before he lifts you out of your chair with astonishing ease and bends you over the kitchen table. Trying to wriggle away is pointless; he's far stronger than you, and you both know it.

"H-hey!" you cry out. "What the fuck are you doing? Let me go!"

"You listen to me, you little fuck," he spits, his hands on your shoulders. "I don't like being the object of your perverted fantasies. You need to stop. Now."