8 comments/ 70376 views/ 37 favorites Asian Abuse Ch. 02 By: Bibliophile Author Note: Even though the themes of racial humiliation were introduced in Ch. 01, they get a bit darker here, so proceed with caution. Remember that it's just a fantasy. ** ** I've made a lot of changes in my life since I met him. An outsider looking in might say I'd turned it upside down and embraced a dangerous and self-destructive obsession. But I am a very contented little "gook"...an extremely grateful and happy and fulfilled "slant-eye" (to use his terminology). Earlier in this very taboo relationship, I proved to myself I could survive his physical punishments, while thriving and literally blossoming under his verbal, emotional and psychological degradation. After that first unforgettable date where I was degraded so deliciously and called so many taboo names, he called me out to him a few more times -- and each meeting was as horribly satisfying as the first -- and I got the sense that so long as I was totally obedient, he would continue to make use of me. And once I realized that, I made some momentous decisions. First, I quit my job and gave up my rental -- and found another job (swing shift) and another rental right near where he worked (I don't know where he lives, but I assumed he at least worked near to where he meets me during lunches). Second, I targeted, found and started dating a quiet and unassuming asian man. I deliberately looked for somebody beneath me in looks and confidence (although HE would say that it's impossible to find anybody more worthless than me). My new "boyfriend" was very shy, definitely intimidated and happy to have me beside him as a trophy to make him look better to his friends and family, and -- most important -- he asked no questions. Overall, it was a win-win for both of us. He had a nice-looking asian girl to raise his stature and I had a stable public life so I could lead a taboo secret life. With a second paycheck, a closer home, a passive and content boyfriend that worked a day-schedule rather than a swing-schedule, I could completely revolve my day, my life and my existence around HIM, the degrader, the abuser, the man I thought of as my Master - that I couldn't get enough of. [He didn't let me call him Master...he was very inflexible on what I saw as a small point...but that's who he was in my mind, of course.] I never talked to him or told him about all these things I'd done -- I was beneath his notice in that regard and I was frightened of making waves, of disclosing to him how much I craved the way he mistreated me, verbally abused me, racially degraded me - in a way that made it seem like I was beneath his notice, only a plaything that he kept around as long as I said nothing, was obedient and obeyed. So that's what I did, doing everything I could to be a good little "chink" girl. And, like I said, I was completely satisfied with the arrangement, less some minor complaints about too much pain (he was a little bit relentless on that) and the total lack of after-care (he was an absolute zero on that). But he sure could deliver where it counted! And tonight, I might have an entire evening with him! I am excited, but, truth to tell, I am also scared silly. As I thought about the possibilities, I ran my hands across my slim body, caressing my tits, touching my hardening nipples, feeling the desire rise up in me. I could barely wait for tonight (I had already called in sick). But I was scared too -- I'd never seen HIM at night. I knew how vicious he could be during a long lunch -- how much more brutal could he be during a whole evening? I wanted and craved and daydreamed about and lived for the degradation and humiliation -- and really enjoyed all the thick, long, warm, white cock he filled me with - but like I wrote above, I disliked the physical "pain" stuff that he insisted on combining with all the "great" stuff. He told me his own family had gone away for a few days and that he wanted me to meet him at the place where I sucked his cock (a little-occupied light industrial park, for those times where he just wanted a blowjob from me and not a motel date). Would it just be a bj after work from his little secret "gook" whore before he went on with the rest of his evening? Would he take me home with him? Would he take me on a real date to a restaurant maybe? I daydreamed contentedly of the possibilities and embraced my fears about his sadism as I fondled and fingered myself to an absolutely luscious and satisfying orgasm. In just a few hours, I would be HIS for hours and hours rather than just a few stolen minutes. How could things get better than that for a worthless little chink bitch like me! As usual with Sir, the reality hit pretty fast. As his car drove up to mine, I bounced out with a huge smile on my face. I had my hair in a tight pony-tail, wearing a little Japanese school girl outfit (his instructions). I should be embarrassed in public like this, but I had learned to ignore the humiliation and just let go. Walking around in public in a costume like this, even for just the few seconds I was out in the open, brought a hot flash of heat and shame to my face and moisture to my already-aroused cunt. He looked at me with his magnetic authority, his impossible-to-resist handsomeness, dressed in his business slacks, shirt and tie. Without saying anything, he got out, walked back to his trunk and opened it. "Get in the trunk, you little jap-faced, schoolgirl bitch." ??? "We're going to my place and I don't want anybody seeing a gook in the car with me." A thrill ran up my spine as I climbed into his trunk. It WOULD be his place after all! The trunk was dark, the air warm, the ride bumpy and mesmerizing - helping me to get into an obedient frame of mind. Time held still while my imagination ran wild. My belly was still warm from masturbating a few hours ago. I went through the details of my preparation for him, hoping I hadn't fucked up, knowing I'd be hit or punished even harder than he already planned if he found any fault at all (there was no hope of not being hit at all...I knew I was in for a rough night physically). But I was very clean and pure for him (can gooks like me be pure and clean?). I almost never let my boyfriend fuck me...and when I did, it was only on Friday nights when I knew I wouldn't see Master until at least Monday. I had also not eaten today and had given myself multiple enemas, desperately scared of being dirty down there for him. I was dressed immaculately, with knee high white socks, Mary Jane's, white cotton underwear, checkered skirt, white blouse, tight pony-tail. I didn't think I'd be wearing these clothes very long (I never did) -- and I knew he had me dress up like this to reinforce the jap-girl stereotype (even though I was the "chink" flavor of asian whore)....by the way, those jap girls were so plain-jane ugly in my mind...I didn't like dressing as one for him. I definitely prefer the "chink" and "gook" slurs and stereotypes (if that makes any sense), but I couldn't control his own much wider view of asian girls and he often slurred me across a wider range of nationalities: a korean zipperhead, a jap schoolgirl, a Polynesian pineapple whore, a desert dwelling mongoloid, an Americanized coolie bitch, etc. The car slowed and turned. I heard the mechanical noises of a garage door. The bright crack of light around the dim trunk dimmed as he closed the garage door and shut off the car. I waited in an agony of anticipation, afraid he'd forgotten his little yellow bitch in the trunk, worried that he might make me sweat it out in utter, dark solitude, desperate to be released and to begin my night of humiliation and degradation, piss-drinking, pain-slut and cum-dump -- and whatever else this big, tall abusive white man had in store for his obedient rice-whore. Whatever he wanted, I wanted...but I didn't want to be left alone, to be isolated from him. The trunk opened and I looked up at the object of my unhealthy fixation - tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, a lurking sexual demon in suburban clothing. "Are you ready for a rough night, you pancake-faced bitch?" he said matter-of-factly, without a smile. [Pancake-faced? That was a new one and I didn't see how it applied to me at all. Round-eyes were definitely mysterious.] "Yes Sir." It definitely wouldn't do to break any mood he wanted to set. "You're going to be a crying, pathetic mess soon, just as you deserve, but I do enjoy sobbing, tearful, desperate cunts, especially educated ones like you - it makes it that much more fun to break you into something usable, knowing that you were raised to think more of yourself than you should." I wasn't a total waste of his time! Inside his ugly racial harangues, he could sometimes compliment me so deliciously -- and, in a lot of ways, I'd learned that his compliments were even more precious to me than his honest and totally sexy white-man racism. "You can do anything you want with me, Sir. I belong to you." He reached down and grabbed my ponytail and pulled me out of the car. I stumbled out and leaned against his white, tall, strong body. I risked punishment by reaching my hand down to cup the bulge at the front of his pants -- his precious cock and balls. I couldn't help myself - I just had to touch him. "What an eager, pathetic, flat-nosed slut you are." I'd heard that one before, but not from him. But, yes. Pathetic. Eager. All of that and more...so much more. With a hand on my ponytail, he grabbed at my right tit and squeezed it hard. "Tell me what a bitch you are." "I'm a worthless, pathetic, flat-nosed, coolie bitch that deserves to be punished and humiliated and controlled, Sir. I'm so lucky that a man like you agrees to train a stupid, ugly, pancake-faced whore like me." I wasn't sure if I got everything right, but I was just stringing words together -- new and old - hoping they would work in pleasing him. Being called names and being forced to call myself names, in a realistic manner, feels so fucking right and good to me, a warm blanket of degradation. impossible to describe and unimaginably fun and taboo to experience. How easy it is to be what a man wants, when the man tells you and you want it too. Don't get fooled that I'm playing a role here. I AM a slant-eyed chink and a rice eating gook -- and pathetic and worthless and stupid. I embrace it. It's fun in my mind, but it's MUCH MORE FUN when it's real - with HIM - when I can tell he's not pretending, that he means it. He took his big strong hand off my tit, cupped my chin and turned my face until I saw where he intended to take me. It was a post, set in the middle of his three-car garage, square, wooden, with support bracing near the top, going up to the roof - way over my head. It looked utterly nondescript, but I immediately recognized its potential uses to terrorize and torture willing or unwilling female flesh. "What do you think of that, cunt?" The words came to me so easy, through training and practice and comfort the last six months with him...during the stolen moments in his day...during the only real moments in my day. "Please put me on that post, Master. I am a total piece of chink trash and I need to be punished for being such an unworthy and filthy gook." I could feel myself zoning out now, falling under a deep spell of obedience and degradation and submission. In a daze, I saw my shirt ripped off, my bra unhooked, my skirt removed. "Keep your hands on that post, you yellow chink slut. Don't turn away from the belt." I remembered the first time he took a belt to me, that I'd covered my ass with my bound arms and he'd strapped my tits instead. I knew the punishment for failure and actually hugged the post tightly, my tits pressing into the flaking paint on the wood, as a way to stop from turning or running when the pain came. I felt vulnerable and inferior, my dark glossy black hair, tied in a ponytail, resting on my shoulders, exposed yellow skin waiting for the harsh kiss of his leather, now naked....my school girl outfit, flimsy protection though it was, now gone, totally exposed for Master. I saw him snick his belt out of his pants. A belt I loved and feared. "This is going to hurt, you ugly jap bitch." "Please Master...Please...", said almost incoherently, not knowing what to hope for. "I've told you time and again not to call me Master, you fucking chink. I don't keep you in chains." [How ignorant this round-eye was to believe anything in my life related to him was "willing". The chains might be invisible, but stronger than any physical bondage or slavery could be.] But I had to play along to his inability to see and understand this particular thing. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm so stupid." The strapping began, and the tears didn't take that long to start flowing. The cruel and remorseless kiss of leather required total concentration on my part to hug the post, to not turn away from it. Only his absolute domination of my sexual identity kept me from twisting away. Only the knowledge that it would be much, much worse allowed me to keep my back to him, to accept the cruel strokes on shoulder, back, ass, and thighs. I wished he'd bound me - he was cruel even in that, making me concentrate to face the pain unbound, free to twist, escape, and get into even more trouble. Ten minutes later, I was slumped, barely hanging on to the post, sweat pouring off my leather-strapped body and soaking my long, black hair - the heat of the raised, angry red welts cooking me. The whole experience couldn't have left me feeling more submissive, more obedient - heaven and hell intertwined. He was an absolute monster and I was sobbing and whimpering, ass, thighs and shoulders on fire. He stood silent and remorseless. "What does this flat-nosed, pineapple nigger hanging in front of me have to say for herself?" [This might seem small of me, but I positively HATE IT when he mixes in Polynesian epithets. They really rub the wrong way. gook, jap, chink, mongoloid, zipperhead, slopehead...all good...double good, actually. But I am an EAST ASIAN piece of trash, not fucking POLYNESIAN TRASH! He wouldn't call a jewish girl a nigger, would he? Why is he dishing out this g*d-damn unwelcome Polynesian abuse!!! I know this bastard knows the difference, too. He's doing it on purpose!!] "Thank you, Master. Thank you...Thank You," between sobs. I didn't dare object to his wrong-headed racial humiliation. He chuckled. "I tell you and I tell you, but you don't listen," as he raised the belt again and I cried out in frantic fear and terror...I'd called him Master, not Sir. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for whipping me." Another five strokes of the belt across my ravaged ass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him rub his prick through his pants. I knew he was hard. I knew that the physical sadism made him hard. Sometimes, I think he actually used the verbal abuse to control me (not that he didn't enjoy it) so that he could work out his physical sadism. I hated those doubts. I wanted him to be a racist. He had to be one. Nobody would say these things unless they meant it, would they? Anyway, at that moment, seeing him rub his prick through his slacks, I felt an overpowering physical desire and craving to be in contact with his cock. I remembered back to some intro class on Pavlov - and saw myself as the dog, responding to conditioned stimuli. He positioned a couple of foot stools behind each of my legs. "Get up." I did - in EAGER anticipation - and leaned forward, arching my back, hoping to get fucked. He'd set the stools far enough apart to open my cleft and expose my pink gash and brown winking eye - and I rolled my hips pathetically in almost painful anticipation, inferior girl hoping to get fucked by superior male, begging with her body. The stools brought my tiny frame up to the correct fucking height for my tall, broad-shouldered tormenter. He stepped behind, unzipped - and proceeded to seat his cock into my sopping, embarrassingly wet, pussy, laying his belt over my shoulders, across my neck, and putting a hand on each of my hips to hold me in place. I kid you not, dear secret and not-to-be-shared-with-anyone Diary, - I totally blissed out in surreal happiness to feel him inside me. "What a hopeless, besotted, slopeheaded bitch you are...to be soaked after a beating like that." "Oh g*d...it feels so good." I was speaking when it wasn't strictly necessary, and I know I should be punished for that too, but he had beaten me into insensibility with his leather belt...and I think he recognized that. I could feel the blood pulsing through his rock-hard cock as it pistoned slowly back and forth in my unworthy cunt. His hand on my right hip was extremely painful, as the belt had licked around again and again to lacerate and punish my skin. But I treasured the contact nonetheless. The cool touch of his left hand on my other hip was heavenly. But the feel of his pulsing, magnificent cock in my tight, but gushing pussy is more than I can describe. Wonderful, heavenly, totally blissful. A lifetime memory to be treasured. I had survived again, and the reward was to be fucked, if only for a few moments! ...totally worth it. "You're enjoying yourself too much, cunt...you know you should be squeezing on the out-stroke." He was right. I'm such a slut-whore. Always focused on my own pleasure. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a worthless gook. Please...I deserve to be punished." "We'll get to that, don't worry. But squeeze, you untrained chink, squeeze." I squeezed. How could I forget to do something that was so pleasurable. It sent chills up my spine to bear down on his cock as he withdrew it. I relaxed as he fucked in, arched my back as much as I could, and bore down again as he pulled out. What a fucking man he was, so thick, so straight, so virile, so big. His hands came off my hips and reached around to cup each tit. He rolled my flesh between his fingers as he continued his slow fuck-stroke that drove me into a delirium of little asian-girl joy. For THIS kind of fucking, any beating was tolerable. The masterful fucking, combined with the verbal degradation and the hip-holding and tit-mashing lasted a long time, giving me more than my fill of new and fresh memories. By this time, I was completely trusting of Master and believed that he was in total control of his orgasm (who knows, maybe he just got lots of pussy and so it took lots of fucking to get him off). A little worthless chink girl like me could not get him off unless he wanted to get off, so I was able to enjoy the deep, thick, slow, powerful fuck with my only responsibility to squeeze on the out-stroke as his expertly-delivered racial slurs washed over my insensate body. "I don't know why I spend time with a worthless pineapple whore like you" ...and... "What a jackpot you hit, you sake-serving zipperheaded bitch, when you sent that email to me" ...and... "Squeeze that cock, you piece of flat-nosed, ugly, chink trash...you've already got punishment coming...don't make it worse for yourself." ..and... "I can't believe I treat a slant-eye like you as good as I do" "I know Sir. I don't deserve all your attention and discipline and training. You're too good to me." Imagine a golden-brown yellow girl, turned red from the harsh kiss of a wide, supple, aged leather belt, with her arms on a post and her back arched, perched on two foot-stools to raise her puss up to fucking position for a tall superior white man, legs spread like a wanton slut, being calmly talked down to, slowly fucked, expertly degraded, tit-mashed, hip-held...and absolutely loving every minute of it. He pulled out at one point and I moaned in desolation at losing skin contact with him. My hips rolled wantonly and embarrassingly and pathetically in emptiness as he pulled out of me. The harshest beating in the world is better than being left alone and abandoned, without warm, white, superior cock. I felt sick and helpless without him touching me with hand, back-hand, belt, cock or booted shoe. It sounds crazy, but that's how I feel. Asian Abuse Ch. 02 Out of the corner of my eye I saw him walk to a refrigerator and pull out a beer, popped it with his keys (he was still fully clothed, of course) and bring it back, re-insert his hot fuck-stick into my fuck-slot and calmly down his brew as he continued to slow-fuck me. I felt like a piece of meat. At one point, he put the cold bottle down on the small of my back between pulls on its neck and plows into my cunt, using me as a human table for his half-consumed beer - I felt totally objectified by the small gesture. "Tell me again how lucky you are, you bug-eating bitch" "I'm the luckiest cunt in the world to serve a man like you, Sir. I truly thank every day that I can be your little yellow whore. Thank you so much for making time for a worthless, stupid yellow pineapple slut like me. I can't believe how lucky I am." "That's right. A girl should be expressive when she's given a chance to address her superior. Whether she's an Americanized banana...yellow on the outside, white on the inside...or fresh off the boat." "I still can't believe how lucky I got, Sir. Thank you. Thank you." ...this from an educated, cultured, fully Americanized asian girl, who was tied, had been whipped and was now being fucked by a married man who was drinking a beer...using me like a slut, like trash...and calling me names. He doesn't even call me by my own name. He has never called me even once by my given name. How appropriate, how right. He finished his beer and pulled his cock out of me again. I felt desolate. He made me step off the footstools -- and so I knew the fucking was over. But I'd gotten fucked...which was more than I ever hoped for...and my puss was wonderfully sore from his hot, fat, powerful cock -- and I knew that soreness would stay with me for at least a night and a day -- and I looked forward to savoring it tomorrow when I would be separated from him and lonely. The soreness in my cunt and then the memory of that soreness once it faded would keep me company while I waited for him to get in the mood to make use of me again. And who knows, he might fuck me again before the night was over. I could always hope. I had even sneaked an orgasm in there...it was the bearing down on the out-stroke that made it happen. The rhythm of that exercise eventually blossomed into my own private and suppressed shudder of joy. It was an orgasm I didn't deserve - and I hoped he hadn't noticed. It's crazy, but I actually felt kind of bad for having it, even though that's crazy to feel bad about getting pleasure. He walked around to where I could see him out of the corner of my eye. "Time to piss, zipperhead." "Please use me as your toilet, Sir." "That's what I like to hear," he said with a smile, a powerful and magnetic smile. I sank to the cold, hard, cement floor -- right where I should be, below him, beneath him, subservient to him, dominated by his presence. I cupped his balls lovingly as they hung out of his slacks, wrapped my mouth around his engorged asian-pussy-cream-covered prick, cleaning off my unworthy puss-juice from shaft and head. His piss, as it started and coursed out and into me was clean...just a hint of coffee. I was worried I'd taste beer (which I'd never tasted before, since he didn't drink during the day...and, contrary to his supposition on our first date...had never drank a man's piss before I met my Master), but I guess the beer would come later. I swallowed his warm yellow urine into my worthless yellow body in a haze of lust and desire and worship. With the hot, sexy, clean gusher of piss over -- and flushed obediently down into my tummy, he pulled me up by my ponytail, put me back against the pole and secured me, with a second belt around my elbows - behind the post - so easy and quick to render a girl helpless - done to keep me from turning around, this time tits-and-cunt facing forward rather than ass-facing forward and I began to tremble in awful anticipation. "Please gag me. I don't want my screams to let anyone know I'm here." He bitch-slapped me hard, bringing from me a sob of shame, telling me to let him worry about the neighbors -- he liked to hear my screams. The strap of his belt on my tits and stomach was much, much worse of course. I flailed and screamed, but was unable to escape his sadism. I looked in fear and wonder as my brown ("yellow") skin became splotchy and then red-streaked - the welts became ugly and prominent across my tits, belly and thighs. I forgot about the strap-marks on my back as he painted a new canvas of pain and sadism on my front. The man was merciless. He could never had stood up, himself, to what he regularly made me endure. In the smear of vision left to me through the tears and the pain I could see the thickness of his cock as he rubbed and squeezed it while thrashing me - and still wanted it -- oh how I wanted it. I'd been trained to know that when his cock was inside me, he didn't hurt me as much, so even more than a usual girl, I SO WANTED HIM ANYWHERE INSIDE ME. Only then would the strapping stop. When I was past caring and had slumped against the belt around my elbows keeping me hard against the post, when I was dangling my weight on my arms, the tears a mess on my face and rolling down my body - ruined for days (or even weeks, I thought) -- he finally put the belt back on his pants. He cupped my chin and made me look up at him. "Tell me one more time, you stupid gook -- I want to hear it one more time." "Thank you...thank you. Please believe me, Sir, when I tell you how lucky I feel to have met you. All I want to do is serve and worship you. Please let this slant-eyed rice-eating piece of yellow trash suck your powerful white cock." How wonderful this moment of clarity and confession was to me. He'd made all my dreams come true by showing me I could be a white man's ultimate plaything, HIS ultimate plaything, and survive it. How could I not worship him, when he'd given me so much -- and NOT JUDGED, but ENCOURAGED...DEMANDED...GONE BEYOND WHAT I THOUGHT I COULD HANDLE!!! "I think I AM ready to get my cock sucked. Are you going to do a good job though, slopehead? I hope you're not going to let any personal problems get in the way of the kind of effort I expect and have trained you to do." "I will do the best I can, Master -- oh thank you, thank you, thank you." Another bitch-slap, not a hard one -- a corrective one. I'd called him Master again. But I didn't care. He couldn't control everything about me -- not after what he'd put me through on this merciless whipping post. He couldn't make me feel so obedient and small and inferior and owned and then not let me call him my Master. Bitch-slaps were a very small price to pay to call him what he was to me, how I viewed him. He let me go, letting me sink again to my knees again, and turned on a TV set on the workbench -- there was some white-man's sports game playing - he scraped up a chair, placed his blood-engorged, demanding, magnificent cock with its attached set of full, pendulous and great-smelling balls in front of me, cupped his hand on the back of my head...and I lowered my mouth gratefully, slavishly, for the first extended time tonight, happily, girlishly, with a contented moan of deep arousal, onto his cock. The blowjob proceeded according to usual practice in the past -- I descended into my own private and fulfilling happy-little-asian-girl world, intoxicated by his clean, white, masculine smell. His cock grew and grew in my mouth, overwhelming me, amazing me. He'd pull it out and I'd eagerly rub my face across his shaft and lick his balls -- dwarfed by its size. I loved how his pants kept everything close to me -- so that his nut-sack didn't hang down, far away from me. I concentrated on the freedom of movement I had to serve him. My whole body was available to adjust to different positions, to relieve pressure here or there, to snuggle up close to him, to respond to his changing desires as I served him utterly and completely with my mouth, using my fingers and palms as aids only briefly and with caution, mostly to hold and caress his balls. I was amazed at how smart he was, to punish and whip me so severely so that I was so happy to suck his cock rather than to be hit -- to have fucked me for so long already earlier tonight to put me in such a haze of lust and obedience. He was very, very smart to show me the difference between getting strapped and sucking cock - how much more fun sucking cock was - and how I should do a great job whenever I got the chance. I was the besotted sexual slave of not only a superior white man, but a smart white man as well! And then he pissed again, but this time I could taste the beer. IT WAS ABSOLUTELY AWFUL AS I STRUGGLED TO CHOKE IT DOWN. Round eyes have such nasty, nasty drinking habits with their coffee -- and now, I realized, with their beer. This was my first experience with it and it was DISGUSTING!!! But I made sure to moan in artificial appreciation (hopefully he couldn't tell the difference) as he took a long, deep and what must have been a very satisfying piss for him -- and the awfulness reinforced my degradation and humiliation even further. As I drank down his bottle of beer, filtered through his bladder and coming out of his superior white cock, I couldn't even think about not showing gratitude (real gratitude for the degradation and complete ownership of me, fake gratitude for the absolutely awful and almost-retch-inducing taste). I HAD become uncomfortable though -- two loads of piss in my belly, working their way through my body. This was always hard with him on dates -- him using me as a toilet meaning I had to pee myself -- the man was three times as big as me, after all -- the physics just didn't work that well in terms of me holding all that hot piss of his in my belly for a long time. Ten minutes made me feel full and sloshy. Twenty minutes made me uncomfortable. Forty five minutes was excruciating. In the past, I'd lost it once on the way home and pissed all over my car (another degradation courtesy of you-know-who). To piss on his garage floor was unthinkable. But to ask him to let me piss was unthinkable too. What was a worthless asian girl to do? I began to tremble in my discomfort, fidgeting, breaking the metronomic concentration I had achieved as his whipped-chink cock-whore. "Need to piss so soon, flat-nose?" he said mockingly and teasingly.... The answer to my problem, I learned, was just a few feet away -- a rusted metal coffee can that was within easy distance to reach. He pulled it over and shoved it under my legs so that my thighs dug into the metal of its filthy rim. But what a relief to piss! He bitch-slapped me hard again... "Concentrate, you fresh-off-the-boat gook-bitch..." ...because I had stopped my sucking motion while a literal high pressure spray of water and beer shot out of my piss-slit...humiliating me at my loss of control. "Control that flow, chink...I don't want any back-splash on my floor or on me..." with another bitch-slap to emphasize the ridiculous instructions! "We'll start the strapping all over again if you make a mess ..." And so I had to clamp down painfully on my own piss, slow it to a trickle, so that I wouldn't defile his home or his body with anything associated with my unworthy and inferior presence, all while continuing to suck his cock. Unbelievably hard. He asked so much. But, truthfully, I wallowed in this additional degradation. I could smell the awful beer wafting up as it exited my body and ruined the gorgeous smell of his cock and balls, but heightened the feelings of humiliation that I lived for. So painful to piss slowly, but such a relief when it was done. And so wonderfully taboo to be sucking cock, being berated, on fire all over my body from the strapping, seeing the welts swell to full size, as my Master enjoyed my predicament, with the soft drone of a ball-game in the background, pissing in a rusty coffee can. And all the time, wonderfully sore in my puss from his big, fat cock, turned on by all the time he was spending with me, in absolute heaven. He pulled out to get another beer, leaving me crouched over my coffee-pan piss pot, bereft of the warmth of his body. An image flashed through my mind of how many other helpless asian whores had been in this same spot, crouching over this same coffee can, drinking this man's piss, being fucked by him, called names by him. Did they enjoy it as much as I did? Did it degrade them the same way it degraded me? What an image! I was curious how I measured up in his eyes, compared to other girls he might have humiliated and abused in this same place. But I didn't have long to day-dream as he was soon seated again, my mouth in his crotch again, new beer in his hand, trying to inhale his cock and enjoy his smell and trying to ignore the foulness beneath me, as he used his hand to face-fuck me, while he alternately watched the game and berated me. Another ten minutes on my knees sucking this monstrous, indomitable, un-cummable cock, another long drink of awful beer delivered from his prick...disgusting and foul, humiliating and degrading - how I'd welcome a nice clean flow of coffee or water at this point. How loathsome this beer-piss, splashing around in my tummy, wafting up from the coffee can below. How much this loathing fed my own self-image of inferiority, and helplessness and debasement. Further and further into the deep, comforting, safe well of utter degradation that I craved. I also felt flushed -- I wondered if any alcohol had entered my body through his piss. A drunk, welted, piss-drinking gook girl. Could you get drunk from piss? Something new for me to look up online (if I remember)! My knees were in agony, my thighs, over-hanging the rusty coffee can, were sore, my mouth was numb. His cock was hard and unyielding, a piece of hot steel bulging out my tiny mouth as I struggled to pump up and down on it. He was drawing it out on purpose and I lost my sense of time as the impossible scene went on and on and on -- yellow girl naked and humiliated on her knees, white man clothed and comfortable sitting down. One getting serviced by a willing slut, the other alternately feeling happily and hopelessly enslaved. He pulled out again. I glanced down at the coffee can that I was obscenely filling up. A yellow pot of dirty and smelly chink-whore urine, 1/3 of the way up the top. Losing his cock as he stood up brought the full stench of my body to me. As difficult as it was to drink beer directly out of his cock, it was much, much worse to smell it after it had been filtered through my abused and molested body. He pulled the can out, pushed me back against the post and began wrapping some kind of WIRE around my body to secure it tightly against the post! What did this mean? Often he used a belt for my elbows (especially when he strapped my tits, as he had done tonight, or my puss), sometimes a scarf that he made me bring - but that was about it. As an alpha male, he had so many responsibilities - the time he spent with me was always stolen, why waste it tying me when he could just molest and use me. I also think he spent very little time bothering with bondage because he didn't have to. I never struggled or disobeyed anyway, unless I was physically overwhelmed and couldn't help myself. He just hit me or beat me or overpowered me. But tonight was different -- the post, with my elbows behind, was unbelievably sexy - but also scary and new ... and now this wire wrapping around me, while on my knees, encircling my body tighter and tighter, binding it to the whipping post. This was disorienting to me -- and I felt -- as usual with Master -- unequal to him. It was all so easy for him. And I was becoming very uncomfortable in my helplessness. I didn't know what was coming next. He had me off balance and this was all new ground for me, new territory. He never spent this long with me. Why wouldn't he just give me his jism to swallow, like a good little girl? It always made me SO HAPPY when he came inside me, and I could swallow - if he came in my mouth - or squeeze it out of my pussy or ass, catch it on my fingers and then swallow it - if he came in one of my other two fuck-holes. I felt so worthy and feminine and girly when that happened - it was always a great way to end a date. 10 turns of the wire, 20 turns, I became ever more immobilized and helpless -- the wire digging into my body -- making it impossible to move more than half an inch. It was almost obscene, my flesh ridged out around it as it crossed my thighs, my tummy, my tits -- all multiple times each. He walked it up and down my body, not even my "pancake" face was spared as the wire crossed the bridge of my "flat" nose, dug between my numbed cock-tired lips, made a line across my forehead, and even constricted the breathing passage of my neck as it dug tightly across my throat. I whimpered and moaned like a lost animal captured and experimented on by a superior being that I could not hope to understand or reason with or appeal to, couldn't hope to reach. As I became completely immobile: on my knees, flesh-wired to the post -- I could feel myself becoming a living embodiment of inferiority and worthlessness, a thing, a toy, a distraction, a hobby. Humiliated, degraded, whipped and welted, belly-full of piss (belly full? Make that a BODY FULL of piss), knees screaming in pain against the concrete, I moaned in desolation. "Please, Master -- Please -- it's too much." The expected and deserved and even welcome bitch-slap (because of the human contact in my totally bound state) for addressing him incorrectly as Master, not as Sir. "Keep your complaints to yourself, you dirty chink. Unless you want me to cut you loose, throw you back where I found you." How cruel, how unbelievably cruel and emotionally sadistic he was. I could take the beatings and the verbal degradation, but I couldn't bear the threat of him "cutting me loose". It was too much to bear. "Not fair, Master. Please -- I've always done everything you wanted. I've never disobeyed or refused. Please don't throw me away like a piece of trash...Please..." Another severe bitch-slap. "You think too much of yourself, you ignorant, uppity, arrogant, over-educated, slant-eyed gook. You're WORSE THAN trash." What a state I was in: strapped, pissed-in, tight-wired, fucked senseless, humiliated, degraded and now lectured for thinking too highly of myself. And I couldn't help but think that he was right and I felt like curling up and dying. The shame was insupportable, unbearable. He sat down in front of me, slapped my face again -- which didn't move because of all the wire. "Time to open up your slanted eyes a little further, zipperhead ... let's see what those inch-long nipples can take - see if they can handle a bit of dedicated attention and abuse..." Dedicated attention and abuse? What he said didn't register. He tied and hurt and tit-slapped me all the time, they were wired right now against the post, the tit-flesh bulging out obscenely (but beautifully, I thought) around the wire, sheened in sweat, restricting my breathing. He regularly pinched and rolled and clamped and otherwise hurt my nipples quite often too - they were ALWAYS sore after a date with him. But out of the corner of my eye I did look down at my long, brown nipples as they stood out at attention, erect in helpless sexual desire, hopelessly vulnerable. And then, in horror, I saw his hand in front of me, holding a pin-cushion, from which he pulled out a long, wicked sewing needle and, without hesitation or communication or warning, placed it against the inside of my right nipple and pushed it through the erect flesh in a strong, terrible, excruciating motion -- a moment I will never forget, a moment in which I was obscenely violated. Asian Abuse Ch. 02 I suddenly understood why I was looped with 40+ circles of telephone wire. I jerked in agony against the sharp pain, feeling my ribs constricted as I drew in breath to scream, but my body moved not at all. I wailed in terror and pain (and sudden violent and intense hatred) against the bright red drop of blood that welled around the sharp and protruding needle point -- and the in-human sadist sitting in front of me just smiled in remote, white, male dominance feeding off my agony and misery - like an emotional vampire. He called me a worthless yellow whore as he drove a second needle through my left nipple with exactly the same lack of pity - and I proceeded to lose the rest of my mind in horror, screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, yet held in place by the inescapably tight wire. "Do you understand yet, you stupid, worthless, slopehead, that you're just a play-thing, a pain-toy, something to amuse myself with...?" I couldn't process his words, I was too deep down the well of physical torment, bright red blood, debasement, and fear that he'd drive even more needles into my helpless nipples. "You need to understand the score, my little private gook...your only choice is to see me or not to see me. Everything else is under my control." I was utterly incapable of responding to this stupid remark. I would be gone now if I was free. He'd found my limit alright -- and stepped WAY past it. Tonight was the last night I'd ever see this too-full-of-himself-racist-white-man! People shouldn't do these kinds of things to other people! I might have been a chink girl and beneath him, but I was a human being! I knew now that he was not pretending to be a racist - that it wasn't an act -- that question was forever answered in my mind. He was the real thing. Only a genuine racist could view a woman as violate-able and hurt-able in this way. I could never imagine him doing this to a white woman -- only to a "yellow whore" like me. "I've said before that I don't think you should see me. I'm not a nice man. But if you do, then it's your choice...and I'm in charge ... and that's why I don't like you referring to me as your Master." More nonsense - more stupid and useless philosophizing from a sophomoric jerk. The hot pain lancing through my nipples as he lectured me was excruciating. The blood welling out at four points on my body was frightening me. And after all, there was nothing to say, and I was actually afraid of speaking. I just concentrated on crying and moaning against the steel, trying to distract my mind from the burning, the sharpness, the nipple agony. I felt any mis-step could lead to more needles though my nipples or through other parts of my body - I suddenly was conscious of how truly vulnerable a girl's body was to an evil and racist male. I especially knew how long my asian nipples were -- I knew how many more needles he could push through the tender flesh. "Now -- one more time, zipperhead, now that you're pierced and you know what the score is. I want you to thank me, you inferior, rice-eating, chink whore." I was trapped by my own choices that had led up to this point. Although the first searing pain was now subsiding to a hot and constant burn, I was still out of my mind in fear and agony, terror and horror, with the synapses firing in overdrive. All I knew was that I had to end it -- and the best chance to end it was to obey. And obedience now required me to say something. Would I say the next few sentences because I was a hopeless mental case...addicted...and he was my only available fix? Or would it be because I needed the cleanest path to escape from this monster-in-human-form that I had totally misjudged? I didn't care. I had to do something to move forward, since the present wasn't bearable. "Thank you," I sobbed, "Oh...thank you so much...thank you for beating me and piercing me, and fucking me and calling me names. Thank you for everything you do. All I want to do is serve you in any way you want." "Such a good girl, to acknowledge the truth when you're under so much stress." [what a self-absorbed narcissist!]. "I know you're trying hard to be worthy. Don't think I don't know that." [worthy of him! he was certifiable!]. "It won't make things easier for you, since I'm a bad man...but it does make me think you're worth keeping around." [in your dreams, nut-job]. But confusion and disorientation as well. The words of praise..."good girl"..."worthy"... There were deep emotional responses inside me to his praise even as I was mentally cursing him, his ancestors and his heirs. The music of praise to a degradation/humiliation whore was offsetting, if even just a bit, the violence of the nipple-piercing, of fire-forged steel through inch long flesh. My heart began its usual soaring flight in unconscious, unwilling reaction to his praise as my mind rebelled and my body suffered. I hated him and worshipped him, the circle was both virtuous and vicious. My desire to be apart from him a few moments ago was now set against the feelings of gratitude that his praise forced out of my conflicted soul. Horribly and ashamedly, socialized over the last months into his fucktoy, my body was so tuned in to his words that I could feel my nipples harden around the steel in involuntary emotional gratitude and the follow-on sexual excitement that I'd been conditioned to in response to any kind of attention from him. I could feel my pussy swell a bit, contract as if around a phantom cock, as his praise washed over me and that altered my psychological reaction to the piercing steel through my wired body. As well, I was so focused on my nipples that I could feel the steel, the air around my nipples -- everything was horribly enhanced, but for good or bad it was hard to tell - the line between awful pain and intensely-felt pleasure became hard to locate. But sex is sex...I was turned on inside the awfulness of the steel, the piercing, the wire bondage, the previous hours of coveted racial use and racial abuse, the verbal degradation, the recent praise and everything else, accumulating up to this point. What can I say, I was helpless to resist the moment. For a strong and virile white man (especially THIS white man), I was and am and will always be a hopeless humiliation addict. LIFE IS NOT FAIR! "Now when I take that wire off your body, you're going to do a good job sucking my cock, aren't you, gook? You're not going to even think about biting me in pay-back for that steel through your hard and excited nipples, I hope. The inflicting and receiving of pain is a one-way path in our relationship, bitch, you understand that, don't you, you gook whore?" His words and instructions brought me along, as if I were under deep hypnotic training. Despite everything he had done to me and despite all the twists and turns my thoughts had taken in the last 60 seconds of physical, emotional, intellectual and psychological torment, it astonished me that such an idea could even cross this man's mind. How could he even think me capable of doing such a thing? All I had ever wanted to do, since I had met him, was serve his cock, to worship it with my whole being, in return for his not judging my own needs to be degraded. Hurting or biting his cock on purpose was unthinkable to me, even now, even pierced and welted, bitch-slapped and pissed-in, humiliated, and treated like no girl should ever be treated. "Please let me suck your cock, Master. Please. Please. I want to be a good girl for you." The transition from wired, pierced, suffering asian-girl to cock-sucking, pierced, suffering asian-girl didn't take very long (although I was understandably preoccupied with my own problems). He unwound the wire, gave me some towels to kneel on and I entered the next phase of this unforgettable, outrageous, unbelievable date (the last, I think, I would ever have with him). I took another slow, controlled piss into the bucket -- as more beer exited my body from below just as more beer-piss entered my body from above as my hateful/wonderful Master relieved himself again. The blood continued to well in droplets around the vicious, remorseless piercing needles bisecting my long nipples - I dared not touch them. The pain throbbed and I could feel the blood slowly welling out with each pump of my heart -- the drops streaking down ever farther down the tiny curve of my tits, down my tummy, across my mound and into the piss-pail. I became hyper-aware of everything about my body, with that awareness centered on two lines of steel thrust through my two nipples, marking me in some indelible way as the property of this white male I was kneeling in front of. His cock was SO DELICIOUS in my mouth, an anchor of pleasure and comfort amidst all the pain, the pressure and the physical, mental and psychological stress that I was under. As he'd often done in the past, he made me get up and sit down in his lap, speared by cock, pumping up and down, slowly fucking myself and fucking him, feeling every millimeter of warm, hard cock-flesh, unforgettable -- in pussy, mouth and ass -- all one to him -- all of a piece to serve him. Absolutely and mind-blowingly pleasurable...the cool night air on my whipped body, the burn of steel in my nipples, the horrible way they hardened and pressed in excitement (or fear) against the steel, the fading mark of wire across female flesh, like a temporary brand, his strong thighs as I pumped up and down on them with my body -- using them for support - or held with my hands as a balance to drive my mouth down to the root of his cock, as close as I could get to his full and deliciously masculine balls, his straight, hard, thick and delicious cock, the smell and taste of my own puss as well as the earthy smell of my own third hole on his shaft as I cleaned him, fucked him, rocked on him, molded myself onto him. I cupped his warm balls as they stood out, framed against his pants...and stroked his long, unbelievably thick hardness as I sucked his cock lovingly with my worthless asian mouth, squeezed it passionately with cunt and ass, coaxing it, milking it, with my whole body, serving it. The attainment of an orgasm, I think, while rocking up and down in his lap, the slow stroke inevitably getting me to the mountain-top, while still nipple-pierced with steel, was a turning point in my mind away from the previous desire to never see him again. As waves of pleasure washed over me, I could feel my nipples contract around the steel, and the sensation was delicious, forbidden, taboo, pleasurable. Unbelievable. While on my knees, I also practiced pissing slowly as I filtered his never-ending flow of urine through my mouth, my throat, esophagus, stomach, intestines and bladder -- so that I didn't interrupt the extended total blowjob and lap-fuck that I was providing and experiencing and enjoying and cumming from, as I serviced the cock of the man who had so thoroughly turned me into his play-thing, his fuck-doll, his pain-toy, his sex slave. As he climbed inevitably into his own orgasm, that I could sense building over long minutes, I climbed with him in ever-growing sexual excitement, slavish devotion and asian-girl obedience. That first orgasm was followed by multiple additional orgasms, some while cunted, one while assed and two or three by just lightly brushing my clit with fingers dropped down from cupping and rubbing his balls. I tried to suppress my moans of joy and bliss so as not to bring attention to them...and pondered how a girl pierced with steel, whipped into submission, forced to engage in ass-to-mouth, could be so turned on as to climb the mountain top again and again and again - each orgasm making it harder to stay angry at him, harder to think of living outside his domination and control. But more than orgasms for myself, I climbed with HIM...as he climbed to HIS ORGASM...to my own total fulfillment as a worthless yellow cunt who had found the right white man to devote herself to and to bring sexual fulfillment (the most important kind of fulfillment) to her life. Now the earlier thoughts I had of this being the last night with him were completely gone -- foolish thoughts from an ignorant bitch that didn't know how lucky she was and who had been in danger of letting the small moment overshadow the big picture. As my nipples adjusted to the steel, caressed the metal, bled onto it and over it and as the pain throbbed with each heart-beat, accompanied by the fucking and the verbal degradation, so my mind adjusted to the new situation I was in. My body was not inviolate after all. He could hit and punch and whip and strap -- and he could pierce as well. There was nothing he couldn't do. There was nothing I could do or that I wanted to do. I was trapped in sexual slavery and couldn't be happier with my situation. I wished that this climb to his orgasm could be drawn out forever so that I could be a needle-pierced, kneeling, ass-to-mouth toilet-gook who worshipped and served the cock of this magnificent white man for all eternity. I know this sounds over the top and unrealistic, but how can you know the pleasure and satisfaction if you weren't there, if you don't have my needs, if you don't know how he fulfilled them without judging, without holding my addiction against me? As well, how can you ignore the thrill and satisfaction that is gotten from "surviving" an ordeal like this? Don't judge, lest ye be judged yourself. A long, powerful spurt of his hot jism surprised me as it blasted INTO MY PUSSY while I was riding him - not my mouth as I was sucking him. I was momentarily non-plussed - I always took everything from his cock into my mouth - whether it was piss or cum, for deposit into my belly - but as I felt the second spurt of Master's jism into my cunt, I immediately came to orgasm myself at the honor of receiving his seed into my second hole. WOW!!! But I also felt unsure and even a bit frantic, since I didn't know what to do. Even though I was totally honored and happy, I had been trained never to waste anything from his cock. What if it spilled out of my unworthy asian cunt and was wasted? Would he notice that and throw me away? I couldn't let any of it be wasted. But I couldn't think of that problem now - my mind was distracted by his flexing, orgasming cock that was making me feel oh-so-good as I ground down as far as I could go into his lap to enjoy every last inch of his hot, powerful, pumping prick. I wanted to savor each blast of jism, even as those blasts got smaller and weaker. The thought of his man-seed inside my cunt was making me crazy with even more desire to be his absolute bitch. As hard as this is to say, the needles through my nipples actually felt good now, a throbbing point of pleasure to enhance the pleasure of the throbbing prick that had filled my cunt with white, ropey strands of cum. What an unbelievably lucky chink whore I was... When he was done - and there were no more spurts - I reluctantly got off his lap - it was very hard - losing his cock from my pussy, and cooled him down for what seemed like 30 minutes, licking his balls, rubbing my face across his manhood, lost in his scent. I cupped a hand beneath my puss to catch the exiting jism as it leaked out, even as I squeezed my pussy closed as hard as I could trying to keep it in - so that none of Master's cum would go to waste - so that all of it would be re-deposited into his gook-girl cum-dump - and I think I got all of it - licking it off my fingers greedily and putting it where it should be, in my belly. This time to clean off his cock and balls with my tongue, cleaning away my own pussy-cream from his manhood - and catch his jism from my cunt with my fingers - it was a stolen luxury, him not having to leave. And he murmured words like "good little gook" and "that's the way, slopehead" and "don't forget my left ball, pineapple nigger" and other sweet nothings that tied me even closer to him - even if he threw in the occasional wrong racist term that I didn't like as much. Another several controlled pisses from my tummy to the pail (he seemed done himself) while I laved him clean with my tongue -- quietly, quietly, so as not to disturb him or break the moment. A quick glance down showed the pail nearly full and I was amazed again at how much had come from out of his huge, masculine body and into my tiny, worthless body and then out again, into the old and rusty coffee can. I sighed in devotion and contentment. ==================== When he was tired of my devoted and happy cock worship, he pulled the two needles out quickly as I cried out in terror and held his wrists and sobbed in release and relief. I was afraid my nipples were ruined forever. I cried like a little girl and he let me have a few moments, but said nothing to comfort me. "You can sleep in the trunk of my car and I'll drop you off in the morning -- or I can take you back to your car now. What would you prefer?" Again so abrupt -- again no aftercare. Aaarrrggghhh! I didn't know what to do with the choice -- he'd never given me one before. I wanted to sleep with him, in his bed, or at the foot of his bed, or in a dog cage in his closet -- so I could wake him up in the morning and suck his cock again and take care of his morning piss. But I dare not ask for anything -- that way lay danger. "I don't want to go home." "In the trunk, then, cunt. I'm done with you for the night. Dump your piss in the sink in that corner. Don't make a mess" said with a humor-filled smile, full of evil and control and daring. I waited until he'd gone inside, carefully got rid of the filthy asian-girl-piss, burrowed into a bunch of towels that he'd left me, covered my nipples and puss with my clothes so I wouldn't defile his car -- and slept the sleep of a well-used asian slave girl -- waking up only to piss continuously, but carefully -- and eventually having to dump the bucket of foul piss a second time. ==================== Coda: I saw Master again the next evening, in his car, late, under the stars -- with the windows down and the cool air breezing through - dreamy. I was scared initially, when he told me to meet him. My boyfriend questioned me on it (he was easy, as usual, to deal with). What I really worried about was that I couldn't, physically, make it through -- he had never been anything but vicious with me (emotionally, physically and intellectually) and eighteen hours wasn't long enough to recover from the physical ordeals of last night (I still was in mortal fear of the long-term health of my nipples, they were deliciously sore, but they felt very vulnerable now to me) - even though those torments had been accompanied by personal and sexual fulfillment on a scale I had also never experienced and wanted more than ever. But all that Master required was a long, luxuriant blowjob (and he didn't even have to piss!). Such a wise man, such a complete alpha male, to know the limits of a worthless "gook" like me. He gave me all the delicious names I could desire in that totally realistic tone of his -- but said in a teasing and fond way that was SUCH A FUCKING TURN-ON. And as his little, flat-nosed, purpose-trained cocksucker, I gave him the blowjob of my life and was rewarded with a smaller, but just as tasty load of superior white cum that fulfilled me and completed me in a way that is impossible to describe but undeniable in its truth. I thank my lucky stars that that cowardly bitch that gave me his email never got up the courage to see him herself. I'm not going to make it easy for him to throw me away. He's mine! HE'S MINE! HE'S ALL MINE! *** *** Author Postscript: If you got this far, thanks for your time, which is valuable to you. Feedback is always fun to get, don't hesitate to leave any if you care to.