Asian Abuse Ch. 02

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.

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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.