tagNonConsent/ReluctanceAsian Abuse Ch. 01

Asian Abuse Ch. 01

byBibliophile©

Author's Note: Fair Warning! This is a dark fantasy that combines interracial sexual dynamics with degradation and humiliation - and may rub lots of people the wrong way.

***


There MUST be something very wrong inside of me. That's the only way to explain how I could STILL be so horribly aroused, with drenched panties, a warm feeling in my tummy and fantasies that just keep getting CRAZIER ... even after a few hours have passed since HE dropped me off and I've already fingered myself to a couple of the most satisfying orgasms I've ever had.

But time is wasting. I have to write a thank-you note to him -- and the stress of having to write that, of needing to write that -- and write it so that he will see me again, is blocking out every other rational thought. I might be a "stupid, worthless rice nigger", but I have to be a smart enough "slant-eye" to write this note properly and see this unbelievable man again. He's just too good at dishing the kind of delicious verbal humiliation that I am desperate for.

I can't help but savor what I just went through, though.

It started out on a chat -- not with him, but with another asian girl like me. It got to a discussion of sex pretty quickly (like it usually does online). We found out (don't ask how) that she and I have both have the same interest. We're little tiny asian girls in a land of over-sized, white giants. I understand completely the craving for strong, big, powerful men (no need to feel embarrassment there) ...it's only the craving for HUMILIATION and DEGRADATION that is hard for me to get and shameful for me to admit to myself (although with a wet pussy and a distracted mind, it's impossible to ignore or deny).

As I chatted with this girl, she said she had traded several emails with a round-eye that knew JUST how to push her buttons and make her cream her pants, who seemed like he was the real deal: tall, white, articulate, handsome...and extremely racist. A dream for sick girls like her (and me) that actually crave to be put in our place and to be made to feel inferior. She said she never got up the courage to meet him.

I took a fatal step and asked her if she'd send me his email...she asked me if I was sure and I said yes. Now I don't know whether that was a huge mistake or the best decision I ever made in my life.

I emailed him. He emailed me back. She was right, but I had more courage (or maybe I am just more desperate and twisted and stupid than her), and it wasn't long until I ended up in a sleazy motel room, completely naked, with a spare belt of his wrapped around my elbows, then cinched behind my back, with my little tiny asian tits pushed out, being groped, fondled, man-handled, with me looking at him standing behind me in the mirror. He towered over me...I came halfway up his chest, ruggedly handsome in his business clothes, huge and powerful. I felt powerless and, because I felt powerless, I also felt extremely turned on. The thing I most remember about him is his smile: confident, assured, impish, relaxed, friendly, but also very male, very powerful, a promise of wickedness, a promise not to go easy.

"Get on the ground you worthless, stupid, rice-eater," with a hand fisted in my hair, pushing me down inexorably in front of him, until I collapsed to my knees.

You see, that was the kind of phrase in his emails that made it impossible for me not to meet him, to throw caution aside, to embrace my sick fantasy and to see what the real thing might be like...to agree to be this man's little "fuck-toy" and "slut-whore" for the afternoon (his words, not mine, but oh-so-desirable words)

I must have sent off a wrong vibe during this heavenly "foreplay" since he asked, in a mocking tone, "You don't want to go home do you, you piece-of-shit slant-eye? Already had enough?"

"No Master. Please let me suck your cock like you wrote about that you wanted. Please. Please..."

What can I say in my defense, I have a psycho-sexual problem (or whatever they call it).

He didn't like my reply. He slapped me, HARD, across the face. I was stunned -- that had never happened to me before -- I'd never been hit like that. How could he do it? How could he have the confidence to do that to a girl he'd just met in real life?

"Careful, you bitch. You don't have the RIGHT to call me Master. As far as I know, you're nothing but an untrained, stupid, yellow piece of trash that I'm not even sure can suck cock properly, so don't take on airs."

Imagine a warm feeling spreading through my belly and moisture leaking from my "little yellow cunt" during this absurd tirade of his and you'll get a pretty good idea of how my body and mind reacted to something I had wanted for as long as I could remember and was finally getting.

"I don't like to spend time with uppity rice niggers who think they might be a slave, when they're really just trash."

He said this in the most believable, realistic, hurtful, wonderful, impossibly mean and condescending way. Words are inadequate to relay the TONE of how he said these things to me and the DESIRE that surged in me and dripped out of me as he berated me. I felt my nipples harden into little points of lust as he threw slur after slur at me. He made me feel like I was trash, and that was just how I WANTED to feel.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what to do or what to say..."

The need to sexually service this over-sized man, my absolute need to be worthy of him, was overpowering me. I had to please him. I had to earn his approval, even though I was inferior and could never be equal to him.

"I don't want you pretending later that I forced you or took advantage of you, cunt. I should untie you now so you can go home to your nice safe life and end this little stupid adventure of yours. I'm not going to get any nicer as this date goes along."

"No...please...no...you can do anything to me that you want...please don't make me go home. Please use me for whatever you want. I'm sorry I called you Master. I won't do it again."

This seemed to mollify him (not sure). After bitch-slapping me again...AGAIN...He unzipped his fly and took out his thing.

What can I say...it might have been my mood, my psychological state, but it looked enormous. You have to understand...I usually deal with the cocks of under-sized asian males, not the cocks of humongously tall and broad-chested white men.

This man's cock seemed huge. He pulled both his balls and his cock out at the same time and I could smell them, on my knees, from 3 or 4 inches away...and they smelled different; clean, male, powerful, wonderful.

He put his hand on my head and pulled it forward to his cock. I instinctively opened my mouth to take him inside and then I was in for my next big surprise.

His cock was huge and it wasn't even HARD yet!

Hindsight is a better judge of these things. I was in the moment, terrified of him ending the date and sending me home, desperate to please, horribly aroused by his words, overpowered by his presence, thrilled by his degrading demeanor and condescending attitude, desperate for more verbal humiliation.

Was he actually huge? I don't know. But for the purposes of this particular date, I was overwhelmed and he was huge...leave it at that.

And he got bigger as he rocked my head back and forth, like some tool, using my mouth to stimulate his cock...while I inhaled his scent, basked in the presence of his pendulous balls, marveling at the growing presence inside my mouth.

He pulled out and bitch-slapped me again. Hard.

This man could really hit! As the tears started from my eyes in reaction to the overwhelming emotions that came from being slapped repeatedly, I was rapidly falling in deep lust with him. Where has he been? Why couldn't I have met him sooner?

"Careful of your teeth, you stupid, fucking gook."

I was actually a chink, not a gook...but he was just a round-eye -- so I had to have low expectations of his ability to differentiate me from other asian girls.

He bitch-slapped me a second time right away. I could feel the tears really rolling now. I started sobbing from it all, from the bitch-slaps, his awful words, his attention, his male-ness, his presence. I was simultaneously happy and desperate. Happy because I was living a fantasy; desperate because the fantasy might be more than I could handle -- and I didn't WANT it to be more than I could handle. It's one thing to fantasize about being bitch-slapped, but I can say with certainty that the reality is almost TOO MUCH (but not quite, thankfully, since I survived).

He pulled out of my mouth. I felt desolate.

"I knew you couldn't handle it, you stupid, shit-for-brains, zipperhead. We've just gotten started and you're already sobbing. I guess you want to go home after all."

How could he know that I was sobbing from being overwhelmed, sobbing because I was in shock from the face-slaps, but not because I wanted to go home. In fact, I was in my own secret version of little asian-girl heaven, finally having found a white man that might give me what I fantasized about -- not in some pretend fashion, but in REAL fashion.

But I WAS sobbing because he HAD overwhelmed me, so I wasn't able to communicate properly my extreme gratitude at being hit by him and berated by him.

"No...No...No...I want to stay...", was about all I could manage.

He grabbed hold of my head and rammed my willing and eager mouth back onto his cock and rocked me back and forth on his magnificent tool again and again and again and again, in metronomic fashion. He switched his hand from my head down to my nipples, grabbing one in each hand and twisting them painfully as he used my tits, almost like machine controls, to rock my body back and forth on his monster-cock. He ground my poor nipples so hard between his thumb and forefinger that I began to scream in pain, with those screams muffled by his dick sawing back and forth in my mouth -- I looked down in awe as the flesh-colored rod made it's long journey back and forth between my lips and the entrance-way to my throat, without ever coming out...and without ever piercing that tight hole.

With my elbows tied behind me, I was helpless to resist. I think, sadistic jerk that he was, he actually enjoyed my screams as he used his vice-grip on my poor nipples to pull my body forward and backward. I could feel his hard cock get even harder as my body shuddered under his brutality, my elbows pulled against the belt holding them behind my back, my mouth spasmed on his cock, the tears came rolling out of my eyes, and...most embarrassing of all...I could feel my nose begin to get runny (really, really embarrassing).

I actually felt like I was going to throw up, but his cock gave me no room to retch. My body had no time to react as it was pulled back and forth against him, my nipples being pulled off from my body, or so it felt and seemed.

Here is where I made a mistake. The pain was so intense, his cock was so big, my mouth was so small, that I think I bit down on him a bit, more to get my balance and stay on my knees than anything else -- he was just too much man for me. I would never dream of biting a superior man like this on purpose. Even now I feel awful that it happened.

I couldn't have done him any real damage...he was too strong to be hurt by a little, worthless girl like me, but he bellowed in anger, pulled his cock out of my mouth (I felt bereft) and laid another right open palm hard against my left cheek. The force of it threw me to the ground at his feet.

"You stupid, fucking, worthless slope-heads never learn," he said menacingly, unlatching his belt...I could see him pull it through the loops on his pants while I lay nearly dazed on the ground. The soft, snicking sound focused my attention. When he had it fully off, he doubled it over in his hands and I literally moaned in desire, fear and, I have to admit, anticipatory pleasure at what was to come.

"I can't believe I waste my time with pint-sized little slant-eyes like you," he mumbled to himself as he picked me up off the floor like a sack of potatoes.

He wasn't talking to me, he was talking to himself -- as if I wasn't in the room, or wasn't a person.

He placed me on the bed, tits into the mattress, elbows still behind me. I was sprawled flat.

Unable to see, I felt a whisper of air and then a blinding crack of pain on my ass. He had brought his doubled-over belt down in a swift, hard stroke against my vulnerable and exposed rear-end!

I howled in pain, crying. He stuffed something in my mouth...it must have been my panties because I smelled my own arousal.

"You chinks have to be taught not to bite!"

[Now he was calling me a chink and not a gook? Did he even know the difference? But I felt now was not the time to correct him. It would have been hard to anyway, with a mouth full of cream-soaked cotton.]

He brought the belt down again. My ass felt like it was on fire, felt like it was being flayed off. My hands were actually free, since my elbows were cinched, not my wrists ...and I covered my ass with them. I couldn't help myself.

"You don't like taking punishment on your ass? That's what it's built for, you stupid, untrained gook."

"But that's okay, I can strap you elsewhere, if you prefer."

He turned me over onto my back, too easily...and brought his belt down just as brutally across my tits as he'd done against my ass, but with my elbows cinched behind me, there was no way to protect myself.

And he was right, by the way, it's better to take a hard belt-stroke from a superior man on your ass than it is against your tits.

I literally thought I was dying, it hurt so much. And he was bringing his belt up again for another stroke of horrible, unendurable pain.

"This is what happens to rice niggers that bite," he said calmly as he strapped my tits a second time with his belt. He spoke in a way as if he almost knew we'd end up here. Maybe he was right...he could have used any excuse, I'm sure, to hit me and whip me like this. Who was I to disagree with him?

I was screaming and crying into my panties, turning over to take my tits away from the monstrous belt.

"No, bitch..." he growled, as he turned me back and put a hand over my mouth to keep me in place.

"You had your chance to take your punishment on the ass...you decided to turn over and so that means you take the strokes across your tits. Didn't I explain the rules to you?"

HE DIDN'T! HE DIDN'T!

"I didn't, but you'll have to learn them as we go along..."

He delivered two more brutal strokes, a total of four across my tits to go along with the first two against my ass.

I was still alive, but I don't know how.

"Now, are you ready to suck cock again without biting, cunt?"

I couldn't answer him, my mouth being stuffed with panties...but I nodded my head frantically.

He picked me up and sat down in a chair, having me kneel in front of him. He pulled the panties out of my mouth and guided my head down near his dick. It had lost a tiny bit of its erection, but was still big and engorged and beautiful -- and smelled great.

I engulfed it eagerly into my little asian "chink" mouth.

And he let me suck his cock!

Maybe the violence of the last few minutes had sated him, maybe he had gotten something out of his system...he was quiescent for a few minutes as I bobbed my head up and down, like a little school girl looking to please, to get a good grade, on his engorged monster.

"That's a good little slope-head..." he whispered teasingly, as I tried to swallow and caress his warmth. "I can tell you're trying hard. Make sure to keep the stroke nice and slow...and I'll reward you with a nice, big load of jism. Won't that be a treat...and more than a worthless bitch like you deserves."

Now, I know this is going to sound bad...like I'm just trying to write an exciting (or a revolting) story rather than express my true feelings...but these little words of praise from him made me feel very gooey and warm. Incredible feelings of thankfulness and warmness toward HIM coursed through my body. I was so grateful for his praise even though he was calling me names and hurting me. It's incredible to think about even as I write it. Here I was, bound by my elbows, hurting from his belt, sore from his fingers twisting my nipples, with a running nose that pierced me with embarrassment as it dripped down onto his magnificent cock, and tears drying on my cheeks, humiliated from his awful words and his hard and remorseless bitch-slapping....and I was GRATEFUL to him for calling me a "good little slope-head"!

Him giving me praise, even as he was calling me names, was more precious -- in that moment -- than anything any other man had ever done for me. That I could win praise from a man like him? That I could please him? Be worthy of him?

I sucked his cock for a LONG time. I became very familiar with his straight shaft, his big, bulbous mushroom head, his wonderful, clean, overpowering and masculine scent. He would pull it out every once in a while and lay it across my face and make me kiss his shaft and lick his balls...and I would be amazed at the length of it as it came out of my mouth -- how did something that big fit inside me? I would relish as he rubbed it across my face and made me thank him for letting me suck it -- and I could hear the gratitude and truth in my words as I thanked him and thanked him again and he chuckled in satisfaction and put it back in my mouth. It was amazing how turned on I was, to be naked, kneeling, elbow-tied, bruised, alternately choking and gagging on cock and sucking it, licking his balls, getting more and more turned on, getting more and more in lust with him.

And all the time he kept a nice, low litany of verbal humiliation and degradation, alternately teasing and stern, menacing and playful, mixing and matching a huge variety of words that were all deliciously forbidden, taboo, exhilarating, exciting, humiliating, distasteful, mocking and oh-so-stimulating.

...bitch...cunt...slant-eye... gook... whore... slut... worthless... inferior... stupid... rice nigger... slope-head... zipperhead... chink... jappo... trash... untrained... rice-eater...

He even teased me by comparing my technique to other kinds of girls he'd "sampled"...(his term, not mine)...girls he called "kikes" and "camel-jockeys" and "red-dots" and "euro-trash". As my nose ran, as my shoulders ached, as my head pumped up and down on his fuck-muscle and as my thoughts spun off into infinity while I sucked his cock gratefully, I wondered if other girls from other cultures had the same sick cravings I had. The way he was talking, maybe they did. Who knows, maybe even tall, big-titted white girls...who could have as many white men as they wanted...had taboo cravings too...that they had to go to someone outside their race to get fulfilled. Maybe the desire to experience forbidden humiliation at the hands of a strong "other" male wasn't isolated to us "chinks" and "gooks".

But I'm straying - back to the point -- back to my fantasy. This man was a virtuoso at verbal degradation. He was tuning me...optimizing me - so that I responded precisely to his playing and so that I'd put out just the right notes for the specific symphonies rolling around in his mind. I was the song and the instrument and he was the composer, the musician, the conductor.

And by the way, I was a wet, sopping MESS...my nose running nose from all the work that I was doing on my knees...my tits and nipples sore and hurting from his quick, violent punishment of me...my elbows aching from being cinched behind me so tightly, my puss dripping arousal and running down my thighs...in a haze, turned on.

Without warning, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and I tensed up. Had I done something wrong? Was he going to beat me again?

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byBibliophile© 14 comments/ 131564 views/ 108 favorites

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