Asian Abuse Ch. 01

He made me stand up by simply pulling my hair. He turned me around and pushed my back down a bit...which had the effect of pushing back my pussy and putting an arch in my back.

I was tense with excitement. Would I get fucked too? That was too much to ask! Was I worthy of getting fucked? I wasn't sure. I wanted to show him that I had enough stamina to suck him off. What if he didn't like my pussy? What if I did something wrong to make him mad and he wouldn't see me again? I was so deep in my fantasy world of degradation and humiliation that I felt I didn't deserve to be fucked.

I was frantic, but too afraid to say anything.

I felt him line his cock up with my sopping pink gash and he put a hand on each hip and pulled me back toward him.

The sharp pain as his turgid cock entered into me for the first time was immediate and I couldn't suppress a squeal of pain.

BUT it was also the best entry by a cock that had EVER been made into my little, bare, shaven slot.

OH MY G*D, I felt, as he used his grip on my hips to push me forward again and then pull me back for a second stroke on his iron-hard fuck-stick. It's impossible to describe the feeling of being totally turned on, living out a fantasy, and then being speared -- in a very masculine and sexy way, by a big, hard, fat, cock.

I literally felt myself shaking with pleasure.

"Had enough, slant-eye...want to go home?" he mocked teasingly, "I can see that you're shaking...can't handle being used by a real man?"

"MMMMmmmmMMMMmmmm..." was all I could manage in reply. Pathetic...

He just chuckled and continued to use me as a lightweight sexual fucking device, rocking me back and forth on his warm, fat, throbbing prick.

"Look at this...you've made a mess on my cock, you stupid rice-nigger...," said in a mocking tone.

Of course I had...I was gushing over his monstrosity with my pussy. What the hell did he expect?

"Get back down on your knees and clean up that mess you made ..."

The anguish I felt as I lost his prick from my pussy was replaced quickly by comfort as I turned around, sank back onto my knees and eagerly gobbled up his rock-hard weapon again in my mouth (I wish I had my hands to balance myself, to cup his balls...very inconvenient to have my elbows cinched behind me).

He was right, I HAD made a mess. I could taste myself all over him. I was humiliated by all the leakage, the tell-tale signs of how I responded with arousal to his awful words and to his sexual violence... and desperately moved my mouth around to lick his cock, lick his balls, clean him up with the only thing available to me, my mouth (my elbows tied behind me, my hands uselessly dangling). I was ashamed of the way I'd dirtied his cock with my unworthy pussy cream. It's crazy to say, but I was really desperate to clean off my filthy juices from him if he didn't want it coating his magnificent cock.

But I was brought back to reality by another hard bitch-slap.

"Not so fast, you ignorant whore...take your time and do it right."

His low, in-control voice calmed me. I really appreciated, even though it sounds unbelievable to say it, that particular sort-of-corrective bitch-slap (not a hard one as the previous bitch-slaps had been, more of a corrective face-slap, to get my attention). He was right. I was going too fast, not properly serving him, not doing it right. I admired his control, that he was able to slow down my stupid, desperate haste, to make me do it right. I moaned in servitude, in pleasure, in obedience, in slavery (even though he said I wasn't good enough to be his slave) on his cock.

He made me turn around and reverse-fuck him again while standing up...and made me clean up the gushing mess I made all over his cock again. The man had stamina.

And then something happened that I never thought would happen, imagined could happen.

"I'm beginning to get uncomfortable, bitch...I need to relieve myself... I don't like to use motel toilets. I'm not sure how sanitary they are."

Not sure how sanitary they are? What the fuck was he talking about? What did sanitary mean to a man? Don't they just stand up and piss on the floor (that's a private inside-type-of-woman joke).

"I need to piss. You've done a terrible job using that body of yours to suck my cock, to grip and milk it with your cunt...you've had plenty of time and you don't even have me close to orgasm yet...and you've run out of time."

His words that I'd done a poor job and that I'd run out of time with him were bringing up inside me INCREDIBLE feelings of unworthiness, of shame, of humiliation. MUCH WORSE THAN BEING CALLED NAMES. I had no idea that I had to do anything but be a passive receptacle for him to use as he pleased. Milk him with my pussy? Terrible at sucking cock? These were foreign concepts to me. Wasn't every man grateful for a blowjob, wasn't it just natural for men to bust their nut by fucking a girl's pussy.

But I recognized the absolute truth of what he said, even as I did not understand at all what was going on. He must have been fucking me (or having me suck his cock) for 40+ minutes now...and he hadn't yet cum. There must be something deeply wrong or unworthy about me.

"We need to end the date now so I can find a clean and sanitary bathroom to relieve myself."

I had turned from supremely-content-inferior-little-asian-girl-being-dominated-by-superior-white-man and enjoying the transformation of perverted-fantasy to even-better-reality (even though there was a scary moment or two earlier with all the bitch-slapping) to absolutely frantic in the space of a few seconds. I felt certain, absolutely certain, that if this first meeting between us ended without him coming to orgasm, that there was no way I would or could convince him (or beg him) to see me again. I wouldn't be worthy.

I couldn't think of anything to do other than to shove my mouth deeper onto his cock (though there was no way that thing could get into my throat), in a last desperate attempt to coax his jism out of him and complete my responsibility, my duty, my absolute need, to get him off, to feel his surge to climax, to take his superior white jism into my inferior asian body.

"Look at me, you pathetic gook...look at me"

Mouth-stuffed with dick, I raised my eyes and looked at this man that I had to please.

"I know you're disappointed. I know you yellow whores live for serving men like me...but my need to piss is getting in the way, now...and you're not properly trained for toilet duty....time to end the date...I don't piss in motel toilets."

Trained for toilet duty? What did that mean? What was he talking about? I hung onto his words like a drowning person being thrown a flotation ring.

But I couldn't bring myself to take my mouth off his cock. He'd have to force me off. I had a pathological need to obey him, but I would have to be forced off at this point.

He put his hand in my hair to pull my mouth off, but for the first time today I defied him. With all my strength, I pushed my head down, desperately trying to keep his cock in my mouth.

He gave me a medium slap across my cheek, but that wasn't enough to dislodge my determined cunt-throat (I should leave the derogatory term creation to him, but I had made a connection in my mind...between using my mouth and cunt interchangeably to serve him).

"It looks like you're not ready to call it a day yet, you stupid gook?"

"Unnnnhhh...Unnnhhhh," I gobbled around his cock, not daring to take my mouth off of it.

"Are you already a trained toilet, then?"

????!!!!????

"It wouldn't surpise me...I would think yellow girls like you always eventually learn to drink piss...after all it's yellow too and you're suited for it...and you're not really good for anything else"

His words were burning into my brain, leaving a brand across my sexual identity, the way I thought of myself, of what I might do, of what I might crave. My mind was working at light-speed through all the possibilities, the permutations, the potentialities. I knew, with a sinking feeling - but also one of anticipation for all the new fantasies that I could masturbate to - that I was changed forever in the space of a few seconds by this new suggestion as to how a white man might make use of me (how THIS white man might make use of me).

"You're an acceptable toilet for me, if you're ready...you sake-serving bitch...and then you can keep serving me with that little tight body of yours ...but it'll be very bad for you if you waste my piss...if you retch it up...if you don't swallow every last drop."

He was talking softly to me, gently. But the implications of his words were enormous. It was hard to imagine being his "toilet", but it was also IMPOSSIBLE to imagine ending this date, ending this chance to be his little girl, if it was within my power to keep it going.

"Are you ready to be a urinal, bitch? Are you ready so soon in our relationship? Are you that desperate to be with a real man?"

I felt the hairs raising on the back of my neck and my nipples hardened into little points of intense desire, longing and need as I looked at him, mouth filled with cock, knowing what he required, knowing that I had, for my own sake, to give it to him.

I mumbled yes and nodded. It was unintelligible. He knew what I meant.

"Remember, don't waste a drop...flush it all down..."

I expected it to come right away...I was worried I couldn't get through it.

"Slow down now. Slow way, way down..."

I did. I slowed my head-bob down to a crawl...I could feel every flex of his fuck-muscle as the nature of his hard-on changed subtly inside my mouth. It took him a while, I guess, for his hard-on to subside enough to allow the piss through.

The first drops of bitter water hit my throat on the down-stroke, toward his root. I froze in terror, frantic that I would retch.

But I didn't. I kept his cock in my mouth. He put his hand back on my head and stilled me.

I kneeled, absolutely still, frozen in awe, transformed from cock-sucker and molested cunt into obedient inferior asian toilet, who served this man in every way he wanted.

The trickle became a stream. I took my first swallow, careful not to break that precious contact of worthless asian to superior white-man.

It was bitter, but manageable. I drank tea, but knew the smell of coffee. That's what I was drinking, his morning coffee. It was revolting and thrilling, liberating and de-humanizing at the same time.

The stream became a gusher. I was worried I couldn't keep up. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed. My whole existence focused on treating his cock like a long, refreshing drink of something warm and toasty on a cold winter day, not a degrading imitation of a toilet in a dark and dingy motel room.

The gusher began to slack. It turned off, it turned back on, it petered out. He grunted in satisfaction.

"That's a very good little bitch....such a well-behaved little yellow piss-drinker you are...I'm proud of you. You might be trainable yet."

His words thrilled me, completed me, made me gush down below, made me heady up above. I gripped his cock even more firmly in my mouth, clenched my numb hands into little fists behind me, determined not to fail now. He called me "good"! He called me "well-behaved"! He was "proud" of me. Best of all, he called me "trainable"! How much those words meant to me is impossible to over-state. Maybe he would see me again. If I did absolutely everything he wanted, maybe I could serve him again!

We transitioned from man-using-toilet back to man-getting-cock-sucked seamlessly. He didn't give me a chance to recover or catch my breath...he just used his hand to tell me to start sucking again, giving me a gentle nudge to begin my cock-sucking motion.

I did it eagerly, without complaint, with enthusiasm, and with a belly full of warm piss. I could literally feel it sloshing around in my stomach...and it made me feel warm and gooey and grateful again...like when he praised me earlier...and it made me complete, and fulfilled. It raised inside me deep feelings of "worthiness" and "completeness" that I'd never felt before. And I actually felt gratitude to him that he'd let me be his toilet, and stayed with me on this date. It was one thing to serve a man like him in the normal way. But I felt that I had served him in a special way, that I had really proven myself. I knew I could do it again if he wanted me to.

When he had me stand back up, turn around and back onto his cock again, this time I felt like I DESERVED the delicious pain of insertion rather than not being worthy of it. His hands on my hips, guiding me up and down on his cock, using my pussy like he'd used my mouth...to stroke his cock...was heaven.

"Milk that cock...whore...convince me that you want to serve me...quit concentrating on your own pleasure ..." he lectured me...reminding me that I was lost in my own pleasure, not concentrating on him. My fleeting feelings of triumph and fulfillment and worth were replaced by shame that he'd caught me having fun...he was right. His gentle reproof, now that I felt I knew him so much better, was actually more painful than the rage at the beginning of this surreal date.

"I'm sorry,"...I whispered as I made a conscious effort to bear down, to clamp down on him with my pussy, as he stroked my body back and forth on his cock...as my wrists, free below my cinched elbows, rested on his thighs, balancing myself so he could make the best use of my pussy for his cock.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, rice-nigger...you need to learn, to train yourself, your pleasure doesn't matter...you need to train yourself to get YOUR pleasure from MY pleasure. You need to change your whole outlook. You whores are a dime a dozen. If you don't get your mind right, I'll find another girl with a better outlook."

"I will. I will. Please give me a chance."

Back to my knees, back to cleaning up my leaking mess from his cock.

Eventually, he moved the mouth-to-cunt-to-mouth fucking to mouth-to-ass-to-mouth fucking.

[By the way, I can't let anybody see this (even though I know I won't be able to delete it once I'm done). I need it in writing to remember the first REAL time I was used.]

Ass-to-mouth is an ultimate form of degradation (I'm glad I went for a colonic before meeting him, just in case). Suffice it to say that getting fucked in the ass by him hurt really bad (I thought he was splitting me open), that it was very degrading (and horribly arousing) and that I don't want to over-emphasize the importance to myself. The verbal degradation and being turned into his personal and private toilet were the highlights for me, not the ass-fucking or the ass-to-mouth. That's a normal, every-day fetish, in my mind, not the special fetish that I nurtured within myself to be the slave of a white man and to be his personal property, to be worthless and priceless at the same time....to be called names and now...to be his special and private urinal.

But this glorious experience of kneeling, being tied, being name-called, being bitch-slapped, sucking cock, being fucked, drinking piss, serving HIM, had to stop.

I just wasn't prepared for how he would bring everything to conclusion.

He pulled out two big ugly pieces of black metal...BINDER CLIPS...attached them to my nipples and proceeded to fuck the mouth of a suddenly-screaming-in-pain little asian girl into a stupendous orgasm by holding the back of my head and taking control of my entire body. I could tell that the tears streaming down my face, the sobbing of my mouth around his cock, the shaking and trembling of my body in the pain from the cruel biting metal all served to feed his sadism and take him over the edge into his enormous orgasm.

As his cum shot into my mouth, hot and sticky and welcome...I worried that my nipples were being pinched totally off my body by the unforgiving metal.

"Be sure and swallow every fucking drop, you fresh-off-the-boat stupid slant-eyed whore...you need to earn your next date with me...and I don't date girls who waste my jism while they're pre-occupied with their own problems".

The amount of slurs this guy knows is AMAZING! Fresh-off-the boat? I thought that slur was internal to my community only...something we used on each other...I'd never heard it from a round-eye.

I wish I had time to relish his orgasm, his cum, his essence. But truth to tell, I was in too much pain, too much distress, too much of a haze, to really enjoy it and savor it. How unfortunate. Maybe next time I'll get a better chance to taste it and enjoy it. I did make sure it didn't leak out of the vacuum lock I was trying to maintain between my exhausted mouth and his spent and shrinking cock.

He undid the belt around my elbows. My arms fell useless next to my side, lumps of nerveless meat, bound for at least an hour. He made me look up at him while he removed the horrid metal. And while the pain of their bite was horrific, the pain of their release was unendurable. I collapsed at his feet, my arms around his ankles, sobbing quietly in pain.

"What do you say, rice-nigger? Can you manage a thank-you for all this time and attention I've given to you today?"

"Thank you, Master....Thank You."

He took a foot and kicked me medium-hard in my ribs as I lay at his feet.

"I told you not to call me Master, you untrained, ungrateful almond-eyed whore...you haven't earned the right to have me as a Master."

He was talking matter-of-factly, like to a meaningless and powerless person who held no interest to him. No ire or anger in his voice.

"I'm sorry....I'm sorry...," I sobbed. His lack of anger frightened me, making me feel that he'd given up on me. "I don't know what to call you..."

"Call me Sir."

"Thank you, Sir...Thank you...I can't thank you enough."

"Your poor blowjob technique and your inability to properly milk my cock with your cunt and ass has made me late. I've got to get back to work. Quit your shaking, get your ass up and get dressed. Let's hurry...I need to take another piss."

So much for aftercare, I guess, from the man I wanted to worship for the rest of my life. This was actually a REAL BLACK MARK AGAINST HIM, in my book. I could have hoped for better. I probably shouldn't settle...but I was absolutely willing to overlook minor defects in his personality now that I knew he could DELIVER on the degradation and the humiliation. You have to take the bad with the good, I guess.

It was hard, but I was under his spell....I made desultory efforts to put myself together while he put his own clothes back on (he didn't have much to do...he really hadn't taken that many clothes off...he'd just unzipped his fly and unbuttoned his dress shirt, really).

As we were getting ready to head out, he gave me some final instructions....

"Make sure you send a thank you note to me by email. Put it in writing so we both know the score. If I'm not happy with it, there will be punishment. I actually recommend you don't send one...and that you not see me again. You're a bit of a mess and I won't be any easier on you in the future."

His words both appalled me and galvanized me. I couldn't wait to get home and tell him what today had meant to me. I ignored his foolishness about him not being good for me -- he was the man of my dreams -- but I was stressed about sending him a note that would please him, make him happy with me (or at least satisfied enough to see me again).

"...and remember, the only thing I offer to a worthless whore like you is pain and humiliation and degradation...and lots and lots of sexual training while I turn you into something that is of marginal use to me."

Music to my ears. Did I say at the beginning that there was something wrong with me? What he was offering is what I WANTED.

"Sir?"

"Yes."