White God and Chink chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ms. Chink the Origin

I have not always this way. I was once an independent, modern, urbane Hong Kong woman. But I’ve realized that I am only submissive when I am confronted by a white man. I remember, even as a little girl, I always wanted to be subjugated by a white man. They are all so tall, so muscular, and everyone around me worship white men. I had fantasized about being tied up and used by white men ever since I had an inkling about sex.

My relationships with chink men have been fine but the sex hasn’t been so great. I knew it was my fault so I pretended to cum for the sake of my worthless chink boyfriends. I found I could only reach orgasm while masturbating and thinking of my terrible private fantasies, with a white man. It doesn’t matter if he’s America or Australian or British or German, as long as he’s white. He must be Caucasian of the western European stock. Of full blooded aryan master race. One day I stopped at a bar frequented by westerners. There were dozens of young Chinese women dressed in skin-bare clothes and they were all surrounding themselves with white men, and there was an incredibly obese elderly white man with silver hair who leered at me. His mere look turned my face red with humiliation and my panties were already soaked. When I got home I masturbated thinking about him and I had the most intense orgasm in my life as I remembered the humiliationof being forced to be a whore for white men.

I had never cum from being fucked, until I met Mr. Simon. I was at a party designed for asian women to meet white men when I saw him enter; he was so confident, so powerful it took my breath away. He looked about ten years older than me but could have been older. Tall, ruggedly handsome with dark deep eyes, he slumped in an armchair and insolently looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my breasts and legs, a cold smile on his face.

“Another chink whore.” He sneered.

I could not believe his insolence, and yet was so turned on by the way he said it. I should have been angry. I should have walked away. But I must admit, I was so incredibly turned on by what he said.

Get me a whiskey and soda,” he said calmly, even naming the brand of whiskey he wanted. I scurried off to do his bidding and returned with the drink. He took it and didn’t ask me to sit down, just watched me as he sipped. I was trembling and I didn’t know what to do next so I waited. “What is your first name?” he snapped suddenly.

I cleared my throat. “Jessica,” I said finally.

No. Your real name. Give me your chinky-itty-ching-chong name.”

I was stunned and remained silent.

If you refuse to say your real name, then from now on, you are Ms. Chink. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty nine.”

“Twenty nine?” he laughed. “You are getting old. There’s plenty of young fresh chink meat. Why should I choose you.”

“Because I am very obedient,” I said quickly. “I’m always attracted to white men, and I … I will do anything for you. Please sir, give me a chance. Let me serve you.”

A dark haired Chinese girl who looked like she was only 19 swept across the room and kissed him. “You snuck in,” she laughed, and spoke with perfectly fluent English.

Mr. Simon smiled. “Just got a drink and met another chink. Ms. Chink,” he said directly to me, “this is my girlfriend, Sylvia.”

I felt my stomach knock. “Pleased to meet you,” I recited and she looked at me carefully and then smiled.

“Of course, stupid chink whores are always on the prowl for white cocks” she said coldly and turned back to Mr. Simon. “I know you have to go soon but there is someone who is dying to meet you.” Jealously, I watched her take his hand to pull him to his feet.

They started to walk away, and then Mr. Simon said something to Sylvia before returning to me to say coldly, “I drive a black BMW, I will be leaving in exactly fifteen minutes. I expect you waiting at the curb.” With those instructions, he strode away into the party.

Swiftly, I gathered my bag and rushed outside, scanning the street for a black BMW and felt a surge of relief when I found it. I stood under a streetlight to fix my makeup, brushed my hair and wished I had worn something a little better than the denim skirt, sleeveless white top and woolen coat. Winters in Hong Kong was not always so warm.

The minutes dragged by and I wondered if they were inside looking at me through the window and laughing at how easily I did what he wanted. Although humiliated, I felt my body tingle and the dull desire in my stomach start to pulse. If this was a cruel joke, I knew I would still masturbate while remembering and cum in a huge rush at the humiliation of it all.

The car beeped as he opened it. “Get in,” he said and I hurriedly slipped into the seat next to him, his cologne sweeping over me as the car sped off into the night. Suddenly, he stopped, pulled me to him and kissed me roughly and, at the same time, sweetly. My panties were soaked and I groaned as his hand pushed my legs apart, his finger probing, pushing the wet crotch of my panties aside and slipping deeply inside my pussy. I groaned through the kiss as he finger fucked me, took control of me just like that and I had no choice, just moved on his hand.

That night we fucked in his apartment. I know, I know, he already has a Chinese girlfriend, and he has probably fucked dozens of Chinese girls like me, but I couldn’t resist. I had to give him everything I had. Naked, my large breasts lolling to the side, he roughly forced me back on the messed bed and held my hands above my head by one massive hand, his other hand gripping my hair tightly as his big white cock pounded me, used me, I came with a loud scream that echoed within the room.

We saw a lot of each other after that and I loved it. Mr. Simon would order me around and expect me to completely obey him, no matter how humiliating it was. It was inevitable that I would move into his apartment. It was a beautiful apartment and there were only two apartments on our floor. His Chinese girlfriend Sylvia who I got to know a little and found she wasn’t as nasty as she first seemed occupied the other apartment on that floor with her husband, a wimpish little asian guy who happened to be very wealthy. It seemed a little strange that Sylvia was married and still was involved with Mr. Simon, but the thing is, white men are a very hot commodity in Hong Kong and many Chinese women would cheat on their husbands just to get one. I still worked as an office lady but I also did all the housework in the apartment, Mr. Simon didn’t even offer.

Then the company I worked for was taken over and I lost my job. Mr. Simon said not to worry about finding another job; he would find one for me so I became very dependent on him for everything.

One day, Mr. Simon came home, looked at me as I ran from the sofa to kiss him and said, ” I’m horny, get on your knees and suck me.”

My face burning, I sank to my knees and he coldly looked down at me as I reached to undo his zipper. “Don’t,” he snapped, brushing my hands away. “Don’t touch without permission. Ask!”

“Please can I undo your pants?” I whispered and my panties were instantly soaked.


“So I can suck you,” I whispered, my face hot and my hands trembling.

“Suck what?” His voice was low and menacing, his hand gripped my hair as he made me look up at him.

“Your cock,” I whispered in a rush. “Please can I suck your cock?” The humiliation washed through me and I felt as if I was on the edge of coming. “Ask again, this time call me Sir.”

“Please Sir, can I suck your cock?” He nodded and my trembling fingers unzipped him and released his fat cock, which I hungrily took in my mouth. I felt so servile, so used as I sucked him, his hand in my hair and his cock filling my mouth. His hands gripped me as he fucked my mouth and I tried to stop from gagging and I realized, I had no choice, he had complete control and the thought sent my head spinning.

With a grunt, he came, coating my face with his sticky sperm, drops running down my nose and some almost in my eyes until he casually wiped his cock against my cheek. “You’ll have to improve,” he said coldly, doing his pants up and walking away without another word, leaving me kneeling on the floor, my face and my panties a mess.

I was so aroused that I had to stop myself from ripping the vibrator from the bedroom drawer after washing my face. Mr. Simon smiled at me when I walked back, my face bright red.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he said and I nodded shamefully. “You enjoyed me taking control?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“That makes you a slut, just like every other stupid chink” he smiled and the word rang in my ears. “I guess the slut wants to cum now?”

I was trembling; his words seemed to be drifting in and out of my head. “Please?’ I moaned. “Please Sir,” I added and moaned when I said it.

“Go and get dressed in your slut clothes and wait for me.” I rushed to strip off my clothes and dress in the black bra, panties and stockings that he loved me to wear.

Thirty minutes later, I was on my back, panties in my mouth and my ankles tied to my wrists so my wet pussy was open, hungrily gaping. I was helpless and so exposed, desperate to cum.

“You’ve been using this without my permission,” Mr. Simon said, taking my vibrator from the drawer, tapping my ass with it. “You don’t use it unless I allow you.” I nodded desperately, tasting myself on my soaked panties and moaning when he slid the vibrator deep into my asian pussy. Smiling he twisted the end and it started to vibrate inside me. “Enjoy while I get a drink.”

No, I wanted to cry out! Touch my clit, please! It was maddening, the vibrator deep inside me, teasing me but there was no friction on my clit, and it was swollen, red and ignored.

Suddenly I heard the doorbell and I strained my ears to listen as Mr. Simon opened the door. “Hi Sylvia.”

“Is Ms. Chink here? I wanted to borrow something.”

To my horror, I heard Mr. Simon say casually, “Yeah, she’s tied up in the bedroom with a vibrator in her cunt. Want to look?”

“Sure,” she laughed.

My face was red with shame when they both walked in, the vibrator so loud in the room. “Are those her panties in her mouth?” Sylvia casually asked, taking Mr. Simon’s drink for a quick sip. “She likes the taste of cunt?”

“I guess. Who cares what she likes?” Mr. Simon laughed and took his drink back. “She just wants to cum. Don’t you, chink?” he suddenly snapped at me and face hot with shame, I nodded. His fingers removed the sodden panties, dropping them on the pillow next to me. “Beg,” he said coldly.

My eyes darted from Sylvia to Mr. Simon; both were smiling down at me while calmly sharing the drink. “Please Sir,” I begged hoarsely, “please let me cum.”

“She has a nice little cunt,” Sylvia observed, looking down at my pussy and the vibrator protruding from it. “And she’s already completely shaved. Mine. Have you had her yellow ass yet?” she casually asked and Mr. Simon shook his head.

“Not yet.” His big fingers removed the vibrator and he wiped it on my hot cheeks, teasing my mouth with it. “Beg to cum, lil’ chink.”

“Please, Sir,” I almost screamed with desperation and deep in humiliation. My head was spinning, all control gone as I slipped away, degrading myself without thought in my urgent need for relief.

“Please let me cum!”

“You’re nothing but a slut, aren’t you?” he demanded as he slipped two fingers inside of me, Sylvia giggling softly.

“Yes, yes,” I desperately agreed, his fingers slowly fucking me. “I’m a slut!”

“She screams when she cums,” Mr. Simon said idly to Sylvia.

“I think I’ve heard her,” Sylvia laughed, “the walls are a little thin. Does she always get this wet? Her thighs are coated in it, for chink’s sake!”

“She gets wet very easily, it’s like turning a faucet on.”His fingers moved in and out and I tried to buck on his hand, to get my clit in contact with something, anything! “Ask Sylvia if you can cum,” Mr. Simon snapped and Sylvia laughed.

“Please Sylvia,” I begged, humiliated that she should see me like this but I was desperate, “please can I cum?”

“Let me think about it,” Sylvia laughed again and Mr. Simon smiled.

“You are a heartless chink bitch, Sylvia,” he said.

“We chinks are very cruel alright,” she snapped, “Yes you can cum.”

Mr. Simon’s thumb pressed against my clit while his fingers penetrated me, the pressure rocking me and I screwed my eyes shut. “Show us how you cum, slut,” Mr. Simon whispered in my ear, pushing me over the edge. The waves rolled over me, intense almost painful as I screamed in ecstasy, lost in my pleasure and humiliation.

I finally opened my eyes and Sylvia and Mr. Simon were standing by the door, smiling broadly. “Bravo,” Sylvia said mockingly, clapping slowly and my face burned with shame.

Mr. Simon untied one hand and I gingerly lowed one leg, the other still tied to my other wrist. “Free yourself and get out to the kitchen. We’d like something to eat.”

I heard Sylvia giggle as they left the room, my stiff fingers fumbling with the rope.





Author: jennifer suzuki

I have been a very confused—some might say very conflicted—girl ever since I can remember and I have always lived in a fantasy world of my own making. I was born in Japan, my mother is Chinese and my father is Japanese, and my father's mother or my grandmother was German Dutch, and I came to the United States as a teenager and lived and went to school in Maryland, and worked in New York. I lived in fantasy worlds since I was a teenager and I have always done so, sometimes so deep in my own fantasy I forgot my own identity. I no longer knew who I am. Physically I look more European than asian. My father is of mixed heritage—he has white blond hair, but he also has some distinctly Japanese features. On the other hand my features mostly resembled my grandmother, who was a full blooded European woman. Which was not something that really bothered me. Actually most modern Japanese look very European compared to the rest of asians. My father was a sadist, and my mother, on the other hand, was, in my opinion, a masochist with no self respect. Growing up, seeing my father beating my mother was almost as frequent as having dinner, and when not beating her, she was constantly being humiliated and degraded, like having to serve dinner to him naked on her knees or being tied to an utility pole only in her panties during the winter. At first I believed my mother was a victim, a unfortunate human being in the hands of a cruel evil man, but as I grew older I realized that it was my mother who enjoyed being treated this way. The initial realization made me feel she was a disgusting, perverted, sick person, but as I grew older I began to have the almost identical sexual fantasies that my mother lived and experienced through. I began to think that my mother was the luckiest woman on earth since apparently she had found a man who understood her desires and could give them to her. My dad studied and worked in America before, and during that period he desperately wanted to marry a white woman, and vehemently pursued several white women, but was unsuccessful. At the same time Japanese women were unwilling to marry him. Maybe because just like him they were looking to marry into the white race, or maybe because he had sadistic tendencies. Out of options he settled to look for a Chinese woman. Statistically, marriages between Chinese women and Japanese men have been quite common, and I personally knew quite a few couples just like my mother and father. Even here in America I knew several Chinese women who had Japanese boyfriends and those women were actually quite proud of having superior Japanese men as boyfriends. Japanese in general look much more European compared to other asians and I suspect it was the putative European appearance that attracts other asian women. Of course Japanese are not Europeans, no matter how much we try to become European, just as Jews will never be fully accepted as White Christians. I think Jews and Japanese have a lot in common. We were both persecuted by Europeans, the Jews by Germans, and Japanese by Americans, yet we both come to love our white Masters. Jews weren't officially considered white until very recently, and I think as time progresses eventually Japanese will be categorized as white in the future, though Jews and Japanese will always know that they are still inferior to their Nordic Masters. But as always the Jews will be Masters over the Arabs and the Japanese will be Masters over the rest of Asia. There is no other meaning to life, other than the degree of domination. I had an older sister who looked fully asian, as opposed to me who looked much more European. And ever since childhood I have always known for a fact that I was treated better by everyone else because of my distinctly European appearance. In school classmates would be hesitant to tease me because they always thought my father might be an American or an European man even though they knew my mother was Chinese but somehow they still were afraid of me solely because of my European appearance. The thing was that in Japanese naming system, my mother's last name automatically gets attached to mine, so for example, my name in Japanese would actually be "Suzuki Liu Jennifer", because my mother's maiden name is Liu; this way everyone would instantly know my mother is Chinese. On the other hand my sister was bullied almost everyday by upper classmates because she looked very Chinese. They made fun of her hair and clothes and told her that she looked like a Chinese pig and I had seen boys pulling down her pants and laughing at her for having a "Chinese vagina". I was a very young girl back then and I felt ashamed of having her as a sister so in school I didn't talk to her at all. When I was 12 years old, she committed suicide by hanging herself in her closet. I know this because I was the one who discovered her body. My parents would have never told me about her death if I did not saw her dead body by myself. And ever since her death a dark cloud formed over my head and throughout my teenager years I was constantly harrowed by thoughts of suicide. It was not until I was much older that I learned suicide is infectious and that had been why I was constantly thinking about suicide. The realization made me try not to think too much about death, but no matter how much I try I can never get her image out of my head. Sometimes I feel she still haunts me because I didn't talk to her in school. My parents divorced when I was 14 and I went to live with my mom in China for two years. Contrary to popular beliefs, I had never experienced any form of racism or discrimination against me when I was living in China. Most people assumed that I was an European girl and the aura of being European seemed to make me inapproachable, like the shield of Athena covering me from head to toe. Even when I was in school, when classmates would know my father was Japanese because of my last name, I had never really felt any discrimination, though I did feel they were kind of afraid of me. I had never realized how much being White meant until I was in America: the symbol of power, domination, and superiority that being White implies. Being White is being the entelechy of all that is beautiful, good and righteous. Which is strange because my nationality still is, in actuality, Japanese and as I grew older I started to look more asian. My hair has gotten completely dark and my looks started to resemble my mother's. I used to have very light-colored hair, but I just felt fortunate that I do not look fully asian like my sister was. When I saw this image [of a naked asian woman kneeling next to a black furred dog] in a Japanese SM magazine a few days ago, all of a sudden I remembered seeing my mother in a similar position when I was maybe just 5 or 6 years old. It was not a pleasant experience; it was an extremely scary and traumatic experience, and growing up I heard constant moaning and muffled screams coming from my parents' bedroom. Every evening was a nightmare to fall asleep. But knowing that many asian women were treated the same way as my mother had been treated somehow made me feel better about my own family. At least my parents were not as weird as they seemed, and while growing up I had gradually come to realize that many asian girls have the same masochistic tendencies as I do, but many were just very shy and wouldn't admit their secrets. So it seems there are many masochistic asian women out there who thrives on been humiliated and degraded just like the girl in this image; I don't know why but this image made me feel kind of normal. I have lived in the States for nearly ten years now and I have not talked to my parents, who had divorced, for several years, especially to my mother whom I had some very severe arguments with over the years, especially when she remarried after she went back to China. I was more fond of my father though I haven't really talked to him that much either because he too had remarried. Despite all the mean things I had said about my dad, he was always very gentle with me and never beat me. He beat my sister and my mother but never me and I suspect he was much more gentle with me because of my more European looks. I felt their divorce was a punishment for me, as if they had abandoned me and I never felt comfortable with either of them or their new spouses, whether it be in China or in Japan. My mother's new husband was a very cruel and domineering white man living in China and he never treated me with the same special treatment I received from my dad. And I remember one time when I went out with him people on the street mistook me for his wife and I felt so disgusted I never wanted to go out with him again and then he would yell at me and yell at my mom. I am glad to have gotten out of there. And my dad ... well let's just say I couldn't bear to coexist with his new wife either. The last time we talked was already 3 years ago. This image had brought back so many long forgotten yearnings. I miss my sister and my parents. The memory of my sister and my parents started to fade away, like wavering forms they passed before my clouded sight; their images have become a blur rise about me out of mist and cloud; their faces, and their figures have become shades of phantoms; I wanted to hold you close to me in that blessed fleeting moment when you reappeared to me in my dreams. If only I possessed the strength to draw you near. I wanted to forever remember you—you bear the images of happy days; your airy smiles still stir youthful tremors in my breast—but my memory faltered. It would have been simpler if I were already dead. I would never be seized again by those long forgotten yearnings. I shuddered at those thoughts; and a tear draws other tears. Crying is my only form of release; through crying I am channeled to the solemn and silent world of spirits; crying is my whispered prayer that lingers in a vagrant tone. I have no one to talk to. I live in solitary confinement. I have been driven to madness even though physically I stay put. My life—full of dolor, pain and suffering. Sometimes I wish I could end it. The only reason I continue to live is for otherwise I lack the courage to carry out that final act, to take me beyond and step into the unknown. It is so much better to have been never born at all, or at least to die an immediate death. How sweet and wonderful death would be. My dear Aya, I am so very sorry! A vast space of nothingness in the empty universe fills my heart. Everyday of my life I live in terror because of you. A family dog Growing up, I always felt lonely. My family dog was my only companion. He was a slightly larger than a medium sized dog, with grey and dark fur, and a nozzle that resembled a wolf. He was so cute, so adorable, and he was my only friend. I often played with him in my desperate attempts to communicate with another living being, like Madame Bovary sitting by her fire place in a melancholic longing for escape. I want out!, out of this nonchalant prison of thoughts, out of this cruel alienated society, out of these mind forged manacles whose clanking I hear like looming madness; the marks of domestication on their faces, marks of psychological slavery, marks of intellectual death; they are mere automatons, inanimate objects, so lifeless like straw men, hollow men, stuffed men. I can't bare to look at those miserable beings' faces. In a domesticated dog I see more humanity than the entire humanity. If only my family dog can take me away! And I will elope with him to a happy place, where there is no more sorrow, no more dread, no more cold metallic prison walls of the mind. My family dog was my only friend, and he was my only confidante. To him I entrusted all my deepest secrets. Sometimes I wished I was a dog: no more worries, no more sadness, no more consciousness, no more thoughts, just the need to satisfy my most basic instincts, lying by my owner's feet, worshiping him and completely dependent on him. Sometimes I wish I could have another dog just like the family dog I used to have in Japan. And he will be my husband. I will belong to him. I will be his bitch. I will obey him, crawl under his belly, gently caress his furs with my soft hands, and please him like I would please my husband. And he will be my beast and I will be his beauty. Albeit he will be a gentle beast, always so obedient to me, and yet always so much more aggressive, and animalistic; he will protect me from harm, with his sharp fangs and naturally endowed muscles for chasing down his prey; and yet he will honor me and obey me like a lover would. He will never be jealous, never be angry, as long as he is fed and watered. He will be my best friend.

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