I love being an Asian cum dump for White Men.

When I was 26, I got married to an American man twice my age. I lived with him and his four kids from three previous marriages for about a year before we got divorced.

By the fifth month of our marriage, which technically would still have been our honeymoon period, he started to have issues in the bedroom. I didn’t know if it was psychological or physical. Our sex life at that point had become practically nonexistent. I knew when we got married that for an older man like him sooner or later he would slow down but not to a grinding halt and not in such an abrupt manner.

During the dry spell I was constantly horny. I tried dildos and vibrators but they were just not the same as the real thing. I’m a very attractive Asian woman, and I deserve some cock! I often screamed to myself during that time. Later on, I learned that he was cheating on me with other women.

About the ninth month of our marriage, I started to view his oldest son in a different light. He was 19 year old, a pure white, budding, virile white man. About 6 feet 2, and muscular. At first it felt very, very wrong, to even have those thoughts fleeting through my mind, but I couldn’t help myself. It got even worse when I saw him masturbating to WMAF porn on his computer. He didn’t see me but I walked past his room and spied on him for a moment. He had a massive penis, bigger than his dad’s. And the fact that he has a thing for Asian women made me start imagining depraved things. I got so horny after seeing it that I ran into my bedroom, locked the door and started fucking myself with my dildo.

_ _ _

One day, when I was about to go to the bathroom, I saw him taking one of my dirty panties out of the laundry basket and sniffing them. I didn’t say anything and just slipped away quietly so he didn’t see me. A part of me was disgusted, another part of me was appalled, and a third part of me was intrigued.

So I kept an eye on our laundry. I noticed the pattern: my panties would disappear from the laundry basket after I took them off to go to bed and would be back in the basket the next morning. So he always took the last pair of panties that I wore. And in several instances, they came back caked with a layer of dried cum. This turned me on immensely and I started masturbating in my panties every day before taking them off, so my virile, white step son would get more benefit from them.

I was feeling ashamed of myself, but I couldn’t help myself. I had enormous sexual libido. Ever since after high school, I had blossomed into a very beautiful Asian girl. I know all the men lusted after me. I felt I deserved this happiness. And to be honest, he and I are of similar age. If we had met in school, he would be a freshman undergrad while I would be a last year grad student, but the fact that I was married to his dad made everything seemed so wrong, so sinful, and yet so lustful. Every night before I went to bed, I fantasized about my virile white stepson. I would do anything to feel his huge white cock inside me. I even started walking past his room naked from the shower, in the vain hope that he could catch glimpses of my naked body. I needed him. I just didn’t know what to do. I was so desperate for his huge white penis.

After two months of sexual tension building up in the house, I decided to end the charade. One day, after my ex-husband had gone on a business trip, my step son and I were on our own. I took my evening shower, put on an oversized T-shirt that was about mid-thigh length, revealing my bare legs and feet. This time I didn’t put my panties in the laundry basket. Instead, I rolled them and folded them into a small ball, held them in my fist and I went and knocked on his bedroom door.

I slowly pushed his door open, walked in, paused his TV, which was connected to his laptop, and said to him, in a very calm manner: I think you have something to tell me. He looked puzzled but also worried. I told him don’t worry, I’m not angry with you but you are regularly doing something that involves me. He started to get red on the face so I think he realized what I was talking about. I said: again, I’m not mad or anything. As your step mom, I love you and I will do anything for you … Then I opened my hand and held out the panties I had taken off. Here, this will save you going into the laundry basket. He said I’m sorry I won’t do it again. I said it’s okay, you don’t need to be sorry. I don’t mind. Being accustomed to American culture by now, I had learned how to interact with white American men and had taken the cultural cues to be honest and open. So I asked him: now, do you want to be honest and tell me about it? He said it started because he was curious when he saw my panties in the laundry basket and he couldn’t resist looking at them and sniffing them. Only sniffing them? I asked him, because some of them had dried cum on them. He said when he watched porn he would masturbate with my panties.

I said okay I know you’ve been taking my panties soon after I put them in the laundry. And that he kept the latest pair I’ve taken off. I didn’t want him to ruin the panties he took from me yesterday because it was a very expensive pair. Blushing, he reached from under his bed and handed me back the panties I wore yesterday. I said, okay, are you still curious about my pussy? Or do you want to just pretend that we have never spoke and you can keep taking my panties from the laundry but know that I’m okay with it. He said, yes I’m curious.

So I got on his bed, lifted up my T-shirt, spread my legs wide apart, revealing my naked pussy underneath and told him he could look, feel, sniff, taste or whatever else if he wanted. He had my full permission. That was what he did for about fifteen minutes. Then I said we both need to get some sleep. We can continue this another time. He said yes that’d be amazing.

_ _ _

My reasoning at the time was, and this may sound naive, that as his step mom I should give him the proper sex education. It’s very important for white boys to know how to properly release their sexual energy.

After that evening, he seemed to have had much higher sexual energy. He was watching porn and masturbating furiously. I spied on him and I thought I should give him space before intruding or interfering with his behavior.

And my giving him permission, for better or for worse, have emboldened him. He would stop me in the middle of the living room, as I was doing chores around the house, and ask me, in front of other relatives, friends or even strangers, to take off my panties. And later he would hand them back to me by throwing them in my face. And invariably the panties I received back were always stained with his cum. I felt it might have gotten out of hand. Showing him my pussy and letting him play with it, instead of calming him, was what escalated it.

One evening, after I had taken my evening shower and was ready to go to bed, he barged into my room, half naked, with a raging hard on, and told me that he needed me in his room. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my torso, and tiptoed, like a cat, to his room. As soon as I entered, I was suffocated with the smell. It was a mix of stale cum, sweat, and male testosterone, and yet I couldn’t help but feel a tingle in my pussy. On his TV screen was an Asian woman being gang banged by a group of white men. He told me to sit on his bed with my legs spread. I was still wet and I didn’t want to get water on his sheet, so instead he told me to sit on the floor as he continued to watch porn. His big white penis was only a few inches away from my face, and he was stroking it. My panties were wrapped around his proud shaft. As soon as he came, he used my panties to cover the tip of his penis, and then shoved it into my mouth.

Another time I woke up to him rubbing his cock in my asscrack in the middle of the night. I told him this was not acceptable but then the next evening I woke up with it on my face. I tried to deny that I was liking it. Eventually whenever he was horny he just barged into my bedroom and tried to mount me, seeing if he could get his cock into my pussy.

For a while I would only let him rub his dick on my pussy but not put it in, but after another week of struggle in futility I caved in and just let him fuck me, but that he could only cum on me, not in me.

It had gotten to the point that he would literally grab me and push me into his room, interrupting whatever I was doing, and stick it inside me however he wanted and fucked me until he cummed inside me. When he was done he would just pull out and push me out of his room and leave me sitting on the floor with his cum leaking out of my pussy. It made me feel like a dog, but it was also super satisfying to me.

A year after my marriage, I decided, since my husband was no longer interested in me, as I was his fourth trophy wife and he has thousands of options anyway, I filed for divorce and moved in with his son. We lived together for three months, it was the happiest three months of my life, and afterward he found a new girlfriend and dumped me. I found another job in a different city, a new boyfriend and moved out. Ever since I’ve been turned into a complete Asian cum dump for white men.

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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