My name is Mizuki Pherson. I had been married to my husband Robert Pherson as his absolutely obedient slave wife for nearly ten years and I have just been recently divorced.
All my life I have been a very submissive and obedient Japanese woman. When I was a little girl, I lived in the Japanese countryside, and my father hit me and my sister often to maintain discipline and we had to take care of our male siblings such as bathing my little brother. Ever since I was a little girl I have been conditioned by my parents to be submissive to male figures. I am naturally endowed with a voluptuous figure, a broad shoulder and a pair of large, round breasts. When I first came to America, I was told by an American woman that I was “excessively feminine” and that I had a “hyper-sexual disposition”. I didn’t know whether she meant it as a compliment or an insult, or whether or not she was lying, because later on an American man had told me that I possessed a kind of boyish charm because my soft puny limbs and small statue resembled a prepubescent boy’s. My husband Mr. Pherson, on the other hand, was the exact complement to my feminine and submissive nature. He was dominant, and rightly so; he was strong, powerful, six feet tall—not exactly tall by American standard, but well towered over me; and, though far from muscular like an American body builder, he easily overwhelmed me, his inferior opponent. In his embrace, I felt particularly small, weak and my defeat was fated from the start.
Ever since we were married, I had been conditioned by my husband to orgasm only from pain. Several times I was whipped to intense orgasms by his leather belt—he loved to tie me to a chair, or push me against the wall with his enormous hand, or have me restrained to a foot of the table in the dining room, and then he would whip me bloody, sometimes he wouldn’t stop until the belt itself was stained with my blood. Not only from whipping, also from other forms of torture such as, what my husband liked to call, “wooden horse torture”, “electricity torture”, “candle wax torture”, “chopsticks torture”, I derived immense pleasure. I always had to swaddle my screams, with either my husband’s dirty socks or a piece of round fruit such as an orange stuffed into my mouth, in order not to draw the attention of neighbors in our apartment building on the Upper East Side.
I had a job before I got married but once I was married I quit my job to become a full time housewife, or “a slave wife”, as my husband liked to call me. It is customary for Japanese women to stop working after getting married and I wanted to be the traditional type of Japanese wife to him. At the same time, however, that also meant I had lost all financial independence and I was henceforward completely owned by my husband like a pet, a domesticated dog. I never went out of his sight; I was always collared and leashed, naked in his apartment, even when my parents or friends showed up he still treated me like a naked bitch on a leash and would not spare me the humiliation of being seen naked in front of my own parents, and it was only right the way he treated me; he would tell my parents that I enjoyed this kind of treatment, that I loved it and I was forced to utter those words to my parents by myself; I would say: “I am a masochist slut and I now belong to my master Pherson as his personal dog, his fuck toy. I love being beaten and humiliated.” Because in actuality I was indeed enthralled by such things—my own humiliation, the cruel bondage, the torture and the accompanying pain which had become pleasure. Not a day could have passed by without me being cruelly beaten by my husband, for otherwise I felt empty and unfulfilled.
My husband and I together have a son and a daughter but they live with their father now and I cannot visit them because of a police order, which I will explain later. Though I did everything he wanted he still left her for a younger woman from Thailand because, and he said to me, “I am bored with you. Besides, you are becoming Americanized. I need an asian woman who’s asian to the core. All my life, I have been an asian man trapped in a White man’s body and I need an asian woman who knows how to devote herself to me and worship me like the god-king of the orient that I am.” Toward the end of our marriage, according to my husband, I have become bitchy, insolent, “and you even dared to disobey me and I need to teach you a lesson.” He had divorced me and remarried a Thai woman who was even more submissive and masochistic than I was, and I was kicked out of his home.
I am now 37 years old, homeless, penniless and, what’s worse, I am no longer the young sexy docile Japanese woman that every white man desired after as I had been ten years ago, not only due to aging, which had been minimal, but more due to the excessive damage my former husband have incurred upon her. Or perhaps I would be able to find someone who love to recycle thrown out trash, but probably not someone as successful, rich, and handsome as Mr. Pherson. During my ten year marriage Mr. Pherson had trained me to become his consummate sex slave. I feel I had endured the most brutal and intense training sessions that were once reserved for the victims of Spanish Inquisition and yet he still left me for someone else. If the whips and the canes only left my body bruised and scarred then the body modifications made me a permanently damaged good. I have a large golden nose ring permanently pierced through my nasal septum—the type of nose ring applied only to cows. My nipples and clitoris were also pierced with golden rings. A silver tongue stud inside my mouth. Slightly above my buttocks was branded the words “MEAT URINAL”. On my left breast, an inch above my areolae, was tattooed the word “WHITE OWNED” in an exotic, belletristic typeface. All my body hair, except for my eye brow and head hair, had been permanently laser-removed. Right above my vaginal opening, where my pubic hair had been, was tattooed the words “WHITE MEN ONLY” with roses encircling the words like the embossing on a fancy paper. My ass and legs were covered with scars left from his beatings over the years. He had used up every part of my body and turned my once beautiful body into a garbage dump.
Right before he divorced me, as a last touch, he had the words “CUM DUMP” tattooed on my forehead so when I lifted my eyebrows, the wrinkles folded the tattooed words like a flimsy film floating on shallow water. It was traumatizing for me just to remember it, though Mr. Pherson couldn’t stop laughing about his masterpiece and told me that it “served you right.” Now when I go out I always wear a hat and I never take off the hat until I come back home. I feel like a burn victim. I used to love wearing my hair into a ponytail or a bun but now I have to try everything I can to hide my forehead.
I met my husband when I was working in a Chinese restaurant in midtown Manhattan. At the time I am also studying at NYU. My parents had always had very high hopes for me because I am the smartest, prettiest and most diligent among my four siblings. I studied very hard to get into NYU and they wished that I marry a wealthy white American man so I could live a life of comfort and leisure after my marriage. I carried with me the hope of my entire family to have a better life in America, to have more dignity for my children, to move up the social ladder in the world, and to become a proud American citizen. Life hadn’t been easy for me, as I was born into a poor Japanese farmer’s family; and in order to escape a life of oppression amid the spiraling economic stagflation in Japan, I came to the United States all alone by myself, looking for a better future. In addition life was no easier in New York City. The Chinese owner of that restaurant I worked in treated me like I was a third world worker. When clients tipped me, he collected my tips and pocketed them himself, and I couldn’t complain, so I collected tips in secret like I was stealing. And Robert Pherson was that wealthy man, that prince charming, that white knight in shiny armor who was going to rescue me, the one who was prophesied in my dreams, the bringer of eternal happiness, who would settle me down in America, in the land of milk and honey, in the land of freedom and liberty, into the beacon of hope for the entire mankind, where everyone could become accepted as an American as long as she or he worked hard enough. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, the type of man who according to legends rules the world from the Roman Empire to the British Empire and even today to the American Empire. To me, Mr. Pherson was a god, a god who could do no wrong, a god who, even while he spewed fire and brimstone, brought peace and justice to the earth, and love and compassion to the mournful, and mercy and comfort to the weak. Somewhere in the Bible Jesus says god makes White man after His image, and he makes White man the king of Jews and the master of the world. I feel it is so true. Mr. Pherson was the living proof of a god transmogrified in a human’s body. His flesh was cut from Parian marble stone, white and hard; his blue eyes brooked into the ocean; his hair the golden glory of a thrysus, to whose touch a wanton maenad, possessed with madness, I succumbed. He was very dominant and rightly so. A man of his statue and power ought to be worshiped; and I knew if I did not treat him right another asian woman would step over me and take him away from me. I was a student at NYU at the time, and I had seen the way those asian women grovel over the attention of white men, so I knew I had to be more eager to please him. Especially the Chinese and Korean women, they were so shameless and disgusting. I adored him, loved him, as I adored and worshiped a deity. The first day I met him I was immediately enthralled by his appearance and when he approached me I was filled with fear because I knew I was not worthy of his love; he was a god wrapped in a holy glory of whiteness, whereas I was a mere insect compared to him, not worthy to lick the dirt he walked on.
Ever since the first time I saw him I knew I wanted to do everything to attract his attention, even if it meant that I would have to become his sex slave, to be subjugated, conquered, dominated, enslaved by him, to kneel before him and worship him, to give up my life for him, to do everything to please him, and to do more than everything to please him. For Him I would strip off all my clothes to walk through the driven snow. For him I would endure the torture of fire. For Him I would submerge myself in freezing water. It was and still is his right to rule and my duty only to obey. I was and still am be his supplicant, his servant, his most loyal slave.
For inside him he carried the most dominant and masculine genes in the world, the genes of the gods, the white conquerors who rule over the world with blessings and glory, the benevolent conquerors, the good tyrants. “If I were pregnant with his genes, my children will be demigods!” That was how I felt at the time, and that is how all asian women feel. My knees still weakened when I remembered our first encounter. Everyday he came to the restaurant I worked in and he always left me a big tip, which I secretly kept inside my bra. And in return for his generosity I had treated him as a special guest. Whenever I saw him coming, I would put on fresh makeups, shorten my skirt by folding the hem into my panties, tuck my blouse further into my waistband. Sometimes I unbuttoned the top button on my blouse to reveal my breasts to him. He used to tell me that my breasts were as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory. Occasionally I put special things on his plate, like a decorative bluebell flower or a complementary fruit piece, all in the vain hope that he might notice me and pay the slightest attention to me because I had paid special attention to him. I was his most personal waitress.
Often times I stood next to him as he ate. I leaned very close to him as I served his food and I didn’t mind him touching me, as long as my boss didn’t see it. He wanted me to teach him how to use chopsticks though I suspected that he was just pretending not to know, but I still taught him like I would teach a little child. It was so much fun and it was so romantic. When he noticed me—his eyes flickering and staring at me like a man in love—the heavenly mansion opened and I was made the happiest woman on earth.
“So, Ms. Mizuki, please teach me again how to use chopsticks.” “It’s so simple, Mr. Robert. Here let me teach you one more time. I pick up this sushi. Like this. See? I dip into the soy sauce just a little bit. Now normally in Japan we eat with our hands too, but if you want to use chopsticks, that’s fine.” “Oh my goodness, you are so dexterous. It’s marvelous.” “And here. Open your mouth. See? It’s simple. You are like a baby.” I remembered those words as if it were yesterday.
The other waitresses glared at me and a few times they told me to go back to work but I would care less about them because I knew if I were to get married with Mr. Pherson I would never need to work in this hell hole ever again. Besides, I never had any respect for them. They were all Chinese. The Chinese were so shamelessly stupid. They served sushi in the Chinese restaurant and they couldn’t do the sushi right.
One time Mr. Pherson even gently kissed me on the cheek after lunch and left me a hundred dollar bill. I was so happy as I screamed for joy. That moment he made me giddy like a little girl. It was a brand new hundred dollar bill, like it was just cashed out of the federal reserve and I tucked it under my bra and it felt cold against my warm body.
Later on Mr. Pherson went into a private room to eat—sometimes if the private rooms were full he would eat at the counter in the main lobby—and when there was no one looking, he would reach up my skirt and play with my pussy. His hand groped for my panties and when he sensed my pantyhose was blocking his entrance he just tore it open under my skirt and his hand went straight for the hem of my panties which he violently jerked to the side and he wouldn’t stop until he gained the access and passage to my private part. He was so strong-willed and so determined and he ripped all my undergarments to pieces. In the process he had ripped my soul to pieces. I was really afraid people might see me. But I didn’t try to stop his advance, of course, nor did I mind even being fondled in public the way I had been. I knew he was very wealthy and he always tipped generously every time after he played with me. In fact I was excited to the core by the way he was treating me. He never cared about how I might have felt and he always got what he wanted. He was so manly. One time, inside the private room, he was becoming more emboldened and he demanded that I take off my panties altogether and he played with my bare pussy while he was eating. I was so scared but I was so turned on as well. It was excitement mixed with fear.
For two weeks I served as his personal waitress. He told me to never wear any panties to work and to shave my pubic hair and I obeyed without a second thought. He told me to wear mini skirt to work and I did. He ate his Chinese food with his chop sticks with one hand while with his other hand he reached up my skirt and played with my bald Japanese pussy. It was so hot and I wanted him to fuck me, but I couldn’t be too straightforward because I didn’t want him to think I was a slut.
After the second week Mr. Pherson started calling for delivery and he pointedly asked for me to deliver personally, and he was willing to pay for the extra expense.
Filled with trepidation I went to his office which was located inside a high rise tower and as I went through the security check, as was customary in all the buildings in midtown Manhattan, I had a sudden panic attack. I felt I was out of place and I didn’t belong; everyone was dressed in suits and formal dresses and I was dressed as a waitress. I felt self-conscious, abased, and bashful. I felt like a peasant girl coming into a feudal lord’s mansion, and I regretted coming; I regretted subjugating myself to such a humiliating task, and I had a sudden urge to go back, go back to the restaurant, pack my stuffs, quit college, and go back to Japan. I was scared to be in front of someone who was so much more powerful than myself, who was so affluent, so elevated in status. He was too good for me, and I was not worthy of his love.
But it was too late. I was already on the elevator and I had no way to back out of the situation. Like a prisoner walking to the scaffold, like a sacrificial lamb led to the altar, I walked over broken glass, my body warmed with a feverish frenzy. It was no exaggeration how nervous I was.
I bowed deeply while standing at the door of his executive office, though I had an expressionless face, on the inside I was trembling and burning with fear. “Usually we don’t allow delivery to come through our main office, but I made a special arrangement for you, my dear. Come over to my desk. You can put the food here. Now. Take off your clothes and get on your knees.” While he was saying it, he started to stack hundred dollar bills on his large black office desk. My face was blood red and my once expressionless face showed distress; I was distraught; I was writhing in pain. Mr. Pherson was the best thing that ever happened to me and I couldn’t let him go, no matter what. I had been so lonely in America, like a criminal in solitary confinement, I had no one to talk to. The constant social anxiety of alienation and crazed mass media of hyper sexual stimulation around me had made me a little schizophrenic. I had become both scared of intimacy and yet infinitely more attracted to it. Everyone around me had seemed infinitely out of touch and yet ever so close, all the sexual tensions that had been building up inside me needed release, and Mr. Pherson was my path to that freedom from slavery—slavery of repressed desires, from the lonely, silent prison of the dead. If it were not already high irony that the one country that hung freedom on its lips for all perpetual eternity actually had no freedom, where everyone lived, perpetually bound in chains of loneliness, isolation, and despair, forever seeking the elusive freedom from which one was in reality forever chained to, no better than a slave, a slave to freedom.
Like a cold breeze on a summer afternoon, I felt free and calm through the entire time I was with Mr. Pherson. All my fear and anxiety had been completely removed. I didn’t need to think anymore. He had taken the initiative and made all the decisions for me. I was relieved of all responsibilities, all need to think or to act, and now I only needed to obey. I could have cared less about the money, though it didn’t hurt, but I didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the power behind his money. Money merely symbolized his power in the world, and it was his power that I was really attracted to. I would never be so subservient to a man of any other race even if he had a lot of money, but I only did it for a white man with money. There are certain things that money simply can’t buy in this world, like superior genetics, biological dominance, and hierarchical racial status. It was power, the world-dominating power of a white god, gained and preserved through war and conquer as manifestation of superiority in strength, in military tactics, in scientific inventions, in political genius, through war and conquer as the manifestation of a natural progression of evolution in which the unfit, the weak, the sick shall perish from the earth and in which the most powerful type of man shall propagate his seed through women of the defeated races, as it is natural, as it has always been, and always will be, in essence, power—that was what I, a woman of a defeated race, was really attracted to—the power of a white god.
“Remain on your knees. Serve the food to me. Open the little rice box. And feed the food into my mouth.”
For the next two weeks, I delivered food to his office everyday and, as customary, I was to strip completely naked upon entering his office and serve food to him on my knees. His desk was opposite a large glass window and people in the other buildings could see me if they wished, but I didn’t care. I felt so feminine and so right kneeling there, naked, serving him food as a concubine to her emperor. It just felt so right, so natural.
I fed him using the chopsticks like I would feed very small children, and afterward I gave him sexual favors too. I sucked his cock in his office and swallowed his cum as he had demanded. It was the first time that I had tasted a white man’s cum. It was the first time I had tasted any man’s cum. The taste of it was not nearly as important as what it symbolized—the semen of a white man, a god, in my mouth, in my stomach. And I wanted it badly in my pussy too.
Mr. Pherson was a very dominant man and even when his associates walked in on me being naked and kneeling on his office desk, he refused to let me move. He continued to do what he had to do all the while just ignoring me. I did not feel ashamed of being naked in front of white men. To them I was a mere brute, an inferior woman of a conquered race, an empty flower vase to be filled with seeds of the victorious race, and my purpose in life was to be filled with white men’s semen, to be broken, and it felt so natural, so right, so instinctual for conquerors to use women of the conquered race. It was my destiny to be shattered, but I would only wish to be shattered by a white god. Just like there are so many women of inferior asian races who serve Japanese men, so it is natural and even privileged for a Japanese woman to serve a white man.
Besides Robert was every bit a gentleman throughout, because he gave me lots of money after I served him, like five hundred dollars each time and sometimes even more. I felt like I had hit jackpot. I thought I had found a man I could depend on for the rest of my life.
After a few weeks he had stopped calling the restaurant for delivery and I was becoming worried. “Where did he go? Maybe he found someone else? Maybe I offended him?” All sorts of things were going through my mind, but then, one day, he called me on my cell phone and told me that he wanted me to go to his home and cook for him personally. I was exhilarated. My heart trumped inside my rib cage like a snake about to burst out; an alien larvae had been impregnated inside me, like in the movie Alien.
“My Lord, deal with me as you think best for your own well being, and I shall rest content on obeying whatever you decide, knowing fully well that I am inferior to you and your white friends, and that I was unworthy of the honor which you so generously bestowed upon me.”
That was what I said on the day of our marriage. I was happy beyond words could describe as I uttered those words and even to this day my eyes well up with tears repeating those sweet words. Everyday I cooked him breakfast and dinner and waited for him to come home. I had quit my job at the restaurant to become his full time maid. I cleaned his apartment, brought his groceries and washed his laundry. I had moved in with him and a few months later we got married with the condition that I become his full time sex slave and contractually agree to relinquish my rights as a human being. He wanted to marry me in the way the Biblical God had intended a woman to marry a man, that is, to become his cattle, his property, his sex slave and his servant. At my marriage I was stripped completely naked in front of all guests of honor, even my own parents, as well as friends of Mr. Pherson, and I was thus brought before the altar and pronounced the slave of Lord Pherson. I had dropped out of NYU to become his full time sex slave as well, and I was made the luckiest woman in the world.
“My Lord, look to your own comfort, see that you fulfill your wishes and spare no thoughts for me, since nothing brings me pleasure unless it pleases you.” The words I uttered to him on the first night of our marriage.
I had always dreamed and fantasized about finally becoming a slave to a man worthy of my love, my devotion, and my life and Robert Pherson was that man, for whom I would sacrifice my life. Was I an idiot for doing for I did? Then let me be an idiot. Let me be the idiot of my Lord, my Master.
I still vividly remember this one incident when we went to Thailand for our honeymoon. I had never been to Thailand before and I only knew from TV that it was a lawless third world country. I would have much preferred to go to Europe, where everyone was white and beautiful, and especially I wanted to go Paris, which had been my dream-destination ever since I was a little girl, but my husband made the decision. At the time I didn’t know that in Thailand there were so many asian women who would similarly worship a white man like I did. When we landed at the airport I began to sense that something sinister was going to happen. When Thai women greeted my husband, they knelt on the ground and kowtowed to him doing a full dogeza. In Japan we only did it as a sign of highest respect. I had never realized how subservient Thai women were, even more subservient than Japanese women. Those Thai whores truly have no respect for themselves. And when we went out to hang out at bars, so many Thai girls would surround my husband, bantering with him, flirting with him, and I felt disgusted at those asian women. My husband never shied away from their approach. He openly fondled them and touched their intimate parts in front of me and, though I knew I shouldn’t have been jealous, in actuality I was blushing with jealousy and shame. Initially I had thought they were just prostitutes but realized my mistake. They were in fact all college students, professional women, and even young housewives who sought out white men just to have some good time. And when several expatriate American men accosted my husband asking who I was, they very frivolously said: “So where did you pick up that whore sitting next to you?” I had thought that they must had thought that I couldn’t understand English or something, but in fact they just didn’t care. My husband very promptly retorted: “No, she’s not a whore. She’s my Japanese slave wife. She does everything she is told as well. Get down on your knees and lick those gentlemen’s boots.”
At least I was superior to those Thai women. At least he didn’t say that I was a Thai whore. There is a difference between a Thai woman and a Japanese woman. A Japanese woman is superior to a nasty Thai woman. That is a fact and no one can change it. “If you don’t do it I will divorce you tomorrow.”
I crawled like a dog and licked their boots while everyone around me kept on conversing as if nothing unusual was happening. I felt everyone was looking at me and laughing at me, but I was just being self-conscious, because no one paid even the slightest attention to me. It was normal. It was completely ordinary for an asian woman to humiliate herself in front of white men in asian countries, as a token of her devotion and sacrifice to her White gods.
During the ten years that we were married Mr. Pherson had a very rigid set of rules for me. He woke up in the morning and the first thing he would do was to let me drink his piss. I was not allowed to sleep in the same bed as he was and I slept inside a cage in the bathroom. When he walked to the bathroom he would piss either directly into my face, if I hadn’t been awake, or into a bowl lying next to my cage from which I would lap up; sometimes he pissed directly into my mouth and because I couldn’t swallow the piss without closing my mouth so I always ended up spilling his urine on the floor which I then had to lick clean. I much preferred that he pissed into my water bowl.
After he let me out of my cage and “dominated” me in his bathroom—if he had to shit I had to kneel besides him and wipe him like a baby and when he took a shower I had to stand by him to hand him his soap and shampoo like an eunuch serving an emperor—he would then usually give me a beating for no reason but to remind me of my submission to him (I had become my master’s punching bag, whipping post) and order me to kneel by his feet as he ate his breakfast. He had thrown away all my clothes and he didn’t give me anything else to wear. I was to remain naked in his apartment at all times and he had hired a maid from Thailand to do the shopping so I never left the apartment. I wore a dog collar in his home and my only duties were to endure beatings, to drink his piss, and to receive his semen. “Those are not just rules of my house, but laws, divine laws, fas for an inferior asian gook cunt that you must obey and when you don’t obey my laws, you will be punished, by your god, your white god, do you understand?” During the first year that we were married, the most embarrassing time was when a cable guy showed up to fix the cable and I was kneeling naked with a collar and a leash by my Master’s side.
Every night I knelt by the door and waited for him to come back home; I had become his most loyal dog. If I were ever found not kneeling at the door when he came in, he whipped me with his belt. He tied me to a chair and whipped me with his belt. He put his dirty socks in my mouth so no one could hear my screams. He had invited friends over and I served them all in the same manner as I served my Master. I fee like crying as I wrote down those words just now. They saw my naked body and the collar around my neck and my master told everyone that “she loves being treated like this.” “She is a natural slave.” “She is my cattle. Cattle don’t wear clothes.” “That’s amazing, Robert. What else does she do?” “The slave genes of an asian woman as they were passed down from their ancestors. That’s why asian women make the best sex slaves; what seems revolting to the white race comes so naturally to the asiatic race. It’s their destiny. Without their white masters, those asians don’t know how to live.”
He let his friends have sex with me and when I didn’t make them happy they beat me, and he brought home other women as well and they have sex right in front of me. I feel so ashamed.
I became pregnant after the half year mark of our marriage and he put me to his house at Long Island. My parents came over from Japan to visit me but he didn’t allow them to live in his house. He allowed me no clothes even in front of my parents and he fucked me while I was pregnant. My parents were very meek and they were very afraid of him and he would taunt them as he continued to fuck me and curse at them.
The occupants at our long island beach house included more than just myself. I shared the three storied house with ten other asian women who were all pregnant. On the outside, the house looked like any other house, but as I entered the house, the first thing that I saw hanging on the wall of the living room was a dirty-golden colored plaque with snarled words engraved in it: “asian cunts breeding facility”. The walls were plastered red that conveyed both cheapness and dilapidation. The whole place made me nauseous. There were a dozen serried beds crisscrossed with light blue and dark grey colors of quilts, pillows and mattresses on the third floor, whose dark green rug led to to a narrow wooden door which separated the bedroom from the ceramic floor of a large bathroom installed with a total of five rusty silver-colored shower heads; and walking pass through the narrow wooden floored hallway in between the bedroom and the bathroom lead me around a chamfered corner to a large window overlooking a backyard full of half dead shrubs and withering trees. Something about the arrangements of the house made it felt like a prison. There were about ten asian girls living inside the house at the time, each one of them was just like me, pregnant, with a dog collar around her neck, and completely naked otherwise. I was too scared to ask if they were all impregnated by my husband. Every weekend Mr. Pherson came over to the house and inspected all the pregnant women, making sure that we were well taken care of. We were a line of big bellies of bare human skin standing straight in the living room: bare feet, bare breasts, bare thighs, shoulders slightly leaning against each other, all bred with white babies.
After the second year of marriage
After I gave birth he didn’t even take care of our own child and he continued to fuck me even in front of my child. When I lactated he put my milk in his coffee. He called me his milk cow. And if I ever complained to him he would beat me. Several times as he beat me my milk started to sprout out of my nipples and he would laugh and he would slap my “cow udders” as he called them and my tears and human milk were all sputtered on the ground in a mess. I never realized how hard it was to be a mother. I became pregnant again the next year and, he said he didn’t want to have children anymore. He told me he didn’t want my disgusting asian genes in his children. He said I was only good as his sex slave. I was an inferior breeding slave and I ought not be bred by a white man because I would just give birth to disgusting inferior asian children. Our first child was a girl, but I had given birth to a son. “The females can be used as sex slaves just like you are, but what good does giving birth to sons do? He will grow up to be my enemy. You should be ashamed of yourself, you disgusting asian whore. I told you to get tested but you refused. I could have aborted it if I knew it was going to be a boy.”
He told me he wanted me sterilized, and I could do nothing else than to obey him because I had disobeyed him once and I was terribly sorry for what I did. He went to the hospital with me and the doctor had my uterus surgically removed. When we were filling out the forms, the doctors asked me the reasons for such a procedure and my husband answered for me, saying that I did not want to have children so I could focus on my careers, and the doctor even praised us for being so progressive and feminist. My husband liked the feeling of ejaculating inside my cunt and he disliked wearing condoms so having me sterilized was the safest and most viable option to prevent accidental pregnancy. And this way his friends could ejaculate inside me as well without worrying about getting me pregnant. But it was moreover my punishment for disobeying him and not getting the test done on my doctor’s appointment.
When there was a football game or a baseball game, I became unusually scared because that was when he invited his friends to watch the game with him and I not only served them food, but also served them with my body. My body would be very sore after every game. My husband saw in the movies that in Japan there was a form of eating called female body sushi, in which a woman lie naked motionless on a table and sushi was placed on her body and served to customers. So he made me do the same.
He and his friends tied me to the dining room table with my legs and arms attached to the legs of the table. They then placed their food on my body. But in stead of sushi they had placed their nacho cheese bowls, chips, popcorn on my body and my husband warned me not to move and spill their food because he would punish me severely if I did. Then they sat around the table and watched the game while picking food off my body. My son came into the room several times and my husband saw him, and he just told him to go away. I felt so humiliated that my own son saw me being used in such a sexual manner.
I felt terrible for not being able to be a good mother. During commercial breaks they would take the food off my body and fuck me. One of them would get on top of the table and fuck me. They took turns fucking me on the table. This would last for hours until the game was finally finished and they would untie me and make me clean up the mess that they made. And I saw my son was hiding behind the wall watching everything that was going on. I felt so guilty for my children. I am a shameful mother and I deserve all the punishment in the world.
During the ten years that we were married, Mr. Pherson had devised many ingenious methods of torture and which were tested out on me.
Torture by humiliation: In addition to all the other tattoos and piercings that was done to me, one particular piece of tattoo stood out among the rest. Right above my pussy, where my pubic hair had been, was tattooed the words “WHITE MEN ONLY”.
Japanese bath torture: Mr Pherson would tie my hands behind my back, and place me in a bath tub full of cold water with ice. Then he poured hot water on my exposed body parts. This created the sensation of being scolded.
Insect torture: He would tie me in a spread eagled position on the bed and then put on my body large insects such as spiders, cockroaches, centipedes, etc.
Cage torture: He put me inside a small cage and suspended the cage in mid air. The cage was very small so I could only fit in by remaining in a fetal position so that my feet, my ass and my pussy would all be crumbled together, and then he poked me with a bamboo stick. Or used a cigarette lighter to burn the soles of my feet and my pussy. Or poured cold water on me. The longest time that I was trapped inside the cage was over two days and I soiled myself with my own piss and excrement.
Asian pussy torture: He tied me to a chair with my knees bound and brought up to my breasts. Attached two steel clamps to my vaginal lips and then attached two ropes to the steel clamps and wrapped the ends of the rope to my big toes. My feet was brought close to my pussy. This way, when I moved my feet I stretched on my vaginal lips. He stood next to me with a bamboo cane and gently applied the bamboo cane to my clitoris, my thighs, and my vagina with gradually increasing force. Or sometimes he simply left me in the stress position for hours.
The wooden horse: He placed two wooden chairs close together so their backs touched each other. And then he straddled me over the two chairs so that my crotch rested on the backs of the chairs. My legs was spread over to the seats of the chairs, fixed in such a position with ropes and weights attached to my ankles.
Chinese finger torture: He placed four chopsticks in between my four fingers excluding the thumb and then held my hand in a handshake and shook with force. The same method was applied to my nipples, toes, and vaginal lips by placing two rubber bands on each pair of chopsticks.
Roses torture: On every Valentine’s Day he brought a bundle of roses with the thorns on the stems intact and inserted the roses into me vagina. Combined with a stress position by turning my body upside down so my vagina was pointing toward the ceiling, (he called it a reverse full Nelson) I served as a flower vase for an entire day.
Seiza training torture: He placed me in seiza position, binded my thighs together with a rope, tied my hands behind my back, and placed heavy objects on top of my thighs such as large books, or flat marble stones. In addition, he also placed sharp objects under my legs to make it even more uncomfortable, and a few times he even placed sharp objects under my legs.
Wooden Bench torture: He tied me face down onto a wooden bench. Raised the bench vertically up, and then gently pushed the bench into free fall. Or swayed the wooden bench side to side with sudden force.
As you can see, my master was very creative in torturing me. In fact there were more methods of torture that my master had invented and used on me, but the physical aspect was just part of it, the emotional and psychological aspects were what I consider what made it whole, and which were even more painful and which made him more dominating and my slavery more complete. When I traveled with him and his friends to Thailand, where we had been more than a few dozen times in the past ten years, he made me watch as he and his friends tortured Thai women in front of me, and he told me that if I ever disobeyed him, he would turn me into one of them. He made me humiliate myself by making me recite degrading things in front of other people. When I displeased him he made me fetch his whip in my mouth and made me beg him to punish me—all in front of his friends, my relatives, and even my own children
A few times he brought me to bdsm clubs in Thailand and I walked into bars and bdsm clubs completely naked except for his collar around my neck. Even when he went away on business trips by himself he would not leave me alone and he would rent me away to other masters and tell them to punish me as hard as they want.
“Mizuki, I have now taken fancy in another woman and I will divorce you. Since my ancestors were great Nordic conquerors and rulers of the world, whereas yours have always been jap slaves and inferior subjugates, I intend you shall no longer be my wife, so get out of my apartment. Take off all your clothes and leave.”
“When you married me I was naked as the day I was born, and now I will go away naked as you wish. My Lord gives and my Lord takes away.”
I did not cry when it happened, because I knew it was his will, and as his absolutely obedient slave, I did as I was told and I never said a word. After we divorced, I live in a very small apartment in Chinatown. He give me a small amount of alimony money because he has a prenuptial agreement to deny me money after he divorced me. He doesn’t allow me to see my children either and he ignores my children and he teaches them bad things. He teaches my daughter to be a slut at school and he says my son wants to grow up to be a woman. He tells me my son is dressing up like a girl and he doesn’t stop him but actively encourages him and he is proud of his son dressing up like a girl and my daughter is popular at school because he tells me that she has sex with everyone. I constantly feel sad at their education, or lack of education. I am their mother and I don’t want them to be hyper-sexual from such young ages, but I cannot help them because he told cops that I was abusive toward my children and he told them that I stole money from him. He actually said during our divorce that the main reason he was divorcing me was because I was stealing money from him and he even showed them evidence of his credit card being misused and et cetera. Which was a total lie. Well, there was just a few times when I used his credit card and, yes, there was a few times when I hit my children but I only did that because I love my husband and I love my children. Anyway, he has the money and can hire good lawyers and I can’t so now he has custody of my children. But I still love my husband even though we are divorced. He used to cane me and whip me with his belt when I disobeyed him and he punished me severely when I displeased him. He caned my bare ass until my ass was purple and red but in my pain I made him happy and I was happy too because he was happy even though I was hurting like hell. The fact of the matter is, I miss the smell of his penis in my mouth. He used to train me to take enema up my anus and he inserted butt plugs into my anus while my anus was still full of enema liquid. He had many different butt plugs for me to use and he gave me a butt plug with a purple diamond on it as an anniversary present. I love it very much and I still have it with me. He used to make me wear it all the time even when I needed to use the bathroom he wouldn’t let me take it out. He showed pictures of me wearing my butt plug to everyone and he bragged to his friends how he caned me to orgasm as my anus was full of enema fluid with that butt plug plugged firmly. I love being humiliated by my master. Though initially I didn’t like it but I couldn’t help it I love it so much now. I am a very horny slut and I don’t deserve his love and his respect.
To a white Lord, it didn’t matter whether his slaves were Japanese or Thai, it only mattered that they were submissive and obedient orientals, and to Mr. Pherson, my Lord, I had become rebellious and Americanized.
“A true asian woman is genetically wired to respond white male domination,” in the words of my Lord, “She does not know how to function without having been dominated; usually she can only orgasm when being hurt.”
My Lord knows this very well and he knows how to treat asian women. He used to tie me up and pinch my pussy lips very hard and that made me feel completely submissive, vulnerable and painful. Sometimes I just wished that he tried to avoid having my children watch him training me, but I know better now that I should not have been so stubborn.
Madness, it is in my heart, consumed by love, a wild fire raging in my body, in my blood, like flames that lick across the roof of timber. My pussy, my mouth and my body belong to him and he can share me with whomever he wants. I will do everything for him because I love him. I am a very lowly cunt and I don’t deserve to be his wife so I will do everything to please him. I want to be at his feet and to wear his collar again. I will be his bitch even after he divorced me but he has someone else now. The last time I visited him he was playing with his new Thai wife in front of me and I was green with jealousy. He tied her up and caned her gook cunt with a bamboo stick and I felt very sad because she looked sexier than I am and she was a lot younger than me, like maybe just 18 or 19 years old, like a little girl. He made me show her the scars on my ass and he told her that if she didn’t behave he would kick her out and turn her into a worn out slut just like me. I still love him. My Lord is dominant, strong, powerful and sadistic. He is the most awesome man on earth. Even though I am divorced my Lord still owns me and controls me and all my passport, legal document, social benefits, and employee status paper are in his apartment and I still go to his apartment everyday and he beat me very terribly when I go there but I love him to the death.