u/KyrieTheSlave

Read Part 1

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"Send a pic riceslut. Show me the pussy Im going to breed."

That's the actual text, word-for-word. It told me everything I needed to know about how this guy would be a complete asshole if I gave him even a modicum of leverage. Apart from how he was an older white man that wanted to fetishize me for being Asian, he clearly didn't care about writing or proofreading in the same way my roleplay partners and I did. He seemed like a damn dummy.

Considering how much I care about nuance and tension in my RP's, I considered ghosting him there altogether. Receiving demands to show my body always felt a little formulaic, and formulaic is just boring. Mentally, I was already dismissing him as "another pervert whose lexicon revolves around interracial buzzwords", of which there's no shortage online.

But god, his cock looked massive.

And I was so fucking horny.

Truthfully, I would have dropped the conversation if it wasn't for the past week's worth of cumulative edging. I would have closed Reddit, tossed my phone under the bed, put a nice text-based ero RPG, and fucked myself silly with all the safety nets of being alone and anonymous.

But that would have felt like I was running away. And I've done that way too many times to count. Sure, it would've been the "right" decision, but was that what I really wanted at the moment?

I didn't want right. I wanted filth. Debasement.  Time and again, I've fantasized about the surrender of my Pinay Pride to the sensory overload of being colonized. I've constantly fantasized about being made into an obedient fucktoy for a superior Owner with all the features of a mighty Conquistador. The thought of being stolen, bred, and paraded a palatial estate built from the blood and toil of my countrymen made me feel so ashamed and fucked up, but I'd still come back to the fantasy with an ever-growing need for submission. I'd linger on how hot it would be to be screaming my throat hoarse during his nightly session, then sheepishly avoiding eye contact with the other servants that would come to clean up the aftermath. I could be a sweaty, ragged mess, and he'd forbid me from hiding how thoroughly he'd painted my insides with his virile Cauc cum.

But this man wasn't the sort of charismatic bodice-ripper male lead from my fantasies. Since I'm making this confession, I might as well admit that his willingness to meet was the only quality I found attractive about him beyond his sexual equipment. Nevermind that that willingness was just a desire to pleasure himself. I'd build up a narrative in my head where he was coming over solely to fuck me with such disregard for my personal wellbeing that I'd be left a cumsplattered, broken mess by the time he was satiated.

But that only made me want the encounter even more.

That's sort of when I realized that I was being a hypocrite.

It wasn't like I had any sort of moral high ground to keep. I was the one that put out a hookup ad in the first place, and I was just blindsided by the fact that someone knew me specifically. The opportunity to be a ricewhore basically presented itself on a silver platter, and I was stewing in my indecision. If things kept escalating, I'd know whether I could dismiss interracial smut as a weird fetish...

... or if I truly was culturally and genetically indisposed to serving White men as a subservient Filipina fucktoy.

I thought about whether or not to send something for a few hellish minutes. Turning my attention back to my phone screen, I felt caught between admiring the depraved Bleaching hentai he had sent and imagining how it would feel to be one of those girls crying ecstasy over being speared on a big white cock. I teased myself with my toy and felt the pressure mounting on my hole every time I curled my wrist inward to guide its silicone tip to my aching opening. Even light brushes drew sharp clenches from my core, and I could feel how desperately I was clenching for a phantom cock that never came.

It was frustrating. And yet, I didn't have anyone to blame. The way my bangs clung to my hair told me I was a haggard, sweaty mess. I was forcing myself into a potentially dangerous sexual encounter, and I was solely responsible for escalating my thrill-seeking to the point of arranging a one-night stand with a stranger harboring inherently toxic intentions.

He was probably wondering why I was so quiet. I felt strangely guilty when I thought of leaving him dissatisfied after he'd reached out and entertained me (up to that point).

Just one pic. One won't hurt, right?

Before realizing it, I'd hopped off my bed and bent over in front of the standing mirror by my closet. I was on my knees and angling my phone to get a shot of my ass and pussy. Weirdly enough, it felt so easy to take that one photo. It was even easier to hit send.

I had to pause when I saw visible moisture turning my lips and thighs glossy.

And I couldn't help but take another photo - this time, a closeup of my puffy kitty, just as he had demanded.

It was inevitable that he would send more dick pics. But an online encounter wasn't what I was looking for. I knew the weed was kicking in from the circlet-shaped numbness that started to creep up on my temples, and I didn't want things to end with mere online exchanges. At the moment, I was so willing to serve him.

Eventually, I dropped my address.

And he said he'd be over in an hour.

I swear my heart couldn't have been beating faster after I'd read his acknowledgement. For a while, I just sat against the edge of my bed and stared into the distance. I rubbed myself absentmindedly and found my fingers absolutely drenched in my arousal. It was tempting to continue toying with myself, but now I have a guest coming over...

...and I desperately needed a shower.

An hour alone to contemplate the consequences of what I've done.

An hour alone under running water, with nothing but some soap and my thoughts to accompany me.

I spent a fair amount of time picturing the raging hard-on that he must have had while driving to my house. The weed was steadily working its way through my system, and I thought back to all the hentai he had sent me. The girls had smooth pussies, so I started worrying that I wouldn't quite match his preferences and that I'd ruin the evening for being slovenly.

And so I shaved. Yay. Never mind how humiliating a ritual it felt. Or how shaky my hands were from being scared of nicking myself. Or how difficult it was to keep my focus on the razor while trying to stay relaxed enough for the weed to kick in in time.

At least I was ready.

After I stepped out of the shower, the dilemma of deciding what to wear made the looming encounter feel so much more real. I went through my closet until I settled on a nice, lacy pair of red lingerie and thigh-highs that I'd wear under a loose anime t-shirt and my usual sweatpants. Surely, the ensemble would make for a nice surprise...

But, again, being under influence made my thinking somewhat slow. I'd only realized after putting everything on that they'd been gifts from an online ex. He kept insisting that I visit the Philippines to meet his family, but for one reason or another, I wasn't ready to commit to a serious relationship with him. I've only ever worn the set once, and only because he kept asking about wanting to see me in them.

Wearing those clothes made me feel guilty, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had to shut down the security cameras around the property and unlock the front door. The plan was to just have him park in front and walk in, perfectly natural, without arousing suspicion from the neighbors and without leaving a digital record.

Pulling out power from the security cameras really felt like I was committing a crime, but I was in too deep to turn back.

And not a moment too soon, in fact.

A pick-up truck parked up the street and I received another text. I told him he had the right address, and I peeked out the curtains. Condensation formed on the window, and I'd realized that my breathing was shuddering. The cocktail of emotions welling in my stomach went straight for my throat, and I told myself to focus on greeting him properly.

He stepped out of his truck, and he was massive.

Well, height-wise, obviously.

Then again, being at the height where I'm usually at eye-level with most people's sternums makes talking with anyone over 5'6" feel like I'm communicating with another planet. Besides that, he had a scruffy-looking beard taken straight out of a certain TV show about vikings, and he wore clothes that clearly leaned into displaying his tower-like build.

He definitely didn't fit the typical "white boy summer" image that I'd seen with other WMAF content, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested. I fixated on how it'd feel to have those huge forearms wrapped around my neck, or how much weight I'd feel as he'd pin me down to the floor.

If he was that big, then that meant the pics he sent probably weren't embellishments...

And he started making his way to the door.

I jumped up and raced over to wait for him. The sound of footsteps came not long after, and no sooner than he'd stepped in front of it, I yanked it open to welcome him into the dark vestibule of my home.

He seemed to be relieved that it was just me at the door. Apparently, even people his size had doubts about travelling all this way for a hookup – the sorts that came with coming to a random address in the dead of the night in an unfamiliar part of town. He glanced around, found no-one waiting to pull a weapon on him, and visibly relaxed. Watching him made me feel a little more at ease with our drastic height differences, and I couldn't help but smile from tasting his trepidations firsthand.

I asked him to remove his shoes.

The fact that he didn't do so outright told me he didn't know much about Asian home-visit etiquette. He was shaping up to be the typical white local; woefully ignorant, but harboring Yellow Fever for the massive subpopulations of Vietnamese and Chinese immigrants. Maybe he had a thing for my sort of girl when he was my age? Maybe it's a more recent thing for him and he's experimenting just as much as I am? I was curious, and I knew I'd have fun teasing him.

I grabbed him by the arm and led him up the stairs to my room.

He lumbered along, adjusting to my comparatively smaller paces while half-leaning forward at an awkward pose. All the while, I felt his gaze on my back and butt. He couldn't contain himself and he reached out to give me an experimental grope, and I reflexively slapped the hand away, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the attention. I was in awe of how his palm absolutely dwarfed mine as I held it, but felt strangely empowered that I was the one leading him into my bedroom.

I told him to make himself comfortable while I propped something up against the door to keep it open. Even with him there, I was still paranoid about my folks somehow materializing back in the living room after leaving for their trip. My weed-addled brain completely disregarded how his shoes were in the vestibule, and I just cared about being able to hear them if they happened to come home.

He seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but it was something I insisted on doing. I sat next to him on the bed and he started making small talk. In part, it eased the tension. But it was just a pretense for him to start asking me really lewd and uncomfortable questions about my sexual history.

"How was your day?" Good.

"What anime is that shirt from?" Attack on Titan. My fingers twitched against the hem of it.

"How old are you?" 23.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" No. Each syllable felt heavier than the last, an online blocking offense turning into physical gravity because he was sitting on my sheets.

"When was the last time you had sex?" Months ago.

"What's your body count?" X.

And so on, so forth.

Every one of those questions would have prompted me to just block the guy if it were an online sexting session. But with a flesh-and-blood person directly asking me about my sexual history on top of my bed after having gone through all the rituals of preparing everything for hardcore raceplay, the answers left my mouth even as the shame and arousal built up in my belly. At some point, he pulled me closer by the waist, and I started smelling the lingering stench of cigarette smoke on his shirt and beard.

I don't smoke and I hate the smell. My father has a propensity for chainsmoking and my revulsion for those disgusting little piss-sticks goes beyond a simple distaste for the aroma. It wasn't the cigarette itself that I hated. It was their association with him.

Which is why, despite my general reservations about smoking, I didn't mind it as much with this stranger. I leaned into his chest and rubbed his thighs while he continued interrogating me about my licentious secrets. The bulge in his pants steadily swelled up, and I basically answered him on autopilot while I watched it stiffen. Every answer seemed to make him twitch and caress me, becoming bolder with his touching until he was short of actually stripping me. I let him grope my breasts and play with my hair and I stopped shy of actually touching his crotch over his jeans.

I asked a few questions as well, but I wasn't terribly interested in his personal life. I learned that he worked with an airline and that, contrary to my initial expectations, was well-travelled enough to have seen most of South America and Southeast Asia.

"So, which was your favourite country?" I asked, staring at his crotch.

"The Philippines."

For all the wrong reasons, hearing that piqued my interest.

The words made me trail up and start caressing his manhood over his clothes. The fabric felt thick and rough against my palm, and I could all but picture the shape of his cock curled up and angry, waiting for release. If I wasn't giving him bedroom eyes before, I was certainly doing it by then.

"...Yeah? What did you like about it?" I asked, my voice a little too husky.

He grinned and squeezed my tits, whispering, "The locals, obviously...". The slow squeezes he gave felt nice over my bra.

He leaned in for a kiss.

I turned away from him.

Cliche it might be, I didn't want to do that with anyone unless I viewed them romantically. It was a line I didn't want to cross for a casual hookup, even with how embarrassing it was to reject to rebuff him. And for such a petty reason, at that. Never mind I was already on the bed with a booty call; some piece of me couldn't let go of that last bit of inhibition. That's what made my cheeks warm as I looked away.

He was disappointed, but another affectionate squeeze told me that he wasn't that bothered. Instead, he trailed back down and dug his fingers under my sweatpants, tracing the panties digging into my hips. I shivered from him touching the surrounding skin, and I reciprocated by sliding a hand under his shirt to caress his hairy, muscular chest. My palms filled with a warmth that felt so much sharper against the cool evening air.

This was fun. This wasn't anywhere near as scary as I thought it would be.

He leaned in again and asked, "Have you ever sucked off a white guy before?"

I just shook my head. I didn't want to speak, fearing that I would stutter or that my voice would quaver.

"Would you like to, chink?"

... Huh?

Did he really just say that?

I must have looked absolutely baffled from how smug his grin looked. In all my life, I've never been called a slur by someone directly in my presence. But somehow, even with the name registering as an insult, all I could think about was to just... embrace it.

I looked at him for a few seconds...

... stood up...

... and stripped down to my lingerie.

He gave a low whistle when I pulled my shirt over my head and motioned me to turn around after I'd tossed my shirt into a messy pile on the floor. I complied, and bent over as the elastic of my sweatpants clung to my butt and hugged its way down to my ankles. Something possessed me to stand there with my back arched, hands-on-knees, so I could give him a nice little booty shake. I felt like an absolute slut doing that in front of him, but I was already leaning into the mood. After he reached out to give me a sharp little slap, I couldn't help but bite my lips in relief. He liked my lingerie. All the effort put into getting ready for him felt worth it. 

Just as he got up, I turned around to face him. He loomed above me and rested a hand on my shoulder. He looked at me with a hunger possessed, and I started worrying about whether or not I went too far.

"Get on your knees," he said. "I'm going to blow a load over those pretty little slant eyes."

Fucckkkk, that got me going. I complied and knelt between his legs like a lovestruck puppy. My gaze was flickering between his face and his belt, slowly coming undone by the same hands that had been caressing me just moments prior. It joined the pile of discarded clothing, and I could feel that familiar scratch in my throat returning. I swallowed my spit and mentally noted how dry the back of my mouth was feeling.

It must have surprised him when I reached up to undo the button and zipper myself. His hands kinda just hung in the air before settling on the top of my head and brushing back my bangs with his thumb. I got to work undoing the rest of his pants myself, even as my hands were trembling. With the edge of his underwear wrapped around my fingers, I eagerly pulled everything from the waist-down down to his knees.

And out came that monstrous, veiny pornstar cock from his photos.

The tip of it sprung from his hips and dangled right past my ear, and I was left staring at the side of it in complete disbelief. My mouth flopped open, and the musky odor of a man ready to fuck filled my nostrils. I could still smell some kind of soap, but the pungent odor of arousal still permeated across its length. It's like his cock was stewing in a pot of its own pheromones, and I had just freed it to contaminate the sacred space of my bedroom with its masculine stench. He slapped me out of my stupor by holding his cock at the base and tapped it against my cheek, forcing me to squint and press away from him by the thighs. But with his hand on my head, I didn't get very far.

"Take a good long look, chink."

The tip of it was an inch or two away from my nose. I nodded, swallowing spit and doubt, and looked at him while he stroked his cock. He pressed it against my cheek again, and I felt how much heat it radiated onto my skin. Even with it resting there, there was still a little more of him in view - and I couldn't tell if that was my cue to start blowing him, or to keep looking as he'd instructed.

Then, he let go.

Of both himself and of my head.

His cock twitched again, and the overpowering scent arrested my thoughts again. His sack tightened from the passing sensation of my ragged breathing brushing against its skin, and my nails were starting to dig into his thighs. The tendril-like pubic hair that surrounded his fat meatstick would have looked cushy, were it not for how heavy the scent of sex lingered in the air.

He nodded, and that's when I'd realized that he wanted me to take the initiative.

And so I did.

I wrapped one of my hands around the base of his cock, just as he had, and brought the other together. The head of it was still peeking out at me, and I stared at it while I tried to give him a handjob - but god, was it awkward. It's a whole different beast to have to work both my hands around his length, and I wasn't sure if I was giving him the right amount of pressure. Touching him made me distinctly aware of how much more slender my fingers felt against the thickness of his monstrous Cauc cock, with the tangible sensation of vapor rising up between my digits.

I stroked low and slow, careful to not squeeze or hurt him - even though the temptation to get back at him for calling me a chink was there. His right hand came to rest on my head, rubbing it with a sort of possessiveness that bordered on either affection or encouragement. Either way, it felt like a reminder to service him properly. He was so much bigger than me, after all. If he really wanted to, he could probably pin my head against the bed and skullfuck me to the point of suffocation...

But he didn't do that.

He stood there, humming in satisfaction, while I slid my fingers up and down his length. I kept looking at the tip, and a pungent dollop of precum dripped from its pink slit and onto the floor.

I was doing a good job.

It felt good to be so obedient to such a massive cock.

And the best part was that I wasn't scared about the situation escalating beyond my comfort zone.

He seemed perfectly content to just let me do what I wanted. So why not really cut loose? I've played around with my toys to do all the things that I couldn't with my previous partners.

Asian partners.

So why not push the envelope a little more with the gorgeous slab of fuckmeat pulsing in my hands?

Watching him grit his teeth when I stroked the length of his cock made me glad I'd practiced so much with my toys. I rubbed the tip with my other hand in a circular motion against my palm and steadily worked up the intensity to stroke him at two different paces. Slow and sensual with the right, and rough and fast with the left. The way it twitched felt naughty, and I started wondering how much I'd be able to get away with - in terms of teasing him and myself.

I started pursing my lips without realizing it. I'd been cooing between the pumps and strokes. I'd gone off the deep end and started getting lost in my internal narration of how wrong this all was or how twisted I was for letting things reach this point.

But here I was, getting drunk off the sheer pleasure of playing with a big white cock.

I thought back to how terribly dry my throat felt...

...and how oh so salacious it would be to quench that thirst with his precum.

There's no elegant way of putting it. I knew I was giving him fuck me eyes while my lips broached the tip of his cock. The foreign taste of virile dick drippings radiated in my mouth - somewhat acrid and salty, but oddly intoxicating. Planting a kiss on it only emboldened me to add one more. Then another. And another.

I was still hesitating because I wasn't sure if he was really as casually sadistic as he'd claimed, but so far, he was behaving - and I made sure to reward him. I wanted to suck his big white cock so badly. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to be on the receiving end of an irrumatio. With smaller men, I wouldn't have cared so much – but with him, his size posed a genuine choking hazard. He must have seen me nervously glancing at his forearm as he stroked my head. Thankfully, he took my attention as a sign to stop. Withdrawing it to his sides was all the room I needed to start servicing him in earnest.

And while I won't exaggerate his girth to the point of it being a jaw-locking behemoth, it absolutely felt like he was just short of pressing my tongue flat against the bottom of my mouth. Even swallowing his head proved to be a challenge, considering how that part alone came to almost half the size of some of my ex boyfriends.

And yes; go ahead and sue me. It was inevitable that I'd start comparing. The memories of being with someone doesn't just fade away, regardless of how much time passes. Thinking about one partner or another just happens to be an intrusive thought borne from tragic associations with intimacy. It's not my fault that deeply intimate moments turn corrosive when relationships end and gaping holes take their place. Now, those memories were just being tainted with something that was a little more... fun.

Spit pooled from my lips and coated his tip with a glossy sheen that reflected light from my laptop monitor. It looked way better than my silicone toy ever did. Not wanting to leave the rest of him unattended, I leaned in and took one of his balls in my mouth. The odd not-quite prickly sensation of his pubes resting on my tongue bothered me a little, but judging by all the groaning, he didn't seem to mind that shift in focus. It felt heavy on my tongue, and I was making halfhearted comparisons about how much more I had to lavish with every suckle. The feeling of his skin tightening every time I ran my tongue along its surface told me I was doing fine.

That, and the rod-like stiffness of his cock as I jerked him off in tandem.

It felt wrong to be so hungry for his cock, but once I found a slow, delicate rhythm, the debauchery kept going without any breaks. Why should I care about breathing when I have all the room to push myself to my lewdest limits? Of course nuzzling my face against his sack made me want to stroke him as well. The haze of sex filling my lungs made everything besides pleasure secondary, and he seemed to lose himself to the haze as well. He almost reached out to stroke himself, but decided against it in favor of letting me do it for him while I raked in his scent.

"Suck it, slut..."

And so I did.

Though I couldn't help but glare at him while I lined up the tip with my mouth. It wasn't as if I enjoyed the name calling; it's just that I didn't want to sweat the details when I could be wrapping my lips around his cock.

Already laden with spit and drool, I didn't have to make that much of an effort to swallow his tip. I  was even considerate enough to shield him from my teeth with my lips. But god, that by itself was a challenge owing to how snug of a fit he was in my mouth. Breathing through my nostrils was difficult, but I managed it by keeping the same slow rhythm I kept with my hands.

It didn't seem fair that he was the only one getting any pleasure out of the two of us, so I started rubbing my clit with light, rapid circles. I'd been waiting all week for this sort of release, and the anticipation was driving me crazy. I deserved to touch myself. I'd been patient, brave and clever. Now, there was nothing left to do but enjoy the sensation of his heady fuckmeat sliding across my tongue and dominating my taste buds. The way my insides were clenching made me feel like my holes were sinking into themselves. I had to keep blowing him, otherwise, I'd never get my fix.

I mentioned that silicone couldn't compare to the real thing.

But it was still useful for practice - especially now that I was working with a bitch-breaker as big as the one in my mouth. Inwardly, I couldn't help but wonder what his past lays were like; if they were hotter than me, or if they were Asian women as well. It seemed like such a random thing to contemplate while I was mid-blowjob, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to know if he'd been with anyone as kinky as me. The thought spurred me to pick up the pace and take more of him into me, ignoring my discomfort and revelling in the absolute disregard for my pride and wellbeing.

The sharp hissing sound he made when I pressed past the bend of my throat told me everything I needed to know. I had a twisted fucking smile when he threw his hands into the air, only to restrain themselves back to his sides. The choking noises that came as the tip scraped my throat would have made even the most desensitized pervert flush from shame. It didn't hurt too much, but I couldn't keep up the strength to continue keeping my lips over my teeth.

Then again, whatever discomfort he might have been feeling far outweighed what I felt as I serviced him. I'm saying this without a shred of hyperbole; he clogged my windpipe with his cock.

Dragging myself off his crotch made me distinctly aware of the shape of it as it resisted the squeeze of my throat. My gag reflexes were working overtime to dispel the foreign invader in my windpipe, but thankfully, maintaining that slow, methodical pace kept the situation from devolving into a messy clean-up session. For any aspiring fellow ricebunnies reading this, here's a tip: making an "e" sound and tightening your upper core while you slowly guide your partner's cock past the back of your mouth helps you manage your gag reflexes. Just don't expect to be able to breathe until either of you pull away.

I was heaving and wretching, but I couldn't stop. The feeling of his being a submissive rice-bitch for his cock felt amazing, and I wanted to finish what I'd started. Through teary eyes, I angled myself a little higher than before, lapping away at the head, and redoubling my efforts at polishing it with a literal spit-shine. Rolling my tongue in circles around the head felt naughty, and sucking all the precum out of his tip made his legs tremble. I let go with a wet pop and took shallow, ragged breaths as I stroked him with my hands, partly disgusted with the way my saliva clung to my fingers, but more eager to coat every inch of him with my drool. The comparatively gentle lull of being able to breath while my lips sandwiched his length gave me time to think about how next to best debase myself for him, and I looked him in the eyes to study his reactions while I slobbered over the side of his cock.

"Fuck, you're really going to town..." he said. Yeah, whatever. Shut up and feel good while I blow you.

I didn't say that, of course. I was too busy reclaiming some much-needed air and giving him oral to give any sort of back-talk. But god, would it kill him to just be quiet and let good things happen? 

I took a moment to guide one of his hands to my eyes so he could feel the tears dripping from them, and I couldn't help but give another twisted smile.

Words were cheap.

I knew I could do so much better.

I still had a few more inches to go. With his hand on the side of my face, I took him back into my mouth – only this time, steadily bobbing up and down his length until most of it had been coated into a slick sheen of spit. Then, satisfied with my prep work, I lowered myself until I came about eye-level with his crotch again - only this time, closer to his crotch than when I'd initially started. Filling myself with that much of him was suffocating enough, but I was committed to giving him a clean layer of drool from tip to base. I kept at it for a good while, making noises and halfway swallowing his length until it poked my throat, until I felt a natural break in the rhythm that made it easier for his head to slip past the bend in my mouth. I lurched, but I didn't stop. I grabbed his sides and slamfucked my face into his crotch, planting my nose squarely into his fuzzy pubic bone, and spreading my throat around his cock. It felt like fire scraping my throat on the out-pull, but I didn't stop. I wanted more of that oxygen-robbing, throat-burning sensation to blot out my thoughts. Tears welled up in my eyes, and he had the wonderful idea of holding me at the base once I'd sheathed the entirety of his length in my throat. I gagged and sputtered, saliva pooling all around my mouth and spilling forth from violent coughing fits. 

I started panicking. 

I slapped his thighs and he immediately let go, giving me space to yank myself away to hack and cough my lungs free of cocktainted air.

He waited for me, stroking his cock, and I thought about berating him for the rough treatment. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect him to pull something when I brought his hand to my face. The fact that he pulled away when I demanded it meant that he'd respect it if I pulled away again...

So I opted to keep going. I returned to cushion his tip again with my lips, and I took a deep breath. He rested his palm against my face, and I nodded my consent to him keeping it there. Before long, we resumed the process of working me down on his length, with his touch aiding my greedy cocksucking. I felt him poke my throat again – and this time, I submitted to him claiming me with his own effort. His other hand came to the side of my face, and I focused solely on relaxing my muscles around his invading manhood. A steady stream of tears accompanied every thrust, but I couldn't have been happier.

Eventually, he picked up the pace and I started sucking with more effort. Having lingered on the edge for so long, it was just a matter of time before his breathing turned more shallow and ragged. Every lewd spit-spray, ball fondle, and tongue roll served to goad him further into pleasure, and he used my throat with every intention of coaxing those reactions  out of my body. Breathing felt secondary to pleasuring his gorgeous manhood, and for the most part, he was deciding when I'd serve, and when I got to breathe. The surrender of pillowing his white cock with my lips and his heavy ballsack with my chin couldn't be matched by anything else. But as much as I wanted to feel him unloading in my mouth, we agreed to finish a certain way...

I tapped on his legs to let me go, and I started jerking him until my hands were a blur. I knew he was close, and I wanted his cum.

"Cum, please. Please, cum for me. All over me, please, I want your cum. Please..."

Every little bit of begging was punctuated by a slovenly kiss on his tip. Sweaty brows and stern looks encouraged me to keep eye contact with him as I coaxed him to orgasm. He grabbed my tongue with his fingers and held onto it as he came closer and closer to release.

The first splurt came like a shot of hot glue. It sprayed over my eye, and I giggled when I felt it land. I felt another rope hit my nose and another hit my mouth. I made sure to keep milking him as he rode through his orgasm and as long as I heard his low, deep groaning. My fingers were steadily slathered in a deluge of thick Cauc cum, and I could only imagine how I looked by the end of his load-dump.

He took a moment to admire his handiwork plastered across my face, and I took a moment to taste the thick, bitter-salty flavor of his spunk on my tongue. I sat there for a good minute or so before deciding that the stickiness on my face had overstayed its sexiness. I told him how I needed to wash up, and he gave a brief acknowledgement. Watching me make my way for the bathroom must have broken the spell, since I heard the heavy squeak of his body collapsing onto my bed not long after.

The night was just beginning...

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GOD THIS BECAME A PAIN TO WRITE

i didn't realize this would end up becoming so long or that posts had a text limit. Probably going to consolidate the rest of the hookup to one or two more parts. w.w

Before anything else, I should preface this post by saying that I don't normally sleep around with random white studs that happen to be in my city. Having returned from a week-long vacation in the States with family (most of which was spent around beaches with plenty of other tourists), I was super pent up from barely having any privacy.

It didn't help that, maybe about two or three days in, the temptations to watch and read BWC porn started to gnaw at me. So I started browsing for content - rough interracial, rapey intox porn, public molestation - y'know, the usual...

I had this idea that it would feel amazing when I finally do get a moment to myself and start masturbating in earnest when I could really let my mind blot out and fantasize about worshipping a gorgeous cock, or being treated like a living fucktoy. Maybe my family would leave for dinner and I'd pretend to turn in early so I could grind myself on some pillows while they were away. There were plenty of ways to get myself off, and it wasn't hard to picture how I'd do it. It just became a matter of when.

That moment never quite came. At least, not during the vacation. Our itinerary was packed with family visits in the morning, followed with plenty of siesta time into the afternoon, much of which was spent on cabanas to the tune of rolling waves and splashing water. I spent most of that time trying to focus on how nice the sun and wind felt in a bikini, but inevitably, I'd start eyeing the more ripped guests around the beach and surreptitiously rubbing myself when I thought no one was looking. It didn't help that, much to my parents' protest, I brought a pair that had a high v-cut and left little to the imagination underneath the sarong that I kept for a modicum of decency. I'd scroll through hentai doujinshi, make horny posts about wanting cock, and read about all the ways you horny mutts would break me for being a dirty little island whore. Thank god for privacy screen protectors, am I right?

It didn't help that I was basically eyefucking the dilf-y looking silver foxes that were walking arm-in-arm with their wives. They were probably there to renew their wedding vows or some similar shit, but that was the least of my concerns when it genuinely felt like I was in estrus. All I thought about was how it would feel to have their rippling biceps around my neck while I got bent over a desk and fucked for his missus' enjoyment. If it weren't for the fact that I was with my family, my stupid horny bisexual impulses would have probably fished for a proposition from a hot, horny couple... but, well, hey. Family vacation. No fun allowed.

But that didn't stop me from edging myself to point of insatiability. I was thinking about getting railed every three minutes, and I hated it. By the last day, my throat felt scratchy, my breathing was heavy, and I had to wear a mask to fake an illness when in truth, I was actually in heat. It sincerely felt like I was giving TSA "fuck me" or "fuck off" eyes, and I didn't want to give them a reason to start power-tripping on me when all I wanted to do was curl up under a blanket and stew in my shame for a few hours. My folks were sympathetic and left me alone for the flight back, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared of slutting it up with white boys in my sleep and announcing my arousal with stupid little whimpers to a very quiet, very confused cabin.

Fast forward to our arrival and the first thing I did was beeline for my room and reach for the hidden alcove of toys that I keep for when I'm feeling especially degenerate.

Ripping my panties away from my crotch told me just how fucked I was. The wetness had seeped right through them, essentially becoming wet cloth, and left strands of juices that flowed from my pussy to my ass. I slide my fingers across and I visibly recoil from how much grool clung to my fingers after a single swipe. But the feeling of actually touching myself after enduring my self-induced pornwashing for a week? It was divine. It felt like my crotch was being cooled and electrocuted by my fingers at the same time, and I felt my core ripple from the briefest tweak I gave my clit. My nipples were as hard as diamonds, and even lightly slapping them together made my breath hitch from pleasure. I had to stop for a moment to look at my hands and realize that I was visibly shaking.

So why didn't I spend the next few hours quietly rearranging my insides with my vibes and dildos while my folks unpacked from the trip?

It turns out that, in our absence, some legal matters arose that required them to leave on another week-long trip that would leave me alone in the house. Seven whole days of isolation. 168 hours before the semester would resume and I'd be back to the humdrum of projects and papers. What else is there to do but plan lewd shenanigans?

I thought back to the handful of times I'd hopped on Tinder, but I wasn't feeling it. My last flings on the app were downright asinine and either 1. insisted that they wanted something real, 2. or ended up being vanilla as fuck when it came to talking kink. I basically never used the damn thing to meet up with anyone for actual sex.

And that, by itself, was maddening. Add to that the fact that the 'Likes You' counter always climbs on the rare occasion I actually swipe, and it feels like I'm on the receiving end of some fucked up cosmic joke — always matching with the one guy on the entire app who isn't using it for hookups. Like, are you fucking kidding me? And somehow. SOMEHOW. It's always an Asian guy. Chinese, Vietnamese, Filipino, whatever.

If I was going to indulge in all the fucked up fantasies that had brewed in my head the week prior, I figured Reddit was a better avenue to receive the most depraved, ungodly, and perverse kinds of stimulation. My modus operandi basically meant getting high and talking to men with huge cocks that wanted to break a horny little Filipina. Online, I'm happy to debase myself for white cock...

...But actually taking one? I wondered if it would be any different from taking the toys that I'd grown accustomed to using, and if it was actually worth any of the hype. The thought of having my face shoved into my bedsheets sent tingles up my spine. It almost felt like I could trace the shape of calloused palms wrapping around my wrist, and the steam-heavy weight of a horny stud breathing down my neck.

I alternated between apps for a while before chickening out and keeping things online. Sexting adventures never meant anything too deep, and I always had them in good fun.

And, well, sex is scary.

So, I held off on ruining myself that particular evening. I waited to see my folks off, and, having confirmed their flight's departure, I found the nearest dispensary and bought an ungodly amount of indica. Nothing left in the way between me and a whole week of slovenly cuntbreaking to the tune of all your lovely threats and messages.

I started making posts and waited for men to enter my DMs through r/Bleached_hentai and r/QOH_Hentai_and_RP, already feeling my chest tighten in anticipation from the inevitable deluge of filth. My skin felt warmer than I would ever openly admit - it was the kind of warmth that I'd usually only ever feel in the arms of another person, if I knew that person wanted nothing more than to twist my hair and burn my neck with their tongue.

I had my weed on standby and my fingers twirling around my nipples. They chafed against my shirt, and I was getting frustrated with the offending piece of cloth, but it felt like a bad idea to strip down when the air felt so damn chilly. In hindsight, I was probably just too turned on to recognize how my senses of hot and cold were fried, but I didn't really have a way of realizing it at the time. All I knew was that I was looking forward to the sense of control that came from having so many eager studs jockeying up to claim me. The flood of messages that came in were better than any drug, and I'm ashamed that I've never gotten over the thrill.

The fact that my family leans more on the puritanical and traditional side of my culture meant that touching myself to the fantasy of being white man's personal fucktoy was especially wrong. A part of me hated how I'd stare at the white guys in my class and have the errant thought of being yanked by the wrist into a stuffy broom closet for a hate-fuelled make-out sesh. Or that, on the trek home, I'd hear the smack of the football team members butting heads with each other and I'd jump like someone just fired a gun. I didn't belong there, and the same sort of feeling just happened to pop up whenever I bumped into a white guy on campus. Every turn just felt like reminders of how inadequate I was for just being... me.

It might be a little heavy to mention, but my folks were tiger parents. I'm so repressed and twisted from putting on appearances that the idea of being a filthy hedonist that secretly worships foreign cock to spite her own culture seems like poetic justice. My father in particular was more nationalistic than the average Filipino, but that just made it all the more satisfying to call every white dom my "Sir" or "Daddy" behind closed doors.

Being half-Filipino, half-Chinese (colloquially known as a chinita), the stereotype for us is that we're fetishized for having pale skin, chinky eyes, and for being rich. I found it annoying to be reduced to those ideas growing up. But now? It feels so fucking hot to be desired for those qualities. There's this weird sense of ownership that comes from taking control of something that used to give me something grief, even if it means I'm throwing myself at a foreigner's knees with my head nestled squarely between his legs.

I still have friends in the country, and even a few exes, but I've long since disqualified Asian men from any kind of serious consideration as sexual partners. When making comparisons to the West, I shouldn't have to spell out why it's a no-contest...

The people around me would never be able to imagine the absolute nympho I'm describing here. I'm always treated as the group 'cinnamon roll' who's all smiles and politeness, but the whole generic, innocent ABG-facade gets tiresome if I had to keep it up 24/7. I barely scrape 5 foot, and no amount of platitudes would ever let me "get over" how annoying and frustrating it is to have someone pat my head or tell me I'm "cute" - especially when they're rocking massive hard-ons that could quite literally clog my throat in the midst of a rough skullfuck...

It's that sort of backhanded kink-irony that got me soaking. The stream of slurs in my DMs made me writhe under my sheets, and before long, I opted to just toss the shirt so I could caress myself without reservation. It felt nice to talk with white men and receive their attention. It felt good to serve as a good little Asian toy. But it wasn't enough. The thought of being held down and getting fucked into a submissive puddle lingered in my head. And that's when it hit me:

Since I had so much free time on my hands, why not make an ad in my local gonewild subreddit and see what sticks?

To my surprise, I got the usual "asl?" message within minutes. This time though, I didn't just outright ignore it.

I won't bore you with the minutiae, but the guy that reached out wasn't particularly hot or poetic. He was a little under twice my age (I'm 23) and had more of a dad bod that didn't quite compare to the eye candy I had on the daily while I was on vacation. He was built, but without the super veiny forearms that had me internally going gaga at my university's gym.

What really did it for me was the pink tip peeking out through the bottom of his boxers, straining against the fabric, and denting itself in a shape that left me audibly swallowing my own saliva. We chatted for a little while more before he gave me a random hentai dump themed entirely around Bleaching POCs and WWO, and he said he had recognized my username thanks to being a frequent lurker of this very subreddit.

The statement had me freeze right there. The fact that I'd been recognized through all of the degeneracy I've build up over my posts. And that, between all the fear and uncertainty about what I was doing, one of those hung, nasty white men happened to be nearby.

I sat my phone down...

...took a massive edible...

...and told him how wet I was getting.

He mentioned that he lived in a place about an hour away from my city, so I knew that he was serious about coming over. I asked him more housekeeping questions about testing and sexual history. In part, to be safe - but more so just to find a reason to turn him down from coming over to fuck my brain out. I was scared, but a bubbling sensation pooled itself in my sodden pussy, and for whatever fucking reason, it wouldn't go away. Not when I teased my clit, nor when I slid my digits in to search for the sore spot that tormented my core.

I rolled over and stripped my shorts and panties, revealing myself to the cold, dark air of my room. It felt heavenly to rub my lips together while I thought about what I wanted to do his massive breeder cock and the way it strained against his underwear. My phone pinged and he sent me more hentai, and I stared at the pics as though in a trance. He sent them one by one, asking that I react to them individually, before sending a full close-up photo of his hard cock, with a tall beer can beside it for scale. They were about equal in length, and somehow thick enough to match.

I was already on all-fours with my face buried into my pillows when he sent me that dick pic. I swallowed my spit and felt warmth emanate onto my fingers. It looked like it could break me, and the realization that it probably would made me reach for my toy. As horny as I was, I wasn't about to fuck a stranger just because I was craving cock. I had a perfectly shaped substitute right in my hands, sliding along puffy lips, and teasing the entrance of my needy bitch-hole. It didn't matter that the world outside my phone got blurry. I was not about to take up his offer for a shameless booty call. Not after all the loveless degeneracy he spewed as he sent hentai pics to encourage me to masturbate.

"Send a pic riceslut. Show me the pussy Im going to breed."

How could I say no?

----

Part 1/2. Dunno when I'll get to writing the actual sex stuff, but hopefully soon.
And before anyone asks, I've taken some artistic liberties with the retelling, but the hookup did indeed happen ^^