Author's Note: This story contains strong sexist and racist language and is definitely NOT for everyone. I co-wrote this with a friend who knew this was my fantasy so if you find raceplay offensive, please do not read any further.

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Day 1

Walking into the office, I see that you're already as your desk, as usual, hunched down over some paper, your computer screen already alive with emails and spreadsheets and some word document that you've probably been working on all night. I smirk, knowing you've probably been busting your ass for weeks to finish the report that's due today, that we're going to present together to the CFO and the senior execs, and that I've basically done shit on the project, letting you slave away, spending nights and weekends to do the work of two people.

"And why not?" I think to myself.

Why the fuck should I do the work when there's an Asian slave to do it for me?

It's not like they hired you for anything but your work ethic. Shit, you're the only woman in the firm, and the only minority for that matter. Everybody else is a white man, most your typical frat guys, guys who partied through college, drank and fucked and smoked their way through four or five years of school, coasting by on their parents' money and a minimum of effort. I know, because I've done the exact same thing. I probably spent an average of about two hours a week on actual schoolwork, if that, and most of that was busy work for the cake classes I took. The rest of the time was spent "dating" one random slut after another, a few of them who were so dumb that they actually thought I would be interested in being their boyfriend or some shit. Instead I'd just fuck them for a night or two, maybe two weeks in a row if they were particularly hot or into a threesome or something kinky like that, and then they'd get tossed aside. I don't think I went more than two days in a row without drinking the entire four years I was in school. I graduated with a degree in finance management and a 2.9 GPA, but my frat brother's uncle runs a big firm in New York, so I got a job offer two weeks after graduation and started working a week after my three-week vacation to Thailand.

You'd actually started at the firm almost a year before I did, I remember seeing you when I first started, the only woman in the office, but the Junior VP who showed me around on my first day didn't even introduce you. And now, seven years later, you're in the exact same spot you were then, still hunched over your desk working your little ass off, and I've been promoted three times and have an office with a big desk and a bigger window. And today we're going to hand in the report you've been slaving over and I'm going to take all the credit.

I stop into my office for a moment, wash down a couple Advil with a bottled water from the fridge in my office, and grab the phone. "Lisa, print out twenty-five copies of the report, get 'em bound and bring them in here for the 10:30." I hang up before you can say a word.

A half-minute later you appear at the door to my office, standing just outside the doorway, unwilling to enter without permission. The last time you came in without asking, I yelled at you for two minutes about respect. You learned your lesson, apparently. I let you stand there for a moment, pretending not to notice, and then finally look up, staring at you for a second. You're wearing something that looks like the same outfit you wear every day, some kind of plain skirt, knee length, with an equally plain blouse. Your jet black hair is cut short. Today the skirt is black and the blouse is white. Whatever. I nod and you come in quietly, trying not to make a sound.

You silently walk to the side of my big desk and lay a pile of bound folders down. I can see your tiny arms are about to fall off from the weight, and you gasp as you finally set them down. That minute I made you wait in the doorway must have been torture. I smile and grab one off the top, flipping it open. "Shit, Lisa. The font is supposed to be 14 point Verdana. You Chinese are supposed to be good at this shit."

"I... I'm Vietnamese," you say softly, head down.

"The fuck do I care where your boat came from? Did I ask you for a geography lesson? Next time, how about you worry less about your ancestry and more about following simple fucking directions."

"Sorry," you whisper, almost under your breath. I can see your face is flushed, your eyes almost look like you're about to cry. I feel my dick hardening in my suit pants.

"Don't apologize. Just do it right the first time, then you won't have to apologize when you screw up. Again. It's no wonder you've never been promoted, fuck." Your shoulders slump in the white blouse that's clinging to your slim body, and I dig deeper. "You know, sometimes I wonder why we don't have more women or Asians around, and then I remember what happened when we hired you -- we got a fuck-up of a cunt who can't do a single thing right."

Your head darts up, your eyes flashing for a moment, shocked at my language, your lips parted slightly. I see your round little white teeth behind your thin lips, the pink tip of your tongue as you think about saying something, and I cut you off before you can even begin. "If you were even halfway decent at your job, we'd hire twenty of you little monkeys and save a ton of money, 'cause you work for nothing. Why do you think you haven't gotten a bonus in six years? Nobody cares if you quit, we'll just find some other little yellow twat to take your place."

You lips is quivering and your eyes are glistening, you look beyond speaking now, too furious to say anything, and I smile and grab the folders off the desk and move to the door. "Let's go. When we get in there, keep your stupid mouth shut and try not to fuck this up any more than you already have."

I walk quickly to the conference room, leaving you and your short legs far behind. By the time you get there, I've already closed the door behind me and greeted the assembled senior execs, and you're forced to open the door once again and find a seat in a corner. There aren't any left around the big wooden table. No one bothers to greet you. I get the meeting started, lay out the report that you've been slaving over. Any question that's asked is directed at me, and when you try to speak up at one point, the CFO shoots you a nasty look and interrupts you. You try again about ten minutes later, and this time the CFO, a white guy in his 60s named Van Martin III, gives you an even sterner look and actually tells you that it's rude to talk without being first addressed. A couple of the other execs snicker out loud. Van, or Trip, as he's called by everyone but you (you still call him Mr. Martin), laughs as well at their reaction. It's almost as if he can't believe everyone else laughed at his abuse of you, and finds it hilarious.

I continue with the presentation; never referencing you except to blame a typo of mine on you. Near the end, I stumble over some numbers, mixing them up as I speak, even though they're correct on the presentation, and Trent Sanders from Sales laughs and calls out, "Sounds like Lisa screwed up the numbers again!" Everyone laughs. Nobody cares that I misspoke. You're a running joke. Blame it on the office Asian cunt. I look over and see you slumped in your chair in the corner, your normally light brown face pale and flushed, like you're going to be sick. I smile and finish up the presentation.

When I'm done, the CFO and the other execs congratulate me, shaking my hand, slapping my back. Jim Marold from Accounts reminds me that he and I are playing golf this weekend, and Drew Parker invites me to head out with him and the guys for drinks after work. No one says a word to you, except Clark Berenger, the new guy who came over from MM&P a month ago. He asks you to grab him a bottled water. You leave and come back with the water a minute later and the conference room is empty.

Later that day, after everyone's gone home and we're the only two people left in the building, I'm back in my office packing up when you come to the door. You stop at the doorway and knock, and I can see that you're about to explode. I make you wait the normal half minute before acknowledging you're there, and of course you stand there and take it. And then I decide to add an extra twenty or so seconds, just for fun. You still stand there and take it. Finally I look up and act shocked that you're standing there, like I had no idea, and beckon you in with a nod of my head. I don't offer you a chair.

You stand in front of my desk, between the two chairs, and I can see the fury and embarrassment in your eyes, your little body is actually shaking, your fists are clenched so tight that your knuckles are white. I sigh. "What do you want, Lisa?"

"Brad, y-you... you have no right to treat me like this." Your normally high-pitched voice is even higher, cracking with your anger. It's hilarious. "The way you speak to me, the things you said to me, it's really inappropriate!" I try to keep from laughing in your face. "I work harder than anyone around here, and you just took credit for all my work. You know very well I did that entire report." I can hear your voice trembling. You've obviously been planning this little speech the whole time we were in the meeting. High comedy.

"The things you said to me were really hurtful, and your behavior towards me is really disrespectful and rude and m-mean." Your voice cracks again on the last word, and I can tell you're about to cry. It's great stuff.

I wait a moment, not speaking, just staring at you, watching the tears well up in your big dark eyes, seeing your lips quivering uncontrollably.

Finally, I speak. "Are you finished?" You can only nod and I can tell that if you opened your mouth you'd burst into tears. So fucking pathetic.

"Here's the thing, Lisa. I don't give two shits whether you're offended or pissed or feel disrespected. That's not my job, to care about your feelings. Start doing your fucking job and maybe you won't get offended so fucking easily when I call you a mean name. Fuck, you'd think no one had ever called you a name before!" I stand up as I speak and walk slowly around my desk, back around behind you, closing the door to my office. "I honestly have a hard time believing that you've gone through your entire life without being called a 'gook.' " From behind you, I can see your body stiffen beneath the thin white fabric. "Or that no one's ever called you a 'slant'." Your head drops just a bit. I move slowly back around to where I can see your face. There are tears streaming silently down your cheeks. "Or that no one's ever called you a 'chink' or a 'rice-eater'."

Your small shoulders are visibly shaking now as you sob, your chin resting on your chest. "I find that hard to believe, Lisa, that no one has ever said those things to you. You're a big girl, Lisa, you should be able to take that kind of thing without it bothering you."

I hear you mutter something through your sobs, but I can't hear you, and I move closer, leaning in, "What was that? Did you say something, gook?"

You manage to whimper, "S-s-stop!"

I laugh. "What, you think any of those guys are thinking anything different? You think Parker or Sanders thinks you're any different than a peasant girl in a rice paddy with a little straw hat? You think Marold or Trip care if you're a Jap or a chink or a fucking gook?"

You're sobbing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down your face, your tiny body wracked, shuddering, your shoulders heaving. I move to stand directly behind you, feeling the heat from your trembling body through the thin material of your blouse, radiating off your soft brown skin. I smell the gentle scent of whatever shampoo you've been using, something flowery, young, fresh, and I bask in your innocence for a moment, savoring it while it lasts. Your skin is clear and healthy, and as I examine you from behind, I think that were things different, I could actually find myself attracted to you beyond what I'm intending.

But the thought quickly passes, and almost makes me laugh aloud. The idea of actually dating an Asian bitch like you, of bringing you home to family holidays or to school reunions, showing up with some little yellow girl, is laughable. My family would wonder what the hell was wrong with me, my friends would mock me unceasingly. It would be akin to dating the maid or something, or marrying the nanny. People like you can be used as help around the house or to take care of the kids, and you can certainly be fucked, but to go beyond that is ludicrous. And it's high time you understood your place in this world... in my world.

You're still sobbing, quieter now, the tears seemingly drained from your slim body, your head hanging on your chest, hands wiping at your eyes. I step up against you from behind, softly, moving my hands around your small hips, gently pulling your body back against mine, holding you, my lips moving to your ear, whispering softly to you, "It's okay. Lisa, I want you to know that even if it doesn't seem like it, I'm trying to help you." I feel your body tense in my arms, stiffen, shuddering noticeably, and I can feel the fear radiating off you, the uncertainty, and I plunge ahead.

"I know it's not easy to understand, but everything I've done for you has been for your own good." My lips brush gently against your earlobe, and you don't recoil. "I'm doing this to help you. You've been wasting your life. I know it, and I think you know it too." My hands move slowly up over your sides, feeling your slim, warm body through your blouse, your tight stomach, the soft curves of your almost childlike body. "How much time have you spent in your life, working your ass off, struggling to do the best you can, fighting to do better than the men like me, staying up all night studying, writing, reading, doing whatever it takes to be the best, to overcome all the disadvantages nature has handed you?" I kiss your ear gently, my lips tracing slowly down your neck, pulling your body against mine, feeling your small ass nestling comfortably in the curve of my hips, letting you feel me pressing against you.

"You've wasted so much time, so much of your life, trying to deny who you are, trying to be something -- someone -- that you're not, that you can never be. You've been slaving away your whole life, trying to be me, trying to be us. But you can't be. You never will be. All I'm doing is trying to keep you from wasting any more of your life striving for a goal which you can never, ever reach."

My hands move up your body, finding the buttons of your blouse, gently twisting them open, casually, my lips pressing gently against the soft skin of your neck. I can hear you've stopped sobbing, and you seem to be just standing, unsure, scared and hesitant, but I can hear that your breathing has quickened, your body is noticeably warmer, a flush is creeping up the light brown skin of your neck, and you seem to almost be pressing your small soft bottom back against my hips, almost by instinct.

"Those names I called you earlier? Those things I said to you and those horrible words I used? I'm just trying to prepare you for what's to come. Those words are words you should embrace, names you should welcome. That's who you are, who you were meant to be."

Three buttons are open on your blouse now, and my hands slip inside, feeling the almost hot skin on your flat stomach, and I hear you gasp softly as my bare skin touches yours. My fingers move slowly up your body, up to find the thin fabric of your bra, moving up inside it, finding your small breasts and squeezing gently, feeling your tiny nipples harden under my touch. The faintest of moans escapes your lips, and your knees seem to buckle just a bit, your delicious bottom sinking back into my hips. "You'll be so much happier, so much more satisfied and comfortable when you embrace who you are instead of trying to deny it."

With my other hand, I've quietly unzipped my suit pants, my lips still moving gently over your skin, down over your left shoulder, caressing your skin with the very tip of my tongue, tasting the lightly-scented soap you use, tasting the faint hint of sweat on your body, knowing that you've probably been frightened and embarrassed all morning, knowing that throughout the entire presentation you were probably perspiring from shame and anger, amazed that you've managed to control yourself this long. You won't need to control yourself much longer.

"I'm going to set you free, Lisa. I'm going to allow you to stop hiding behind this façade, stop acting, stop playing this part. This isn't who you are. This..." I grasp at the thin material of your blouse and gently pull it off your right shoulder, opening it. "...is not who you are." You shiver as your bare shoulder is exposed to the air conditioned office. My hand has reached inside my suit pants, worked inside my boxer briefs and pulled my throbbing cock from within my clothes. It hangs now, just behind your bottom, heavy and hard and hot in my hand. I breathe softly in your ear, caressing your small round breasts through your bra, feeling your little body responding to my touch, moaning softly as my fingers move over your tiny hard nipples.

I move my hand from my cock, letting it gently fall a bit to rest between my legs, half-hard and rubbery and thick, move my hand up the small of your back, feeling your warm skin under my fingertips, the gently curve of your body, up to find the clasp of your bra and I undo it with a twist of my fingers, my other hand catching and pulling it slowly down off your arms, off your body, and as I step back a bit your blouse comes with it. You're standing in front of me, your back to me, naked from the waist up, your smooth brown skin rippled with small goose bumps in the cold office air, your short-cut hair just above the nape of your neck, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, not looking back at me. You're shuddering slightly. Your blouse and bra fall to the floor, soundlessly. The only noise is the soft hum of the air conditioning, the low buzz of white noise from the rest of the office through the closed door, and my breathing growing steadily heavier as I examine you critically from behind.

I let my gaze move over the gently curve of your lower back as it slopes slightly inward just above the waist of your black skirt, the small dimples cute and feminine, almost no body fat on your hips, your bottom petite and tight under your clothes, your shoulder blades and the small bumps of your spine barely visible under your skin.

I sense that you're waiting, indecisive, unsure and confused, and so I move back against you, feeling your naked back against my chest, and then I slowly turn you around to face me, your slim body tight against mine, your arms still over your chest, hiding your small brown nipples. I see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes. You feel my cock pressing against your hips, you must react but you don't. You're too lost, your mind obviously racing to comprehend all that I've said, all that's happening, struggling to rationalize what I've told you with what you think you know, trying to make sense of the contradiction between what you think is right and what your body is telling you. You know that what I'm telling you sounds wrong, flies in the face of everything you've been raised to believe, but at the same time you can't ignore what your body is telling you, the signals that it's giving you that translate into thoughts, thoughts that surge into your mind, telling you I'm right, that your body wants to believe me so your mind does too.

You suddenly lean forward, perhaps trying to kiss me, thinking that's what I want, thinking that makes sense given my actions, that the correct next step is to kiss me, but I just smirk as your eyes close and your lips purse, and instead of leaning in to meet your lips, I simply put my hand on your small shoulder and gently push downwards. To me it's gentle, anyway. To you, your tiny body, it feels as if I've shoved you as hard as I can, and you can't help but fall to your knees on the thick carpet of my office. You suddenly realize that my cock is hanging out of my pants, directly in front of your face, engorged and thick and veiny and white, and you look up at me, more confused than ever. "But, I thought..."
I shake my head gently, looking down at you. "Shhh, Lisa. Don't speak. Don't ask questions. Remember, this is what's best for you. Trust me. And thank me later. This is only the first step in setting you free."

I take my cock in my hand and lift it until it's pointed directly at your small mouth. You look up at me again, utter terror in your eyes, and then I put my hand on the back of your head and push you down on me, forcing your thin lips open with the swollen head of my cock, leaving a glistening trace of precum on your upper lip, feeling you open wide for me as I push on the back of your head.

I see your eyes bulge as I enter you, your nostrils flare, and I smile down at you as I push forward, feeling your tongue fighting around my cock, instinctively trying to force it out of the way of your breathing, and I push further into your mouth in response. I feel my sensitive tip pressing against your throat, and you suddenly gag hard, your throat convulsing violently, your stomach heaving, and I think for a moment you're going to throw up around my dick, but you recover as I pull back a bit, letting you start breathing steadily through your nose. Tears are welling in your eyes as you struggle to breath, and once you've realized you're not going to suffocate, I push back down into your throat, feeling you open for me, taking me deep. I look down at you, see my big white cock jutting from your thin brown lips like some alien growth. I smile down at you, "Nice job Lisa. You're doing great. I know you've probably never had a white man's cock in your mouth, but you're doing fine. You'll get used to it quickly. It looks so natural, so beautiful, it suits you so well."

You seem to be trying to say something, but with my cock jammed into your throat it's difficult, and all you can manage is some kind of silly croaking sound, and you choke yourself for a moment trying. I respond by pushing forward even further, gagging you again, forcing you to open your throat wider, your body arching forward as you try to open your airway around me, teaching you, guiding you, showing you the way to please a white man. "No more of these Asian boyfriends for you, Lisa. They're just a waste of your time and your abilities. From now on, you'll be with no one but white men." You seem to be trying to say something in response, but all that you manage is more guttural moaning, and I ignore you.

"Shhh, Lisa, quiet. The less talking you do from now on the better. Seen but not heard." I begin slowly fucking your face, drawing my glistening cock in and out of your throat, feeling you clenching around me and releasing, your soft tongue dragging over my head and my shaft, hearing you gasp for air each time I withdraw enough to let you breathe through your mouth. I find a steady rhythm, my hands on the back of your head, holding you in place as I fuck your mouth on the carpet in my office. After a few minutes, I reach down and wrap your hair around my fingers, pulling upwards as my dick pops lewdly from your mouth, sliding out from between your brown lips, wet with saliva, dripping, a thick trail of spit and precum clinging between your lower lip and my swollen purple head that finally breaks and slaps down onto your chin as you rise to your feet. You begin to raise your hand to wipe it away and I stop you. "Leave it, Lisa. It looks right."

You give a slight nod, and I reach out and grasp the waistband of your simple black skirt and push it down off your tiny hips, moving it over the curve of your bottom and letting it fall with a rustle to the floor. You step out of it towards me, now clad only in a pair of white cotton panties. "Hmm. Take those off. You probably shouldn't even bother wearing panties to work anymore. Just a waste of time for everyone involved."

Without a word, you hook your thumbs in the elastic waist and push the panties down over your smooth brown thighs while lifting your tiny feet up through the holes.

You stand naked in front of me now, your slim brown body shivering slightly, your thighs clenched together, one foot slightly in front of the other, holding your little white panties tightly in your fist. "Do you wear contacts, Lisa?"

You look confused for a moment, then say "Yes..."

"No, from now on you should wear glasses to the office. You have a pair of glasses, don't you?"

"Yeah... I don't really wear them except at nigh--"

"You'll wear them everyday to work from now on."

You slowly nod again. I look down your body, down past your tight flat stomach, down between your thighs. "Spread your legs."

You don't move, looking at me, silent, cheeks flushed. I suddenly take a step towards you and grab your throat, squeezing hard, your eyes bulging from your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, choking softly as I squeeze the air out of you. "I said spread your legs, you fucking gook whore." I release my hold slightly and step back as you gasp loudly, snot flowing from your nose as you double over, trying to find air. "Stand up. Spread your legs."

You manage to stand up straight and you spread your legs, your feet at shoulder width, your arms at your sides. I look at your pussy, your hair trimmed neatly but not too short, your brown lips visible between your legs. "Tomorrow you'll come in shaved clean. Better yet, get it waxed. Everywhere."

You're still breathing raggedly, and I can see red marks on your neck from my fingers. I move towards you and you instinctively recoil, but I put my arms around you and pull your now naked body against me, feeling you trembling, your skin warm and frigid at the same time, smelling your skin, your hair, feeling my still-wet cock pressing insistently against your naked thighs, and then I look down at you. "I don't want to have to hurt you, Lisa, but if you misbehave, or don't listen to me the first time, I can't help it if you force me to hurt you a little bit. But don't think I enjoy it. I hate having to do it, so please don't make me. And please trust me that it's for your own good. The sooner you accept that I know what's best for you, the easier this will be and the sooner you'll be free to truly enjoy your new life."

You can only shut your eyes to hold back the tears as you nod again, your tiny body huddled in my arms, pressing against my broad chest, your tiny nipples hard against me through my shirt, your thighs warm on the head of my cock, still hard and aching. "Now, it's not a good idea for you to leave a white man unsatisfied. You can see that you've yet to finish, so let's go ahead and take care of that. Lay down."

You obediently move to the floor, laying on your back on the carpet. I sigh softly, and shake my head. "On your stomach. Lay on your stomach. I don't know why you thought I wanted to look at you. A maid doesn't need to look at the homeowner while she's cleaning. A man doesn't need to look at his chair when he sits in it. You're no different. Turn over now."

You slowly turn yourself over, laying down on your stomach, tucking your hands under your face like a pillow, your slim brown legs laying against one another, your tight little bottom, a bit paler than the rest of your skin, looking up at me, pert and small and round.

"That's a good little slut," I whisper. "But what did I tell you about spreading your legs?" I see you flinch, anticipating a hand around the throat or something worse, and your thighs fly apart, spreading as wide as you can get them, but I draw my hand back and let It come smashing down on your bottom, about half as hard as I can. The noise is flat and loud and stinging, and you cry out softly, burying your face in your arms. "Please, Lisa, please don't make me do that again. Try to remember the lessons I've taught you. I know you're not stupid, or at least not as stupid as you sometimes seem. Even a dog can remember simple lessons reinforced by pain. I do hope that you're at least as smart as a dog, and can learn simple things like this."

I kneel between your widespread legs, slip my hands under your thighs and pull your hips up off the floor, leaving you resting on your elbows, your entire lower body up off the floor in almost a wheelbarrow position. I love how entirely helpless you are, depending entirely on me for support. Exactly as it should be. "Lisa? Lisa, do you hear me?"

You whimper softly, "Y-Yes...."

"Yes, what?"

"I... I don't--"

I let go, your body crashes to the floor and your knees slam into the carpet, hard. You cry out in pain.

"Lisa, you call me 'Sir.' Fuck, I hate having to punish you so much, it makes me so unhappy. Are you trying to make me unhappy, Lisa?"

"Unngghh...no..."

I wrap my arm under your hips and pull you up off the floor again, all your weight on your arms and head, and smack your bottom again, this time harder. You yelp in pain, a vivid red mark forming on your ass. "No sir, Lisa, no SIR."

"No sir! No sir!"

"That's much better, Lisa. Thank you. You're doing so well, I'm very pleased, so far. You're a very quick learner for a gook whore."

Then before you can say another word, I grab my throbbing dick in one hand and pull your body back against me, guiding myself against your pussy lips, pushing hard up against you, and you moan loudly in pain, whimpering. I look down and watch as my swollen cockhead slowly splits you open, spreading your dark brown pussy lips, watching as my white dick moves inside of your wet cunt.

"Lisa, it makes me so happy to see that you're already wet for me. That's very good. It's very important for a good gook cumslut like you to always be ready for her man. I'm glad to see that you already understand that lesson." As I instruct you, I'm slowly pushing my cock into your body, letting you feel every inch as it enters your tight little yellow cunt, hearing you moan and whimper, muffled by your arms, stuffing my dick into your pussy as slowly as I can. "It also makes me happy that sucking my white cock got you good and wet. It's a good sign that your body already understands your role, even if you haven't chosen to accept it just yet. But you can't fool your body. Your little yellow body knows that when there's a white cock, your pussy needs to get good and wet to be ready."

With that final word, I slam my hips against you, driving my cock the rest of the way into your fragile little body, pushing your head down into the carpet. Your cunt makes a wet squelching sound as I fill you up, and I hear you grunt loudly as your pussy lips stretch wide around my thick cock. I hold myself tight against your body for a moment, savoring the feeling of your hot little gook cunt all around my cock, warm and wet and tight, and I feel you clenching around me, spasming as your body tries to adjust to my sudden violation of your pussy. Then I lower your legs so that you're on your elbows and knees on the carpet, your back bent down so your forehead is resting against the floor, and I move my hands to your small hips. I feel your pussy leaking down onto my balls, and then I pull out and quickly slam back into you, rocking your body forward into the floor, pushing deep into you until I'm buried balls-deep in you again. I hold there, grinding my hips against your tight little brown ass, letting you feel my dick filling you up. Then I pound you again, watching with fascination as your little ass cheeks jiggle and bounce with each violent thrust, enjoying your soft whimpers and the cries of pain and pleasure that echo through the office, the smell of sweat and the sharp tang of your yellow cunt dripping everywhere down my body, leaking like a dirty gook slut.

I slam into your body again and again, pounding your little gook cunt until I can see your brown pussy lips are red and raw and swollen. I fuck your body hard and deep, training you, letting you know what you can expect in the days and weeks to come. You moan and grunt and squeal with every thrust, and I see that you're crying at the same time, tears falling from your cheeks onto the carpet while your cunt leaks everywhere. As I fuck you, I make a mental note to have my assistant call the building cleaning services to clean the stain out of the carpet.

I let your body slide down mine to the floor, still buried inside you, leaning over you, still fully dressed while you lay naked and spread-eagled on the floor in front of me, impaled on my fat dick. You're barely moving, and I drive down into your body a final time, pushing you across the floor a good half-foot, doubtlessly giving you rug burns on your knees and elbows and your nipples. Then I reach into my suit pocket and grab my iPhone, find the camera icon and click off a stream of photos. I get good shots of your cunt spread wide by my cock, your pussy leaking all over my carpet, your tight little asshole between your pale brown cheeks, your naked back and the back of your head. Then I pull out of you. My dick flops wetly down against my body and your pussy gushes liquid onto the carpet, my precum mixed with your wetness, and the room suddenly stinks even more of sex and gook cunt.

"Turn over." You roll over onto your back, your face and chest flushed, snot and saliva on your lips and chin, your eyes bloodshot and wet. You're a hot mess. You look up at me, eyes glazed with submission and hate and lust, and you see the camera in my hand.

Your mouth opens and you almost start to protest, but I quickly move my body up to straddle yours, my legs on either side of your chest, pinning your arms and your legs to the floor, my cock sliding up between your small brown tits, resting there, still glazed from your gook cunt. "Lisa, you've been doing so well. Don't ruin it now by speaking. I'm so very proud of all that you've learned in such a short time about being a good little slant-eyed gook cumdoll, and I would hate for you to ruin it all by doing something stupid."

I point the iPhone at your face and press the video button, starting the recording, and then take my rubbery cock in my other hand and begin stroking myself over your chest, rubbing the tip of my cock against your hard nipples, then moving up your body enough so that my balls are resting on your neck. I rub myself faster, up and down my throbbing shaft, the swollen head dipping down against your lips and you open your mouth obediently, and I smile, pushing my cockhead into your mouth once again, letting you taste your own yellow pussy, then pulling it out, capturing it all on camera.

"Tell me to cum, Lisa." You're silent for a short instant, too long, and I push my cock down into your mouth, hard, stuffing it down your throat and your body heaves upwards violently and your throat convulses as you feel the brief panic of choking to death, and then I pull out, slapping your cheek with my cockhead. "Tell me to cum, Lisa." My voice is level and calm.

"Cum. Sir." You almost forget the "Sir," but the sudden pressure of my full weight on your ribcage, crushing the air out of your tiny body reminds you, and you gasp it out.

"Tell me again. Once more, with feeling, Lisa."

I point the camera at your face, zooming in, and hear you moan, "Cum on me, sir!"

I explode, hot thick cum spurting hard onto your face, your lips, your eyelids, your cheeks, rolling down your chin onto your chest. You open your mouth and swallow greedily, licking it off your lips and lifting your head to try to clean it off my cock, and I'm so pleased with you that I allow you to, pushing my dick between your lips and letting you clean my dick while I film it all.

I stand up after a moment, putting myself away, zipping up, and slip my camera back into my pocket. You lay on the floor still, cum on your tits and face and in your hair. "Don't bother cleaning yourself up until you get home." I hand you your clothes, holding on to your panties. "You won't be needing these. And remember what I said -- don't bother wearing them tomorrow. And wear your glasses."

You nod. "Yes, sir." I watch as you quietly get dressed and duck out of my office, limping noticeably. I pull out my camera and flip through the pictures, then watch the video of you begging me to cum. I smile, and pull up the work email address for Trip Martin and a couple of other guys in the office. They're going to love this. Tomorrow will be fun.