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I'm down here waiting for him to get hard again. For him to use me a second time. I'm trying not to think about it but it's kind of impossible not to. All my mind wants to do is relive the face-fucking my boss has just given me. He adjusts in his chair and I try to squash myself further against the wood of his desk, afraid to touch his legs after the last annoyed flick he gave my nose. It probably sounds like not a big deal, but it was hard, and he delivered it right to the bridge of my nose, just like you're supposed to train a dog.

How long will he keep me here kneeling sideways under his desk, pitifully squeezed in the too-small space between his knees and the mahogany backing? Why am I letting him keep me here? I glance over, thinking about saying something. His fully-erect cock looks back at me. He's already hard again, and that scares me back into silence.

He isn't touching himself or anything, but the too-young asian girls on his laptop are still being fucked and flogged. I watched a few, and they're all gross.

They lie bent-over some white-man's sofa or bed, powerless and afraid, gasping and yelping scandalously in their stupid, patronizing, unbelievable, high-pitched, cartoon character voices. They slurp up their white daddy's cum and say "thank you master". Sluts. How can he possibly get off on that? Who are you to judge my own mind retorts. It was my fucking idea to crawl down here and suck him off just exactly like one of those cliche meek Asian whores on his laptop.

I literally got the idea from those exact videos. I went looking for a white master too. He kicks me lightly and I look over pensively, that hand of his beaconing. I don't want to. I don't feel sexy anymore, I just feel. lewd; dirty; used. That hand of his though, fingers open, palm down, expectant -- demanding. He wants me to nuzzle up into it like an enthusiastic dog would. I can almost feel his fingers thread through my hair, how he'll steer my head into his crotch.

How I'll obediently form my pouty red lips around his cock. No. I want to go home.

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this was a mistake. He kicks me again in the thigh. Harder, impatient. I start to cry a little as I turn on my knees to face him. I'll just suck him off one more time. I mean in for a penny, in for a pound right? He can't want any more than two. Most guys can't get off a second time. And after all, this WAS my idea, I'm just over-thinking it. My swollen tits press against his denim-clad knees as I tilt my head, nuzzling into his hand in the way I know he wants -- his obedient pet.

His fingers slide around the back of my head like I'd imagined, and I flinch as they close at the back of my neck, gathering a handful of sensitive hair he can use to steer me in whatever way he wants.

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He pulls it down, forcing my face skyward as he slides his chair back on it's wheels. I crawl out, forced to follow, and I'm kneeling naked between his legs now, facing him, lips parted by his grip. He can see the tears running down my cheeks and the girl-cum running down my thigh. My reluctance, my lust, my fear, my regret.

All on display for him. His free hand moves to my breasts and I gasp, holding his pretty blue eyes. He works my nipple between his knuckles and I groan, sounding annoyingly like the sluts behind me on his laptop.

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He smiles darkly down at me. Owning me. It's so wrong. So deliciously wrong. I don't smile back, gasping as he fondles me. He doesn't want me to smile. He wants me to moan and cry and bar my teeth for him like an animal.

He wants to spank my ass and train me. He wants me to like it when he hurts me. He doesn't care about me at all. He wants to fuck a stereotype. The horrible truth is I want that too. My cunt oozes like a spring at the thought of calling him master.

I want things I'm barely even able to admit to myself except in moments like these when unwelcome lust floods into my loins. His hand moves to my tummy and then hooks into my slit and I spread my legs, putting my hands behind my back, grabbing my own elbows and arching my breasts toward him like a slave. I want to squat and kneel drink his cum by the pint. I want him to spank me, and fuck me, and pierce me, and brand me, and chain me, and breed me.

I gasp like a stereotypical asian whore again as he starts massaging my labia with those articulate fingers. I want him to gag me, and use me as a table to dine on. I grunt lustily as he probes into my vagina.

I don't even care how wrong it is, I want to wince quietly in my bondage as his pretty white girlfriends balance their expensive glasses of cool white wine on my naked cunt, and try to impress him with their dinner chit-chat like I'm not even there. "Uhg! Matt!" I grunt again, cumming in his hand "Shut up" I do. Bucking quietly, tits bouncing, biting my lip and holding my breath as he expertly rubs the orgasm out of me with his fingers. As my climax abates he forces his cock into my mouth.

I didn't even see it coming. I squint my eyes shut as he yanks my hair up and down, masturbating himself with my face. Although the motion of the arm controlling me is brutal and strong, he's not working hard. His other hand moves casually to his laptop, and I think he's going to change videos, but they go silent altogether. I gag as he pulls me down, deeply penetrating my throat. He leans over and pushes the laptop back on his desk as I struggle not to vomit into his lap.

"Put your arms back behind your back" I didn't even realize I'd moved them, but my hands were resting on his legs now. I reach back, grabbing my elbows for him again, having fought back the nausea, but unable to breathe past his throbbing cock.

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"keep them there" He lifts me up and spins me, keeping one hand painfully tangled in my hair and using the other to lock my wrists together as he efficiently bends me over his desk.

"uh. fuck me master" I grit between my barred teeth as my chin bounces off the table, feeling his spit-soaked cock rub up the inside of my thigh. I spread myself for him, looking back over my shoulder. His feet block mine from the inside and spread me further, to the point I'm barely on my tip-toes.

He yanks my hair painfully back toward him, forcing my face aloft again. "Look at the camera" Camera? My eyes roll to his laptop, the little green record light is on, the image of myself bent over his desk helpless. My own wide-open slant-eyes struggle to stare down over my nose back at me, my back arched exquisitely by his hair-pull, my pretty tits dangle lewdly -- my rock-hard nipples just scraping the green felt of his blotter.

I stare at myself, bent over and waiting for my master's cock like literally every video on his hard-drive. He's making his own asian fuck-slave video. It's probably not the first, I realize as he unceremoniously penetrates me.

"Mha!" I squeal yet again like a meek asian cliche, watching myself on the screen. This is too much. This is wrong. I start to cry again, looking away "Matt." SMACK "The camera I said" he spanks me sharply, letting go of my wrists.

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"AHH!" I squeal again at the stinging blow. I look back at myself in the camera, arched up helplessly, my arms now striking out impotently for something to hold on to as he starts fucking me in earnest.

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He's too big for me I realize as his head invades my cunt. It hurts. I grunt at the pain as he fills me, as he stretches my insides. I try to relax. SMACK "eyes open" he spanks me again. It's hard to keep my eyes open, the pain is excruciating, but also euphoric. I slap and scratch at the desk, pathetically writhing and moaning and crying as my master fucks me senseless. For the second time I am his cocksleeve. Utterly his. Helpless and at his disposal.

He can keep me here and fuck me for days and there isn't a single thing I can do to stop him. I don't even have control of my vocal chords anymore.

My own high-pitched voice echoes in my master's office, scandalous, patronizing, unbelievable. I sound like a cartoon character. Oh. I watch myself bounce helplessly on the screen in front of me, finally recognizing what I've been all along. Finally willing to admit to what I am. Is it a stereotype if it's true? I stare into my own eyes as my white master comes inside me, my face a mixture of idiotic surprise and bawdy yearning.

His warmth pumping into me. Spreading luxuriously within me; a precious gift. He yanks me violently up by the hair and throws me back under his desk again, sitting down, and sliding his laptop back into position. I squeeze up against the wood as he scoots back in, sliding down off my knees to my butt and then hugging my knees.

He kicks me. What, again already? No. His thumb motioning up. Master wants me to stay on my knees.

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I obey.

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