I had been married to my husband Robert Pherson as his absolutely obedient slave wife for nearly ten years and I have just been recently divorced. All my life I have been a very submissive and obedient Japanese woman. When I was a little girl, I lived in the Japanese countryside, and my father hit me and my sister often to maintain discipline and we had to take care of our male siblings such as bathing my little brother.
Ever since I was a little girl I have been conditioned by my parents to be submissive to male figures.
I am naturally endowed with a voluptuous figure, a broad shoulder and a pair of large, round breasts. Pherson, on the other hand, was the exact complement to my feminine and submissive nature. He was dominant, and rightly so; he was strong, powerful, six feet tall—not exactly tall by American standard, but well towered over me; and, though far from muscular like an American body builder, he easily overwhelmed me, his inferior opponent.
In his embrace, I felt particularly small, weak and my defeat was fated from the start. Ever since we were married, I had been conditioned by my husband to orgasm only from pain. It is customary for Japanese women to stop working after getting married and I wanted to be the traditional type of Japanese wife to him. At the same time, however, that also meant I had lost all financial independence and I was henceforward completely owned by my husband like a pet, a domesticated dog.
I never went out of his sight; I was always collared and leashed, naked in his apartment, even when my parents or friends showed up he still treated me like a naked bitch on a leash and would not spare me the humiliation of being seen naked in front of my own parents, and it was only right the way he treated me; he would tell my parents that I enjoyed this kind of treatment, that I loved it and I was forced to utter those words to my parents by myself; I would say: I love being beaten and humiliated.
Not a day could have passed by without me being cruelly beaten by my husband, for otherwise I felt empty and unfulfilled. My husband and I together have a son and a daughter but they live with their father now and I cannot visit them because of a police order, which I will explain later. Besides, you are becoming Americanized. Or perhaps I would be able to find someone who love to recycle thrown out trash, but probably not someone as successful, rich, and handsome as Mr. During my ten year marriage Mr.
Pherson had trained me to become his consummate sex slave. I feel I had endured the most brutal and intense training sessions that were once reserved for the victims of Spanish Inquisition and yet he still left me for someone else.
If the whips and the canes only left my body bruised and scarred then the body modifications made me a permanently damaged good. I have a large golden nose ring permanently pierced through my nasal septum—the type of nose ring applied only to cows. My nipples and clitoris were also pierced with golden rings.
A silver tongue stud inside my mouth. All my body hair, except for my eye brow and head hair, had been permanently laser-removed. My ass and legs were covered with scars left from his beatings over the years. He had used up every part of my body and turned my once beautiful body into a garbage dump. It was traumatizing for me just to remember it, though Mr.
I feel like a burn victim. I used to love wearing my hair into a ponytail or a bun but now I have to try everything I can to hide my forehead. At the time I am also studying at NYU. My parents had always had very high hopes for me because I am the smartest, prettiest and most diligent among my four siblings.
I studied very hard to get into NYU and they wished that I marry a wealthy white American man so I could live a life of comfort and leisure after my marriage. I carried with me the hope of my entire family to have a better life in America, to have more dignity for my children, to move up the social ladder in the world, and to become a proud American citizen. In addition life was no easier in New York City. The Chinese owner of that restaurant I worked in treated me like I was a third world worker.
And Robert Pherson was that wealthy man, that prince charming, that white knight in shiny armor who was going to rescue me, the one who was prophesied in my dreams, the bringer of eternal happiness, who would settle me down in America, in the land of milk and honey, in the land of freedom and liberty, into the beacon of hope for the entire mankind, where everyone could become accepted as an American as long as she or he worked hard enough.
He had blonde hair and blue eyes, the type of man who according to legends rules the world from the Roman Empire to the British Empire and even today to the American Empire.
Pherson was a god, a god who could do no wrong, a god who, even while he spewed fire and brimstone, brought peace and justice to the earth, and love and compassion to the mournful, and mercy and comfort to the weak.
Somewhere in the Bible Jesus says god makes White man after His image, and he makes White man the king of Jews and the master of the world. I feel it is so true. His flesh was cut from Parian marble stone, white and hard; his blue eyes brooked into the ocean; his hair the golden glory of a thrysus, to whose touch a wanton maenad, possessed with madness, I succumbed. He was very dominant and rightly so. A man of his statue and power ought to be worshiped; and I knew if I did not treat him right another asian woman would step over me and take him away from me.
I was a student at NYU at the time, and I had seen the way those asian women grovel over the attention of white men, so I knew I had to be more eager to please him. Especially the Chinese and Korean women, they were so shameless and disgusting. I adored him, loved him, as I adored and worshiped a deity. The first day I met him I was immediately enthralled by his appearance and when he approached me I was filled with fear because I knew I was not worthy of his love; he was a god wrapped in a holy glory of whiteness, whereas I was a mere insect compared to him, not worthy to lick the dirt he walked on.
Ever since the first time I saw him I knew I wanted to do everything to attract his attention, even if it meant that I would have to become his sex slave, to be subjugated, conquered, dominated, enslaved by him, to kneel before him and worship him, to give up my life for him, to do everything to please him, and to do more than everything to please him.
For Him I would strip off all my clothes to walk through the driven snow. For him I would endure the torture of fire. For Him I would submerge myself in freezing water. It was and still is his right to rule and my duty only to obey. I was and still am be his supplicant, his servant, his most loyal slave. For inside him he carried the most dominant and masculine genes in the world, the genes of the gods, the white conquerors who rule over the world with blessings and glory, the benevolent conquerors, the good tyrants.
My knees still weakened when I remembered our first encounter. Everyday he came to the restaurant I worked in and he always left me a big tip, which I secretly kept inside my bra.
And in return for his generosity I had treated him as a special guest. Whenever I saw him coming, I would put on fresh makeups, shorten my skirt by folding the hem into my panties, tuck my blouse further into my waistband.
Sometimes I unbuttoned the top button on my blouse to reveal my breasts to him. He used to tell me that my breasts were as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory.
Occasionally I put special things on his plate, like a decorative bluebell flower or a complementary fruit piece, all in the vain hope that he might notice me and pay the slightest attention to me because I had paid special attention to him. I was his most personal waitress. Often times I stood next to him as he ate. He wanted me to teach him how to use chopsticks though I suspected that he was just pretending not to know, but I still taught him like I would teach a little child.
It was so much fun and it was so romantic. When he noticed me—his eyes flickering and staring at me like a man in love—the heavenly mansion opened and I was made the happiest woman on earth. Mizuki, please teach me again how to use chopsticks.
Here let me teach you one more time. I pick up this sushi. I dip into the soy sauce just a little bit. You are like a baby. The other waitresses glared at me and a few times they told me to go back to work but I would care less about them because I knew if I were to get married with Mr.
Pherson I would never need to work in this hell hole ever again. Besides, I never had any respect for them. They were all Chinese. The Chinese were so shamelessly stupid. Pherson even gently kissed me on the cheek after lunch and left me a hundred dollar bill. I was so happy as I screamed for joy. That moment he made me giddy like a little girl. It was a brand new hundred dollar bill, like it was just cashed out of the federal reserve and I tucked it under my bra and it felt cold against my warm body.
Pherson went into a private room to eat—sometimes if the private rooms were full he would eat at the counter in the main lobby—and when there was no one looking, he would reach up my skirt and play with my pussy. He was so strong-willed and so determined and he ripped all my undergarments to pieces. In the process he had ripped my soul to pieces. I was really afraid people might see me. I knew he was very wealthy and he always tipped generously every time after he played with me.
In fact I was excited to the core by the way he was treating me. He never cared about how I might have felt and he always got what he wanted. He was so manly. One time, inside the private room, he was becoming more emboldened and he demanded that I take off my panties altogether and he played with my bare pussy while he was eating. I was so scared but I was so turned on as well.
It was excitement mixed with fear. For two weeks I served as his personal waitress. He told me to never wear any panties to work and to shave my pubic hair and I obeyed without a second thought. He told me to wear mini skirt to work and I did. He ate his Chinese food with his chop sticks with one hand while with his other hand he reached up my skirt and played with my bald Japanese pussy.
After the second week Mr. Pherson started calling for delivery and he pointedly asked for me to deliver personally, and he was willing to pay for the extra expense. Filled with trepidation I went to his office which was located inside a high rise tower and as I went through the security check, as was customary in all the buildings in midtown Manhattan, I had a sudden panic attack.