My Pimp’s Little Asian Whore
I never thought I’d end up here, on my knees in a cheap motel room, but the moment I met Marcus everything changed.
He was tall, dark-skinned, commanding. The kind of man who didn’t ask — he took. I was just a shy half-Vietnamese, half-Cambodian girl scrolling through my phone in a dive bar when he sat down next to me. His hand landed heavy on my thigh under the table.
“You got that submissive look,” he said low, fingers sliding up under my short skirt. “Bet that tight little pussy gets wet when a man tells you what to do.”
I whimpered. He was right.
Two weeks later I was moved into his place. He collared me the first night — a thin black leather band with a small silver ring. “You belong to me now, Vickie. I own this body. You’re gonna make me money with it.”
The training started immediately.
Every morning I woke up to his cock down my throat. “Good girls suck their pimp’s dick before breakfast,” he’d growl, holding my head still while he fucked my face until tears ran down my cheeks. I learned to swallow every drop like it was my purpose in life.
He made me practice in front of the mirror. Short skirts, no panties, heels that made my ass pop. He’d bend me over and spank me red while I repeated after him:
“I’m Marcus’s Asian whore.”
“I exist to get fucked for money.”
“My holes belong to whoever pays.”
The first time he pimped me out, my stomach was in knots.
We pulled up to a rundown house where three of his regular clients waited. Marcus pushed me inside, hand firm on the back of my neck.
“She’s $200 for the hour. Use her hard, but don’t mark her face. She’s got more appointments tonight.”
They didn’t waste time.
One guy shoved me onto the couch and yanked my legs open. “Look at this tight little slant pussy,” he laughed, shoving two thick fingers inside me. I was already soaked. Another man forced his cock into my mouth while the third pinched my nipples through my thin top.
I moaned like a bitch in heat as they took turns. One after another, stretching me, filling me, grunting as they pumped load after load into my cunt and down my throat. When the hour was up I was a leaking, trembling mess on the floor, cum dripping down my thighs.
Marcus was waiting outside, counting the cash.
“Good girl,” he said, pulling me close and kissing my messy lips. “You made me proud. Now clean yourself up. You’ve got two more stops tonight.”
By the end of the week I was fully broken in.
I’d wait on my knees by the door every evening, collared and barely dressed, ready for him to drive me to whatever motel or back alley he chose. Sometimes he’d film me getting railed by strangers, then make me watch it later while he fucked me himself.
“You love this, don’t you?” he’d whisper, pounding me from behind. “Love being my little money-making slut. Love knowing any man with cash can own this pussy for an hour.”
“Yes Daddy,” I’d gasp, pushing back against him. “I’m your whore. Use me. Sell me. I only feel right when I’m being used.”
Some nights he’d let his friends run a train on me for free, just to remind me who I belonged to. Other nights he’d make me crawl to him on all fours and beg to be pimped out again.
I’d press my face to his shoes and whisper the words he loved to hear:
“Please pimp me tonight, Sir. Let them use your Asian cumdump. I need it.”
And every single time, he did.
Because I wasn’t just his girl anymore.
I was his property.
His product @vickieelee via telegram.
His perfect little submissive whore.
And I had never been happier
spicyvickiee 