Death of an Asian Realtor (M/F, rape, skullfucking, raceplay)
I've been playing around with some raceplay stories, largely sparked by conversations with u/ovrconfidnt-azn-girl. This is something of a sequel to Last Night in Bangkok, although there's no need to read that first - the events in it are just mentioned here.
A lovely, confident Asian realtor shows a house to a gentleman who is more interested in her tight, fit body than in anything she has to say about the house.
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Death of an Asian Realtor
The first impression Jackie had of her client was size. She stood on the porch of the house she was going to try to convince him to buy, shivering in the autumn chill, and it was a relief when his headlights pierced the foggy evening as he pulled into the driveway.
He opened his car door and unfolded himself out, and she had a momentary sense of unreality – surely a man that large couldn’t have fit in the little sports car, could he?
Randall Jones had to have been over six and a half feet tall, a blocky wedge-shape of a man, with broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips. His shirt fit tightly across his powerful chest and arms, the exhibitionism of a bodybuilder.
“Pleasure to meet you, honey,” he said, sticking out a hand that dwarfed Jackie’s. She could feel the raw power in his grasp as she shook with him.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones. Shall we begin?”
It was a normal enough house showing. Walking through the almost empty rooms, trying to conjure up visions of what the place would look like when filled with his own belongings, nudging him into imagining how he’d use the space, minimizing problems and maximizing dreams.
He had a physicality to him that made the skin on the back of her neck tingle. He moved so quietly that she would suddenly notice him right next to her – empty air one moment, then it was filled with his massive presence as if he’d appeared out of nowhere.
It made her belly tighten from the effort of not jumping in alarm.
In the dining room, he ran a hand over the back of a chair that would be gone by the time he moved in.
“What got you into the real estate business?”
Jackie blinked. “Lots of things. Flexible schedule, some travel opportunities, I like the challenge of finding someone their perfect new home.”
“You’ve got a nice rack for an Oriental. I’m sure that helps get the boys to pull the trigger. Their wives might not like it, though.”
He was staring openly at her tits, beautifully packaged in her tight blouse.
There were times when Jackie was particularly grateful for the comforting weight of the little .380 pistol in her purse.
“Mr. Jones, please. It’s not appropriate to talk about my looks, or my body. We’re here so I can show you this house.”
He smiled, raising his hands. “Sorry, kitten, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Kitten. Jackie shuddered. Not the worst thing a client had called her. Fucking pigs. First time he’d met her and she was already “kitten.”
I just have to get through this showing.
She could feel heat on her skin, anger and humiliation mixing with a jumpy nervousness.
The dining room was quite small – she’d been trying to downplay that fact when he’d decided it was the right time to tell her she had a great rack for an Oriental.
Fucking racist white pigs.
The room felt even smaller next to Randall Jones. He took up space. His presence seemed to radiate to fill the little room, pressing Jackie back.
Years ago in college, Jackie’s best friend Katrin had been murdered on spring break. Some piece of shit had sawed her neck almost through, after raping her. It had shaken Jackie to the core, and she had vowed that it was never going to happen to her.
Hence the pistol, the training, endless hours at the gun range.
In that dining room, standing next to Randall Jones, it was all feeling very, very worth it.
She clutched her purse and steeled her spine. “Don’t call me kitten. My name is Jacquelyn Tracey. And don’t call me an Oriental.”
Jackie was half-Korean, and she’d gone through her life with a sneaking suspicion that every man she dated, every one she sucked off or jerked off, or took into her bed to fuck her, was secretly fetishizing her. She thought she could see it in their eyes as they stretched her pussy with their cocks - Yeah, that’s right, take it, you Asian slut, you slant-eyed whore, take this white dick.
She told herself that she hated it. She posted all over her social media about Stop Asian Hate, about the racism of fetishization, and she told herself that it was just coincidence that she kept dating white guys and cumming on white cocks.
“I checked out your LinkedIn.”
Jackie felt a tremor in her belly.
“Really more like an OnlyFans, though, isn’t it?”
Randall stepped closer to her. “All those pics of you in tight little dresses, slutting it up in pretty houses. How many times have you gotten fucked to sell a house?”
Her jaw dropped open.
“Sir, that is… This showing is over. I don’t have to...”
He leaned in and planted his left hand against the wall next to her head, and her heart jumped in her chest.
“Mr. Jones...”
“Stop pretending. I can smell you, dirty little bitch.”
Jackie reached for her purse. She scrabbled for the zipper, tugged it halfway open. She could see the handle of her gun, she was grabbing for it, she was going to…
She let out a little scream as Randall’s big right hand wrapped around her small one, squeezing, crushing, until she could feel her bones grinding against the hard grip of the pistol.
“Let go, kitten.”
Barely restrained tears sprang to her almond eyes. He was so big. He was right next to her, his chest almost touching her face, and she was shaking so hard that she could barely stand. Raw pain radiated from her hand.
“Please!” she squeaked.
He tore the gun from her nerveless hand, then raised it to his nose and sniffed the cartridge port, raising his eyebrows at the scent of burnt powder. “You actually use this thing, huh?”
Jackie just stared at him.
He had her gun, and in the blink of an eye her world had changed.
It had only taken seconds.
He had her gun. He had…
The room swam around her, and she thought she could hear the rush of blood through her veins.
“People know where I am.”
He shrugged. “Let’s take some of those slutty pictures you like.”
Jackie felt like she was going to be sick.
A tiny, distant part of her wanted to argue, to say they were just pictures of her, they weren’t slutty, but that part was overwhelmed by the pressure filling her head.
He was right there. He was so fucking big and she was so small, and he had taken her gun like she was a child, and she knew exactly what that smile on his face meant, she’d seen it too many times before, she…
He snapped his fingers and she jumped. “Now, you uppity chink cunt.”
She obeyed.
Her mind was racing, searching for a way out of this nightmare. Dive out the window? Run for the door? He had her gun, and he was a foot taller than her – she’d never outrun him.
“P-please don’t kill me.”
He’s going to kill me.
She could feel her blood pounding in her head as she shakily tried to contort herself into a sexy pose. It was so easy normally, it came so naturally to her to curve her body into alluring shapes, to draw the eye to her pretty, round bottom and her nice big tits.
He wants to fuck me. He probably jerked off to my pictures. Oh my God.
It was burning in her mind like the white-hot wire of an incandescent bulb.
He’s going to rape me.
Her heart was hammering as she bent over the table.
“Lift that skirt up.”
She slowly pulled the hem of her skirt up over her butt.
“Nice thong.”
She felt cold metal against her inner thighs, and it took her a while to realize it was her gun.
“Please,” she panted.
He ignored her and nudged the thin lace of her red panties to one side.
Jackie made a quiet choking sound as he slowly pushed the barrel of the gun into her pussy.
Distantly, she realized that she was wet, and she started to cry, her body shaking with sobs as he violated her with her own pistol. Then he was thrusting in and out, and the front sight was scraping her but it felt so good, and she was…
He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, and Jackie wailed in pain, fear, and unwelcome lust.
“Love the way your thighs shake, kitten,” he said, and she felt an emptiness, then heard the clatter as he set the pistol down on the table..
She felt like she was high. Terror and pleasure and shame had broken her mind free from its usual moorings.
She heard the sound of his zipper, then there was an insistent hot hardness pressing into her instead of the cold metal of the gun, and before she could prepare herself her cunt was being opened up by the biggest cock she had ever fucked.
Randall breathed out slowly as he pushed into her clasping tightness.
“I love fucking you skinny Asian bitches, you’re all so damn tight.”
Jackie couldn’t answer. Her hands were balled up into little fists, nails digging into her palms, as she tried to focus on anything other than the rape. But every powerful, insistent thrust battered its way into her consciousness, the fat cockhead sliding along her inner walls, every inch demanding her attention and sparking electricity in her nervous system.
By the time she realized she was about to cum, it was too late, and there was no resisting the climax. It took her in a rush like falling off a cliff, and she sobbed with shame as she rode the wave of ugly pleasure.
Each push into her was another burden on her overloaded nerves, and soon she simply submerged herself in the sensation. Her hands unclenched, relaxing to show the indents of her fingernails and one little streak of blood where she’d scratched through the skin of her palm. Her agonized expression relaxed, her red lips opening to pant for air, her eyes opening… to focus immediately on her gun.
The thought and action occurred simultaneously, and she grabbed the pistol between one thrust and the next.
Rage empowered her as she twisted, catlike, her face contorting immediately into a mask of hate and revenge. She swung the gun barrel towards the man raping her, this fucking white piece of shit, she was never going to fuck another white man again, she…
Randall grabbed her gun hand and pushed it back towards her. The gun clanked against the side of her head, her finger jerked, and the loudest thing Jackie had ever heard exploded in her ear, obliterating her eardrum from the sheer power of the sound.
She felt something like a hammer blow in the side of her skull. The gun lay on the table next to her, fallen from her open hand, and almost mindlessly she groped up towards her face, feeling the wet heat of blood covering her skin.
Randall watched as her fingers found the wound. The bullet had struck her above her right ear at an angle, tearing skin and blasting a chunk of her skull off her head. Jackie moaned with horror as she touched the wet, squishy surface of her own brain.
She was laying on the table, oddly twisted from the way she’d fallen, staring at the ceiling as she tried to process what had happened to her. Then Randall was looming over her, his cock smacking against her bloody cheek.
He took her by the hair and she whimpered, trying to push him away, but her feeble strength was nothing compared to his power. She hadn’t quite pieced together what was happening when his cockhead pushed against the gaping hole in her skull.
Before she could grasp what he was about to do to her, he had done it. Rutting forward with his hips, pulling her head towards him, he plunged his throbbing erection straight into her warm, welcoming grey matter.
Jackie’s mouth shot open, her tongue sticking out idiotically as her right eye twitched madly left and right. Her hands clenched, gripping the material of his pants as he savagely jerked her head back and forth.
Every motion drew a crazed sound from Jackie’s stupid mouth, every strange pressure inside her head making her body thrash on the table as Randall fucked her brain into mindless mush.
He growled as he raped her skull, his cock grinding into nothingness everything that had made up the sum of Jackie. There were memories in there, laughter and college and stress, work parties and a few half-forgotten drunken hookups. There were connections to connections, a web of intricately entwined thoughts. Somewhere deep inside was Katrin, the image of her vivacity and her spirit, the agony of losing her, the resentment at her unknown killer.
Wherever inside Jackie that memory was, Randall’s cock plunged deeper, and with one of his murderous thrusts his cockhead obliterated memory and sorrow and everything else.
Blood trickled from Jackie’s eye sockets as piece by piece she was skullfucked into a brainless meat sex toy. The insane spectrum of expressions crossing her face slowly faded into a slack-jawed idiot stare, eyes drooping as anything inside her ravaged head that might have been a person was raped into nonexistence.
As the last light died in Jackie’s pretty brown eyes, Randall grunted and blew out a breath, his balls tightening as he bathed the red and grey mess that used to be her quick, clever brain with his semen. He gave a last thrust, hard enough to make Jackie’s teeth clack together, then dropped her head to bounce off the table.
She landed with her vacant gaze looking straight at her useless gun, her wound dripping cum, blood, and pulverized brain matter.
Her killer stretched, joints cracking, and looked down at the bloody mess he’d made of his clothes. Shaking his head, he began to strip.
The real Randall Jones had received a phone call earlier that day apologetically rescheduling the house showing. He was going to have some explaining to do very soon, but he would probably have an alibi. Not that the killer was particularly concerned about that. He was thinking about Jackie, and how good murdering her with his cock in her brain had felt.
And he was thinking about a pretty secretary he bumped into at the office from time to time, about her long dyed-blonde hair and her soft Chinese eyes, and he was wondering what it would feel like to plunge his dick into one of those eyes and fill her stupid, useless head with his cum.
Pursing his lips, he began to plan as he cleaned.
Posted Oct 8, 2023, 3:21 PM UTC