**DISCLAIMER**
The following story is purely fictitious. *Don’t get it twisted.* None of this should be taken seriously. Feel free to downvote me into oblivion if you feel that’s your moral calling to do so; but, just know, I hold no ill-will toward anyone — including *you*. This story was simply intended as a potent distraction, in a time when escapism is sorely needed. *Stay safe.*
**SUMMARY**
This story meanders a great deal — *like all decent odysseys do, I suppose* — making a concise summary rather difficult to achieve; at least, without spoiling the way the narrative unfolds. If you’re looking for just the specific kinks involved, I’ve included a thorough list below. Considering a few of them could be upsetting to large portion of readers, I figured I’d do my due diligence and make them known. Even though, I’m pretty sure the title accomplishes the same thing.
Ultimately, here’s what you need to know: This story predominately concerns the racial stereotype of the Latina/Hispanic maid being exploited by a wealthy white man — except, with a few creative twists and turns, of course. If that seems intriguing to you, then there’s a pretty good chance the following story is suited to your tastes. You should anticipate a long story, with lots of surprising detours, and a conclusion that hopefully ties the tale together with a neater bow than you were expecting.
In future instalments, I’d like to expand this series and include other races/stereotypes. *(But, more on that in the ‘Afterword’.)* For now, I hope you enjoy…
# “A RACEPLAY ODYSSEY”
# PART ONE: “THE PROPHET OF PRIVILEGE”
**KINKS:**
>>!Anal…!< >!Coercion…!< >!Cum Play…!< Degradation/Humiliation… Double-Penetration… >!Exploitation… !<Extreme Raceplay… Fat Shaming… >!Gangbang… !<Latina/Hispanic… Maid Fantasy… >!Piss Play…!< >!Prostitution…!< >!Public…!< White M…
**CHAPTER ONE:** ***”THE REVELATION”***
I suppose a story of this nature requires at least a little background to be told properly. Not in order to preemptively justify my actions — *I have no intention of doing that* — but instead, merely to provide some clarity and context that might otherwise be missed.
You see, I come from an immensely privileged American family. If you watch the news, then no doubt, our surname has been spoken in your living-room, likely with a hushed tone of reverence, strictly reserved for the elite and unimaginably powerful.
We live in Trousdale. As I’m sure you can probably imagine, a 6,500~ square-foot property requires a small fleet of disposable Help to keep life running smoothly. So, suffice it to say, from a very young age, I’ve been accustomed to the sight of Hispanic / Latina women serving me, as if acting out the only instinct that God gave them.
The maids in particular would come-and-go with reliable regularity; which, in hindsight, leads me to wonder if my vindictive mother was punishing *them* for the transgression of being an empty vessel for my father’s cock. I think that is a pretty likely explanation for the constant turn-around, because shortly after *I* was caught in the garage, receiving a handjob from one of our maids — I don’t remember her name, I simply recall her in my memory as the *’The Fat One’* — I overheard my parents having a rather bizarre argument, while listening through their bedroom door. The tone in my mother’s voice when she said the phrase *”he’s just like you”* made me believe that I was being spoken of…
Given my father’s deep aversion to obesity, I assume *The Fat One* was hired by my mother as a clever deterrent of sorts. Which ultimately backfired on her in spectacular fashion, I‘d say; because at the age of nineteen, it was nearly impossible for me to ignore a brown, gelatinous ass like her’s. *The Fat One* may have successfully deterred my father’s advances, but she had been *my* gateway to realizing exactly how easy it was to abuse privilege. Like fruit growing from a tree, *it was there for the taking…*
I think I came to this understanding all at once, the moment I saw *The Fat One* licking up my spilt cum from the garage floor, without being instructed to. That’s when I knew: *I was going to spend the rest of my life using and abusing these inferior playthings — just like this…* It was an addiction that announced itself instantly. *And they would always let me,* I knew, *because deep down, they received as much — if not more — satisfaction from their submission than I did. After all, why else would this worthless cunt be licking up my cum right now, growing with her brown ass held in the air… —instead of, y’know, being home with her family.*
And, if I can be honest, I think I had a more profound revelation in that moment, regarding the natural hierarchy of life. The endless parade of brown women who came-and-went, they weren’t simply here for economic reasons, because of some unfair structuring of society, some cruel quirk of history. It was *bigger* than that; *it was something instinctual, maybe even primordial…* She was born to clean up my messes, even if she had to use her tongue to do it. And I was born to stand there, watching with mild interest, as her fat udders compressed against the cold concrete…
…But, I’ve already degreased. This story isn’t about *The Fat One*. I just needed you to understand the type of stock I come from; then, I suppose I got carried away reminiscing…
In fact, just so you know, this story isn’t really about *’The Spic Waitress’* from Denny’s, either. You’ll hear about her shortly. It’s not even about the night I fucked Becky McFarlane at my friend’s party, which I’ll have to touch on eventually. This story is about *’The Old Hag’*.
But, you’re not ready to know about *her* yet. First, there’s a bit more background I’ve still got to cover. So, I hope you’re enjoying the tale for the telling of it.
**CHAPTER TWO:** ***”THE PROPHET”***
The majority of my senior year was spent *”experimenting”* — mostly, I think I was trying to determine which color of fuck-hole I enjoyed exploiting the most. My sexual adolescence was like a racial buffet, from which I sampled liberally.
It all became second-nature to me. I began seeing opportunities where other, less enlightened men wouldn’t dare to tread. And, to my genuine surprise, I discovered the victims of my advances to be more than accepting of them. In fact, they seemed eager, on some sub-conscience level, to restore an old power structure, which still reverberated through their very being.
Particularly the older women; especially the ones who had not yet been adequately *’broken in’*. They appeared to adopt and internalize white dominance with ease, shrugging off an entire life spent toiling under the illusion of equality without even the slightest protest — *like a butterfly, living the confines of an ugly cocoon.*
One time, my drunk buddy Shaun and I paid this *Spic Waitress* at Denny’s to let us double-team her in the backseat of my car. She was a year older than both of us, making her twenty. Even though we suspected her of already being a slut, her holes still felt tight enough to enjoy stretching. I tested them quickly with my greasy fingers, before paying our bill. *No tip.* Then, my buddy and I took her out to the parking-lot and fucked her sluggishly, still drunk and full from pancakes.
It was Shaun’s first time fucking an inferior cunt. When she lifted the skirt of her coffee-stained uniform and presented her brown fuck holes to us, I could see that familiar revelation light up his eyes; the same revelation I’d had, once-upon-a-time; the same revelation *The Spic Waitress* had no doubt come to, probably earlier in life that even myself.
We took her home later that night, after her shift had ended. While killing time before then, it had amused me, thinking of *The Spic Waitress* serving bacon and eggs, while our cum dribbled out of her broken holes, soaking into her torn panties. I wondered if any of it managed to dribble down her legs, splashing onto that garish, lime-green carpet. *I hope so.*
By the time we’d picked her up and got her home, those torn panties had dried to her cunt, practically glued in place by our jizz. When I peeled them away, *The Spic Waitress* grimaced. That satisfied me more than I’d expected, like a clean cut through construction-paper. *Ah…*
The fabric felt rigid between my fingers. I told *The Spic Waitress* to open her mouth wide *— “wider, cunt!” —* before balling her torn panties inside my fist, letting the dislodged flakes of cum land on her tongue. I watched her collect them, rehydrating our dry jizz with her spit. *It was like watching snowflakes melt on an outstretched tongue*. I stuffed her torn panties inside *The Spic Waitress*’s mouth. Despite everything I’d done to her — *we’d done,* actually — I still saw a twinkle in the filthy spic’s eyes. *My cruelty was charity to her.*
Shaun and I fucked her again, of course. We swapped holes that time, though. Then, he started insisting upon inviting these two friends of our‘s over. I’d lost interest in *The Spic Waitress* by that point, but I still allowed the three of them to run a train on her in my spare bedroom. I sincerely doubt her holes ever felt tight again. But we tipped her well that time. Six crisp hundred dollar bills, rolled tight, like a ridiculously thick money-straw — *thick enough to snort a small ski-slope*. The plan was to insert into her ruined asshole. I’d paid, but I let Shaun do that part. *He’d earned it.*
I can still see the image clearly in my mind’s eye: *all those loads, dribbling out the end of the money-straw, landing between her swollen labia with a sticky splash…* It was powerful. We all stood there, silently marvelling at the unique sight. My mind began to wonder almost instantly *— as it so often does…*
I remember thinking to myself that *it’d be neat if we had another spic handy; then, I’d could make her drink their cum through that money-straw.* I remember wondering if she was on the pill, but decided that wasn’t worth dwelling on. It would be rather amusing though, I thought, if *despite the several used condoms piled on the bedsheets, she still wound-up getting impregnated by that unGodly cocktail of jizz splashing into her gaping cunt.* Then: *Is there a name for a baby born from an anal creampie?* Mostly, I remember wondering how one would go about cleaning semen from a hundred dollar bill. I realized in that moment how many times I’d given some inferior fuck toy money coated in jizz, without thinking about the ordeal it would be to spend it. It had been just *funny* to me, so I never really thought about it beyond that. *They must have figured out a method*, I thought, slightly bemused now, still watching the cum drip from the end of the money-straw. Her cunt had continued to collect the jizz, pooling it before it ran past her clit and into her pubic hair. *Do their mothers teach them how to do that? -How to clean cum from money a white man has given them? Useful skill, clearly. How many of these bitches go home broken, violated, with their pockets full of worthless green paper, turned into a sticky mush?* These were good questions.
*The Spic Waitress*’s asshole had finished draining, which abruptly returned me from my wandering train-of-thought. *It’s time to get rid of her*, I realized. The four of us took her to the shower. By that point, my previous musings had already resulted in a half-hearted erection. So, while she knelt in my shower, I pissed on her — *her face, her tits; letting it run down her body* — before jacking off into her hair and turning on the water.
Her friend picked her up and brought a change of clothes. Her torn Denny’s uniform wouldn’t be salvageable, not with any amount of cleaning detergent, so my buddy kept it, as a souvenir or sorts. It was his first time abusing *his* privilege, of course; *courtesy of your’s truly.* I guess, I’m like a prophet, of sorts *— sharing the revelation.*
# TO BE CONTINUED…
**AFTERWARD**
I have a pretty clear idea of where this tale is going to go in the second — *and final* — instalment of this story-arch. Provided there’s even a meagre amount of anticipation, I think I can write it within forty-eight hours. *I don’t have much else to be doing right now, frankly.*
The series, however, can continue beyond this story-arch. If you’re interested in pitching me a fantasy, a scenario, a dynamic, a stereotype, *anything*, feel free to hit up my inbox *(DM preferred)*. I’m really curious what filthy fantasies some of you might be harbouring… If it’s an idea that I think I can work with, I’ll turn it into a future instalment of *”A Raceplay Odyssey”*. I’m also really curious if you can envision your fantasy featuring the main character already established, or if you see a different sort of person in your imagination *(the series could accommodate either, or both)*.
Any and all feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please, do not hold back with your criticisms, especially if they might benefit *Part Two*. I’ll be making edits and corrections to this story when needed. And if there was any particular kink featured in the story above that you would like to see more of in *Part Two*, please say so in the comments. A good portion of the motivation behind serializing this story was to be able to adapt on-the-fly to the things that you, the reader, react to the most. *Part Two* will add a great deal of kinks not featured in *Part One* — including *one particular kink*, which will increase the taboo factor ever-so-slightly.
Thank you for taking the time to read my depraved story. I hope it managed to distract you for a little while.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fmwi4p/erotica_a_raceplay_odyssey_part_one_the_prophet