Learning Curve
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
Learning Curve
By Mary Not Wollstonecraft
Description: An interracial story of Dominance and Submission. Learning Curve is a gut-wrenching tale of rape and abuse in the dark world of sexual slavery. When Poppy, a young runaway, decides to steal a radio, she does not know that it will lead her to unimaginable horror. Taken prisoner by an older black man, he perpetrates unspeakable cruelty on Poppy as he introduces her to the world of human trafficking. Along the way, she bonds with her captor, a complex figure who challenges her with pain and pleasure until the two extremes are inseparable. Learning Curve is a hard-hitting tale of a man turning a girl into a whore for hire.
Tags: Forced sex sexual rough, fucking rape humiliation, torture erotica whips, chains BDSM blowjob ass, fucking throat gouge, spanking beating crops, Stockholm syndrome cock, worship interracial whore, old man young prostitute
Published: 2023-01-08
Size: ≈ 3,579 Words
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Learning Curve
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
© Copyright 2023 by Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Learning Curve
1985 Big City, USA
For as fat and old as Dan was, he had surprising speed and agility. When he saw the little punker in his car boosting his radio, he made a plan. Standing behind the passenger door, between his vehicle and the next, Dan waited for her. With crossed arms resting on his blubbery belly, his legs spread wide, he observed her rattling around inside his old, unrestored Camaro SS.
The Camaro’s paint faded showed many chipped spots. It’s clear-coat on the hood peeled like dry skin. A thick layer of dust covered the hood. The rusted wheel wells and quarter panels gave the car a distressed appearance. Some holes, filled with Bondo, had layers of paint caked over them.
The car’s interior was a mess, smelling of hamburgers and old cigarettes. Littered with fast food bags, empty energy drink cans, crumbs and trash. The worn seats hand stuffing peeking out here or there, the interior of the doors covered scratches.
Why did a little whore want a 19-year-old, broken, push-button AM and eight-track monstrosity in an age of compact disk and FM stereo stations? The radio meant nothing; the car, on the other hand, did. He didn’t want more work than necessary on the restoration. Another thing that mattered to Dan was some white, fucking, punk bitch was stealing from him.
“Fucking cunt needs a lesson.” Dan would give her a brutal one.
Jerking out of the car, the girl stared at the man, dropping the radio. She spun around, running, only to smash into the open door and stagger backward. Grabbing her by the right red rooster-comb, he yanked her by her mohawk to the back of the car. With a hard blow, he introduced her face to the trunk lid.
The girl’s body went limp, sliding down the fender, landing on her knees, face pressed to the fender. The punk girl moaned and said one thing before slipping into unconsciousness.
“Fuck, that hurt.”
Picking the girl up, he tossed her across the console and passenger seat. A billfold, fastened via a chain attached to her belt, peeks from the right hip pocket of her ratty, torn jeans. Unsnapping the chain, he yanked the billfold and examined the contents.
“Learners permit, Poppy Murphy, born 1971. You’re a young one, just turned 15. Crackers like you aren’t only young. They’re dumb as a shit sandwich. What a beautiful flower you are, Poppy.”