Learning Curve

Learning Curve

Mary the Wollstonecraft Woman

© 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

1989 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 them 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.

"Poppy Murphy, born 1971. You're a young one, not quite 19. Crackers like you aren't only young. They're dumb as a shit sandwich. What a beautiful flower you are, Poppy."

The parking lot lights flickered on, catching Dan's attention. A group of people came out of the mall, punk kids like her, roving the parking lot, trying to find an open car to loot. Well, let them. He'd deal with those fuckers later. For now, Dan would teach this bitch, with her tie-dyed hair and half-a-foot-high rooster comb, the lesson of her life.

Opening the glove box, he pulled handcuffs out, fastened her wrist behind her back, and arranged her in the passenger seat. Strapping her in tight. Ogling her tight body, he lifted the torn, sleeveless, black t-shirt and groped her medium-sized tits. This would be fun. At least for Dan, for the cunt's pleasure depended on her own peculiar makeup. But her enjoyment had nothing to do with what he had planned for her.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, bitch. What you stole from me won't buy you much, but it will get you some time. Time here, in my basement. You've only taken a radio. I'm keeping everything else."

Turning the key in the ignition, Dan pulled out of the parking space. He had a place in mind to take the punk girl. The basement in his house had conveniences any girl like this would enjoy. Keeping her chained wouldn't be much of a problem, with her hands cuffed behind her back.

"That's right, you slut. You're going to be in my basement for a long time. Lesson one: you need to learn respect. You will treat me with respect, and I'll let you live a little."

Pulling into his driveway, Dan cut the engine and carried his prize to the basement. The white bitch's weight didn't faze him. The little whore couldn't weigh a hundred pounds. Un-cuffing her, Dan stripped the unconscious thief. Putting on the transport restraints, handcuffs connected to leg iron with a 32-inch chain. Carrying her to a hitching post, he stood her up, holding her position while he attached a chain around her waist.

When Dan released her, she slumped forward, but didn't fall.

Pulling his stained, navy, aloha-style shirt from the belt loops of his camo cargo pants, he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to his ankles. Dan's body was heavy, his belly strained against the front of the sailor's shirt. His bulging, hairless, black belly sagged, his shirt bulged, stretched. Dan wore nothing but a large hard on underneath his pants. He reached down, clutched her pussy, sticking a thick finger into her hole. A small sliver of skin resisted his probe. A smile spread over his face.

"Mmm, nice, a cherry. Tight, a moist, and un-fucked. Bonus."

He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the short, white, curly hairs on the heaving, sweating belly. His breathing became rapid and deep. His bearded face loomed in front of her face. Snapping his fingers a few times, he waited.

The girl slowly roused, staring into his hateful scowl.

"You're awake, whore."

The girl tried to look around, only to realize he'd strapped to a bench. She tried to turn and faced the floor. With her hands cuffed behind her, the other end of the handcuffs locked on the bench. She strained her legs, pulling against the restraints on her feet as the shackles bolted to the floor prevented her movements.

"What the hell? Who are you? Let me go!"

"Lesson one, whitey cunt. You're going to learn to respect me. For now, however, you will not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand?"

"I said, what the fuck?"

She was a tough one alright, or thought she was. He'd break her, though, and make her a willing cunt.

"Listen to me, you punk rock piece of shit, shut your fucking mouth."

The girl turned back to his hate filled gaze. The man was at least 60. His belly glistened in the light as illumination bounced off a fine mist of sweat. The black man smacked her with the back of his hand so hard, her head snapped to the side, and she spat blood.

"Sorry," she said.

The second blow was with the palm of his hand and sent her head spinning in the other direction.

"Keep your cracker mouth shut, bitch."

"Ow, please let me go," the girl pleaded. The man wasn't playing around and she knew it.

"I told you to shut your pie hole." Once again, he smacked her face hard.

"I'm going to get something to eat and drink, and then I'll give you a lesson. I'll be back in a few minutes and I'll fuck you. You're going to beg for my black cock."

Reaching over to her small breast, the man pawed at her apple sized tits with rough and cruel squeezes.

"I'll be back, whitey. Don't go anywhere."

Dan stepped over the girl, grabbing his pants and pulling them up. He adjusted his massive cock inside the pants and pulled his belt tight. As he walked away, he giggled as he talked.

"By the way, Cracker bitch, I know you're a virgin."

There was something in the way he said it, which frightened her.

"What?"

He laughed, "Your cherry is still in your pussy."

Turning, he paused at the doorway. Looking back, he saw her eyes gazing at him in search of something. The terror built and bubbled over as she bawled, and a stream of incoherent pleading escaped into the air. Her tears drop like rain showering the floor. Each tear leaving a trickle of mascara down her face, some missing her lips, some flooding over them leaking into her mouth.

"Yeah, punk bitch, I'm going to tear the hymen right out of your pussy."

Dan closed the door, making sure the chain was fastened.

"I'll be back shortly," he said. To taunt her, he added, "Do what you want. Put your clothes back on and take a walk, masturbate, check out my toys, maybe? OH, you can't can you?"

The girl's only response was a long, drawn-out moan as another wave of pain washed over her.

"Please, God, help me."

"God, help, you? Not fucking likely," he said, exiting the room.

The girl backed up to the wall, sliding down to her knees. She continued to bawl. She lost track of time. The creak of the door jarred her back to the here and now. Gazing toward the sound, she saw him.

The man stood in the doorway, naked, his cock erect. He'd been eating food and drinking. His member, black as midnight, long and thick, with a bulbous head, which glared red and angry at her, scared the shit out of her. Grabbing his balls, lifting them up and putting his hand around his fat cock as well, he shook it at her.

"Good, already on your knees, open wide, Cracker. I got some protein for you."

The man's cock was his weapon, made to penetrate, to hurt, and destroy. Waddling to her, he forced her head back, smacked the pecker on her mouth until she opened up, and then attacked her throat. Jabbing deep in her mouth, further, deeper, pushing further down into her throat.

"From now on, Cracker, you pray to me. I'm your god, you're my cunt."

As he fucked her face, violating in the most brutal way, all she could think of was how hot this was. She wondered what the fuck was wrong with her? Why was she turned on by this out of shape bear of a man? The stench of body odor and moldy house was overpowering.

And yet, she felt the stench somehow enhanced her humiliation.

As he fucked her throat, the girl's muffled cries, stifled by the massive cock stretch her lips, made him more powerful. He loved the noise carrying through the room, sloshing, gagging, and moans and groans mixed in with her pained prostrations. words muttered in hushed, reverential murmuring like monks chanting.

A sour, bitter taste clung inside her mouth, like licking pennies licked by dirty cum, filed mouths of a million whores.

The man pulled his cock from her mouth with a plop. His fat black cock dripped with her saliva, her trail of spit like a rudder on a ship, stretched and stretched to the point of breaking. Her gagging, muttering pleas only inspired him to fuck her face harder. The man's massive cock made slurping sloshes as he fucked her face. In and out, deep down her throat, out, and in and out.

The girl craved to taste his salty cum.

The room reeked of sweat, sex, stale alcohol, and Posey's lingering fear. She gazed at him in wonder. A musty smell hung in the room. A reek of damp, of a nasty flooded basement.

Her captor unlocked the cuffs, returned to standing in front of her, his cock threating her, seemed bigger than before. The man grabbed her hair; he gripped her shoulders, her ass, her tits. He owned her.

The man's cock was hot and burning, searing as he shoved into her mouth. Its passionate fire burns her lips, her nose, and throat. Pulling his cock free, he dangles his balls at her mouth. His balls are loose and baggy, hanging, low, and swinging. They fill her mouth with hot flesh, the size of a small melon, smooth, soft like a peeled grapefruit.

Stepping away from her, he points at his cock. Like a trained dog, on her hands and knees, she moves to him. With quick obedience, her hands and mouth went to his cock, trembling she massaged the thing. Feeling its power, hard and thick, like a stone pillar.

She saw a long, thick gush of white cum launch out of his cock, arching across her face and landing somewhere in her hair. The next shot hit her in the mouth, the salty taste of his semen coating the back of her tongue.

Her eyes closed, her mouth open, a jet of cum landed on her nose and upper lip, coating her with a thin sheet of a man's seed. It smelled like the sea, like a thousand fish spawning in a tiny puddle. The warm smell of sperm fighting to survive, but with no egg to seek, they'd die on her face, in her mouth.

Some of his chum hit her lips, and she opened her mouth. A flavorful salty and warmth flooded her mouth, like the ocean and sweat mixed with the slightest hint of bile. She felt the warm slime coat the top of her lips and nose. The cum oozed over her lips.

"That's the most awesome thing ever," she said. Her words rushed from her lips as told him how wonderful and powerful he was. "I'm Poppy, Poppy Murphy, sir."

Yeah, he owned her sorry white ass.

"They key is on the floor behind you. Unlock your ankle restraints, take your ass upstairs. The bathroom is at the back. Take a bath, then go to the bedroom next to, there are sheets on the foot of the bed. So, change the sheets on the bed, and wait for me."

"You're going to take my virginity, aren't you?"

"Yeah. If you beg me to, I'll fuck your cherry out of existence. If you don't," he balled up his fist, "I'll fist you."

"Please make love to me."

He laughed so hard, his enormous belly shook.

"You and I don't make love. Be on your knees when I enter that room."

Thirty minutes later, Poppy waited for the man. On her knees, her hands folded at her chest, naked, exposed for him, she waited to pray to him. The door opened, the light from the hall fell across her body. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, praying to him.

"Please, my Lord and Master, come and fuck me, your faithful follower."

The girl pouted as she heard him turn away. She wanted so much for him to ravish her, to tear her and fuck her.

But Poppy knew her body would be his, her virginity destroyed for his pleasure. She wanted to take him inside her, to feel his cock, the cock of a black man, to devour and swallow. She wanted to be his, to be taken by him, to be ravaged by him.

Poppy watched him leave. She saw him enter the bathroom, heard the water, heard him pissing. Her pussy moistened when she sniffed his odor. She craved him to fuck her, to fuck her ass, to cum in her mouth, to eat his cum, to lick his ass and balls, to feel his cum in her hair.

A man or a teen her age had never fucked Poppy. She'd never even touched a man's cock, though she had sucked weak white 19-year-old white boys' dicks. She hated those awful white boys.

She longed to be this black man's woman.

She stayed in her position, praying for his return, praying for him to tell her she belonged to him. She didn't pray to God, she prayed to this black god who owed her.

Posey kneeled in the bedroom, on her knees, naked, her hands folded over her breasts, her back erect and straight. The man strode back into the room. His cock swelled and sticking out straight from his groin, livid and ruddy flesh. His swarthy cock was a dull, blackish-red, like dying embers in the grate.

"How long you were waiting on your knees, bitch?"

"A long time."

She looked at his cock.

She admired.

"You've got my cock so hard," he said. "Now, cunt, beg me."

"I need to get on my knees and suck your cock, to worship it. Please grant this unworthy servant this request. For I need you to fuck my face, my mouth, my throat. Please, favor me. Please buttfuck me, make me eat your ass, make me worship your ass. You own me, my Lord and Master."

"What about that cherry?"

"Destroy it any way which pleases you, my Lord and Master."

He moved to her, grabbed her shoulders, snatched her from the floor, and tossed on the bed. Clambering on the bed, positioning her on her side. Lifting her leg, placed his cock at her pussy, and drove into her three inches of hard cock.

Her hymen broke, a sharp screech escaped her lips. A thin line of blood dribbled down her leg. Her eyes glazed and dilated, her hands grasped his neck. He fucked her, ignoring her pain, screams, or perhaps being driven by them to fuck her harder. He needed to fuck the whiteness out of her soul.

She wanted to hold him in a tender embrace. But she understood her Master would have none of that twaddle.

The black man pounded into her, bashing her shaved cunt like an axman attacks a tree trunk. Every blow into her cunt destroyed more of her entitled, foul Caucasian arrogance. Each thrust, a black victory over white oppression.

The black man's face was a jumble of pain, pleasure, and lust. His eyes closed and his mouth opened in a wide, silent scream of victory. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as if trying to hold back a howl that could shatter windows.

She hurt, but enjoyed the pain.

Her Master was sex incarnate, a vision of dark flesh and virility. The black man's hard cock enters her, again and again. His blood smeared shaft drove in deeper with each thrust. Deeper and deeper, stretching her length and width. Opening her pussy like a gutted fish, pounding her weak white flesh to his property.

Her inner walls sheathing his cock with a tight, velvety glove of flesh. Screams and moans of pleasure mingle as she climaxes.

The Master's cock enters her again, burning her muscles as it stretches through her tight hole. His big hand grabs her ass, gripping and squeezing, bruising her ass cheeks. He pounded her through one orgasm after another.

Her body shook and trembled under his power.

With no warning, he pulled out, climbed on her chest, his weight crushing down on her, and dove his bloody cock into her mouth. The Master's cock was a club of hard, thick, veined muscle. His manhood was a jet-black battering ram, a sword of living flesh, a savage penis, a blood drenched hammer. The sheer mass of which she strains her throat to swallow.

His cock fills her throat like a volcano erupting, a fire hose blasting water onto the flames. Thick blast of cum filled her throat, her mouth leaking around his cock, over her lips, and down her chin. The flavor of his cum is sweet to her.

Crawling off her, he moved to the closet and tossed out some jeans and a t-shirt. And finally, a pair of deck shoes. The jeans worn and weathered, with streaks of grime, and holes and rips in the knees. The frayed edges tattered and worn. The crotch stained a dark, probably stained with his cum leaked from another woman's pussy.

The t-shirt is a nondescript, faded blue. The shirt shows its own brand of cum stains from the Master's prior uses.

"Get dressed," he barked.

"Why?"

With the same speed he used to capture her, he pounced on her, slapping face harder than before.

"You're going to haul your sorry white ass up and down the zone till you make two hundred bucks, bitch."

For a moment Poppy lay on the bed, gazing at her beloved Master. His words took a moment to sink into her sex scorched brain.

"Don't you want to make me money?"

"Yes, Master," she said, excited about the possibilities. Jumping to feet, she headed for the shower.

"Hey, what do think you're doing?"

"I was going to clean up," Poppy said.

"Don't waste time, get your ass to walking."

"Yes, Master."

She spent her life in pursuit of money for her god. sucking tiny white cocks, big black ones, take it in the ass, whatever they wanted as long as they paid. She had to please her god.