Explicit Content: Red Hot Stories of Hardcore Erotica

by Reggie Chesterfield

  “Just why was he trying to teabag himself?”

  Scrounger: A Love Story

  “I thought your ass wouldn’t ever get home,” Terrell said angrily as he looked up from the TV.

  “I’m so sorry, Terrell. The students kept asking questions after the lecture. I just couldn’t leave them.”

  Terrell snorted and crumpled a beer can up and threw it in the floor. As he lit a cigarette, he truculently took in Esme’s large, heavy breasts that were fighting to escape her top. She wasn’t good for much, he thought, but she sure did have some nice tits.

  “Pick that up!” he yelled and pointed to the can on the floor with his cigarette. “It seems that if these people are smart enough to be in college they wouldn’t have to ask so many damn questions,” he said with a smirk. Terrell was a man who prided himself on his lack of education.

  “I said I’m sorry.” Esme said before dutifully going over to pick up the can. She was feeling extraordinarily horny so she made sure that Terrell got a good look at her tight ass. Her nipples were already hard through her thin peasant blouse and she was sure that he could see them. He had insisted that she stop wearing a bra after they had started dating and she hadn’t worn one since. She had protested at first because of her very full bosom, but after she began seeing the effect it had on people, most notably Terrell, she had willingly burned her bras, figuratively speaking. Before this, she had thought that when women displayed their bodies like that, it only objectified them. It was only after she realized how horny it made her to think that she was now the source of many men’s big boob fantasies that she had changed her opinion. She began to realize that sometimes it felt pretty good to be looked at as a sexual object.

  “Well, that don’t help the fact that I’m hungry!” he hollered.

  “I’m said I was sorry. I left you some food in the fridge in case class ran late.” Yes, she was really beginning to heat up now. She didn’t tell Terrell the actual reason she had been stopped by the students to answer so many questions. The fact of the matter was that she had been so distracted during her lecture that she hadn’t been able to concentrate or make any coherent points. She had left the people in her class so confused that they had had no choice but to ask for clarification.

  And the reason for her distraction? She had been reliving last night’s sex session over and over in her mind. Terrell had done her doggie-style over his tool box while calibrating his torque wrench. It made her so wet to think about how she had been bent over and surrounded by his tools. She knew that her face was flushed from the memory of him using his tool on her. He had given it to her hard and she had come several times The memory of the smell of 3-In-One oil and WD-40 only served to make her want to fuck again. It was a real life bodice...or rather tube-top ripper. It was hard to teach a class with stuff like that going through her head.

  Terrell snorted again. “Now what good does that do me?” He paused. “What do you expect me to do? Starve? Now, fix me a plate!”

  Esme dropped her briefcase and hurried into the kitchen. She bit her lip as she couldn’t help but notice how sexy Terrell was looking today with his white tank-top. The outline of his semi-hard, supersize cock was easily visible through his tight, dirty jeans. She couldn’t wait to get them off him and get that thick dick in her mouth. He was just so primitive, so brutal with her. He just brought out the primal side of her sexually and sometimes she couldn’t believe she had gotten such a sexy man. He had that white trash body that most women dream about. Darkly tanned, lean and all cock. He could smoke and drink beer all day and eat whatever he wanted and not gain a pound. He just always looked good, she thought. He never worried about anything and had no hesitation about telling the world to fuck off.

  She once again started thinking about how he had worn her out the night before and she had no choice but to lean up against the kitchen counter and grind against the Formica. She was really wanting it now and could feel the juices beginning to flow. Her pussy was wet and she fought the urge to pull up her skirt and openly masturbate. However, her man was hungry and she didn’t want to do anything to delay the preparation of his plate of cold fried chicken and potato salad. She stopped grinding as she bit her lip and continued the task.

  “Now, don’t fix me no French fries. You know I don’t eat French fries,” Terrell yelled from the living room. She could tell that he was smiling, but was well aware of the implied threat that he would raise hell if she forgot.

  “I remember,” Esme said hurrying along, her mind focused on the fucking she hoped to get later on. The last time she had given him French fries, he had thrown them in the floor the same way he had the beer can a few minutes earlier. She didn’t know what he would do if she forgot again. Her pussy was now so engorged that she could barely form a thought. He was really pressing her buttons, she realized. She was so horny she wasn’t going to be able to stand it. She pushed thoughts of fucking out of her head and kept at her chore.

  After a few minutes she finally brought the food into the living room. A look of anger passed over Terrell’s face as he looked at it. What have I done wrong, now? Esme thought to herself. She was so turned on that it was very possible that she had messed something up. Maybe she had forgotten his favorite fork? Maybe she hadn’t mixed up the potato salad properly? There was so much that could go wrong. Terrell was a man who liked to have everything just so and when it wasn’t just so, there was hell to pay. However, after a second, his scowl changed to a smile. “I was just fucking with you. It looks good. Now get me a beer while you’re up.”

  Elated, Esme smiled and got him a fresh one as he hungrily lit another cigarette and dug into the food.

  After she brought it, he looked up and smiled. “I might just fuck you tonight.” He took a swig of beer. “If you’re lucky,” he added. “I’m feeling pretty horny.”

  Esme beamed and got a glazed look in her eyes. She had made her man happy! She knew that he would most likely give her a world-class fucking tonight. Trailer-park style. She felt herself getting even wetter. The thought of getting fucked like this by Terrell was enough to make her mouth start watering. She fought the urge to go over and start sucking his dick right then and there because he absolutely hated to be interrupted when he was eating. No, she would have to wait until he was ready. This was okay, because by then she would be more than ready.

  She sighed happily. He wasn’t like any of the other men she had been with. They had all been mama’s boys and limp-wristed academics who were too concerned about her feelings to just give her what she needed. And what she needed was mind-blowing sex. Terrell, on the other hand, just fucked the hell out of her and didn’t care if she enjoyed it or not. This made her enjoy it even more. He just used her as a way to get off and after the first time, she realized that she loved being used as a sexual object. And moreover, she had loved the feeling of approval that it gave her when he came.

  To an outside observer, it would have seemed like a strange pairing, the two of them. In fact, the fact that they even spoke to each other, much less cohabitated was even more remarkable, especially for someone like her. She was a college professor and he was...well, she wasn’t really sure what he was because he didn’t have a job. Regardless, it was a very real relationship and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  She looked at her watch. Her fucking would have to wait. She didn’t have time to waste, she had to be prepare a lecture for her seven-thirty, Women’s Studies and the History of Post-Pre-Feminism class. She chuckled a little bit when she thought about the absurdity of this. About the last thing that any of her idealistic students could picture was her doing was waiting hand and foot on a man, much less supporting one. And the fact that she was doing it simply because the sex was so fantastic was even more unbelievable. In fact, she wouldn’t have believed it herself if someone had told her that she would be doing this a few weeks ago.

  If it hadn’t been for that protest she had gone to, none of this would have happened.

 
* * * * *

  About two months prior, Esme had been pumped up with the righteous fury of one who knows that she is backing the correct cause as she left the protest. The protest was a rather large one and had started out on the East Coast and had spread like wildfire across the country. No one knew exactly what it was for, but it had really caught on. Maybe that was why it had become so successful. It was so non-specific everybody who had any sort of gripe to air was able to take part. The great thing about it also was that even people who were against the protest and whatever it stood for were equally as vocal in their support of whatever it was that they were supporting—they weren’t sure either—as they were in their opposition of whatever it was that the protest was supporting—whatever that was. People just knew that they were for it or against it and that was about it. In fact, it was one of the rare occasions that people were able to go out and protest, either for or against, and go home content and utterly confused as to what they were for or against. They were able to get whatever anger was dwelling in them about whatever it was that frustrating them out and in a public way. In an age of uncertainty, an uncertain protest was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Esme was a professor at the local college and considered herself quite progressive in her politics and her thinking. She had long railed at the establishment for disenfranchising her as a woman and trivializing her role in the world. There was certainly more to her than her cleaning ability and her vagina, that was for sure. This protest was a good opportunity for her to make the man hear about it too.

  But she was not a dumb woman. Even though she felt totally marginalized by society for being a woman, she knew that she wasn’t exactly in the same boat as those from lower socio-economic backgrounds. She knew that she had grown up in a privileged Eastern family that had supported her academic endeavors and had given her the freedom to pursue her dreams. Because of this self-awareness, she also knew that, due to her social class and education, she would not serve her fellow man well by being a shrinking violet. Her status and knowledge gave her power to open doors for those less fortunate and she was going to use it. And that’s what she had done at the protest. She had yelled at bankers and screamed at stockbrokers and cops. She hadn’t seen any immediate results from her efforts but knew that they would be probably be soon forthcoming.

  After the protest was over, she had made her way back to her house which was located in one of the oldest residential areas of the city. She had to go there to change clothes so she could go back to the college. At the time, she was teaching a class titled, Bella Abzug versus Wonder Woman: Post-Realistic Post-Pre Pop Subculture Portrayals of Feminist Ideals in the Twentieth Century as Represented by the Media as if Interpreted by Susan Sontag and was really keen on sharing her experiences at the protest in the classroom. She also knew that the students would be especially interested in how it related to the class.

  After she arrived home and parked her electric car in the garage, she noticed that the door to the shed in her backyard was open and her ladder was standing propped up against her over a hundred-year old house. After plugging in her car, she took a closer look and what she saw next was utterly shocking. A skinny man was standing on it and quickly removing her guttering! Her decorative guttering! From her Edwardian home! It was a historic, architectural detail and he was stealing it for scrap!

  She was flabbergasted.

  At first she thought that he might have been a person sent out by the neighborhood association to repair it, but when she saw one section of it drop to the ground, she knew that this was no common workman. There had been reports of this kind of activity in her neighborhood for the past few weeks, but she had dismissed them as a thinly veiled attempt by the association to find an excuse to profile and keep the poor people out of the historic district. Little had she known then that she would soon fall victim to this crime.

  “Hey, there! Stop!” she said, for lack of knowing what else to do.

  Her voice startled the man so much that he almost fell off the ladder. He quickly scampered down and was about to bolt for the street when she caught up to him. In the seconds that had passed, she had had a chance to gather her wits and understood what she needed to do. Still pumped up from the protest, a feeling of benevolence was sweeping over her. She knew exactly what was going on here. Now, she was finally going to be able to put her ideals into practice.

  “No, wait. I’m not going to call the police. It’s not your fault that you’re doing this.”

  At this, the man stopped. Then he turned and looked at her. As he took in her frizzy hair, quasi-hippie-like peasant dress and dangling earrings, he suddenly smiled. What she didn’t realize then that the sun was behind her and revealing her tight yoga toned body through her clothing. He liked what he saw and was willing to talk to the woman just to get a longer look.

  She smiled too. She had made a connection with him. They were the same, the two of them. She had made him understand. Two people who were being disenfranchised by society. Even if it was for different reasons.

  She introduced herself to him and told him that it was not his fault that he was doing this, having to resort to theft to support himself. It was society’s or the system’s. He was merely a victim. Sure, he was stealing from her but it wasn’t his fault. Who else could the poor steal from? Certainly not other poor people. They wouldn’t have anything worth stealing. Given the opportunity afforded to those in the higher social classes, he could have been much more than he was. He could have been a doctor or a lawyer instead of what he was now: A scrounger.

  “Ain’t you got nothin’ to eat?” he said slyly after finally understanding what she was getting at and at the fact that she wasn’t going to call the cops. He couldn’t keep from grinning at his good fortune. He didn’t hesitate to take advantage. His woods animal-like cunning told him that he had found a real sucker.

  “I’ll take you somewhere. To a restaurant,” she said excitedly, fully prepared to do whatever it took to right the wrongs that had been inflicted on this poor man because of his poverty stricken background.

  “You mean you ain’t got something you can fix me?” he asked again, this time more boldly. He was suddenly getting agitated. He really wanted something to eat.

  “No, I haven’t had time to do the shopping,” she said. “Besides, I usually eat out or order in.”

  “Too lazy to cook,” he snorted. “That’s just what I figured.” This notion had run through his head earlier when he had contemplated breaking into her house to make a sandwich. He was glad that he hadn’t made the effort. Rich people never had any food worth eating anyway. At least nothing he cared for. It was all healthy crap and he sure as hell wasn’t going to eat a salad.

  “Listen, I said I would buy you something. It’s the least I can do.”

  She motioned for him to follow her to her garage, but then she remembered. She couldn’t take him to a restaurant, let alone anywhere. Her car was still charging. It wouldn’t be ready for another twelve hours!

  “I’m so sorry. My car isn’t ready yet,” she said. But then something occurred to her. “Wait, I have an idea. I’ll order in.”

  “No, you got me all hyped up about eating out at a fancy restaurant so you’re gonna take me,” he said hotly.

  “But I’m sorry...”

  “If you’re paying, I’ll drive.”

  “You mean...that you actually own...?” she asked, amazed that he had the funds to purchase a vehicle.

  “Well, I sure as hell didn’t ride a bicycle here,” he said.

  He pointed towards a beat up older model Dodge pickup parked across the street.

  “It’s an SS/T. Ain’t everybody got one of them,” he said proudly.

  “Well, if you say so,” she said. She later found out that he was lying. His friend, Lebron, told her that he had been misleading her as to the exact nature of the vehicle.

  “Hell, it’s just a regular 1500 with a stripe on it!” he had told her one time when Terrell had gotten up
to run the squirrels off it. Terrell hated squirrels.

  She didn’t really know what Lebron had meant by this because she didn’t know anything about cars. Afterwards, however, it had dawned on her that Terrell had been trying to impress her. She was flattered.

  They walked over to the truck and before entering it, she hesitated. “I don’t even know your name.”

  Terrell glared at her. “Git in the damn truck!” he hollered by way of a response.

  Esme was taken aback. How dare this man talk to her like this? Yet, there was something about the situation that began to arouse her. There was just...something so primal about this man that she hadn’t seen in any of the men she had dated before. Most of them were in academia or were from tweedy stuffy backgrounds and were practically female in their sensibilities. However, Terrell was more animal. More dangerous. More trashy. Feeling her breathing speed up, she got in the truck. She wanted to see where exactly this was going.

  As they drove, she took in the contents of the truck. It was littered with empty cigarette packs, beer cans and fast food bags. She also noticed that the whole interior seemed like it was covered with dust. This was probably from the truck’s overflowing ashtray. After a bit of small talk, she was finally able to get it out of him that his name was Terrell. He told her that if she called the cops on him, he would tell them that she had carjacked him.

  They went down the street and turned onto another street. When they stopped at a red light, she took a look at the tattoo on his arm. It read, “Michell.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing your tattoo. Is Mitchell a friend of yours?” she asked innocently.

  Terrell glared at her and almost spat. “It don’t say no Mitchell. It says Michelle!”