Hate Fucking my School Crush at a Wedding

I'm at my neighbors wedding in a fancy hotel out in the countryside, fairy lights draped everywhere, drinks flowing, and the whole place buzzing with that forced cheer you only get at these things. The seating plan's brutal, all the singles herded onto one table at the back like unwanted, unloved leftovers. I'm in my suit, already on my second whiskey, making polite noise with the others at the table, when I look up and there she is, pulling out a chair and sitting directly across from me. Aoife. Fucking Aoife. The girl who lived rent-free in my head through all of secondary school, the queen bitch of the school who could make you feel two inches tall with one sideways glance. I hated how badly I wanted her, spent nights imagining pinning her down, making her pay for every time she walked past without a second look. Invisible. Always fucking invisible. I hated how much I wanted her, It turned obsession into something darker. I grew resentful but still couldn't help but get hard just at the thought of her throughout my teenage years.

She's changed in this last decade. Hips softer, curves more generous under that navy dress that hugs her like it was sewn on, black hair up with strands already escaping like she's been tugging at them. Not the perfect, untouchable queen bitch anymore, aged beyond her prime. That typical peaked too young and chasing those glory days with fillers and Botox, but still fuckable, extremely fuckable!

Our eyes catch over the bread basket. She squints, then her mouth curves into slow recognition. "You," she says, pointing lazily with her knife. "Weren't you in my maths class?"

I snort softly. "Yeah, long time no see."

The meal goes on and we exchange a few conversations between the rest of the table, playing the typical games around the table to keep the craic flowing, after dinner most of the others disappear to join other tables and mix and mingle and I find myself alone with Aoife.

She leans forward on her elbows, cleavage pressing against the edge of the table, and starts talking. Really talking. About the two ex-boyfriends who were both pricks in different ways, the soul-crushing estate agent job, how every wedding reminds her she's still single. I nod, sip, let her ramble, she's tipsy now and so am I.

Then she shifts gears, asking about me, why I never talked to her at school, how come I never went to parties and stuff. The rage began to build inside me but I couldn't just blurt out that she was a total bitch at school and half the place was terrified of her, teachers included. I just brush it of as being shy, not the fact that I was a loner with no friends, and didn't want to get bullied by more people than I already was.

the night goes on and the band start up, the usual, first dance, father daughter dance and so on. Before the rest of the crowd join in, I make my way to the bar and watch as the social butterflies dance the night away. But I can't help but watch as Aoife moves around the dance floor, her ass shaking to the beat has me in a trance. She notices me staring on more than one occasion and I panic and look away, cursing myself for not having the courage to join her on the dance floor. Throwing back an other whiskey to try ease my anxiety, a slippery slope to be going down. Disappearing for some fresh air to calm myself.

When I return, Aoife is calling me over to the bar. A tray of shots in hand and a group of people from school gathered around, most of who bullied me for years. I down my shot and make awkward small talk with them, hoping that the ground would swallow me up. But it wasn't that bad and they disappeared soon after. Leaving me alone with Aoife again who seemed to be at that stage of drunkenness that she need to vent and ramble.

I listen again as she moaned about her life, I could see the bitterness in her eyes as she looked at all our old classmates with their partners. The same guys who lusted after her, now didn't give her more than a slight glance. As the night went on her drunk bitterness turned to drunken sadness, I tried to avoid any conversations that would set her off but my limited social skills were of no use.

Eventually she convinced me out to the dance floor, but after a song or two I slide away and took a breather outside. When I got back in she was dancing with some other guy and I left her to it. I sat back down and watched again, the crowd was more rowdy and Aoife was starting to annoy people on the dance floor with her drunken moves, eventually she was asked nicely to sit down by one of the guys she was dancing with as his wife looked angerly on.

I was once again her shoulder to cry on, we were at the angry drunk stage now.

"All those guys used to be fighting over me!" She moaned, throwing back another drink.

Before I can think better of it, I mutter, "Yeah, well… I had the biggest fucking crush on you too. Massive. And you never even noticed me once."

Silence for half a second. Then her eyes widen, wicked grin spreads across her face. She leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper that cuts through the music in my ear.

"Did you now?" she asked, biting the corner of her lip. "All those years secretly lusting after me… that's actually really cute." Her foot bare now, heel kicked off, slides under the table and brushes my calf. "Tell me more. Did you stare at me in class?"

My cock twitches hard. I keep my face neutral, but my voice comes out rougher. "Every damn day. Couldn't help it. You strutted around like you owned the place. Made me hate you and want you at the same time."

She shivers visibly, thighs pressing together under the table. "God, that's filthy. Keep going." Her hand finds my knee, fingers tracing slow circles. "What did you imagine doing to me?"

I lean in too, elbows on the table, voice low. "Bending you over a desk after everyone left. Making you apologise for ignoring me. Fucking that smug little smirk right off your face."

Her breath hitches. She laughs softly, but it's breathy, turned-on. "Jesus. I would've let you, you know. If I'd known." A teasing smile on her lips. Her fingers slide higher, nails grazing my inner thigh through the suit trousers. "Poor thing. All that pent-up frustration."

From there the flirting doesn't let up. The band finished up and the DJ starts. We keep the conversation going. She asks questions, teases answers out of me. Did I ever steal glances at her tits in PE? (Yes.) Did I hate her friends as much as I hated her? (More.) Every confession makes her bolder. Her foot hooks around my ankle, her hand stays high on my thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to my bulge. I retaliate, tell her how I used to imagine her begging, how I'd make her say my name while I ruined her. She squirms in her seat, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy from wine and want.

She leans right across, lips brushing my ear. "Come upstairs with me. I want to hear every dirty detail while I make up for all those years."

I don't answer with words. Just stand, take her hand, lead her out of the ballroom. Straight to my room, door shuts with a bang and she's on me instantly, kissing sloppy and desperate, hands yanking my tie loose while I shove her back against the wall.

She drops to her knees on the carpet, fumbling my belt, giggling breathlessly. "Tell me more about that crush. Right now. While I suck you. It turns me on so fucking much, knowing you were obsessed with me."

My cock springs free, thick and aching. Her eyes go wide.

"Jaysus Christ," she whispers, staring. "That's massive."

I grip the base. She leans in, licking tentative, then takes me shallow. Sloppy, enthusiastic, but amateur, no real skill. Gagging quick when she tries deeper. Slightly disappointing after all those years fantasing about this very moment, the rumours of her head game from half the football team. The queen bee was all talk.

But she's looking up, popping off to gasp, "Tell me… what did you fantasize about? Every detail. Tell me how bad you wanted me."

I play along, voice rough. "Every fucking night. Imagined dragging you into an empty classroom, ripping your skirt up, fucking you raw while you begged. I hated how you ignored me, wanted to make you scream my name."

She moans around my cock, sucking harder, eyes fluttering. "Mmm, fuck yes… tell me how you'd punish me for being such a bitch."

I growl, "make you choke on this while I told you how pathetic you made me feel. Then bend you over and take what I wanted."

She hums approval, dirty talk muffled between slurps. "God, that's hot… knowing I had you that wound up. Keep going, tell me how you'd hate-fuck me."

I grip her hair tighter, push deeper, she gags, pulls back giggling. "Slow down."

Anger flares. I yank her up. "Bed. Now!."

She grins filthy. "Yes! show me what that crush really wanted."

I shove her onto the bed, hike the dress, rip knickers aside, she's drenched. She begs, looking back playful still. "Fuck your old crush senseless."

I slam in balls-deep. She screams, nails in the sheets. Hard, furious pounding, years of invisibility in every thrust.

"You never fucking saw me," I snarl, yanking hair. "Nothing."

She moans louder. "Harder, like you've dreamed of for years."

I continued to pound into her hard, watching as her ass jiggled with every thrust. Her back arched perfectly as she moans into the bedsheets.

When I'm nearing climax I quickly pull out, force her to knees. "Open."

She does, eager. "Cum for me!."

I stroke fast, ropes across her face, painting cheeks, nose, lips, forehead, chin. Draining every drop.

I stand there, breathing hard, staring. Aoife on her knees, dress ruined, face glazed in cum, dripping, mixing with mascara and lipstick. Wrecked. Perfect.

The hate ebbs into warm triumph, deep satisfaction.

"Fuck… that was incredible," she pants, scooping cum, sucking it off her finger with a moan. "So rough, so hot. Knowing you wanted me that much… made it perfect. I haven't been fucked like that ever." She licks more, hand between her legs.