Fine Line Ch. 01

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Sex with someone you hate is supposed to be a bad thing.
2.3k words
4.6
46.4k
17

Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 10/27/2004
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Eve:

I met Michael in elementary. My parents moved me into the school district, and I had no friends and a serious attitude. He tried to play me for a fool in various unimaginative ways, but I was almost always able to avoid the fallout. He only got in trouble about half the time, but he still blamed me. As we grew up, our emerging personalities clashed and the small crimes compounded, until now, at the age of eighteen, we either snarled at the sight of each other or avoided each other entirely.

Until the night I went to a dance at another high school, at the beginning of my last semester of high school. I was having a moderate amount of fun, but the guy I went with expected something he just didn't inspire in me. In short, he didn't turn me on, and that's apparently the only criteria I have for fucking a guy.

I was trying to squeeze out of the "privacy nook" my date had maneuvered me into, my date having stormed out ahead of me when I told him I wasn't giving it up. Michael decided it would be amusing to block my exit from the narrow walkway under the bleachers.

"Well, well," he said with a smarmy grin. "That couldn't have much fun for either of you: you two only went in there a minute ago."

"Fuck you, Mike," I said pointedly and moved to go past him.

"That's Michael," he corrected, peeved. The nickname was the one thing that never failed to irritate him, so, of course I used it whenever we were forced to interact. "And tsk, tsk, Eve. I would've thought you'd had enough of that for one night." I'd almost managed to slither past him when his arm shot out in front of me.

"For your information," I said, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me pissed off, "the phrase 'fuck you' is indicative of 'fuck yourself.' As you are giving someone an order, there is an implied 'you' at the beginning of the sentence. But for the feeble-minded, I'll restate this more clearly: Go fuck—" I was startled when his face abruptly descended towards mine.

He paused with his lips centimeters away. "Yourself," I finished breathlessly. Being this close to him made my heart pound, my breath catch in my throat. But not, I was horrified to realize, just because I hated him: it was because I wanted him.

"I think not," he murmured, so infuriatingly calm that despite my desire, I wanted to slug him.

"Truer words were never spoken," I hissed, some of my breath returning with the ease of the exchange.

He leaned forward until he was speaking with his lips against mine. "Now, now. Keep that up and we'll never get this over with."

"What?" I asked, distracted by my treacherous body. Our lips had barely brushed and my nipples were hard and my breath was coming faster. The friction from my dress rubbing against my nipples skittered along my nerve endings, shivering along my skin.

"This," he explained, and kissed me. Finally.

The point was driven home then that hormones are a powerful force, and not to be underestimated. My own were suddenly clamoring, ignoring the fact that he was a conceited asshole. The only message I received was, "Sex. Now."

I didn't realize I was so far gone until I let out a whimper at the feel of his tongue caressing my lips. Suddenly they felt swollen, and far more sensitive than before. Then the kiss grew deep, his tongue mimicking sex inside my mouth. I began rocking my hips against him, feeling the growing length of him as he pressed me against the bleachers at my back.

I tore my mouth from his, leaving our bodies plastered together. I looked at his eyes, saw they were dilated a bit glassy, and I could feel the effect I was having on his body. Trying to get a little control over myself and the situation, I leaned forward and bit his jaw gently, then whispered, "Where can we go where we can have a little privacy?"

"My car," he said, his jaw as tight as his grip on my waist. I nodded, making it slow and casual. He pulled back from me, just until we were side-by-side. His arm stayed around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip as we walked quickly out to his car.


When we were out in the dark parking lot, his hand moved down my thigh and around to my butt.

"What are you wearing under that innocent-looking dress?" he whispered, rubbing his hand over my posterior.

"You'll find out soon enough," I told him honestly and moved my own hand to his shapely ass. He jumped slightly as I squeezed.

He pulled out a key chain with a remote and unlocked a nice, roomy SUV. I knew it was his parent's car, and he was driving it because he was hoping to score, but at the moment, I didn't care, as long as we could get somewhere private quickly. I climbed into the passenger side, watched him walk around to get in the driver's seat. I stared through the windshield, disbelieving that I was actually doing this: I was going to fuck one of the people I disliked most in the world. What was wrong with me?

Then he reached over from the driver's side and placed his hand on my upper thigh, so his fingers brushed my mound. Even through layers of fabric, the heat and electricity from his touch registered, and I bit my lip, my eyes fluttering slightly. "Keep your eyes on the road," I protested breathlessly. "I don't want to die with you."

"Not before I'm inside you, anyway," he muttered. I didn't reply, even when his fingers began to walk my long skirt upward. Before he could reach skin, we were at our destination: a parking lot in a secluded area, surrounded by trees, moonlight and night sky. Perfect. I had my seat belt unfastened and was climbing into the back seat before he had the engine killed.

I sprawled over the back seat, my heels planted on the seat, my knees up with my skirt still demurely in place. He followed suit, beginning to unbutton his shirt as he made his way over the console. His hands slowed, started to stumble when I began to slide my skirt up to my waist. The moonlight was pouring through the windows, bright even through the tint, and illuminated my pale skin as it was revealed inch by inch.

He moved until he was kneeling between my spread feet. His hands—wonderfully rough-skinned hands that made me shiver—slid up and down my calves for a bit, then slowly slid around my knees, pressing them apart. My skirt fell to my pelvis. What there was of my black thong stood out starkly against my whitewashed skin.

He murmured something before leaning over and kissing me again, but I didn't catch what it was. Nor did I care. I immediately arched against him as his tongue entered my mouth, stroking erotically against my tongue.

His hands moved to the front of the dress and tugged until the snaps came apart to my waist. This was the perfect tryst dress: loose enough to hide the most provocative lingerie I owned, with snaps for quick access. I lost my train of thought when his hand reached in and rubbed my nipple quickly through my bra. When my back arched, he sat up and slid the open bodice over my shoulders.

His palms simultaneously covered my ample—but not oversized—breasts. Then his fingers spread until he felt the front clasp on my bra. Thrilled at the discovery, he unhooked it and bent.

I'd been hearing about his oral prowess for about five years, but had always dismissed him as being too selfish to give pleasure that well. I found I was wrong when his mouth latch onto my nipple. Expecting him to either nibble or suck, I was surprised when he just lapped my nipple and areola several times, the friction rasping the pink flesh, sending delicious heat through me. Then he wrapped his tongue around the nipple and tugged.

I made a small whining noise in the back of my throat and arched into him, unprepared for the sensations. His hand went to my other breast, and began massaging rhythmically. The he removed his hand and moved both of them to my waist. His mouth detached from my nipple as he made some adjustments in both our positions. Before I could get my eyes open, I found myself lying on my back in the back seat of my enemy's car. For a moment, as I stared at his shadowed face, I wondered what I was doing and why.

Then his hands touched me again and I remembered.

"Lose the shirt, Michael," I commanded, and he dutifully removed the offending garment. I smiled. "Lose it all," I added. He stripped off his slacks, too. Then the underwear came off, and he was free.

He wasn't a stallion, but, clinically speaking, most "stallions" are too long for a human vagina anyway. But he did look damn good at that moment, and I licked my lips.

As my skirt was now around my waist and didn't hamper him in the slightest, he didn't mess with it as he reached towards me. His mouth trailed down my thigh from my knee, the tip of his tongue tracing the same path, back and forth a few times. Inches from ground zero he bit my skin. It made me arch up against him, and he wasted no time.

His hands moved under me, until he could prop me up. Next, he moved to my thong. I thought he would remove it. Instead, he began to lap at me through it. I was already wet, my juices beginning to seep through the material. I cried out, and after several torturous strokes, I reached down and clawed at his hair. I didn't know whether I wanted him to stop or continue.

"Ow, hey," he said against my lower lips. He stopped and studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowed. "Can't have you doing that," he murmured.

He reached over my head and before I could do anything, he had the seat belt wrapped around my wrists, holding my arms over my head.

"What?" I demanded, and jerked against it. I was thoroughly tangled in the single strip. "Let me go!" I commanded him. My heart was beating thick through my head, through my breasts, my pussy; I could feel the pulse everywhere.

"No," he said, though I barely heard him, and began working his way back down my body.

"Yes," I said, only it came out more of a moan as his hands resumed the thong torture. I arched into his touch despite myself, sensing the orgasm building.

Almost before I noticed, he'd pulled the thong off me and started to feast on me. All the while, I kept pulling, trying to wrench my hands free, and the blood pumped loudly through my body.

"Let," I panted, rolling and bucking over the seat, "me go…Michael!" I cried just as he slid his finger inside me. I could smell my juices and our combined sweat in the confines of the car, feel his panting breath against my core, and I could feel the seat belt digging slightly into my wrists.

I came hard, shouting nonsense.

Then I found him stretched out over me, most of his weight resting on bent elbows, his chest pressing against my breasts. His mouth found mine for a fierce kiss. He shifted his weight and moved one hand downward, until I felt the head of his cock nudging me. Then he was easing inside me, stretching me slightly, but otherwise a perfect fit.

We both groaned and he began to move, slow at first, and then speeding up until we crashed into each other on every down stroke. It was a raw fuck, no fluff, no romance. After a while, he stopped, in me to the hilt, his pelvis grinding against my clit. I was about to speak when he started rocking, and I cried out as waves of pleasure washed over me. Soon he was alternating deep strokes with the rocking, and I came again. I felt him coming, too, shooting deep inside me.

I think I fell asleep, because the next time I came to, my hands were numb. He was half lying on top of me, his breathing slow and even. I thought he was asleep. Then I caught the glow in his open eyes in the moonlight.

"Michael," I said, testing the waters. He sighed and, without my asking him to, levered himself up and freed my hands. I rubbed some feeling back into my wrists, then propped myself up against the door, studying him.

He got dressed, so I did, too, holding out my hand for my thong. He shrugged, indicating he didn't have it. I made a disgusted noise and re-fastened my bra, then began on the snaps of my dress.

Wordlessly, we both climbed back into the front seat. He opened the windows as we drove to help dispel the smell of sex. I pointed the way to my house, waiting for him to speak first, since this whole thing was really his doing. "So," he finally said, breaking the oppressive silence as he stopped in front of my house. "I'll see you at school?"

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" I demanded.

"Why would I?" he asked, sounding a bit defensive.

"I don't know," I grumbled, unbuckling my seat belt. "Locker room talk. Tallying up scores. How should I know what guys talk about?"

"Look, I've got just as much to lose as you if word got out that we had sex." I breathed a sigh of relief, because I knew it was true, that we would put this behind us.

"And this changes nothing between us?" I asked evenly, almost rhetorically. He snorted in response and we left it at that.

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5 Comments
duddle146duddle146over 17 years ago
Angry Coupling!

Two people always at odds with each other find they are attracted to each other. A very interesting read as the Writer does a clever balancing act between angry and lust.

Just@FanJust@Fanover 19 years ago
Interesting Beginings

I just finished reading your story and wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. I hope you continue writing in the same styles you have so far. If so, I will continue to be a reader for quite some time. I eagerly await your next installment of either series, until then I remain..

-Just @ Fan

AnonymousAnonymousover 19 years ago
nice start

hope to see more soon

AnonymousAnonymousover 19 years ago
hot

Great scenario. Can't wait to read more

AnonymousAnonymousover 19 years ago
nice ...

Nice build up. Enjoyed the climax.

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