the doctor & the nurse.

Casey won't fuck them, Vale knows, and self-satisfaction swells in her guts at the knowledge. No, Casey is a proud wife nowadays, a proud mother too, the kind of woman old school mothers are proud to call their daughter. Casey is a model of conservative femininity – the slick blond hair, the family, she even retired so early from racing that she's been cosplaying a housewife for over ten years.

She's men's wet dream, really, which is probably why Valentina had loved to fuck her so much. There was also the racing, the overtakes, the bitchy way Casey sometimes used to speak about her to journalists, which made Vale want to hold her over her knee and spank. Yet, truly, even without it all, Vale would still have fucked her.

Because fucking Casey meant one thing only – Casey, darling dutiful wife Casey, could get fucked better by Vale than by her husband. She hated it, fuck, Vale remembers how mad and tense Casey was on the rare occasions when she reached out first and knocked on Vale's motorhome. Red cheeks, back straight as if she expected to walk into the decisive fight of a war, Casey had looked so mad at herself for wanting it that it made Vale want her even more.

Casey barely moaned during sex, she said maybe three words through the entire thing, her pointy teeth digging into her lips, forbidding herself from being loud and honest about her pleasure. That had never bothered Vale, honestly. Casey's body was red and trembling from the moment Vale's fingers traced her skin, her nipples hard and her cunt drenched, her legs jerky while Vale fingered her, her eyes glossy when Vale took those same slick covered fingers and pushed them past her lips.

She's terrible at oral, Casey. She chokes too easily, and always forgets to put her lips over her teeth. Valentina hadn't minded – feeding Casey her strap and watching her choke on just a few inches of it, spit drooling over her chin and falling in between her perky tits was just as arousing as watching anyone else take her to the root.

In front of her, Casey rests a hand over her hip, saying something with a sharp grin that makes everyone around her burst into laughter. Casey's smirk only widens, self-satisfied, pleased with her court. She had had the same expression in 2013, when she had come to the paddock in Phillip Island, the people's lost princess back to wave and smile.

They had crossed paths after the podium, and Casey had congratulated Vale on her third place. At least, that's the words she had said – Congrats on the third place. Tight battle. Her smile had been mean, her smirk wide, and Vale had known what Casey actually meant immediately. You got lucky. Should have been fifth place, Vale.

Valentina had smiled and had asked Casey if she wanted a drink. Casey had paused, but she had eventually agreed. An hour and a half later, Vale was forcing Casey's third orgasm out of her, licking her cum as it spilled out of her cunt and then kissing her, making Casey taste her own want and pleasure on Vale's tongue. It had been a nice weekend.

Casey passes a hand over her hair while Bez asks her something, pulling her ponytail tighter. She keeps her hair shorter, nowadays, barely past her shoulders. After giving birth to two kids, Valentina guesses she doesn't need to prove her womanhood anymore. No fear of being called a dyke for riding bikes, no fear of being cast out by mommy if she finds out that Casey kneels when a woman orders her to, pants and whines when her face is straddled by a pussy.

Vale passes a hand over her buzzcut, her tits pressed tight inside her leathers. She never bothered with bras, her A cups not worth the discomfort. Casey's leathers are halfway undone, pooling at her hips. Through the thin black fabric of her neoprene underlayer, Vale can guess the shape of her sports bra. The bra roundens Casey's tits, ruining them. 

Casey tits are not round, they're pointy, pear shaped, sitting low over her chest, the areola of her nipples almost looking too big over them. Vale licks her lips, remembering her taste, the sensitivity that afflicted Casey like a curse, that meant she could come from just having her tits played with.

Valentina regrets to never have fucked Casey when she was pregnant. In 2012, Vale wanted to break her neck, and in 2017 she simply had not reached out. Vale's always wondered how big Casey's tits got while she was pregnant. She wondered if her tits would have leaked milk if Vale had played with her nipples well enough, if she could have made her run dry, or if Casey would have refused her touch, too sensitive.

Vale won't ever know, she guesses. Casey's performance of femininity is simply that – a performance. Pushing two kids out of the same cunt she let women fuck.

The academy girls leave Casey alone, going back to their gear, getting ready to go out on track again. Casey starts to do her leathers up again, throwing a glance towards Vale, her blue eyes vibrant in the afternoon light. Valentina wonders what she sees, when she looks at her.

Her, Valentina, the dyke who fucked grid girls, and riders, the woman who has an academy of proteges but no child of her own, the woman who cuts her hair with rusty scissors or clippers, the woman with no tits, no hips, no curves. It might be disdain, it might be indifference, but most probably it's a spark of aching jealousy.

Valentina knows it, and she believes that Casey does too. Everyone plays their assigned parts on the public stage, and the two of them have long since mastered their roles, learned their lines and learned not to change them.

Vale can like wearing lace panties, she can enjoy the way the fabric feels over her hips, over her bush – she still won't wear anything but men's boxers. Casey can like to fuck women, can love the weight of their bodies pressed to hers – she still smiles at her husband and wears his wedding ring.

Casey pulls up the zipper of her leathers, then tilts her head towards the track, her eyes locked into Vale's.

"You're coming?" She asks. Vale has missed her stupid accent.

"In a minute," she replies, and Casey nods, then turns and leaves.