Sara Kay

It should have been a one-off. A mistake you both shoved into the dark corners of memory and never spoke of again. That’s what you told yourself when you walked back into the sim room that night, cheeks flushed, hair hastily smoothed. Lando hadn’t even looked up from the car, headset still on, deep in laps. Nobody knew. Nobody saw. Except Oscar. And Oscar didn’t stop.

It carried on small, a hand on your lower back when no one else could see, the brush of his fingers against yours when you passed him a water bottle. Little things, tiny cracks no one else noticed. But you felt them. Every single one.

The first time he slipped his hand onto your thigh under the debrief table, you nearly choked on your coffee. Lando was next to you, gesturing at tyre graphs, his free hand absently squeezing your knee the way he always did. Oscar’s touch burned inches higher. His voice was calm as he asked about stint lengths, but his thumb traced lazy circles on your skin like he owned you.

You’d gone red, your leg trembling under the table. When you finally risked a glance at him, he was already watching, eyes glittering with smug control.

Later, when you pulled your phone out, there it was: a message. You looked so sweet trying to hide it. Next time wear a skirt.

You swallowed hard, shoved the phone back down, but your pulse wouldn’t settle. He escalated fast after that.

In hospitality, he’d slide into the seat opposite you and Lando, phone in hand, looking utterly uninterested. But then your own phone would buzz.

If you touched yourself under the table, would he notice?

You’d snap your gaze up, but Oscar would only shrug, sipping his drink, his face unreadable while Lando rambled about practice runs.

It got worse on race weekends. He’d brush past you in crowded corridors, his hand bold on your ass for a heartbeat too long. In media pens, his gaze would drag to your lips mid-interview, subtle but deliberate enough to make you stammer. At team dinners, he’d drop a hand to your thigh beneath the linen tablecloth, and you’d freeze while Lando told a story, oblivious. But he wasn’t completely oblivious.

One night, after dinner, Lando pulled you aside. His brow was furrowed, his usual golden-retriever smile dimmed. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Your stomach flipped. “Weird?”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting awkwardly. “With me. With… everything. Did I do something?”

You opened your mouth, but Oscar walked past then. His shoulder brushed yours just slightly, his eyes flicking down at you before he disappeared into the hotel hallway.

Lando didn’t miss it. His frown deepened. “What’s going on between you two?”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “Nothing,” you lied, too fast.

Lando stared at you, suspicious but uncertain, before finally muttering, “I don’t like it.”

The thing about Lando was that people underestimated him. He played the clown, the joker, the golden retriever who couldn’t sit still. But he wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t blind. You learned that the hard way.

It happened first at a sponsor dinner. Long tables, crystal glasses, endless chatter. You sat between them; Lando on your right, Oscar on your left. Lando kept leaning close, whispering snarky comments about the speeches, his hand resting casually on your knee. Familiar, warm. And then Oscar’s hand slid onto your thigh too. You froze, fork clattering against your plate. He didn’t look at you, didn’t break stride in conversation with the man across from him. His fingers just squeezed, slow, deliberate, higher than Lando’s ever dared to in public.

Your breath hitched. Lando’s head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you managed, voice too thin.

But Lando wasn’t convinced. His gaze flicked down. And for a split second, you saw the exact moment he noticed. Both hands. Both of them on you. His jaw clenched, shoulders going tight. He leaned back in his chair, his hand slipping from your knee. Not because he was letting you go. Because he was clocking the game.

The rest of the night, his eyes cut sideways every time Oscar shifted, sharp and suspicious. You thought maybe it would stop there. Maybe Oscar would sense the heat and back down. He didn’t.

Two days later, in the garage before FP1, Oscar walked past you as you leaned against the wall with Lando. His hand brushed your ass in full view, quick but obvious. You flinched. Lando saw. You knew he did, because his entire body went rigid. “What the fuck was that?” he muttered the second Oscar disappeared inside the motorhome.

“Nothing,” you said too fast, heart hammering.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was low, edged with something you’d never heard from him before. “I’ve seen it. The looks. The messages you try to hide. And now=” He gestured sharply toward the door. “Now that.”

You opened your mouth, but no excuse came. And then Oscar reappeared. Calm as ever, water bottle in hand, gaze flicking between you and Lando like he already knew what was happening.

Lando turned on him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. “Taking what should be mine.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Engineers a few feet away pretended not to hear, but the tension was suffocating. Lando froze. Then he stepped forward so fast the stool you’d been perched on clattered to the ground. “The fuck did you just say?”

Oscar didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stood there, water bottle dangling casually from his hand, his expression maddeningly calm. “You heard me.”

The words cracked through the air like a whip.

Your chest constricted, panic clawing up your throat. “Lando-”

But he wasn’t hesring you. He was already shoving Oscar back, palms hard against his chest. “You think you can touch her? You think you can look at her? You’re a fucking prick, mate. You don’t take shit from me.”

Oscar’s back hit the edge of a workbench, tools rattling. But his smirk stayed. “Already did.”

The red mist descended over Lando’s eyes. His fist curled, his shoulders snapping forward. He was going to swing. You knew it.

“Lando!” Andrea’s voice boomed like thunder, cutting through the chaos. He moved fast, one arm around Lando’s chest before the punch could land, pulling him back a step. “Enough.”

But Oscar wasn’t done. He shoved off the bench, straightening his suit collar with infuriating calm. “What, can’t handle the truth? You’ve never deserved her. Everyone knows it.”

Lando lunged again, Andrea straining to hold him. “Say that again, Osc, I fucking dare you.”

“Boys.” Zak’s voice cut sharper than steel. He’d appeared from the opposite side of the garage, arms folded, expression darker than you’d ever seen. His presence snapped the engineers into even stiffer silence, heads ducking but ears straining.

Andrea wrestled Lando another step back, his Italian accent thick with strain. “Stop, Lando. Now.”

But Lando was shaking with fury, eyes burning holes into Oscar. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine. You don’t get to talk about her.”

Oscar tipped his head, maddeningly unfazed. “She didn’t seem to mind.”

The words landed like a grenade. Lando went feral, surging forward with a roar, Andrea’s arms barely keeping him off. You leapt up, grabbing at Lando’s sleeve, voice breaking. “Stop! Please!”

Zak’s voice cracked like a whip. “Enough! Both of you.” He stepped between them, eyes blazing. “You want to throw your careers away? You want to turn this garage into a circus? Because that’s where this is heading.”

Silence fell. Lando was panting, chest heaving under Andrea’s grip, sweat sticking curls to his forehead. Oscar stood tall, jaw set, his calm more terrifying than the fight itself. Andrea’s grip eased only slightly, his dark eyes flicking between both drivers like a disappointed father. “This ends here. Do you understand me?”

Lando didn’t answer. Neither did Oscar. You stood frozen, your heart pounding in your ears, as Zak’s gaze slid to yo; sharp, knowing, protective.

The garage didn’t breathe until Zak barked, “Office. Now.” No room for argument, no space for escape. He jerked his head toward the corridor, his expression thunderous. Andrea’s grip stayed iron-tight on Lando’s arm, steering him like an angry storm toward the motorhome. Oscar followed behind with infuriating calm, like he hadn’t just detonated a grenade in front of the team.

The door slammed shut behind the five of you, the air suddenly thick and claustrophobic. Zak went straight to the desk, bracing his hands on the edge, his voice cold enough to freeze blood. “What the fuck was that?”

Neither driver answered. Andrea shoved Lando into a chair, standing behind him with a hand pressed to his shoulder like he was anchoring him to the earth. “You want to explain why I had to stop you from throwing punches in front of half the garage?”

Lando’s jaw worked, tight and furious, his curls damp with sweat. “Because he-” He snapped a glare at Oscar. “Because he doesn’t know when to keep his hands to himself.”

Oscar didn’t flinch. He just sank into the opposite chair, eyes cutting toward you for a fraction too long before flicking back. “She didn’t say no.”

The words landed like a hammer blow. Zak’s hand slammed down on the desk, the sound sharp. “Jesus Christ. This is not high school. This is Formula fucking One. Do you realise the shitstorm you’re both causing?”

Andrea’s eyes softened on you, but his voice was firm. “Tell us the truth. Now. Before this explodes beyond this room.”

Every muscle in your body locked. The walls closed in, four pairs of eyes burning into you, the air laced with silence thick enough to choke. You wanted to disappear. Instead, you forced air into your lungs and whispered, “It… happened.”

Lando’s head snapped toward you, his expression breaking in real time. “What?” His voice was thin, broken.

You couldn’t look at him. “It wasn’t supposed to. It just-” Your throat closed. “It just did.”

The room fractured.

Lando stood up from the chair, but Andrea shoved him back down with effort. His face was red, broken open, eyes bright with betrayal. “With him? Of all people? My fucking teammate?”

Oscar didn’t move, didn’t blink, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward like he’d already won.

Zak pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath before snapping upright again. “This ends. Now. I don’t care what the fuck is going on behind locked doors, it does not bleed into my garage. Do you hear me? I will not have McLaren become a tabloid sideshow.”

Andrea’s tone cut quieter, steadier. “You need to make a choice. Today. Because this-” his hand gestured between the three of you, sharp and final “-this cannot continue.”

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Lando’s chest heaved, fury radiating off him. Oscar sat unbothered, his eyes locked on you like you already belonged to him. And you, caught in the middle, felt the whole world tilt on its axis.

Zak’s voice dropped like a gavel. “Sort yourselves out. Because if you don’t, I will.”

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Now, his fingers toyed lazily with the hem of your dress, brushing over your skin as if nothing at all was amiss. “You’re doing so good,” he murmured into your ear, his voice a low, teasing drawl meant for your ears alone. “Sitting all pretty with my cock inside you, like the dirty girl you are.”

Your nails dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white, as you tried to stay still. Every subtle shift of your hips sent sparks shooting through your body, and Daniel wasn’t making it any easier. His hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers trailing higher until he found where you were stretched tight around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re so wet. You’re dripping for me, sweetheart.”

The wet sounds were audible now, slick and obscene beneath the table, and your cheeks burned with humiliation. You bit down hard on your lip to keep quiet, but Daniel wasn’t about to let you off that easy.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Grind on me,” he instructed, his tone calm and commanding. “Slow, like you’re just getting comfortable.”

Your breath hitched, your thighs trembling as you obeyed, shifting your weight ever so slightly. The movement dragged his cock against that perfect spot inside you, and you had to choke back a whimper.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice dark and silky. “Don’t stop now. Make yourself feel good.”

Your hips rolled in tiny circles, each movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible—almost. The wet slide of your arousal made it harder to disguise, and you swore the hum of conversation around the table faltered for a moment.

Daniel’s lips brushed your temple, a mockery of tenderness. “You’re so close to getting caught,” he murmured. “One wrong move and they’ll all see you like this—spread open on my cock, making a fucking mess of yourself.”

Your head turned sharply, panic flashing in your eyes, but Daniel only smirked. His hand moved lower, his fingers finding your clit and pinching it lightly. The sensation was too much, too sharp, and a strangled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Conversation at the table came to a halt, heads turning in your direction.

“You okay?” one of his friends asked, brows furrowing in concern.

“She’s fine,” Daniel said smoothly, his hand never leaving you. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning, but you couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Especially not with Daniel’s fingers still rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

He leaned in again, his voice a low growl. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you? Right here, in front of all my friends.”

You shook your head desperately, but your body betrayed you, hips jerking against his hand as your orgasm barreled toward you.

“That’s okay,” he whispered, his tone dripping with mockery. “I don’t mind if they see. Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

The pressure inside you snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you with a force that stole your breath. A loud, uncontrollable moan tore from your throat, and this time, there was no hiding it.

“Daniel,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a confession.

The table fell silent. Every pair of eyes was on you now, their expressions shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

Daniel’s grin was smug as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand smoothing over your back. “Good girl,” he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.

You buried your face in his shoulder, humiliation burning hot in your chest as the aftershocks of your release left you trembling. But Daniel wasn’t done.

He shifted slightly, his cock still hard inside you, and whispered, “Time to get up now, sweetheart.”

Your head shot up, eyes wide with panic. “I can’t—”

“Oh, you can,” he interrupted, his grin widening. “I want them to see the mess you’ve made. Feel it drip down your thighs when you stand up, let them hear it.”

Your heart pounded as he shifted his chair back slightly, his hands guiding you to your feet. And as you moved, the unmistakable wet sound of your release sliding down your thighs filled the silent room.

You were staring at his hands... and he'd definitely noticed.

Decorating gingerbread houses seemed like a fun activity. But it turned out to be torture.

It was late at night, your parents (who were visiting over christmas) were sleeping in the guest room upstairs, and you and Oscar couldn't have sex while they were here.

So here you were, trying to distract yourselves by doing arts and fucking crafts with food.

Except you'd spent the past 10 minutes eyeing Oscar's fingers, which were getting regularly covered in frosting, then licked and sucked clean by the fucking tease, while he stared into your eyes.

"You're staring at my fingers like a woman starved. Come over here and have a taste"

That's how you ended up on his lap, his fingers pressing on your tongue while you slid over his thick thigh.

"Dirty girl, getting off on my thigh while your parents are asleep upstairs"

You whined and rolled your hips harder and faster, until you were a trembling, drooling mess on Oscar's lap.

"My whore"

You made a mess, his thigh now covered in your slick as you shook through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Fucking filthy..." his eyes were dark, and you could tell he was about to take you to bed, and make your parents regret accepting your offer to stay over for Christmas.

Y/n's dates with Oscar and Lando were fitting to them. Oscar actually set up a picnic at the beach to watch the sunset and they just talked, or y/n talked and Oscar listened. Lando on the other hand, he took her karting on one of her karts. Something that Max and Oscar both wanted to supervise but since it was his date they agreed for Lando to take her without him.

However they both required evidence of her being ok during and after the karting experience.

Now she's attending another race weekend with them and they're figuring how to divide up her time evenly.

Y/n still hasn't been able to access social media but the three drivers are aware that her appearances with all three of them is beginning to pick up traction.

Lando has disabled her social medias and with her family thinking she was just going off grid initially, they didn't actually report her as a missing person officially. So no one has been able to identify her yet.

"Y/n..." Lando whispers twirling a strand of her hair around his finger as they sit on the jet together. Oscar and Max asleep with Oscar's head actually in y/n's lap as she plays with his hair absently and Max is across from them having actually having fallen asleep with y/n lying on top of him before she decided she wasn't tired and moved to the McLaren drivers.

"Yes?" Y/n smiles pulling her gaze away from the screen.

"Are you happy?"

There's a beat and for that second he feels his chest ache, a wave of rejection hitting him like an arrow to the heart when she hasn't even said anything.

"I really thought my life was over...and somehow the three of you made it...a million times better than I ever could've wished." Y/n states reaching her hand to link with his own and squeezing it. "Even if you are a little rough with me sometimes, I don't think I could ever go back to someone being so gentle."

And the momentary irrational rejection is washed away with an overwhelming sense of joy.

"We love you, sometimes we just forget our own strength."

"Don't lie. Max does it on purpose and so do you." Y/n smiles with a smile lightly then letting her free hand return to Oscar's hair as he stirs then settling again almost as soon as she puts her hand back. "I really enjoy it anyway."

"How do you want to spend the weekend?" Lando asks giving her the opening to have some control, though she knows him giving an inch means to take no more than what he's offering. "Because we all want time with you."

"I was thinking...maybe Friday with you...Saturday with Max and then Sunday officially with Oscar but I'll be in the McLaren garage so I'll see you too a bit. Then next time I could be in the Red Bull garage and we can figure out how to switch it up so I'm with you guys different days each time?" Y/n explains showing that actually she'd been thinking about this too.

"That sounds like a very good plan." Lando smiles leaning over and kissing her softly.

-

There's something about three men ravishing her whenever they can that makes y/n realise she maybe has more going for her than she'd ever thought before.

So far the best feeling on this trip is these men men waking her up. Max's head between her legs, Lando's hands gripping her boobs, pinching and pulling at her nipples that sent her tailspinning into an orgasm that she had to be careful in not just crushing Max's head. All while Oscar watched.

She'd never enjoyed the thought of getting watched making her feel so breathless but even just the memory of how she started her day is making her chest tighten a little.

"Y/n?" Oscar smiles when he spots me in the McLaren unit just killing time while Lando is busy. "Hey, baby."

Oscar isn't usually one for affection but she's gotten pretty good at noticing when these boys are coming up to her needy and turned on. Oscar's eyes only have a sliver of his iris that she can see and to have pupils that blown out, I know my day dedicated to Lando is about to be interrupted and Oscar certainly won't care about Lando feeling his time has been intruded on.

The moment Oscar has pulled her into his driver room.

Whatever got Oscar turned on, he clearly doesn't have much time to take care of it because he bends her over and she only feels his fingers test that she's actually wetness enough to take him before he slides his dick into her.

Y/n puts her hand over her mouth keeping herself quite as she feels him fill her and start some pretty hard thrusts. He's chasing his own high and usually Oscar is very giving and the fact that he's being selfish this one time just lets her know how needy he is for release.

"Oscar." Y/n whines feeling him slam into her hand spill his cum into her pussy as she pulses around him. She didn't finish but feeling his orgasm is enough for her to feel satisfied for now.

Oscar stays inside her for only a few seconds before pulling out and sighing a little.

"I have to go, but leave that."

Y/n isn't the biggest fan of leaking but thankfully she's not had her underwear stolen today.

He doesn't leave without stealing a kiss and making a very quick job of cleaning her up and while he rushes out, she takes her time a little more.

"I'm going to steal you on Sunday." Lando comments spotting her walking out and she smiles innocently moving towards him and latching onto him in a hug. "You don't look very...finished."

All three men know when y/n's has had even just one orgasm, she has a glassy look in her eye and Lando can see that's not the case.

"It's ok, he needed it." Y/n dismisses earning a hum. "Do you not need to go?"

He does and they both know it but he definitely doesn't want to.

"I'll finish you when I get back. Do not go missing."

"Yes, sir." Y/n smiles then finding his hand around her throat as he pulls her forward into a kiss.

She's going to go stand in the garage anyway, but Lando takes off after kissing her and rushes to get to FP1.

When she arrives in the McLaren garage the camera men are focused on Lando but her presence does cause them to pan the camera up to her away from him. She doesn't get any on screen label because the graphics team have no information on her to really work with.

-

Lando actually couldn't live up to his promise directly after FP1 and FP2 didn't look great for the car. But it's when Oscar steps into the unit looking at her that Lando practically appears out of thin air, taking her wrist and pulling her away from the more public area.

"Lando." Y/n gasps when she trips trying to keep up with him.

They're both in his driver room and undressed within a minute before he pulls her into the shower, which is small just to fit him but somehow he gets them both int here and before she can utter a word, he's slid his fingers into her.

There's definitely not enough room for actual sex without just risking injury. But if there's one thing Lando is good with, it's his hands that are aided by the sheer size of them.

The feeling of his fingers thrusting in and out of her makes her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek to try and muffle the moans fighting to get out.

His thumb is on her clit applying such perfect pressure that she could feel dizzy and he's got his eyes locked on hers as she shifts her hips into his touch rocking to match his fingers movements before she finally drops her head back and his free hand comes up over her mouth as she finally loses the ability to stop her own moans.

Her tummy is twisting with pleasure as she feels the waves over her orgasm crash over her, her body tense as she manages to arch her back slightly, still somewhat aware of her surroundings.

"Fuck." Lando groans as she comes down from her high and when her hand goes to touch him he manages to quickly spin them around so he's against the wall and she's under the water. "No, I want your mouth baby. It'll have to wait."

He watches as y/n quickly cleans herself up before stepping out allowing him to properly clean up since he needs it more than she does with the saturated sweat from being in the car.

Y/n manages to dry off but ends up stealing some of Lando's spare clothes to wear since after she's given him head they will be going back to the hotel anyway.

When he steps out from the bathroom he's given himself a very quick dry off with a towel before she's down on her knees taking his still very hard length between her lips, guiding it down her tongue to the back of her throat while feeling his hand gather her damp hair only managing to towel dry it before Lando had appeared.

Much like Oscar earlier, he's acting on a more selfish goal but the sight of looking down at y/n is enough to really push him over the edge. That familiar salty taste hitting her tastebuds as she swallows it back around his length.

"Alright, we need to get going." Lando sighs helping y/n back up to her feet then sitting her down while he grabs some clothes. "You ate lunch didn't you?"

"Yeah, grabbed something while you were in the FP1 debrief." Y/n nods with a small smile.

Lando nods with a smile then pulls on his clothes and picks up their stuff, making sure he has one hand free as he links it with her own and they walk out of there.

Oscar must've already left but they do end up catching Max as they walk out of the paddock.

"You look like you've had a nice day." Max comments as they climb in the car.

"I've had a very good day." Y/n confirms squeezing Lando's hand then moving to kiss his cheek. "I am tired though."

-

Max sighs as he checks on y/n, her even heavy breaths giving away her depth of sleep. Then he moves out of the bedroom of the suite and into the living room area where Lando and Oscar are sitting.

They'd agreed they needed to have a discussion about what they are doing when it comes to the long term plan for y/n. Because right now is great but the question she asked about the future has been hanging over Max's head and while he'd briefly mentioned if to the boys. They all needed to really talk about it.

"Just to be clear if this discussion is going to end in deciding one of us gets her. Finders keepers." Lando declares before Max can even utter a word but his statement earns glares from both Oscar and Max. Neither particularly happy at the idea that he's laying claim already.

"Shut up." Oscar sighs then leaning back.

"Y/n wants commitment and she wants kids." Max states looking between the two McLaren drivers. "If we all want to be part of that we're going to have to get over ourselves."

"That's a bit bold coming from you, mate." Lando laughs while Max frowns.

"You do seem to get the most jealous." Oscar agrees proving that Max may be the one with a problem.

"Lando is worse than me."

"He's bad but you're worse. You should both me more like me and just appreciate that there's two other men here."

"What if she does get pregnant? Do we want to know whose kid it is?" Lando questions now actually considering the situation they may be faced with.

"Chances are they'll probably look most like the dad." Oscar points out which is true. "But I don't think she'd be too happy for us to only parent the kids that look like us. It'd have to be sharing kids the same way we share her."

"Agreed." Both Max and Lando nod since they definitely understand that favouring a child isn't on the cards.

"She might not even want 3 kids so it might not even be on the cards for us all to feel included." Max adds before sighing. "So we're in agreement, we keep going with this. The only thing that will have to be avoided is marriage. Because then she does have to choose one of us."

"Wait, just thought of another issue with the baby thing." Lando states suddenly with a slight grimace as he thinks about it. "The last name."

"Just give the baby her last name."

"Works for me." Lando mumbles though he would rather have a child with his last name at some point. That might be something he'll just have to get over and live with.

he looked down at you, something in his gaze left you a little shaky at the knees. this was your first race with the team, and you couldn't secure a win for max. it was almost embarrassing.

"i'm sorry, mister verstappen!" you pouted, "i'm really sorry! we tried to move as fast as possible, but i guess we couldn't keep up to mclaren." you worried about your job! you had just started, you were far from home and this was your dream to work for, "i'm so sorry!"

you almost had tears in your eyes, which deflated the anger from max's stance. he dropped his arms and looked at you. he replied, "there's nothing to be sorry about, it happens." as if he hadn't been on a losing streak for some time now.

your bottom lip quivered and your eyes grew watery, "this was your home race. and i'm just so sorry! i just wanted to do good, i wanted you to win!" a few tears fell and max was dumbfounded.

he was used to tearing into the mechanics and the engineers. he was used to snapping his words and letting rage consume him. instead he reached out for you, "hey, it's okay! don't cry. it's alright.'" he even wiped your tears away as your lip wobbled.

you got into his arms and gave him a bit hug. you looked at him and said, "i promise we'll win the next one! i promise!" even in those baggy coveralls you looked cute. if not beautiful.

max felt the anger disappear in his gut and he smiled at you, almost warm, "yes... yes we will." and when he patted you on the head and turned away and out of the paddock.

the other mechanics were in as much shock as you were. and while max would've loved to continue holding you, even reassuring you about the race in monza the following week. max was painfully hard from your brief interaction. it was like all the anger went to his cock and he needed to get out of there before he caused a scene.

back in the red bull motor home, max thought he was going to burst a blood vessel in his head. it was a pain to get into his jeans after he got out of his racing clothes. everything felt like a live wire, to go without masturbating for that long felt painful. especially when the source of his erection was playing in his read.

you smell like motor oil and warm vanilla, your touch was soft when you hugged him and that pretty face. even with the smear of grease on your face and the red bull cap on your head.

"mister verstappen." your voice rang in his head and he didn't even make it to the bed before his cock was in his hand. his palm covered in his spit as he sat on the couch and stroked himself still clothed.

he knew that the team had hired a new mechanic, but to see you in action made his brain feel almost rotten from the lust he felt. he barely paid attention to who was working on the car during the race but he knew you weren't working alone. and yet, you still carried all the responsibility for the team on your shoulders.

you poor thing. he continued to stroke his cock and he panted heavily at the feeling. thoughts of you were in his head as he pleasured himself. he wished you were there to do it for him. even if you wore you coveralls and covered in grease, if you were on your knees in front of him, your mouth on his cock as you pleasured him.

he wondered if you had even done that before. if you had any partners, or even one at the moment. he tried not to let the jealousy curl in his gut. he wasn't even sure, but he wouldn't have been surprised. you were beautiful, and who didn't love a gentle soul. you wanted max to win and max in turn felt towards you that he felt towards no other mechanic. he wanted you to work on his car, but also taking you out to dinner. to show you the finer things in life.

he wondered what colour panties you wore, and what cut. he knew you weren't wearing a thong, no when you were lifting heavy tires all day. he imagined something red, maybe a boy short. something that moved with the curves of your hips and thighs. he thought excited him, it really turned him on. made his face as red as he hoped that your panties would be.

how they'd curve to your ass, when you ran around the pit stop. how you would lift tools around. the strength to you. max liked models, but there was something about you the captivated him. and you didn't even know. you were just a humble mechanic, and you drove max wild.

he continued to stroke his cock heavily. he panted heavily as he felt his dark t-shirt cling to his back. his pace was quick up against his cock, he even spat on his hand once more to just to get the right friction. it was a head rush. he was not immune to masturbation, max did it almost daily if he had the time.

but to picture you in your bra and panties made him excited. hungry like a dog as he fucked his hand. he wished it was your pussy. he wished that he could bully the tip of his cock against you. he wished he could bend you in half and fuck you with a vigor that there were no other words for.

he wondered if you were loud, if he'd have to silence you with your panties. if he's have to cover your mouth or gag you, or would you just burst into tears like you did in the garage. the wet eyes,staring at him, promising that you'd do better next time. it made max want to fuck you even more. he wanted you every way he could have you.

"shit." he groaned through grit teeth as he continued to stroke his cock. he could feel his heart beat in his ears as he continued to masturbate. you were just a little thing, even with your skills as a mechanic, you were still so small. max felt he need to protect you.

he wanted to make sure you needed for nothing. he wondered if you'd have him as your lover. as your partner. the thought made him shudder as he continued to stroke his cock. he felt the head rush it all, he panted heavily as he stroked his cock.

his pace continued and he let himself get lost in the feeling. when it got overwhelming, he finished all over himself. your words rang in his mind, the promises you made. next time will be better. he'd win next time! and as cum dribbled all over his hand, he panted heavily with the head rush. he panted heavily and felt a shudder through climax. he wondered if you were touching yourself tonight, which made his cock twitch in his hand.

he was covered in cum at the waist and he felt hot all over. he rubbed his face with his free hand and for a moment felt in the post-orgasm shame. but it didn't last long.

with the after shivers of euphoria, he knew he had to do something. he couldn't be jerking off in private anytime he saw you. max was a man of action so after he cleaned himself off, he texted horner,

“Don’t scare them. Don’t pull any stunts. Just behave,” you’d hissed into the empty kitchen hours earlier. He hadn’t answered, and you should’ve known better than to trust his silence.

The meal began with a blessing, your mother’s voice soft and reverent as she led the prayer. You bowed your head like everyone else, hands clasped, but the moment was shattered by the unmistakable chill that brushed against your ankle.

Your stomach dropped.

As the table murmured “Amen” and conversation resumed, the chill climbed higher, sliding up your calf and curling around your knee. You forced a polite smile, your fingers trembling as you reached for the mashed potatoes.

The sudden press of Max’s tongue against your pussy made you flinch.

You bit the inside of your cheek, gripping the edge of the table as Max’s mouth worked between your legs, unseen but impossibly real. His tongue circled your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. You shifted in your chair, trying to dislodge him, but his invisible hands gripped your thighs, pinning you in place.

“You okay, sweetheart?” your mom asked, passing you the gravy.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice trembling as Max’s mouth closed over your clit, sucking hard. “Just warm.”

Warm wasn’t the right word. The heat pooling in your belly was molten, spreading through your body with every calculated flick of his tongue. The chill of his presence only heightened the contrast, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt.

You tried to focus on the conversation, nodding and laughing at your father’s jokes, but it was impossible. Max was relentless, his tongue plunging deep, curling in ways that had your thighs trembling under the table.

It was when his fingers joined the fray that you nearly lost it. The cool, ghostly digits slid inside you, pumping in sync with his mouth. The stretch was perfect, filling you in ways that made your toes curl.

You picked up your fork, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But the moment you took a bite, his fingers curled, brushing against the sensitive spot deep inside you. A muffled moan escaped before you could stop it.

All heads turned towards you.

You covered your mouth quickly, cheeks burning. “This pie you made is just…so good, Mom,” you blurted, voice high-pitched and breathless.

Your mother beamed, clearly pleased, while Max doubled his efforts, his tongue dragging mercilessly against your clit as his fingers plunged deeper, scissoring inside you. Your grip on the fork tightened, your free hand curling into a fist under the table as the pleasure mounted.

You felt your wetness dripping down, pooling between your thighs as his relentless pace kept your nerves on fire. You forced yourself to take another bite of food, pretending it was the dish making your eyes water and your breathing hitch.

When the orgasm hit, it was sudden and overwhelming. Your body tensed, thighs shaking, as waves of pleasure rolled through you, pulling a sharp breath and an unsteady gasp from your lips.

“Everything all right, honey?” your mom asked, looking concerned now.

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly as the aftershocks left your legs trembling under the table. “Yeah, sorry—just… something went down the wrong way.”

Max didn’t relent until your body stilled, until your breathing began to slow. Only then did you feel his tongue drag one final, torturous stroke over your clit. He placed a phantom kiss on your cunt before his presence withdrew entirely, leaving behind nothing but the slick evidence of his attention and the ache of your body recovering from the intense orgasm.

You barely had time to catch your breath when your sister pointed toward the corner of the room. “Is that a spirit box? Since when do you believe in ghosts?”

“Missed me?” came his distorted voice, low and rough, sending a shiver straight through you.

Tears pricked your eyes at the sound of him. Weeks, months even, of feeling him but never hearing him. Now, his voice filled the room, warped but unmistakably his. You barely had time to respond before the bed dipped, invisible hands pushing you back against the mattress.

“I can hear you,” you breathed, already pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

“Yeah? Good,” he replied, the slight distortion only making his words rougher, filthier. “Because I’ve got a lot to say now that you finally got it right.”

Instantly, hands you couldn’t see but knew intimately gripped your thighs, spreading them apart firmly. The fabric of your shorts was tugged down, your underwear following in one swift, decisive movement.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” his voice hissed through the static, mocking and dripping with approval. “Were you hoping to hear me like this? Whispering all the dirty things I’m going to do while I ruin you?”

Your head tipped back, a whimper escaping your lips as his hands—strong and sure—gripped your thighs tighter. You arched into nothingness, gasping when his mouth—cool, solid, and so painfully real—latched onto your nipple, teeth scraping, tongue flicking.

“Max!” His name left your lips in a desperate cry, but his laugh—deep, teasing—cut through the static.

As he continued lapping at your nipple, his hand, firm and skilled, slid between your thighs. Fingers thrusted into your soaked heat without hesitation, curling and stretching you, preparing you for his cock.

“That’s it,” his voice growled, the spirit box crackling in tandem with your moans. “You take my fingers so well. So perfect, schatje.”

After placing one more kiss each to your nipples, he curled his fingers inside your pussy. “So wet, so ready for my cock.”

You gasped hearing his filthy words before a plethora of pleas escaped your lips, asking for his cock. Your cunt clenched at the thought of being fucked by him.

The bed creaked under the force of his invisible weight, his cock pressing into you in one hard thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs. The sound of his groan through the spirit box was nearly as intoxicating as the feeling of him inside you.

“Max,” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he set a brutal pace, each thrust hard enough to rock the bed frame. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him with every snap of his hips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he hissed through the static, his voice raw with pleasure. “Feel how good you take me? How you clench ‘round me?”

Your head tipped back, eyes rolling as he pounded into you, each word making the coil in your belly tighten. “I need you,” you cried, your voice breaking as he angled his hips, driving deeper.

“Good girl,” he groaned, the spirit box crackling under the weight of his praise. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip bruising as he chased his release.

“Fuck, Max, yes—don’t stop, ‘m gonna cum,” you begged, the words spilling from your lips unchecked.

You shattered first, his name a scream on your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing around him. He followed seconds later, his groans—raw and guttural—filling the room.

As you lay there, trembling and boneless, the static from the spirit box crackled softly, his voice cutting through with a low, satisfied murmur.

“Leave it on,” he said, referring to the spirit box. “We’re not done. Now that I’ve got a voice, I plan on using it.”

The spray pulsed, perfectly targeted, and your body betrayed you, hips bucking forward into the water. Your breath hitched, soft moans escaping as the pressure built, the pleasure mounting with every second.

You tried to shift, to catch your breath, but he wasn’t letting you go. “Max, please,” you whimpered, though you weren’t even sure if you were begging him to stop or to push you further.

Your nails scraped against the tiles as your orgasm overtook you, pleasure crashing through you in sharp, breathless waves. The spray kept going, prolonging the sensation until your legs nearly gave out, your body sagging against the wall.

When the water finally shifted away, you were left panting, your thighs trembling as Max’s presence lingered, teasingly brushing along your spine before retreating.

In the bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, breathless as you reached for the spirit box. The small device crackled to life, the static filling the room as you whispered, “oh my God—”

“Not God,” came his distorted voice, deep and teasing, the sound making your stomach flip.

Your annoyance faltered as the air around you shifted again, his touch returning, this time firmer, more deliberate. Fingers ghosted over your towel, tugging it loose and exposing your damp, bare skin. You inhaled sharply, your nipples hardening as the cool air met your chest.

“You’re not going anywhere,” his voice crackled through the box, low and guttural.

You didn’t even have time to argue before he pushed you to lie down onto the mattress, invisible hands spreading your legs. The phantom pressure was stronger now, dragging his fingers through your folds, circling your clit until you arched off the bed.

“Max,” you moaned, your voice trembling.

His grip tightened, one hand pinning your hips while another teased your hole, sliding inside with an agonizingly slow stretch. You clenched around them, the sensation somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“You’re so fucking wet,” the spirit box rasped, his words breaking into static before returning. “Such a slut. Planning on going on a date with someone else while you’re aching and needy for me?” 

Your fingers gripped the sheets as his invisible touch fucked into you, thrusting harder, deeper, the pressure relentless. It didn’t take long until you cried out. another orgasm ripping through you as he pushed you over the edge with his fingers. 

The spirit box buzzed again. “Two’s not enough, schatje.”

The words barely registered in your mind before his grip returned, flipping you onto your stomach. Your ass lifted instinctively, and his hands smoothed over your skin, squeezing and kneading as he slid his cock along your lips before thrusting in your cunt. 

By the time you reached your third and fourth orgasm, your body was trembling, every nerve alight. The spirit box continued to buzz and crackle, Max’s groans and filthy praises filling the room as he worked you through each release.

When he finally relented, you lay sprawled on the bed, completely wrecked, your chest heaving and your body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Somewhere across the room, your phone buzzed, no doubt your date wondering where you were.

Max’s voice cut through the spirit box one last time, low and smug. “Looks like you’re staying in tonight.”

It started as a chill brushing against your skin while Matt and Jake joked about the game they’d just watched. You forced yourself to focus, nodding along as if you weren’t hyper-aware of Max’s presence curling around you. You hoped he’d keep his distance, but the icy sensation crawling up your thighs told you otherwise.

As Matt leaned back into the couch, shooting you a grin, you felt it—phantom fingers slipping beneath your skirt, gliding along your panties. You froze, breath catching in your throat, and Max… he took his time. The fabric of your panties was no barrier to him; he could pass through it with ease, but no—he hooked a single, invisible finger beneath it, dragging the fabric to the side. You tensed, realizing why. In case one of your friends looks there.

Max knew what he was doing. You weren’t sure if you liked it or not yet… but you didn’t really have a choice in this matter anyways.

“Everything okay?” Matt’s voice broke through your haze, his gaze flicking to you, brows furrowed.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. Your legs pressed together, but Max was unrelenting, his fingers dipping between your folds, spreading you open as heat pooled low in your belly.

“You sure?” Jake asked, tilting his head. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, praying they wouldn’t notice how stiffly you sat or the slight quiver in your voice.

But Max wasn’t content with just teasing you. His fingers thrust inside you, slow and deliberate, curling in a way that made your stomach tighten. You bit your lip hard, fighting the urge to moan. It was humiliating—and yet, the slick heat coating your thighs told a different story.

“You were saying?” you prompted, desperate to steer the attention back to them and away from the trembling of your body.

And just when you thought you’d survive his torment, Max decided to make his point.

The cold grip on your waist was your only warning before you were yanked forward, bent over the coffee table with startling force. Your friends froze, eyes wide as your chest hit the surface, and your skirt flipped up, exposing your bare ass.

“Whoa, what the fuck is going on?” Matt blurted, taking a step back.

“I-I don’t know!” you gasped, voice pitched high as Max spread your thighs further apart, holding your pussy open for them to see. Your walls clenched involuntarily as he finally pushed his cock into you—harder, deeper—stretching you around something they couldn’t see, but you could certainly feel.

“Is she…?” Jake trailed off, his voice tinged with shock as his gaze flicked between your expression and the empty space where Max was buried inside you.

You moaned, unable to stop the sound, your back arching as Max slammed into you. The table creaked beneath your weight, and your legs trembled with each thrust. You knew what they were seeing—your body jerking against the unseen force, your pussy gaping, wet, and slick as if gripping something invisible.

Matt swallowed hard, his face pale. “She’s… not alone, is she?”

Max’s energy crackled, his invisible grip tightening on your hips as he drove into you harder, as if daring them to intervene. Your friends didn’t move, though, rooted to the spot by a mix of fear and fascination.

Your moans grew louder, shameless, filling the room alongside the sound of your skin meeting the ghostly force pounding into you. You were helpless to stop it while Max took everything he wanted.

Max didn’t stop until you were trembling, your body spent and exposed, marked by him in every way that mattered. When he finally released you, the chill vanished, leaving you a panting, ruined mess as your friends stared, utterly baffled.

They left shortly after that, mumbling excuses and shooting you concerned glances. But you knew they wouldn’t be back. Not after what they’d seen—or couldn’t explain.

Max’s presence lingered as the door shut, a triumphant, possessive energy wrapping around you. You belonged to him, and he’d made damn sure everyone else knew it.

Of course, that was far from the truth. The spirit wasn’t restless—it was curious. Not malicious, just mischievous. And definitely not the vengeful type. No, your ghost had one overwhelming trait that set it apart from all the rumors: it was insatiably, undeniably horny.

Due to those rumours, it didn’t take long before a group of overly enthusiastic self-proclaimed paranormal investigators came knocking on your door.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you,” their leader, a wiry young man with glasses too big for his face, said quickly, his grin far too eager. “We heard this house is—well, you know, haunted. And we were wondering if you’d let us conduct an investigation?”

Behind him, the group buzzed with nervous energy, clutching an array of cameras, microphones, and an unmistakable spirit box.

You blinked at them, caught off guard. “You want to… what?”

You hesitated as they explained further. Ghosty—a nickname you had given to the perverted spirit—wasn’t a big fan of visitors. But then you felt the faintest tug at the back of your shirt, almost like encouragement.

“Fine,” you sighed, stepping aside. “But if anything breaks, you’re paying for it.”

They poured into the living room, setting up their equipment with excited mumbles. You hovered nearby, arms crossed, trying to ignore the mix of curiosity and anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“All right, let’s see if we can make contact,” the leader announced, his voice hushed with excitement. He switched on the spirit box, and the device filled the room with its eerie crackle and hum, searching for frequencies.

“Is there anyone here with us?”

Static. A faint buzz. Then, the tiniest shift—a single, sharp blip of sound. The group collectively gasped, their faces lighting up with excitement.

“What’s your name?”

More static, then a distorted voice, low, rough, and accented: “Max.”

You froze, your heart pounding. His name. You’d finally heard his name. Max. After all this time calling him Ghosty and enduring his mischief, the amount of times he’s made you cum, you finally had something real to hold onto.

But before another question could be asked, the static returned, breaking into a series of fragmented words.

“…needy… wet…” His voice was distorted but understandable, his gravelly tone sending shivers down your spine.

The investigators froze, their cheeks reddening.

“Can you be more specific?”

The spirit box whined and popped before his voice came through again, clearer this time: “walking around bare…knowing I’m watching…waiting for me to touch.”

The room fell into stunned silence, every pair of eyes darting toward you.

“slut f’me…all spread…teasing,” he continued, his distorted tone evidently dripping with lust, “cumming ‘round me.”

Your knees wobbled as his words poured over you, filthy and deliberate, each one hitting its mark.

The investigators didn’t know where to look—some blushed furiously, others stared at their equipment as though willing it to malfunction.

But you barely noticed them. The sound of his voice surrounded you, wrapping around you like a tether, pulling tighter and tighter. And then, you felt him.

His cool fingers slid over your tits. You stifled a gasp as his touch lingered, circling your nipple through the fabric of your shirt until it hardened, standing out against the material.

You tried to stay still, tried not to react, but your breath hitched, your body betraying you as heat spread through your body, down to your aching, wet cunt.

The spirit box crackled once more: “desperate… can’t resist me.”

Max’s unseen hand continued its torment, teasing you mercilessly. He tugged gently at your nipple, the thin fabric doing nothing to dull the sensation

You cleared your throat, willing your voice to remain steady despite the way your body trembled. “I think that’s enough investigating,” you said, forcing a tight smile as you glanced at the group.

The leader opened his mouth to protest, but the crimson flush on his cheeks betrayed his discomfort. None of them wanted to admit what they’d heard, let alone linger in the charged atmosphere of your home. Instead, they nodded hastily and began packing their equipment, avoiding your eyes and each other’s.

The static of the spirit box faded, and with it, Max’s teasing touch and voice disappeared. You bit back a frustrated whine, your body throbbing with need as you watched the investigators stumble out the door.

“Thank you for letting us—uh, investigate,” one of them mumbled, practically sprinting down the steps as you shut the door behind them.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your chest heaved as you pressed your forehead against the wooden door, the ache between your legs unbearable.

“Max,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you finally spoke his name aloud. “Please.”