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Kinktober | Wolfftober 🐺🔥 | day5&6: Too Much, Just Enough
Kinktober/Wolfftober Masterlist | main masterlist
⤷ first time/virginity lost, size kink
[18+] content
Toto Wolff x Virgin!RussellSister!reader
Summary: You’re George’s younger sister, visiting Brackley for the first time. Meeting the man your brother admires should’ve been harmless, except Toto Wolff wants more than small talk. One look, one touch, and suddenly you’re spread on his desk, learning exactly how much of him you can take.
Warnings: size kink, first time/virginity, power imbalance, oral prep, nipple play, dirty talk, pain → pleasure, possession kink, creampie, rough desk sex → tenderness.
Word count: 2.9k
George, your older brother, has talked about him for years.
About the man who changed his career, who shaped the team, who ran Mercedes with equal parts steel and fire. You’ve heard the stories, seen the headlines, even caught glimpses on TV. But nothing prepares you for the moment you finally meet him.
Your brother’s hand is warm at the small of your back as he guides you through the glass doors of Brackley.
“You’ll finally see what I’ve been telling you about,” George says with a grin. “The heart of Mercedes.”
And then he’s there.
Toto Wolff.
He’s taller than you expected — towering, broad-shouldered, presence so strong it feels like the air shifts around him. Dark hair, rolled-up sleeves, and the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt. His eyes meet yours across the lobby, sharp and assessing, and your pulse trips violently in your throat.
“Ah, so this is your sister,” Toto says, his accent curling around the words like smoke. He shakes George’s hand before turning his attention back to you. His palm engulfs yours when he offers it, his grip firm but lingering just a moment too long.
Your skin tingles where he touched you, your body reacting before your mind catches up. You murmur something polite, but your voice feels shaky, too thin.
George, oblivious, rattles on about schedules and simulator sessions. But Toto’s gaze never really leaves you. He studies you with a subtle hunger, a flicker in his dark eyes that makes your stomach clench.
Later, he insists on giving you a tour himself.
“You’ll want the full picture,” he says smoothly, his hand brushing lightly at your back as he leads you through the corridors. “It’s not every day we have such important guests.”
He leads you through the corridors like he owns them, which, in a way, he does. His hand brushes against your back when he holds open a door, lingers at your elbow when the crowd thickens, grazes your hip when he guides you aside so a trolley of tires can roll past. Each touch is fleeting, but charged, intentional.
“This is the design office,” Toto says, pausing to let you peek inside. His height dwarfs you as he leans down, his voice pitched low just for you. “Not as glamorous as the garage, but it’s where most of the magic begins.”
“It’s impressive,” you manage, your throat dry.
His mouth curves faintly. “You’re being polite. I can tell.” His eyes flick to you, sharp and amused. “But that’s good, you’re not here for the machines, are you?”
Your pulse jumps. “I… I suppose not.”
“You came to see what your brother’s life is like,” he continues, his gaze sweeping over you slowly, deliberately. “And now you’ve seen me.”
The words hang between you, heavier than they should.
In the wind tunnel, you pretend to focus on the scale models, but Toto steps close enough that his arm brushes yours, the heat of his body radiating against your side.
“Are you always this quiet?” he asks softly, glancing down at you.
“Not always,” you admit, biting your lip.
He notices. His eyes linger on your mouth for a beat too long, then flick back to yours.
“Hm. I’ll have to see what it takes to get you talking, then.”
By the time you reach the trophy room, the air between you feels thick, humming. He stands behind you as you study the glittering display, his hand ghosting over the small of your back.
“Your brother will tell you these mean everything,” Toto says, his breath brushing your ear. “But they don’t. People do. The right people, at the right time.”
You shiver, unsure if he’s talking about George, the team, or you.
When you turn, his gaze is waiting, dark and intent. You realize then that none of his touches have been accidents. Every brush of his hand, every lingering glance, every word has been deliberate. Testing. Probing. And the heat coiling low in your stomach tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing.
By the time the tour ends, your head is spinning, not from the machines or the endless corridors, but from him.
He stops in front of a glass door etched with his name. Torger Wolff, Team Principal.
“This,” he says, opening it with a swipe of his badge, “is where I spend most of my life.”
You step inside. The office is sharp, minimalist, every surface polished, every detail immaculate. Yet you hardly notice any of it, because the door clicks shut behind you and suddenly you’re alone with him.
He doesn’t return to his desk right away. Instead, he circles you slowly, like a predator tracing the edge of his cage. His height, his silence, the weight of his presence, it presses on your chest until you can hardly breathe.
“You’ve been very quiet,” Toto says at last, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. “All through the tour. Only speaking when I pulled words out of you.”
“I didn’t want to say anything foolish,” you murmur, your fingers twisting together.
His mouth curves faintly. “And yet, the way you looked at me…” He steps closer, his hand brushing along your arm, slow, deliberate. “That was not foolish at all.”
Heat floods your cheeks. “I wasn’t...”
“You were.” His hand slides lower, fingers grazing your wrist before curling around it, anchoring you in place. “You looked at me like a girl who already knows she shouldn’t. And yet, she can’t stop.”
Your heart slams against your ribs, your body betraying you.
Toto tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s already solved.
“Tell me, Schatz,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking lightly over your pulse, “are you going to keep pretending? Or are you ready to admit what you want?”
Your lips part, but no words come out. You don’t have to answer, your silence, your trembling, the way you lean almost imperceptibly into his touch, it’s enough.
His eyes darken, his grip tightening just enough to remind you how small you are against him. He leads you backward until the edge of his desk touches the back of your thighs.
“Gut,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Because I’ve been waiting for this moment since the second I saw you.”
Heat floods your cheeks. You try to answer, but he is towering over you and you feel small, caged.
“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his hand sliding under your chin, tilting your face up. “No man’s ever had you.”
You nod, breath shallow.
“Scheiße,” he groans, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me for? What it means to give yourself to a man like me?”
Your whisper is shaky, desperate.
“I want it to be you.”
That’s all it takes.
He lifts you effortlessly onto his desk, spreading your thighs apart with hands that dwarf your body. His cock strains against his trousers, thick and heavy, and the sight alone makes you tremble.
“Look at the size of me compared to you,” he growls. “You think you can take all this cock in that tight little pussy? Hm?”
You whimper, nodding, your thighs quivering under his grip.
He doesn’t rush. Instead he watches you, slow, measured, while you sit on the desk, the office lights throwing sharp reflections off the glass. His fingers never stop moving; they map the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your ribs, as if memorising the shape of you.
“Stand and turn around,” he orders softly, and when you obey he drags his thumb over the small of your back before beginning to unfasten your bra with deft, possessive hands. The straps fall away, and he pauses to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling your nipples until they harden into peaks under his touch. He leans down and kisses the swell of your breast, slow and reverent, then but his mouth closes over the other, sucking and biting just enough to make you suck in a breath.
Your hands fumble at your waistband, he stops you with a gentle pressure to the wrist and shakes his head.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice a low promise. “I want to watch you become mine.”
You stand there, bare and exposed, while he strips you with the same deliberate patience. Shirt, then skirt, then the last piece of fabric slides away and lands on the polished wood. You are absolutely naked under his eyes, vulnerable and burning. He lets his gaze travel over every inch, and you feel it like heat: appraisal, hunger, ownership.
Carefully, almost ceremonially, he eases you down onto the desk. Your legs hang over the edge, and he spreads them gently, angling you so the light catches the wetness already shining between your thighs. He doesn’t waste a second. His mouth finds your inner thigh first, feather-light kisses that trail toward your most sensitive place, and the teasing begins.
He works with a craftsman’s patience: long, exploring licks along the sensitive skin, a moist press of tongue against the entrance, careful circling of the most tender spot until your hips start to buck on their own. His fingers splay at your hips, anchoring you as his mouth explores you, sucking and drawing sounds from your throat that are half moan, half plea.
“Look at you,” he murmurs between licks, his breath hot against your wetness. “Already so ready for me. You’re making this too easy.”
Your body answers him regardless, you’re wetter than you expected, trembling with want even as his mouth teases you through wave after wave of delicious, building need. Every slick pass of his tongue, every gentle press of teeth has you close, so close your knees threaten to give, but he keeps the tension deliciously taut, drawing the moment out until you ache for the next thing.
Then he withdraws, slow and deliberate, letting you feel the absence like a new ache. He straightens, hands on your thighs, and reaches for his trousers with a motion. He draws the fabric down just enough, and the sight of him — bare, cock freed from the confinement of cloth, stops you cold.
It’s bigger than you expected. Bigger than anything you’d timidly imagined. Thick, heavy, and already slick at the head,the sheer scale of it makes your eyes go wide. You can’t hide your reaction, your throat swallows and a small, involuntary noise escapes you.
He watches you take him in, a slow, satisfied smile curving his mouth.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises as he toys with the tip with two fingers, then looks back up at you, hunger blazing. “But you’ll feel every inch. And when you’re split open on my cock, crying my name, you’ll know you belong to me.”
He teases the very tip of his cock against your wet slit, rubbing the head slowly over your entrance so the friction sends little electric shocks through you.
“Relax, little one,” he murmurs, voice low, and leans down to kiss you, soft and possessive. His mouth on yours is gentle while his cock’s tip kneads at your already unbearably sensitive clit, the pressure making you whine and press back against him.
You mewl into his kiss as his hand steadies your hip, you can feel the head of his cock massaging that spot until your body trembles. The sensation — the sweet, insistent rubbing — has you gasping, “Oh God...” right into his mouth, and he answers with a rough, approving noise.
Then, slow and deliberate, he lines himself up and begins to slide inside you. When he pushes into you, it’s overwhelming — stretching, burning, filling you more than you thought possible. Your cry echoes in the office, but he holds you steady, his forehead pressed to yours.
“Good girl,” he groans, every muscle tight with restraint. “So tight, so fucking perfect. Let me in. Let me have you.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders, your tears mixing with moans as your body adjusts, as the stretch melts into unbearable pleasure. The size of him, the way he fills you completely, makes you sob and cling to him harder.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hips rolling deeper. “Take me, Schatz. Take all of me. You’ll never forget your first cock, and it will always be mine.”
His grip on your hips is unyielding as he adjusts you, lifting you with ease, like you weigh nothing in his hands. He pushes you flat against the polished desk, spreading you wider, your legs trembling as he maneuvers them over his broad shoulders.
“Better,” Toto growls, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways you never imagined. He angles his hips, driving into you harder, deeper, the desk creaking under the force. “Now you’ll feel all of me.”
You cry out, your body arching as his size overwhelms you. His hands slide up, palms covering your breasts, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs brushing over your hard nipples.
“Such perfect tits,” he mutters, lowering his head until his mouth closes over one, sucking hard. Your scream shatters in the air, your fingers clawing at the desk for any anchor.
The sight in the office window’s reflection is obscene, your naked body pinned, your legs hooked over his powerful shoulders, his cock slamming into your pussy with every thrust. His lips worship your breasts, his groans vibrating against your skin.
“Mein Gott, Schatz,” Toto pants, releasing your nipple only to bite the other, his teeth scraping, his tongue soothing. “I could spend hours here, fucking your tight little pussy, tasting your perfect tits, hearing you scream for me.”
You writhe beneath him, every thrust angled perfectly to hit that spot deep inside, every drag of his cock splitting you open further. Pleasure surges through you sharp and unbearable, your moans rising louder, breaking into sobs.
“Yes! Toto... oh God, yes!”
Your cries echo off the office walls, shameless and wild, as your body surrenders completely. His cock fills you so completely, his chest heavy over you, his mouth marking your skin until you’re nothing but sound and sensation.
He pounds into you harder, relentless now, your body spread wide and helpless on the desk. Every thrust drives his cock impossibly deep, the angle making you scream louder each time he slams into you.
“Scheiße, so tight, so fucking wet,” Toto snarls, his voice raw, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest. “You’re gripping my cock like you’ll never let me go.”
His mouth finds your breasts again, sucking, biting, worshipping as he fucks you through the desk. The mix of his cock splitting you open and his teeth tugging at your nipple sends you spiraling, your whole body trembling, your moans breaking into desperate screams.
“Toto.. I’m... God, I’m coming...”
“Ja, come for me,” he growls, thrusting harder, his grip bruising on your hips. “Schatz. Let me feel you squeeze me.”
Your orgasm crashes through you, violent, unbearable. You scream his name so loud the walls shake, your back arching as your pussy clamps down around him, milking him, dragging him over the edge with you.
His groan is guttural, feral, his thrusts erratic as he buries himself to the hilt.
“Scheiße! Fuck... take it... take all of it!” His cock pulses deep, hot and heavy, filling you until you sob from the sheer fullness.
Pinned beneath him, your body convulsing with aftershocks, you can only cling to him as he rides out his release, his voice rough in your ear.
“Mine,” Toto growls, pressing one final thrust deep, his cock throbbing inside you. “First. Last. Always mine.”
Your cries echo through the office, shameless and loud, until you collapse against the desk, wrecked, trembling, and completely claimed.
The room is quiet now, except for the ragged sound of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat pressed against your chest. Toto hasn’t moved, his cock still buried deep inside you, keeping you full and pinned.
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your damp temple, his hand smoothing gently over your stomach. His voice, when it comes, is low and almost uncertain.
“I was rough,” he murmurs, brushing sweat-soaked strands of hair from your face. “Too rough, vielleicht? Tell me, Schatz… was it too much?”
You turn your head to meet his gaze, your lips curving into a shaky smile despite the tremble in your body.
“Absolutely not,” you whisper, your voice hoarse but steady. “I liked it. Every second of it.”
His brow furrows, searching your eyes as if to make sure you mean it. You stroke your hand down his arm, squeezing gently.
“You’ve set the bar so high,” you add, a breathless laugh escaping you. “For my first time… I don’t think anyone could ever compare.”
Something softens in him at that. His lips press to your forehead, lingering, tender. His hand strokes circles over your hip, grounding you, holding you close.
“Good,” he whispers against your skin. “Because I don’t plan to let anyone else try.”
He stays inside you, unmoving, content to simply hold you like this, your body wrecked, your heart steady against his. For the first time tonight, the power and fire give way to something quieter, but no less consuming: the knowledge that you belong to him, in every way.
Summary: You’re Christian Horner’s daughter, invisible next to his golden boy Max, until the one man he hates most notices you. One reckless night in Las Vegas turns into everything you’ve fantasized about: corruption, choking, being bred by your father’s greatest rival.
Warnings: forbidden romance, corruption kink, size kink, choking / breathplay, humiliation kink, breeding kink, rough sex (hotel room), dirty talk, power imbalance, cockwarming, soft morning after, public claim / scandal
Word count: 4.2k
You’re the daughter of Christian Horner.
The one thing in the paddock that should make Toto Wolff keep his distance. The blood tie to his greatest rival, the man he despises across every press conference table, every strategy meeting, every race.
But none of that matters when it comes to you.
From the moment you were old enough to step into the paddock, people whispered. About how Christian never had time for you, how Max Verstappen seemed more his child than you ever were. About how Toto, always courteous, always composed, was the only one who looked at you as if you weren’t invisible.
And that’s where it began.
For months, you’ve felt it: your pulse quickening whenever he passed, your thighs pressing together at night when you replayed the way his hand brushed your back, the way his accent wrapped around your name. You touched yourself to the thought of him filling you, stretching you, claiming you — your father’s enemy, your forbidden obsession.
*
The Vegas lights are blinding, neon spilling over the streets in a dizzying blur of pinks and blues. Music thrums from every corner, champagne glasses clink, laughter roars, it’s everything your father loves about this circus, everything he chose over you for years.
He insisted you come. Family should be here, he said. Yet when you arrived, he barely noticed, too busy orbiting around Max, his chosen son, his golden boy. And now you stand alone at the edge of the balcony, staring down at the chaos below, exhaustion and bitterness tightening in your chest.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The voice cuts through the noise, low and accented. You know it before you even turn.
Toto Wolff.
He stands a few feet away, sharp in his suit, the collar of his shirt open just enough to tease the muscle beneath. He looks devastatingly out of place in the haze of Vegas, as if he brought his own gravity with him.
Your breath stumbles, your knees softening. For months you’ve fought it, every glance, every polite smile he offered when your father’s back was turned, but being near him feels like standing too close to fire. You’ve burned for him in silence, alone in your bed, fingers working between your thighs while you whispered his name into the dark.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the loneliness. But tonight, you don’t hide it. You let your lips curl into something bold, teasing.
“It’s better now,” you murmur, letting your gaze linger on his chest, his jaw, the cut of his shoulders.
He arches a brow, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Careful. What would your father say?”
You laugh, sharp and bitter.
“My father? He wouldn’t notice. Unless I suddenly turned into Max Verstappen.” You take a step closer, daring, reckless. “He’s had me on the sidelines my whole life. Why should I care what he thinks now?”
Something flickers across Toto’s face — surprise, amusement, something darker. He leans in slightly, his cologne wrapping around you, intoxicating.
“Schatz…” His voice drops, velvet edged with steel. “Sounds to me like someone has… daddy issues.”
The words send heat flooding through you, shame and desire colliding. You tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“Maybe I do.”
His smirk deepens, and when his hand brushes your hip, the world tilts.
He leans down, his height caging you against the railing, the noise of Vegas fading into a distant hum. His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice so low it feels like a secret meant only for you.
“You don’t know what you’re starting with me,” Toto murmurs, every syllable dark silk. His hand trails higher along your arm, barely there, like he’s testing how much you’ll take before you break.
Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you tilt your head, let your lips graze his jaw as you whisper back, reckless and trembling: “Maybe I do. Maybe that’s the point.”
He stills, eyes narrowing, but you press on, the words spilling like confession, like surrender.
“I’ve fantasized about this for months,” you admit, your voice raw, feverish. “About you. The enemy my father can’t stand. The man I can’t stop craving. I dream about your cock inside me, about screaming your name until the whole paddock knows whose I am.”
His grip tightens on your hip, sharp enough to bruise, his breath coming harsher now.
“I want you to ruin me, Toto,” you whisper, your lips grazing his ear. “To make me yours. Completely yours.”
For the first time, his composure cracks, his jaw clenches, his pupils blown wide. The war in his expression lasts only a second before his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that isn’t gentle, isn’t careful. It’s hunger, fury, and forbidden desire crashing together, and it makes your knees buckle.
The kiss is brutal, consuming, and you whimper into him, clinging to his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
You feel it then, hard and heavy, pressing against your stomach through the fine cut of his trousers. The thickness of him leaves no doubt, the sheer size making your pulse stumble. The contact drags a moan from your throat, muffled against his mouth, your hips shifting instinctively closer.
“Scheiße,” Toto groans into the kiss, his breath ragged as his hand fists in your hair. “Do you feel what you’re asking for?”
“Yes,” you breathe, your lips swollen, your body already trembling. “God, yes.”
He presses harder against you, his cock grinding into your belly until you’re gasping, your legs weak. For a second you think he’ll take you right here, against the railing with Vegas glittering below. But then he tears his mouth from yours, chest heaving, eyes wild.
“Not here,” he mutters, shaking his head, though his body stays locked to yours, as if he can’t bear to let go. “Not like this.”
“Then my room,” you whisper desperately, tilting your face so your lips brush the stubble along his jaw. “Take me there.”
His grip tightens, his forehead pressing against yours.
“If I follow you, there will be no going back,” he warns, voice hoarse, guttural. “When I have you, you’ll be mine, and your father’s hatred won’t matter.”
You smile, reckless and trembling, your answer immediate.
“I don’t want to go back. I want you. Herr Wolff.”
The title on your tongue makes his eyes blaze. For a heartbeat he only stares, his control fraying by the second. Then, with a growl, he takes your hand, pulling you from the balcony, cutting through the Vegas chaos like a man on the hunt.
*
The hotel room door clicks shut, and before the echo fades you’re already tugging at his jacket, pushing it off his broad shoulders. He lets you, watching with eyes dark, his breath sharp as your trembling fingers find the buttons of his shirt.
One by one, you undo them, slow but unsteady, until the fabric falls open and reveals him — hard planes of muscle, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint line of hair trailing lower. You trace him with your hands like you’ve imagined a hundred times, palms flat against his warm skin, fingers dragging across every ridge and hollow.
“Mein Gott,” he mutters when your nails scrape down his torso, his head falling back for a moment. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I do,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his collarbone, tasting salt and skin. “And I want more.”
Your hands work lower, tugging at his belt until it comes loose. The sound of the buckle snapping open feels louder than the music drifting up from the Strip outside. You shove the fabric down just far enough, and then he’s in your hand.
You freeze for a second, breath catching. Heavy. Thick. Bigger than you’d dared to fantasize, hot and alive against your palm.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your thighs clenching together instinctively. “You’re… so big.”
His mouth curves into a wicked smile, his hand sliding into your hair as he watches you stroke him.
“Too big for you, maybe.”
But when your grip tightens, when a needy whimper escapes your throat, his smirk darkens.
“Or maybe,” Toto murmurs, voice rough, “you were made for this cock.”
The weight of him in your hand makes your head spin, and the thought of him inside you tears another desperate moan from your lips.
The belt drops to the carpet with a dull thud. He kicks his trousers aside, looming above you in nothing but control and hunger. For a moment, he just looks at you, your dress bunched high, your chest rising in frantic breaths. Then his smirk sharpens.
“Lie back,” Toto orders, voice low, unyielding.
You obey instantly, trembling as you sink into the sheets. He drags the hem of your dress up and over your head in one swift motion, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes darken, drinking you in, and he lets out a quiet, feral sound.
“Look at you,” he growls, his accent curling around every syllable. “My rival’s daughter, lying here like a little slut, begging to be ruined. Do you have any idea how wrong this is?”
Your breath shudders, your thighs pressing together.
“I don’t care,” you whisper, your voice breaking with need. “I just want you. You can do anything you want with me.”
His laugh is low, dangerous, and he grips your ankles, spreading your legs wide until you’re completely exposed.
“Scheiße. You mean that? Anything?”
“Yes,” you whimper, heat flooding your face as the words spill out. “Please, use me however you want. Corrupt me.”
Toto lowers himself between your thighs, his breath hot against your soaked pussy. His fingers press you open, and he shakes his head slowly, like he can’t believe how wet you already are.
“All this for me?” he taunts, running his tongue in a long, deliberate stroke from your entrance up to your clit. You cry out, arching off the bed, but he pins you down with one massive hand on your stomach.
“Pathetic,” he murmurs against you, tongue circling your swollen clit. “You’re dripping for your father’s enemy. Fantasizing about my cock stretching you until you scream. And now you’re going to let me destroy that sweet little pussy, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” you sob, hands clutching the sheets. “God, yes—I need it—I need you, Toto.”
His chuckle vibrates against your clit, sending shocks through your whole body. He pushes a finger inside, slow and unrelenting, then another, stretching you while his mouth works your clit with merciless precision.
Your cries fill the room, shameless and broken.
“Oh fuck... I can’t... Toto...”
“You can,” he snarls, curling his fingers until your vision sparks. “And you will. You’ll take everything I give you, because you begged me to. And when I’m done, you’ll never think of anyone else again.”
Your body convulses, teetering on the edge, completely undone by the filth of his words, the ruthless skill of his mouth.
Toto pulls his fingers from you, slick and glistening, and wipes them across your thigh as if to mark you. His cock is heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, then lines up at your entrance.
He leans over you, one hand braced on the mattress beside your head, the other sliding to your throat. His palm presses firmly, not cutting your breath, just holding, controlling. Your eyes widen, but the heat that shoots through you makes your cunt clench, desperate and ready.
“Breathe for me,” he commands, his accent a growl. “Open for me.”
And then he thrusts.
The stretch is brutal, burning, his cock splitting you open inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Your cry rips from your throat, muffled by his hand. Tears sting your eyes at the sheer size of him, but underneath it all is raw pleasure, so sharp it makes you dizzy.
“Scheiße,” Toto groans, forehead pressed to yours as his hips grind deeper. “You’re so fucking tight around me. Like this pussy was made for my cock.”
You sob into his grip, nails digging into his back.
“Toto—please—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he snarls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you, the bed rattling under the force. “You’ll take all of me. You’ll take it until you can’t walk tomorrow. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Your moans are shameless, broken, echoing in the neon-lit room. His thrusts grow faster, rougher.
His hand tightens around your throat, pressing you into the mattress, stealing half your breath. Every thrust drives deeper, harder, your body convulsing as the lack of air mixes with the brutal stretch of his cock. Your eyes roll back, your lips part in a strangled moan.
“That’s it,” Toto growls above you, his voice rough with hunger. “Look at you, so fucking helpless under me, clinging to every bit of air I give you. You love this, don’t you?”
You can’t form words, just a desperate nod, a broken sound. His thumb strokes the line of your jaw almost tenderly while his fingers squeeze harder, cutting off another gasp.
“Good girl,” he murmurs darkly. “Breathe when I let you.”
He eases his grip just enough, and you suck in a ragged breath, only for him to thrust brutally deep at the same time, stealing the air from your lungs all over again. The combination makes you sob, your body arching, stars bursting in your vision.
“Scheiße,” Toto snarls, rutting harder, his cock battering your cunt. “Every squeeze of your throat makes this pussy even tighter. You’re going to kill me with how good you feel.”
His pace is relentless, his free hand gripping your thigh, forcing your legs wider, holding you in place while he controls everything — your air, your pleasure, your sanity.
“What would your father say,” he hisses, squeezing until you’re gasping silently, “if he saw you like this — choked, dripping, begging his enemy to breed you?”
Your body spasms, the humiliation only fueling the heat coiled inside you. You claw at his wrist, not to stop him, but to beg him to hold you tighter.
“Ja, beg for it,” he groans, easing his grip just enough for you to whimper, “Say it, say you want my cock, my cum, my mark inside you.”
“Toto... please! Fuck, fill me...”
His hand tightens again, your moans breaking into silence as your orgasm detonates, violent and raw, your pussy clenching hard around him. He follows with a guttural roar, driving as deep as possible, his cock pulsing as hot cum floods you.
He holds your throat while he spills inside you, his grip firm enough to keep you pinned, to remind you you’re his. Only when he’s empty, when you’re trembling and ruined, does he release your neck, letting you drag in air like it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted.
“Perfect,” he whispers hoarsely, pressing his lips to your damp temple. “Every fucking part of you is mine.”
His breath is still ragged when he collapses over you, sweat dripping onto your skin, his cock still buried deep inside your aching pussy. He shifts slightly, as if to pull out, but you tighten your thighs around his hips, clutching him desperately.
“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice hoarse but certain. “Stay in me. Please.”
For a moment he’s silent, his chest heaving against yours. Then something changes in his face, the hard edge of control softens, replaced by tenderness. He lowers himself, pressing a long, slow kiss to your forehead.
“Gut,” he murmurs, his accent thick with emotion. “I’ll stay. I’m not letting you go.”
He reaches for the blanket with one arm, pulling it over you both without leaving the warmth of your body. His hand glides up and down your spine, soothing the tremors that still shake you. His lips brush your temple, your cheek, your damp hair, kissing you with a gentleness that makes your eyes sting.
His big palm cups your breast, not with hunger this time but with reverence, his thumb brushing idly over your nipple.
“You’re mine now,” he whispers against your skin. “Not his daughter. Not anyone else’s. Just mine.”
“Yes,” you breathe, snuggling into his chest, your hands clutching him closer. “I want to be yours. Only yours.”
He smiles softly into your hair, his cock still inside you, keeping you full, keeping you his.
“Then sleep, Schatz,” he murmurs, wrapping you tighter in his arms. “I’ll keep you safe. Always.”
Wrapped in his heat, his scent, his quiet touch, you let yourself drift. His heart is steady beneath your cheek, his breath brushing your hair, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s daughter. You feel like his. Entirely his.
And you fall asleep like that, filled and claimed, safe in the arms of the man you should never have wanted, but couldn’t stop choosing.
*
The first thing you notice when you stir awake is warmth, his body curled around yours, his cock still nestled deep inside you, keeping you full even in sleep. The second thing you notice is the faint twitch of him growing harder, swelling against the sensitive ache of your walls.
A low, sleepy groan rumbles in his chest. His arm tightens around you, but his eyes stay closed, his breath deep and slow.
For a moment, you just lie there, savoring the impossible intimacy. And then, slowly, deliberately, you start to move.
You roll your hips in a slow, steady grind, the friction sending sparks up your spine. His cock thickens even more inside you, and the sound that escapes him is half growl, half sigh.
“Mmm… Schatz,” he murmurs, still half-asleep, his accent thicker in the morning haze. His hands slide down to your hips, guiding you as if instinct alone knows what to do.
You shift, straddling him properly, planting your palms on his broad chest. The sight takes your breath away — Toto Wolff undone, his hair tousled, his jaw rough with morning stubble, eyes only half-open as he looks up at you with something dangerously close to worship.
“Mein Gott,” he groans, squeezing your hips as you ride him slowly. “Look at you. Perfect.”
Your breasts bounce with each roll of your hips, and his gaze lingers there, darkening with hunger. He sits up slightly, one hand cupping your breast, kneading, his thumb circling your nipple until you moan. The other hand slides lower, finding your clit and stroking lazily in time with your movements.
You lean down to kiss him, your hair falling around his face, and he catches your mouth with his, deep and slow. His tongue tangles with yours, his groans vibrating through the kiss as you squeeze tighter around him.
“You’re everything,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers flicking your clit just right while his other hand tugs at your nipple. “So beautiful. So mine.”
Your hips grind faster now, chasing the edge, your moans muffled against his mouth as you feel yourself breaking apart all over again, this time in the soft light of morning, his cock pulsing inside you, his hands worshiping every inch of your body.
Your rhythm grows faster, more desperate, the slick sound of your bodies filling the quiet room. Toto’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you down harder, deeper, until every thrust drives his cock right into the sweet spot that makes you cry out.
“Ja, Schatz,” he groans, eyes half-lidded, watching your breasts bounce as you ride him. His thumb circles your clit with ruthless precision, the other hand pinching your nipple just enough to make you gasp. “Come for me. Show me how perfect you are.”
The pressure snaps, your orgasm slams into you, violent and sweet, tearing a scream from your throat as your pussy clenches hard around him. You collapse against his chest, trembling, your moans spilling into his skin.
“Scheiße,” Toto growls, his own composure fracturing. He thrusts up into you, faster, rougher.
With a guttural groan, he spills inside you, pulsing deep, holding you down on him as if he could keep you there forever. His arms lock around your waist, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, panting against your damp skin.
You both stay like that, tangled together, his cock still buried in you, your breaths syncing as the aftershocks fade.
He tips your chin up, kissing you softer now, tender and slow.
“Mein Gott,” he murmurs, stroking your back. “From this moment, I’ll never let you go. You’ve bewitched me completely.”
You nod, pressing your forehead to his, whispering, “I’m yours. Only yours.”
He smiles, rare and unguarded. His hand continues to trace soothing circles on your spine, the other resting protectively over your hip.
His lips brush your hair, lazy kisses tracing your crown.
“Schatz,” he murmurs, voice still husky with sleep, “your father is going to have a heart attack when he finds out about this.”
You laugh softly against his skin, the sound muffled.
“Let him. He’s never cared about me the way he cares about Max. Why should I care what he thinks now?”
That makes Toto pause, then press a kiss to your forehead, tender and lingering.
“He’ll hate me even more for touching you.”
“Good,” you whisper, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Because I don’t want to be his perfect daughter. I want to be yours.”
For a moment he just looks at you, and the intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flip. Then he smiles — rare, warm, utterly for you — and kisses you slow, sweet, nothing like the hunger of last night.
“Come,” he says eventually, brushing your hair back. “You need breakfast. And I need coffee.”
You slip out of bed, legs still shaky, and start gathering your clothes from where they’d been tossed across the room last night. Toto watches, smirking as you wriggle back into your dress, then crosses the room to fix the zipper himself, his lips brushing your shoulder before he lets go.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, adjusting his own shirt cuffs, already back in command, though his eyes are still soft when they meet yours.
When you’re both dressed, he takes your hand firmly in his, leading you out of the room.
Downstairs, the hotel is already buzzing with media, staff, and team members, but Toto doesn’t let go. His hand stays wrapped around yours, protective, claiming. Heads turn, whispers spread, cameras click.
“You realize,” he says, amusement curling in his voice as he pulls you close, “this is going to start a little scandal.”
You shrug, smiling up at him.
“I don’t care.”
His hand slides to the back of your neck, and before anyone can blink he kisses you right there in the middle of the lobby, slow and unashamed.
“Good,” he murmurs against your lips. “Because I want the whole damn world to know, you’re mine.”
The kiss breaks only when the murmur of voices around you swells into a gasp. You open your eyes, and there he is.
Christian Horner, your father, stands frozen at the bottom of the stairs, face drained of color, eyes wide like he’s seen the end of the world. Then the red flush spreads up his neck, his voice erupting across the lobby.
“What the bloody hell is this?!” he shouts, finger stabbing the air at you both. “Are you out of your mind, Toto? She’s my daughter!”
The room falls silent, every whisper dead. All eyes, all cameras, swing toward you.
You tense, instinctively, but Toto doesn’t. He doesn’t even blink. His arm wraps more tightly around your waist, pulling you against him, calm radiating from every line of his body.
Christian keeps raging, his words tumbling over each other: “Disgraceful! Unprofessional! You’ll regret this, Wolff—”
But Toto only leans forward, his lips brushing Horner’s ear, his words pitched low enough that only he can hear.
“She screamed my name all night,” Toto says, his tone like steel wrapped in velvet. “Writhed under me until her voice was gone. And she’ll keep doing it, because she’s mine now.”
Christian’s face goes crimson, his hands trembling, fury choking him silent. And you, reckless, smiling sweetly, add your own strike:
“Careful, Daddy,” you murmur, your voice carrying far enough for the crowd to catch. “You might be a grandfather sooner than you think.”
Gasps ripple through the lobby, a stunned wave that spreads as Horner sputters, swearing under his breath.
But Toto just chuckles, unbothered, tilting your chin up. He kisses your temple with deliberate softness, his next words meant only for you.
“You’ll be the perfect mother, Schatz. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll fill you with my child, and everyone will know you belong to me.”
Your knees nearly give way, your fingers clutching his shirt as heat crashes through you. Because it’s not just filth, it’s what you want. To carry his child. To be branded his forever.
Christian’s outrage is a storm in the background, but Toto’s calm possession pulls you closer, grounding you in his orbit. He presses another kiss to your hairline, smiling faintly as if the chaos around you were nothing.
“Let him scream,” Toto murmurs, voice steady and rich. “The whole world can watch. Because you’re mine now.”
Kinktober | Wolfftober 🐺🔥 | day 21: The Invitation (Toto Wolff & Susie Wolff)
Kinktober/Wolfftober Masterlist | main masterlist
⤷ threesome MFF, voyeurism, possesion
[18+] content
Toto Wolff x Susie Wolff x fem!reader
Summary: You’re only the nanny, until you stumble into Toto and Susie in his office. What starts as voyeurism turns into a filthy invitation: her pussy on your mouth, his cock in your pussy, and both of them reminding you exactly who you belong to.
Warnings: voyeurism, threesome MFF, oral (F!reader → F), power imbalance, dirty talk, stripping/command play, bi/FFM interaction, possession kink, degradation + praise
Word count: 1.3k
You only meant to grab your jacket and head home. The house was quiet, Jack already asleep upstairs, and you thought you’d slip out unnoticed. But as you passed the study, the muffled sounds made you freeze. Low groans. The thud of a desk. A woman’s breathless cry.
Curiosity burned hotter than shame. You pushed the door open an inch, then stopped breathing.
Susie was sprawled across Toto’s desk, her head thrown back, hair a golden halo. Toto stood between her legs, shirt half undone, thrusting hard, his jaw clenched as guttural sounds tore from his chest. Her hands clawed at the polished wood, her cries sharp and desperate.
The sight rooted you to the spot, your face flushed, your thighs pressing together as heat pooled low in your belly. You didn’t even notice Toto’s eyes snap to you, until his voice cut through the haze.
“Don’t hide,” he growled, never slowing his pace. “Come here.”
Your heart stuttered. “I...”
“Come here,” he repeated, darker this time.
Your breath caught, your body trembling as the invitation wrapped around you like a net. Their eyes devoured you, his commanding, hers hungry, both daring you to cross the threshold.
Susie turned her head, her face wrecked with pleasure, her voice hoarse.
“Yes... oh, yes. Let her join. Please.”
Your steps feel heavy, unsteady, but you move toward them all the same. The heat of the room wraps around you, the sounds of their bodies colliding filling your ears until you can’t breathe.
Toto’s eyes tracked every inch of you, sharp and commanding, never breaking as he pounds into Susie. She moaned louder, her back arching, but her hand lifts blindly toward you, beckoning.
“Closer,” she gasps, her voice wrecked but playful. “Don’t be shy. You’ve already seen us.”
You’re trembling as you reach the desk, your fingers fumbling at the hem of your sweater. Toto’s gaze darkens, his jaw clenching as he thrusts harder, and then, without even pausing, he orders:
Your breath hitches, but your hands obey. You peel your clothes away piece by piece, your skin prickling under the twin intensity of their stares. Susie’s eyes roam your body hungrily, her lips parting in a ragged moan.
“Undress. Slowly. For us.”
“She’s beautiful,” she whispers, tilting her head back toward Toto. “Don’t you think?”
“Perfect,” he growls, his accent rough, his thrusts never faltering. “Look at her, already trembling for us.”
When you’re bare, Susie reaches for you, her hand warm as it slides up your thigh, teasing, testing. The touch sends a violent shiver through you, your knees weak.
“Good girl,” Toto murmurs, his eyes devouring you, his voice steel and velvet at once. “Now let her taste what you’ve been craving.”
Susie’s smile is wicked, soft and cruel all at once, as her hand pulls you closer, guiding you until you’re pressed against her, her lips finding yours. The kiss is hot, consuming, her tongue sliding past yours while Toto groans at the sight, his thrusts rougher, deeper.
“You want to stay?” Toto’s voice is a growl, rough and merciless. “Then you’ll please my wife... until she screams. And while your mouth is on her, I’ll bury my cock in your tight little pussy and fill you up.”
The filth of it makes your whole body tremble.
Susie is already moaning, her back arching on the desk as Toto fucks her hard, her cries echoing in the room. It doesn’t take long before she’s falling apart, clawing at the wood, her voice breaking as her orgasm rips through her.
Toto pulls out with a sharp groan, his cock still hard, still glistening. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so you’re forced to look at him. His eyes are wild, his jaw clenched.
“Now it’s your turn,” he snarls. “Time to see how well you can take us.”
He drags you forward. Susie slides into the chair like a queen, her legs spreading wide, her eyes heavy with lust.
“Come here,” she pants, her voice dripping with hunger. “Taste me.”
You sink between her thighs, trembling as your lips meet her heat. She gasps the moment your tongue slides against her, her hands fisting in your hair, forcing you closer.
Behind you, Toto kneels, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you open. His fingers stroke your pussy, slick and dripping, and a guttural groan rips from his chest.
“Scheiße,” he mutters darkly. “This pussy is soaking, just from watching us. You’re fucking desperate.”
You moan into Susie’s pussy, the sound vibrating against her, making her cry out. She tugs your hair harder, riding your tongue shamelessly.
Toto doesn’t wait. His cock presses against you, thick and unrelenting, and with one brutal thrust he’s inside you, stretching you until you scream into Susie.
“Fuck yes,” he groans, slamming deeper, his hands bruising your hips. “This tight little pussy was made for my cock.”
You’re crying out into her, your moans muffled by her pussy, while Toto pounds into you from behind, his voice breaking with every word.
Every thrust rocks you forward, your mouth grinding harder against Susie’s pussy. She moans wildly, her thighs squeezing around your head, her voice wrecked.
“Don’t stop... God, don’t stop!”
“Look at you,” he snarls, his cock driving deep, relentless. “Mouth full of my wife's pussy, your pussy full of my cock... you’re ours now. Every hole, every sound, every drop. Ours.”
Susie is writhing under your mouth, her moans turning into sharp cries as she grips your hair tighter, grinding her pussy against your tongue. Her voice is wrecked, desperate, every word trembling out of her.
“Yes... yes! Just like that! Don’t stop! God, I’m so close!”
Behind you, Toto is brutal, his cock slamming into your pussy with punishing rhythm. His groans are low, animal, each thrust harder than the last. Sweat drips down your back where his chest presses to you, his breath hot in your ear.
“Scheiße... Ja... ” he snarls, his hand smacking your ass hard, making you yelp against Susie. “Take it all. Take me deeper. You’re going to come for us.”
You’re a mess, moaning into Susie’s pussy, whimpering as Toto pounds you, your whole body shaking under the assault. The mirror across the room shows it all: your flushed face buried between her thighs, Toto’s massive body driving into you from behind, his cock splitting you open.
The sight alone pushes you closer. Your whimpers vibrate against Susie, and that’s all it takes, she shatters with a scream, her hips jerking against your mouth, her thighs locking tight around your head. Her orgasm spills across your tongue, hot and messy, and the taste, the sound of her breaking, rips you apart too.
You convulse violently, screaming into her as your pussy clamps down around Toto’s cock. Your body trembles, your legs nearly giving out, but he doesn’t let up, he slams deeper, chasing his own release.
“Ja, verdammt! Tight little pussy milking my cock,” he growls, his voice raw, guttural. “Beg for it. Beg me to fill you.”
“Please! Toto...” you sob, your body a wreck between them. “Come in me, fill me!”
That’s all it takes. He thrusts once, twice, then buries himself to the hilt with a feral groan. His cock pulses deep, hot and overwhelming, filling you until you cry out again, shuddering through another aftershock.
He stays pressed against you, grinding to make sure you take everything, his voice dark and victorious.
“Good girl,” he pants into your ear, his hand stroking over your stomach possessively. “Every part of you belongs to us now.”
Susie pulls you up to her chest, kissing you messily, her breath still shaky, while Toto keeps you pinned from behind, buried deep, refusing to let you go.
And between their bodies, their hands, their voices, you know you’re completely theirs.
⤷ bondage, face fucking, command kink, daddy kink -> Rage Toto
[18+] content
Summary: A disastrous race unleashes Toto’s rage, and when his headset shatters, so does his control. Provoking him with daddy word drags you into a night of brutal dominance, raw desire, and tender aftercare.
Warnings: smut, face fucking, rough sex, dom!Toto, sub!reader, commanding Toto, bondage (wrists tied), daddy kink, creampie, power play, aftecare
Word count: 2.1k
The Mercedes garage was still echoing with the sound of shattered plastic. Toto’s headset lay in pieces across the floor, wires exposed like the veins of his fury. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, jaw tight, every line of his body radiating anger. The race had been a disaster, strategy a mess, and he was seconds away from tearing into someone again.
When you finally slipped into his office, the door clicking shut behind you, the air still vibrated with his rage. He didn’t turn, not at first. He braced his palms against the desk, shoulders broad, muscles taut under the fabric of his shirt.
“I swear...” his voice cracked low, sharp, his Austrian accent thicker than ever, “...if they cost me another podium, I’ll...” He stopped himself, dragging in a breath that did nothing to calm him.
You should’ve been careful. You should’ve soothed him. But instead, words slipped past your lips, reckless and teasing.
“Oh Daddy… you can slam me next. Just like those headphones.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Slowly, he straightened, turning to face you. His eyes were dark, dangerous, disbelief flickering before it melted into something far more primal. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like a warning.
“You think that’s funny?” His voice was low, a growl that made your stomach flip.
You didn’t answer, only bit your lip and held his gaze.
In two strides he was in front of you, towering, every inch of him heat and command. His hand closed around your jaw, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to look up at him.
“You want me to lose control with you,” he hissed, his breath hot against your skin. “You want to be slammed the way I slammed that headset?”
Your whisper trembled, but it was steady enough.
“Yes.”
That was all it took.
The desk rattled as he shoved you back against it, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was nothing but teeth and hunger. His tie came loose, binding your wrists in seconds, silk biting into your skin as he pinned your hands above your head.
“You wanted Rage Toto,” he growled, his accent heavy, every word vibrating against your lips. “Now you’ll have him.”
Your pulse hammered in your throat.
“Yes… please.”
His laugh was dark, sharp, almost cruel. He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear, words breaking like thunder.
“Knie nieder.” Kneel.
Your knees hit the floor before you even thought about disobeying, wrists still bound, head tilted back to meet his stare. He looked down at you like a king surveying his prize, the anger in his face twisted into something far more dangerous — hunger.
“You don’t provoke me without consequence,” he said, every syllable deliberate, his accent dragging over you like heat. His hand slid into your hair, tightening just enough to make you gasp.
“You knew what you were asking for when you said it.”
“Daddy…”
“Still.” The single word cut you off, sharp and commanding. His grip kept you frozen, trembling, waiting. “You don’t speak until I allow it. Do you understand?”
You nodded quickly, breathless. His smirk deepened, wicked satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
“Good. Then listen.” He crouched down, face level with yours, his presence suffocating. “I will slam you into this desk until you forget your own name. And you’ll thank me for every second of it.”
A desperate sound tore from your throat — half whimper, half plea. His hand trailed down, slow, teasing, cruel in its restraint. Then, without a word, he shifted, his fingers at his belt, the slow rasp of a zipper making your stomach clench. You saw the glint in his eyes as he freed himself, his grip on your hair tightening.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low, dangerous.
Your lips parted instantly, obedience automatic, and he didn’t waste a second. His cock, already thick and hard, pressed against your tongue, the blunt head stretching your mouth as he pushed inch by inch inside. The taste of him filled you, musky and overwhelming, his hips rolling forward with cruel precision.
“Wider,” he growled, his hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His other palm pressed to the back of your head, guiding you deeper, forcing you to choke softly as the thick length slid against the back of your throat.
Tears pricked your eyes, drool slipping past your lips, but you held his gaze — that dark, merciless stare that pinned you in place just as firmly as his hands did. Every shallow thrust of his hips was a command you couldn’t ignore, his cock stretching your throat, his voice a low rasp above you.
“Scheiße…” he hissed above you, a dark chuckle breaking from his chest. “Look at you. So obedient. You asked for Daddy, you’re getting Daddy's cock”.
His pace grew rougher, his breath coming in ragged curses. Just before the breaking point, he pulled you back with a wet, gasping sound, his hand still fisted in your hair.
He bent down, his forehead pressing to yours, his voice low and rough.
“You love this,” he whispered. “You love me like this… furious, merciless. Tell me I’m right.”
“Yes,” you gasped, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. “Yes, I love it.”
His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, dark and triumphant.
“Then hold on, Schatz,” he growled, the sound rough, dangerous, vibrating straight through your bones. “Because this is only the beginning.”
He stood, spun you with one hard tug, and threw you forward onto the desk. Papers scattered like confetti as his palm spread across your back, pinning you down. With a single tug he stripped the rest from your hips, baring you completely, your body already trembling in anticipation.
“Stay still,” he warned, his tone sharp as steel.
The desk groaned in protest as his hips snapped forward, the sudden weight of him forcing you down flat against the polished surface. You cried out, wrists straining helplessly against the silk that bound them. He caged you in completely, his chest pressing hard to your back, his breath hot against your ear
You could feel his cock, heavy and demanding, grinding deliberately against your pussy, every slow drag across your slick folds making your body shudder. He moved with merciless precision, not giving you what you craved yet, just circling, teasing, letting the swollen head of him slip over you again and again until you were trembling with need
“So wet already,” Toto muttered darkly, one hand gripping your hip, the other flattening at the base of your spine to arch you deeper for him. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Provoking me, pushing me, just so I would fuck you like this.”
You whimpered, the sound muffled against the desk. His chuckle was low, cruel, vibrating through your body as he rolled his hips once more, the friction enough to make your thighs quake
“Scheiße…” he hissed, dragging himself across your slick entrance one more time, slow and deliberate. “You’re begging without words, Schatz. I can feel it.
He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a growl
“Say it. Say you want me to ruin you.”
“Yes, Daddy” you gasped, your voice breaking against the desk. “Please, I need it...”
That was all it took.
With one sharp thrust, he drove into you, burying himself to the hilt in a single brutal stroke that made your whole body jolt. The cry that tore from your throat was ragged, desperate, muffled by the wood beneath your cheek. Your wrists pulled hard against the silk, useless, while his hand clamped on your hip like iron.
“Scheiße…” Toto groaned, his accent thick, his voice wrecked with hunger. “Mein braves Mädchen nimmt alles, was ich ihr gebe.” (My good girl takes everything I give her.)
A helpless moan slipped from your throat as he drove into you again, the sound spilling louder with every merciless snap of his hips. The desk rattled beneath you, your wrists straining against the silk binding, your cheek pressed flat to the cold wood.
“Stillhalten!” Stay still. His voice cracked like a whip, thick German accent wrapping around every syllable.
You bit down on your lip, trying — God, you tried — but the brutal pace made your body shake uncontrollably, your legs trembling as his cock slammed into you over and over.
He snarled against your ear, teeth grazing your skin.
“You wanted Rage Toto? Then you’ll take him. Every thrust. Every command. Until you can’t remember your own fucking name.”
Your moans broke into sobs of pleasure as his hand left your hip and slid around your throat, not choking, just holding, controlling. He forced your head back, made you look at him. Sweat slicked his temple, his jaw clenched, his brown eyes burning with feral hunger.
“Look at me while I fuck you,” he growled. “Say it. Sag es! Whose are you?”
“Y-yours,” you gasped, your voice breaking into a scream as he drove deeper. “I’m yours, Toto!”
“Louder.” His hips pounded harder, the desk rattling beneath you. His free hand slammed down beside your head, making the wood crack. “Let the whole paddock hear who owns this tight little pussy.”
“I’m yours!” you cried, wrists straining against the tie, tears stinging your eyes from the overwhelming stretch, the relentless pace. “Fuck! I belong to you!”
The sound he made was primal, a snarl and groan all at once. He bent lower, his chest crushing your back, his teeth biting into your shoulder as he lost the last shred of restraint.
“Good girl. My girl. Taking me so fucking deep. You’re going to come for me now.”
His thrusts turned merciless, the rhythm brutal, every snap of his hips shoving you flat against the desk until the pressure inside you snapped. You screamed, your body convulsing around him, wrists digging into the restraints, his name ripping from your throat like a prayer.
And still he didn’t stop. His voice broke into curses in German, guttural and raw, as his cock pulsed inside you.
“Scheiße… ja… nimm alles… take it, Liebling.”
He drove once more, buried to the hilt, and came hard, filling you so deep you sobbed at the heat spilling into you, his grip on your wrists unrelenting as he held you down and emptied himself until he had nothing left.
When his weight finally collapsed over you, he stayed inside, chest heaving against your back, lips dragging hot, broken words along your ear. “Mine. Only mine.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, your bodies trembling against each other, bound by fury and need.
The desk no longer shook, but your body did, small tremors running through you as you slumped against the cool wood. Toto was still above you, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts, sweat dampening his shirt. His hands, which only moments ago had held you down with merciless force, slowly loosened their grip.
He untied the silk around your wrists with careful fingers, the fabric slipping away gently this time, no longer a weapon but a caress. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing soft kisses against the reddened skin where the tie had bitten.
“Verdammt…” he whispered, voice hoarse, accent thick, but stripped of anger now. “I was too rough.”
You shook your head quickly, breathless, eyes hazy but sure.
“No… I wanted it. I loved it.”
Something in him broke at your words — the rage, the fire, the raw dominance softened into something infinitely deeper. He gathered you up from the desk effortlessly, carrying you to the sofa at the corner of the room. You curled into him without hesitation, your body fitting perfectly against his as his arms wrapped around you, protective now instead of possessive.
His lips brushed your temple.
“You scare me when you do that,” he admitted quietly, a rare confession. “Push me until I lose control.”
You smiled faintly against his chest.
“And you still catch me after.”
His laugh was low, tired, but full of warmth this time. He tipped your chin up so you could see his eyes — no longer burning with fury, but with tenderness. He kissed you slowly, reverently, as though erasing every bruise he had just left.
“You’re mine,” he murmured again, softer now. “But I am yours too. Always.”
Wrapped in his arms, the storm had passed. Rage Toto was gone, leaving only the man who would always put you back together, no matter how hard he’d broken you apart.
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Toto Wolff x femMercedesDriver!reader
Summary: After a brutal race that leaves you raw and restless, Toto refuses to let you spiral. Instead, he gives you the one thing you didn’t know you needed, his stillness, his warmth, and the impossible intimacy of being held until the world fades away.
Warnings: cockwarming, comfort kink, emotional aftercare, soft dominance
Word count: 0.6k
The hotel room is silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. You are still buzzing from the race, every mistake magnified in your mind, every corner where you should have braked later, turned earlier, done better. Anger sits in your chest like a stone, heavy and burning, while shame crawls hot over your skin.
Toto doesn’t speak when you slam your helmet bag down and start pacing. He watches. Patient, steady, his tall frame leaning against the edge of the bed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, unable to bear the softness in his eyes. “I fucked it up. I threw everything away.”
“You did not,” he answers calmly, voice low, measured. “One race does not erase who you are.”
You shake your head, fists curling tight.
“You don’t understand. I can’t... I can’t stop replaying it.”
That’s when he moves. Crossing the space in two long strides, his hands find your arms, firm but gentle, grounding you.
“Then stop punishing yourself, Schatz.” His forehead presses to yours, his breath steady against your lips. “Let me hold you. That’s all you need tonight.”
You want to argue, but the fight drains as quickly as it rose, leaving you raw and trembling. You let him guide you to the bed, let him peel away your clothes with the same deliberate patience he always has, like every zipper, every button is an act of reverence.
When you’re finally bare, he pulls off his shirt and pants, sliding under the sheets with you. His body is warm, unshakably solid, and you climb into his lap almost without thinking, like gravity itself demands it.
His hand cups the back of your neck.
“I don’t want to fuck you tonight,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Not like that. I just want you here.”
And then he’s inside you — slow, steady, filling you to the hilt. You gasp, not from the thrust, but from the stillness. He doesn’t move. He simply holds you there, his cock deep inside you, anchoring you to him.
Your body trembles with the tension, with the need to shift, to grind down, to do something. But his arms tighten around your waist. “Shh. No more fighting,” he whispers. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not here. Not to me.”
Your forehead presses to his collarbone, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.
“Toto…” Your voice cracks. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know,” he murmurs, his hand stroking slow circles over your spine. “But you are allowed to be human. You are allowed to lose, and to hurt. And I will still be here, holding you through it.”
Minutes pass like that, your body stretched tight around him, your mind slowly quieting in the impossible intimacy of being filled without motion. The ache shifts into comfort, into something deeper, rawer. You melt against him, every ragged breath steadied by his touch.
When he finally tilts your chin up to kiss you, it’s not hungry or demanding. It’s soft. Certain. A kiss that tastes of promises you never thought you deserved.
You don’t even notice when your tears start falling. He kisses them away, thumb brushing your cheek.
“That’s it, Liebling. Let it go.”
And you do, every frustration, every harsh word you aimed at yourself, every ounce of self-loathing. Gone, poured into the steady circle of his arms and the impossible closeness of cockwarming, where the world can’t touch you, where you are safe.
By the time sleep finally drags you under, you are still joined, your body and his aligned in quiet surrender. And for the first time since the race, your heart feels light.
Kinktober | Wolfftober 🐺🔥 | day 19&20: Stolen Nights
Kinktober/Wolfftober Masterlist | main masterlist
⤷ no-underwear kink, edging, sex marathon (multiple positions)
[18+] content
Toto Wolff x MercedesDriver!reader
Summary: At a sponsor gala, temptation turns into fire when you and Toto finally give in to the secret you’ve been hiding. What begins as a stolen dance spirals into nights of passion, soft mornings, and the looming weight of discovery.
Warnings: smut, secret relationship, power imbalance (team principal/driver), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, rough sex (multiple positions), edging, intimacy/aftercare, fluff after sex, morning soft sex, angst under the surface, fear of exposure, mentor confrontation
Niki and George apperance
Word count: 5.3k
The gala was in full swing, music pulsing low under the chatter of voices and the clink of champagne glasses. You had smiled, toasted, posed for endless photos, and though you hated being the center of attention, tonight you played the role they all expected — Mercedes’ golden star, the reigning World Champion.
The dress you chose did the rest of the work. Short, black, shimmering just enough to catch the light, it clung to your skin in all the right places. No bra, no panties — just the soft brush of fabric against your bare body. A secret only you and the man across the room would ever know.
You felt his eyes on you all night.
Toto was flawless as always — tailored suit, watch glinting at his wrist, laughter polite and measured as he moved between sponsors and executives. But every time you shifted, every time you bent to accept a drink or leaned in to listen to a guest, you caught it, the flicker of hunger in his gaze. He was drinking you in as if no one else existed.
And you had dressed just for that.
By the time the crowd had thinned, music softening into something slower, most guests tipsy and lost in their own conversations, he finally moved. Crossing the floor with that calm, predatory stride, his hand reached for yours.
“Dance with me,” he said softly, low enough that only you could hear.
Your pulse kicked hard. You let him pull you into the shadows of the dance floor, where the light was dim and the eyes were too blurred with alcohol to notice. His hand slid around your waist, the other catching yours, drawing you against him.
“You’ve been torturing me all night,” he muttered against your ear, his accent thicker now, words meant only for you.
You tilted your head, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered back, “Good. That was the point.”
His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and his eyes darkened when he felt it. Nothing underneath.
“Scheiße…” he hissed under his breath, his grip almost bruising now. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”
You only smiled, swaying with him to the slow rhythm, your body moving against his in a way that no one else would think twice about, but that you both knew was a promise. His thigh slid between yours, his breath hot against your neck, and you bit back a moan as you shifted closer.
“You wanted to be the star tonight,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “but you’re mine. And when this dance ends, I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”
The music carried on, the world oblivious, while you melted against him, his hands already claiming you, his eyes devouring you, the fire between you burning hotter than any spotlight ever could.
Your arms slid up around his neck as the music wrapped around you, your fingers threading into the dark strands of his hair, stroking the back of his neck in slow circles. You felt the shiver run through him, subtle but unmistakable, and it made your lips curl in a knowing smile.
You leaned closer, letting your perfume, that soft, warm scent he craved, drift between you. His breath caught, his chest pressing tighter to yours. And then you felt it: hard, insistent, straining against you, his arousal pressing right against your stomach.
A sharp wave of heat pooled low inside you, your thighs clenching instinctively as your body betrayed you, wetness gathering where nothing but the thin fabric of your dress touched your skin.
“Scheiße…” he growled under his breath, pulling you even closer, one hand splayed possessively across your bare back. His palm moved slowly, dangerously, gliding lower and lower as if he could feel every inch of your skin without the barrier of fabric.
Your knees weakened, your body barely holding itself upright as the dance became something far more intimate, far more dangerous than the slow sway others saw. His lips brushed your temple, his jaw tense against your cheek.
“Liebling,” Toto whispered, voice rough, desperate, “if you keep touching me like that… if this goes on one more minute… I swear I will take you right here, on this floor, in front of every single person in this room.”
The threat, the promise, made your body burn hotter, your breath catch in your throat. You clung to him tighter, your nails grazing the back of his neck, daring him to lose that iron control you knew was hanging by a thread.
And in that moment, under dim lights and music, you almost wanted him to.
His lips brushed your ear, his voice a growl you alone could hear.
“Enough. If I don’t get you out of here now, I’ll make good on my threat.”
Your heart raced. He adjusted his grip, his hand sliding down to capture yours, fingers locking tight but casual enough to seem innocent. He straightened, his expression slipping back into cool professionalism, the one he wore so easily in front of the world.
To anyone else, it looked like the end of a dance, the team principal leading his star driver off the floor. Nothing unusual.
But you felt the truth in the way his hand pressed firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with quiet urgency. You saw it in his jaw, clenched just enough to betray how close he was to losing his composure.
The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, all blurred as he maneuvered you toward the side exit, his tall frame shielding you from wandering eyes. You forced yourself to keep your smile polite, to nod once when a sponsor waved in passing. No one stopped you.
And then the heavy door shut behind you, sealing you both into the dimly lit corridor. The muffled hum of the party disappeared, leaving only the sound of your uneven breaths.
In the next second, your back hit the wall, his body pressing into yours, his mouth crashing against your lips with the kind of hunger that had been simmering all night.
“Finally,” he growled, his hand sliding up your thigh, finding nothing underneath. His groan rumbled against your mouth. “You’re going to kill me, Schatz.”
His mouth devoured yours, his hands already impatient, but even in his hunger he forced himself to stop, just enough to drag you down the quiet corridor, out into the night air.
The driver waiting outside the hotel didn’t even blink when Toto barked your destination, only nodded and kept his eyes forward. You sat in the back seat beside him, your thighs pressed together, his hand gripping your knee under the dark fabric of your dress, sliding slowly upward as the car moved through city streets. His touch was subtle, hidden in shadows, but the promise in it had your breath shaking.
By the time you reached the hotel, your body was trembling.
He didn’t waste a second once the door closed behind you. His jacket hit the floor, your back met the wall again, and his mouth was on yours — rough, desperate, kissing you like he had been starving all night. His hands roamed down your sides, over your hips, sliding beneath the hem of your dress to cup bare skin.
“No bra,” he growled, pulling the fabric down to expose your breasts, his lips closing around a nipple before you could answer. You cried out, arching into him, your fingers clutching at his hair.
He lifted you then, as if you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed and dropping you onto the sheets. The dress slid up, exposing the truth he had already felt on the dance floor — no panties, wetness glistening between your thighs.
“Scheiße,” Toto groaned, undoing his belt with shaking hands, his erection straining painfully against his trousers. “Do you know what you’ve done to me tonight?”
“Show me,” you whispered, breathless.
He did.
The moment he pushed into you, deep and slow, you gasped, your body stretching to take him, nails raking down his back. He cursed under his breath, his forehead pressed to yours as he held there, buried inside, savoring the feel of you.
Then the control snapped.
His thrusts came hard, relentless, each one driving the air from your lungs. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your throat, biting, sucking, marking you where only he would see. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm with desperate cries.
“You’re mine,” he groaned, his accent thick, every word a growl. “Only mine. No one will ever touch you like this.”
He filled you deep, each thrust hard enough to make the bed rattle, but just as you felt the edge of release building again, he slowed. His hips rolled in a slower rhythm, the drag of him inside you maddening, keeping you right at the peak without letting you fall.
“Toto…” you gasped, trying to lift your hips into his, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.
“Not yet,” he murmured, breath hot against your ear. “You’ll come when I say.”
He pulled out almost completely, then drove back in with a groan that vibrated through your whole body. You cried out, the pressure overwhelming, the heat pooling low in your stomach.
Then he shifted, releasing your wrists only to flip you onto your stomach. His hands slid under your hips, pulling you up until you were on your knees, your cheek pressed into the sheets. He pushed into you from behind, deeper this time, the angle so intense you screamed his name.
“Ja, Liebling,” he groaned, pounding into you with brutal precision. “Take all of me.”
You clenched around him, your body giving in, and the orgasm tore through you — violent, shaking, your arms giving way beneath you. Toto caught your hips, holding you steady as you pulsed around him, dragging a curse from his throat.
But he didn’t stop.
He pulled you up against his chest, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other slipping between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit with merciless skill. The overstimulation made you cry out, your nails clawing at his arm, but he only pressed his lips to your shoulder, whispering, “Again. I want to feel you break again.”
You shattered in his arms, a second orgasm rushing through you, your body convulsing around him. He groaned, biting down on your neck, but held back, his thrusts steady, controlled.
Not yet.
He laid you back on the bed, spreading your legs wide, sliding into you once more. His hands framed your face as he thrust slowly, teasingly, his eyes locked on yours. You reached for him, desperate, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Bitte,” you begged, voice breaking. “Don’t hold back.”
The plea undid him. With a growl he snapped his hips forward, burying himself hard and fast, your body milking him through another climax that left you trembling, crying out his name. He held on, fighting his own release until your walls clenched around him so tightly he couldn’t resist.
“Scheiße, Liebling...” he groaned, driving into you one final time, spilling deep inside you, his body shaking as he collapsed against your chest.
Both of you lay there gasping, drenched in sweat, your limbs tangled, your skin still buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed your jaw, your hair, your lips, each touch softer now, reverent.
“Three times,” he whispered against your mouth, voice still ragged. “And I could keep going all night.”
You smiled faintly, exhausted, your body still trembling under him.
For a long moment, there was only your tangled breath, the sound of his heart hammering against your chest. Then his lips brushed your temple, softer now, almost reverent.
“I love you,” Toto whispered into your hair, still inside you, his weight holding you down. “More than anything. More than I should.”
You turned your head, kissing him slow, tender, every bit of anger and teasing burned away. “Then don’t stop. Not tonight.”
And he didn’t.
It didn’t take long before the heat between you sparked again. You straddled him, your thighs trembling as you lowered yourself slowly onto his length, the stretch making both of you gasp. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, but you pressed his wrists back into the sheets, taking control.
“Mein Gott…” he groaned, his head falling against the pillow as you began to ride him, your movements steady at first, then faster, harder. Every time you dropped down on him, the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with your breathless cries. His eyes never left your chest, watching your breasts bounce with every motion, his jaw clenched in hunger.
“You’re so perfect like this,” he rasped, his voice thick with his accent. “So fucking beautiful when you take me.”
Your body burned, another climax building quickly, but this time you didn’t want it rough, you wanted closeness. You leaned forward, shifting into his lap, your legs curling around his waist as you sank onto him again, pulling him deeper inside you.
The position changed everything, the two of you pressed chest to chest, your breasts sliding against his broad chest with every movement. The friction made you moan into his mouth, your lips devouring his, your hands clutching at his shoulders.
He held you tight, his arms circling your back, rocking with you in slow, powerful rolls of his hips. His forehead rested against yours, sweat damp between you, his breath uneven.
“Stay with me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Like this. Always.”
Your body tightened around him, your orgasm ripping through you, your nails digging into his back as you cried his name. He groaned, his lips dragging over your jaw, your shoulder, holding you close as he thrust deep one last time, spilling inside you again with a guttural curse.
The two of you stayed locked together in the lotus embrace, bodies trembling, hearts racing, your breasts still pressed against his chest as you breathed each other in.
And in the quiet after, he kissed your lips softly, reverently. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice broken but sure.
“I love you too, Toto”.
You stayed curled in his lap, your chest pressed to his, your breathing slowly finding rhythm again. The sweat between you cooled, but neither of you moved, too content to stay tangled together. His hands stroked lazy circles over your back, fingertips tracing every scar as if they were marks of beauty rather than wounds.
You pressed a kiss to his throat, tasting salt and warmth, and whispered, “You realize if anyone saw us right now, they’d probably faint? Team principal and driver, naked and glued together.”
Toto chuckled, low and rough, his chest rumbling under your ear.
“They’d probably fire me before they revived.”
You smirked, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze.
“Maybe I should put that in my next press conference. ‘Oh, Toto? Yes, he’s the reason I’m always so… motivated on track.’”
His brows shot up, that mock sternness you knew so well flashing across his face.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I might,” you teased, brushing your lips against his jaw. “Especially if you keep making me scream my lungs out every night.”
His laugh broke into the quiet, softer now, the kind of laugh he only ever gave you. He kissed you once, slow and unhurried, then rested his forehead against yours.
“Scheiße… you’ll be the death of me.”
“Worth it,” you whispered, and the two of you dissolved into quiet giggles that only made the warmth between you grow.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled at your limbs. You shifted, sliding down until your head rested on his chest, your ear pressed to the steady drum of his heartbeat. His arms cocooned you tighter, protective even in rest.
“I love this,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “Us. Like this. No world, no paddock, no secrets… just us.”
His hand found your hair, stroking gently. He didn’t answer with words, only a content hum, his lips pressing one last kiss to the crown of your head.
You felt the moment his body went heavy beneath you, the steady rhythm of his breathing slowing, a faint smile curving his lips as sleep claimed him first.
And with his warmth wrapped around you, you followed him into the dark, safe in the quiet promise of what you both refused to give up.
*
The first thing you felt in the morning, was warmt, his chest beneath your cheek, his arm draped heavy over your waist, keeping you pulled close as if even in sleep he refused to let go. The curtains were drawn, but thin daylight crept through the edges, painting the room in pale gold.
You shifted slightly, and Toto stirred with a low hum, his lips brushing your hair. When you lifted your head, he was already smiling, that rare, unguarded smile that made your chest ache.
“Guten Morgen, Liebling,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.
“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
For a moment there was just silence, your bodies tangled in sheets that still smelled of sweat and champagne. Then he chuckled, that deep laugh rolling through his chest.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Last night… when I realized you weren’t wearing any underwear… I nearly lost my mind on the spot. Do you know how hard it was to keep a straight face during those sponsor speeches?”
You smirked, tracing lazy patterns on his chest with your fingertip.
“Good. That was exactly the point. I only did it for you.”
He groaned, burying his face against your neck as his shoulders shook with laughter.
“You’ll kill me one day, Liebling. And I’ll die a very happy man.”
You tilted your head back, laughing too, loving how light he sounded after so many nights heavy with secrecy and restraint. His hand slid up your side, cupping your breast under the sheets, and he kissed your jaw softly, still smiling.
“Only for me?” he teased, his accent thick.
“Only for you,” you said, firm and certain.
Toto shifted suddenly, his strength effortless as he rolled you onto your back. You let out a soft laugh, surprised, but it melted into a sigh when his mouth found your chest.
He kissed your breasts reverently, his lips tracing every curve, every scar, before closing around your nipple, sucking gently. You arched into him, fingers threading through his hair, your breath catching with each slow drag of his tongue.
Then he moved lower, his mouth trailing down your stomach, his hands spreading your thighs wide. His eyes lifted once, dark and intent, before he bent to taste you.
The first stroke of his tongue had you gasping, your back arching off the sheets. He licked you slowly, deliberately, savoring, while his hands held your hips steady against the mattress. The sound of his low hum vibrated through you, building the pressure until you were trembling, whimpering his name.
When his lips closed around your clit, you shattered, the orgasm tearing through you, your cries filling the room, your hands gripping his hair desperately. He didn’t stop until you collapsed back into the sheets, spent and shaking.
Then he rose, his mouth glistening, his expression undone with hunger and devotion. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, before sliding inside you with one slow, steady thrust.
You moaned into his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist as he began to move, not fast, not desperate, but slow and deep, every roll of his hips meant to make you feel every inch of him.
Your hands cupped his face, your eyes locked with his.
“I love you,” you whispered, the words raw, unguarded.
His breath caught, his forehead pressing to yours.
“Ich liebe dich,” he murmured back, his accent wrapping around the words. “You are everything to me, Liebling. Everything.”
Tears stung at your eyes as he moved inside you, every thrust matched by another confession, his lips brushing your skin, his voice trembling with emotion.
“You saved me.”
“You’re my heart.”
“I can’t lose you.”
Your bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, not just lust but devotion, every word and every kiss binding you tighter. When release came again, it was slow, overwhelming, your whole body shaking beneath him as you whispered his name like a prayer.
He followed moments later, groaning against your mouth, spilling inside you as he held you close, refusing to let even a breath of space come between you.
After, he stayed buried inside you, your chests pressed together, your lips brushing in soft, lingering kisses.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as if saying it once could never be enough.
*
The morning stretched lazily. Sheets tangled around your bodies as you lay tangled together, exchanging kisses, whispers, little laughs that spilled out like they belonged only here, between these four walls. At some point Toto reached for the phone and ordered breakfast upstairs, his voice still low and rough from the night before, accent even thicker when he glanced at you with that boyish smirk.
When the tray arrived, he tipped the staff quickly, closing the door before anyone could linger, then carried the plates back to the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You sat propped against the headboard, his shirt now hanging off your shoulders, while he sprawled beside you, stealing bites from your plate even when his own was untouched.
“Really?” you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “You have your own food.”
He only grinned, stealing another forkful from you. “Yours tastes better.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Ja, but you love me,” he shot back, his smile wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long.
The banter flowed easily, light as champagne bubbles. He teased you about the way you moaned his name last night, you countered by reminding him how fast he nearly lost control on the dance floor. The laughter between you filled the room, softer than the night’s passion but just as intoxicating.
At one point, he leaned back against the pillows, his arm behind his head, watching you with a look that was both tender and amused.
“Weißt du…” he said slowly, “I haven’t felt like this in years. Not this light. Not this happy.”
You paused, the fork halfway to your mouth, studying him. It was true, you saw it in the way he smiled without reserve, the way he looked at you not as the team principal carrying the weight of Mercedes, but simply as a man in love.
“Good,” you said softly, putting the plate aside and curling into his chest. “Because I like this version of you. The one who teases me, who eats my breakfast, who laughs like the world isn’t watching.”
His laugh rumbled against your cheek as he kissed your forehead.
“Careful, Liebling. You might get used to it.”
“Maybe I already am.”
And as you both lay there, sheets tangled, breakfast forgotten, you knew you would remember this morning not for its secrecy, but for its rare, perfect simplicity — Toto Wolff, unguarded, smiling, and yours.
*
The elevator doors slid open, and you both stepped out into the polished hotel lobby. Toto looked impeccable again — suit pressed, hair slicked back, his expression composed. Beside him, you wore casual team gear, your hair tied back, makeup minimal, like any other morning before track sessions. The contrast was deliberate, calculated, as if nothing at all had happened behind closed doors.
But the warmth of his hand brushing yours in the elevator lingered. So did the faint smile he’d tried and failed to hide when you left the room together.
And of course, Niki Lauda noticed.
He was waiting near the entrance, leaning on his cane, his sharp eyes narrowing the moment they flicked between you and Toto. His gaze lingered a second too long, suspicion glinting there, not yet proof, but enough to make your heart skip.
Before either of you could react, George’s voice broke the moment.
“Morning!” he said cheerfully, striding over, looking far too awake for someone who had clearly drunk more than he should the night before.
“God, I think I had one too many last night. Can’t even remember how I got back to my room. Crazy party, wasn’t it?”
Toto’s polite smile didn’t falter.
“It was lively,” he replied coolly.
George turned to you then, his grin boyish.
“I wanted to talk to you actually, but you vanished so quickly. Thought you were avoiding me.”
You gave him a practiced smile, slipping back into the easy professionalism you wore around the paddock.
“I was just tired. Today’s the first training on track... I needed to be fresh.”
George nodded, accepting the excuse without suspicion, and launched into another story about the night’s chaos. Niki, however, kept glancing between you and Toto, silent, his smirk faint but telling.
The four of you stepped out together, sliding into the sleek black cars waiting to take you to the circuit. George kept chattering in the back seat about his hangover, Toto listened with the perfect mask of professionalism, and you stared out the window, hiding the tiny smile tugging at your lips.
Because under the weight of secrets, suspicion, and duty, only you and Toto knew the truth of last night, and the fire that would carry into today.
*
The paddock buzzed with the usual chaos — cameras flashing, mechanics rushing, journalists waiting like hawks. You walked beside Toto, professional masks firmly in place: he, the calculating principal and you, the disciplined driver. Only the briefest flicker of his eyes toward you betrayed anything, and even then, only to someone who knew where to look.
Later, in your motorhome, you changed into your race gear, the familiar weight of the suit pulling you back into routine. The door creaked, and when you glanced over your shoulder, Niki was already sitting comfortably on the small sofa, his cap pulled low, his cane resting against the table.
He did that often — slipping in without announcement, watching, listening. You didn’t mind. He was one of the few who never treated you like a star, or a fragile thing.
“Na, Mädchen,” he said finally, his voice low, steady. “You and Toto. Is there something?”
Your hands froze on the zipper of your suit.
For a heartbeat, the hum of the paddock outside was all you heard. You turned, trying to form the same calm smile you gave everyone else, but Niki’s gaze cut through it instantly.
“You can lie to them,” he continued, eyes narrowing, “but not to me. I see the way you look at each other. The way he is different with you. For most people, it’s not obvious. But for me?” He shook his head. “Too clear.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.
“Niki…”
He raised a hand, stopping you.
“Don’t bother denying it. The only question is: what are you going to do about it? Because you’re playing with fire.”
You sat down across from him, your suit half-zipped, your hair still damp from the shower. His words settled heavily in the room.
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes softer now.
“I treat Toto like family. And you…” his voice caught for the briefest second, rare emotion in his usually sharp tone, “you’re like a daughter to me. A granddaughter. I don’t want to see either of you destroyed by this. Not by the press, not by the team, not by yourselves.”
Your eyes stung, and you lowered your gaze to your hands.
“I don’t want to hurt him. Or the team. But…”
Niki nodded slowly, finishing the thought for you.
“But you love him.”
You looked up, meeting his eyes, and for once you didn’t try to deny it.
His sigh was long, weary.
“Then you both must decide if it’s worth the fire. Because if you go on like this, secrets will eat you alive.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you, heavy but not hostile. And then he gave a small, wry smile, patting your knee with his weathered hand.
“Just remember. I’ll always be here. To kick sense into him… or to protect you, if you fall.”
*
You sat on the edge of the narrow bed, the zipper of your suit halfway closed, when Toto finally slipped into the room. He shut the door behind him, his tall frame filling the space, his expression softer than the one he wore outside but still tense.
“Niki was here,” you said quietly, not bothering with preamble.
Toto froze for a moment, then nodded, as if he had been expecting those words. He crossed the room, lowering himself into the chair opposite you. His hands folded together, his brow furrowed, the lines of strain deep around his eyes.
“What did he say?”
“That he knows,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “He didn’t accuse. Just… asked what we’re going to do about it. Said we’re playing with fire. And he’s right.”
Toto’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.
“He is right. He always is.”
You swallowed, your fingers twisting in your lap.
“So what do we do?”
For a long moment he said nothing, just studied you, your face, your eyes, the weight you carried on your shoulders. Then he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his voice low but steady.
“The truth is, sooner or later, this will come out. People will notice. The media will make stories. We can’t hide forever.”
Your chest ached at his calm certainty, but there was no anger in his tone, no panic. Only acceptance.
“And when it does?” you asked.
His eyes softened, and he reached across the space between you, taking your hand in his. “When it does… then we face it. Together. But we must be ready. Because once it’s out, there is no going back.”
Silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. You squeezed his hand, searching his face, and saw the flicker of something rare — fear, yes, but also resolve.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered.
“You won’t,” he said firmly, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “Not to the team, not to the press, not to anyone. If the fire comes, we walk through it side by side.”
The conviction in his voice steadied you. And for the first time, the thought of being found out didn’t feel like the end, but the beginning of something you would no longer have to hide.
His hand was still wrapped around yours, warm, steady. Then he stood, pulling you gently up from the bed until you were pressed against his chest.
You looked up at him, your breath catching, and he cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks, tender against skin that had known so much fire and pain.
“Listen to me,” Toto said, his voice low but unshakable, his accent wrapping around every word. “Whatever happens, if the world finds out, if the team turns against me, if everything burns down around us... I will always be with you. Nothing is more important to me than you.”
Your throat tightened, tears pricking your eyes as he pulled you into him, your face buried against his chest, his arms locking around you like he could shield you from the world.
“I mean it, Liebling,” he whispered into your hair. “You are my life now. My only truth.”
You clung to him, your voice breaking as you answered, “And you’re mine.”
For a long moment, there was only silence, only the rhythm of his heart against your ear. The noise of the paddock outside, the weight of secrets, the fear of exposure, all of it faded. There was only this: his arms around you, his promise spoken like a vow.
Summary: Stuck in traffic and mid-argument, you decide to shut Toto up with your mouth. One hand on the wheel, one hand in your hair, he tries to keep control until he breaks.
Warnings: car play, blowjob, public risk/exhibitionism, dirty talk, argument → sex tension, deepthroat, cum swallowing
Word count: 0.6k
The car hasn’t moved in ten minutes, the line of brake lights stretching endlessly ahead. You’re drumming your fingers against the door, impatient, every bit of irritation bubbling up until it finally snaps.
“This is your fault,” you mutter.
Toto turns his head slowly, one brow lifting, his hands steady on the wheel.
“My fault? For what... traffic in London?”
“No. For always having to be right. For never letting me...”
“Schatz,” he cuts in, his accent thicker now, “you are impossible sometimes.”
You glare at him, lips parting to fire back, but something in his calm composure, the way he sits so tall, jaw tight, pretending he’s unaffected, tips you over the edge. You lean across the console, fingers already sliding over his thigh.
“What are you doing?” His voice drops an octave, strained.
“Shutting you up.”
Before he can answer, you’re tugging at his belt, freeing him. The shock in his eyes lasts only a second before his head tips back against the headrest, his knuckles white on the wheel.
“Scheiße,” he breathes, his jaw clenched. “We’re in the middle of traffic.”
The sound of car horns fades into nothing.
“Schatz,” Toto warns, his voice a low growl, “don’t.”
But you only smirk. His cock springs heavy and hard into your hand, hot against your palm. The weight of it makes your breath hitch, it feels like power itself, all of him thick and twitching while he grips the wheel in a death hold.
“You’re insane,” he mutters through clenched teeth, eyes fixed on the road ahead. But his cock throbs against your fingers when you squeeze, stroking slowly, deliberately.
You lean lower, your tongue flicking across the head. He curses in German, his hips jerking despite his iron control. You drag your tongue all the way down his length, then back up, licking him like you’ve got all day to ruin him.
When you wrap your lips around his cock, his composure cracks. A guttural noise breaks from his chest, one hand still gripping the steering wheel while the other tangles brutally in your hair.
“Scheiße,” he hisses, forcing you down further. “Always so reckless… but your mouth... fuck, your mouth is perfect.”
You take him deeper, inch by inch, until he fills your throat. He holds you there, his cock heavy on your tongue, his thighs trembling under your hands. When he finally lets you breathe, his voice comes rough, broken, commanding.
“Look at me,” he orders, his hand in your hair yanking your gaze up to his. His eyes are wild, his jaw tight. “So fucking perfect with my cock in your mouth.”
The traffic crawls forward, horns blaring around you, but all that exists is him, his hips twitching, his breath stuttering, his cock throbbing against your tongue as you hum around him. Every movement has him unraveling further, the unshakable man falling apart under your control.
And then he breaks.
His hips snap forward, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as his cock throbs violently on your tongue. Hot, thick spurts fill your mouth, and he holds you down, forcing you to swallow every drop. His other hand is locked on the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Scheiße...fuck!” His curses come raw, ragged, as he shudders through it, still buried deep in your throat.
When he finally lets go, you pull back slowly, licking your lips with deliberate satisfaction. He’s still trembling, his chest heaving as he drags in a breath and shoves the car into gear.
“You,” he mutters darkly, his voice gravel rough, “are in so much fucking trouble when we get home.”
You only smile wickedly, sinking back into your seat, the taste of him still on your tongue.
And the way his jaw tightens tells you he’s already planning exactly how you’ll pay for it.
