Several weeks ago I started a prompt challenge on my Tumblr. You drop me a prompt on my ask, I'll fill it if I'm seduced by it.
A few of those will be posted here. This is one of them.
RACER
She's in so much trouble.
"We shouldn't be doing this," she says, panting.
You press her against the door, kissing her neck slowly, biting and breathing in her ear.
"Britt, anyone can come in," she tries again, throwing her head back and moaning.
"You're my lucky charm, babe," you answer, kissing her deep and wet, taking over her mouth. "How am I supposed to beat my boyfriend without this?"
She grabs a handful of your hair, holding on to your shoulders for balance. Your hand goes up her dress, and you know she's already wet for it, ready to be fucked against a door just how she likes it.
"Babe, you're dripping." You moan in her ear, squeezing a little, teasing.
"Fuck," she gasps, biting her lip.
You smile, slowly rubbing your palm against her. "I wonder if you get this wet for anyone."
"Only you, Britt." She lets out a long moan when you finally enter her. "All for you."
You shouldn't, but you feel so possessive with her.
You know you have to do it slow and steady at first, your thumb grazing her clit with every thrust, holding her in place so she won't fall. She'll sigh and moan and sink her nails on your back, whimpering for more.
You give it to her, a flicker of your pulse and an extra finger, thrusting deep and stopping. "Beg for it."
She scratches your back, groaning in your ear. "Fuck me, Brittany. Own me. Fuck me."
You start over, this time faster and harder, stretching her, and she's so hot you can hear the wet sound she makes every time you enter her. She moans your name, over and over, until she can't take it anymore and a delicious, long wave of orgasm takes over her.
—-
You smell your fingers. So good.
You kiss your boyfriend long and wet, just how he likes it. He goes to his own car, unaware that your fingers are coated in someone else's cum.
Santana Lopez is the best kind of trouble. She's new, she's willing, and she's entranced by you.
You're used to getting what you want.
Like licking her cunt until she reaches orgasm number three, thighs clamping around you, a raspy groan.
You're still so bothered, so ready for round two.
You get into your own car.
You're obviously cheering for her, but no one needs to know.
This is going to be fun.
You've been Puck's girl for too long.
The three of you start revving your engines, and you love how your car purrs and answers to your commands.
It's a circular track, this time: you'll end up where you started.
The night is cold and quiet, ready for the taken.
Puck owns the first lead, his tires screeching, showing off as usual.
Santana's style was more opportunistic, strategic and manipulating. Puck's impulsiveness not always paid off.
Santana had been uninformed enough to flirt with you after her very first race. Didn't she know Puck has almost beaten a boy to death because he tried to buy you a drink?
Not that you're complaining, of course. When she found out the next day it was too late to turn back. She had already fucked Puck's girl.
You're too distracted.
Puck makes a mistake on a curve and Santana passes him. You smile, turning up your radio and blowing him a kiss when you're side by side.
He doesn't have what it takes to be mad at you when you win.
You can see Puck's impatience behind you, but you hold your ground.
The empty streets are only yours. You gain speed, and soon you're right behind Santana.
Santana doesn't leave you enough space to overtake, of course. She's too smart for that.
You notice Puck has suddenly disappeared.
The avenue is a long line now, and Santana can't keep you from catching up. She gives you that malicious smile, and you both speed up.
Puck suddenly shows up from a small street on your right. He honks at you both, probably too satisfied with his own cheating.
You look at Santana and you understand each other without words. The both of you accelerate as much as you can, so that your cars are by Puck's left and right.
Someone will have to give when you arrive at the last curve.
Your car groans. Santana and you have only a few inches of advantage on Puck.
It's enough for him to slow down; you manage to enter the curve just you and Santana, tires screeching with abruptness.
Santana obviously wins, that smug grin on her face because she knows how good she is, stuffing her jacket with the money, getting herself a drink to celebrate.
She obviously fucks you on the backseat of her car later that night, spreading your legs apart and touching you until you whimper and come on her lap.