Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Sorry, Calamar. They don't have any more double rooms." Pierre is looking at her all apologetically, but he doesn't seem to keen on picking Yuki up and forcing Esteban to share a room with them, in spite of their weird mating ritual that's been going on.

Charles smiles at her best friend. She can't be mean to him, not when this whole trip is to celebrate Pierre's birthday — and to play matchmaker with Alex and lock Pierre, Yuki and Este in a cupboard. "That's alright, Pear. Who will I share the room with then?"

Pierre, her so-called best friend, looks over her shoulder. When Charles turns to see who he's staring at, she finds Max already watching them. The blonde smiles at her, lifting a hand off her luggage to wave at Charles.

Charles turns to glare at Pierre so fast that her head hurts from the whiplash.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Pierre! You can't do this to me!" Charles whisper-yells, feeling her cheeks heat up. She can still sense Max's eyes on her. She could pick up the woman's gaze watching her in a crowded room. "You cannot!"

"Oh, shut up, Charlotte," Pierre waves her off. "You've been in love with her since you were babies, it was time you did something about it."

She will not punch this man during his birthday trip — not when Yuki can see her and say she's planning to murder his boyfriend — but as soon as they're back home as far away from Yuki's prying eyes as possible, Pierre will be a dead, dead man.

Huffing, Charles turns her back towards him and walks over to her new roommate. Max looks none the wiser, breaking out into a blinding grin as soon as Charles stops right in front of her. There's that same voice inside her head, the one that's been there for as long as she can remember, that reminds Charles of the horrible fact that Max will never like her back. She's simply out of Max's league. No matter what Pierre says about Max only dating women that are the splitting image of Charles — Charles doesn't see it — or that if anyone were to be out of someone's league that would be Max. Charles knows better. If Max has never made a move until now, then surely that must mean she's not interested.

Simple as that.

"Sorry about the whole mess," Charles says the moment she gets her heart to stop galloping in her chest. "I can take the floor if you don't want to share a bed with me."

"Nonsense, Charlie! I'm sure the bed will be big enough for us both."

At a first glance, it seemed like Max was right. But that was before they spent their evening drinking too much alcohol for their first night of the trip and before Charles realised just how much of an octopus Max is in her drunken state.

They fall asleep alright, each sticking to their side of the bed, centimetres between them. It all goes well until Charles wakes up feeling suffocated, little whines in her ear.

The room's too dark, her eyes taking a moment too long to adjust. Still, that doesn't mean she can't tell that there are arms wrapped around her — Max's, unless a demon snuck in their bed — and that the squid-woman clinging to her is grinding on her thigh.

When they fell asleep, they did it back to back. Charles remembers that much. She remembers it quite clearly. It doesn't matter who clung to who during their sleep, what matters most right now is that Max is using her as a glorified toy and she is not awake.

Charles had dreamed of times like this, but not once had she imagined it would ever come true. Here she is now. Here she fucking is.

She doesn't even want to wake Max up, put a premature stop to this fantasy-come-true. Charles feels herself leak in her pants, pathetically so. Perhaps if she were to just sit there, Max would wake up on her own. And if she were to be quiet enough, Max may end up as the one bearing all the embarrassment.

She tries to be silent throughout the whole ordeal, but the way Max is rubbing herself on Charles is not ideal for that. Her movements are too close to Charles' cunt, their bodies tangled up to the point where Charles cannot tell where she ends and where Max begins. The whine is punched out of her, so much louder than the small noises Max is making.

Silence settles over the room. In her arms, Max pushes herself away, voice thick with sleep as she asks, "Charlie? What's happening?"

This is how she will die. This is how she will perish, all because Pierre beat her to being the matchmaker of their trip. She will have to come back ASAP and haunt him until he's going bald again.

"Nothing happened, Maxie. It's just a dream, close your eyes… Go back to sleep, baby…" This will go down in her top three worst moments. Max isn't stupid, she will not be fooled by such a lame excuse, even if she is still half-asleep.

"Come here." Max wraps her arms around Charles, pulling her until they're pressed together. "If this is really a dream then I want to fully enjoy it." Charles can hear the smile in her voice. There's no mockery in her words, but Charles still feels her chest squeeze.

"Max… Max, what are you doing?" She cannot seem to find her words, brain so loud while she tries to figure out what is happening exactly.

"What I wanted to do for a while now, Charlie," Max whispers the words into her hair, before she lifts her chin with one finger gently placed under it. "Can I? Please, baby, can I kiss you?"

Speechless, Charles nods her head. That's all Max needs. Their lips press together, softly at first, tentative and searching to fall into a rhythm they have yet to be accustomed to. It takes them only a moment for the kiss to turn desperate, messy with spit, teeth clashing.

Max pushes Charles on her back, leaving her to catch her breath while she's busy taking their sleeping pants off. She throws them to the side, uncaring where they land. "I can't believe you're kissing me, Charlie…"

Charles frowns up at the woman, before dragging her down to kiss again. "Are you stupid?" The question is asked against Max's lips, just because she doesn't want to stop kissing her now that Charles knows this is a possibility. "I wanted to kiss you for years, Max."

Max tenses, before sighing so deeply her whole body sags. "Fuck. I'm stupid…"

Of course Pierre was right… Of fucking course. Charles will deal with that later, after she had at least five orgasms. For now, she needs to feel Max's cunt on hers.

"We'll talk later, oauis? Now please, Maxie…" Charles wets her lips. "Please ride my pussy…" Her words are anything but confident, but Max groans anyway, lifting herself to reposition her legs, so that their cunts are almost pressed together.

The first touch feels like nothing Charles has ever experienced. Her past flings were all waxed bare, just like Charles used to be. But Max is covered in coarse hair, curly and thick and rubbing against Charles' clit, another form of stimulation she had no idea could feel this good.

She doesn't have to do anything, back pressed to the mattress, hands scrambling to find purchase on Max's flexing thighs. Charles is living the dream: the hottest woman in the world — perhaps the love of her life if Max will be kind to her and allow Charles to love her endlessly — riding her pussy, brushing her clit over and over and over Charles' throbbing bud, squelching sounds filling the room.

It's… Frankly, it's obscene. The noise of their pussies grinding together, the whines Max breathes out, her own whimpers every time Max brushes her lips over her clit, so that it almost pushes inside Max…

Charles knows she's larger than most women, but she never wanted to press her clit into a pussy so bad before. She never wanted to fuck into a woman, feel her around the bud, sucking her in.

"Max, please."

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna cum just from me riding on your pretty dick? Before I can get it inside me?"

Charles stills, fingers digging into Max's thighs, feeling the skin break under the sharpness of her nails. Above her, Max squirts, drenching the bedding underneath them without a care. Body still shaking, Charles unclenches her fists, letting go of the muscles, smoothing over the skin in hopes of aiding some of the pain. Max only moans at the touch, one more dribble of cum gushing into Charles' cunt, mixing with Charles' own.

They will have to sleep on this mess they've caused, but Charles cannot deny the happiness spreading through her at the sight of Max lifting herself on shaking legs. All before she collapses next to her, body shaking from the aftermath.

Charles leans in, presses her lips to Max's, relishes in the fact that she can do this now. "Let me clean you up?" She asks, attempting to get up and head to the bathroom, find a towel for her to use.

The woman in her bed — the love of her life, Max has no choice in this anymore — whines, wrapping around Charles and putting a stop to her attempt of being responsible. "Later, schatje. After we sleep. And after I suck your clit and get you off again, ouais?"

Charles groans into Max's chest, but nods nonetheless. She'll slip another 50 euros for Pierre's gift.

Chapter Text

It starts off innocently, with Max having this urge to provide, to be a care taker. And Charles is so easy to take care of. She's easy to dote on, always smiling so brightly, red flush to her cheeks, eyes wide, dimples putting on a show for Max.

Max would've been stupid not to take care of her girlfriend at any given opportunity.

Open the door for her, rub her shoulders after a hard race, buy her non-sponsored jewellery, drop thousands of euros on designer toys for Leo. Suck her clit, eat her out, spend hours upon hours edging her. The usual duties any girlfriend should have.

Buying Charles food is, of course, included in those duties. Charles is a foodie, in spite of their strict diets, and the usual cheat day is always welcome. Pizzas, pastas, cakes and ice cream, whatever Charles craves, Max orders for her.

At first, Max reins the screaming voice in her head back, leashes it close to herself and doesn't let it out of sight. She allows Charles to eat on her own, only letting her eyes follow along as she takes bite after bite, chews until the food is reduced to a paste, and then swallows it all. It's all she can permit herself to do. Max has many kinks, some more acceptable, tamer than others, but she doubts a possible food kink will fare well in their lives. Andrea would have her head on a stick before she could even voice this interest.

No matter how much she wants to feed Charles, how much she feels pride blossom in her chest at the thought of Charles enjoying food Max bought for her, Max knows that one wrong move would lead to possible distress. She hates that their lives are dictated by their weights, which is why she tries to keep the urge in. Locked and far away from any possibility of it escaping.

But when summer break comes and Charles claims that she is going to break so many of Andrea's rules, Max's brain short-circuits. Images of Charles on her yacht, lounging on a white towel without a care in the world, as Max feeds her pieces of chocolate pop up in her mind. She can't help it. Even when she pushes those thoughts away they still come back, louder and more demanding than before.

Max cannot fight it anymore. The urge too strong.

She starts on the first day of summer break, before they even go on their planned holiday. Max orders them celebratory pasta for staying alive during the first half of the season. Red sauce penne for her, shrimp loaded fettuccine for Charles. Pasta plated, pinot grigio popped open and gelato in the freezer, Max is waiting for Charles to get out of the shower.

Charles whines as soon as she sees the bottle Max chose, loudly complaining that Max is sabotaging her own dinner by not opening some merlot. Max was expecting it, looking forward to it even. Her girlfriend is just so cute when she's all pouty like that, Max wants to eat her whole!

She whines through the first few bites as well, lifting forkful after forkful to her lips, loudly bemoaning that she's too tired to eat. It's way too early to go to sleep, but with how Charles works, she may just want to call it a night at seven in the evening.

"Do you want to go nap then? We can continue watching The Great, I think we still had a few episodes left. We can laze on the couch, then if you're still up for it you can finish your dinner."

Charles hums in thought, before she fixes Max with a bossy stare. "Feed me," she challenges Max, pushing the plate and fork towards her. "I want to finish it since you ordered it for me, Maxie."

And who is Max to deny such a sweet request?

If her cunt clenches around nothing as she twirls some of the fettuccine around it, that's only for her to know. And if she can feel herself drip in her boxers when Charles bites on the food and moans around it, that's also fine. And if her grip around the fork goes knuckle-white the moment Charles' tongue pokes out to wipe some of the sauce that's on the side of her mouth, Max can blame it on the wine getting to her head.

It becomes a thing, after that. An unspoken agreement between them.

Max buys the food, or she makes it if she's in the mood to cook, and Charles sits there, looking all pretty while Max feeds her.

The voice in Max's head is pleased the longer it goes on, but one and a half weeks into the whole thing it's becoming obvious that Charles is gaining weight. There's a swell to her abdomen where the six pack was not long ago, her hips look rounder and her face is softer, jaw not as sharp anymore. And her tits… Just yesterday Charles came to Max grumbling that her bras don't fit her anymore.

Max had to bite down a moan. She had never been that turned on in her whole life.

She knows she should stop this charade. Charles will not be happy with the weight gain once she realises it's Max's doing. Max attempts to cease it, she really does. She puts the fork in front of Charles when the private chef on her yacht brings out their food, wordlessly letting Charles know she won't do it. Her family has joined them this morning, and Max isn't sure if she wants them to be present during their thing. Their kink, because that's what it is.

She wouldn't do that to Pascale and Lorenzo. Maybe to Arthur, but even he doesn't deserve to witness her feeding Charles until she's stuffed and red in the cheeks.

Charles is being good about it. She doesn't puff her cheeks or ask Max what the hell she's doing. She smiles at Max and thanks her for asking the chef to make her favourite and she eats on her own. A very good girl indeed.

Max's hands twitch to reach over and pull the fork from her girlfriend's hands. She doesn't get a chance to do that, Lorenzo pulling her into conversation on cats — her favourite topic, after Charles.

It's only later that evening — closer to midnight — in the master bedroom of the yacht, that Charles comments on Max's behaviour. She left the room when Max went into the bathroom, something about needing to discuss a thing or another with her mother. Clearly, the tray of brownie bites and cookies that materialized on the bedside table means that Charles lied.

Charles is glaring at her. That's the first thing she actually notices when she enters the room. The tray is second thought. When she notices it, after a few seconds given that Charles is very much naked on the bed, it all becomes obvious.

Her thighs, round and soft, are making Max feel light-headed. She looks delectable, absolutely ravishable with the way her stomach spills over the elastic of her too tight panties. Max is going to pass out. Or grow a dick and pop a boner. One of the two.

"You didn't feed me," Charles mumbles.

"Charlie," she breathes out. "Your family didn't consent to it. And even if they did, that's only for me to see, isn't it?"

Charles rolls her eyes, sulking. "I guess."

There's a moment of silence, Charles scowling at Max, then to the treats she brought, then back at Max. All the while Max is pretending not to see the evident question that's threatening to be asked. She busies herself with towel drying her hair, sneaking glances when she thinks Charles isn't looking.

"Will you please feed me now?"

Max smiles at her, soft and full of love. "Of course, Charlie."

They fall into the routine without any trouble: Charles laid out, Max on her knees besides her, fingers sticky with chocolate. Max pushes piece after piece of brownie past her lips. Charles opens her mouth, chews, licks her teeth clean, then repeats. It goes like that for the first two brownie squares. Until Charles cries and turns her head out of Max's way.

"Can't anymore," she whimpers. That's not right. She still has so many pieces left to eat, Max won't let them go to waste.

"Is my baby too full?" Max asks, tone mocking, clean hand moving to rub over Charles' belly. Charles nods. Her back arches off the bed, chasing Max's touch. "Come on, schatje, you can have one more. A cookie, don't you want?"

More vehemently, she shakes her head. Max can't let that be the case. Her Charles just looks so pretty when she's fuller than full. She needs to see her stuffed, needs her pliant in her arms.

"What if I rub your belly, hm? Doesn't that feel nice, baby?" Charles is rendered speechless, only able to cry and moan, mouth falling open on its own accord. Max doesn't hesitate; she feeds her another bite. "That's right, Charlie. You love it when you're full, don't you? It feels so nice, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Maxie."

Moving her hand lower is the next logical thing. Charles is just so pretty, pink covering her whole body, the panties she chose matching the blush perfectly. She's so pink. Like a little raspberry. Max wants to sink her teeth in the meat of Charles' body. She's close to doing so.

Her fingers dip under Charles' panties. Oh. She is so wet. She's dripping. It's… It's like she came already. Max is going to die.

It takes one single brush over Charles clit for her to come undone, gushing in her panties, soaking them more. Her moan gets muffled, teeth sunk into the still warm cookie.

Chapter Text

Max knew the movie was going to be boring as soon as Charles no longer paid attention where the scrolling stopped and just clicked play. It was a shitty romcom taking place in an American high school, something about the main character having to learn to love herself.

Charles, for all that's worth, tried to seem interested at first. But as the minutes passed and the plot became more and more boring, she started making herself comfortable and getting ready to nap. Feet over Max's lap, then arm over her chest, then switching positions and throwing her leg over Max and plastering herself to Max's side. That's where she decided to stay, and that's how she's still resting, eyes closed and breathing even.

Max's legs have long fallen asleep under the weight, but she doesn't care much. She's used to it by now. As long as Charles is comfortable, she'd have all her limbs go numb.

Whenever they cuddle — which ends up being almost every day because of how desperate for each other they are — it happens. They're athletes, they have a lot of pent up energy that they can't seem to be able to get rid of. Sure, they fuck often, and sure they go on runs daily, and of course they get its levels to be somewhat normal, but they're only women.

Women who crave the other in ways they've never felt before. Women who know obsession, know it well. Women who could spend hours buried between the other's legs and not get tired of it. Women who are horny. Plain and simple.

That's exactly why the predicament Max finds herself in is not unique: Charles is using her thigh to get off.

She's still sleeping, or she's tired enough to not be fully aware she's doing it, but she's making the smallest noises with each little grind and Max is going mad with lust. She's one moment away from throwing Charles on the couch and having her way with the whining mess in her lap. God, Charles always sounds absolutely ruined, before she even gets fully into it. She's a desperate little thing, one move, a finger brushing over her clit, a sharp thrust, and she's cumming all over.

Max is not sound of mind, whenever Charles starts whimpering. She's never in her right mind when it comes to Charles. It's an actual issue, sometimes.

But right now, she has to actively stop herself from doing anything. Because Charles may not really want this. She's just doing this because she's tired, no other reason. That's what Max tells herself to hold the aching urges back.

She tries to focus on the movie, she really does. Eyes stuck on screen as if it's the most interesting piece of media ever made, ears shut, hands as far away from Charles' shaking body. If only they'd have discussed this scenario before. Max wishes she could touch, but the blurry lines of consent are enough to keep her from doing anything.

Charles, it seems, doesn't care about the lack of prior talks about using the other as a glorified sex toy when asleep. Regardless of who is the one awake and who is asleep. She's grinding on Max's thigh with purpose now, whimpers no longer tiny and muffled. There's a growing wet patch on Max's shorts. With each little thrust it gets bigger, until Max can see it when Charles pulls back enough.

She's…

She's not going to do anything. She has to stay calm and just let Charles have what she wants and then pretend nothing happened when she will inevitably wake up.

Except Charles seems to have other plans, the longer she's grinding on Max. Just as the main character kisses her love interest on screen, Charles' eyes snap open, the movement of her hips coming to an abrupt halt. The breathless gasp of Max's name makes her cunt clench around nothing, soaking the cotton of her underwear shamelessly.

Max cannot even bring herself to be embarrassed about it. Not as long as Charles is sheepishly looking up at her, the perfect definition of ashamed. Max starts acting before she can fully process she's doing it. She gathers Charles in her arms, presses kisses to her sweat covered forehead, and rushes to tell her she has no reason to be shy.

"No?" Charles asks, small and still sleep ridden.

Max grabs her hand. Unceremoniously, she sticks it in her pants, over her panties, where the wetness can be felt without any difficulty. It takes Charles a single second for her cheeks to colour brightly, and one more to pull her hand out and bring it to her mouth. For how virgin-awkward-like she was being not a moment ago, Charles sure knows how to make Max's brain stop working by acting like a little tease.

"Because of me, Maxie?" That glint in her eyes is back, having fully replaced that startled look.

With an eye roll, Max scoffs. "Why else, Charles? Because of the fucking straight romance you forced me to watch?"

"Maybe!" She giggles, but the sound gets cut short when Max pushes at her shoulder, her own cheeks going rosy. "Maxieeee, don't be shy." She's the absolute worst, throwing back at Max the very same words she just used.

"Fuck off," body heating up with each passing moment, Max does what she knows best. She shoves Charles off her, until her back is leaning on the armrest. The cum-stained patch on her shorts is that much more obvious now, with Charles sitting back, her legs parted. Absolutely shameless, innocence completely gone the longer Max's eyes stayed stuck on that glaring spot.

"Hmm, I don't think that's really what you want from me, Maxie." Charles sing-songs, voice annoying, body relaxed, as if she didn't just have an orgasm dry humping Max's thigh. The purest epitome of nonchalance, that's what Charles looks like right now. "I think you'd much rather fuck me. Or have me fuck you. You're not that picky when you're dripping wet, aren't you, ma lionne?"

Max tries her hardest to seem unaffected by it, she really does, but she played right into Charles' hands when she showed her just how much she's been affected by her lover. Her voice is higher than it should be as she quips loudly, "Shut up!"

Charles is a driver just like her, it should not escape her that she is strong. Max always forgets just how strong Charles really is. She always makes herself seem smaller, and Max doesn't mind the ego boost that imagery gives her. Plus, she loves picking Charles up too much. Her demands to be manhandled are always met, no matter how tired Max may be. Point is, Charles rarely uses her strength around Max. She sees no reason to, and Max isn't about to tell her she has to do anything she doesn't want to just to remind her they are actually on equal footing here.

When Charles pulls her on top of her, Max goes easily, partly because she's taken by surprise and partly because there's that burning look on Charles' face that tells her she should not put up a fight unless she wants to end up with Charles' red strap buried in her pussy.

Not that Max doesn't want that… She wants it quite often… Often enough for it to sometimes affect her thinking. But right now, Max is more interested in seeing what exactly is it that Charles has in mind.

What she has in mind is obvious as soon as she positions Max exactly how she wants her: straddling her thigh, just as she was during the still playing movie. Mournfully, Max thinks she will have to cum with a stupid high school romance movie playing in the background. Somehow, it still doesn't beat the time they had sex while some random British twinks reading sexual innuendoes at each other played on their TV.

"Do you want to know what I want. chérie?" Charles whispers against her lips, a breath only between them. Max nods, mindlessly and desperate for something to happen already. "I want to see you hump my thigh like the little needy thing you are."

Max prides herself in having an insane amount of self-control, especially when Charles takes the dominant role and makes it her bitch. She holds her ground and pushes all of Charles' buttons until she puts Max in her place with a perfectly manicured hand. Today, it seems, everything is thrown out the fucking window.

She moans and drops all her weight on top of Charles' warm thigh without even putting up a fight. It's like a switch has been turned off. It's like she cannot recognize herself.

Charles has no right to be looking so smug when she was worse during her catnap, but that doesn't seem to dampen her mood. If anything, having Max act so subdued, pliant and whimpering as her hips twitch, twitch, twitch, is enough to make sure the smirk on her lips will not come off for the next few hours.

Unused to being the one riding thighs, Max's movements feel foreign to herself. She's not certain if her hands should be gripping onto Charles' shoulders, or if she should tug on her hair. All she knows is that it feels good. Really, really good. She has no idea grinding on Charles' thigh could feel this nice.

"Charles," she whines, head falling forward to rest on Charles' forehead, so that they're breathing each other's air. "Please."

Humming, Charles lets one of her hands rest over Max's hip, while her other moves under her shirt to grab at her tits. "Please what?" She has the audacity to tilt her head to side, act all cute as if she's not squeezing Max's boob, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple like it's just another Tuesday. She has the audacity to do all that while Max is dying and she doesn't know how exactly to move herself to come undone and she is being so mean!

"Charles!"

She takes pity on Max, at last. It has to be the desperate look in her eyes. The hand gripping her hip starts guiding her, as she lifts her leg up, so that she's pressing in all the right places.

Max is so worked up, the switch of stimulation feeling delicious against her clothed pussy. That, combined with the way Charles is panting into her mouth, eyes trained on where she's still grinding, is all Max needs to be pushed over the edge.

Her thighs clamp around Charles', squeezing as her body twitches through the aftershocks of the orgasm. All the while, Charles looks up at her as if she hung the moon and stars and sun up in the sky, for her to admire.

"I love you," Charles says, that look of love not moving away, not even for a moment.

Max rolls her eyes. She always gets soft after they're done. "We're sticky. We gotta go shower, schatje." Both their shorts are absolutely ruined, wet patches having grown twice the size from Max alone. It's so… It's so hot, seeing her cum darken the fabric of Charles' pink shorts.

"Say it back!" Charles cries. "Say it baaaaack, Maxie!"

No matter how hard she tries, she will never be able to play hard to get with Charles. Leaning in to press their lips together shortly, Max whispers against Charles' mouth: "I love you."

Chapter Text

Charles is so fucking exhausted. They had absolutely zero reasons to keep her for such a long debrief, considering she has been taken out of the race by Kimi after putting on a, dare she say, amazing performance. Especially for how temperamental their car is. Keeping Lewis locked for hours upon hours? Sure, that makes sense, but keeping her there to go over the same data over and over was a choice Charles has yet to understand.

At last, she's entering their hotel room, turning the lights on as she closes the door shut behind her. Max doesn't seem to be back, but Charles, for once, doesn't blame her. P2 at her home race is still something worth celebrating, unlike Charles' DNF. Besides, she saw how Isack was acting after his podium, she wouldn't be surprised if everyone at VCARB and RBR have been invited to party by the rookie. First podium at his pseudo-mother's home race is something special.

Without Max here to worry over Charles like the mother hen she is, Charles makes her way to the bathroom, ready to spend at the very least an hour pruning in scalding water. Chamomile and rose essential oils dropped in the bath, emergency lavender candle lit on the edge of the tub, hair held up with a silk scrunchie. Charles has a ritual for days like these, and it tends to include staring at her legs until her eyes are hurting from the lack of blinking.

She doesn't allow herself to cry anymore. It's not worth it, she has come to realise.

Barely half an hour must have passed when she hears the door open, Max's loud arrival making her shoulders droop as the tension leaves her body. Charles' routine for fail-weekends also includes her lover. And her strap. Mainly her strap.

Now that Max is here, it will be only a matter of time before Charles is seated in her lap, pussy filled and mind foggy. First thing first, Max has to find her. There's no light on, but the scent — and her knowledge of Charles' habits — should be all Max needs.

And there she is, a minute later, smiling at Charles from the doorway, warm light casting an aura from behind her. She looks like a saint. She looks like a god. Charles would pray at her altar, knees stiff and back rigid, if her body wasn't screaming at her to just bury herself alive.

"There you are," Max observes. She's moving into the bathroom, shedding her clothes on the floor as she does so. Her hands stop on the waistband of her skinny jeans, before she seems to remember something, face falling as whatever it is that pops in her mind dampens her mood.

Charles scoots back, leaving room for her lover to climb into the bath. Still, Max stays frozen, chest flushed from the alcohol she must have had at the party. Her tits look fuller. Charles notes to check if they have any pads left at home, see if she has to buy some for Max. "Yes?"

"I can't wear the harness in the water…" She sounds distraught, truly heartbroken at the mere thought. She's pouting at her jeans, full lips glossy with spit. Charles wants to break the skin and drink the blood that would pour out of the wounds. "How will you cockwarm me if I can't wear my harness in the water?"

Charles giggles, hiding her laughter behind a palm. It makes Max pouts even more intensely. She wishes she could hold the giggles in, but tipsy Max is just too much. Charles loves her so much, the feeling of heart pounding in her chest close to making her ribs crack open. "You're too drunk to cockwarm, baby," Charles says, apologetically. She's both sorry for herself, as well as for Max. Max loves having Charles on her strap just as much. "It's nothing, we can do it another time, alright?"

Usually it's Max who is the voice of reason in moments like these. If it were up to Charles, she'd sit on Max's cock 24/7, no matter the circumstances. She proposed it once, and Max had to break her heart by telling her she can't do that. The role reversal is weird, but Charles can't deny the power surging through her blood when she's the one denying Max.

"I'm not drunk!" Max opposes, in a very not-not-drunk way. She even sways when she tells Charles the factual truth she so believes, before she shimmies out of her jeans and gets in the water. "Just tipsy. Had one GT, Charlie."

Charles fixes her with a look, to which Max blushes and sinks deeper into the water. "Two GTs, maybe," she admits. After another look, she sighs. "And some champagne…"

"Too drunk," Charles concludes, letting her toes poke Max in the stomach. "We'll sleep after the bath, mon amour."

Max pouts and for a moment Charles truly thinks she is going to admit defeat, but then her face lights up and she makes a pleased sound. "I'll sober up! And then you can sit on daddy's cock, alright mon amour?" The pronounciation is poor, as it always is when it comes to Max's French, but it still makes Charles' pussy clench.

"Fuck you," Charles bites, poking her toes into Max's tits to drive her point home.

"Oh, I will baby. Daddy will fuck you full, don't worry."

For the rest of the bath, Max stays quiet, just watching Charles through half-lidded eyes, fingers ghosting over her stretched arms. As the minutes pass and the candle light gets smaller and smaller, Max's eyes get more and more alert, the heat having the exact opposite on her. Where she should be getting sleepier, she's now looking fully sober. As if she hasn't had anything to drink.

Charles hates how her body works sometimes. It's so unfair, that she can just get sober like that. It's even more unfair when they stand, and it is Charles whose legs are wobbly, like a new born deer's. Max stands straight as she reaches for the towel, wrapping it around Charles without a single word. The shit-eating grin on her face, however, speaks volumes. Charles hits her shoulder, water still dripping on the floor as Max decides to pass the towel drying all together.

Leaving her behind to rub lotion into her skin, Max goes back into their room, where Charles can hear her rummage through their luggage. There's no need for that, her strap and harness packed into her carry-on bag, but Max is just as dramatic as Charles is, if not worse sometimes.

She's not going to give Max what she wants, even though she wants it just as much. She's been thinking about the stretch of Max's strap from the moment the adrenaline left her body on that fucking hill. But Charles will not be easy prey, not today. If Max wants her to sit on her strap then she will have to wait for Charles to come to her.

A minute passes, then another thirty seconds — Charles counts them — and she's out of the bathroom, leaving the towel on the floor, piled up on top of Max's clothes.

There Max is, sitting back on the bed, cock already wet with lube, hard against her stomach. Charles had no idea which one of her straps Max had packed, but she seems to have gone for one of her bigger sizes. The skin coloured one, curved to the right, so unlike her beloved blue cock. The lack of spikes on it makes Charles deflate, but the sheer size of it makes up for some of the disappointmet. With how she's feeling already, Charles knows she will be sore by the time she's done warming it.

"There you are," Charles whispers, eyeing the way Max is stroking herself lazily, spreading the lube all over the silicone.

"Come sit, baby."

Who is Charles to say no? Who is she to deny Max's request?

She strolls towards the bed, legs still uncertain as she moves. Dropping on the bed comes naturally, as does crawling over Max's legs, positioning herself so that she's just above her cock.

"Pretty," Max muses, staring up at Charles. "Can I?"

Max isn't explicit in what she wants to do, but Charles nods anyway. She watches as Max moves her hand, the one that's not resting on her lower back, holding Charles still. It brushes over her thigh, down the inside, up towards her bare cunt. Max doesn't tease, for once. Two of her fingers slide right in, aided by how wet Charles is. How wet she's been.

Biting on her tongue, Charles grinds on the digits. Max is a horrible, horrible person. Her fingers are still. So very still. Unmoving and yet so demanding for Charles to fuck herself on them.

It's what Max always wants from her. To see her desperate for it, as she always gets when she's stuffed. Charles should feel the shame boiling in her. After all, Max fucked only two fingers into her, nowhere near enough for the girth of her cock. There's only deep craving left, Charles' hips riding the fingers inside her as if they were the real thing. The thing she wanted most.

"Ma-ax. Let me sit on your cock already, please!"

Pulling her fingers out, Max hums in agreement. Without breaking eye contact, she wraps those soaked digits around her cock, moving them up and down, mixing Charles' slick with the lube still glistening on the strap.

"Come," Max tells her, hand at the base, lining her cock with Charles' entrance. "Sit at your own pace, baby."

Charles isn't a quitter, and she's not in need of gentle guidance. She sits down, takes all of Max's length in one go, hisses through the stretch.

"That's it," Max murmurs. Hands find Charles' back, tracing over her spine as she settles on the strap, still breathing through it. "Did so well for me, baby."

"Shut up."

Laughing at Charles, Max makes a motion of zipping her lips. With how Max usually is, Charles knows she will start babbling again in a matter of minutes. She's unable to hold herself back from praising Charles, not that she's complaining about it.

Once her cunt doesn't feel like it's being torn open, Charles is finally able to relax herself. Her head rests on Max's shoulder, arms wrap around her back, and eyes slip shut. Charles lets her mind wander, running over her race again in her head, up until the point Kimi took her out. She should cease thinking about it, it is not good for her to not let go of her disappointments, but today is simply difficult to leave the race at the track. Not even the cock inside her enough to take her mind off of it.

Charles doesn't need to see what Max is doing to feel her hands lift off her back and move towards her face. There goes the silence. Her dork of a lover goes as far as making an unzipping noise.

"Stop thinking about it, Charlie," she says, gently running her fingers through Charles' hair, pulling the scrunchie out in one go. "It wasn't your fault."

"I could've gotten on that podium…" Charles whines, petulantly. "We could've been up there, together."

"Yeah, sure. Or I could've crashed." She's always so matter-of-factly. Charles hates that.

She knows she shouldn't be mean, but still she mutters, "Kimi was nowhere near you, though."

Max lets the statement wash over them, choosing to ignore the jab at one of her grid kids. She asks, "Do you really want to debrief like this, Charlie?"

"I want to stop thinking about it! But clearly you can't even use that big cock of yours to make me— Ah!" The thrust is sudden, kicking all the air out of Charles' lungs. Charles slumps forward, hips grinding on the strap that's still fucking into her shallowly. "Max!"

"Do you also need my fingers in you to shut your brain up, baby? Need to be full on all sides, don't you?" She doesn't wait for Charles' answer. Max pushes her thumb past Charles' lips, before rethinking her choice and replacing it with her pointer and middle fingers. Charles moans around them, taking them deeper in her mouth.

At last, her mind goes quiet, sucking on the digits that are fucking into her mouth, deeper and deeper, drool spilling down the side of her lips. Max has stopped thrusting her strap, stroking Charles' thigh with her free hand.

Around her, the world is starting to go quiet, finally.

"Good girl."

Charles settles, and she lets herself begin to float away.

Chapter Text

They have a rule during race weekends. A rule that's set in stone by Max herself after Charles, the little minx, convinced her it would be a great idea to have penetrative sex, only to spend the whole Sunday loudly complain she's too sore to race comfortably. The rule came as a logical conclusion, and unlike Charles, who tries and tries to prove her it is a stupid thing to have sex rules when they're both adults, Max stands by her decision.

It's just that usually she abides by her own rules… And usually she is great at holding herself back, ignoring her cock and focusing on Charles when she's needy on Saturday.

She has no idea why today is so different, why her erection won't go down no matter how long she stays under the cold shower. Not even imagining Helmut does the trick, something that has never happened.

Stepping into the bedroom reminds her exactly why she can't keep her dick down: here Charles is, spread on top of the covers looking softer than usual in her too big Ferrari hoodie, eyes droopy with sleep, legs naked save for the bite marks Max put on them. She's an absolute vision, her very own personal nymph.

Underneath the towel, her cock twitches.

Charles' eyes zero in on the little movement, pupils dilating with want. She stands straighter, watching Max like a hawk as she makes her way towards the bed.

"My, my," Charles whistles, far too pleased grin spreading on her face. "You know there are rules, don't you?"

Rolling her eyes, Max drops the towel on the floor, cock half-chubbed already, yet showing even more interest when Charles parts her legs in invitation. She will be the bigger person and show Charles she won't break her own rule.

"Good thing I won't do anything about it," Max huffs. She lifts the thin sheet, getting herself in bed while Charles stays sitting on top of it. "Good night, schatje."

"What?!" Charles gasps, ripping the sheet off Max and glaring at her — mostly at her dick. "You can't go to sleep like that!"

"Why not?" Max questions, just to be an ass about it. She knows exactly what Charles wants, but she's not going to have it her way, no matter how much she bats her pretty lashes. "It wouldn't be a first."

"But—" Charles' mouth gapes like that of a fish out of water, opening and closing. "But you can't!"

"Baby, I'm not the one who needs an orgasm to fall asleep. That's you," Max points out, making herself comfortable, hands behind her head so that her whole body is exposed. If Charles wants to stay staring at her, then at least Max should give her something to gawk at. "And you know I will not fuck you, no matter what."

"You don't have to fuck me to get rid of your problem…" Charles says, shyness suddenly washing over her.

"Aren't you too tired to give me head?" Max frowns, well aware that her Charlie is too spoiled to suck cock when she is sleepy. She'd much rather get fucked than do any work. Max loves that about her.

"It doesn't have to be a blowjob…" Handjobs also require too much work from Charles. Max can't figure out what she has in mind. Quirking an eyebrow, she waits for Charles to shed some light on her. "My thighs… You could use my thighs…" She's more nervous than before, cheeks pretty in pink, eyes glossy at the mere thought of offering Max her thighs to fuck.

Were she not achingly hard, Max would pop a boner the size of the moon just from those words alone. Biting back a groan, she covers her face with an arm. Charles will be the death of her.

"Fuck, baby. You'd let me fuck your pretty thighs?"

Charles nods, whining high in her throat. She crawls into Max's lap, before realising that Max can't fuck her thighs if she sits like that. Falling back, Charles brings her legs together, pressing her thighs tightly without a fuss.

"Okay, okay, I see you're eager for it," Max says with a chuckle. "Let me grab the lube, alright?"

Charles cries, shaking her head. She's already gone, and while it's adorable, fucking without any lube would chafe them both. Max has to be the responsible one here, her dick is at stake!

"Stop whining, baby," Max chastises. "I'll fuck you in a moment, just let me warm this up before I put it on you."

Naturally, Charles doesn't stop whining about it. She keeps making those tiny sounds of hers until the very moment Max wipes the lube on her inner thighs, spreading it over her bruised skin. Only when Max pushes her cock in between them, does she fully stop. At least for a second. A far too short second.

Grabbing Charles by the ankles, Max squeezes her legs tighter, to the point where if she were to close her eyes, she couldn't tell she wasn't fucking Charles' cunt. It's just as warm, just as tight, just as wet.

Charles is leaking down her thighs every time Max brushes her dick over her lips, something she's keen on doing, as long as Charles keeps gasping so adorably, breathy ah, ah, ah's punched out of her with each thrust.

"Maxie, I want your cum on me, please."

She may as well black out with how forceful the orgasm is. Max thinks she must've, because when she opens her eyes, she's squishing Charles under all her weight, head tucked into her neck, as Charles passes her fingers back and forth across her naked back. Max smiles into the skin and closes her eyes again.

Chapter Text

Charles secures the ears on top of the blonde's hair, making sure they're sitting evenly, not a centimetre crooked. They're no longer those cheap things Charles used last time. Instead, Charles ordered a custom set for Max, meant to match the exact shade of her hair, something the artist managed to do perfectly. The tail is even more impressive, bushy and capturing the Maine Coon energy Charles sent as inspiration. The plug slid right in easily, too. Small enough for Max to take without issue, given she's not used to having her ass fucked, no matter how much Charles yearns to fuck her as well.

It's beautiful. Max is beautiful. Truly breathtaking, even while wearing a glower, an honest to God hiss threatening to spill past her bruised lips.

She can't help the coo that escapes her, nor the little boop she places on Max's nose.

"You're so cute, daddy," Charles giggles, scratching Max under her chin the same way she does for Jimmy and Sassy. "My little kitten. Cutest kitten, aren't you?"

Max, the feral little thing she is, tries to fucking bite her finger off, teeth snapping dangerously close to Charles' hand. If she were Max, she'd call Charles spoiled and make her cum until she regretted her actions, coaxing her through countless orgasms with gentle hands and soft yet teasing smiles. But Charles, as she has come to realise, is not a soft domme. Not in the way Max is.

The strike is loud, her hand tingling from the impact. When she looks over Max's face, her cheek is already turning pink. But in spite of the slap, Max's eyes are glazed over, cock twitching where it rests against her thigh.

"Bad kitten," Charles scolds her, voice mean, hand meaner when it pulls on the collar that's wrapped around Max's neck. "Do you want me to punish you, daddy?"

Max rushes to deny it, before remembering that speaking is forbidden, at least while the cat ears stay on. She shakes her head, the little triangles moving floppily as she does so.

"Good. Now, meow for me, daddy." It's not a suggestion, still Max scrunches her nose, refusing to do so from the beginning. And here she was, thinking Max is a well-behaved kitty. Surely, that is all due to how lenient Charles has been. She should have trained her more.

Alas, today isn't the day she will take this upon her. Who knows how long she has before Max tries to regain control over the scene? Her minutes taunting Max are numbered, and Charles would be stupid not to have Max beg to fuck her while she has her like this. Actually idiotic.

She lets it slide, momentarily. Fingers rake through Max's hair, before she grips it, bringing her face up to hers. "Meow, kitten, and maybe I'll let you get your cock in me," she spits.

Max can't even attempt to fool her, her scowl useless. Her cock is leaking pathetically at the mere thought of being inside Charles. Through gritted teeth, she mumbles a small meow, barely loud enough for Charles to hear.

Scratch not having the time to train her. Charles will get the woman to be good, one way or another. Max must sense the determination building up in her, for she meows again, this time with more conviction. Charles throws away the thoughts of bringing out the cock cage. Not that Max needs to know she was thinking of using it for a second there, only to realise she needs that dick in her more than anything.

She will use that another time, when Max is being a bad, bad kitten. Today, it seems, she's just a bratty one. A bratty kitten who can't even hold the act together long enough for Charles to work on her brat taming skills.

"Was that so hard?" Charles presses, voice syrupy sweet.

"Meow," Max answers defeatedly, shaking her head no. "Meow?" This time, she's looking directly at Charles' naked pussy, eyes hungry.

Sighing as if she is about to agree to a fate worse than death, Charles nods. "Come, kitty, fuck me like you mean it if you're so desperate for it."

Max doesn't need to be told another time. She climbs onto the bed, caging Charles between the bed frame and her body. She's flushed the prettiest of pinks, her cheek still reddish with the force of Charles' slap. Charles thanks the Lord she's in charge today. She doubts she will be able to keep herself from cumming too long, already close to being over the edge.

Her mind goes quiet, as soon as Max pushes her dick inside her. She's so wet, Max having done a more than thorough job when she ate her out before they began the scene, when she still held a resemblance of control over their dynamic.

"Fuck, thank you, Charles. Thank you, thank you—" Charles slaps her again. "Meow— Fuck, Charlie—"

Next time, she will bring a spray bottle in the bedroom.

Chapter Text

When Charles saw it for the first time, she immediately checked to see if the date was April first. It was not, she had known it already from the snow falling outside her window. But surely, that had to be it. Otherwise, it made no sense for Max Verstappen to sell a sex robot of herself — of Franz technically, but they're the same fucking person! — on her stupid website.

Sure, Max sold everything and anything as long as someone was willing to buy it, but a sex robot? Who'd want that? No, scratch that, there were freaks everywhere in the world who'd pay to have sex with Max. And apparently, Charles was one of those freaks. Except she was doing this as a bit, not for real! She was not going to fuck Franz once she'd be in her apartment. If she would even show up in her apartment. For all Charles knew, it could still be a prank.

In a daze, Charles selected her preferences on the robot: a vibrating inclusion, a cock bigger than any of her toys. She chose the speaking version, paid an extra two thousands for it to have Max's voice. And then she added the extra fast delivery option, shame burning in her chest as she put in her address and card information.

Two days later, here she is, having tipped the movers each two hundred euros for the trouble of carrying her stupid sex robot up the stairs. Because Max thinks her robot to be worth a box so big it didn't fit in the lift. Charles has yet to take Franz out. She's… Frankly, she's scared of what will be on the other side, when she pulls the lid open.

Crossing herself, Charles holds her breath as she opens the box.

There is Max… There is Franz. She's undressed, fully, because Charles refused to pay for the Verstappen.com team gear. She won't have that wretched thing in her home, the Max-robot is enough. She will dress Franz in the superior gear; Charles did always think Max would look beautiful in red.

Her cock is huge, she will give the manufacturer that. It looks… God, she's giant. And the… The… Charles swallows the spit, almost choking on it as her eyes check every bit of Franz' body out. She'd seen Max naked before, bra and underwear on sadly, and Franz looks exactly the same. The moles on her skin are placed perfectly, the paleness matches, even the red splotches on her cheeks are the same.

Charles' phone burns in her hand, the app needed to activate Franz open on the screen. She only has to press one button, one button and Franz will come to live. But… Something inside her tells her this is a dumb idea. She can still turn around, return the robot and pretend this never happened. Write this whole thing off as a lapse of judgement. She can just…

Her finger slips. Franz's limp head snaps up, eyes open, unseeing.

"Hello, I am Franz. Please finish setting up your preferences on the designated app." She sounds like Max, the very same lisp making Charles redder in the face. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend this is Max. She can pretend…

She has to finish the task at hand, inputting the required information in the expected fields. Yes, she does want Ma—Franz to praise her. Yes, she also wants the dirty talk option turned on. No, humiliation is not something she wants today, but she does toggle on the vibration in Franz's cock. That's all she will have, for their first session. Not that this can ever happen again! It will never happen again!

She's not even supposed to have this happen now! Charles is losing herself, that much is clear.

In the box, Franz frees herself of the binds around her torso and legs. She steps out, her cock hardening right under Charles' watchful eyes. It's… It's not going to fit, Charles can feel the tear just at the sight of it.

"Hello, Charles," Franz greets her, all robotic politeness. She pronounces her name wrong, same as Max does. "Should we start or do you want to establish any other boundaries than the ones already specified?"

"Ah… Hello, Franz. We can… We can just start, I think…" Usually, Charles has a better grasp over her words, over the situation. But nothing about this situation is normal.

Franz is kissing her, before Charles can fully decipher her own emotions. Her lips are warm against hers, surprisingly alive. Her hands, scorching on Charles' neck. If she could just imagine for one moment that it is—

Moaning into the robot's mouth, Charles sags in her arms. The shirt she's wearing is a thin thing, but even if it was the thickest of cottons, Charles knows it wouldn't have stood a chance. Franz rips it off, clean down the middle. Charles has never been more turned on… Something's wrong here.

The shorts are next. These, Franz pushes down her legs, gently throwing them to the side. Her panties have the same fate as the shirt, lace snapping across her cunt, sound silenced by Charles' gasp. Looking at her, Franz hums appreciatively, hands roaming up and down Charles' body, goosebumps left in their wake.

"So pretty, Charlie. Can I take you here, over your couch?" The scripted sound of Franz's speech and how carelessly she's turning Charles over feel like a glass of cold water thrown in her face. "Yeah, you'd like me to take you here, bent over," Franz hand comes down on her ass, emphasising her point. The spank is barely harsh, more like a pat. Charles feels it through her whole body, pussy dripping just from it alone.

Charles has to be whining her name, Franz spurred on to spread her cheeks with a gentle touch. It's whiplash, how one moment the robot is mindless of her caress only to turn around and act as a lover should a second later. She picks some of the slick that's gathered, smearing it across Charles' puffy lips.

"Fraai," Franz purrs, the Dutch comforting to Charles. Her cunt flutters as the compliment washes over her. With her eyes closed, it is as if—

She thought Franz would go slow, finger her open, take her time with it until Charles is begging for her dick. But she doesn't. She rubs the head of her cock over her lips, coating it with Charles' arousal. Then she's pushing in. No foreplay, no gentleness; only a shove, hunger deeply rooted in it. It's so strong, Charles feels it in her throat. She feels it under her hand when she touches her belly.

There is Ma—Franz, right under her fingertips. She's so big, so deep inside Charles will never be the same. For a moment, Franz doesn't move, soaking in the moment, fingers bruise-tight on her hips. Charles must be moaning, but the ringing in her ears is too loud for her to hear anything. She's losing her mind, the longer they stay connected like that.

"Charlie," Max whispers behind her, lips pressed to Charles' ear. "I love you."

Charles sobs, fat tears staining her cheeks, salt staying on her lips even after they dry. Max loves her, finally. She's with her, where she belongs, where Charles has wanted her for so long now.

"Max, Max, Max," she chants like a prayer falling past her lips in rivulets that do not seem to stop. "Please move, Max. I'm begging you."

The vibration takes Charles by surprise. With it, the thrusts. Max is unforgiving with the pace she sets, punching the air out of Charles with every fuck. It's madness, the noises Charles' cunt is making. She has never been wetter, can feel the cum running down her thighs, aiding Max's cock to slide in more easily.

"Please, give it to me Max. I need it. Need your cum."

"Whatever you want, Charlie. I'll give it to you." Max buries her cock in, the swollen base pushing past her rim, tearing her open, to keep all the cum inside her. Her arms wrap around Charles' middle, lips pressing open-mouth kisses to her neck. "I love you," she says again.

Charles feels as if she is swimming, her lover's arms the only thing keeping her afloat, the stretch from the knot giving her something else to focus on. Something that isn't the humiliation, as her mind catches up to what she just did.

Chapter Text

Drivers wetting themselves during a race is not unheard of. It is quite a common occurrence, especially during races where they have to keep hydrated. It's also not a secret that amongst the grid, Charles is one of the drivers with the weakest bladder. It's one of her only flaws, sadly.

Still, she wears her stains with pride, whenever she gets out of her car after a little accident. The public is none the wise, but Max knows. Max can see the spot growing wetter when she jumps out of that red beast, she can see the relief flooding Charles' body, she can hear the squelch of it when Charles passes by her to get weighted.

Max is obsessed. Borderline insane about it.

Which is why she should've been more careful about keeping her mouth shut around Charles. But her eagerness gets control over the reins, helped by the alcohol Max's been consuming the whole night. They're in Baku, Max celebrating her first grand slam here, Charles licking her wounds, when she approaches the woman and, with a tongue led-heavy in her mouth, Max tells her:

"I want you to piss on me."

No fanfare, no finesse, just a confession made in the bathroom of an exclusive club.

"Well, you sure chose the perfect spot for that, Max, I will give you that," Charles tries to joke. It comes out strained and slightly insane-sounding. Her face doesn't fare better, eyes wide, cheeks red, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

"Not here!" Max rushes to say, clearing her throat when her voice cracks. "My place. When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow evening, but I can't come with you. I have a partnership with Vista, I have to honour it." Max must be visibly pouting, the gin making it harder to regulate what emotions show on her face. "I'll come to your place. I mean, I'll climb the stairs and be there, non?"

Charles smiles at her and Max smiles back, without thinking about it. "Yeah. Yeah, you will."

That's all Max can think of, for the rest of the night. And the following day. And the day after that. Charles keeps her waiting, that tease. Two whole days of second guessing her memories, two full days of pacing the length of her apartment, dissecting their interaction over and over.

Two whole days, until there is a knock on her door, Jimmy and Sassy both lifting their heads in interest from where they were lounging in the sun. Max doesn't shoo them away, aware that on the other side of the door Charles may not be the one waiting. That's what she keeps telling herself, walking slowly to the door. Even if it is Charles, she doesn't want to give the woman the impression that she's aching for it.

Taking a deep breath in, Max opens the door.

Charles is there, anxiously biting on her finger, bouncing on the heels of her feet. She looks normal. Casually dressed in sweats and a shirt, hair pinned back with bobby pins. She's not wearing any make-up, Max notices next, but her lips are glossy with spit, the pink matching the blush dusting her cheeks.

Neither say anything. Max moves to let her in, and Charles enters her apartment, still no word exchanged. It's only when the door is locked that Charles seems to find her voice at last.

"I've never done this before," she squeals, redness spreading down her neck and under her shirt. "Do I just… Do we just get on with it?"

Max rivals Charles' flush instantly. Quietly, she admits, "It's my first time too…" Not once had she wanted something more, but that was only because of Charles. The thought of anyone else doing this to her, anyone else seeing her so vulnerable, it makes Max cringe.

"You've never…" Surprise colours Charles' voice. Max shakes her head. "Then how do you know you want this? And why me?"

Charles nailed it right on the head. Close on eye, take aim, shoot and hit the target dead on. "I don't know," she answers truthfully. "I just think it would be hot."

"So you'd do this with anyone?" Charles digs, eyes focused on Max's face. There's something building in them, something Max has only witnessed on Charles before a race. Hunger, lust.

"No! God, no! No one else, Charles. Only you." That seems to please Charles, who hums and finally moves into the apartment, toeing her shoes off by the door. "Let me just put Jimmy and Sass in the guest room. We can do it in my bathroom."

Do it. As if this is anything more than what they agreed on. As if this can be anything else but an exchange of power between two rivals. As if this will end in kisses and whispered confessions against heated skin. Max wants to laugh, maniacally if possible.

"Don't lock them in yet. Can I have some water first? I didn't drink enough. Thought you were taking the piss out of me." Charles frowns, then adds, "No pun intended."

Max can't stop herself from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Still, she offers Charles a glass of water, pouring one for herself as well. They sit at her unused kitchen island, awkward silence taking over. God, it's awkward awkward. Max is starting to regret this. If only she could've kept her big fucking mouth shut.

"Do you think—" Charles cuts herself off, picking the glass up and drinking all the water left in it.

"Most of the time I don't," Max tries to joke. "I don't think there's any reason for you to be shy now, Charlie. You are going to piss on me in a bit."

"Do you think kissing would be too much?" Charles finds the marble more interesting, tracing the lines with her eyes rather than meeting Max's curious gaze. "I like kissing… It's my favourite thing to do, you know? I get it if it makes it too real and you'd rather—"

"We can kiss!" Max interrupts her. "I love kissing! I didn't want to make it weird for you. I mean I did sort of just push this on you and if anyone's making things weird here it's me! Honestly, you should just kill me, what was I even thinking—"

She doesn't see Charles move, nor does she feel her hands coming to her cheeks, turning her face with ease. What Max registers is the feeling of lips on hers, soft and warm against her cracked ones. They fit perfectly, like two puzzle pieces falling into place. None of her exes made Max feel this way. None brought fireworks into her chest, lighting them up and having them explode behind her ribcage.

But she knew Charles was special. She'd known this for a while, for as long as she can remember, as insane as it may sound.

Charles sighs, breath hot onto Max's mouth. She tastes like mint, as if she brushed her teeth just before coming over. Max did that also, flossed and almost swallowed mouthwash, just to make sure her breath is nice. Just in case. Not that she imagined they'd be kissing.

"More water?" She offers stiffly, pulling away only to be tugged right back against Charles.

"More kissing, Maxie," Charles demands, effortlessly pushing Max against the island, lifting her up and nestling herself in between her thighs. "Then I promise to give you what you want baby, just let me have my fix of this."

Uselessly, Max nods. What a fool she is to think she has an actual say in this. She's not the one leading this, she's not even the one who has control over herself. It's Charles. It's always been Charles.

She feels drunk, the longer Charles has her crowded, kissing her senseless. Her body's starting to feel foreign to herself, Charles' hands on her waist the only thing keeping her present. With every brush of their lips, the palms on her shirt move lower, lower, a finger sliding under her shirt, then the rest following.

"Charlie, please." She's not sure what she's begging for, if it's for Charles to hurry up and take her to the bathroom, if it's for Charles to keep her seated and kissed. All Max knows is that she doesn't want this to stop. If she could bottle the feelings surging through her chest right now, if she could freeze this moment for her to hold onto forever, she would.

"Of course, bébé. I kept you waiting long enough, didn't I?"

And Charles just picks her up, hands under her thighs, carrying her to Max's bedroom as if she weighs nothing. There are benefits to them living in the same building, only a floor apart: Charles knows the layout of her apartment perfectly, not having to ask Max which door leads to her bedroom. Which also means she can keep her lips attached to Max's, blindly taking them into the en suite. She closes the door after placing Max in the bathtub, making sure the cats won't disturb them.

Charles looks at her, gears turning in that pretty head of hers. "Should you just sit back? And I, over you?" The logistics of this are weird, they soon come to realise. Sure, Max can sit back in the tub and Charles can tower over her, but unlike others who may be into this, Charles doesn't exactly have control over how the stream moves. The possibility of it ending up in Max's mouth is high.

She'd be lying if she said the thought doesn't arouse her. Judging by how wet Charles looks, Max can guess the sentiment is mutual.

"Push me away if you realise this is not something you like, alright?" Charles mutters, brows furrowed as she tries to hold the piss off until Max gives her the go-ahead. Her face is Ferrari-red, tears clinging to her lower lashes. It's crazy, seeing how quickly she can lose composure. Just a second ago she was fine, and now she is close to crying.

It's so hot. Max may cum without even doing anything, all from watching Charles lose herself above her.

"Okay, Charlie," she agrees, looking up at the woman through her lashes. "Please give it to me, baby." Max licks her lips, almost tasting what she craves as she does so. "Let go for me, please."

The first stream hits her in the chest, soaking her white shirt. Mesmerised, she stares as the clear liquid drenches the fabric, spreading over her tits, down her stomach, the shirt tightening around her body. Her nipples are hard, visible through the skin-tight material. It's never ending, the flow. Charles keeps pissing and pissing and pissing, moaning as she empties her bladder. Her spine curves, hand leaning on the wall for better grip.

A lone drop lands on her bottom lip, tongue poking out to taste it before Max can register she's doing it. She whines, starved for it, dying for another taste.

Charles gives it to her, knowing exactly what it is that Max wants. She drops to her knees, cunt above Max's face, and lets the last bits of piss dribble into Max's awaiting mouth. Max wraps her lips around Charles' throbbing clit, sucking on it as she swallows through the piss pooling on her tongue.

Eyes shut, Max has never known such comfort than when she sits with Charles' clit in her mouth, her piss cooling on her skin, their whimpers merging together.

Chapter Text

In spite of what people may believe, Charles doesn't brat nearly as often as it may seem. Most of the time, she's a very well behaved girl. The best girl, as Max often tells her. The best girl who gets kisses from her Max, and fucked within an inch of her life, and who is almost never punished, no matter what shit she pulls. Always, she gets away with it.

Always, except for today, it seems.

Today Charles woke up in a mood. A playful mood, if with an itching need to be annoying layered underneath it. It's not an usual mood to wake up in, not for Charles at least. Max calls it her Leo mode, going as far as getting Charles a little squeaky toy and dog ears, all to taunt her.

She doesn't put the dog ears on, not today. Charles only wishes to bother Max until she gives her what she wants. It's quite a simple wish. A tamer desire than what plagues Charles late at night.

It starts simple enough: Charles leaves her dirty coffee mug in the living room, perched on one of the shelves displaying their trophies. Hard for Max to ignore, easy to write off as a simple mistake. Charles doesn't expect Max to be upset over it, even with their clear rules of cleaning after themselves. Her lover doesn't even complain when she picks the mug up and takes it to the sink to wash. That's when she knows she will have to work for it.

Her second attempt is just as useless. Max asks her to take the laundry out of the drier and fold it, Charles says no, then Max leaves the room, knowing Charles will actually do it. Because that's how it always goes. Max asks for something, Charles blatantly denies her request, then she gets to work and does exactly that. It's a funny bit! It's one of her funniest bits, even if it's been repeated into the ground.

Except that when Max comes from her and Leo's lunch walk, the laundry is still in the drier and Charles is scrolling through TikTok on the couch. As far away from the laundry room as possible.

Max doesn't even ask her to do it again! She asks Charles if she's okay, if she's in any pain whatsoever, and then she goes and checks the health app to see if Charles' period is near. To make things worse, Max goes and deals with the laundry herself, but only after she gives Charles a kiss on the forehead.

Charles has to spend the rest of the day coming up with new ways that could make Max crack, since her previous ideas have proven to not be enough.

It's the third strike that truly gets her where she wants, after the opportunity arises out of nowhere.

Max has locked herself in her streaming room — read: closed the door and told Charles that if she needs anything urgent to come in, but otherwise to please stick to texting me, schatje — to play some CoD with her team. It's a surprise stream, something impulsive that Gabi proposed because he's bored.

When Charles joins the live, her eyes quickly zero in on the small rectangle showing Max. She's leaning back on her chair, shorts riding up on her thighs, arms gripping the headrest as she smirks at her screen. She's calling Crane names, as she often does, and Crane is matching her energy tenfold. Max has always had a dirty mouth, it's one of the things Charles loves about her, but when she's taking the piss out of her teammates, she's even worse.

"I think you're being a dickhead today, Crane."

"You're one to talk! You keep killing me in game, mate!"

"You just suck, lol. Admit it, mate, you love it when I'm going at it on your ass. You'd probably beg me to spank you."

Charles doesn't hear the rest of her taunts. Her mind's replaying that sentence, again and again, louder and louder, until Charles swears she can taste the fabric of Max's shorts, as if she's biting on them to keep quiet.

You'd probably beg me to spank you.

She has never been spanked. Not by her parents or any adult in power, not by Max or any of her exes. She always thought it to be something that a person with a loving childhood would not wish for willingly. Sure, she dabbled in kinks with Max, but she has never laid a hand on Charles like that. Spanking means punishment. Spanking is not meant to be enjoyable, not unless you're dealing with some unresolved trauma. Or something…

Still, the gears in Charles' mind start to turn. Her legs move without her consent, without her thinking it. She's pushing the door to Max's streaming room open before she can realise what she's doing.

Max doesn't hear her, headphones over both her ears. She's screaming insults into the mic anyway, so that gives Charles all the confidence she needs that her plan will work. She drops to her knees, wincing as they crack loudly at the sudden move. Max gives no indication whatsoever that she knows Charles had snuck in. If the chat isn't screaming that Scuderia Ferrari's princess walked in, then Charles knows Max won't realise until it's too late.

Silent as a mouse — not that she really has to be quiet — she crawls towards Max's desk. Somehow, Charles is not sure how, Max has yet to notice her, in spite of Charles stopping right between her spread legs. She's so invested in her stupid shooting game… If Charles wasn't so in love with her, she'd be upset that apparently a stupid game is more alluring than her.

Charles doesn't want her fun to be over quickly. She starts with pressing kisses to Max's thighs, moving up, up, up just until she reaches the hem of Max's shorts. It's only when she begins to nose at the elastic, pushing it higher, that Max's hands find Charles' hair.

She pulls on the curls, hissing softly when Charles' teeth graze at the skin.

"Sorry, guys. One of my cats is being a little shit," Max laughs, pushing Charles's head away as she looks down at her. She's not glaring, she doesn't even look upset. Still, there is so much love in Max's eyes… Charles should just give up.

That's what she would think if she weren't Charles Leclerc, resident hopeful fool. But she is Charles Leclerc, resident hopeful fool. And she will not give up. Not yet.

When Max is back to giving her whole attention to the screen, that's when Charles makes her move. The same move, because her space is limited and she can't exactly pull Max's shorts down without it being obvious on stream. This time,her kisses are more demanding, with purpose clear behind them.

Max's nails scratch at her scalp as soon as Charles' lips fall over her crotch, on top of the stretched fabric. Max is wet. Charles feels it under her lips; she smells it.

"Shit," Max hisses, thrusting where Charles' face is pressed into her. "Sorry guys, my cat's going crazy. Gotta go, bye!" She doesn't even wait for any goodbyes, just shuts her computer down without a single care for its health. "What the fuck, Charles?"

"What?" Charles tries to sound innocent, but Max sees right through her pretend.

She drags her into her lap, only to turn her over so that she is lying across Max's thighs, ass up. Max doesn't waste a single moment: she tugs Charles' sweats and underwear down in one go.

"I was going to ignore your little tantrum today, let you off the hook like I always do. But I think that's actually the problem here, Charles. I always let your moods slide."

"W-What are you doing?" Charles asks, voice tiny.

"What do you think, Charles? I'm finally putting my foot down. Now, count."

"Count— What?!"

The slap takes her by surprise. It rearranges her whole being, before turning her brain into mush. Max's hands aren't that much bigger than hers, but in this moment it feels so much larger. She doesn't remember Max's command, until her hand spreads her cheeks with how roughly it grabs onto one of them.

"One!"

The next two hits come in quick succession, one on each cheek. Charles has to bite down on Max's shorts — just as she had imagined — to not whimper pathetically.

"Two, three," she rushes to say, voice muffled by the makeshift gag she's biting on. Her whole body is wound so tightly, waiting for the smack to come. Max doesn't make a move to spank her again, for some reason.

Surely, she can feel how wet Charles got. She swears it's dripping down her thighs, shamelessly.

As soon as Charles gets ready to protest, to beg for more, Max strikes. Palm straight, hitting Charles' ass right in the middle, over her crack. Charles sobs in pleasure — pure, unfiltered pleasure — when she feels Max rub her fingers over the burning skin.

"Count it, Charles." Her voice leaves no room for argument. Charles drips over her shorts, staining the gray material with her slick.

"Four," she whispers.

"One more, baby. Just to kick the brattiness out of you, okay?"

Nodding, Charles prepares for the last slap. When it comes, it's worse than the rest. Harsher and meaner, meant to teach her a lesson. The smack lands on her pussy, sending her forward with the jolt that runs through her. She cums with a shout, biting her bottom lip so hard that blood pools on her tongue.

Posture slumped, Charles lets go of the tension in her limbs. Max's hands run over her ass, down her thighs, gathering some of the slick on her fingers when they dip between her legs. She spreads it all over the flushed skin, as if painting over the redness.

All Charles' body seems to take from the final hit is that she doesn't need any trauma to find this hot.

Chapter Text

Max has been fascinated by the idea of eggs for far too long. Maybe since she was a kid and she first felt maternal towards one. But there is a difference between child-Max and adult-Max: child-Max did not want to nurture the eggs inside her. Adult-Max does. At least in theory.

She told Charles about this thought of hers during a session of pillow talk, one where both had been too tired to hold their tongues, but seemingly Max more so. And Charles, sweet and attentive Charles, had looked into it. She bought what they needed for it and read about which position is more suitable for insertion and did her research on the optimal quantities to make the eggs feel perfect.

She seemed even more excited about it than Max, especially once the package arrived. The dildo was bigger than anything she ever took, but this was something Max longed for. She couldn't allow herself to chicken out just because the shape was something she wasn't used to.

So Max matches Charles' energy about it, up until a certain point. A point that makes her rethink her choices, fear and discomfort budding in her chest.

Charles is taking the eggs out of their moulds, pushing them eagerly into the dildo, pump discarded on the bed, right next to Max. Max, who is on her bed, heart hammering in her chest as she watches Charles work. She can't feel her body, feels like a stranger watching from the side as her stomach tenses the more she looks on at the dildo.

"Here." Charles takes her hand, placing one of the eggs gently in it. "How does it feel?"

Max squeezes around it. It's… It's slimy. And harder than she imagined it would be. And cold. Really, really cold. She doesn't know what to say, so she stays quiet, eyes closed to not meet Charles' disappointed gaze. If she were to bail out now, she'd ruin this for them both. She'd ruin this for Charles.

Charles doesn't say anything either, but Max can feel her eyes on her. She lines the dildo with her hole, and Max wants to scream. She wants to thrash as far away from it and yell and tell Charles to stop but she is frozen. Her mind is screaming, but her voice is gone.

"Red," Charles says. Just one word, a single utterance and Max jumps. Her eyes fly open, confusion written on her features. The dildo is on the floor, the eggs that didn't make it in it haphazardly thrown next to it. Her hands are on Max's face in a matter of seconds, for both their comfort, Max is sure. "Red, Maxie. We're not doing that, alright?"

Relief floods through her, but the bewilderment is more prominent at the forefront of her mind. "But… Why?"

Charles stares at her. "Baby, you were shaking. I've never seen you like that, mon amour, I was getting scared." She sounds choked up, tears pulling at her lower lashes, clumping them up. "And you were not saying anything but I knew it wasn't right. It was… God, Maxie…"

Shame builds inside her. She made Charles feel this way. She did this because she wasn't thinking straight. Because she wanted to what? Prove herself? When she is even stricter with Charles using her safewords when something goes awry? She's a hypocrite. She's the worst person ever.

"I'm sorry, Charles," she apologises, matching tears trailing down her face. "Please forgive me, Charlie, I didn't mean to— Please, I'm sorry—" It's getting hard to breathe, her lungs feeling as if they're collapsing right inside her. Her tongue is heavy in her mouth, gluing itself to the roof of Max's mouth until it becomes impossible for her to speak.

"Hey, hey, none of that!" Charles pulls her into a hug, fingers tugging on her hair to ground her. "You did nothing wrong, ma belle, you are alright. We will talk this through after I've taken care of us, d'accord?"

Against Charles' neck, Max nods. She's feeling hazy from the panic still thrumming through her veins.

"Come, I'll run us a bath and then we can eat ice cream and cuddle with the pets. Does that sound nice, Maxie?" Yet to speak, she nods again, feeling Charles' arms tighten around her.

Charles will take care of her, she always does so.

Chapter Text

Max stumbles into the clearing without meaning to. She's been taking a walk through the forest behind her house, trying to clear her mind after another stressful day at work. A routine, for her. She logs off, changes into shorts and a loose shirt, and she's out the door before the cats can realise they can start begging for attention again. She's been doing the same thing for close to half a year now, every single day. Not once had she seen the clearing she's currently in. 

It looks out of this world, if she were to be honest. Grass greener than green, flowers pinker than pink, water clearer than clear. As if this is a place untouched by anything — or anyone — from the outside. A place still perfect, as nature intended. 

In the middle of this clearing, a woman sits. 

Max hasn't noticed her, too caught up in admiring her surroundings to be aware of any presence, but clearly, she noticed Max. 

She looks… She also looks out of this world. Hair twiggy-brown, curls short and ruffled, clothes loose and blending in with the grass, that's how green they are. Tangled in her hair and around her dress, flowers bloom, as if straight from her body. She's absolutely ethereal, a nymph that Max needs to be nearer. 

She's watching Max's every move as Max walks towards her, hands in the air to not scare the beautiful creature. Only when she's a step away from the woman, does Max notice her eyes are mossy green as well. Inside her there's a burning sentiment of recognition, something screaming that she's met this woman before. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the alarms ringing are due to the predatory glint she finds when she looks the woman in the eyes. 

Just who is she? What is she?

"Hello?" Max greets her, feeling like the intruder she knows she is. "Have we ever met before?"

The beauty inspects Max, silent still. Even so, Max steps closer, drawn by an invisible pull, an urge to be as near to the woman as humanly possible. She feels drunk, mind not belonging to herself. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like an angel?" She asks, words pouring out of her mouth. Max cringes, cheeks flushing under the woman's silent observations. "Sorry, I sound like a creep, don't I?"

She smiles, teeth sharp, bloodied, so unlike the rest of her. There's no softness in the tilt of her lips, only ravenous hunger. Just as quickly, a sluggish blink for Max, and the smile's gone. That same curious serenity is back on her face, tracing over Max's body with barely disguised interest. 

"I'm Max. You are?" 

The goddess, for that is what she must be, tilts her head to the side, pink tongue poking out from between her rosy lips. With two fingers, she beckons Max closer, sitting back on the patch of flowers she's been resting on. Max comes, needing to give her whatever she wants. 

The flowers make for a soft cushion, when she drops to her knees between the woman's legs. This isn't like Max, she's not thinking straight. Her instincts are stronger, taking over her with a force she did not know herself capable of. She needs to please this stranger, she has to give herself over, make it her life mission to keep her satisfied. 

Lifting the woman's dress, the heady scent of her cunt hits Max in the face. Immediately, she grows addicted. The flowers braided into her hair sprout out from the woman's pelvis, wrapping around the curls of her bush, pollen fallen onto the hair. 

Max takes a deep breath, the pollen tickling her nose. 

She smells like earth, and flowers, and like the woods they're currently in. It's the sweetest scent she has ever inhaled, and Max greedily drinks it in. If she were to die now, at the hands of this goddess with untamed hunger in her eyes, Max wants to die euphoric with it. 

The first lick feels like coming home, like walking into her cosy apartment where the woman's waiting for her, cuddled up with their cats on the sofa. Freshly picked flowers on the table, wood burning in the fireplace, soup warming up on the stove. Max wants it all, she wants it now. 

Above her, the goddess moans, burying her fingers in Max's hair, bringing her face closer to her pussy. Max feels boneless in her hold, letting herself go lax as the woman pleasures herself using Max. Eyes closed, Max breathes and whines, high in her throat, when the beauty rubs herself onto her nose, clit throbbing where it's pressed into it. 

It's far too easy for Max to lose herself in this state. She doesn't notice the vines wrapping around her body, ropes and ropes of greenery that tie her hands and feet together, that wrap around her torso and pull her back from the creature's dripping cunt. 

Max whimpers, not putting up a fight, not as long as the woman stays pressed to her face, as she dribbles down Max's chin and onto her shirt. The vines push her on her back, and for a moment she considers this to be how she will die, but then the goddess steps over her, and sits on her face as if it belongs to her. As if it is her rightful throne. 

Max wants to grab at her hips, fuck her tongue and her nose into the woman's cunt, but the vines are keeping her immobile. It's the worst type of torture, the sweetest kind of bliss. Like nectar, the creature's cum flows into her mouth, filling Max's stomach, easing the emptiness growling inside her. 

She doesn't want this to stop, not ever, not as long as she is alive. She needs the woman on her face, she needs to keep her there, she needs to take her with her, home, where they can be forever. Where she belongs. In Max's house, in her bed, in Max's arms and in Max's cunt. She won't stop until it's true, Max is certain of it now. 

Obsessed, Max licks the woman's spasming pussy, and swears to make her hers. 

Chapter Text

Max is always a good girl. It's in her blood, the need to please and be good, be the best. She works best when rewards are given to her, is what Charles noticed barely a few weeks into their relationship. Be it a simple good job, or a short kiss on her lips, a heartfelt I'm proud of you, or Charles showing Max her tits, whatever the reward is, it fuels Max.

She takes praise well, but only outside the bedroom. During sex… It's a whole other story, Charles came to realise.

The first time she called Max a good girl, her lover almost had an aneurysm. She got so red, started choking on her spit and then pushed Charles off the bed, causing her to fall flat on her ass. That got Charles thinking. Perhaps it wasn't the praise that got such a reaction out of Max, but her choice of words. After all, Max has complicated feelings towards her gender, and because of her father's harsh upbringing, she has problems not associating her femininity with weakness. It's something they're actively working on, so Charles doesn't need to dwell on it too long before she decides to change strategies.

Thus, the second time she praised Max during sex Charles called her a good boy. She was lapping at Charles' pussy, fingers fucking into Charles as her own hands were pulling on the blonde's hair. Charles breathed it out, mostly without thinking. But Max heard it, of course she did. She stopped immediately, before Charles could even process what she has said. She pulled back just as quickly, and then she stood up from the bed and glared at Charles before locking herself in the bathroom.

So she abandoned the masculine praise quickly, after she apologised to Max and urged her out for some cuddles. Max was still red in the face when she walked out of the bathroom, but they agreed without having to say it that they'd never address that. At least Charles agreed to it.

Max… Charles knows her, is the fucking thing. She knows how she shudders when Charles calls her amazing and she knows that she gets wet when Charles tells her just how skilful she is at something. So her reactions make quite the number of questions to pop up in Charles' head.

Max is fucking into her, strap stretching Charles' cunt in the exact way she loves so much, when Charles moans out "Good kitten, fucking me so well."

Max stills just as she's pulling out, making Charles whine in displeasure when she doesn't immediately start thrusting again. "What are you doing?" She asks, voice slightly devoid of any emotion, if not a bit choked up.

"I'm…" Charles looks up at her, searching Max's face for any sings of discomfort. What she finds is those same pink cheeks staring at her, and Max worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm praising you," she says, as if it wasn't obvious already.

"Why?" Max really is trying to make this more difficult than it should be.

Charles fixes her with a glare, one that just makes her lover's brows pull into an awful frown. Quickly, she lifts her hand, fingers smoothing over the scowl. "Because you like being praised, ma belle?"

"I mean— Yes, I do, but—" Max moves away, sits back, legs folded under her. The whole imagery would be comical, Max's beloved blue strap sitting tall and wet with Charles' slick while Max fiddles with her thumbs. But it's not funny. It's anything but that, when Max is looking nervous and she won't meet Charles' eyes.

"But?" Did Charles read this whole thing wrong? She was so sure she knew Max like the back of her hand, but the way in which Max is acting is making her feel doubt. "You always blush so pretty when I tell you you did well."

"Yeah," Max mumbles. "But it's weird during sex."

Pause. Charles really needs to untangle this whole mess, this whole complicated twist of emotions that are very clearly bothering Max, so that they can go back to what they like most: Max to fuck Charles, and for Charles to praise Max. Simple needs they should go back to.

Charles sits up, uncaring that she is naked and leaking all over their sheets. "Weird, how? Run it through me, Max."

Max rolls her eyes. "I'm not having therapy talk with you when the strap's still wet from your cunt, baby. We can do this later."

"We're doing this now, you cunt!" Charles doesn't mean to explode like that. Everything has been simply building up inside her, the way Max has been pulling away whenever she just threw easy praise at her, the way in which her own insecurities, quieter than Max's but still loud, have been screaming inside her. It makes sense for her to go off.

Still, Max seems just as surprised by the outburst, eyes widening, lips falling open. There's fucking lust written all over her face, because Max is nothing if not a horny teenager at heart, and seeing Charles get heated up is clearly doing it for her.

God, Charles can't believe she's in love with such a massive loser.

Charles clears her throat, thinks of positive things like winning in Monza and fucking Max into the mattress. "Why is it weird for me to praise you during sex, mon amour?"

"It just is," is Max's eloquent answer. Charles won't have this. They won't be going in circles just because sometimes Max wants to have the emotional intelligence of a fucking rock! If looks could kill, then Max would be long dead, Charles knows it. It seems to be enough for her stupid lover to get it through that thick head of hers that she's not interested in beating around the bush. "When you do it normally, it feels like I actually deserve it, you know? But during sex it just… It feels like you're just doing it because that's what you're supposed to. Like, calling me a good girl when I'm going down on you is… It's like… You do it without thinking because you have to. Does it make sense?"

It doesn't make even a little bit of sense, but Charles is not about to say that. Instead, she brings Max's hand into hers and starts rubbing her thumb over the blonde's knuckles. "Do you mean that praise is something they do in porn? And it doesn't feel real?"

Max nods. So it did make sense, actually. It made quite a lot of sense because Charles had those very same feelings about dirty talk in general, before Max showed her that dirty talk is not exclusively for mass produced porn and instead can be a very normal thing they sometimes engage in.

"Max, please tell me you are aware that I mean every single praise I give you. I need you to tell me you don't really think I'm doing it just because!"

Max doesn't answer her, which in itself is enough to tell Charles everything she needs to know. She crawls on the bed, until her legs are flush to Max's, until she can pull the woman into her arms and flick her on the forehead.

"What the fuck, Charles?!" Max shouts, hands flying to cover the rapidly reddening spot. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you are stupid, mon amour. So fucking stupid."

"You are so mean when your orgasm is ruined, my god."

Charles flicks her forehead again, over the same spot, just because she can. This time around, Max doesn't complain, well aware she's the one at fault for it. "You are very dumb if you listen to yourself on these matters. I mean every. Single. Praise. I have ever told you. During sex, or otherwise. Especially during sex, Max."

"But—"

"No more buts." The harshness in her voice, which she is apparently capable of portraying, makes Max literally swallow her words. Charles watches in wonder as her throat bobs. "Say you're a good girl."

She leaves no room for argument, but Max still finds the power to defy her and shake her head. Her face is getting redder the longer Charles stays staring at her. "Please, Charles, can I just finish fucking you and then we can forget about this?"

"Say you are a good girl."

Max bites her lip, teeth digging into the meat and pulling at the dead skin. Face blotchy-red, Max refuses to meet her gaze as she finally utters out, "I'm a good girl."

She yelps when her back hits the mattress, but Charles cannot contain herself any longer. She settles on Max's lap, where the now cold strap is brushing over her cunt. She grabs it with one hand, cringing internally at the feeling of dried cum all over it. Her free hand finds Max's cheek, holding it gently as she claims what belongs to her.

Moaning, she orders Max, "Say you're my best boy."

"Charles."

"Say it, Maxie."

"I'm your best boy, Charlie," she whines, this time around looking at Charles' face as she finally bottoms out. "Please…"

Face hovering above Max's, Charles whisper, "Say you're my perfect kitten and I'll give you what you want, baby."

Max doesn't even put up a fight anymore, head thrown back. "I'm your perfect kitten."

Crashing their lips together is only logical, because after all, Charles always rewards her perfect Maxie when she's being so good, so obedient and beautiful.

Chapter Text

The burn from the red rope being wrapped around her wrists sends a jolt of pleasure down Max's spine, making her moan as Charles tightens the cord some more. She's slipping further and further into the familiar warmth of subspace, and had Charles not been talking her through every step, Max doubts she would have been able to hold onto her consciousness.

"And now I'm binding your arms together and creating the cuffs needed to support your weight. Can you feel the rope going up your arms, Maxie?" Charles' soft words coax Max to keep afloat. After a beat, she nods, still not trusting her voice to come out. "Can you confirm it with words, mon cœur?"

"Y-yes, Charles. I can feel it."

Charles leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, whispering a gentle good girl against it, before pulling back and picking the end of the rope up again. She finishes tying her arms too soon for Max's liking, who whines the moment she doesn't feel Charles' hands anymore.

"Shh, amour, I'm right here. I'm just reaching for the next rope to use on your legs, see?" True to her words, Charles shows her the second rope, still as red, still as soft as the one that's currently holding her arms in front of her. They're placed so that her tits are pushed together, looking even bigger than usual. Charles spends a moment too long staring at them longingly, abandoning the task of moving Max's legs into position to squeeze at the fat. "I think next time I will make you a pretty harness, what do you say? Would you like having your lovely tits all red for me?"

Max nods, moaning at the thought of her breasts swollen from the rope, sensitive enough that she'd probably cum from only having Charles squeeze them. She pushes her chest into Charles' palm, needing to have the woman keep touching her.

"Some clamps on them too, to tie the look together, yes?"

"Yes, yes, Charles, please—"

Charles tuts, taking her hand away and lifting Max's arms to secure them to the beam she will be suspended from. "You tell me if your arms start feeling funny, yes?"

"Yes, Charlie," she agrees, not forgetting her words this time around. Charles rewards her with a kiss, a short press of her lips to Max's. Still, it's enough to make her head feel heavier. "Please—"

Ignoring her, Charles moves to work on her legs. Her focus is on Max's left leg, binding it from her thigh, working her way down, down, down, until she wraps Max's heel. Max loses herself in the knots being tightened around her muscles. The binding is ingrained in her mind, movements familiar, that even with her eyes closer, Max knows what Charles is doing.

"Beautiful," Charles whispers, lips pressed to her sole. She kisses her foot, reverently. "I'm going to tie it up, alright? If it—"

"I'll tell you if it feels funny, yes," Max slurs, head getting heavier with each brush of Charles' fingers over her heated skin. Still, that doesn't mean she can't roll her eyes at Charles' careful handling. The slap on her thigh is light, and with how leg is wrapped in rope, the fat on her can't jiggle. Another one follows, this one on her naked leg, accompanied by Charles' pleased groan.

"You are exquisite, ma chérie. Prettiest body with the sweetest tits and the biteablest thighs and you are all for me to enjoy, non?"

Giggling, Max hides her face into the crook of her elbow. Her cheeks from how hard she's smiling, head fuzzy, drunk on all the compliments Charles is throwing at her. Her lovely Charles is so kind to her, a safe haven that only Max gets to be embraced into.

Her voice sounds farther and farther away, the buzzing in her ears taking over as the final piece of rope gets fastened around her back, giving her the last bit of support she needs to be hanging freely. Her legs have been tied to the beam so that Charles can stand between them, should she need to.

"Five minutes, ma belle?" Charles asks, walking to where she left her phone on the floor. She picks it up, Max's hearing focusing on the sound of the timer being set up.

"Twenty, please," she whispers, hoping that her voice comes out steady enough to convince Charles.

It doesn't. Charles huffs, then shakes her head. "Ten at most. And we're checking five minutes in."

"But—"

"No buts, Max," the intensity in Charles' voice makes Max whine, hips thrusting uselessly. "We haven't done this in a long time. Ten minutes. Then, if you're good and you want it, I will make you cum, alright?"

Max nods, body shaking in its binds. "Please, Charlie, I'll be good for you. Please make me cum."

"Then shush, bebe," Charles kisses her foot, again. It's the part she's closest to, but it still sends a shiver down Max's spine. "And sit pretty for me to admire."

She can do that. She can sit pretty and not think for a while. The second part is something she's good at, most of the time.

So Max allows her eyes to close, her body to sag. Suspended by the ropes, with only Charles' soft humming filling the silence, Max lets her mind drift. It comes to her easily, losing the grasp on her limbs. They're no longer part of her, no longer connected to them as numbness spreads through them.

Minutes blend into each other, Max's focus shifting from knot to knot, cataloguing each bit of rope that's digging into her skin. Charles felt in between the cord and Max's body, making sure there's enough of a gap for it to not cut circulation. The rope is still restraining enough for Max to feel the bite.

She misses Charles' touch. Five minutes cannot pass fast enough, moving like molasses as she floats, still.

"Colour?" Charles' fingers brush over her arm, from her shoulder up to her wrist, just dancing on Max's burning skin.

Max swallows, soothing her parched throat as well as she can. "Green," she reassures Charles, eyes blinking open. Met with Charles' smile, Max can't help but giggle. "Hi, Charlie."

"Hi, Maxie," Charles whispers back, tenderly. "Five more minutes, can you do it for me?"

"Always, Charlie."

The kiss pressed on her elbow warms her from the inside. Max could spend hours in the air, if it means Charles being proud of her, kissing her softly every now and again. Anything to please Charles, anything to be her good girl.

Charles knows exactly what she needs as she kisses the words into her skin, "Good girl."

For the leftover five minutes, Charles does not leave her side. Her hand stays on Max's stomach, kneading at it mindlessly every now and again. Max can't float anymore, too focused on her lover's presence. Her touch keeps her present, body tensing with each dip Charles' takes towards her cunt.

"Two more. Can you stay still and let me touch you as I wish?"

Shaking her head, Max whines. "Charlie, I can't. Not when you're touching me…"

"You can't?" Charles muses, nails scratching at Max's happy trail, lower and lower until she tangles her fingers in Max's coarse bush. "Or you won't?" She tugs, ripping a high-pitched moan out of Max.

"I can! Please, Charlie! I can, I promise I can be good!"

Charles smirks. "I know you can. I trained you, didn't I?"

Sobs shake her body, skin breaking under the burn of the rope just in time for Charles' fingers to slide inside her pussy. She falls apart at Charles' mercy, pain blossoming where bruises will form.

Chapter Text

Max being in Milton Keynes during summer break is not something new, just as Charles being in Maranello is not unfamiliar to them either. Them being at their factories at the same time is ideal. Charles being stuck at home, all alone — with their pets technically — is not. And all because of a stupid cold that rendered her useless, essentially.

She's stuck in bed, maman on speed dial, her and Max's WhatsApp chat open to pour all her complaints into. Not that Max is answering her, too busy in the sim to even read her messages. Charles is not fine with being ignored, not on a good day when her nose isn't stuffed to the brim with snot, and definitely not on a bad day, when her nose is stuffed to the brim. She's one cough away from calling Max's pilot and asking them to come pick her up when her phone lights up, at last.

It's a call, Max's face taking over the whole screen, the stupid photo of her with Leo up to her face making Charles' chest feel fuzzy. She misses her so much. Max should just come home already, she's been in MK for too long.

She tells her lover as much, as soon as she picks up the call, pout tugging on her lip, eyes drowsy from the pills she forced herself to take.

Max laughs, eyes tired and bloodshot as she settles back on her bed. "Sorry, baby. I promise to be back soon, maybe tomorrow evening if Laurent gives me the green light."

Pouting harder than before, Charles mirrors Max, bringing the blanket up to her chin. "Is the car drivable?" She watches as Max rolls her eyes, pretending to lock her lips and throw away the key. "Oh, come on, Maxie," she whines. "I'm dying, you have to at least tell me if I have a chance after the break or not!"

"Stop whining, baby, we both know you're not dying. If you were dying you wouldn't have sent me your tits three times and your little cunt twice as many times." Max's voice deadpans, accent thick as she yawns around her words. "You can be good and wait one more night, can't you?"

Charles doesn't agree, staying quiet as she looks at Max through her lashes, blush blooming in patches across her face. Frankly, she can't. She woke up from her nap horny and immediately decided to make it Max's problem, which meant that the neediness did not go away even hours later.

"What if I can't wait? I did not lie, Maxie, I am dying!" Charles puffs her cheeks, blowing a raspberry when Max only laughs at her antics. "Max! I am serious!"

Max grins at her, infuriating even hundred of kilometres away. "You're not serious, baby, you're Charles!" She has the audacity to giggle, sticking her tongue out all cheekily when Charles glares at her. "Really, schatje, you're sick. The only thing you should be horny for is getting healthy again. Are you that greedy that you can't even go one day without needing something to fill your pussy?"

Sputtering, Charles hides behind the blanket. The crudeness laced around Max's words forces her cunt to squeeze, slick dirtying her underwear as embarrassment flows through her chest. "Fuck off, mate. If you're going to be a dickhead about it, I will just hang up!" The threat is empty, they both know it.

Max knows it better, smirk glued on her face. "No, you won't," she sing-songs, so sure of herself. "Now, stop being a whiny brat and go look in the last drawer of my bedside table."

Charles does as told, grumbling as she stretches across the bed to Max's side. The blanket pools around her waist, her naked chest on display for Max to see. Goosebumps erupt on her skin, the feeling of being watched making Charles squirm while she tries to pull out the drawer one-handed. At first, she doesn't see it, the mess inside overwhelming, but then her eyes zero in on the small object.

It's nothing to write home about, at a quick glance, but Charles knows her lover. This is what she wants Charles to find. When she pulls the box out, Charles doesn't recognise it as something they've used before, the brand unfamiliar to her as well.

She takes the lid off, only to be met with a… A simple vibe, bullet-shaped and rather unassuming. Charles frowns at the toy, not at all what she was expecting to find. She thought Max had something more planned, if they were going to do the whole phone sex thing, but apparently it was going to be simple, vanilla sex.

She can live with that, if it means she gets to cum tonight.

Phone sex, surprisingly, is not something they go for if given the opportunity. They're both too dependent on the other to enjoy not having their warmth present. It's a curse, but it does mean reunion sex is something to look forward to, every time they are apart.

But she won't say no to it, not tonight. She'll survive without Max's touch and she will ruin her panties and then sleep in the guest room when she won't be bothered to change their sheets.

"Do you want me to just put it on my pussy?" She asks clumsily, not certain how to proceed with the vibrator now in the game.

"No, Charlie. I want you to lay back for me first. Actually, the pets aren't with you, yes? Don't want to traumatise them today," Max jokes. Charles rolls her eyes at that, not answering her taunts. She accidentally left Leo in once and now Max won't let it go. "Alright, alright, baby. Just lay back then and take the blanket off."

"I'm already laying back, Max!" Charles bites, frown creasing her forehead. "If you're going to be annoying about this I will hang up."

"You still won't, lol." Charles should hang up now, just to stop Max from being the loser she is when she's dripping wet for her. "Okay, baby, bring the vibe to your neck first."

Charles doubts that's the way it should go, but she's too tired — and horny — to argue. The vibe now pressed to her neck, Charles waits. And waits. And she waits for what feels like an eternity for anything to happen.

"Do I have to turn it—" Charles gasps, the vibe suddenly turning on against her skin. It's just a buzz, nothing extreme, but Charles shudders anyway. "Max," she whines, thrashing against the headboard.

"Do you like it, Charles? I know it didn't seem like much, but I got it for us to use when we're apart. I have the app on my phone, I'm sure you figured it out by now." She doesn't sound affected, because she's not the one holding an app controlled vibrator to her neck, but there's still a strain to Max's voice. As if it's hard for Max to keep herself from jumping on her jet and coming home this instant.

On any other day, Charles would've continued to beg her to come home. Today, she asks, "Can I move it lower, Maxie?"

"Such a good girl," Max coos. "Of course you can, Charlie. Move it down. Towards your nipples, baby. Circle your right one with it, that's right. Now press it into it."

She's starting to dip, following all of Max's orders without putting in a thought. Charles doesn't need to, anyway. Max will think for her, she will tell her exactly what she needs to do to feel good. Max takes care of her, no matter what.

The more she's pressing the vibrator to her chest, the stronger the impulses are getting, picking up in intensity gasp by gasp. Control slips between her fingers, no matter how hard she's trying to grasp at it, to keep a semblance of composure. Robotically, she moves the vibe to her ignored nipple, body jumping at the sensation. She's shaking with want, and Max has yet to tell her she can touch it to her pussy. Charles will not be able to last at this rate, she will cum pathetically early and Max will make fun of her.

The thought excites her, she is not able to lie.

"Please, Max, can I touch myself with it?" Charles pants, feeling the sweat build on her brow.

"You're already touching yourself with it, schatje," Max taunts her, words laced with undeniable satisfaction. "What more could you want?"

"Please let me touch my pussy, Maxie, please. I will die if you don't let me, please!"

Max hums, pretending to think if Charles deserves to be given permission to do as she pleases. She's just doing it to be annoying, to fuck with Charles and get her more desperate than she already is. She's a bully and Charles will not beg any more! She will not!

"Please, Maxie!" She begs, voice embarrassingly squeaky. She must be redder than her car, but Charles can't bring herself to hide from Max's inquisitive eyes, nor can she find the button to hang up. She's stuck, vibe pressed to her nipple, Max's annoying humming coming from her phone.

"Okay, baby. You can put it to your needy cunt, but only to your clit, yes?"

Charles could cry; she thinks she must be, as she brings the small object down between her legs, pushing it against her aching clit. The relief is instantaneous. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she sobs, mouth falling open, moan stuck in her throat. "Maxie—"

The vibrations are almost too much, but then, out of nowhere, her clit stings. Again and again, as if volts of electricity are running through it. It takes Charles a moment to register what's happening, but soon enough her mind catches up. The toy's electrocuting her, it's that simple.

The most unassuming object, the smallest vibrator Max ever introduced in the bedroom, and it's the one that's sending jolts of electricity through Charles' clit. She's a mess, as soon as she registers that Max won't stop the shocks, not now that Charles is responding so eagerly to the stimulation, wanton moans ripped from her with every little jerk.

"Are you going to cum for me, Charlie? Going to cum when I electrocute your little dick all the way from Milton? Are you going to cry, Charlie?"

Charles can't see her, phone propped up on a pillow, body still in view for her lover to feast on. But her eyes have fallen shut, brain melting down her ears.

"Yes, yes, yes, please! Please let me cum, Max, I need it!" She's not even touching herself, only the vibrator pushed on her clit, her other hand lax besides her body, flexing on the sheets with each jolt that pulsates against her. She's not touching herself, but she will cum, she just needs Max to tell her she can, that's all she needs. That's all—

"Who owns your cunt, baby? Who owns that little dick of yours?"

"Fuck—You do, Max, it's yours!"

"And I take care of you, don't I?" Charles cannot form any words anymore, speechless as the vibrations get sharper. She nods, jerks her head and hopes it's enough of an answer to satisfy Max. "Yeah, daddy takes care of what's hers. Go on, Charlie, you can cum for daddy. Let me see you make a mess."

The ringing in her ears is so loud, it covers the buzzing of the vibe, still working on her clit, in spite of Charles' soundless sobs.

Chapter Text

For all it's worth, between the two of them Charles is the one who knows how to dress. Max doesn't care enough to put much thought into it, even for special events. She has three suits she rotates through, a few slacks and some fancy shirts, but if she could, she'd spend all her time in her comfy skinny jeans and simple T-shirts.

Charles is the exact opposite. She's always wearing the prettiest dresses in between her too-large jeans and too-small shirts combos. Usually, Charles doesn't go for suits, preferring to dress more feminine if given the chance. A shame, in Max's opinion, who thinks Charles looks absolutely stunning in a fitted suit, one that's tailored especially for her, taken in at the waist. Exactly how Charles likes it. Exactly how Max loves it.

The event today is just for Charles to partake in, a sponsored dinner Ferrari forced her to attend during their summer break. Max can't even complain about the Scuderia taking her girlfriend away because RB demanded her presence in Milton Keynes two days ago.

An eye for an eye, is what she tells herself to soothe her broken heart.

A heart that breaks again when Charles steps out of the bathroom in the most outrageous suit Max has ever seen her wear. She's so hot. Max is well aware she's out of Charles league, that the woman is the most beautiful creature roaming the world now and forever, but she swears she looks truly otherworldly in this moment.

She crashes the car on the screen. A rather natural reaction to seeing her girlfriend in general, but even more so seeing her in the velvet suit she's wearing.

Charles is fiddling with her jewellery, struggling to slip her earring in. She decided to go only with golden pieces today, something she doesn't particularly navigate towards. Again, it is truly a shame. Charles should always wear gold, Max thinks. It is the only fit choice for the goddess before her eyes. The useless goddess who's getting more and more annoyed by the hoop she can't seem to get in. Max is a mean girlfriend for not immediately jumping from her seat and helping Charles with it, but she has more important things to do. Like stare at Charles, without an ounce of shame.

It's not her fault! Her brain has been reduced to mush, that's all. All because of the stupid velvet that's wrapped around Charles' body, hugging all her curves in a way that should be illegal. She doesn't even notice the corseted vest until it's too late, saliva going down the wrong pipe, making Max choke on her spit. It's fastened so tightly around her middle, Charles' tits sitting so pretty from the extra support. But her eyes stop at the little bruise poking out from under the stiff fabric. It's no longer as visible as it was this morning, meaning that Charles covered it with concealer before she got dressed, as she did with the bite marks on her neck. But, unlike the perfectly covered hickeys there, this one is still visible if you know what to look for.

In her panties, Max leaks.

Brain finally regaining some of its ability to work, Max pushes herself out of the gaming chair, walking over to the still struggling nymph. Her personal nymph. All for Max.

"Need a hand?" She asks, not waiting for an answer as she forces Charles hands away, taking the earring from between her fingers. She slips it in easily, knowing where Charles' hole is without having to feel for it. "There…" Max whispers, gawking at her girlfriend.

"You're staring," Charles accuses her, a smile playing on her red lips.

"Can you blame me? My girlfriend is the most beautiful person! I can't be called out for wanting to look at her when I won't even get the chance to join her and stare at her during dinner!" Max argues, hands coming to rest over Charles' waist. Even through the corset she can feel the warmth of her body. Max wants to lock her in the house and never let her leave.

"OK, creep," Charles laughs, running her fingers over Max's arms. She gives Max's biceps a squeeze. And then another. And one more, just because she's as obsessed with Max as Max is with her.

"Can I please—" Charles eyes stop at her lips, watching as Max's mouth forms around the words. Max doesn't have to check to see that she's grown hard. "Can I please suck you off?"

"Mon dieu," she groans, before pushing Max to her knees. In a fluid motion, she takes her cock out, not bothering to push her pants down. She just unzips them enough for it, poking it through the hole of her boxers. "Of course you can, my sweet girl."

Max feels herself lean forward towards Charles' pretty cock. It's so red and so hard, without Max having done anything worth such a reaction. She takes it in her mouth, moaning at the taste of it. Charles trained her so well, she doesn't even tear up when she gags on the length, swallowing it all like she was made for it. And she was. Charles made her take it, again and again, broke her in. Hours spent on her knees, cockwarming Charles, throat giving in.

She doesn't waste a single moment, sucking the dripping cock in, working over the length of it with thorough bobs of her head. Charles loves it when she can fuck in deep, when Max pulls off only to take it back in, until it hits the back of her throat.

Charles doesn't stand a chance. She spills down Max's throat, forcing her to swallow all of her cum. Not that she would've let any of it go to waste.

Max pulls back, smiling up at the goddess above her. She's almost as red as her suit, simply because of Max. She tucks Charles' cock, soft and still shining with spit, back in. A last kiss pressed to Charles' crotch, a short nuzzle over it, and reluctantly, Max lets her go.

She will have to hump Charles when she comes back, dirty the suit after she's done being Ferrari's golden princess. Max can wait until then. She's been trained, after all.

Chapter Text

Charles places the glass on the table. It's full, too full for it to not spill, no matter how careful she's being with it. The table is wobbly. It has always had a certain allure to it, even with how bad at being a table it is.

Charles keeps thinking she'll end up throwing it away, but every time she tries to do so, something inside her tells her not to. She's fond of it.

The TV is on, some documentary she's been meaning to watch with Max left playing. It's not as interesting as she thought it would be, but that may have to do with the fact that Max isn't here to go into detail about it. Sure, the narrator's voice is deep and soothing, but Charles would much rather have Max explain the logistics behind a micronation.

On the table, the glass of water shakes. The table groans. Charles rolls her eyes, lifts her feet to rest on it. The heels of Louboutins dig into the table. Its groans get more desperate, the panting of it filling the room. The glass lifted off, Charles puts it on the floor, careful for it not to spill.

She won't admit it out loud, not now at least, but she's been wet for so long. All from the thought of using her lovely table and hearing how pathetic its sound get the longer Charles makes do with it.

Charles tsks. The noises don't seem to cease, her table unable to hold them in. It must be getting tired… But they have just started, and Charles really thinks it makes for the prettiest table.

"Tables don't groan," she hisses, heels digging deeper into the bumpy surface beneath her feet. "Tables are nice, steady and quiet. Isn't that right, Max?"

Max would speak, but the gag fastened around her head stops her from doing much besides making noises. Still, she makes a little sound of agreement, layered with guilt.

It makes Charles wetter.

God, she really thought today would be the day when she lasts well into the night; two, three, four rounds in. But she's so desperate already that those thoughts seem stupid now.

Max's eyes are full of tears when she lifts her head to look at Charles. It tugs at Charles' heart for a second, before the lust bubbling inside her takes over and she feels herself drip through the thin material of her dress. It doesn't help that she's not wearing any underwear, her pussy bear.

Charles may have joined the scene just moments ago, but Max has been in it for a while, patiently waiting on her hands and knees. Even without the gag, Charles knows she wouldn't complain about the pain. God, she loves her so much.

"Does my baby wish to cum?" Charles asks, tine mocking, lips pouted.

That's a trick question. Max always wants to cum. She would be doing only that 24/7 if it was socially acceptable. Sometimes, when she's sleep deprived and Max's body is pressed into her side, Charles considers keeping her lover stuffed and around her strap for every waking moment. It would make for a lovely life, for the both of them.

Max doesn't notice the ridicule, too deep in her headspace. She nods, so eagerly Charles wants to just pull her in her arms and give her what she wants. Max deserves it; she only deserves the best. But today, they talked about going in a different direction. And Charles won't deny her beautiful lover the things she wants.

As if it's a great effort, Charles lifts her feet off, groaning to sell it. On Max's naked back indents from her heels remain. When she groans again, this time she means it. It's so hot seeing Max branded like that. Owned. Charles'.

Charles places her feet on the ground, away from Max's body.

"Go on."

Max stares at her, eyes glazed over, unsure of what exactly Charles is expecting. They've played this game before, this exact sequence familiar, but every time they do this, Max is too far gone to remember what she's meant to do. It's absolutely adorable, how she tilts her head to the side, drool leaking down her chin.

"Use my foot, baby," Charles instructs her.

It takes only a second for Max to start crawling on her knees towards her. They pop with each movement. Charles can see how red they are when Max straddles her leg, cunt dripping all over her shoe. Max's tits are sticky with sweat when she leans into Charles. Her forehead is even worse. She's sticky all over. Charles wants to lick her clean.

Reaching out, Charles unbuckles the gag. Max tries to spit it out, but her jaw can't move, stuck in the same position. With gentle fingers, Charles pulls it out, massaging the hinges of Max's jaw as she does so. Max whines, but otherwise stays quiet as her mouth falls shut and her hips begin to move.

Small, shy thrusts at first. Then her pace picks up, Charles' fingers running through her sweaty hair, pushing it back off her forehead. Max's face is so red, her whole body is. Splotchy and freckled and Charles' to worship. She wants to get her hands all over her, squeeze her tits, tug on her pretty pink nipples, latch onto them and suck until milk comes out. Charles may lack the necessary bits to get Max pregnant, but if she tries hard enough… Just the thought of Max, heavy with their child, glowing, soft, Charles'…

Charles has never been more in love.

"That's it, baby." The praise is so easy to give, Max's voice breaking as she whines, high and long. "You're doing so well, humping daddy's shoe like a dog in heat. Is that what you are, Max? Are you daddy's dog?"

Max stills. Her body is rigid, only her chest moving up and down, up and down, so fast Charles is scared for a second. She doesn't dwell on it too long, feels the cum on her foot leak into her heel.

All she can do is file away that piece of information for later, as she carefully lifts Max in her arms and kisses her rosy cheeks.

Chapter Text

Not a day passes by with Charles not being the most beautiful creature Max has ever had the pleasure of seeing, the pleasure of taking apart. And what a pleasure it is to ruin Charles, to have her spread out, skin glistening, body flushed, cunt puffy and used. What a pleasure, what a joy it is to have her mute with debauchery, huffs making her chest heave, moans the only sounds coming from her. What a joy, what a privilege it is to have Charles whimper her name, to have Charles reach for her, searching for Max to offer her comfort, to lull her back into her body.

It is a luxury, a gift from God herself, to be able to witness Charles on all fours, heavy tits hanging down, red and begging to be played with. The struggle to hold herself up as a dildo fucks into her, slowly, is obvious in how her legs shake. Max would not give this up for anything. She wants to tell Charles as much, but words seem to fail her, the more she's staring at Charles' cunt just swallowing the toy, all hungry for it.

The machine is set at the lowest speed, trying to ease Charles into it, but the brunette keeps whining for more, keeps wordlessly begging Max to give her what she craves. She'd give Charles the stars, pluck them off from the sky, wrap them in gold and silver for the woman to wear. They'd still pale next to her, nowhere near as striking in beauty as Charles.

"Is this not enough, Charlie? You're being fucked full, aren't you?" She lets her hand stroke down Charles' back, fingers merely ghosting over the sun-kissed skin. Marvelling at the sight, she studies how goosebumps spread where her fingers touch. It's simply lovely, to watch Charles react so beautifully, so eagerly.

Charles whines, sound honey-sweet and needy. Spine arching to follow Max's fingers, she gasps, the dildo hitting deeper with the sudden move. It's — she's — spectacular to observe, is all Max can think. Her hand comes down on the back of her thigh, smack more to see Charles' ass shake from the impact than to cause any pain.

Still, Charles sobs, arms giving out under the weight. She falls face first into the sheets, breasts squeezed under her, ass staying exactly where Max wants her, up in the air, still taking the cock as if she was made for it. And she was, Max is sure of it. She always takes it so enthusiastically, ready to take more, more, more, until it is Max who has had her fill. Until Max decides she's done.

"Look at you," Max whispers, more to herself than to Charles. "You're so beautiful, Charles. The most breathtaking little thing, letting me fuck you with this machine. Putting on such a show, all for me, no?"

Charles mewls. "All for you, only for you, Maxie…" She's starting to sound far away, stuck in her head, focused only on the pleasure Max is kind enough to give her.

The whirring of the machine, the wet noises Charles' cunt is making as the dildo fucks her open, the breathless moans Charles lets out with each thrust… Max doesn't know what to focus on, unable to choose something to anchor herself onto. It's an onslaught of sounds, of things to look at.

And Charles is at the focus of everything, Charles is the one filling the room. Even if she wanted to ignore her, Max couldn't. She's too in tuned to Charles' whole being, fingers tingling to pull her away from the machine and settle behind her, fuck her tongue into Charles' soppy cunt, lick everything up and then push the slick between her Charlie's lips.

But this is for Max, as much as it is for Charles. She's the main guest — the only one, the VIP — to this Charles shaped show. Charles is putting it on for Max to gawk at.

"Maxie—" She gasps, fucking herself back onto the dildo to try and set a faster pace. "More, please— I've been so good, Maxie, please—"

Max cannot deny it. She has been good, taking the speed Max chose for her without complaint, letting the toy fuck her for what must have felt like hours. Fog lifting from over her brain, Max stalks to the fucking machine, turning the dial up. Admiring how the toy picks up in pace, thrusting faster and deeper into Charles, Max feels her mouth water.

Not a day, not a moment, a minute, a second, goes by without Max wandering what God she must have pleased in another life to be allowed to have Charles come apart before her very eyes.

Chapter Text

Max wakes in a sweat, heart hammering in her chest, breath caught in her throat. There's a breeze around her, chill creeping into her bones where the warmth from her duvet should be. She's too scared to open her eyes, knowing all too well she is no longer in her bedroom. Max swears she's not alone, wherever she may be. There is something watching her, something close to her, its body heat radiating on Max's skin.

The ghost of a finger brushes over her forehead, disappearing into her hair to push the sweaty strands away. There's comfort in the touch, pushing the feeling of alarm to the side, leaving in their wake a sense of longing.

Finally, as safety wraps around her like a blanket, Max opens her eyes.

She's here. She's watching over Max. There's blood dripping down her chin, eyes darker than Max remembers, but still so very beautiful. The flowers in her hair are withered at the ends, but still, still she smells so very sweet.

Max is mesmerised, staring up at the creature, chest close to collapsing in on itself from everything she's feeling. All the love, all the residual fear, all the want that's burying itself around her ribs like bloodied meat on a severed bone.

She opens her mouth, Max watching that pretty pink tongue of hers poke out from behind her teeth; those same gore-covered teeth, the same blade-sharp canines. Her lips move, but no words come out. Only the deafening silence of the forest can be heard.

But in Max's mind, she hears it. Her voice, like the whisper of the wind between grass blades, like the distant jingle of wood settling. It's softer than what she imagined it to sound like; it sounds like the warmth that spreads through her when she walks into the woods, it feels like the dew that clings to her skin when she lays in the grass, the goddess next to her.

Run, beloved, for I wish to catch you.

Max's blood goes cold in her veins. In her chest, her heart picks up pace again, eyes glued to the look on the creature's face. She looks… She looks ready to eat Max. She looks hungry for it, really.

Jumping to her feet, Max stares at the woman. She's smiling serenely, just waiting for Max to move. Just waiting for Max to start the game.

The instincts screaming inside her win: Max bolts, feet slapping against the grassy floor as she barely registers she's shoeless. She doesn't care about it. For once, the fear spiked through her when she looked at her creature. For once, Max actually thought her to mean the hunger in her eyes. So she runs, as fast as she can while trying to not step on anything that could hurt her.

The silence follows her, as if the woman did not start chasing after her. Max should know better, she watched enough horror movies, but still she cannot stop herself from looking over her shoulder. There's no one but herself, running through the forest. She frowns, stopping for a moment to catch her breath.

Is she… Is she being toyed with? Is she messing with Max?

This wouldn't be the first time someone has pulled her leg, only to laugh at her after they're done… Max hoped she wasn't the same, but clearly—

A twig snaps, on her right.

Max's head twitches at the sound, eyes finding it hard to focus when she's only met with darkness, with the emptiness around her.

On her left, leaves ruffle, as if someone's above her, in the trees, looking down at her. Behind her, a bush moves. Everywhere, all around, all at once, the forest comes to life.

She swears the beauty has multiplied, for with every rapid turn of her head, Max sees her. She's everywhere. She's where she should not be. And she is smiling, grinning at Max like she knows she won the game already.

Max will not let the goddess catch her so easily. The lust, the gluttony in the upturn of her mouth tells Max this shouldn't be over. She turns, body getting ready to start sprinting again, only to have those vines wrap around her wrist, pulling her back.

"No," Max sobs, trying to trash out of their hold. It's futile, they only tighten around her, moving up her arm, around her chest, down her legs, bringing her to where the creature is sitting. Her arms replace the vines, touch cold like the grass beneath Max's feet. "Please don't," she begs, still unsure what the woman wants from her. She's scared. She's actually scared of what she will do to Max. Max tries again, voice cracking, "Please let me go!"

In her head, that soft voice rings: I caught you, my beloved. Let me enjoy you now.

As if sensing the fear pouring out of Max, she lets her hand run down her face, stroking over Max's cheek with something that can only be described as love. Max turns in her arms, ready to face the creature. She's met with a look of concern, a look of pure worry. Her beautiful face, distorted with anxieties because of Max's panic.

I will never hurt you, my love. Let me prove it to you, please.

There's desperation resounding in her mind, loud and clear.

Max closes her eyes and lets herself believe the creature. She's been caught, so Max lets herself be enjoyed, as the goddess desires.

Chapter Text

Everything is fuzzy when Charles comes to, sleep still holding onto her, making her head feel funny. Body numb, it takes Charles an agonizingly slow moment to realise why she woke up. There is a wetness in between her legs, dripping down her naked thighs, sleeping shorts no longer covering her bottom half. This in itself wouldn't be a first, Charles loses her clothing oftentimes during sleep, running too hot — and too horny — for her own good, but usually there is no one holding her thighs open with their body.

Tonight, she realises after her eyes have finally gotten accustomed to the dark, Max sits with her face pressed to Charles' cunt, stone-still now that Charles' breath has hitched; a clear sign she's awake. Charles takes in the state of her pussy: sopping wet and oversensitive, body shuddering when Max licks over it. She's sore already, thigh muscles tight and stomach tighter.

"Wha—Max?" In her mouth, her tongue feels heavy. There's dried drool on the side of her face, making Charles cringe. How long has this been going on?

Charles feels drunk, her whole body led-heavy. Bits and pieces from last night come to her, glasses of alcohol pressed into her hands by a very eager Max, who seemed equally drunk as her. Stumbling through the door of their apartment, Max giggling in her ear when Charles ran into the cats' tower. Passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow, then waking up, utterly desperate.

Lips pressed to Charles' groin, Max shushes her gently. Hand splayed over her thigh, Max holds her down, spasm too strong for Charles to stop. "You were rubbing yourself all over me, Charlie. And daddy just wanted a little taste," she whispers, air hot over Charles' heated pussy. "Go back to sleep, baby."

Charles shakes her head. She's too horny to be able to fall back asleep, no matter how hot the thought of Max using her body is. She needs to be awake, she wants to feel Max pulling another orgasm out of her, this time as it happens.

"Can't, Maxie. I wanna feel you," Charles whines, hips grinding into Max's mouth, body trembling at the stimulation. She's so sensitive, cunt feeling raw and hot where Max's breath comes over it. "You woke me up, daddy. Can't fall back asleep now."

"Yeah?" Max laughs, licking over Charles' clit for a brief second, before she pulls back and rests her cheek on Charles' thigh. "It only took three orgasms to wake you up baby, did you realise that? I was just on the verge of getting a fourth out of you. Are you sure you don't want to do this for daddy and go back to sleep? Let me make you cum again, wake you up when I push my strap into your needy little pussy."

Charles shakes her head, feeling the short strands of her bangs fall over her eyes. It's so easy to allow her eyes to fall shut, for her body to relax into the mattress. Sleep is pulling at her mind, promises of warmth and having the stretch of Max's strap wake her up almost too enticing. But she's determined. Charles will not fall back asleep, she'd rather Max pull a fourth out of her while awake. She needs to feel the brush of Max's lips over her clit, she needs to feel her fingers fuck into her, no resistance from Charles' cunt, too wet with Max's spit and her own slick. She must look Max in the eyes when she pushes her strap in, see how the flush spreads down her neck and onto her chest.

"Please, daddy." Charles bites her lip, tastes her own desperation on her tongue. It's sweet, yet it burns, taste of fire making Charles light up from the inside. "Fuck me, please."

Max coos at her, presses an open-mouth kiss to her inner thigh, before biting on the meat. "Are you that desperate for daddy's strap? Can't even be good and fall back asleep? Too cock-dumb to do so, Charlie?"

"No," Charles cries, trashing in Max's hold. "'M good daddy, just want your cock," she whispers, trying to look at Max through the darkness. "Please, Maxie. Please give me your cock…"

Max moves up her body, caging her in with her arms. Charles wants to bite her biceps, litter marks all over the muscles, deep purple shades all over, visible under Max's white fireproofs. Still, she's too tired to lift her head and do so. For now, she will pray Max's biceps end up near her mouth. "You'll let daddy put the big one in you, hm? Want me to stretch you open and leave you gaping, baby?" Max asks, lips ghosting over Charles' cheek. She takes a bite, playful and short-lived, before standing back up to look down at her.

Mouth watering at the thought of being stretched, Charles nods. She wants to be pushed past her limit, to have Max's cock fill her to the brim, just until she's crying and dripping around the length buried in her cunt. It's the only thing she wants right now, the only thing on her mind. She feels another whine break in her throat, falling out past her lips without her consent. Charles thinks she'll be stuck like this, quivering and crying, until Max goes and brings the strap, until she slides it in.

"Yes, please, daddy," she whimpers, hands moving up, up, up, grabbing onto Max's hair to bring her face back down. Max's lips are hot against hers, bruised and puffy and still tasting of Charles' cunt.

Max's pussy is just as wet, sticky where it almost rests on top of Charles'. The coarse hairs are dripping with the evidence of Charles' effect on her, the clumps of it dragging over Charles' clit. Next time, she will be the one waking Max up with her face between the woman's thighs, lapping at her hole like the starved dog she is. She'll drink it all, she'll eat it until she's finally full and sated, no matter how long that may be.

The mattress rising brings her back to the present, Max's heat gone from where it was pressing against hers. She watches, bewitched, as Max moves through the dark, blindly making her way to the chest of toys on the opposite wall. It's their emergency stash, the rest of it hidden in the playroom. She can't see too much, vision fuzzy from the lack of glasses, but Charles can still pick up on the shape of Max, how she digs through the drawer, shoulders relaxed and head swaying from side to side as she hums along to one of Martijn's songs.

Charles can't believe this woman has just been calling herself daddy, acting all tough just moments ago. She's such a dork, Charles can't help but giggle, relaxing into the bed as she waits for Max to come back.

After what feels like ages, the bed dips again. Charles makes a noise in the back of her throat, something between a questioning hum and a pleased sigh. She is so tired, she doesn't even notice her eyes have fallen shut until they snap open the moment she feels the blunt head of Max's cock press against her entrance.

Gasping for breath, Charles sinks her nails into Max's shoulders. She lets her eyes close, no longer trying to pretend to have it in her to stay awake. Sleeping through Max splitting her open sounds so much better actually, so with little noises of pleasure being punched out of her with every thrust Max fucks into her, Charles falls asleep.

Chapter Text

The shirt she's wearing is too tight, making it harder for Max to breathe. It shouldn't feel that way, not with how loose it is in reality; Max chose it especially because it was meant to give her space to breathe, to make it feel like her skin isn't tightening around her muscles. But here she is, fretting over her hair and shirt and if Charles is doing this out of her own desire or because she has yet to realise she can do better.

She shouldn't think like this, Charles is a room away, ready to collar her. There is no room for insecurities, not anymore. Charles chose her. They chose each other. Max shouldn't forget that. The infinity lock in her hold will make sure she doesn't forget it. That is, if she manages to walk out of the room and meet Charles on the other side.

Releasing all the air in her lungs, Max opens the door to the living room.

They both agreed doing it at home would be ideal, away from curious gazes. They want to keep this to themselves, to keep this part of their relationship safe. No one else will get to see this, no one else deserves to witness the declaration Max has prepared.

It's only for Charles to laugh at, when she will see how pathetically in love, pathetically gone Max is for her.

The living room is empty, the door to the master bedroom still closed. Charles must be getting cold feet, that has to be why she is still in there. Max ignores the sinking feeling in her chest, walking over to the set table. She fixes some of the cutlery on it, anything to take her mind off the worries eating away at her mind. Next to her plate, the velvet box sits mockingly.

Still no sign of Charles, seconds passing, morphing into minutes.

Max goes to hide in the kitchen, pulling the food out of the oven, only to put it back in when the realisation that it will cool down too fast hits her. She takes the bottle of wine out of the fridge, sets it on the island, debates if she should drink it all to ease the anxieties. She doesn't, for the bedroom door is finally pushed open.

Charles steps out, posture just as unsure as Max's. That very same insecurity that's plaguing Max is plastered all over Charles, from the frown on her forehead to the way her fingers fiddle with the rings decorating them. She stops when she spots Max, body relaxing instantly.

"I thought you left," Charles confesses, hurrying to Max's side, tears threatening to spill from her lower lashes. "I was so sure you would have changed your mind, Maxie. I—You didn't—"

"I'd never leave, Charles," she vows. Her hands come to rest on Charles' waist, before moving to her neck, to her face, to hold her cheeks and force Charles to look at her. "Never, Charles. I'm yours till you get sick of me."

Charles gasps, pain spreading throughout her face rapidly. "I'd never, mon amour. How could you say that? Do you really think I would get sick of you?" Her bottom lip wobbles, her face flushes red.

"You could always find someone better, Charles…"

Max worries her lip, the longer Charles stares at her. She looks close to cursing Max, maybe even smacking some sense into her. "Amour, ma vie, you are it for me. I—" She pulls back, taking a velvet box — smaller than the one Max left on the table — out of her pocket. "I had this whole speech planned out, but you are stupid and now you will not get it because I need to drill it into your head, Max Emilia Verstappen," Charles pushes her finger into Max's chest, glaring at her. "That I want you and only you. I will wear your collar with pride and everyone will know I belong to you and that is exactly what I want. No one else, Max. I've been in love with you since I was a child, probably. Forever, I have loved you, and forever I will love you. When I will put this collar on you…" Charles takes the thin band out of its box, holding it in front of Max's face. "You will be mine and I will be yours. And nothing will come between that." Finally, she lifts the collar, ready to put it on Max. "May I collar you, ma vie?"

Max nods, throat closing up with how she's struggling not to cry. Charles waits, expectantly, patiently. "Yes," she says, finding her voice somewhere deep inside her chest.

With trembling hands, Charles places it at the base of Max's neck, the ring just on the dip between her collarbones. She twists the key, eyes full of adoration, as it slips back in the box, later to be placed on the necklace that sits low behind Charles' shirts. "I love you, Max Verstappen," Charles seals her words with a kiss, gentle on Max's lips. She doesn't give Max a chance to say it back, face breaking into a blinding grin as she turns and looks around, worries from before all forgotten. "Where's mine? Do me now!"

Max would gladly do her, but first she needs to guide Charles to the living room and present the collar she had chosen for her. Easier said than done with the human equivalent of a koala holding onto her as she's trying to navigate through their own apartment. The weight of Charles' collar around her neck gives her so much comfort, as if every step feels easier to take. Max loves it, loves the security it offers her. She cannot believe that just moments ago she was doubting this, doubting Charles' love.

They stop just next to the set table, where Charles takes a seat wordlessly. Without taking a second to consider her next move, she pulls Max in her lap, hands settling on the small of her back.

Max reaches across, lifts the box and stops just short of opening it. "I still have my speech memorised, so allow me to embarrass myself in front of you, schatje," Max laughs, biting her lip when she finds Charles looking at her already. "You have been in my life for so long Charles, probably before I had even realised your presence was there. We've always chased after each other — though I, of course, am always faster — but with this," Max looks at the collar, "I want us to be in equal machinery. We own each other, body and soul, and nothing will ever change this. I want this for the rest of our lives as well—"

"You're stealing my lines, Maxie," Charles whines.

With a kiss, Max shuts her up. "We're already so intertwined, Charlie. Where I melt into you, you harden around me. Where you bleed into my veins, I close around you and keep you in. I know I'm not secure in myself still, but I also know you love me now— And forever. This is already helping me." Her hand touches the ring. "So I hope it will help you too. May I?"

Charles nods her head, an exact copy of Max's previous movement. And just as Charles waited for Max to say it with words, so does Max.

"Yes, dummy!"

The collar sits perfectly on Charles, subtle enough to blend in with the rest of her necklaces. But they'll know. Max will know that on the back of the ring, her name is carved. She will know that the sole stone placed in the middle of the ring matches the shade of Charles' cunt.

She will know that Charles is hers, that she is Charles'.

"I love you, Charles Leclerc," she seals it with a kiss, the sweetest press of their lips.

Chapter Text

Max can't believe her luck: here she was, ready to head home after another failed attempt to find someone that catches her eye when she walked past. She was such a pretty thing: rosy in the cheeks, hair framing the flushed face, ends slightly frizzy from the humid air of an Italian summer. Dressed in a tight little dress, with a too-big blazer covering most of it anyway. Max didn't stand a chance.

Obsessed from the moment she'd seen her, Max's eyes stayed on the woman as she moved through the bar, laughing with some people there, hugging another here, until she finally, finally, took a seat at the bar. Right next to Max, as if she was already begging for it.

Max could see it in her head, could hear the way she pleads to be given what she wants. She hasn't even heard the woman speak yet, not properly at least. Only the muffled order she gave the bartender, before she turned her back towards Max to scan the room.

She doesn't want to seem a creep, but she cannot stop her eyes from moving over the woman's exposed thighs, mouth watering at the multitude of bruises littering the skin there. So she's got herself a bit of a greedy pain slut, Max smirks to herself. She can work with that.

Leaning forward on the bar, she Max gets a whiff of the woman's perfume. She smells like cherries, candy-sweet at a first inhale, before the spice hits her. Even with the fragrance, she can still catch the scent of the woman's arousal. She reeks of it, no matter how much perfume she were to spray to try and cover the stench. Max wants to bury herself between the woman's legs, where it's strongest. She will, if everything goes as she wants it to.

"I'm Max," she introduces herself, fingers moving over the woman's thigh. She notes how hot the skin is, but even more obvious is the way in which she jumps, squirming in her seat when she turns to face Max.

If possible, her face gets brighter, a bead of sweat gathering on her brow, before she quickly wipes it away. "Charles," the woman — Charles — says, frown playing on her beautiful features. She's studying Max, gaze blazing hot even in the darkened room of the bar. That frown morphs into a smile, brief and hungry, before she seems to read Max's intentions. She pulls back from Max, frowning again. "I have a boyfriend."

Max quirks a brow at that, knowing very well she's being lied to. That won't do. She likes her girl well behaved, not lying to her face without an ounce of shame. "Do you now? And where is he, hm?"

Charles casts a glance behind her, anxiously biting her lip. "He's waiting for me in our room… He'd know if anything happened to me…" She doesn't even believe her own lie, but that's alright. Max can play into it, will gladly do so.

"Is that so? He'd leave such a pretty thing, all alone?" Max leans into her space, sleazy grin spreading on her lips. Charles tries to put more space between them, only to have her back hit the bar. She's Max's, trapped, with nowhere to run. "Are you sure he cares if — what did you say it was? — something were to happen to you?"

As if on cue, Charles' phone rings. She jumps at the sound, reaching for it in the blazer pocket. She hides the screen from Max, but Max sees the very obvious alarm pop-up anyway. Charles smiles at her, pretending to take the call and speaking in rapid French as she lifts the phone to her ear. Max chuckles when the lock screen is the only thing that shows, no call in sight.

Nodding along as if someone truly is on the other side, Charles gives Max an apologetic smile, strained and uncomfortable. But Max knows best. Max can see that Charles wants her just as much, if not more. She'd have to be blind not to see the way her thighs flex, the way her mouth drops in a silent gasp when she moves on the stool.

"I'll come back now, yes." She's looking at Max as she says it, switching to English. An open invitation of course. Charles is just playing hard to get, she doesn't want Max to think her a cheater. But how could she, when she's only a liar who'd rather invent a boyfriend than admit to Max that she wants the woman to fuck her into the mattress. "Je t'aime, Emi." Still up to pretend, she hangs up, puts the phone back and pulls out a fifty. Charles places it on the bar and turns towards Max. "Sorry, I have to go now. It was… Goodbye, Max."

She steps down, tits jumping with how there is nothing to support them. Max stares at them, almost misses the tiny moan Charles lets out when she straightens herself. She doesn't, thank fuck. Immediately, she feels herself clench around nothing, the harness hanging on her hips feeling heavier. She can't wait anymore, she needs to get her hands on Charles now, see how fear looks on her.

"Excuse me," Charles finally says, turning to leave now that her charade is done. Now that she asked for it without uttering a single word, a needy little whore waiting for anyone to fuck her. No, not anyone. Only Max. She wants only Max, no one else.

Max waits a second, only a slow little blink, before she's walking after her. The elevator doors are already closing when Max reaches them, but she knows the number of Charles' room, had managed to see the number on her key when she took her phone out. Too careless, this pretty little thing. She's begging Max to come to her, putting on a show just for Max.

She takes the stairs, two at a time, and stops on the second floor, just as Charles is fumbling with her room key, movements alert and frightened. Three steps, that's all Max needs to crowd Charles against the door, hands on her hips. Even through her dress, Max still feels the scorch of her heated skin. She wants to feel it on her tongue as she fucks it into her cunt, slick dripping down her chin the more Charles begs her to stop.

"No!" Charles sobs, body slumping forward, yet to give up the facade. "Please, don't do this," she tries to beg, but Max can hear the desperation in her voice. She wants this so badly, yearns for it. She bets that as soon as she will get the woman naked, Max will find a puddle waiting for her to clean up in Charles' panties.

She licks her lips, suddenly starved for it.

"Open the door, Charles," she whispers in her ear, hand disappearing under the cover of her blazer to squeeze one of her boobs. Her nipples are hardened already, before she can fully grope her. "Be a good girl and get us inside. If you don't make a noise, I promise to give you a reward," Max drops her voice, biting hungrily at Charles' neck.

Hands still trembling, Charles manages to swipe the card, pushing the door open as she does so. Her body goes stiff, sticking her feet in the ground, foolishly thinking that will be enough to stop Max from getting her inside. It's not; Max has needs, she has desires that will be met tonight, one way or another.

With familiar ease, she picks Charles up, quickly walking in and slamming the door shut behind them. In her arms, Charles starts crying, shaking her head and attempting to free herself, only for Max to tighten her grip on the squirmy little thing.

"I said: be good!" Max grunts as she throws her onto the bed. "You really want to make this more difficult than it should be, you little whore?"

On the bed, Charles cowers, eyes wide with distress. Her face is red, unshed tears on her lashes, shoulders shaking with a sob that threatens to break free.

"Where's that boyfriend of yours, Charles? I thought you said he's waiting for you in your room?" Max climbs on the bed, dipping under her weight, bringing Charles closer to her. Where she belongs. "Did you lie to me?"

Charles shakes her head, whimper falling past her lips. "No! He's— He must be somewhere! Please don't hurt me, please! I'll give you anything you want, I have— My boyfriend's watch! It's worth a lot, you can take it, just please don't do anything to me!"

Laughing, Max grabs the woman's hips, pushing her on her back. With one quick move, she lifts her dress, until her cunt — bare, glistening, no panties to cover the wetness pooling on her lips — stares at Max. It's pleading Max to take her, it's asking Max to claim it.

"I don't want anything, schatje. I already have what I want. Right," she lets her fingers graze over Charles' cunt, watching her face closely, "here." The pads of her fingers brush over a little thing, barely big enough for Max to notice at a first glance. But now that she feels it, now that she's touching the navy gem at the bottom of it, it all starts making sense.

Not only did she find herself a pain slut, but also a whore, starved for attention, parading herself for anyone to grab it. She's lucky it's Max that found her. Who knows what creep could've gotten to her first?

Charles' begging falls on deaf ears — it's meaningless anyway, Max can see how much she wants this.

"What do we have here, schat? Did you want me so bad you just had to stuff your little hole while waiting for me to find you?" Max pulls the plug out, one swift tug that leaves Charles gasping and crying. It's big… It's way bigger than the gem let on. Her pretty cunt is gaping, struggling to close now that it's been stretched open for who knows how long.

Max pushes a finger in. It just sucks her inside, no resistance. She's truly amazed, never seen anything like it, never seen a greedy whore like the one sobbing below her.

She's going to give it to her, everything she needs, all that she craves.

The second and third fingers are quick to join, sliding in just as easily. The four is a struggle, her pinkie thicker than average, but Max knows, she can tell that Charles can take more, that she usually takes more in her little cunt. She's begging to be stuffed, begging to be filled.

"No, no, no! Please don't do that, please—"

Biting on the woman's thigh, putting her teeth right over another bruise, Max waits. Two taps against her shoulder, and then she's licking over the wound, pulling back to grin at the mewling woman.

"No? I think you're loving this, Charlie. Look at how your pussy swallows my fingers, can't you feel it wants more?"

"Stop, please! You're going to tear it open, I can't take it!" Charles chokes on her own spit, face buried in her hands. "It's not going to fit! Please, take it out!"

Max feels rabid, feral with the need to break this pretty thing in, ruin her for whatever boyfriend she'd imagined could save her, for whoever else would ever try to lay a hand on her. She needs Charles to remember this, to remember that no one else, no man, no woman, no one, has ever stuffed her as well as Max will.

"I'll make it fit, baby, don't worry," she promises the crying woman, folding her thumb over so that the glide is effortless. Not that she needs to do any of that, the hungry little thing sucks her in, just like that.

No prep from her, and she's already fist deep inside Charles.

She's fucking Charles with her fist. She's past her wrist inside Charles. And Charles is whining, fucking herself on Max's hand, trying to get her clit touched but to no avail. It's the hottest thing that ever happened to her. Max doesn't want this to stop, ever.

But oh too quickly, Charles squeezes around her arm, cumming with a shout, one little stop that brings a smile to Max's lips.

She did it. Her baby took it like a champ, played her role perfectly. Slowly, she takes her fist out of Charles, staring as her fucked out hole takes even longer to try and close. Too tired, Charles whimpers when Max blows over her clit, lamely pushing the blonde away before collapsing back on the bed.

"I'll bring you a towel, baby. Stay right here, alright?"

Charles doesn't answer her, close to passing out anyway.

Max rushes to the bathroom, wetting a towel with warm water before running back to the bed, where Charles' eyes have slipped shut, her breathing almost evened out. With quick brushes of the towel over Charles' lower half, Max discards the rag once she deems her lover clean enough. They'll take a bath anyway, when Charles comes back.

Arms wrapping around Charles, Max slips in bed behind her, pressing her lips to the woman's back.

"I love you, Charlie," she whispers.

Charles squeezes her arm, words mumbled and barely audible but clear nonetheless: "Je t'aime, Maxie."

Chapter Text

Charles feels like she's going to burst out of her skin, the longer Max writhes before her, body tied so beautifully. A little present for Charles to enjoy tearing into. She is absolutely gorgeous, rope holding her arms above her head so that she can have a perfect view of the way her tits are bruising. Max has been in this position for a while now, but still she's barely whining at the strain Charles is putting her through. Arms, chest, stomach, legs, all tied in red. And just over her cunt, matching rope is holding a simple bullet vibrator on Max's clit. The harness is something she hasn't tried before, but Max had been eager to sit pretty and allow Charles to knot four pieces of rope right under her pussy. Didn't make a squeak when she pushed the vibrator between Max's dripping cunt and the cord. Not even when Charles turned it on, lowest setting available at first.

Instead, even now Max squirms and keeps her mouth shut, knowing exactly what Charles wants from her. Still, she is too caught in her head to give in, too ashamed to be uttering that single word Charles longs to hear again. Her fingers itch to push on the button to up the power, but that will not give her the satisfaction she craves. It would be too easy, like taking candy from a small child. 

"Tell me, bébé, what do you want?" Charles draws a line down Max's thigh, eyes following as goosebumps form where her touch goes. "Tell me and I will give it to you, whatever you want."

"Please, Charlie," Max mumbles, arching into Charles' hand. "Please."

Charles tsks, letting her nails dig into the fat of Max's thigh. "That is not how you should ask for it, Maxie. You know what I want from you, now be a good girl and ask."

"Please touch my pussy, Charlie," she begs, wrists trashing in the cuffs secured around them. 

With an eye roll, Charles ups the intensity. "That is still not how you are meant to ask, Maxie. Until you're a good girl and beg me properly, I won't touch your needy pussy. The vibrator will have to suffice, non? Unless you're such a desperate little thing you can only cum when it is me who is rubbing over your clit."

"No!" Max sobs. "Please, Charlie, please! I don't know what you want from me!" But she does. Charles knows she knows. She may have only ever said it once, but Charles is sure that deep down Max feels the urge to say it again. 

Mutely, Charles presses the button again, not giving Max a moment to catch up her breath before she runs through three different speeds. She lands on the penultimate, just shy of the worst on this toy.

The orgasm is ripped out of Max, just like that. She's sobbing and begging Charles — to stop, for more, Charles doubts Max knows — and there is drool falling down her chin. She looks perfect, so good that Charles has to stop herself from giving Max what she wants without her calling her it. 

But just as she holds the anger and the fight in when her team nails her to their blood-red beast, Charles manages to not give into the urges. 

She simply watches on as Max tries to move away from the stimulation, only for her pussy to grind into the vibrator without an ounce of shame. She's chasing another orgasm, hungry for one more despite the tears staining her cheeks. Drops wet Max's lips, greedily drinking her own tears as her mouth falls with a desperate moan.

"Charlie—" Charles' hand lands over Max's cunt, blow mostly absorbed by the harness covering it. Still, Max drips through the rope and onto Charles' palm, cum hot and sticky where it lands. "Wha—" 

"Not Charlie, bébé," she chastises, rubbing Max's folds where she can reach them. It's slightly uncomfortable, the rope getting in the way, but Max is responsive no less, arching off the mattress as she greedily and silently begs Charles for more. Charles jerks away, putting distance between Max's weeping cunt and her wandering hands. God, she is fucking whipped for this woman — Charles wasn't supposed to touch her! Not until… "Tell me who I am and I will touch you again, Maxie."

Max's whines get cut off as another orgasm washes over her, body colouring redder, goosebumps erupting everywhere. Her eyes are hazy, voice sounding strained as she answers Charles with a question, "My Charlie?" Another slap, this time on Max's thigh. "Fuck— Ma'am?" Max has been crying for a while now, but her sobs are getting more exasperated. Charles will break her, she promised herself that much. 

On the remote, her finger slips. The whirring sound becomes so loud, the toy moving where it's held by the harness so harshly that Charles is afraid her knots will come undone. 

"Ah, ah, ah," Max's breath is punched out of her, spine trying to curve in, stopped only by the cuffs tying her arms to the headboard. "Too much, Charlie—" Except it is not too much, Charles has a first row view of how Max's pussy gets wetter and wetter, how the lips seem the puffiest she's ever seen them. "Ah, please— Daddy, please—" 

Charles stops the toy immediately, falling face first into Max's pussy. Like a starving dog — for she is one — Charles tries to pull her beautiful work aside, just enough to reach Max's cunt. It's not ideal, but it will do. 

As soon as she gets her lips to encircle Max's clit, Charles whines around it. Max somehow tastes sweeter than she usually does, like honey pouring on Charles' tongue. Lapping at the slick, Charles groans as more and more comes out. Charles swears Max has never been this wet before. In her own panties, she can feel how much she had drenched them too. 

Now that Max has finally realised what Charles has been trying to drag out of her, she is like a broken record. She cannot grab onto Charles' hair, but she can fuck her pussy over her face, chanting "Daddy, daddy, daddy, please—" as she does so. 

Her chin is so wet, Charles can feel the slick as it falls down her neck and chest, staining her shirt, wetting her nipples. Charles pulls back just a second, just enough to smile up at Max and vow, "Daddy will take care of you, princess." 

She gets to work, knowing that she can pull at least another 3 orgasms out of Max before she's done. Charles plans on having her squirt at least two out of three times, so she closes her eyes and starts feasting. 

Chapter Text

From across the table, Martin rolls his eyes. Max stops her speech, watching as her boyfriend makes a show out of reaching for his beer and loudly drinking from it. Max frowns, reaching for her own bottle and downing it to ease some of the anxieties that are building up inside her chest.

"Really, Max, when will you stop bringing your work home?" Martin finally asks her when he realises she's not going to ask what's wrong. "You never ask me how my work went!"

The frown deepens on her face. She did ask him that… She always asks Martin how work was, and she always has to listen to him talk about it for at least an hour before she can intervene and talk about her day. Max has only been talking for five minutes maximum.

"You're right," she agrees meekly. "Sorry, Martin. How was work today?"

And so she listens to Martin go over his day, again. The same stories, the same monotony, the same too overexcited pretend that makes Max want to kill herself whenever she has to nod along to it. Still, she nods along to it, not wanting to cause more of a scene. Martin has already called her names as soon as he walked through the door, upset that Max wasn't done making dinner. He apologised the moment he realised he'd done that, claiming a meeting with a possible customer has made him angry, that he wasn't actually upset with her.

She nods and stays quiet and she doesn't bring up her work again for the remainder of the night.

Max shifts her gaze from her notes to the specimen she's been working with. CL016 is a wonder to collaborate with, always responsive to Max's scientific demands. It may not be human-like in appearance, nor able to communicate with words, but they've formed a bond. A bond that Max cherishes more than air.

The bunny it had shifted into disintegrates, leaving behind the mess of red goo that is CL016. It twitches, before it settles back into the puddle it's fond of presenting itself as. Max chuckles, jotting down the information CL had just given her. After weeks of half-working attempts, CL is finally able to hold her reproductions for longer than the few seconds they had started with. Just yesterday, it had managed to stay in the shape of a lab rat for a whole hour. Today, the bunny hopped around the lab for almost forty five minutes.

"Good job, Charles," Max praises her beloved specimen, fondness easing into the name she had given it. "I think we can move on to bigger mammals next, if all goes well."

In response, the puddle undulates, happily moving across the table and spreading itself around Max's notebook. It wraps a tendril around Max's finger, its voice resounding loud and clear in the human's mind.

Thank you, Max.

Charles may not be able to communicate via tangible vocal chords, but it can still speak with Max. Its mere touch can make the being's voice sound in her mind, spreading warmth down Max's body whenever she hears the soft cadence in which Charles portrays its thoughts. Even after months of working together, Max still has no clue how it works, but she's happy to have Charles talk in her mind whenever it desires to.

"You're welcome, Charlie," she whispers, rubbing her thumb over the mass wrapped around her forefinger. She shouldn't feel the way she does, not around Charles, but it is hard not to feel herself fall for the intimacy in which they've come to know each other. A part of Max buzzes with anger underneath her skin, feeling dirty at the idea of doing this to Martin. But another part, one that's bigger and louder and who demands the attention it has been denied, longs to get closer to Charles. "I think it's time we had some food, don't you agree?"

In her mind, Charles is quiet. Scarily so. Her head is never this quiet, always a hum sonorous inside. Now, with no thrumming to focus on, Max doesn't know what to do, when faced with total silence.

"Charles?" She asks just to hear the sound of her own voice, to make sure she's not losing herself. "Is everything alright?"

Max.

Only her name is spoken, nothing else for another minute of total silence. Max stands up straight, body tense with anticipation. In her chest, her heart is galloping, close to beating through her ribs and sternum and leaving a mess of blood and bone and gore for Charles to feast on. Perhaps then she'd be able to settle. Perhaps if Charles were to eat from her, Max would no longer be plagued by dirty thoughts of wanting it to consume her carnally.

Max, what is this?

She has no clue what it's talking about, until images appear in her mind. Pulled from her own brain, like a film last night's events play. Martin belittling her, Martin calling her useless for the lack of dinner waiting for him, Martin going to bed alone while Max was still doing the dishes. Blood freezes in her veins. In spite of the memories being replayed, Max's head is so still that she swears a pin could drop in the building and she'd hear it from her lab.

"How did you… Doesn't matter," she shakes her head. "Don't snoop in my head, Charles. It's not nice to do that. Privacy is important, remember?"

Max. Is your mate treating you like that every day?

Max pulls her hand back, severing the connection. "Look, I don't think it's any of your business what happens outside this room. It's my life, Charles. I have made my bed years ago, now I must sleep in it." Standing up, Max puts more distance between them, hoping that will be enough to not have a sudden restart to their discussion. "I'll bring you your food now. Excuse me."

Behind her, a foreign noise fills the room, ear-piercing. As if bones are snapping into place, as if skin stretches around muscles, as if a person is being born out of thin air.

Max's head snaps to check, knowing in the back of her mind what that sound means.

Where the goo of specimen of CL016 was, there is now a humanoid-looking creature. A creature that is the splitting image of Max. A creature who's wearing Max's face, who seems unable to control its features, yet who is frowning and glaring and who has fire burning in its blue eyes. It's wearing the same clothes, the same white lab coat with ink stains on the sleeves, the same worn sneakers and skinny jeans visible under it. Max wonders, for a second, if it is also wearing the same sports bra under the buttoned coat, if there is also no shirt covering its skin.

Mouth agape, Max takes a step towards it. "Charles?" She whispers, doubt creeping into her bones. "Is that you?"

It opens the other Max's mouth, trying to answer her. A gurgling sound is the only thing falling from between its lips, Charles clearly having no clue how to operate its newly created body. Rushing to its side — to Max's own side, this is messing with Max's head — Max places her hand on Charles'.

Its voice is loud, yet just above a murmur, in Max's skull. Yes, it is me. I… I don not know how to do this Max, but you have to listen to me, please!

"You could have done it in your form, Charlie. Is this not draining you? How can you stay like this? Have you always been able to copy me? Have you done it to a human before? How long until you turn—"

MAX!

Max stops, staring wide eyed at Charles.

It does not matter how, listen to me! Your mate is not how a mate should be! You do not deserve his treatment! Charles is grasping her hand, so tight Max swears there will be a bruise around her fingers come tomorrow morning. Please!

Sighing, Max shrugs. "Listen, Charles, it's complicated. I cannot do this with you, alright? You don't get it, it's a human thing."

So him acting that way is a normal human thing? Charles is glaring again. And you feeling the way you are feeling about me is, let me guess, also a human thing?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Max snaps. She pulls her hand free again, only to have Charles grab her, pull her close until their faces are mere centimetres apart.

You do, Max. You want me. Charles sounds so sure of it. She must have seen the rest of her thoughts, the ones she cannot hold back. And she must see the want in Max now too, she must be able to feel it coursing through her. That hunger, it is so loud that Max would be more surprised if Charles hadn't heard it banging in her mind.

"No, I cannot—" But Max doesn't get the chance to argue, as Charles' lips crash into hers, kissing her messily. Spit runs down her chin, Charles' eagerness making up for its inexperience. Its so willing to please, to give Max what it thinks she deserves, that Max cannot even be upset as their teeth keep bumping. Even when Charles sinks its teeth into Max's bottom lip, she only laughs at how keen Charles is. The realisation that Max is kissing herself is still not enough to stop her from climbing into Charles' lap, after she had pushed it into Max's abandoned chair.

It's truly adorable.

If she thought it was Charles who was to consume her, Max had been severely mistaken. She wants to eat it, to keep it inside her forever. Maybe then she'd know peace.

Max! Her name is gasped, Charles' hands going to grab at Max's thighs, before they slide up to her ass. It's groping her with lust pouring out through its being, forcing Max to grind onto its lap. She has no clue where it learned about that, but Max is not complaining. You are a goddess, Max. You deserve to be worshipped, nothing short of it.

Against Charles' lips, Max snorts humourlessly. "Sure, Charlie. Whatever you're saying."

I am not kidding, Max. I want to ravish you. I want to die at your feet, having worshipped you until my end came. I want to show you that he is wrong to treat you in such cruel ways. Charles is staring at her, no humour in its eyes. Its face is set in stone, serious and unmovable. May I?

Max is left speechless. She nods, not trusting her own voice to carry her desires.

Words, Max.

"Yes, please," she mutters. Max lets her body go limp, trusting Charles it will take care of her. If no one else, if Martin won't, then she knows Charles will. It had taken her body to ensure it will give Max what it needs. It had sent its anger through Max's mind, its disdain for her boyfriend felt in every burst of rage Charles loses control over.

Its hands are digging into the meat of Max's ass, the blunt nails typically included in Max's body sharpening into claws. Max moans, feeling them catch on the rough denim of her jeans.

"Charles!" She cries out, hips stuttering to a halt when she feels the wetness dribble out of her cunt. "Please, I want more." Sobbing, Max tugs on Charles' hair, the blonde strands at the back of its head too short to grab on properly. Inside her pants and underwear, Max can feel the slick gather, dampening the fabric the more Charles fondles her ass.

A poor attempt to guide Charles' head back to her lips is made, but Charles seems fond of littering small kisses and little bites all over the side of Max's neck. Charles laughs at her urgency, its body letting out a soft breath Max thinks may have been a proper laughter, if it knew how to do so.

I will make him disappear, if it means I can get you like this forever. My Max, you would make the prettiest mate for me, do you not agree?

Max nods, desperate for anything. She doesn't think anything of the way her cunt squeezes at the thought of Charles killing Martin, using her own body to do so. It riles her on, if anything. Makes her wetter than she has been in ages. "Yes, so pretty," she agrees breathlessly.

The air gets knocked out of her when Charles flips them, laying Max on the table, notes scattering on the floor from the sudden move. Its weight is pressing her down, forcing her to stay on her back as Charles rolls its hips against hers. With deft fingers, it rips Max's coat off, nosing over her bra covered chest, pleased grumble shaking its body. Max's hands scramble to find purchase on its shoulders, fingers holding onto the lab coat covering its body. Mind reeling with questions and sensations that have grown foreign to her, Max realises she cannot form a coherent thought that doesn't involve her wanting Charles inside her.

She wants it so bad, needs it to push into her, to claim and own and make her feel alive again. She desires for Charles to make her forget. To erase the pain caused by Martin, replace it with overgrowing love and care and affection. Replace it with reciprocated yearning.

"Yes," Max gasps, her back arching off the cold metal of the table when Charles bites into her shoulder. "Please, Charles, I want you inside. Make me yours."

Charles growls, deep in its chest, possessiveness bleeding into the sound. It rattles through Max's body, shaking it with how powerful the noise is. You belong to me already, Max. Body, soul, mind. I am inside you, I am in your mind, seeing all you want from me. And soon, mate, I will be inside your cunt too. Do you want that?

It's a stupid question. The light-wash denim is already stained from Max's dripping pussy. But it still makes Max whine, nodding rapidly to urge Charles on already.

With one fluid motion, it tugs Max's jeans off, underwear following suit. Charles throws them to the side, leaving Max bare, exposed for the cold air to make her cunt quiver. Kneeling between her legs, Charles stares at her hungrily. Its blue eyes get darker, lust making the pupils dilate.

Max feels power course through her at the sight. It is her, her own body, her own face, staring from between her legs. It's a mirror of Max, but it wants her, it needs to taste her. Has Max always looked this crazed when faced with something she wanted? Is she sharing the same look now that she is watching Charles' tongue poke out from between its full lips, licking over her folds clumsily?

It learns quickly how to please Max. Its tongue fucks into her, before she moves back to her clit, circling it with teasing licks that drive Max insane.

You are mine, Max Verstappen. You belong to me and no one will ever take you from my side. My mate, we will never be separated.

Max buries her fingers into its hair, fucking her clit into its wet mouth. "Yes, yes, yes. I'm yours, Charlie. Only yours." She whines in displeasure when Charles moves away from her cunt.

But Charles sinks its teeth — sharper than Max's, fangs-like — into the junction between her thigh and hip. It bites and sucks the blood and it moans as it pours down its throat.

Max cries out, pleasure ripping through her as the world around her fades to black.

Chapter Text

Charles has always had beautiful hands, that is a fact that Max had learned to live with. Nevermind that she had found herself staring at Charles' hands whenever she had been close enough to get a view of them. She couldn't help herself, is the thing. Max was like a raven with a shiny coin in its sight, she had to follow the elegant way in which Charles moved her hands.

In hindsight, her little obsession wasn't well hidden at all, no matter what Max thought and how much she tried to convince herself that she was subtle about it. She was anything but.

Before they got in a relationship, Max didn't have to worry about being subjected to having Charles' hands in front of her 24/7, which helped. Now that they're dating, it's a different story. Every single time Charles is near her, Max finds herself mindlessly letting her eyes wander, looking at Charles' fingers instead of paying attention to what her lover is saying.

Again, she was certain her inability to do anything but follow Charles' hands wasn't picked up on by the object of her obsession, but of course Charles had to ruin it. She asks her plainly, over their morning coffee — coffee, because Charles had banned her from drinking Red Bull as her caffeine of choice.

"You've got a thing for my hands and fingers, non?" Charles says, placing the acai bowl in front of Max. Max who is currently trying not to die with how she choked on her coffee, feeling her eyes bulge out of her head with how hard she's coughing. Charles is quick to slap her on the back, sending her forward with how much force she uses. "I'm just saying, Maxie. You are not as slick," she giggles at the word choice, "as you think you are, amour."

"I have no clue what you are talking about," Max barely manages to blurt out, sounding more like Kermit the Frog than herself. She clears her throat, putting the coffee mug down and staring at her lovely Charles. She looks far to smug for Max's poor attempt at an excuse to be believable. Still, she must keep gaslighting Charles, maybe something will stick. "You're imagining things, baby."

Charles rolls her eyes at that, finally sitting down in front of Max. She folds her hands on the table, nonchalant with it. Max's eyes zero in on them, mouth watering. Humming, Charles begins to trace over the marble lines, eyes glued to Max's face, waiting for a reaction. And she gets one, because Max is useless and she has issues and she wants those fingers in her mouth!

Jumping in her seat, Max shakes herself out of it, moving her gaze up to Charles' pretty features. There's hunger in her eyes, Max shivers. Charles looks close to reaching over the table and sinking her teeth into Max, in any part of her she could find. She doesn't seem picky about it, just eager for anything. Like a wolf, hungry for a bite.

"Come, baby, don't be shy." Charles presses, lifting a finger up to her own mouth, nail pulling on her bottom lip. Max needs that to be her, she needs it more than air. "Do you perhaps want my fingers?"

Max scoffs. "I always want your fingers, Charlie. That's a stupid question."

"Does ma petite lionne perhaps want them in her mouth?" Charles ignores her, asking the question Max had been dying to answer. "Or does she want them fucking her pussy and her mouth. You've been rather greedy lately, mon amour."

Max's first instinct is to deny the claim. She hasn't been greedy! She keeps her needs in check and only acts on her desires when they're pulling at the seams of her skin. When the voice, the beast that's sleeping inside her, demands and demands and even Charles from the outside can hear its roar.

Max was sure she had more time. Apparently, she didn't. Apparently Charles had heard the roar and she was about to make a fool out of Max. She wants to hide in the bedroom, suddenly too anxious about the whole thing.

"Maxie," Charles starts, demeanour changing in a blink, mirth replaced with seriousness. "Max, if I said something wrong you have to tell me. It's just that you always, always look at my hands and your tongue is all poke-y and you look at me like I'm a trophy," she rambles on. "Am I wrong?"

Sighing, Max admits defeat. She nods, before she registers Charles' question. Then she shakes her head, hopes that Charles understood. Her silent admission does not mean she's ready to meet Charles' inquisitive gaze.

"Yes or no, baby? Use your words, baby."

"You're not wrong, Charlie," she mumbles out, feeling as if the words are being ripped out of her with a scorching hot pair of tongs. Not the first time she gets this feeling, but still not as fun.

The sudden sound of a clap makes Max frown. She lifts her head, staring at Charles. She looks far too excited. She looks gleefully excited, as if this is Christmas morning and she found the engagement ring Max got for her under the tree. She has the mind to seem embarrassed at her outburst, but then she's standing up and pulling Max along to the bedroom and inside Max, all worries disappear.

"I bought something," Charles confesses. "In case I was right."

Now that, that sounds intriguing. She sits on the bed as Charles rummages through her part of the walk-in closet. After what feels like hours, Charles finally emerges victorious from her search, hair messier than it's been when she disappeared into the adjacent room.

In her hands, she's holding a pair of gloves. Nondescript and unassuming, black and shiny from what Max assumes to be the leather they're made from. That's… Alright, sure, she does have a thing for Charles in leather gloves, but she doesn't understand why her lover felt the need to buy a new pair for this discovery. She has plenty already.

As if reading her mind, Charles answers the question plaguing Max with ease. "They're called vampire gloves," she informs Max, taking a seat next to her on their bed. The gloves are being turned, so that the palm is upwards, all for Max to see. Her lips part, a strangled noise stuck in her throat. There are spikes on the fingers, small and thin and seemingly unable to break the skin at a first glance, but there are spikes there nonetheless. "I bought the beginner version. They have some that are full," her finger strokes over the empty palm of the glove. "And they have some with bigger spikes. But we have to start small with new kinks, that's what you always remind me. So if you'd like… I wish we could start small with this one, Maxie…" By now, Charles sounds uncertain as Max has yet to meet her searching eyes. She's still trying to wrap her head around the idea of spike-gloves. Around the idea of her Charles' hands in them, trailing over her body, leaving the imprint of those pins in her skin.

She feels her face get hotter as the thought of Charles spanking her with those gloves on.

"Maxie?"

She breaks out of it, finding Charles staring at her, worrying at her lip. "Yes," she breathes out. "Yes, I want to start small with this one, Charlie. I want you… I want your fingers in my mouth, as you touch me with the gloves. I—"

"No glove in your mouth, Max."

"Yes, no glove in my mouth," Max agrees, trembling at the lower timbre Charles reaches. "Please Charlie, I want it—"

"And you will get it," Charles promises. She pushes Max on her back, pulling her shirt off as she does so. Pressing a kiss to her lips, Charles plops herself above her, legs flung on either side of Max's hips. She sits on Max's lap, dampness obvious where their crotches meet. Fuck, Charles is so wet.

Putting the glove on is a slow affair, a show curated for Max only. Charles takes her time with it, dragging it down her hand, patting over it with her naked hand, whining when it pricks her fingers. She grinds down on Max, hips rolling as she brings her now gloved-hand down her own neck and chest, pulling her tank top down. Revealing her tits makes Max whimper, hands wanting to reach out and squeeze them, only to be stopped when Charles slaps them away. She does it with the ungloved hand, which is a shame.

"Charlie, please."

"Patience, Max," Charles hums. She traces up Max's stomach at first, pins getting caught in the hair of her happy trail briefly. It makes Max whine, hips searching for friction uselessly. Charles is holding them in place with her own weight. Even if she tried to push the woman down, Max doubts she'd get a chance to grind on anything before Charles is on her again, gentleness gone.

"How does it feel, baby?"

"It feels…" Max isn't sure. The spikes have barely any force placed on them, feeling more feather-like than anything else. "You can be meaner, Charles," she says instead. Begs for it, really.

"Greedy girl," Charles mumbles with humour. "Okay, mon amour, I will be meaner. You tell me if it is too much, yes?"

"Yes." Max rolls her eyes, so far back into her head she swears she sees her brain for a second. It's kind of smooth.

The insolence gets her another smack, this time over her cheek, still without the spikes landing into her skin. Max moans at the impact. Her lips fall open, the perfect moment for Charles to push two of her fingers inside Max's mouth, fucking them in deeply, without waiting for Max to understand what's happening.

Max sucks them in without having to think, slobbering all over them. She's been dreaming of this, been fantasising of gagging on Charles' long fingers. Now that her dreams are becoming a reality, she doesn't know what to do with herself. Her hands ball into the sheets, needing to grip something to stop herself from grabbing at Charles.

Mind reeling, she is so caught up in the feeling of Charles pushing and pushing and pulling, that she doesn't register the touch over her breasts. The spikes seem harder now, as if Charles is pushing them in with purpose. Her nipples, always so sensitive, are even more so when Charles rolls one of them between the pins on her fingertips, talking Max through it with every touch and every stroke.

Max cannot hear anything, the squelch from her mouth being fucked the only thing in her ears. Just the inflexion in Charles' voice is distinguishable, if she focuses on it hard enough. She sounds full of love, amazed as she fucks and rolls and digs the gloved fingers into Max's body.

Around the fingers, Max cries, wanting something more. Charles won't give it to her until she has had her fix, Max knows it, so she lets herself be fucked as she begins to float away. One day, when she isn't already buried in subspace, she will ask Charles to spank her pussy while wearing the gloves. She promises herself that.

Chapter Text

Charles has been waiting for so long now, always in the shadows, always careful not to be seen. But today, today the time has come. Finally, she will get to enjoy her chosen human, her beautiful and sweet and naive Max. She has been so patient with her, not wanting to scare the human away, but mating season is coming to an end. Charles needs her beloved human to be hers, unable to hold her desires in for another year. With how humans are, Charles is not even sure she will still be here, come next spring.

Now is her chance, and Charles is going to take it, no matter what her fellow sisters will tell about this mating. She had followed the rules, left courting gifts for Max, flowers and bones on her doorsteps that she took in. Max had accepted her courting invitation months ago.

And today, the courting will come to fruition. They will be mated if everything goes according to Charles' plans.

She has called to Max as soon as she knew her to be done with her human work, the one that forces her to sit in front of the bright rectangle for hours. Charles loathes the rectangle. It takes time away from Max, time she could be spending in the woods, with Charles. With her mate to be.

She has called to Max and Max has listened. Charles watched from the trees, from the grass, from each being in the forest, as the human made her way through the woods, deeper and deeper as if in a trance. Her eyes are glossy, the moment she steps into Charles' clearing. Still, she is so beautiful, magnificently so.

For a moment, Charles does not know how to approach this creature. Is she really worth Max's time, when the human is this perfect? Will she be enough for her beloved? Enough to give her what she deserves? Before doubt can creep in further, Max spots her. All worries dissipate as she walks through the meadow, careful of the grass and flowers she is walking over, making her way towards Charles.

Charles who feels as if she cannot breathe anymore. The human is even more spectacular up close. With her dark blonde hair, cropped shorter than Charles has ever seen on any woman who had stumbled into these woods, with those sky-blue eyes, speckles so dark they remind Charles of a storm. With her broad shoulders and the slight stubble on her chin, so light that Charles would have missed it had she not seen it in the sunlight. She wants to feel it against her cunt. She wants to feel Max's face pressed against her most heated place, she needs to feel Max's slick covered hair rub against hers. Charles had seen it. She had seen how wet the human gets, how the hair covering her cunt gets messy and sticks together and how it drips down her thighs from the thick curls.

She had been surprised, the first time she had seen Max naked. Her hair is so straight, sticking up when wet in adorable little spikes, but her cunt, it is covered in curls. Tight coils of the same blonde hair, coarse and thick and smelling so sweet. Charles had almost lost herself, ready to fall to her knees and bury her face in between Max's thighs.

Max is getting closer, hands in the air, recognition blooming on her pretty face.

"Hello?" Max greets her, voice unsure and small. She sounds as if she is aware she should not be here, as if she knows she is a mere intruder in Charles' meadow. "Have we met before?"

Charles cocks her head to the side, inspecting Max silently. She cannot speak, voice long gone, buried ages ago. Still, she looks at Max and calls her closer, impossibly closer. Max takes one more step, eyes getting hazier as Charles' lure clouds her mind.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like an angel?" She asks Charles, words seemingly pouring out of her mouth without Max wanting them to. She scrunches her face up, cheeks flushing red. She is so adorable, Charles wants to keep her flushed forever, see if it reaches under her clothes. "Sorry, I sound like a creep, don't I?"

Charles cannot stop the smile that pulls her lips upwards. She feels the canines poke at her lower lip. There is still some blood on her tongue, stuck to her teeth from the treat she had before Max's arrival. She wanted to make sure she's satisfied, stomach full, just in case the hunger inside her gets too much. Charles doesn't trust herself to not take a bite out of her beloved, no matter how much she adores her. Her sisters have always told her that a mate tastes sweeter than honey and riper than any of the fruit in the forest, that a mate would satisfy all cravings. Just one bite, just a taste and Charles would never know hunger again, filled with the love of her mate, up to the brim, hearts beating on the inside in perfect melody.

"I'm Max. You are?" She is so eager to hear Charles speak, but her disappointment will have to be all that she feels.

Two fingers held together, Charles asks her to be nearer, hunger winning. She lays on the flowers, feeling the pollen sink into her skin. Max, her sweet and obedient Max, listens. She is bewitched, body and soul, and so she drops to her knees, just before Charles. The flowers under her knees, Charles makes sure are softer than the clouds above. Only the best for her mate.

For a brief second, Max tries to resist the urges whispered into her mind, but Charles' voice, although still unheard by her mate, is louder. Like the good girl Charles knows she is, Max lifts her dress, exposing her bareness. In the blink of an eye, the human's demeanour changes. As soon as she breathes the scent of Charles' cunt, the smell of the blooming flowers that grow out of her. She braided them into the hair, made it pretty for Max to enjoy with their mating upon them.

Max does not jump straight into it, inhaling and inhaling and inhaling, letting her nose brush over Charles' mound as she moves lower with her trail. She seems adamant to scent every bit of her cunt before she licks over it, but the moment she does so, Charles swears it all falls into place. It is as if she's coming home. As if Max, at last, walks into her lair, only to pick Charles up and walk her to her house. To that warm house — that home of hers — that is filled with cats and shiny rectangles and drying flowers. Charles wishes for it to become true, in this exact moment.

Moaning, Charles buries her fingers in Max's hair, guiding her face the way she wants it. She's rubbing over her lips and chin, pushing and pulling Max until her nose bumps into Charles' throbbing clit. This has to be what paradise feels like. Having Max whine and whimper against her cunt, having her go limp on the earthy floor, completely at ease with Charles using her for her own pleasure.

The vines shoot out from the ground, wrapping around Max's legs and arms, binding them together. She cries out, the moment she realises that she is now bound, at Charles' mercy. Still, Max is mindlessly lapping at her cunt, seemingly unbothered, as long as she gets to lick over Charles' folds.

Only when the vines — Charles — push her on her back, does Max's brain appear to register the danger she is in. That it is truly in the presence of a predator, one that will not hesitate to strike and claim its prey. And Charles does so. She claims her prey, her mate, her beloved, with a simple move to sit on Max's face. It is, after all, where she belongs. Where she will belong, now that they are almost done with their mating.

Max needs only to—

Charles grunts, spilling into the human's waiting mouth, filling her up with her cum. And Max, without a complaint, swallows it all, insatiable for more.

Her beautiful mate, Charles' forever. Charles cannot wait for that forever to be spent together. It is all she has been thinking of, from the moment she had spotted her human. At last, she had made her hers.

Chapter Text

Five times is, indeed, sweeter than four.

As soon as she crosses the finish line, Max knows that this one will be the victory of her lifetime. Taking her crown back from Oscar after the shitshow that was 2025 is still something she cannot believe she managed to do. Bringing the title back home, back to Red Bull, where it belongs. Her and Yuki did that! First and third in the championship, Charles in second after Ferrari gave her a stallion worth her skill.

The Red Bull clings to her skin, even after the paddock celebrations are finished. The shower she took did nothing to rid her of the stickiness, but Max is used to it by now. She loves it. Wants to go through it again and again until she's a decrepit old lady, complaining about back pain the same way Fernando's doing now.

The media journey is a blur, alcohol swimming through her. She catches sight of Charles every now and again, but she's just as drunk, having finished first in the race. Still not enough to stop Max from claiming the title. God, Max still cannot wrap her head around it.

She fucking did it! She tamed the beast and wrung its body to the end, laurels waiting for them to be placed on their heads, to be wrapped around their shoulders.

Silence is only possible when Max enters their hotel room, it seems. She's alone, at least that's what she thinks at a first glance, mind hazy still from all the drinks that have been shoved in her hands throughout the interviews. But then, she hears it: the water running, Charles' off-key singing accompanying it.

Max smiles, plopping down on the bed face-first, too tired to join her girlfriend. Her whole body aches, bones heavy inside her. She needs a moment, a brief nap before they can go out and party.

Her nap is shorter than short, a second-long if she were to guess. One moment she's close to snoring away, the next she jumps alert, Charles' wet towel hitting her back with a gross plop.

"What the hell, Charles?" She gasps, craning her back to glare at the woman. The very not-naked woman. The very lingerie-wearing woman. Navy-lingerie-wearing woman. Max feels lightheaded. "Oh," Max mutters eloquently. "Hello, there."

"Up, world champion," Charles orders, hands on her hips, acting all annoyed about it. She's adorable, and usually Max would be a dick about it and annoy her even more. But today she has a feeling she'll enjoy being ordered around more than putting up a fight. So she does as instructed, back resting on the headboard as she looks at Charles lovingly. "On the chair," Charles huffs, one more Max-shaped offence away from crossing her arms over her chest and pouting until she gets her way.

Max goes where she wants her, settling down on the slightly uncomfortable cuck chair — as she so fondly started calling them a few years into her career.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're about to give me a lap dance, Charlie," she smirks at her girlfriend, staring at the blush that spreads over her cheeks. Max licks her lips, suddenly hungry. "Oh?"

"Shut up," Charles grumbles, clicking away on her phone before music suddenly fills the room. Max doesn't recognise the song, something with a heavy bass and sultry vocals she can't attribute to any of the three singers she knows. Not that she cares about that right now. What she cares about is the way Charles takes a deep breath, turning away from Max, hips swaying with the music.

She's slow in her movements, but deliberate nonetheless. Charles could be chasing the beat, dancing like a dying fish, and Max would still be enticed. But she's good. Better than she usually is in the club.

Charles' hands are ghosting over her hips, tracing over the lace of her matching set, teasing across it. Max gawks, mesmerised. Fingers twitch on her thighs, where they are resting. She wants to touch so bad, but Charles hasn't given her permission to do that.

"Don't think I'm not upset you won," Charles says, finally facing Max again. "But I'll let it slide because it was hot racing you…" She touches over her panties, the pad of her finger coming away from it wet. "Next year I will beat you, mark my words."

"Sure, baby," Max agrees without fully processing what Charles just said. She's too focused on the glimmer that's still visible on Charles' finger. She wants it in her mouth.

Charles smirks, and then she's pushing her finger past Max's open lips, legs thrown on either side of her body as she takes her rightful place. Right over Max's crotch, where she's growing wetter and wetter the more Charles does her little thing. The minx seems far too pleased with herself, fucking her fingers into Max's mouth, using Max's body as her own personal grinder.

She's getting Max's jeans dirty with the slick dirtying her panties, a damp spot forming on the denim where she's rubbing herself off. Even with how dark the jeans are, it's still obvious. It makes Max's head spin.

Max can't hear the song anymore, not that she's been able to pay much attention to it anyway. She's too focused on Charles and how she's humming it under her breath, how her fingers sneak under the straps of her bra. Max blinks, and the navy lace is on the floor, Charles' tits in her face, bouncing in time with her dancing. She moves on autopilot, grabbing the woman's breasts and squeezing them tightly.

Drooling around Charles fingers, she sinks her teeth into the digits when Charles moans, squirming closer to Max's cruel touch. Utterly hypnotised, Max can only look and look as Charles brings herself closer to orgasm, cunt rubbed raw against the denim. The whimpers are getting louder, covering the song that must've started again.

Max wants Charles to cum all over her, she wants to be sticky with sweat and champagne and Red Bulls and cum. Lifting a leg is an easy job when she works out with double Charles' weight. She pushes her thigh into Charles' pussy, whining when Charles throws her head back, finally reaching the orgasm she's been chasing, the fingers in Max' mouth pushing in until she's gagging on them.

The fifth one is the sweetest, there's no doubt about it anymore.