ALICE Ch 1

It’s Saturday morning in Bahrain.

This is Alice Wilde’s Formula One debut, but the 23-year-old has gotten plenty of experience with hotel rooms in all the racing that she’s done to get here. She wakes up among tangled sheets smelling of sweat, and she wasn’t naïve enough to expect restful sleep the night before her first qualifier. Her T-shirt is bunched up, revealing her flat belly, clammy with sweat. She wears a flimsy pair of men’s boxer shorts to sleep in, and her morning wood pokes boldly through the open fly. It’s not, in the great scheme of things, a massive penis. But it appears big because of her thin, gangly body. In the mornings it’s always reddish, rock-hard, and angry-looking.

She drags her hand over her face and forces herself to sit. It’s light outside, so it won’t be long before her phone is blowing up. Her first qualifier as a Formula One driver isn’t something that she needs to be late for.

A quick shower is all she has time for, and she has no appetite, although they’ll **** her to eat something at the paddock. The sun is warm on her long legs as she emerges from the hotel in white shorts and a pink FUTA Racing top, tugging a matching team cap onto her head.

A black Mercedes pulls up as she makes her way down the steps, and she hurriedly gets in. There aren’t any paparazzi around because this is Bahrain, but Alice is already learning her lesson about limiting her time in the open.

She climbs into the passenger seat and buckles up, all tension.

The woman behind the wheel isn’t tense at all. This is Kylie Clark, a fitness trainer from Australia. She’s Alice’s handler, employed by FUTA Racing. Eternally sunny, Kylie looks the part by exuding fitness. She’s usually on the cutting edge of the most chic and flattering athletic wear, but today it’s white leggings and a FUTA Racing top and cap like Alice wears. Her blonde ponytail has a pink highlight in it that must be new.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asks as she turns the wheel.

Alice rubs her face with a sigh. “Yes. Some.”

“Did you do the things?”

The things include breathing exercises, muscle relaxation, and drinking water. The healthy stuff that Alice is now under contract to do seems endless, but she does her part.

“I did them.”

“It’ll get easier. No worries,” Kylie chirps with her eyes on the road. She never sounds worried about anything.

The Paddock is bedlam. Journalists, crews, staffers, venue people, and visitors with passes crowd everything. Kylie trots through it all without a care in the world. Fortunately, they arrive at the same time as Charles Leclerc, so all the attention is on him and Ferrari. Their entrance is almost stealthy.

The FUTA HQ is bright pink and thus easy to find. It’s seventh in line and a fair distance from the track. Alice gratefully enters, hustling past the dining room and into the hall. She waves at a few members of the pit crew, who are devouring pastries and swigging espresso.

“Where’s Glynda?” Kylie’s asking, but Alice just heads to her room and ducks inside. She sits on the tiny massage table in the cramped space, taking deep breaths.

Kylie arrives a moment later, chewing a mouthful of a donut. She locks the door and leans against it, frowning at Alice.

“Can’t eat?”

Alice shakes her head. “Won’t happen.”

Kylie checks her watch and then looks at her phone. “All right. Come on. Let’s do the things.”

They can’t do serious training before Alice has to drive, but it’s important to get her stretched out, warmed up, and to elevate her heartrate a little to wake up her reflexes. That involves some resistance bands and odd little exercises like grabbing a falling ball. Every F1 driver does this, so Alice doesn’t feel too silly.

Expending effort and having something to focus on helps her get over the worst of her stage fright.

“That’ll do,” Kylie tells her after twenty minutes of prep.

Sweating only a little, Alice sits again on the massage table. She closes her eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Kylie asks her.

“I don’t know.”

“Did the car feel fast at practice?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on.” Kylie nudges her ankle with a toe. “Get the swagger back.”

“Swagger?” Alice looks up and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t do that.”

“You don’t do it on purpose.”

Alice snorts. She takes a deep breath and gazes at Kylie.

Kylie smiles. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m all tense. I need a massage. A happy one.”

Kylie peers at her thoughtfully. She doesn’t need to remind Alice that the team has a massage therapist, but this is not the time for that.

“I’m honestly not sure if it’s good or bad before you drive,” she says. “Getting your rocks off.”

“Haven’t you been doing this for like three years? How do you not know?”

“Never had a driver that I wanted to touch his Johnson,” Kylie replies with a shrug.

“You want to touch mine?” Alice asks hopefully.

Kylie snorts. “**** now. If I don’t, you’ll be distracted.”

“I could give you a massage.”

“Glad you’re back to your proper self. Don’t get too cocky.”

“Cocky,” Alice echoes. “Actually, I think I’d rather give you a massage.”

“You can give me one if you get pole,” Kylie says dismissively, finishing her donut.

“I know a way for you to get pole.”

“Dad jokes will not get your pole anywhere.” Kylie rolls her eyes. “Stand up. Turn around.”

“Turn around?”

“There’s no time, Alice.”

“All right. All right,” Alice says, getting to her feet. She turns her back.

“Can’t have a mess,” Kylie adds, licking off her fingers. She steps up behind Alice, who bites her lip at the feel of Kylie’s soft chest against her back. Kylie’s skillful hands free Alice’s cock from her shorts and underwear.

“Okee dokee,” Alice says nervously, putting her hands against the cool plastic wall. The almost clinical nature of the reach-around handjob doesn’t bother her at all. Kylie’s soft hands feel incredible, pulling vigorously on her shaft. Alice’s legs shake, her breaths get short, and her hands leave sweaty smears on the wall as she gets closer. It feels so good that Alice can’t possibly think about her crippling anxiety.

Kylie says nothing, but Alice can feel her breath back there. Kylie’s other hand rests on Alice’s waist.

Alice sucks in her breath through her teeth, tenses her core, and her pelvis thrusts forward on its own. She feels warmth and release as her cock throbs in Kylie’s hand.

Breathing hard, she opens her eyes to see a generous amount of cum dripping down the wall.

“Better? All better,” Kylie says, stuffing Alice’s sticky, softening cock back into her underwear. “OK, then.” She pats Alice’s bottom encouragingly. “Go eat something. Quick like. I’ll clean this up.”

“Thank you,” Alice pants, staggering to the door.

“You’re welcome.”

“You spoil me.”

“I am the best,” Kylie says, bending to get a towel.

Alice wavers by the door, still a bit lightheaded. Her eyes are locked on Kylie’s firm, peachy rear end. She shakes her head and goes out into the hall, fanning her red face, only to run directly into Glynda. FUTA Racing’s showrunner wears a bold, FUTA-branded tube top that offers outrageous, bulging cleavage, and Alice nearly trips and buries her face in it. She stumbles back.

“Sorry,” she squeaks.

Glynda adjusts her glasses and helps her straighten up.

“Morning,” she says.

“Good morning.” It’s always hard for Alice not to be nervous around her. Glynda isn’t the owner, but she’s the boss.

“Feeling good?” Glynda asks mildly, her eyes flicking toward the door.

“I think so,” Alice replies. She doesn’t quite have her breath back yet.

“Good. Eat something.” Glynda gives Alice’s backside a somewhat firm pat, more of a swat, and walks away. “You’ll have to get dressed soon.”