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It was the second time that Lando had hit him in a race, and yet also the second time Oscar was punished for it.
These days, Oscar felt more like a kicked and starved dog than the pampered team puppy that Lando was. Oscar was the foreign stray they took in from a kill shelter, Lando the pretty pure bred sold to them at a high price. Andrea, Tom — they insisted that it wasn't so, and yet with every passing week, something inside him seethed more and more.
He wanted to hiss and spit — throw a proper tantrum and make a mess in the media like Lando was always doing. But Oscar was scared. Oscar was a good dog.
(What would McLaren do if he truly acted up? Didn't fall in line like he always did. Things were already tough enough. He didn't want to know how much worse things could get — not when there were only 6 races left.)
It wasn't fair. Oscar was a good dog. He played by the rules. Lando never did. Lando had crashed into him — hit him twice — and not a word of scolding either time. Oscar had locked up once and had avoided even brushing against Lando, and he got a public and private scolding. It wasn't fair.
Oscar had to take Lando's punishment in Canada all because that allegedly punished Lando more? Lies. Clearly it didn't do shit. Yet all Oscar could do was seethe internally because no one was on his side. Fairness only mattered if Lando was the one to come out on top.
Oscar knew he was in for it again as soon as he saw the whole team up on the podium celebrating while he was alone in the media pen. Of course they wouldn't wait for the championship leader. Of fucking course. Oscar shouldn't even be surprised anymore.
Zak called Lando's move 'hard racing' as if he didn't almost shunt Oscar into the wall after hitting Max. If Lando did it it was fine because it was about time he got more aggressive! Fought to take the championship lead back. Oscar could never be aggressive, could never be allowed to feel. He was their good pre-beaten puppy. He'd always follow orders. He got out of the way.
He saw the way the others look at him, alone and vulnerable while McLaren celebrated. Charles' weary, all too knowing glance, Carlos' understanding, Lewis' pursed lips — Alex, unable to meet his gaze. They all fucking knew in a way that the others just didn't — couldn't.
It only made him want to lash out more.
They had a second celebration in the pits. That one Oscar was allowed to be present for. He smiled and laughed for the cameras. He was a good dog.
He wanted to bite and tear and growl—
He stood obediently while they filmed their stupid joint race debrief like that fixed anything. Nothing could be fixed when he and Lando were always under different rules. He said the party lines, he complimented the team. He wanted to crawl out of his skin.
No one had met him at the end of the race to put his cage back on. He'd just been sent right to media. Then the team celebrations had taken precedent. Based on Lando's beaming smile he hadn't had his cage put back on yet either. Great. Oscar could already tell how this night — this post celebration — would go.
Oscar had finished behind Lando despite starting ahead. Lando was on the podium and Oscar was not. Oscar bitched on the radio. It didn't matter that he was right. It didn't matter that it was McLaren's fault for only committing to a precedent when Oscar was the one left in the lurch.
He wasn't surprised when he was quietly lead away from the secondary celebrations. He couldn't have expected to escape forever just because they won the constructor's — something Oscar contributed more than half to. Honestly, it only made more sense that they'd celebrate harder.
Team puppies had always served that function — a reward to the team for performing well.
Oscar didn't really think a 5 second pit stop meant that the team was performing well, but his opinion clearly didn't matter. He was just a puppy.
Tom was waiting for him in a side room. His hands were behind his back, so Oscar had no clue what he was getting into.
"Your clothes, please," Tom said simply, not beating around the bush.
Good. There was no point. They both knew what this was.
Oscar moved, his limbs stiff and a bit clunky even as he obeyed and pulled his suit and fireproofs off. He dumped the champagne and sweat laden garments on the ground without care. They hit with an uncomfortable 'plap'.
The curve of Tom's mouth tightened in disapproval at Oscar's carelessness, but he didn't voice any commands to pick them up or fold them. He must be picking his battles with Oscar. That was good. Oscar was in no mood to be agreeable. Him being there at all was the best they were going to get.
In far too little time, Oscar stood in front of Tom stark naked. He was sweaty from the heat and exertion of the race, and he was probably vaguely sticky from the champagne — but they were all like that. Tom didn't say anything about that either.
Ordering Oscar to strip now was probably as much about the grossness of his suit as it was humiliating him. Zak always seemed to get a kick out of parading them around naked when he could, and what the boss wanted…
His cock hung limp and free. Even if he was somewhat conditioned to get hard under these conditions, he had a feeling it would take more than just this to do that today. He felt too betrayed — too raw.
"It's probably for the better you're quiet today," Tom mused. 'No need to test your self control."
No need to win this celebration too.
Oscar didn't reply as clearly Tom didn't expect him to. He just stood there, waiting for Tom to get to his next point.
Tom's hands came out from behind his back, revealing a leather muzzle. This muzzle had a gag component, and Oscar could see that it was already fitted with a dildo gag. It wasn't long enough to reach his throat, but it was by no means small. It looked to be made out of a really sturdy silicon. Even with his sharp teeth, it was unlikely that he'd be able to bite it off and choke himself to death. That would be a major bummer.
He stared at it dubiously, although he remained still as Tom approached.
"Open up," Tom ordered.
Oscar remained still for a moment, eyes trained on the gag. He slowly opened his mouth, his jaw falling open widely. Tom reached up, taking Oscar's chin in one hand while gently guiding the dildo gag in with the other. The engineer was careful to avoid hitting Oscar's bunny teeth, and the gag pressed his tongue down, filling his mouth. He was barely able to close his jaw even a little bit. The gag teased at his gag reflex but Oscar had a weaker one and he wasn't in any danger of vomiting. It was simply testing his limits.
A lot of that happening today.
Once Oscar's mouth had closed down around the intrusion, Tom released his jaw and moved to fit the rest of the leather muzzle. It fit below his chin, holding the bone of his jaw. It pressed firmly against the front of his face, not covering his nose but pressing into the flesh of his cheeks. There were straps that buckled around the back of his head securely.
If Oscar were to have access to his arms and hands, he'd be able to undo it himself. There was no lock. He had a feeling that he could lose access to those appendages soon enough.
"There," Tom said, a somewhat forced levity in his voice. "No more temptation to mouth off."
Wouldn't want to do that in front of Zak, Andrea — the team. Wouldn't want to risk making whatever they had planned for him any worse.
"Alright. Next, your arms."
And true to his suspicions, Tom grabbed rope from a side table on the room. Oscar hadn't seen it initially, but glancing at it proved that there was more. Not wholly reassuring.
Tom was quick with it, well practiced with working with rope bondage. He set about making a simple harness around Oscar's chest. It framed his pecs, pushing the lose muscle up just enough to make it look like he had more tit than he actually did.
He bound Oscar's arms behind his back, wrapping coil after coil of rope around his arms until he had no hope of breaking out on his own. He was rendered mostly helpless and non verbal.
Despite this now being his third year dealing with this part of his job, he felt a bit of anxiety creep in. He knew that they wouldn't truly hurt him, but still, the thought that something could go wrong and he wouldn't be able to do anything hung over him.
(Could he really still trust the team? Even the rewards hurt more than they felt good these days. They'd punished him in Lando's place before when Oscar hadn't even done anything to earn it.)
(Was he stupidly naive?)
(Did he even have the option to do otherwise?)
Tom stepped out from around Oscar moving back so that he could see him. "Almost ready," he said. "Just need to get you prepped and plugged."
Right.
They didn't always want him plugged; sometimes they didn't even want him prepped. Andrea and Lando both had a fondness for fingering him; although Lando had an impatience that Andrea didn't. If Lando was to be involved — especially still high off race adrenaline — it was better for Oscar to be prepped ahead of time. If Lando was in the mood to finger him, he could still do it, but he could also slide right in.
Oscar wasn't going to complain about the prep — hell, he wasn't even going to complain about the plug. Firstly, he couldn't really complain now; secondly, his wants wouldn't be acknowledged anyways; thirdly, while he didn't mind being fucked (and had even grown to really like it these days) he didn't like pain. Stretching and relaxing his muscles was just as important as being properly slick. McLaren had gotten… eager and creative lately with what they put inside of him.
Tom walked over to the table with the ropes, clearing off a space and then grabbing a bottle of lube. Oscar was well used to this routine by now, and he moved without needing to be ordered to. He walked to the table and bent over, resting his bare chest against the surface and spreading his legs.
Tom didn't acknowledge his actions, instead just moving to immediately push two of his fingers into Oscar.
Oscar winced at the feeling, his rim complaining at the sudden intrusion. Tom normally started with only one finger, having rather large hands. Him choosing to go straight to two this time told Oscar that Tom wasn't entirely pleased with him either.
(But hadn't he suspected that? Hadn't he wondered about why he was always left in the lurch strategy wise? Why Lando got away with dictating Oscar's pit stops. Why the orders to help Lando always went through but Oscar's complaints didn't.)
(Hadn't he bristled when Tom compared Monza to Budapest? When Tom put the team's fuck up on Oscar's shoulders?)
(Tom's loyalty to him only went so far, and hadn't he already seen that it hardly went anywhere at all?)
He was quick and perfunctory, focusing on massaging the muscle of his rim to coax it to relax and adjust to the feeling of being fucked again. He stuffed more cold lube inside of him, fucking his fingers in and out.
Oscar made little noises in the back of his throat, quiet enough to be muffled by the gag and muzzle. He worked his mouth around the dildo gag, trying to soothe himself. It only half worked.
He whined quietly when Tom slipped a third finger in. The stretch wasn't that bad, but he still felt the phantom soreness from his post-Baku punishment. His mind resisted even when his body didn't. He felt Tom's clean hand rub his hip gently.
Tom's fingers left him, but he didn't move from his bend. Tom had mentioned a plug. He just waited, ass exposed, hole slick and open. It was a quick thing, all in all. Only a moment to breathe before Oscar felt the tip of a medium-large plug pushing against his hole.
His rim gave way with little prompting, hole swallowing the plug just like it had many many things before. It was a heavy plug, tugging at his rim as it fought gravity. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was up with the plug.
"You won't be able to properly crawl so the effect is a bit ruined," Tom mused, patting Oscar's ass. "But Lando wanted to see you with a proper tail."
Oscar's eyes widened. So that's what the weight was. Some kind of tail. Jesus Christ.
He stood up slowly, shuffling from foot to foot as he got used to the feeling of the unfamiliar new plug. It wasn't that bad if he didn't think too hard about it. If he did, the humiliation would sink so far into his bones it may even outweigh his anger at… everything at the moment.
He looked up at Tom, finding the man already waiting with the bulky papaya collar that the team had him wearing whenever they weren't in the public eye. His reprieve for the race weekend was over.
He remained still as Tom buckled it around his neck and then clipped on the leash.
"You ready?" Tom asked. "I can't give you much time but…" he trailed off.
Oscar stared him down for a long moment before shrugging. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. He preferred to get things over with. Tom knew him well enough by now — having worked with him so closely and intimately for nearly 3 years — that he understood.
Tom took a hold of the leash, and then without waiting for Oscar to respond any further, walked out of the room. Oscar stumbled after him, the collar around his neck tugging.
He was paraded through the team hub, stumbling as he worked to keep up with his engineer, the leash kept short so it was never slack. They passed by many team members on the way to wherever Tom was leading him. None ignored the spectacle that he made.
There were plenty of wolf whistles, some jeers, and lots of cheers. The mood at McLaren was euphoric. The constructor's championship was what the team had been working so hard for. This was their second in a row.
(Maybe they cared about the driver's championship, but that wasn't really theirs. Not like the constructor's was. The celebration would be different.)
The women on the team cooed at him, giggling to each other as he and Tom passed. The men were bolder, cat calling and even going so far as to slap his ass as they passed by. Tom didn't tell them to stop.
Oscar was a McLaren driver, one of their two puppies. He wasn't quite free use, but he might as well be.
He followed Tom through the maze until they came out into the garage area. Oscar's eyes widened in panic before he realized that the garage doors were closed. The whole pit lane would not actually get an eyeful of him.
It would seem he did have some pride left after all.
The garage had already been gutted; the team working surprisingly quick to pack up the cars and all their equipment. It was honestly a little strange to see the garage so empty. Still, it left plenty of room for the McLaren team members who would participate in this post celebration.
Oscar's eyes flickered wildly around the room, trying to take in who was there and where everyone was placed.
His eyes eventually landed on Lando. The other driver was also naked and cage free. His collar was buckled on, but there was no leash. There was a bright smile on his face. He was sat between Zak and Andrea, the former absently running his fingers through Lando's curls even as he laughed at something that Andrea was saying.
Oscar's stomach curdled.
"Oscar!" Zak crowed loudly, drawing everyone's attention. "You made it."
Oscar tried not to see it as a dig at Oscar being in media during the podium celebration — like they hadn't been the ones to plan it and then grab Lando but not him.
Tom tugged on his leash, pulling him towards the center of the room as all eyes tell on him hungrily. There was a buzz to the energy of the garage. It made him nervous.
He was left standing in the middle of a loose circle of people. The harsh overhead LEDs shone down on him, not even giving him shadows to hide in.
His cock remained soft.
Lando had perked up once he saw Oscar, looking for all the world like an over excited dog.
"Why don't you kneel for us, Oscar. Show off your tail," Andrea suggested softly.
Oscar wanted to snarl, but he couldn't. He just obeyed.
With as much grace as his tired body was capable of, he slowly lowered himself down onto his knees, one at a time so he didn't tip over. He shuffled until he was at more of a ¾ angle to Zak, Andrea and Lando rather than head on. Then, he shifted his weight and carefully lowered his chest to the floor.
With his hands and arms tied behind his back, his face ended up pressed against the floor too. He spread his knees a bit more, arching his back. This had the side effect of lifting his ass, and with it, the tail plug. He felt the silicon tail wagging a little in the air from the movements he'd made to get into this position.
"Woo!"
"That's a pretty sight."
"Seriously, where'd he get all that ass?"
"Come on, give us a wiggle."
"Wag your tail, puppy!"
Oscar — ever a good fucking dog — obeyed. He swayed his hips, slowly at first. The tail responded easily, wagging opposite to Oscar's motions. He shook his ass a little harder as sounds of approval flooded the garage.
Every movement he made transferred through the plug. He felt the way the bulb inside him shifted, rubbing against his sensitive insides. He remained stoically silent, not wanting to admit defeat yet. He couldn't control his body's response though, and the plug managed to nudge his prostate pretty consistently. That meant that even with the anger still coursing through him (and beneath that the hurt and betrayal) he began to get hard. His cock hanging with increasing weight beneath him.
The motion of the tail of the plug meant that the damn thing didn't just rub and grind against his prostate. It also tugged a bit viciously at his rim. That more than anything made him want to whine. He sucked on the dildo gag in his mouth instead.
He felt pathetic. Like he was nothing more than the dog that the team pretended he was. A thing for them to use and abuse as he pleased because he was loyal and he was theirs.
(But he hadn't always been loyal, had he? He'd jumped ship from Alpine as soon as a better offer came through. What would he do if he got a better offer now?)
"Rules for the night," Zak started, his voice loud in the garage. Oscar didn't stop wiggling his hips like an overeager puppy. His gut clenched. "Both our boys won't get their cages on again until the night is over so that means we can play with them as much as we want!"
"The boys are allowed to cum," Andrea added. "No need to ask for permission."
Zak laughed. "Not that Oscar really could, but I'd be tempted to see him try."
Oscar resisted the urge to flinch. He didn't want to give Zak the satisfaction of seeing that he'd gotten to him. He couldn't do much, but he could do this.
"Lando gets first dibs as our podium finisher," Zak continued. "But after that I don't see why you wouldn't be able to have free reign. Just remember we do need Oscar to be able to drive by the time we make it to Texas. No need to raise any suspicions."
Last year year when they'd wont he constructor's it'd been the final race of the year. They hadn't had to worry about going all that easy on them. Lando and Oscar had had plenty of time to recover.
(Was this another attempt to drag the championship fight to the last race?)
There were whoops from the McLaren team members gathered all around the empty garage like it was a shitty porno. Zak beamed like he was a rock star with a captive adoring audience. He'd always liked attention.
He turned his attention to where Lando was kneeling at his feet. "Well go on then," he said. "Everyone knows how you like fucking Oscar. Go take your reward, pup."
Lando didn't need any additional instructions. With a smirk, he crawled across the ground, his knees already beginning to turn ruddy from the hard ground. He was eager to reach Oscar though.
Oscar's hips still as he felt Lando's hands settle on them. The Brit pulled his cheeks apart to look at where the base of the tail plug nestled against his rim.
Lando snuffled a bit, not speaking as he knew that puppies weren't supposed to talk. It would seem he didn't want to risk his reward; too excited to play at being a brat.
It didn't take him long to begin to tug at the plug. It was more playing with it than any particular intent to remove it. That didn't last long though. Not with Lando's inevitable impatience and Oscar stubbornly refusing to make the sweet noises that Lando seemed to crave almost as much as he craved sinking his cock into Oscar's wet hole.
He wasn't delicate about it. Oscar could feel him place one large paw of a hand against his ass cheek and then grab the tail with his other. Then the plug was yanked out of him. This time, he wasn't able to hold back his cry. It was audible even through the gag. He felt the way Lando's fingers flexed on his ass.
He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at Zak's smug face anymore. It made every sensation and sound so much more, but that was a cost that Oscar would just have to deal with. He couldn't stand the sight of Zak. The weight of his gaze was already nearly too much.
There were footsteps and then the click of a lube bottle. Oscar froze, barely breathing at the touch of the spongy head of Lando's cock against his rim. He was open just a bit, allowing Lando to catch on his opening. Oscar was able to take in a single shallow breath before Lando was shoving himself inside.
He'd taken Lando countless times before — hell, he'd taken much larger things than Lando before even if the older puppy was rather hung. That didn't mean that his breath wasn't knocked out of him with the force of the thrust.
Tom's fingers and the tail plug had prepared him well enough that it didn't hurt, but it was still a stretch.
He groaned as he felt Lando's hips hit his ass. Lando didn't give him any time to adjust. He just started rutting into Oscar furiously. The pace he set made it very clear that he was chasing his own release and nothing more. If Oscar were to cum, it would not be with Lando's conscious help.
Normally Lando at least made the token effort to let Oscar adjust. He always needed a minute to breathe before his body could handle the strain. He also preferred a steady ramp up, staring slow and semi deep before speeding up to the jack rabbit stage. Lando seemed to take a certain amount of pride in being able to work certain sounds out of Oscar; his skill at being able to pleasure the younger man being somewhat of an ego boost. When Oscar felt good, his hole tended to clench and flutter, making the actual process of fucking him feel better. So it was a win-win.
None of that care was present now. Lando's fucking bear paws clenched hard enough into Oscar's hips that he was sure that he would bruise. The tips of his fingers dug in deep as if trying to actually grab Oscar's pelvis rather than the stubborn fat that lingers around Oscar's hips.
His hips pistoned hard, jack hammering into him. It was so rough and fast that Oscar actually found himself wondering if it even felt any good.
Oscar was honestly a bit glad that his chest and cheek were already pressed against the cool floor of the garage. Not only was it a small reprieve from the heat and humidity of Singapore, but he was sure he would have face planted quickly had he had to hold himself up under this onslaught. At least now he hopefully wouldn't have to worry about bruising from face planting. Maybe just chafing… although Lando had a tight enough grip on him that he wasn't really moving all that much. Silver linings.
Lando was making these guttural little growls and grunts. He'd somewhat folded over Oscar's hunched form, pressing his forehead to Oscar's back between his shoulder blades. He could feel the way that Lando's jaw was clenched, teeth gritted.
He kept the pace up for an impressive amount of time. Lando had just driven during the grueling Singapore Grand Prix too. He was probably just as exhausted as Oscar was.
He wasn't the one getting fucked.
Nonetheless, being the one doing all the work, Lando eventually reached his peak. With the way he'd been fucking into Oscar, he'd inevitably hit Oscar's prostate a few times. Even the glancing blows and rubbing were more than enough to keep Oscar hard despite the pain of being taken so hard. Oscar's brain had kind of been trained to associate pain with pleasure over the last two years and well… he found himself unwittingly close.
Lando came with a loud moan, shoving himself as deep as he could into Oscar. He came deep inside. Lando hadn't cum since before Baku as far as Oscar was aware. He probably hadn't been milked either. He must have been quite pent up. it seemed like the older man's orgasm lasted forever too.
The cum left somewhat of a deep ache inside of him. Not quite like an enema — there was no way there was enough liquid for that — but reminiscent. It didn't help the sick and sinking feeling that he had in his gut.
Lando pulled out, his cock making an obscene squelch as it left Oscar. His hole felt sore and swollen already — not a good sign for the rest of Oscar's night, and also inevitable with how Lando was fucking him. Oscar bit back a whine as he felt the air flow inside him. He was gaping a little, open from being fucked by someone of Lando's size.
Oscar's cock hung red and heavy between his spread legs. He was pretty sure he was dripping.
He hadn't cum since Baku. He ached.
"Wasn't that a sight!"
Zak's grating voice cut through the roar of blood in his ears. He peeled his eyes open, annoyed as he felt the way his eyelashes clumped together with tears.
Zak was still sat in his chair, looking down at Oscar with a smug look on his face. There was a tent at the front of his pants. All Oscar felt was revulsion.
Zak reached out a hand, making a beckoning motion towards (presumably) Lando. "Come here, puppy," he said. "Come sit on daddy's lap to watch the show."
Oscar's gut churned with revulsion again. Zak was just so gross.
Lando, ever one to thirst for pleasure and to please alike, stumbled from behind Oscar and scrambled back over to Zak. He eagerly climbed into the American's lap. His eagerness… maybe that was the reason that he was Zak's favourite.
Maybe it was how much money his dad had contributed.
(Oscar didn't even want to be Zak's favourite. He always felt so gross when Zak fucked him. Being his favourite meant more of that. Oscar didn't know how Lando did it really.
He just wished that not being Zak's favourite didn't have so many damn consequences on his career.)
Lando scrambled up onto Zak's laugh, the older man laughing boisterously at Lando's puppy-like eagerness. He reached a hand down and opened his pants, pulling his cock out. One of Oscar's peeves was that Zak didn't even have the decency to have a small cock. He wasn't hung or anything, but his size kept Lando happy enough.
Lando wasted no time in positioning himself over Zak's cock and then sinking down. He must have been prepped before Oscar had arrived. He knew that the Brit didn't have a high tolerance for pain. He sank down in one smooth movement. He leaned back against Zak's belly and chest, hands obediently resting on his own thighs. Zak wrapped his arms possessively around Lando, stabilizing him as he cockwarmed him.
Lando's cock lay against the crease of his hip, slick with a gross combination of lube and cum. Lando had a short refractory period, so even though he had just cum, Oscar could see the way he was already beginning to twitch again.
"There," Zak grunted. "Just sit like a good boy and watch the show." He turned his attention back on his face again. "Alright. You have free reign over Oscar. Enjoy it! With all the hard work you've done this year, you deserve it!"
The year before when they'd won the constructor's championship in Abu Dhabi, he and Lando had both been passed around by the team, serving as their reward. This time is was just Oscar.
Oscar had been happy to do it then, eager to pay back the team that had given him not only the chance at F1, but also a race winning car. It had only been his second year with the team, and the 2025 car promised to be just as fast. Despite the Hungary confusion and the papaya rules, he'd really felt grateful for how they'd accepted him.
This time was different. This time he chaffed beneath the expectations.
He was still grateful for the hard work of the team, but he felt like an after thought. Every time he did well, it always felt like it was the wrong car to the team.
Now he was the only one left at the mercy of jubilant men — a piece of meat with a warm hole to be passed around. Lando would not be there to split the load.
A part of him railed at it. Cried and screamed that it wasn't fair. He was the one who'd earned more than half of the points. Why was this happening to him?
There was no point though. He was still going to get fucked; he didn't really have a choice. He was gagged and bound. There was no fighting or getting out of this.
The team didn't descend on him. They weren't animals. But it didn't take long until Oscar felt hands all over him and he was being pulled around and manhandled.
Hands shoved his knees together, lifting his ass even higher into the air and opening Oscar's pelvis. He was held in many places, hands petting his sweaty skin, fingers running through his hair. Someone tugged and rubbed at his nipples and surrounding flesh, coaxing them to harden. Hands groped his tits and his ass. Someone fondled his balls, caressing the sensitive flesh. They didn't touch his cock yet, but that didn't meant that he wasn't overwhelmed.
He let out a loud cry when he felt someone pinch the skin of his balls. He thrashed, but the combination of the tight bondage and the grip of way too many hands meant that he didn't get anywhere. He wasn't even able to pull his legs apart. His vision was blurred from the tears that Lando's jack hammering had pulled out of him. It wasn't like he could see much anyways. It was all just a blur of skin and fucking papaya orange.
He was abruptly hauled up, spun so that his ass was pointed towards Zak, Lando and Andrea. Then his head and chest were shoved down again. What flailing his legs had done was ultimately rendered useless again when his thighs were quickly manhandled together again. He could feel the way his knees struck the hard floor after he was hauled a little too enthusiastically and had lifted his lower half off of the ground.
His face was shoved into a lap, cheek pressed against someone's thigh. In 2024, they'd used both his ass and his mouth, but Oscar had a gag in his time. He wouldn't have thought that that would be more humiliating than choking and slobbering all over countless dicks, but somehow it was.
There was a hot and hard cock rubbing up against his forehead, dripping precum into his hair. His nose was practically shoved right into the man's pubic hair. He smelled of sweat and other musk. It overwhelmed his senses.
He didn't have long to focus on that though. Not with the dozen or so hands returning to grope and tug at various parts of him.
He kept letting out these little noises — huffs and grunts as all the sensitive parts of him were touched and teased. His nostrils flared as he struggled to pull air in, breathing increasingly hard as the onslaught did not abate.
The rush of his blood roared in his ears, muffling all the sounds that were happening around him. There were grunts and moans accompanied by the slick sounds of men jerking themselves off. There was heavy breathing, although maybe that was just his own.
His breath caught in his chest as he felt fingers dig into his ass cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing his hole. He wiggled a bit in the grip of the men holding him, but just like before, it did little good.
There was nothing that he could do when suddenly he felt fingers plunge inside of him. He couldn't tell how many 00 just that they were shorter than Lando's fingers or cock. Maybe it was two? Three? They weren't really fucking into him so much as wiggling. They caught against his prostate, pulling a louder moan from him.
"Mmf!"
He cried out even louder when those fingers began to pull, like they were stretching his hole open more.
The sound seemed to motivate the men around him more, because then another set of his fingers plunged into the space the tugging left open. He made a strangled sound on less than a second, he'd gone from two fingers inside of him to four. It was certainly wider than Lando's cock, although maybe not as wide as the knotting dildo he did sim work with or the Belgian Gran Prix trophy.
It didn't help that those fingers didn't fuck into him either and instead just tugged his rim open in the opposite direction.
It hurt.
Not sharply, but in that distant type of way that felt like it was tugging behind his belly button.
He tried wiggling again and only got more hands holding his ass open. He felt tears of frustration well up in his eyes. He couldn't speak or make any coherent sounds around the dildo gag in his mouth. Hell, this position almost pushed it deeper into his mouth, truly teasing the back of his throat. The muzzle held it on so securely he had no hope of getting free. He wondered if anyone would even notice if he choked on it.
The fingers inside him seemed to give up on tugging him open — maybe Zak or Andrea had made a sound of approval at seeing his red and swollen insides — and instead began squirming around inside of him. One set curled, grinding against his prostate with ease. The others simply poked around at the inside of his channel.
"Hng," he groaned, nostrils flaring. He pressed his face harder into the lap of the team member that was holding him. A hand petted his hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead.
Four fingers inside of him was already a lot. Nothing he hadn't done before, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't overwhelming. He grit his teeth into the gag, jaw flexing beneath the muzzle.
His eyes flew open when he felt another finger — from another hand — probing at his already stuffed hole. His hands flexed, wrists beginning to chafe under the rope binding him. His hole was already sore and only Lando had fucked him so far. He didn't want to take any more fingers. That would just draw everything out. He didn't know how much he could take. Everything felt so tight and tense.
The finger slipped in despite his thrashing and clenching. There was cheering and whistles coming from all around him. It must be quite the sight — Oscar bound and squirming surrounded by men groping at him, too many fingers pulling and tugging at his hole.
"Shh, Oscar you can take it."
Oscar couldn't recognize who it was. It didn't much matter. He shook his head as much as he could, smearing sweat and dripping precum on his face. He felt gross already.
He felt hot liquid splash against his back. Oscar squeezed his eyes shut. The sight he made was good enough that someone had cum from it. The hands and fingers continued to play with him, unbothered. The curled fingers, rubbing against his prostate so hard that before Oscar could even realize what was happening, he was coming.
His cock spat globs of cum beneath him, dripping down his thighs and even catching some of the hands beneath him. A loud cheer rang through the garage.
Oscar knew that while the cages they had to wear were popular with the team The team seemed to enjoy seeing them reach completion more. With the cage off for the duration of the 'celebration'… and the fact that Oscar was given permission to cum whenever…
Oscar was in for a long, painful, and exhausting night.
F1 teams didn't do moderation. They had an endless and deep hunger. They'd go until Oscar's body failed him and maybe even past that.
(It wasn't fair that Oscar was left at the team's mercy, unable to resist or fight for himself while all Lando had to do was sit on Zak's cock and watch.)
(Lando had permission to cum too. They — Zak and Andrea — were probably playing with his cock too. All the while he was watching his own live gang bang porno.)
(He'd been thrown to the dogs — metaphorically.)
(It wasn't fair.)
The fingers were abruptly pulled out of him even as the hands fondling his balls decided that they were done being gentle. They squeezed harshly, almost like they were trying to milk more cum out of him.
Oscar screamed.
His jaw tried to drop but the muzzle held it closed around the dildo gag. It didn't really do all that much to muffle the sound. He screamed too loudly.
The pain in his balls was unbearable. It was all consuming and horrible.
The pressure let up after a few seconds as Oscar's scream petered out. They gave him a moment to catch his breath. Fingers rubbed soothing circles into his nipples. It didn't do nearly enough to soothe him. He shook and trembled amongst the mechanics.
He screamed again at the hand still holding his balls squeezed again. No one cared that this caused a fresh wave of tears to spill from his eyes and down his cheeks. He thought he maybe felt cum land in his hair. He didn't have the time or wherewithal to feel disgusted by it.
He gasped harshly when his balls were finally released again. it stung, it stung, it stung. He was ready for the night to be over so that he could curl up in his hotel bed and lick his wounds. But no one had even fucked him yet.
A harsh slap — the force slightly diminished by the awkward angle of reaching underneath him — was then delivered to his still flushed cock. It hurt, but after the pain in his balls, Oscar was able to bear it with just a simple muffled whimper that was hidden by the noise of the room and Oscar's own squirming. It didn't really matter much though. The slap seemed to be more of an afterthought than anything coordinated.
"Ugh, he's so lewd. Look at how pale he is."
"He really does mark up so nice. Look at his balls."
"Mate, look at his ass!"
"So pink."
No one had even spanked Oscar. Whatever 'pink' they were noticing was purely from Lando's bony hips slamming into him and that aggressive handling. He would have done all that much but he'd never been one to stare at himself after… after.
(He'd never really been in the position to look at himself afterwards. He was always too fucked out — not really there.)
It was hot in Singapore. Even though it'd been an hour or two since the end of the race, Oscar was still exhausted. He was surprised that he didn't feel more physically sick. Just betrayed and seething with fury and a grudge only mostly his own. He was sweaty even before he was surrounded by more warm bodies. Bodies that were larger than his own — working up a sweat of their own.
More running commentary and casual conversation continued above him. They commented on how pretty he was, how excited they'd been all season for this moment. It wasn't that they never got to use him or anything, but it was rarer than it'd once been at McLaren and championship celebrations were just… different. They were eager.
They bemoaned the 'tough season', congratulating each other on the hard work that they'd all put in. Someone started ribbing a pit crew mechanic for the slow stops.
Oscar didn't have time to focus and decipher any more conversations. They'd decided that Oscar had had enough time to recover by now, and he felt a cock head press against his gaping hole.
He inhaled sharply as it just… slipped in.
No matter how many times he did this, it was always deeply unsettling when he hit the point of the night where there wasn't nay resistance put up by his body. When his rim was stretched and tired enough that the glide was smooth and quick. There was no point in giving him a moment or two to get used to the intrusion. Not when he'd already been tucked open. If his body didn't resist, why should they pause?
He wouldn't say that it was a sinking feeling. Not exactly. It was more jus a horrible jolt to his brain; a tug in his chest. One minute he was empty, aching deep inside from what had been pushed inside of him earlier. The next, he was full again.
It wasn't a stretch. It wasn't overwhelming.
The cock inside of him wasn't nearly as wide as all of the fingers. It was comparably much easier to take. His brain just… couldn't keep up.
It wasn't like that mattered though. He was tied up, surrounded and held down. He would take what he was given whether he liked it or not.
He supposed his only saving grace was that he was allowed to cum. He could handle overstimulation. It was better to feel pleasure than the sting of the cock cage or a ruined orgasm. He could cum from getting fucked.
After that, he was pretty sure that he lost time. The man inside him fucked into him hard — maybe not as hard as Lando, but hard enough to jolt through his body. An unknown amount of time later, between one breath and the next, he felt the man cum inside. Then his cock was being replaced by another.
The hands and nearly suffocating heat never left him. Even as he was getting fucked, others were playing with whatever parts of him that they could reach. The rubbed and fondled his nipples, pressed a hand to his abdomen. His hair was pulled, cheek caressed. Someone played with his cock, thankfully much kinder than before.
He was one large nerve, lit up like a live wire. His vision faded in and out, breathing shallowly in between thrusts. Tears spilled from him with an uninhibited free flow. He soaked the warm skin beneath him even as the lap he was in changed from man to man over time. He didn't pay attention to the ever shifting cast that surrounded him. They didn't matter. Nothing really mattered.
He took what he was given, consciousness fading away. He was just a body; a hole to use. He wasn't a driver — the championship leader — anymore. He was a reward; a trophy. He was made to be used, made to take.
He lost track of his own orgasms just as easily as he lost track of just how many people had fucked him. His guts ached from the onslaught. They ached more from the cum that was stuffed inside him. He'd taken more before — at least he had thought so but he couldn't be sure anymore — but it wasn't any easier to deal with now. He would be dripping for hours. The cum had to be deep. Too deep to clean out easily.
His whole body ached, but especially his hips and hole. His throat felt hoarse and raw. No amount of saliva induced by the dildo gag made it any better. The muscles of his face fell slack.
He felt sticky, covered in tears, sweat, and probably cum. He didn't smell urine, so small mercies. The team had some decorum.
There was definitely a puddle under him now. It was mostly his own cum, but probably contained some from the others as well. He felt the way it dripped from his hole down the backs of his thighs, fucked out of him by the eager McLaren mechanics. He felt the way his own dripped down the front of his thighs, his body too drained to do more than drip pitifully anymore. It pooled beneath him, spreading far enough that his poor sore knees were ground into it. The joints would no doubt be a vicious purple in a few hours. He'd always bruised so easily.
He'd retreated a bit into his head, tuning out the words of the people around him. he didn't want to hear what they had to say. Didn't want to hear what awful humiliating and derogatory things they spewed as they fucked him. He didn't want to hear the absent sounds his body made; the squelches of lube and cum or his whines and whimpers alike. It was too much.
He felt the weight of being watched keenly. It made him want to squirm and writhe. His body was too exhausted to do anything now.
He was completely limp, only held up in position by the men around him. He didn't even twitch as someone tried valiantly to stroke him back to hardness. He may only be 24, but he was spent.
It was not easy to be center and focus of a garage gang bang. Especially when he wasn't even granted the courtesy of splitting the load.
He didn't even notice it right away when the last one pulled out. He was so used to being filled and fucked that his hole still felt full even when it was empty. He was so swollen and used. He only really noticed when one by one, the hands and people around him pulled away and weren't replaced.
Then he was alone, laying on his side having slumped to the ground unable to hold himself up anymore. Tremors wracked his frame every few seconds. He was exhausted. And wet.
And because Zak couldn't seem to resist being a piece of shit, a loud clap echoed through the room. "What a good show!" he crowd like he was a king being entertained by indentured peasants. "That's what I'm talking about!" Oscar was too tired now to feel anything but vague nausea. The fight had been fucked out of him.
(Maybe the next day or the day after, his anger would be reignited, but for now his spark was doused. All that was left was a sick feeling deep in his gut and chest.)
(Probably as Zak intended. It really couldn't be more obvious who he favoured. He wanted to put Oscar in his place.)
Oscar didn't move from where he had his cheek pressed into the slick floor. That required too much energy and motivation — neither of which he had at the moment. Why would he even want to move? To look at Zak?
He'd just be shoved in his crate to be taken back to the hotel at the end of all of this anyways.
He wasn't allowed his small rebellion, as pitiful as it was.
Two sets of hands appeared on his body. One pair was gentle, careful not to add anymore hurt to the situation. The other pair was more brusque, pulling and moving him with a more clinical touch.
He was rotated, cheek lifted and then allowed to press back against the ground. His hips were lifted again, legs folded and then spread beneath him. His hips and knees complained at the stretch, but with his abs still twitching with pain and fatigue, and no access to his arms, he was stuck.
He peeled his eyes open, head still in that distant floaty space. He blinked lazily, half heartedly attempting to clear his blurry vision. With the way his head was craned, he was facing Zak, Andrea, and Lando.
Lando was still sat on Zak's cock, his own angry and red although limp against the Brit's hip. Zak must have been playing. Andrea was still dressed all prim and proper. He would look entirely unaffected were it not for the bulge at his crotch and the dark look in his eyes.
Oscar blinked again and Lando was pulling himself up and off of Zak's cock. He blinked, Lando was on all fours on the floor.
"I think the puppy deserves a treat for being so good," Zak said, his voice somehow both found and condescending. "Don't you?"
Lando wiggled in place. Oscar couldn't really tell if he was sincere or not.
"Tom?"
Oscar's attention was pulled away from watching Lando as he felt hands against his ass cheeks again. They pressed into the rounded and sore flesh, pulling them apart and exposing Oscar's puffy but still gaping hole. He felt a glob of something leak out of him, dripping down his taint.
A third hand rested on his lower back as if to steady him.
"Almost done now," he heard Tom say. His voice was so quiet that Oscar could barely hear it. "Just champagne, mate."
Oscar's eyebrows twitched into a slight furrow as he tried to figure out what Tom meant by that. He didn't have to wait long.
He felt a cool tap against his rim. Something hard rested against the edge of his hole. It felt heavy, the material quickly warming up with the heat of his skin. Then the angle changed — not pressing in but merely angled in differently. Cold fizzy liquid spilled inside of his hole.
Fuck. Champagne.
Tom was pouring champagne inside of him.
He twitched, but between his own exhaustion and the other person holding him open meant that he remained painfully still as champagne was poured inside of him.
"That's enough now," Zak called. "Puppy's getting impatient."
Oscar focused his gaze back on Lando. The older man's eyes were fixed firmly on Oscar's ass where the lip of the champagne bottle rested.
Tom didn't say anything. The bottle simply just vanished.
Oscar's gut clenched, his insides feeling stretched and bloated. Oscar had already been filled with too much cum. Now he had who knows how much fucking champagne poured in on top of that. He felt how his insides cramped and protested.
It was gross — it was disgusting. He wanted Lando to get it over with.
"Go on, Lando. Go get your treat."
Lando needed no additional prompting. He scrambled across the floor, sliding a bit at some of the grossly ambiguously slick spots. He didn't let that bother him or slow him down. He disappeared from Oscar's field of vision pretty quickly again. He seemed eager — like actually eager. Or maybe he just really wanted to please Zak. Wanted to be the favourite puppy — the good puppy.
What little coherent thought that Oscar was capable of slipped away when he felt the flick of Lando's warm, wet tongue touch his rim. There were no hands holding him open. Just Lando's face bullying its way between his cheeks. His nose dug into the cleft of Oscar's ass which couldn't have been comfortable but didn't stop Lando.
He lapped eagerly at Oscar's puffy hole, wiggling his tongue inside as far as he could. He ate Oscar out with a vigour that bordered on painful.
Oscar remained quiet and still, Lando ate the cum and champagne out of his ass, irritating the already sensitive flesh with his overzealousness and puppy-like nipping.
Oscar's eyes became heavy with fatigue. His adrenaline and anger had long since faded and so had the semi pleasant floaty haze. He blinked slower and slower until his eyes just stayed shut.
He was no longer conscious by the time Lando had had his fill and been allowed to pull away.