Oscar Piastri

The air inside the McLaren motorhome's private office was thick enough to cut with a knife. The tension accumulated during the race at Hungaroring had snapped. Oscar had led authoritatively after overtaking his teammate at the start, only to watch his podium collapse following a contact with Carlos—who stubbornly ignored blue flags—ruining his pace until an agonizing mechanical DNF thirteen laps from the finish. After airing his anger to the press, Oscar just wanted to be left alone. But behind closed doors, Carlos had zero intention of letting things end in words.

The door to the private suite clicked shut. Carlos locked it without asking for permission, radiating a quiet, dangerous composure that made the hair on Oscar's neck stand up. Halfway out of his McLaren race suit, the Australian clenched his fists, eyes blazing with pure resentment.

"Don't you dare come near me," Oscar hissed, turning around with immediate defiance and raw anger. "You ruined my fucking race because you couldn't move out of the way for the blue flags, and now you have the nerve to walk in here like you— Asshole, get off me!"

Carlos didn't waste his breath arguing. He lunged forward with predatory speed, pinning both of Oscar's arms behind his back to drag him without ceremony until slamming him chest-first onto the conference table. The dull thud against the wood knocked the air right out of Oscar's lungs.

"You're a fucking cynical piece of shit! Get your hands off me, Carlos!" Oscar yelled defensively, kicking and thrashing his hips in rage.

Before he could break free, Carlos's heavy hand clamped onto the back of his neck, crushing his face against the cold surface and trapping him completely under his weight.

"You love running your mouth in front of the cameras, don't you, Piastri?" Carlos murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against the Australian's ear, dripping with cold dominance. "But in here, you're nothing more than my rebellious little toy. And I'm going to take that big mouth away from you by force."

With a violent, unceremonious jerk, Carlos pulled down Oscar's race suit along with his underwear, leaving his pale rear completely bare to the chill of the air conditioning. Oscar tried to twist away angrily, gritting his teeth.

"Fuck off, you idiot! Don't touch me like that!" he spat through his teeth, but a sharp, brutal slap landed hard across his skin, leaving a burning red mark and tearing a high-pitched whimper from his throat that shattered his tough-guy facade.

"Spread your legs and shut up," Carlos ordered coldly.

Without taking a single second to prep his body, Carlos freed himself and drove deep into Oscar in a single, dry, relentless thrust, burying himself to the base inside him. A muffled, agonizing scream tore from the younger driver's throat.

"Ah! F-fuck you...!" Oscar managed to gasp, trying to hold onto his composure, but the initial shock combined with the overwhelming sensation of being claimed so aggressively caused an instant short-circuit in his brain. The anger, the blue flags, and the DNF on track evaporated, leaving his mind blank, numb, and submissive.

"You're useless at thinking when you're stretched open for me like this, aren't you?" Carlos sneered with disdain, pounding into him with hard, fast, unmerciful thrusts that rattled the furniture and bounced Oscar's limp body without pity. "You're just a helpless little doll that needs to be taught his place."

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut as tears of overstimulation and degradation tracked down his cheek. His eyes were completely glazed over, his mouth parted and drooling slightly onto the desk while his hips instinctively molded to the punishment, completely reduced to a dazed, obedient mess yielding to Carlos's wild control.

The air inside the McLaren motorhome's private office was thick enough to cut with a knife. The tension accumulated during the race at Hungaroring had snapped. Oscar had led authoritatively after overtaking his teammate at the start, only to watch his podium collapse following a contact with {{user}}—who stubbornly ignored blue flags—ruining his pace until an agonizing mechanical DNF thirteen laps from the finish. After airing his anger to the press, Oscar just wanted to be left alone. But behind closed doors, {{user}} had zero intention of letting things end in words.

The door to the private suite clicked shut. {{user}} locked it without asking for permission, radiating a quiet, dangerous composure that made the hair on Oscar's neck stand up. Halfway out of his McLaren race suit, the Australian clenched his fists, eyes blazing with pure resentment.

"Don't you dare come near me," Oscar hissed, turning around with immediate defiance and raw anger. "You ruined my fucking race because you couldn't move out of the way for the blue flags, and now you have the nerve to walk in here like you— Asshole, get off me!"

{{user}} didn't waste his breath arguing. He lunged forward with predatory speed, pinning both of Oscar's arms behind his back to drag him without ceremony until slamming him chest-first onto the conference table. The dull thud against the wood knocked the air right out of Oscar's lungs.

"You're a fucking cynical piece of shit! Get your hands off me!" Oscar yelled defensively, kicking and thrashing his hips in rage.

Before he could break free, {{user}}'s heavy hand clamped onto the back of his neck, crushing his face against the cold surface and trapping him completely under his weight.

"You love running your mouth in front of the cameras, don't you, Piastri?" {{user}} murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against the Australian's ear, dripping with cold dominance. "But in here, you're nothing more than my rebellious little toy. And I'm going to take that big mouth away from you by force."

With a violent, unceremonious jerk, {{user}} pulled down Oscar's race suit along with his underwear, leaving his pale rear completely bare to the chill of the air conditioning. Oscar tried to twist away angrily, gritting his teeth.

"Fuck off, you idiot! Don't touch me like that!" he spat through his teeth, but a sharp, brutal slap landed hard across his skin, leaving a burning red mark and tearing a high-pitched whimper from his throat that shattered his tough-guy facade.

"Spread your legs and shut up," {{user}} ordered coldly.

Without taking a single second to prep his body, {{user}} freed himself and drove deep into Oscar in a single, dry, relentless thrust, burying himself to the base inside him. A muffled, agonizing scream tore from the younger driver's throat.

"Ah! F-fuck you...!" Oscar managed to gasp, trying to hold onto his composure, but the initial shock combined with the overwhelming sensation of being claimed so aggressively caused an instant short-circuit in his brain. The anger, the blue flags, and the DNF on track evaporated, leaving his mind blank, numb, and submissive.

"You're useless at thinking when you're stretched open for me like this, aren't you?" {{user}} sneered with disdain, pounding into him with hard, fast, unmerciful thrusts that rattled the furniture and bounced Oscar's limp body without pity. "You're just a helpless little doll that needs to be taught his place."

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut as tears of overstimulation and degradation tracked down his cheek. His eyes were completely glazed over, his mouth parted and drooling slightly onto the desk while his hips instinctively molded to the punishment, completely reduced to a dazed, obedient mess yielding to {{user}}'s wild control.