#PMAMC24

[magpiepills]

Same Time Next Week

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f! Massage therapist reader

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Marcus is lonely and burnt out and visits a spa that offers more than the usual services to help him relax.

Warnings: smut. pegging, anal, tit job, hand job, pussy job, sumata, prostate stimulation, anal fingering, sex work, coming untouched, praise kink, slight sub/dom vibes, subspace kind of, erotic massage, writer knows nothing about massages, many liberties taken.

A word from the author: this is a repost! This was my contribution to the 2024 Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign! PLEASE check out the other fics from this project, they are magnificent. you can read them all here!

Marcus’s body is sore. A week of wielding his swords, running, jumping, and grappling with foes left him feeling tight and tense. His muscles burnt with every effort, his neck was stiff, his mind was heavy with the weight of the world’s expectations and his team’s reliance on him to lead them. It wore on him. It broke him down, it took everything he had both physically and mentally. That’s without considering the unique stress of being a single parent and a widow. It takes a toll being pulled in so many different directions.

Reaching for a bottle of Aleve, he knew it wasn’t enough to fix him. It would take off the edge and he would take up the yoke of being the leader of the Heroics again tomorrow. He sank back on his bed and swam in self pity. He needed to be touched, needed the gentle hand of someone who understood him, cared for him, loved him. He wanted to come home to a woman again. Wanted someone warm and soft in his bed at the end of a long day to rub his back and take his cock. He ached there, too. Never having the time to meet anyone. Relationships and connections take time and care and Marcus didn’t have that. He gave that up when his wife was taken from him. With her gone, he took the promotion at work and began his life of lonely servitude. His body was no more for love, he decided, just a utility. He reminded himself every time he was awake in his bed, fucking his fist to thoughts of a warm, wet someone.

He carried on, focused on his primary roles as father and hero, head held high, no crack in his strong exterior. Passionate, but opaque.

He must have let it slip, though. In the car, driving back to HQ in the dark, battered and exhausted from defeating yet another malevolent alien invader, he rubbed his palms into his eyes and loosened his tactical vest.

Miracle Guy nodded at him from the other side of the car.

“You look like you need to relax.”

Marcus huffed a dry laugh, “Yeah. Maybe one day.”

“Maybe you need some help. I know somebody really good at it.” His tone was light, but the implication was heavy, the glint in his eye saying plenty.

Opening his wallet, he held out a slip of creased paper between two fingers. Just an email address and the word ”spa” scribbled next to it. Marcus scowled, but tucked it into his wallet and looked out the window, watching the city lights, ignoring the flutter in his chest.

Two weeks passed before he had the nerve to send a note to the address. It took some convincing. He rolled it around in his mind while he made dinner for Missy, and later in the shower. Finally, that night as he held a heating pad to his back he made up his mind to stop thinking and just act. He felt forward and strange, unsure of what he was getting into. Miracle Guy got into some questionable things, but he was also always pretty content. Nothing to lose. Marcus reminded himself before typing out a message- “My friend says you can help me relax.”

•••••

Tucked in the back corner of a mostly empty parking lot, where the street lights glow yellow and reflect in the puddles left by late summer rain - if they work at all, sat a dilapidated strip mall. Once bustling, now it housed a peddler’s mall, a vape shop, a nail salon, a pawn shop, and your own little business. It was the kind of place people avoided and that was fine by you. You didn’t need to hang a shingle to attract your clientele. You weren’t listed in the phone book. Your scant social media presence was an Instagram account featuring pictures of the waiting room, the massage room, and some generic pictures of flowers and stacked stones. You listed no address or business hours. Fontaine Day Spa. Email for pricing. The right people would find you.

The only indication that your storefront was occupied was a flickering pink and red neon sign reading “SPA” between the plate glass and the thick curtains that offered privacy as well as sanctuary. You worked hard to create an oasis, a place of peace and rejuvenation, a place of relief, a place for minds and bodies to be centered under your guidance and touch. Massage, salt therapy, facials and guided stretching to help your clients feel present in their bodies.

“I’m ready for you, Mr. Moreno.”

One of your favorite regular clients sat placidly in your waiting room. Soft ambient sounds and a plush rug set the mood for your time together. Marcus has been a client for the last few months, coming in for help unwinding. Your services gave him what he couldn’t find on his own. Peace, relaxation, release. By now Marcus was familiar with the routine. He entered, removed his shoes and placed them on the shelf by the curtained alcove where he undressed, showered using your rosemary and mint soap, hen slipped on a soft cotton robe. His clothes took their place by his shoes, thick framed glasses perched on top, and he waited, breathing deep, cleansing breaths to begin his scheduled escape from duty.

Marcus first showed up a few months back, wide-eyed and skittish, handsome and familiar, like you’d seen him before. He was handsome. He stood in your lobby fidgeting with his keys, looking at the floor, looking for a quick escape. He didn’t ask for water, but he accepted the glass you brought him, sipping it gratefully, before setting it aside to fill out the form you’d given him.

He couldn’t deny the disappointment of finding that the spa really was just a spa, and the form asked about problem areas, services he wanted, and massage preferences. Of course this wasn’t that kind of spa. He felt guilty for even considering this could be anything like a seedy rub and tug happy ending massage parlor. Sure you were a beautiful woman in a tank top that skimmed your tits and stomach and leggings that he swore he could see the cleft of your pussy through, but you probably just do yoga here too and wear what is comfortable. He was ashamed of where he had let his mind wander. How flexible he thought you might be. He shook the thought from his head.

He finished the form and handed it back, feeling sheepish.

His polite and mild demeanor made you want to give him everything. So often your clients were brash and demanding, demeaning and crude. You handled them all with finesse and kept pepper spray handy just in case. Marcus didn’t strike you as the type, though. You had talked briefly over email, he got your contact from another frequent client, one you’d worked with a lot and enjoyed your time with. In the emails nothing of your secret menu was mentioned. You began to wonder if he knew what he was really paying for.

“Mister Moreno, did Miracle Guy- uh Lloyd- tell you about the services I offer here? How I help him?”

Marcus stared blankly for a moment before his brain was able to form a response. Your question made him feel nervous and he stumbled over his words. “He said you help him relax. And he- the paper he gave me said ‘spa,’ so I just thought he must get massages...” He trailed off, unsure if that was a sufficient answer.

You knew his friend well. A handsome blonde that liked things a little rougher. You’d have to remember to thank him for referring his gorgeous friend to you.

Endeared by his naivety, you smiled and placed the clipboard on the table next to his water. You settled on the little sofa next to him, tucking one leg under you and leaning closer.

“I’m here to help, Mr. Moreno. There are a lot of ways people can reclaim their bodies.” You kept your tone as soft and even as you could. You wanted him to understand you, wanted him to ask for what he really needed. It was as clear as day across his face, but he would need to ask. “There’s massage, meditation, yoga, breathing exercises, mindfulness. I can help with all of those.” Marcus nodded and you could see his mind racing to put together the puzzle you were handing him the pieces to. “But that’s not all. Some people need help connecting other ways. Your friend Lloyd, he needs a more personal service. I don’t advertise it, but I could help if your needs are more intimate. Do we understand each other, Marcus?”

He continued to nod, furrowing his brow. Marcus wasn’t sure that he understood what you were offering him. He blinked back the embarrassment that started to creep

Up his cheeks from his flushed chest. “I want what Lloyd gets. He recommended you so it must be working for him.” He smiled now, more confident now that he feels he’s maybe starting to understand the dance you’re doing. He still wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but he was ready for whatever you had in store.

He liked your smile, how warm and disarming you were. The way you made him feel cared for, even after just talking for a few minutes. He gave himself to you, do what you must.

The first appointment was a little awkward. Marcus felt clumsy, unsure of himself, out of his depths, but you were there to facilitate it all, guiding him to the shower, showing him where to put his things, wrapping him in a warm robe, and telling him it was ok to let his body lead him, it was ok for him to touch you, to look at you, to ask for what he would like. Anything he would like. “Would it be ok

If I took off my shirt?” You asked, so concerned for his comfort. His cock twitched between his body and the soft pad of the table as he watched to toss your shirt into a chair in the corner, as you began rubbing him down. He closed his eyes when he realized he was staring at the way your breasts curved, the point of your nipples, the movement of your body as you worked. He loved how comfortable you were, how in control of your space.

You started with a massage, working gently across his broad back, you saw how his eyes followed you, how he shifted his hips on the table. You might be guilty of cutting his back massage a little short, but you needed to move to the rest of the service. He hesitated to roll onto his back. “I uh, I just need a minute.” You reassured him, told him getting hard was expected, that it was a compliment, that you just wanted to make him feel good. Reminded him he could tell you if there was anything he needed as you kneaded the firm muscles of his thighs. He was hard and weeping, beautiful thick cock desperate for attention. You teased up his hips, hands on either side of his length. His lips fell open, eyes trained on you, and he whimpered so softly. “Do you need me here, Marcus?” You purred to him and he swallowed thickly, “Yes. Please.”

From that first appointment together, you’d expertly stroked his cock to completion, showering him with praise. “So handsome, so good, letting me take care of you. Such a big cock, Marcus.” You always started with a massage, though they got shorter each time, the main event requiring more of your short time. You sucked his cock, gagging for him as he filled your throat, you squeezed him between your oiled tits, letting him come

on your chest and neck, generously allowing him to snap

a picture with his phone, something you never allowed with anyone else. You let him watch as you soaked your panties in warm oil, making the thin material cling to every fold. When you had gotten yourself off under his gaze, you climbed on top of him and rubbed your swollen, slick pussy lewdly over his cock, so careful to never let him slip inside even if you needed to feel him inside you. He came, hissing and spurting across his belly. Impulsively, you scooped up some of him cum on your finger and brought it to his lips, feeding it to him. The look

On his face gave you the confidence to push him further and further, trying new things often, but never letting him fuck you. Your own mouth, pussy, and ass we’re off limits. You couldn’t let yourself cross the line from service into intimacy. You made the rule yourself and had never been tempted to break it.

•••••

The room you led him to was warm and dim, lit only by a few pillar candles and the amber glow of a salt lamp on a shelf displaying various oils, lotions, smooth stones, and the other tools you’d use to let Marcus drop away from the stress and responsibilities of his life. The air was scented with the incense you’d lit just before Marcus’s arrival, earthy and warm, notes of spice that played together with the soothing ambience of your studio to lull the sometimes super hero into heavy, trance-like relaxation.

The leader of The Heroics didn’t wait for you to leave the room before he slipped the robe from his shoulders, laying it across the chair in the corner, and climbing onto your table and settling with a sigh. You stared at the width of his strong shoulders and the flexing muscles of his long legs, dark hair dusting from his thick thighs down this calves. He was a beautiful man. You straightened the small modesty towel covering his pelvis as he shifted his body, letting him settle and sink back into the padded surface of the wide massage table before arranging it over his half hard cock. You allowed yourself a half moment to admire the thick, dark, curling hair that led below the towel and up below his belly button, then stripped off your shirt, leaving you in only your soft leggings.

“Are you comfortable, Marcus?”

“Yes, thank you. I am.” He was always polite. He never leered or took advantage, just gave himself over to your expert touch. You could tell he wasn’t quite comfortable yet, usually just coming in the door lifted the invisible weight from his shoulders. Today he would need more help to get there, but soon he would be putty, pliant and submissive in your hands. Tonight you’d make it extra special, really take your time with him, pulling him apart bit by bit, then arranging him back together better than when he came in.

Just as before, you massaged him with warm, scented oil that you drizzled first across the expanse of his chest, using your palms, your knuckles, your forearms to work out the tension that settled there. You worked your way down his torso, slicking him up as you went, relishing in the soft grunts and sighs that your ministrations pulled from him. Before each movement, you explained what you would be doing next. There were never surprises. He knew exactly what was coming.

As you moved to his arms, rotating his shoulder, pulling gently, letting his forearm rest between your breasts as you kneaded down his bicep. His fingers flexed and his eyes opened just enough to see your soft smile, your pointed nipples, the shine of your chest where the oil has transferred from him to you. His empty brain stirred with images of other ways he would like to coat your chest. The thoughts floated away, and his eyes closed again, but his cock came alive, swelling as it always did under your masterful touch. The small movement didn’t escape your notice. Finishing his right arm, you gently guided it back to his side before moving to repeat the process on his left arm. This time, you raised his arm and let his palm rest against your clavicle as you smoothed your fingers along his tight muscles. His thumb swept softly across your skin, but the rest of him was still, his only movement the rise and fall of his diaphragm. He was nearly where you wanted him. You let his knuckles brush against your nipple as you arranged his arm, noting the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly at the contact. Perfect.

You moved to the bottom of the table and cupped more oil into your hand, smoothing it up his shins to his knees, focusing there for a few moments before adjusting his leg to bend his knee and plant his foot on the table. The angle allowed you to massage his calf and the back of his thigh. You enjoyed the way the soft flesh there slipped under your hands. While you kneaded at his legs, each in turn, the modesty towel slipped up, granting you a peek at his now turgid member. Of course you’ve seen it before in the course of your sessions together, but each time felt like the first. Marcus was thick, he had a tanned shaft with a smooth foreskin hugging a rosy head. It made your mouth water to see him hard, but this time together wasn’t about what you needed.

As you finished his legs, you gently returned them to the table, signaling the end of this portion of your service.

“Marcus?” You called to him softly, stroking his warm, oil slicked chest from his shoulder, down his side to just over his hip. His eyes were glassy, but his plush lips curled into a relaxed smile at the sound of your voice.

“I want you to turn over, Marcus.” He hummed, acknowledging your request but his brain was foggy and his body responded slowly. You kept your hand on him, grounding him, reassuring him with your presence and gentle touch. You made sure he was steady as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side.

“I’m going to set up for the rest of the session. It’ll only take a moment.” Your voice was soft and cool, reassuring Marcus as you handed him a glass of water to sip while you took a cushioned wedge from it’s spot below the table and positioned it just so, then left the room to slip into your equipment- a sturdy black harness with a ring to hold the purple dildo Marcus favored. It wasn’t the largest in your collection, but it was thick and gently curved. It hung between your legs as you wrapped yourself in your own robe and grabbed a couple plush towels, rejoining Marcus. His expression was tranquil, and it made you happy to see him so at ease. He had come a long way since his first appointment.

With the towels in place over the wedge, you helped Marcus get in position, on his knees, pert ass up and elbows on the table. He took a moment to settle as you climbed onto the table behind him, arranging your supplies on a tray nearby. You covered him once more, more out of courtesy than practicality. You could see his chest expanding and heard his breathing deepen as you dropped your robe. Marcus groaned softly when he felt your cock against the back of his thigh.

“Are you ready, Marcus? I’m going to begin now.”

He grunted and squirmed slightly, but remembered to give you a verbal response. “Yeah. Yes. Ready, please.”

Once more you dipped your fingers into the oil and let it drip down his spine, watching as it slid before following its path with one palm and then the other. He was so warm under your hands. His skin was so smooth, golden and freckled across his shoulders. “You’ve done really well tonight, Marcus.” You praised, leaning your weight into his shoulder blades, working out the knots, kneading at his neck. You plotted your way back up his spine and massaged his hips, and you felt him stir, tensing in anticipation.

“I want you to keep breathing now, Marcus. Deep, cleansing breaths.” You counted with him, four seconds in, seven seconds to hold, and eight seconds out. As you counted for him, you moved again to the back of his thighs, higher this time, removing his towel to massage and stroke his ass. His cock and balls hung between his spread thighs, leaking precum onto your towel, smearing the fluid as you manipulated his nearly limp body.

You couldn’t help your own arousal, feeling it seep from your aching pussy. Marcus was so beautiful and he surrendered so completely to you. He was strong, powerful, and deadly, but on your table he was yours to mold however you pleased. He was under you, taking whatever you gave him, waiting for you alone to decide what he needed, grateful for your attention and your discretion. You wondered if under other circumstances he might be the one bending you ever and covering your holes in lube.

Marcus often wondered the same, but he knew he couldn’t ask, couldn’t ruin this relationship, if you could call it that. He would never tell you how you became the someone he imagined alone in his bedroom or in the shower. Instead he just tried to enjoy what he had. A beautiful woman that would do nearly anything to make him come, make him forget about everything outside of this oasis. One he felt comfortable enough with to suggest the things he had always wanted to try, knowing you’d be enthusiastic.

“Are you ready, Marcus? I’m going to get you ready, gotta get you nice and relaxed so you can take my cock.

“Yes” He breathed, no other words necessary or possible now.

Your mind wandered and your cunt throbbed as you rubbed crescents with your thumbs around his tight ring of muscle, feeling him tense and relax, acclimating to the sensation and the pressure. You dripped more thick lube and spread it over and around his asshole with your thumbs, varying the speed and pressure, using your other fingers to hold his cheeks apart.

Monitoring for signs of discomfort or tightness in his muscles, you watched his beautiful face. His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, sighing breathily, humming with pleasure. His mustache twitched, making you smile at the little tells he always displayed when he was entering the mental space that he paid you so handsomely to escort him to. He was ready.

With little resistance, you pressed your thumb into his ass. You were slow and gentle, taking your time before adding the other, fucking into him at an unhurried pace. When he began to push back into your hands, seeking more, you gently pulled away, silently reminding him of his role with soothing caresses over his cheeks and down his back. When he settled again, you squeezed a generous amount of lube onto your fingers and spread it over him, this time entering him with your middle and index finger, reaching deeper, teasing at the tender little spot inside him until he moaned. “Please,” He murmured, “yes, yes…” and you could have made him come. A few more strokes and he may have come just like that. Neither of you were ready for this to be over so soon, though.

Once more you took your hand away and massaged his back, praising him for being so relaxed, for staying so still, for opening up for you like a good boy. He opened his eyes, glassy and soft, no trace of the hyper vigilance he was accustomed to to be found.

More lube, this time slicking down your thick purple cock. Marcus was ready. You pressed the smooth head against his asshole and eased it past that tight ring, slowly, steadily, you began to fuck his ass. He whimpered and stretched his arms, extending them in front of him, lengthening his spine like a cat. His muscles rippled, he sighed, and your pussy throbbed. You sped your thrusts, enjoying the sight of him taking you with ease now. No amount of practice or professionalism could stop the lust from dripping over your words as you encouraged him.

“You’re taking my cock so well, Marcus. You let me stretch you right out, did so good for me. Let me take care of you just how you need.” It all came out a velvety purr, eliciting soft groans from below you. You wished you could see his face tonight.

Marcus was warm, feeling brightened and whole when you were in control, he loved how you knew just what he needed, made him feel safe, a feeling he wasn’t used to as the man that everyone else relied on for protection. “Yes, oh fuck. Yes. Want your cock. Feels so good.” Marcus babbled as you pumped into his tight ass. He whimpered and groaned and his hips tilted, feeling his release rush at him as your cock hit that special spot inside him that no one had ever touched before you.

You prided yourself on keeping things interesting. You noticed that Marcus was finding most benefit from giving up control and letting you make the choices for him. Always a first class full body massage followed by a mind blowing orgasm once he had reached a state of deep and total relaxation. Sometimes you stood at the side of the table and fucked him slowly while he lay on his side and you stroked his cock, paying special attention to the spot behind his balls until he came hard across the table.

Sometimes you had him on his back, knees bent, ass full of that favorite toy as you pulsed your hips up and into him, giving him a slippery double fisted handy until he came, painting his own belly and chest with thick white cum.

Tonight though, this might be his new favorite. Face down, ass up while you drove into him at a steady pace, never taking your hands from his hips, his back, wherever you could reach while you spoke so tenderly to him. Your hands held him like he held his swords, firm and sure, practiced and precise. Marcus knew you didn’t care for him, but you fucked him like you did, and the way you reassured him, praised him, stretched and filed him made him bury his face in his arms as he moaned, “Fuck! Fuck, gonna come. Gonna come!” His breath caught in his throat as you filled him with one last deep thrust, pushing your thighs into the back of his. You wished you could feel the way he squeezed your purple cock as he came untouched with a muffled moan, cum staining the towels you had covered the cushion with. He really wanted to kiss you.

Another glass of water, another quick shower, and a complimentary envelope of lavender scented Epsom salts later and Marcus was standing at your door, redressed in his shirt and tie, thick rimmed glasses framing his big, sad eyes. “Thank you. I..” he started, but couldn’t find the words he wanted. “Thank you for everything.” You put your hand on his shoulder and guided him back out into the parking lot, “I’ll see you next week, Marcus.” Locking up behind him, switching off the neon light, you thought maybe you did care about him a little.

[magpiepills]

Game Over

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: SNL Mario x Princess Peach! Reader

Word count: 2.3

Summary: a friendly wager over the Star Cup leads to an unexpected victory.

Warnings: pegging, anal fingering, dirty talk, drinking, flirting, butt plugs, use and abuse of video game imagery, crack fic, probably cringe. No use of y/n, reader is princess peach, but her hair, skin and body type aren’t described.

A word from the author: This is a repost! Here is my bonus contribution to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign! I love this fic. This may be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I was giggling like an idiot the whole time I worked on it, and I’ve been dying to finally share it. Yes, it is crack, but I think it’s also kinda hot?

“You lost, Mario,” You said, running a gloved finger over the shiny button of his overalls “you know what that means. I’ll come find you later.” You winked at him over your shoulder and went to celebrate your win.

He had barely gotten out of his kart, angry at himself for losing, angry that he couldn’t react as quickly as he used to, couldn’t dodge banana peels fast enough to keep you from speeding by, a blur of pink in his peripheral.

You took your victory lap, waving gleefully from your kart, and accepted your trophy under a flurry of confetti. No mere cup could bring you as much pride as collecting your winnings from Mario, though.

Mario had accepted defeat graciously, you had won fair and square. You’re an honest woman, a good woman. Even though his cock ached at the sight of you sauntering toward him in the garage, he wanted to go back on his word, travel back in time to take back the bet, to wager something, anything else. Mario knew it was useless. He had already let his secret slip, let you know his secret desire, and now you were going to collect, going to give him everything he wanted and there was no going back. Game over.

•••••

Mario was handsome, much better looking up close where you could see the true depth of his brooding eyes, see the gray threading through his mustache, the way dirt and grease seeped into his denim and smell the engine grease, sweat, and mint that cling to him. You’d wanted him for ages, danced around each other, teasing, hinting, exchanging glances, never quite finding the right time to hook up. He was so quiet and earnest, you were exuberant and bold. Fire and water, to be certain. What do Fire and Water make if not steam, though and last night the pot was about to boil over when you’d met up with a few other drivers before the Special Cup race. Friendly wagers weren’t uncommon and everyone was in high spirits after a tough series of other races. Competition was fierce and only the best of the best were left.

Glasses were filled and drained and filled again, and you were feeling buzzy and alive when you spotted the sometimes plumber on the outside of the small crowd. His eyes were shiny and his cheeks and chest were flushed pink from so many toasts to his opponents. He raised his glass when your eyes met, drawing you to him. “Luigi just bet an entire week’s pay on the first race.” He teased. Luigi was swaying on his feet, smiling and holding Yoshi for balance. “What did you wager, Mario?” You asked, knowing as well as he did that Luigi wasn’t ever going to beat Mario. “Told him I’d give him the business if he won.” Your jaw dropped in faux surprise, and you smacked him lightly on the arm. His arm. Maybe you’d drank a bit too much too, but it was so solid you couldn’t help but let your hand linger, squeezing it gently to feel the solid muscle. You didn’t know how long you’d stood there, gazing at his bicep, studying its strength, imagining it hooked under your knee, or lifting you against a wall, until you heard him speak. “What about you, Princess? You want to make it interesting too?” He was smirking down at you, lust glinting in his eyes.

“Yeah. Let’s make it interesting Mario. What do you want to bet?” You smirked back, tilting your head playfully, your little crown slipping to the side just slightly before you right it.

Mario adjusted his stance, squaring his shoulders and letting you drink in the great size of him, his height, the broadness of his shoulders, the taper of his waist evident even under his overalls, the softness of his belly, grown from a fondness for meatballs and pasta. His strength was tenfold, strong enough, you thought to punch through bricks if he wanted. “If I win, I’m gonna take you out, and you’re gonna let me show you a real good time.”

His words gave you a chill that run up from the base of your spine and made your scalp tingle, leaving you a little breathless. “Yeah? And if I win, then what?” He grinned, placed a wide hand on your ruffled waist “I guess you’ll have to show me a good time.”

You could have left it at that, a flirtation without teeth, but you needed more. “What’s a good time to a guy like you, Mario?” You desperately wanted to know now.

“C’mere, I’ll show ya.” He tugged you down a dark hallway, into the shadows, where the music and the laughter and the voices were dampened by wood paneled walls. Your hand felt small in his and for a moment his thick fingers grazed over your gloved ones, admiring the delicate fabric, how smooth and soft it was, how clean and bright it was, never a smudge of oil, not a single red drip from your glass. They were pure and pretty, just like he liked to think of you, his Princess Peach.

There in the dark he locked you into a kiss, scratched by his mustache and soothed by his tongue, you could only let go and let him take you.Hiking your skirt higher, he nipped at your neck. He kissed wetly along your jaw, and breathed into your ear just as you felt the solid heft of his hard cock come to rest over your clothed cunt. Even under his overalls you could estimate his size. “Is that a pipe in your pocket?” You tease, rolling your hips against him.

Mario hummed. “I’m a plumber, Princess. Lay a lot of pipe. Good at it too.” He continued to kiss you, grunting in frustration at the voluminous skirt keeping him from getting his hands on your ass. “Fabric.” He mutters. “Impractical.” You lean back, smiling at his eagerness and the hunger in his eyes. You gathered the fabric of his very practical overalls at either side of his hips, pulling the material taut over his straining cock. He rocked his hips forward, begging for release. You wondered what he was wearing under there. It would be so easy to find out, just unclip his straps and they'd probably fall to his ankles. Your mouth watered, but senses prevailed and you remembered your wager. “And when I win, Mario? Are you going to let me bring out my pipe?”

You didn’t really expect it would happen. Sure, Bowser loved bouncing on your cock, let you take him all over the castle, begged for it. “Fuck me, Princess, please!” He bellowed. Mario though? For lack of a better term, you never pegged him as one to let a woman dick him down. You fully expected to suck his cock or let him fuck you hard and fast, maybe take your panties as a bonus prize. Here he is though, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. “That what you want, Peach? You think you can give it to me right?” His voice grew deeper and you knew the surprise was written over your face. “Know I can. I think once you get it you’ll throw every race just to get it again, too.”

That had your opponent groaning and bucking against you, hard and leaking.

You licked your lips, quickly flicked your gaze from his eyes to his lips and back again, and leaned close to let your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Save it for the race, Mario. Better get a good night’s rest.” And with that you slipped back out into the raucous crowd, little crown bobbing along with each step across the room and out he door, gone before he could respond.

•••••

In the dark, warm garage, you found Mario wiping down his kart with a rag, his movements slow and practiced, methodical, buffing until the red paint gleamed, reflecting the moment he saw you standing behind him. He tossed the rag into a bin and smiled, lopsided and a little shy. He shifted his weight and wiped his hands on his pants. “Here to make good on the wager or you want to go double or nothing?”

“I want my prize now, Mario. Unless you’re going to renege.” Your voice was soft and sweet, and as you spoke you closed in, helping yourself to a generous feel of his chest, his biceps, and down his strong forearms before you pulled them around your waist and stood on the tiptoes to reach up for a kiss from his hot and willing lips.

His kiss was searing and deep, you’d like to stay locked with him like this forever, but there was business to attend to first. Deftly, you unsnapped the hooks holding up his dusty overalls, letting them sag low on his hips.

Mario’s head spun. He had given the race his all, determined to bury himself in you to the hilt and fuck you mercilessly until you screamed his name and soaked his cock. He was certain of his victory, but something in the back of his mind gave him pause. A little what if…

And so when you spun the defeated man around, guiding him to lean against the hood of the kart and reaching between his endearingly small ass, you found he was ready for you. Throughout the race, Mario had worn his favorite butt plug, the one that fit with just the right stretch and was adorned with a happy little golden star atop the flared base.

Your heart pounded. He had prepared for you. He knew you were his most formidable opponent and he knew he could very well lose. Your heart sang in your chest. Holding back a delighted giggle, you tugged gently at the plug, making him moan and sigh. You steadied him with a hand on his hips and carefully worked the plug free, tossing it into the bin with the rag, more clean up for later.

From your purse, you fetched a small bottle, laying it on the hood right where Mario could see it, then stepped out of your full, ruffled skirt, revealing that you, too, were prepared. You’d driven to glory with the red and white polka dotted cock resting heavy on your thighs, hidden by your skirt, but urging you to your win, reminding you what awaited. You took the bottle and drizzled the cool green lubricant into your hand. Mario watched, eyes fixed on your strap on. Only closing them when he felt you press one, then two fingers into his tight ass. Gently you stroked him, letting him adjust to you, letting him push back onto your hand with a soft whine.

With every move, his overalls clinked against the side of the vehicle, soon drowned out by his wanton moans and curses. “Fuck, Peach. Fuck, ohh..”

“How’s that feel, baby? That good? Do you need more?”

Mario nodded, swallowing thickly, breathing heavily.

“More. Please.”

You shoved his red shirt up his back and kissed along his spine, easing in a third finger. As he relaxed into your movements you found a rhythm, fucking him with your fingers, praising him, kissing him anywhere you could reach, and taking his big, callused hand when he reached for yours.

When you felt him begin to clench, you pulled away. “No, Mario. You’re not coming yet. Don’t you dare.” You didn't win this race to just finger his asshole. You coated the mushroom head of your silicone cock and nudged it against his warp zone. “You gotta come on my cock. You want that, baby? Want me to fuck you now? Really properly fuck you?”

Again he nodded, and you smacked his ass. “Need to hear you say it, Mario. Do you want my cock?”

“Yes. Yes. Want you to fuck me, Princess. Please. Fuck!”

Desperation looked good on him, but so did euphoria, so you guided your thick, dotted cock into him and watched in awe as the ring of muscle stretched to take you, pulling you in, it seemed. Aided by the generous drizzle of thick, green lube, you rocked into him until your hips were flush with his ass. You stayed there, letting him adjust, head dropped forward, letting the pleasure wash over him.

He felt so full. His cock dripped precome down the gleaming side panel, and he began to move his hips, winding them a little back and then a little forward, slow and steady, “Move for me, Peach. Fuck me. I can take it.”

You increased your pace, fucking his ass a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper, but keeping control. “Doing so good for me, Mario.” You praised. “Look so sexy taking this cock. My pussy is so wet. Do you know what you do to me? Letting me fuck you like this? Taking my pipe?” Your words and praise swirled in his mind and suddenly your hand was around his cock, stroking him, twisting with each pass up his shaft as you buried your cock deep and gave only shipper, pulsing thrusts. “Need you to come for me. Come and I’ll let you eat my pussy.”

His orgasm was instantaneous, thick ropes of spend dripped down the side of his kart, desecrating the shiny finish, but he didn’t care. He slumped forward as you slipped out of him, sated and happy, aching in the best way.

You came back, kissing him again, passing him a clean cloth to clean himself up, thanking him for an invigorating race and an unforgettable night.

Hopping up onto the hood, you laid back, wearing your gloves and crown and nothing else, “You finished first this round, Mario. Now it’s my turn.”

He spread your knees with strong hands, “Let’s a-go!”