Girl on the Net

For libel reasons, I’m gonna front-load the intro here by pointing out that this week’s guest blogger, Sheebaby, did not have sex with actual Lewis Hamilton. But sometimes you bond with someone over a hobby or shared interest – in this case Formula One – and in Sheebaby’s case that bond led to some seriously hot online sex…

Content note: this post contains brief use of the term ‘daddy’ as an honorific. 

Hot online sex, thanks to Lewis Hamilton

There’s a fine line between writing a raunchy fanfic starring a celebrity and bonding over mutual appreciation for a celebrity. In my case, I have to acknowledge the role Sir Lewis Hamilton played in my life in granting me intense orgasms each time I talked about him. I thank Lewis for leading me to meet strangers on the internet who helped uncover my kinks as an exhibitionist and to play sub in bed with a fellow fan from many continents away.

Scripted by porn gods

It was all innocent until Zidane, the fellow Lewis superfan and wanker, came down with Covid and I began checking in on him regularly. I’d e-met him and a bunch of other folks from different countries as a part of an online private group on F1 Twitter. Previously, we had connected one on one with each other when I was down with a nasty case of Covid myself and since then, it had become natural for us to slide into each other’s DMs and talk— everything from Lewis and his competitors to the experience of having your ass eaten. There were vibes but neither addressed it until the day of the British Grand Prix 2021.

Since this is not a blog post about Formula One, I’ll keep this brief. There was a massive collision between Lewis and his competitor Max, and this ended up changing the course of the race dramatically as Lewis took the lead. Fans from either ends were frothing— Lewis was being racially attacked online for his strategies against Max. Zidane and I found ourselves agreeing wholeheartedly over personal chat that despite the collision Lewis was in the lead fair and square.

Since things were tense during the race, everyone in the group chat was making proclamations. I made mine— if Lewis won that race, I’d take nudes and send them to everyone. Over personal chat, Zidane asked if I was serious since I’d never taken any before, let alone sharing and I told him we’d see, since Lewis had to really fight to maintain that lead and avoid penalties along the way.

Zidane was focused on race and defending Lewis online against trolls, but I was unbelievable thirsty for him that evening. A part of me really wanted him to ask for my tits, beg for my body and have his way with my cunt however he wanted, and somehow, seeing as how we were still civil and the distance was between us in the middle of a godforsaken pandemic, I knew it would be next to impossible if neither of us took this to the next level—online sex.

Lewis won the race and folks on the group started enquiring on the status of my nudes. Not knowing how to proceed, I took some and decided to ping Zidane. Would he be interested in reviewing them? If anything, I knew a straight guy who’d had one too many conversations about his sexual preferences with me wouldn’t pass looking at my natural double Ds. He consented and the images were shared privately. While his reaction was more than warm, I decided against sending those out. My response, “I could trust you with these cause you like my guy Lewis just as much.” I knew half my job was done, in trying to tell him how badly I wanted his hands squishing my breasts and how they craved his touch. Maybe I was imagining the vibes or maybe it was all there, I did the task cut out for me and I made the first move. The ball was in his court.

True to how I’d imagined, it took little time for us from that conversation to our eventual roleplay that evening,

“It’s late, should we hit the bed?”
“Don’t mind me, I’m a little hard seeing those photos of you.”
“I’ve waited a long time for you to say that.”

I’ve sexted before – with total strangers and with casual partners – but with Zidane this was different. We were high on adrenaline, seeing our driver win the race and talking about the slander against Lewis we mutually disagreed with. Sports, as I’ve come to realize, are a great leveller of sharing emotions and exchanging energy, including thirst.

There’s no grace when it comes to fucking hard, and that’s how we did it the first time. He told me he wanted to tie my arms by the bed and have my legs free so we could tease my pussy with the tip of this cock as he manhandled my tits, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth. He’d leave little bites, a marker of owning my body. He wanted me just for himself and wanted to punish me for trying to entice the attention of others on that group.

I shared my fantasies, including how I wanted to be dominated by him, seeing as he’d defended Lewis from all the racist attacks online. I wanted to be on all fours, him pulling my hair and thrusting his cock as hard as he could while asking me who’d be his cumslut, and I’d take the load on my face. He held me hostage and wouldn’t let me cum until I begged him, my daddy, to let me cum and relieve me of the build-up.

There was something of a primal urge between us that night, no other way to explain. We sexted for a few hours and had hot online sex three times, eventually exhausted ourselves with lust-riddled fantasies for each other and hit the sack. Over the next few weeks, the urge to bang each other’s head out was nuts. This became our routine; he learnt that I liked my ass eaten and being spanked mercilessly. I was aware of his fondness for fellatio during the race, and all conversations started and ended with how badly we wanted each other, and exactly what we’d do to each other. The details are well over the prescribed word limit but the thirst and intensity of them was enough to send a rocket engine into space.

To add to the spice during sexting and roleplaying, I started sending him gifs of me biting my tit, my face while I fingered myself, my fat ass all in its resplendent glory, just to aid him to get hard and get talking. One of my longest lasting orgasms can be attributed to a slow-mo video of Zidane’s cum spill with him jerking his fully erect cock slowly. I have seen a lot of porn and but that sight lives in my head rent free, and I access that memory regularly while fingering myself, whether or not he’s around. I imagine his cock bursting with cum on my face and the cum all over my lips as I wipe my face clean by licking it all in.

To further fuel our lust for each other, we even started exchanging porn clips. We’d tell each other what we’d do to each other, in the middle of sexting, to change the pace and catch the other person off guard. So far so good: we’ve managed to learn that sharing clips option on porn sites is not totally futile and that we can make good use of it if we know how to. It’s funny how something so inane could become a part of what we do on the regular.

I’ve been with a fair number of men in my life to know this animal magnetism is not standard. It is the most disturbing thing in my life that here’s this man I’ve never met, who has complete control over my body in a way that no one else ever has. As a feminist, it confuses me how I return to calling him daddy and love being dominated in the hot online sex we play out night after night. That I make myself the subject: a dominated cumslut who’s here for him.

It may have to do with the fact that unlike most men I’ve been with irl, he seems to provide a safety net that has to do with us sharing hobbies and loving the same celebrity while fighting trolls, or it may just be that the pandemic broke both our brains and we are just twisted deviants. Earlier I would question this a lot, but if a system has been working for a few months, you let it work until it dies down on its own.

However, it’s nearly the end of the racing calendar in 2021, and we are far from stopping. It helps that neither of us are truly seeking any relationships or dating others seriously in our respective personal lives, there’s a sense of forbidden lust and nurturing a dirty secret with how we look at each other. Always helps when you’re trying to be rational. Not.

Months later, I told Zidane about my original feelings: how I’d wanted him so badly, just for myself, and those nudes were a way to lure him in to giving this a shot. How if Lewis hadn’t won that night, we wouldn’t be where we are, and how watching Lewis dominate everyone else in the grid made me imagine Zidane doing the same to me. We came hard that night and he confessed later how badly he’d wanted me all to himself. It turns out that everything, including the personal conversations we’d been having for nearly a year, were all for me to see if I thought he was good enough for a shot – all because I was a Lewis Hamilton fan. I knew by then that though he might dominate me however I wanted him to, it was I who truly owned his ass. As Zidane once told me: “call me cream, cause I’m so whipped for you, baby girl.”

Sir Lewis has no idea that this is on his list of achievements, now, does he?