In the Long Run
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 94: Alex
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 94: Alex - Mark and Lydia hit a lot of bumps during the cold war and fate eventually brings them to the other side of the globe, but even there the challenges don't end. This is the founding story of my planned "It's always the Germans" universe, which will be created when this story reaches the year 1998.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sports Incest Mother Son Light Bond Orgy Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Fisting Massage Oral Sex Pegging Petting Nudism
Mark
We didn’t repeat the mistake of yesterday and Nadja took the medication right from the start. Since I had done the same design on Ira already, I could work off the photos Meri had made of her the evening before, although that wasn’t to say it made my job much easier. Even when covered with paint, Ira’s body could heal erectile dysfunction. It was nigh-on impossible to look at these photo’s without getting painfully hard, much to the amusement of Nadja and Regina.
I gritted my teeth though and worked through both designs, which were afterwards photographed by Regina. Nadja went to wash off the paint, while Regina helped me with the erection. If the noises coming from the basement were anything to go by, Lydia and Ian had decided on a different type of naked workout today as well.
It took us all a while to get cleaned up, and judging by the smell, Ira and Nadja had emptied an entire spray can of deodorant among themselves to mask the scent of the organic paint thinner. All but Ira, Femke and Nadja decided to stay behind. No doubt Ian would have a rather entertaining afternoon with Lydia, Regina, Doreen and Meri. But before we went, there was an idea to discuss. Ira and Nadja took that as an excuse not to get dressed too hastily.
“Ira, I’ve spoken to Jonjo yesterday,” I began. “He told me all racing school courses are sold out for next year.”
“Pisdez!” Nadja swore. “I had really hoped we could do the autumn races together next year.”
“Well, we could hope someone withdraws,” I explained. “But there is a second option, an expensive one, but there is one. We could pay ourselves for an additional course, but we would have to bring at least five participants.”
“We are five: You, Meri, Lydia, Femke and I,” Regina pointed out.
“What am I supposed to do with a racing license?” Meri asked.
“They didn’t say you have to pass or even take the final exam,” I pointed out. “It would just be a favor to Ira.”
“And don’t forget, they are not only teaching you to go fast, but also driving safety – driving on a wet road, swerving sudden obstacles and things like that,” Nadja added. “We are all driving Feli and Jenny around, and Matt too from next year. Being a safer driver can hardly hurt, can it?”
“You have a point,” Femke agreed. “And besides, if Meri really doesn’t want to do it, I’m sure Jonjo would gladly take her place. He has wanted to do that for some time already, because he thinks he’ll become a better engineer if he knows what it is like to be the driver, and how to interpret their feedback.”
“Will a sixth person cost extra?” Meri asked. “If so, please give my spot to Jonjo instead.”
“Won’t make a difference,” I said and shook my head. “The number of participants is capped at fifteen, but it makes no difference in price how many people, as long as it are at least five.”
“Okay, then I’m in,” Meri said. “Nadja is right. Some driver safety training will be good for all of us. I’m still not entirely comfortable on the Autobahn and I’ve been in Germany for seven years now.”
With that decision done, we got ready to go out to the track.
To avoid arriving at the race track with gray hair, I took the wheel of the Granada this time and Nadja didn’t offer any protest.
Femke
Well, apparently I was becoming a race car driver now. To be fair, I liked driving my car a lot, but I had no ambition to thrash it round a race track. My internal bet was that an eventual future all-female racing team would consist of Jenny, Ira, Nadja and Lydia. The first three were a given, and I knew her good enough to know that even after her final retirement from her career, Lydia would wilt like a flower in the Sahara desert without any form of competition in her life, and racing cars was an ideal way to do that.
“You are seriously thinking about it, aren’t you?” I asked Lydia, who sat next to me on the rear seats.
“I have no idea if I will even be any good at it,” she argued. “But if nothing else, I will at least become a better driver. I’ve not driven much the last few years.”
“If anyone can do it, you do,” Nadja argued, looking back at us from the front passenger seat. “Just do what you’ve always done – find your rhythm and stubbornly stick to it.”
“Let’s do that training first, shall we?” Lydia said.
“I think I know where Femke is coming from,” Mark chipped in from the drivers seat. “I cannot imagine that you will just sit at home after retiring in 2002. As much as you like coaching, it won’t be able to replace a life of competing. To be honest, that’s why I even made the suggestion of financing a private course.”
“I agree,” I sided with Mark. “You will make a lousy coach if you are otherwise frustrated with your life, because you miss the competition. You are concerned people might ridicule you for making your debut at forty-two, aren’t you?”
“Well, they would have a point,” Lydia conceded that we had seen through her attempts to feign disinterest.
“They wouldn’t,” Mark contradicted her, not taking his eyes off the road. “There are people in the VLN races that are pushing seventy. And people debuting at forty is not uncommon, especially people in privateer teams.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve been found out,” Lydia relented with a chuckle. “But the main caveat remains. I have no idea if I’m really any good at it. And I’m not even going to try if I have to be afraid of making a fool of myself.”
Mark
Perhaps, once my services as a physio were not needed at all anymore, I could try my hand at being a psychic. Femke and I had immediately noticed that Lydia’s interest had been piqued as soon as I had pitched the idea of trying to get a racing license. Now that she had admitted it, it was my job to facilitate it. Her doubts about her own ability were patently unfounded. She had learned to ski at age thirty-eight and had won a world cup race not too long ago, so there was nothing to suggest that she wouldn’t become a competent racing driver.
Now all I had to do was to set my grand master plan in motion and for that I needed a co-conspirator – Jonjo.
We found him in the pit garage while Jenny was already orbiting the track, on the infield this time. The frequent accelerations and braking maneuvers enhanced the ferocity of the engine’s scream and it reverberated from the grandstands around the track. The fans at the Nürburgring would be treated to an eargasm when that thing arrived there next year.
Upon my indication Jonjo followed me through the tunnel and once inside the team office we could take off the ear protectors. Since the Lausitzring itself was closed, except for a few clerks of the administrative staff, there was of course no way to get something to eat. The team had ordered a small buffet from a caterer in town for each of the three test days.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, Jonjo a water, and we sat down at one of the three tables in the improvised team canteen.
“What’s so import to take me all the way here, man?” he asked me.
“You looked dehydrated,” I joked. “No, seriously, I have an idea and I need to hear your opinion, preferably without the girls overhearing us.”
Jonjo looked at me expectantly.
“Our girls are all doing their racing license next year, and if you still want to get one yourself, you’re welcome.”
“You really going to pay for an entire license course, man? That’s half a million. Why not wait? Usually one or two get sick or withdraw because they ran out of money,” Jonjo said with surprise.
“It’s the only way to make a hundred percent sure that Ira can have her license in time for the autumn races to get her permit. Nadja is really impatient to get her all-female team going.”
“And they’re all going to be in it, man?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Femke, Meri and Regina do it mostly to help Nadja and Ira, but I bet Jenny will be working hard on Regina to become the first mother-daughter pair in a race.”
Jonjo chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds exactly like her, man. So what is that grand idea of yours?”
“Last year we organized a farewell race for Meri, a cycling race around town,” I explained. “Lydia, Femke and Nadja retire after the Winter Olympics in 2002. I want to organize a farewell race for them, right here on the Lausitzring and I want it to be a 24h race.”
“Are you nuts, man? Have you any idea what that costs? I know you guys are loaded, but that would be a bit too much, even for you. And you would have to provide start and prize money too, else nobody will be comin’, man.”
“I’m not talking about paying for it out of pocket,” I said and rolled my eyes a bit. “I’ve been working for John’s management company for years. I’ve resigned, but I still have a lot of connections with potential sponsors. Heck, if we play it right, this could become a yearly event. If we hold it in August we avoid clashes with the other 24 hour races in LeMans, at the Nürburgring and Spa Francorchamps.”
“Since when have you become such an expert on motorsport, man? You used to be unable to tell the front end of a car from its ass,” Jonjo asked with a genuine undercurrent of surprise in his voice.
“Since I’ve become the stepfather of a girl who talks about hardly anything but racing, obviously,” I replied dryly and Jonjo chuckled again.
“So what do you need me for, man?” he demanded to know.
“I need you to build me three cars,” I told him and Jonjo looked at me as if I had gone insane.
“It’s a good thing I’m so bored in my day job, man,” he said with a healthy dose of sarcasm in his voice.
“Not all of them at once,” I tried to placate him. “Well, not all three anyway.”
“Let me hear it then, man.”
“I’ve ordered a Melkus RS1600 with a Lada four-pot in Dresden as a birthday present for Nadja, because her Paseo goes into retirement next year.”
“A Lada engine? Are you sure you haven’t smoked something illegal, man?”
“Nadja is an Icelandic citizen now,” I explained. “She doesn’t say so out loud, but she misses a connection to her old homeland. I think a Lada engine would be a nice touch, and besides, Melkus have thirty years of experience tuning Lada engines. They are practically unbreakable. Basically, what I would need from you would be giving the suspension a once-over. The original one is good, but not good enough for her driving style.”
“That should be doable,” Jonjo said. “But I have to clear it with the team. They’re the ones who pay my salary. I can’t just go off and do some freelance work, man.”
“Let me deal with that,” I said. “Until recently I was, technically speaking, Jenny’s manager. And don’t worry, you will get paid properly.”
“And the other two cars?” he asked.
“Well, Nadja’s Paseo isn’t really going into retirement as such.” I explained with a grin. “I’d like to make a race car conversion of it – nothing fancy, just something fit for homologation for the VT2 class at the Nürburgring. The Merc is too big and powerful for Ira to run for the B-permit.”
“Does Nadja know about that?” Jonjo asked me with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s why I want that Melkus first,” I said with a chuckle. “The question is, is it possible?”
“If you want to run that thing more than once, you will need a second or even third car as a chassis donor in case there’s a shunt.”
“Good to know,” I said with an impish grin. “That means I’ll have to get my hands on a second Granada too.”
Jonjo looked first at me, then out of the window, seeing our large Granada station wagon in the parking lot.
You want to run that huge rig as a race car?” he asked me with a good deal of disbelief. “I’m an engineer, not a magician, man. There’s no way to make a competitive race car out of this. It’s as aerodynamic as a brick, man”
“It isn’t meant to be a winner,” I explained. “Look, the 24h race has always had this one crowd-pleaser, the underdog, the weird car everyone likes. Last year it was Nadja’s Trabi, this year the Melkus. We sort of want to establish a tradition for running unconventional cars.”
“I’m not against the idea, man. I like building them weird buggers, but you have to speak with Peter about it. I would need the wind tunnel and the production facilities back in Breitscheidt. They ain’t gonna let me use them without being paid for it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said and gave Jonjo a pat on the back as we stood to go. “I’ve already got some sponsors lined up to foot the bills.”
Peter
With this lot one always had to expect a surprise, but what Mark had just proposed came as a surprise of the positive variety.
“As long as the financial side is solid, I’m all for it,” I told him. “In fact your idea comes at the right time. I was worried that Jonjo might feel under-challenged soon. There’s only so much an engineer can do with a spec chassis in Formula-BMW.”
“He’s not going to design Jenny’s kart for next year?” Mark asked me, obviously surprised by that bit of news. I shook my head.
“I’m fairly confident Jonjo would make a decent job of it, but Jenny only has a single shot, because she graduates to Formula-BMW in 2002. We decided to play it safe. We’ll be running Zanardi karts with CRG engines, both with factory support.”
“I’ll be damned,” Mark said with a grin. “Does Jenny know?”
“Not yet,” I admitted. “Have I missed something?”
“You’ve never asked Jenny who her favorite driver is, have you?”
“Ah,” I said as realization dawned on me.
“I think you’ve dodged a bullet there,” Mark replied and chuckled. “She would have come down on you like a ton of bricks for taking Jonjo’s design from her. A Zanardi kart is pretty much the only way to prevent fireworks.”
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