Top Fuel Thunder Ch. 02

Rachel started with small kisses on her back and then went downward until she planted longer ones on each cheek of her ass. Sherrie let out little gasps as Rachel found each little hitherto unexplored erogenous zone. Rachel hadn't introduced Sherrie to assplay, and was eager to see Sherrie's reaction to her favorite kink. She used her hands to spread apart the cheeks of her ass, exposing her anus. The young brunette eyed the inviting crinkly brown hole, then used the flat of her tongue to lick it, leaving a trail of saliva behind. Sherrie's pucker contracted, as did the cheeks of her ass, as she let out a gasp. Rachel's thighs quivered and she moaned as well at eliciting such a reaction.

"Ooooh ... you naughty little minx," Sherrie said into the bedsheets. "I don't think your momma's going to want to know what you're doing now."

"What momma don't know won't hurt her." Rachel pulled the soft, fleshy cheeks further apart, exposing a small gape. She curled her tongue and pushed inside, wiggling the tip to feel the smooth, muscular wall of the inside of her ass. Sherrie's body went rigid at the incursion, beads of sweat now forming on her brow. Encouraged by Sherrie's ragged breathing, she then started tongue fucking her ass, going deeper with each push.

"Oh Godddd ..." moaned the taller blonde, letting her fingers wander lower to stroke her inflamed pussy. Her waves of ecstasy synchronized with the motion of Rachel's tongue, making her body ripple with pleasure, arching her back and raising her hips off the bed. She reached back, gripping Rachel's hair and pushing her head tight against her ass. Her younger lover kept licking even though she was hard pressed to breathe. Rachel continued to lave Sherrie's back channel, her own pussy now crying out for relief. Sherrie finally relaxed her grip and Rachel's head popped up, with both women gasping for breath.

Sherrie hadn't had enough of the assplay. "Please," she implored of Rachel, not wanting it to end. The tall blonde used her hands to pull her ass cheeks apart, making her desire unmistakable. Rachel put one hand over Sherrie's and speared her nether hole with her tongue, going in deep, while the other found her own neatly trimmed bush, now dewy with desire. Rachel was afraid that just touching her clit would trigger her own orgasm, so she split her fingers and let them slide up and down her wetness, rubbing against the hood that guarded the center of pleasure. Sherrie let out a low throated growl as one of Rachel's fingers slid easily to the second knuckle into her back passage.

"OOOoooOOO ..." moaned Sherrie as she frigged her cunt with the palm of her hand while her girlfriend made sweet love to her ass. Her orgasms rolled in like waves crashing on the beach until it was one continuous heart stopping sensation. When she could take no more, she laid flat on her tummy, completely relaxed and thoroughly fucked out. Rachel now took her pleasure, her lips still between the folds of Sherrie's ass cheeks, as she finally touched her clit and triggered her own explosive orgasm.

* * *

Race day was hot, hot and hotter Rachel and Naomi watched the heat rise off the asphalt pavement in the VIP parking lot as Rachel guided rental car into a spot reserved for members of Sherrie's pit crew. Sherrie was scheduled for her run for the championship later in the day, when hopefully the track would cool from its present 120 degrees. Sherrie couldn't remember a hotter day in the Seattle area, as the blistering heat set a record for that day.

A pit crew member came out to greet them in the parking lot, sweat beaded on his forehead. "All access pit passes and VIP box access for both of you." He handed them lanyards with the badges already attached. "Follow me ladies."

The women were led through the crowded pit area and into an area reserved for pre-race prep for drivers. A pit crew member was guarding the door to Sherrie's dressing room. He recognized Rachel and opened the door for them. They found themselves in a stark white room, freshly painted, and blissfully air conditioned. Sherrie was sitting on a bench with her iPad in hand, studying her ride's settings. She saw Rachel enter the room and put her iPad down.

"Rachel ... Naomi." She stood up and hugged each of them, her racing suit half on. She sat back down and resumed her pre-race preparations. She finished fastening her fire suit and following her long practiced ritual, touching the sewn on emblems of her sponsors and silently thanking them one by one. When she first started racing, the ritual look less than five seconds. That day it took almost a minute, with the patches of thirty-five sponsors now adorning her suit. She tried her gloves on again for fit and checked and rechecked the electronics in her helmet. All seemed to be in order.

Everyone cleared the room except for the three friends. No words were spoken as Sherrie sat on her bench, deep in thought. Rachel couldn't imagine going through that kind of pressure - pressure to perform at the highest level where death was a distinct possibility, and the rewards were fame and fortune. Sherrie though, was never in it for the fame and fortune. She loved raw speed and the pure adrenaline rush, and accepted the accoutrements of her success.

Sherrie suddenly rose from her seated position and shook her head as if to clear it. "Time to go," she announced.

Rachel and Naomi left the room. As Rachel left she turned back and took one last look, though Sherrie was fussing again with her gloves. The door was shut behind her by a pit crew member. It was now time for them to find their seats for the race.

The two young women moved along with the crowd towards the grandstands, and the elevator bank to the sky boxes. They flashed their VIP passes to the elevator attendant and were whisked to a reception area at the top of the grandstand area. Their passes were again checked, and a uniformed usher escorted them to the owner's box, where Sherrie's invited guests were seated. There were three rows of seats behind floor to ceiling glass for them to sit. A waiter came up to them to take their drink orders.

"This is fucking amazing," gushed Naomi. "I feel like a rock star."

Rachel didn't answer. She was too busy watching the final preparations for Sherrie's run with her binoculars. The crew had just finished with the "burn out" to warm up the tires for the race. Smoke billowed above the car and wafted across the grandstands.

The dragsters inched forward to the starting line, with the drivers laser focused on the "Christmas tree" starting lights. Sherrie's number 37 occupied the left lane, shaking as it idled, like a wild animal restrained by a leash. Rachel's heart was beating in her throat as the countdown began to green. The green light flashed and both rails roared with a belch of flame as they shot out off the starting line down the track. Sherrie's number 37 went straight and true, gaining a three car length lead on her opponent, a blur to the naked eye. Just as her car crossed the finish line first and her chute deployed, the car veered sharply to the left and straight into an embankment of tires. Rachel and Naomi watched in horror as a fireball of flame mushroomed high into the night sky. Moments later, the track rescue squad doused the car in flame retardant and dragged a limp body from what remained of a million dollar piece of machinery. There was feverish activity as Sherrie was taken to a helicopter and whisked away to the closest trauma center.

The two young women rushed to pit area to see if anyone could give them information on Sherrie's destination. Overhead, the television monitors replayed the crash in slow motion, showing the car taking a sudden left turn, hitting a wall of tires, the front end collapsing, the crushed frame cartwheeling and then bursting into flames. Sherrie's unconscious body was seen slumped over in the driver's seat, flames licking all around her, as the rescue crew worked bravely to extricate her.

Naomi spotted the crew chief organizing the breakdown of their equipment as he was talking on his headset. Ray saw Naomi out of the corner of his eye and held up one finger while he was talking.

"Sorry," he said, his face somber. "Just got off the phone with the Medi-Vac team. Looks like Sherrie was airlifted to Harborview Medical Center. She's alive, but it looks like both of her legs were hurt pretty badly. That's all I know."

Naomi hugged Rachel, who burst into tears at hearing the news.

Ray wanted to console them. "Honey, Sherrie's as tough as they come. She'll pull through. You'll see."

Rachel raised up her head from Naomi's shoulder, brushing the tears away from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I ... I ... need to see her," she said, half talking, half sobbing.

"Fuck. I knew something wasn't quite right with the steering assembly," muttered Ray under his breath as he walked back into the pit garage.

Naomi fought through the post-race traffic, each minute seeming like an hour, as they encountered gridlock exiting the track. The inside of the car was quiet, neither woman wanting say the unthinkable, though both wondered how a person could survive such a horrific crash. The local radio reported on the accident but didn't have any details on Sherrie's condition. They arrived at Harborview Memorial more than two hours later, and were greeted by a throng of television vans parked next to the emergency room entrance. They pushed their way through the crowded waiting area and found a harried ER nurse.

"Excuse me ... excuse me," shouted Rachel over the din, "Can you tell me where Sherrie Lansing is located?"

The nurse stopped in her tracks. "I think she went to surgery center. That's the fourth floor."

"Thanks," Naomi replied, Rachel already searching for the elevator bank.

Rachel found the bank of elevators just down the hall and waved to Naomi. They packed into the elevator cab, the ride up four floors eerily silent. Most of the people exited on the fourth floor into a veritable zoo, with camera crews and reporters filling most of the available space in the waiting area. A hospital employee wearing a suit approached them.

"I'm sorry. We're only allowing press, family and close friends. We're asking everyone else to wait outside the hospital in the parking area. We've set up an area with refreshments."

"Please," pleaded Rachel. "We're close friends of Sherrie's."

A member of the pit crew saw Rachel and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Rachel's with Sherrie. She's OK."

The man nodded and stepped aside, allowing Rachel and Naomi into the waiting area. A tall man with short cropped light blond hair waved to them from the other side of the room. Rachel squinted, but couldn't recognize him. He waved again, so the two of them wove their way through the crowded waiting room.

"Rachel ... over here!"

The man was well over six feet tall, and towered over the two diminutive women. "Rachel ... I'm Owen, Rachel's older brother. Sherrie's texted me your picture."

Rachel remembered Sherrie's description of Owen. Tall, blond, ruggedly handsome, and a crack auto mechanic. It didn't escape Naomi that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"How's Sherrie?" Rachel looked at Owen expectantly, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

He shook his head. "We don't know. She was wheeled into surgery about two hours ago and no one has come out to tell us what's going on. Take a seat. It's going to be a while."

Naomi and Rachel found two unoccupied seats and sat in silence amid the anarchy of the waiting room.

"So you're the famous Rachel." Owen wished that he had met her under better circumstances, but was happy she was there to lend her support.

"Famous?"

"Well ... you might have figured out that Sherrie isn't into long-term relationships."

Rachel recalled that Sherrie had never discussed any former girlfriends.

"She's been with you for two weeks, and that's about as long a relationship as I can remember. Sherrie's been on the road continuously for the past five years, so that doesn't help for making friends. But you must have struck an instant and deeper connection with her." He took a sip from the cup of coffee he was holding. "So tell me about yourself."

Rachel unleashed her nervous energy and went into an extended discussion of her family history. Irish father, Japanese mother, born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, went to a community college and then worked in a tasting room in Napa for the past three years. She talked enthusiastically about her ride with Sherrie around the track in Sherrie's Ferrari and her budding interest in the sport. Owen talked about their family (another younger brother in addition to Sherrie, parents back in Buffalo) and his career building and restoring muscle cars for high end collectors. He told Rachel that he had flown out the night before the race to see if Sherrie would win consecutive championships and was also present in the box for the race. He was able to secure a seat on the helicopter to accompany his sister.

"I can see why Sherrie likes you," observed Owen. He wasn't easily impressed, so he was handing her a high compliment.

"Thank you." Rachel blushed. "I think I'm in love with her. It's like being with a tornado. Everything was already going two hundred miles an hour ... and then ..."

Owen tried to change the subject. "Sherrie's been ordering us around since she was five. Now she's my business partner, but sometimes she forgets the 'partner' part and tries to steam roller me. She's always been a handful ..." His voice trailed off as his eyes became glossy.

A surgeon came through the double doors separating the waiting room from the surgery area. He pulled down the surgical mask covering his mouth. A group of people, including Owen and Rachel, huddled around him. The television crews tried to maintain a respectable distance, though many microphones were pointed in their direction.

Noticing the inability to have a private conversation in the waiting area, the doctor motioned them into a small office and then shut the door behind them. "She's out of the woods. Here's the good news. She had a collapsed lung that we were able to re-inflate and at least three cracked ribs, but no other upper body damage. Also, some burns on her face that should heal. Thank God for the fire suit. It kept the burns manageable. Now here's the bad news. Both of her legs were crushed. We used metal rods and screws to piece them back together. I'm afraid I don't know whether she'll be able to walk again, let alone drive a car."

"Oh no," gasped Rachel. "When can we see her?"

"She'll be in recovery for a few hours. She's going to be on heavy pain killers so she won't be very chipper."

Minutes later the word spread quickly of Sherrie's situation. The monitors in the waiting room were tuned into the national news. That news outlet reported that Sherrie's career as a top fuel driver was over. The screen flashed to her horrific accident earlier that day and then to a shot of the outside of the hospital. Most of the news people were packing up their gear, although one reporter stayed behind. It was Mary Beth Hopkins, the lead sports writer for Seattle's largest newspaper. She approached Rachel.

"Rachel ... Rachel Carbonneau?" she asked, though already knowing the answer.

Rachel was still trying to process what she had just heard when the reporter's voice jarred her into the present. "Yes ... yes, that's me."

"I'm Mary Beth ..."

"I know who you are ..." She had seen the reporter at the pre-race press conference, and heard her ask a question of Sherrie about her relationship with Rachel. Sherrie gave her usual non-answer, but their relationship was clearly out in the open.

"I guess you would. Do you have any comment on Sherrie's injuries?"

Rachel considered whether she would talk with the reporter. She didn't think she would say anything harmful to Sherrie. "Only that I hope she makes a speedy recovery."

"And what about you? Are you planning on going back the Bay Area?"

Rachel hadn't thought about it. But hearing the question, the answer was clear to her. "I'm staying as long as Sherrie will have me."

The reporter thanked her and picked up her backpack and went to the elevator bank. The waiting room was empty, but for Rachel, Naomi and Owen.

Now bathed in quiet, they heard a chime and saw Ray Townsend step out of the elevator cab with a puzzled look on his face.

"Where is everybody?" he asked, as he observed a near empty room littered with newspapers and paper cups.

"You didn't hear?" asked Owen.

"Hear what? I drove over here as fast as I could and just got here."

"Sherrie had both of her legs crushed. They're not sure if she's ever going to walk again."

Ray's shoulders slumped. Rachel rushed forward to comfort him. "Poor ... Sherrie ..." Ray's voice was choked with emotion. "Can we see her?"

"Not yet." Rachel rubbed his back as he leaned against her. "They'll let us know."

Coffee was passed around but little more was said as the small group waited until sometime past 3 a.m. Most were draped over their chairs, trying to grab some sleep, but Rachel was awake. She couldn't sleep. An attending physician came into the waiting area wearing a tentative smile.

"Sherrie's groggy right now from the painkillers she's been given but it's fine if you want to see her. Thirty minutes. No more. Do you understand?" The doctor's look left no doubt as to his sincerity.

The group nodded.

"OK then. I'll tell the duty nurse that you have thirty minutes. Then she's going to clear everyone out of the room."

The doctor's white coat billowed as he turned around and walked briskly back into the surgery center. Owen faced the small group.

"OK, you heard the doc. Let's get up there and out of there in thirty minutes."

The group stood outside Room 426 West. The door was closed. The duty nurse approached, her rubber soled shoes squeaking on the tile floor.

"May I help you?" The nurse looked as tired as they were.

"We're here to see Sherrie Lansing," said Owen. "I'm her brother."

"Ms. Lansing has just gone through major surgery, so stay away from the monitoring equipment and the IV. The doctor told me that you have thirty minutes." She walked back to her station, shoes squeaking, without offering the chance to ask her a question.

The group tip-toed into the room. Sherrie was lying in a hospital bed, her head slightly elevated, with hoses and wires connected to her and monitoring equipment on both sides. Both of her legs were in casts from her ankles to her hips.

Owen tried to put on a brave face and approached her first. "Sherrie? ... Sherrie?"

She stirred and her eyelids fluttered. "Owen?" she said in a voice so weak he could barely hear her.

Owen stroked the back of her hand with his. "How are you feeling little sister?"

"Never better." She attempted to smile.

"That's good. Hey, Rachel is here."

"Rachel?"

Rachel edged forward to Sherrie's bedside. Owen stepped back. Rachel leaned forward and kissed Sherrie's cheek. Her face still bore some mild burns, though her fire resistant baklava did its job in protecting the majority of her face.

"How's my baby girl doing?" Sherrie whispered.

Rachel tried unsuccessfully to hold back her tears. "I'm fine ... I'm so worried about you."

"Don't ... worry ... I'm ... so ... tired." Her head slumped to the side and her eyes closed.

* * *

Naomi went back to San Francisco. Rachel rented an Airbnb for a week and told her boss she was taking leave. She arrived at the hospital around noon the day after the accident. The room was filled with flowers and balloons. But Sherrie was by herself, now fully conscious.

Rachel went to Sherrie, trying to kiss her on the cheek, but Sherrie turned her head to the side.