From my spot in the finish line, I couldn't see much other than the crowd with their phones. I was a regular in these Friday night races, but it was the first time I was declaring the winner of a pink slip race. We called them that because the winner got to fuck the loser's girlfriend, and the two ladies up for grabs had to wear pink panties.

The crowd cheered as Andre's girlfriend, Stephanie, walked in front of the cars. I had seen her do it countless times. She would reach under her skirt, pull down her panties and throw them up in the air. When they landed, the race began. Simple but high-stakes.

I didn't know much about cars like my boyfriend did. I just knew the get-off was important and the speed towards the end. What made me nervous wasn't the race itself, but the fact that most of the couples were swingers or had some type of open relationship except for us.

My boyfriend had been pressured into the race. Sure, he often flirted with the idea of sharing me, but it was the trash talking that usually made guys go beyond their limits. I was okay with him fucking Stephanie if he won the race. I just didn't know how he would handle Andre enjoying my body if the result went the other way.

My sweaty palms gripped the race flag. I held it close to my chest as I heard them revving their engines. I closed my eyes and tried my best to accept the result beforehand. The sound of the tires moving full speed ahead interrupted my thoughts and put me up for grabs. My knees shook with the indecisiveness of wanting to jump or kneel. Neither of my hands wanted to hold the flag, yet I remained still to call a fair race.

In a split-second, the cars left the crowd behind. Both sets of headlights appeared the same distance away. The engines matched the roar of the crowd, battling for every inch on their way to me. I waved the flag in the air, letting them know they were in the final stretch. The little angel on my shoulder desperately rooted for my boyfriend, but its counterpart wanted Andre to win because Stephanie was always bragging about his big cock.

In the midst of it all, I could barely tell if my heart was thumping in my chest or between my legs. I was flooded with emotions, and they were seemingly drooling out into my panties. Regardless of who won, my body was prepared to crown the winner.

I held on to the last second to call the race. I pulled the flag down to the right, confirming Andre's victory by about half a car's length. Both cars zoomed by me, lifting my skirt, and commencing another set of nerves. I hurried down to where they ultimately stopped. They exited their cars quickly and shook hands before I could get close enough to hear their exchange. "Good race. That was so close," I said, trying to keep my feelings out of it.

"Since it's your first time, you don't gotta follow the pink slip rules," Andre told my boyfriend. "We don't want any bad blood around here."

My boyfriend looked over at me and shook his head. "Nah, it's cool, it's part of the fun," he said, shaking Andre's hand again. "Next time I'ma be the first to fuck Steph though."

Andre wagged his finger and gave my boyfriend a slight push. "I'm undefeated for a reason, bro," he said, smiling and turning around to check out my body like a trophy.

I returned a smile then looked at my boyfriend for reassurance. With a nod of his head, I reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down. I let them fall to my ankles and stepped out of them. "A bet's a bet," I said, handing Andre my pink lace thong.

Andre got in the backseat of his car to wait for me while my boyfriend gave me his breakdown of the race. He was definitely more concerned with those details than sharing me, so that put me at ease knowing that our relationship could flourish through his future wins and losses.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the forehead. "It's okay, just don't have too much fun," he said with a bittersweet smile.

"I love you, babe," I said, returning a kiss on his lips. "I'll catch up in a bit."

I joined Andre in the backseat, where he was sniffing my panties and stroking his cock. His muscular arm was decorated with a tattoo sleeve, appearing to work rhythmically to the sound of the music blaring. He was the bad boy type, the kind all the girls wanted to fuck at least once, and now it was my turn.

He placed my panties aside and let his cock stand proudly in anticipation of my pussy. "Be honest, were you rooting for me?" he asked, making his cock twitch for me to look at.

I bit my lower lip and admired his veiny length for a moment. "I don't know. D-do other girls root against their boyfriends?" I asked behind nervous smile.

"Yeah, most of them do," he said, reaching for my hand to place it around his thickness.

My heart thumped harder than during the race. "I guess I'm not as different as I thought," I answered, feeling his throbbing hardness pulse against my palm.

I pulled up my skirt and mounted him, pressing his cock down with my labia. His hands went straight to my ass. He fondled and squeezed it, making eye contact with me. I had nowhere to hide my reddening face, so the second best option was to kiss him.

His touch eased me into his arms. Before I knew it, my pussy was burning-hot, melting my juices onto his cock like candle wax. Either he'd been really craving my body for a while or he was darn good at making ladies feel special.

He lifted my petite body effortlessly. Just enough to aim his cock at my pink entrance and lower it down to claim his ultimate prize. Unlike the race, he took his time with every inch, making me feel the euphoria of his victory. His length reached the target in the depths of my pussy, and this time I announced him as the winner with a moan.

He grabbed either side of my waist and helped me up his shaft until his head nearly slipped out then back down to crash my cheeks on his thighs. I felt like a sex toy in his grasp, one that he could stretch and fuck to his liking. His length punished my pussy, repeatedly stuffing it and tracing all the spots that triggered my juices. He reached behind my back to spread my ass cheeks, parting them and letting them fall back into place.

His hand stung my ass in approval of my gripping pussy. "Your boyfriend has all this but he really wants to fuck Steph," he said, exploring my newfound swingers psyche.

I remained quiet but my sultriness betrayed me. I had no argument left for being a good girlfriend. "Steph wasn't lying about your cock," I said, overcome by the thrill of cucking my boyfriend.

Between songs, the speakers gave way to the sounds of our lips smacking and my wetness squelching against him. If my boyfriend had the hots for Steph, I found nothing wrong in enjoying my time with Andre to the fullest.

"This is why all the guys wanna race me. They don't care if they lose," he said, slamming my guts harder on his cock. "Because their girl still wins."

I wrapped my arms around him, using him to hold myself slightly forward to allow his cock better access. He was right, I'd be happy if my boyfriend won or lost. Accepting my new role as a slut girlfriend, how my boyfriend called it, cleared the path for my first cuckolding orgasm.

He grabbed a handful of my hair and used it to guide my body up and down. My reddened pussy kept working his shaft, feeling every texture and dimension of it. I was rendered a wet, inaudible mess by the undefeated race champion, who gave the losing girlfriend a big cock as a consolation prize. All I could do was moan and whimper.

Like a good cock-hungry slut, I licked the side of his face and nibbled on his ear. "Mmmngg, you're gonna make me cum," I said, pressing my hips down and grinding them back and forth to rub my clit against him.

His cock twitched a couple of times, followed by a few smacks on my ass that encouraged me to maintain my speed and take us both over the finish line. One thing I'd learned about him was that he hated losing more than he loved winning. Sex was the same, he refused to orgasm first. My body succumbed to the thought of my boyfriend and I becoming part of the pink slip couples. My conflicting dualities blended into one, welcoming the euphoric rush that announced my flesh as a prize for future winners.

A perk of being the champ was getting to fuck condom-free, and he relished the opportunity to pump me full of cum. "Fuck, baby, your pussy is damn good," he said, releasing the first forceful spurt.

He pulled my skirt down to hold me in place while his cock continued to feed my pussy with subsequent shots of cum that splashed and coated my walls. My pussy was a gooey mess, spasming and squeezing every last drop of his load.

I weakly kept myself up. My body was spent and relieved that his cock was softening. We took a moment to descend back to normality, but were barely able to contain our satisfied smiles that promised more from our newfound sexual compatibility.

In the back of my mind, I knew my boyfriend was relaxed, probably eating a snack and drinking a beer with our other friends. It made me feel less guilty about loving another guy's cock and cum in me. Nobody was judgmental, so it was normal to wait for the cuckold session to finish and welcome the participants back as if nothing happened. That's the swingers mindset that we loved. It allowed us to push our limits in more ways than one.

Fresh off my first cucking, my body already wanted to relive the experience, but I also wanted my boyfriend to get his victories. Now that the other guys knew my boyfriend was okay with sharing me, they would challenge him to pink slip races. That meant lots of fun and interesting dynamics for us as a couple that would make our hearts race.