The boys realised a figure in white was standing over them, witnessing the whole sordid scene. Never had the pits at Silverstone been used for such frenzied sexual activity. The smell of petrol and burnt rubber merged with the unmistakable odour of passion and sweat. The three men froze for a second, as May activated the power windows of the Mitsuoka Orochi they had parked there, the road test abandoned in favour of lovemaking. There was silence, until an unmistakable trademark helmet nodded almost imperceptibly for an instant, indicating his approval.
“Stig...” Hammond began to say, until a dampened gloved finger was pressed against his lips. As the men returned to their congress, the sound of a zip was heard. He revealed a taut, haired chest with pronounced muscles.
“The helmet,” Jeremy almost growled, turning to the test driver, his words partly obscured by the mouth full of man flesh.
“I want to see under the helmet.”
The man in white paused for a second, then released the strap beneath his chin. There was an audible gasp as The Stig revealed his true form.
“No, it’s impossible” May exclaimed.
“But you’re all…. You’re all cock,” Jeremy finally managed to say.
The Stig nodded his enormous phallus head. He was indeed one massive shaft of glorious throbbing masculinity.
“No wonder he never spoke,”Hammond remarked. “Who wants first go?”
