Prose That Blows

The One Mile Circle

She could already feel the difference. Before, the car had been a separate
entity, something she drove, under her command. Now they were together, one
thing. She was three-quarters machine and one-quarter woman.  Before she was
sleek, with a runner’s body and suggestive curves. Now she was downright
aerodynamic, with a three-liter engine giving her the kick she needed to
really move.
Kate had second thoughts about the spell. Mixing magic and technology was
risky. It wasn’t technically against the rules of the race – but that might
have been because the refs didn’t think anyone would be so bold, or so
foolish. The rounds of disappointing practice, too many laps missing target
times, had left her no choice. She needed this.
The pistol fired. Kate’s tires were already spinning at the perfect rate
as she released her brake, her soft rubber soles gripping the track and
launching her off the line. Her breath steamed out her exhaust pipes, feeding
her hungry engine as she rocketed ahead.
Thanks to the sorcery, she didn’t have to think about pushing pedals. She
was the car. She zoomed up through the positions. The third-place car tried to
move over, a clumsy attempt to block her. She effortlessly meshed her gears in
a ratio her old ignition software would have never allowed, and screamed into
#3. She knew her tolerances better than any instruction manual; she could feel
the turning of her cams and the wonderful boom-boom-boom of internal
combustion through her whole body.
The front two cars would be harder to beat. The lead car had a famous
driver. In her past life, he had been her rival, perhaps her better. Now he
was the inconsequential insides to a poorly-controlled competitor.
As she neared the second car, she felt hungry. Her stomach ached
with emptiness, her feet sore. The pit entrance beckoned; she pulled aside.
Kate rolled to a stop by her crew. The enchantment faded into the background
with her deceleration, leaving her only human. The hunger subsided; her
stomach had an energy bar in it.
Kate’s team approached in their usual efficient way. Her fingers drummed
on the wheel as they filled up tires and ran a fuel hose. “You were really
scooting! Everything okay?” Evan, the pit mechanic, asked her while vacuuming
an intake. “Just high stakes,” Kate replied. As she responded she realized
she felt a bit bloated, the light satiation of her belly replaced by a heavy
liquid feeling. Her chest felt puffy and taut in a distinctly feminine way.
There was no time to think about nerves or monthly calendars. Evan waved
her through. As she rolled out of the pit, she was again a beautiful creature
of metal and fire, her explosive heartbeat chewing the wind. Overtaking the
cars that hadn’t stopped was easy, and Kate was again in third.
Jockeying for position with the second-place car was harder. The other
driver was very skilled, and even working until her forehead was hot with oily
sweat, Kate was unable to push her way past. She again felt tired and hungry,
and pulled back into the pit.
The moment she stopped, she was again human. The emptiness in her
gas tank was replaced by fullness in her stomach. She felt completely stuffed.
“You need a tire change,” Evan’s voice said from beside her, “you still okay?”
Kate paused a moment before responding, “Yeah, go.”
The techs pulled the tires off quickly while the fuel line did its
business. Kate felt awful. She looked at her belly, the source of most of her
discomfort, and was surprised to find it visibly straining at her suit.  She
was distended in the abdomen, and the sensation become more pronounced by the
moment. Her eyes widened as she watched her breasts deploy like airbags,
instantly expanding from their previous modest size to two voluptuous heaves
on her upper body. Her suit zipper shot downward, exposing pale, taut skin
which rose up toward Kate’s chin.
Kate looked up from the distressing sight and saw the pit team placing
new, fresh tires on the car. Freshly inflated tires. Inflated. “Oh, shit,” she
swore under her breath. It was decision time; she could get out of the car,
could break the spell. But that would mean losing.
She’d already delayed too long. She was precious seconds late pulling out.
There was no real choice to make: Kate knew she was a winner. Winners didn’t
quit. She felt inside herself for her ambition, her true drive, and it told
her to push the pedal to the floor.
She did, and was again a steel dragon blurring past the stands.
Within moments she was back behind the second-place car. Rounding a curve,
there was a gap. It was too small for comfort, but Kate knew she could fit.
She went for it, edging between the second-place car and the sidewall.  She
needed this win. She would do anything.
As Kate passed the car, she felt a strange bump. Her front wheels slipped.
Distantly she felt a sensation in her human body’s breasts; her arm jostled
them on its way to turn her wheel. Her front end skidded in slow motion.
Frantically she tried to correct, but her human arms just kept banging into
the overblown tits. The car tumbled end over end in a jumble of pain and
screeching metal.
Next thing Kate knew, she was being dragged from the wreckage of her roll
cage. She felt a distant warmth and realized her engine compartment was on
fire. She moved her bleary head as medics carried her and saw, beyond her own
enlarged breasts and pregnant-looking belly, ten million of the owners’
dollars in a smoking wreck. There was a ‘whoomph’ as the wreckage exploded
outwards in a ball of firey expanding gas. Kate was dimly aware of pressure
and the sound of tearing fabric, as her pink flesh rose…
The next day’s headline read “ENSORCELLED DRIVER SURVIVES CRASH. CONDITION
REMAINS SERIOUS”. The photos amused many.

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