Chloe's Getting Dirty Again

This is the final part of a series which continues the timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," and Chloe's other five cycling series'. You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for some background, you should read (at least) "Riding With Dirty Girls" before this series.

This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?

All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.

***

Chloe's Getting Dirty Again Pt. 11

'Chloe, wake up, it's five to eight.'

It was Licia, gently shaking me awake. 'Gotta get back to my hotel for breakfast. What time's yours?

'Oh... Erm... Eight-thirty,' I said, blinking my bleary eyes.

She was already dressed, and she kissed my cheek and said 'Don't go back to sleep... See you later,' then slipped out.

I sat up with a groan and gathered my jumbled thoughts together. I remembered La Movida, Maddy, Mavi, Carmen, and the wonderful sex with Licia, which had so comprehensively put my lights out.

I wondered about Maddy, and thought of sending her a message, but I thought she might not even have returned to her hotel yet, and other things were more pressing anyway. I'd do it later. I rolled out of bed and tottered into the bathroom for a shower.

At 8:25, I was in the dining room, already attacking the coffee machine and the toaster. Sharon was next to arrive and she chuckled, 'Hungry, Chloe?'

It had become a bit of a joke in the team that I was always first on the scene when food was on offer, and this particular day was certainly no exception. I was ravenous.

I was already tucking into a slice of toast when the main foods started coming out from the kitchen, but that didn't stop me from edaciously perusing all the choices on the buffet table.

'Quick, Sandi, get some food before Chloe eats it all' said Helen.

Spanish breakfasts are not quite as scrumptious as Italian ones, but I still enjoyed some tosta with oil and tomato, and a piece of tortilla, and finished off with some churros (like thin, slightly curly donut sticks) with hot chocolate.

Finally, my appetite was appeased, and I returned to the room for a lie down. Very quickly, I almost fell asleep -- there was some serious recovery and refuelling going on -- but then I remembered Maddy, and I picked up my phone to message her.

I already had a missed call from her, and a message; 'Lots to tell. Come to the hotel.'

'I messaged Licia; Off to meet Maddy. Pick you up on the way.' There was an immediate thumbs up, so I set off walking. It was another beautiful Costa Blanca morning, with a dazzling sun, and I walked down a street with a number of cafes, all still serving breakfast, with smells of coffee, tostas, churros... A pleasant place to be.

I collected Licia, and we continued towards Maddy's hotel, El Cuco. On the way there, she took my hand and squeezed it. When I looked at her, her face said 'I love you' without her having to utter a word. We stopped and shared a tender little kiss, then continued. Oh man, I love being in love.

We arrived at the Hotel El Cuco, and made our way into the lounge, and there she was, looking radiant, with her mass of hair quelled by a pretty white buff, her hazel eyes sparkling, with a beatific smile on her face. She jumped up when she saw us, and gave us both the tightest of squeezes.

'You look like the cat that got the cream,' I said.

Her eyes widened. 'Oh ah did, Chloe, ah really did.' Those two are pure dead brilliant. Thank you so much for fixing me up with them, it was... Just dreamy.' The beatific smile came over her face again.

We sat. 'D'you want a drink?' she asked, but we both shook our heads.

I could have murdered a cup of tea but, sadly, Spain doesn't understand tea, or tea drinking. They have something they call "infusions" which are things like lemon tea, or chamomile tea, but you can't get a cup of English-style tea with milk for love nor money.

So, we sat and chatted. Or rather, she talked and we mostly listened. Some of her talk was pretty steamy. Enough to make a girl moist (well, this girl anyway) and it brought back memories of my tryst with Mavi and Carmen, but then she became more philosophical.

'The last few weeks have been... An epiphany really. A genie-out-of-bottle experience. Who knew I was so lez? I certainly didn't. It's a total revelation.'

Her joy and excitement were palpable. It almost made me wish I had "turned," so I could experience the epiphany, but I guess my love for Licia had been a kind of revelation for me. How different sex can feel when it's more than just carnal lust.

'I'm so happy now,' Maddy went on, 'I don't think I really knew what happy felt like until now.'

Just wait until you find a girlfriend and fall in love, I thought. It's a whole new level. I looked at Licia and smiled to myself.

Eventually, we dragged ourselves away from the subject of Maddy's sexual enlightenment, and talked about our travel arrangements. Licia was flying home to Ireland, and her flight was at 2pm, while Maddy and I were on the same flight to Scotland, at 3:45. It was quite a big gap, but we decided to travel to the airport together anyway.

With kisses and hugs, we arranged to meet at the bus stop, and Licia and I set off back to our hotels. When I got back, I went up to the room, hoping to see Helen, but there was no sign of her, so I just set about packing my stuff.

The maid hadn't been in yet, and the quilt was on the floor, so I pulled it back onto the bed, remembering that sumptuous cocooned 69 of the previous night. I sniffed the air. The room did have a faint smell of stale sex, so I cracked the window open a little.

Most of my kit had gone back to Belgium in the Lyonmobile, so I only had a fairly light rolly suitcase, and my little rucksack, and I was soon packed and ready to go.

I took the lift down to the lobby and dropped the key at reception, then went into the lounge to see who was still about. There was still no sign of Helen, so I just said bye bye to Sharon and departed to the bus stop.

We only just made the airport in time for Licia to check in, and when the display for her flight said "Go to gate" it felt weird. We hadn't really thought about this when we made the arrangements. Licia was returning home to Ireland for a few days, then we'd meet up in Belgium again on the Friday, to stay with Molly, ready for the World Championships.

But now, in Alicante airport, she had to go for her flight, leaving Maddy and me together, and that felt... odd, somehow. We hugged and kissed, and I held onto her for just a little longer than usual before finally letting her go.

'See you on Friday," I said, as if to reassure myself.

'Ciao babe... Ciao Maddy,' she waved. Then she turned and walked away.

I went and sat down with Maddy again. 'It's sweet to see you and Licia together.' She said, 'I'm dreaming of having the kind of relationship you two have, one day.'

I smiled and thought about who that might be with, and I realised with a shock that most of the free girls had now paired off. Funny how that happens.

There was Lucy, but she'd made it plain a few times that she was happy being completely free and easy, and not looking for anything serious. Who else? There was nobody on the 'cross circuit really.

If she could get onto the road world tour, there'd be Aimée, perhaps. Pam? Gigi? Or someone we haven't met yet? It was an interesting thing to ponder on.

Anyway, our flight time rolled around, and we flew to Edinburgh. On the plane, Maddy talked about the remaining British National Trophy races. There were two rounds left and she was still in with a chance of being on the final podium. 'I think you have a really good chance,' I said, your level has gone up. Close to Zandi and Nikki. I don't think Wendy or Dierdre will get near you now. Good luck, I'll watch out for the results.'

We emerged from the terminal building into a typically dreich Scottish day, shared a squeeze, then went in search of our cars.

I had less than four days at home before I had to fly to Belgium for the World's, but it was pleasant chill time. There wasn't really time to do much meaningful training, but my form in Benidorm suggested I was ready. I just needed to maintain that.

I did a ride up to Tibbie Shiels Inn on the Wednesday morning, and included a bit of Molly-style fartlek on the ascent. Just four measured efforts, to keep the Lyon awake. It was tempting to go into the inn for lunch at the top, cos I know they do great food, but I didn't. I just stopped, briefly, put on my warm, windproof layers, then swooped down the descent, hands on the drops, and wearing a maniacal grin. I love descending.

I got in, showered, and made some lunch, and it was while I was preparing some vegetables for a stir-fry that I suddenly felt super-horny. It often gets me like this after a ride but usually, I'm in the shower. This time, the horn monster waited a little while longer before ambushing me.

I had julienned some carrots, and picked up a courgette for slicing. I looked at the smooth green squash, and suddenly remembered a time when I'd fucked myself with one, putting a ribbed condom on it for an enhanced texture. This one was slightly bigger, and I still had some of those condoms in my bedroom drawer. I set it aside. The stir-fry would have to do without.

I was hungry, so I didn't interrupt my lunch prep but, as I was eating, I looked at the courgette lying on the cutting board and had a lovely little zing of anticipation.

On of my favourite places to masturbate is on my chaise longue in my conservatory. When the sun's out, it's beautifully warm in there, and I just love the way it feels, the rays caressing my naked skin. And the sun was out. It had made an appearance as I was returning from my ride, and now it was shining brightly, flooding the conservatory with brilliant, blissful light and warmth. I still turned the heating up though...

I went upstairs to get a condom, then returned to the kitchen. The courgette was going to get pretty slippery by the time I was done, so I cut a couple of grooves into the stem end as an aid to gripping it, then I opened the condom and rolled it up the length of the fruit.

It was a nice size. Not too ridiculously huge, but big enough to provide a nice feeling of stretch, and the ribbed surface of the sheath would provide some extra stimulation. A naked courgette is a bit too smooth.

I walked through into the conservatory, lay a towel on the chaise, stripped naked then settled back, legs akimbo, warm sunbeams bathing my skin, ready to enjoy myself. I'm so glad my conservatory is not overlooked.

I had the courgette in one hand, and a tube of lube in the other. I was easily wet enough to take the thing with no extra lubrication, or soon would be, but I like the way the lube feels. I've found one with the perfect combination of watery, oily, and syrupy, and the feeling it gives is so, so sensual. Almost as good as real girl goo.

I dribbled some lube onto the courgette, and spread it all over the shaft with my hand, then I eased my legs a little further apart, spread my petals with two fingers, and pressed the bulbous tip against my entrance.

There was a little resistance initially, but then I relaxed my pelvic floor, my hole stretched open and it slipped smoothly inside, bringing a little involuntary gasp from me. Ooh, It felt GOOD.

I paused, just enjoying the feel of it inside me, then I started to thrust it in and out, slowly at first, savouring the sensation of the ribs rippling rubbery through my fleshy opening.

I could accommodate the whole length of it easily, and I drove it deep, keeping hold of the stem end with the aid of the grooves I'd cut as my surging arousal gradually covered everything in hot, slippery girl goo.

I found the perfect speed, where the sensation of the rippling ribs was maximised and I just settled into a rhythm, pumping the hard fruit in and out, in and out, in and out, until my orgasm rose from deep in my loins. I let it grow slowly to a delicious ache, savouring the primitive, carnal feeling, as a burning, salacious lust seized me, then drove on, relentlessly, until my orgasmic dam burst in a fizzing, foaming flood of endorphins, making my toes curl, and bringing goose bumps out on my arms. My whole body was sizzling with sexual synergists, and my nipples were spectacular little spires -- apexes of peak arousal.

The climax subsided deliciously slowly, and I hung onto the ecstatic fizz as it faded, then I lay in the aftermath, wallowing in the sensation of sunshine on my flesh, and the glow of sexual gratification, with the courgette still inside me, marinating in my orgasm juice.

But I wanted more. Another taste of that otherworldly delight. My fingers wandered to my pussy and I teased my lips apart, collected some juice from my overflowing honeypot and began rubbing my clit, swirling it round and round and bathing it in my lubricious juice, rekindling the flame of my arousal, coaxing it back to life, and cajoling it up to a new peak. A different peak, a more fuzzy peak. My legs levitated of their own accord as the peak took control of my body, and my internal muscles squeezed the courgette out with a plop... Oo, I do enjoy a good wank.

I lay, gloriously naked in the afternoon sunshine, and just enjoyed the sensuality of it for a while. Then, I roused myself and began clearing up. I wiped myself with the towel -- God, there was a Iot of juicy mess, I'm such a wet girl -- and got dressed.

I picked up the courgette, peeled the condom off it, then took it to the kitchen for a rinse, then it went back into the veg basket. Well, waste not, want not, I'd use it later in a delicious courgette gratin.

My home time was over all too quickly and I began to get my racing head together. The World Championships were looming; my first defence of the rainbow stripes, which was by no means a forgone conclusion. Lucy and Carmen were both in form, and Annamiek would be keen to both gain redemption after her DSQ in Benidorm, and to go one better than the European title she already held. It was not going to be a walk in the park, that was for sure.

***

Return to the Low Countries

The World's were being held in The Netherlands, at a place called Heijdevelden, with the women's races on the Saturday, and the men's on Sunday, and the plan was for Licia and I to meet at Brussels airport on Friday afternoon, where Molly would collect us. We'd spend the night at Molly's then drive to the venue on Saturday morning.

Heijdevelden was only just over the Dutch border, so it was a fairly easy 120km drive from Molly's house. Mari would, of course, travel with Tif, and they would have an even easier trip from the windmill at Evergem.

So, on Friday, I drove up to the airport and boarded my morning flight to Belgium, heading for my rendezvous with Licia. Her flight was a couple of hours later than mine, so I had a bit of time to kill, and I spent it learning about the World Championship course.

It was quite an old course, and had been used for the Worlds twice before in the past, so there was a lot of info online about it, and I immersed myself in studying it.

I know, most people would have been doing this much earlier, but I'm notorious for leaving it to the last minute to get my head properly into the zone before a race. Some think that's a bad thing, but I don't. It saves me a lot of angst, worrying about it for like a week before, and I think my focus is more intense as a result. It seems to work for me anyway.

The course was famous for three things, or maybe four; two short but extremely steep technical descents (and corresponding ascents), a long, meandering, uphill finish "straight," and an extraordinarily high staircase of more than 30 steps, quite near the finish of the lap, and known colloquially as "The Stairway to Heaven."

In its everyday life, this unassuming flight of concrete steps simply links two different housing developments on different levels on the edge of the town, but since its incorporation into the Heijdevelden cyclocross course, it has taken on an almost mythical status.

Flights of stairs in cyclocross races, whether temporarily made or part of the existing environment, rarely contain more than a dozen steps -- and usually less than that -- but this one is more than double the usual size.

I could imagine it would get quite excruciating by the 6th lap, but it would be the same for everyone, and running up steps was one of my strengths, after all. In a weird way, I was almost looking forward to it.

I'd been observing the wet weather in the Benelux countries over the previous week, and had asked Molly to get Joss to fit brand new knobbly tyres to all three of my race bikes. Grip was going to be at a premium on those steep downslopes, and I would also make sure I had mud spikes fitted to my shoes for the climbs, because these really were going to be climbs.

Changing tyres on cyclocross bikes is not a simple operation because the tyres are tubulars ("tubs") which are actually glued onto the rims. This allows running at very low pressures, where a normal "clincher" tyre would just roll off the rim.

Installing them is quite a painstaking process, but Molly assures me that Joss loves doing it, so I was happy to request new tyres on all three bikes. It was the World Championships after all.

I fondly imagined Joss, in his cosy little workshop, carefully glueing the tyres to the rims and humming to himself. I was glad he and his wife, Sanne, were coming to watch the race.

I pulled my head out of the Heijdevelden cx course, and checked the electronic arrivals board. Licia's flight was "On time," and then "Landed," so I got up and walked through to the arrivals hall, keeping my eyes peeled for Molly.

It wasn't long before I saw them coming in. Molly and Fanny, looking gorge, as always. I waved them over and we went through our usual little ritual of hugs and cheek kisses. A little ritual that always lifts my heart rate, just a little.

We watched people emerging from baggage claim, all with their own little greetings. Some warm, some cool... and then there she was, dragging her case, rucksack slung over one shoulder, wearing cargo pants, a black and blue Trek team fleece, and her yellow Schwalbe cap, with that inimitable grin on her face. Not really what you'd call stylish. Not glam, not very femme. Some might even say tomboyish, but I had eyes for no other. She's my belle.

Another round of warm hugs and kisses (ritual part 2) then we headed for the Lyonmobile, and a very wet drive to Molly's house at Waregem. The rain was relentless, but Molly was adamant that the next day would be sunny and I didn't doubt her because she's so rarely wrong.

As always when we arrive at Molly's, there was the aroma of something scrumptious cooking, and this time it was something slightly different to her staple stoofpot -- a stoofvlees, made with beef, and much more substantial.

When I sat down at the table, my mouth was watering like I was about to eat pussy - something I love, as you know by now - but at that moment I was more than happy to settle for the stoofvlees.

She served it up with stoemp - mashed potato with mixed vegetables - and it was beyond delicious. I asked her how she made the sauce so thick and gorgeous.

'Well, you have to cook it in the oven for three hours. I place a thick slice of bread -- spread with mustard -- on the top, and it breaks down into the sauce during the cooking. When it comes out of the oven, one quick stir, and -- voila -- there it is.'

'It's bloody delish, Mol. Thank you.'