Chloe's Getting Dirty Again

This series 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 context, you should read (at least) "Riding With Dirty Girls" before this.

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. 08

I gradually emerged from a serene sleep and opened my eyes to see a faint dawn light creeping through the curtains.

Licia was lying beside me but she wasn't asleep. I could tell by her breathing, which was a little irregular and havering, and the gentle but rhythmic movement of her arm, which was almost touching mine, told its own story. She was masturbating.

I lay motionless for a little while, just confirming I was right, and just these little signs -- the halting breath and the gentle, cadent movement of her arm -- started my arousal stirring.

I couldn't see anything, but these subtle signs were enough. She had obviously woken up horny (something very familiar to me) and now she was lying next to me, wanking. I found that very stimulating somehow.

I savoured the feeling of my own libido waking for a few moments, then I turned my head to whisper in her ear. 'Are you enjoying that?'

She stopped abruptly, and gave a guttural little giggle, then resumed. 'Mmm... it's lovely.' She sighed with pleasure, then said, in her typically mischievous way, 'Want a taste?'

'Mm please.' That was something I was NEVER going to turn down.

She brought her hand up from under the covers, as mine slipped almost involuntarily into my knickers, and I sucked her oily juice from her fingers as she pumped them slowly in and out of my mouth just like she'd been doing to her pussy.

The taste and scent of hot pussy hit my dull, morning senses like smelling salts, jolting me wide-awake and kick-starting my own juice-machine. I groaned with a sudden prurient lust.

We lay side by side, salaciously finger-fucking ourselves, but I wanted more. 'Come up here and sit on my chest, I want to watch you.'

'Oo, OK...' She pushed the covers down and rolled on top of me, then moved up until she was sitting on my collarbones with her hairy pussy right in my face. I was instantly reminded of that picture message she sent me, but this time there was also the intoxicating musky smell of her arousal and my body jolted with the sheer, overwhelming lewdness of it.

Watching each other masturbate is a favourite little treat of ours, and it's so much more horny than just doing it on your own. We'd said many times how much more orgasmic it was, and how it made us even wetter, if that were possible. It certainly seemed to be, right now, in Licia's case.

She sat there, legs akimbo, and started giving me a simply sizzling pussy show. We've both practiced this a lot, told each other what we find most horny, and learned what makes the perfect display of lewd, lascivious wanking. She certainly knew what pushed ALL my buttons.

Her fingers were mesmerising, spreading her lips rolling her clit, stroking her pubes, and delving deep, deep into her hot honeypot, and I lay enraptured, fucking myself with three fingers, and watching her creamy juice oozing out of her, making a white streak down the crease between her thigh and her bum cheek, then dripping onto my chest.

'Oh, God, I love it when you drool on me, babe,' I groaned, 'I wanna taste it.'

She grabbed another pillow to bolster my head, but her ambrosia was still just out of reach of my tongue. She watched me trying but she held back, teasing me, with a wicked smile on her face, as she continued to slowly fuck herself with two fingers. She didn't keep me waiting for long though. She knelt up and shuffled forward over my face, then spread her knees wider, bringing her dripping lips close to my eager open mouth. So close that her fingers bumped my nose as she thrust them in and out.

She was drooling beautifully, and she knelt there, slowly fingering herself and sending viscous, stringy drops of her nectar straight into my throat. Oh fuck. So horny.

I lay there in seventh heaven, wanking like fury, mouth wide open, and she dripped uncontrollably as her orgasm approached. By the time she got there, it was an almost continuous, syrupy stream of viscous girl goo, and I was swallowing everything she had with relish, but then she let out a wail, and her goo suddenly changed to that delectably piquant, watery orgasm juice, so different in both taste and consistency.

My own orgasm erupted almost immediately, and my body went into a convulsive spasm; my abdominal muscles tensed and tried to fold me in two, and my knees came up and bumped her bum cheeks as I roared through the tunnel of lust, and her pussy just dribbled and drooled a continuous cocktail of sapid orgasmic flavours into my still-open mouth. God, I'm so pussy-hungry.

We gradually calmed, with many, many gasps of 'Oh God,' 'Fuck,' and 'Jeez,' then she rolled off me and lay at a crazy angle, still panting slightly.

When the power of normal speech returned, she said 'Why does God always get the credit?'

'What?'

'Whenever we fuck, and have shattering orgasms, we always give God the credit. It's always "Oh God," or "Oh my God," but it's nowt to do wi God, it's all down to you and me.'

I chuckled. 'True that. I promise to give you more credit in future.'

'Thanks, and I'll do the same... Shit, have you seen the time?' she said, looking at her watch, 'What time is Molly picking us up?'

I grabbed my phone. It was 9:15. 'Ten,' I said. 'Best get our skates on.'

We were in and out of the shower, packed, dressed, and heading downstairs by half past, and we grabbed a hasty breakfast before heading out to rendezvous with Molly and Fanny.

Mari wasn't there. She was travelling with Tif, back to her windmill house, which Licia had dubbed "Trib Towers," because of a story Mari had told us (it was her first time and she was wowed by it).

We slung our bags in the boot, and jumped in the back seat for the 2-hour drive back to Waregem.

'I just have to text Maddy,' I said.

'Oh, really?' said Licia with one eyebrow raised.

'Yeh, I told her we could train together this week, but I forgot we were staying in Belgium.'

'Hm,' said Licia. She didn't seem put out exactly, but I could tell she was musing a little as I composed a message.

'Hi Maddy. Won't be able to train this week. I'm in Belgium until after Christmas now. Sorry.'

Her reply was swift. 'Ah, OK. Don't worry, I'll do my own session. See you soon, and have a great time. Xx'

'You too. Merry Christmas!'

'Quite convenient, isn't it?' said Licia.

'Hm?'

'You two... both living in Scotland. You can train together and everything. I am a bit envious, I admit.'

I empathised, but it wasn't so different to her and Lisa and the gym.

'Don't you think I'd love it if you lived nearby babe?' I said. 'In fact, I'd love it if you lived WITH me.'

'Yeah, but we've talked about that, and there's no way I'm moving back to the UK.'

There was a silence, which Molly broke by saying 'In lots of ways, it's better not to live together.' She looked at Fanny and they both smiled. We let the subject pass.

We had arranged to stay with Molly right through the Christmas period, with its mad glut of races, all within easy reach of her house.

Cyclocross in Belgium really does go crazy over Christmas. In the 10 days between December 21st and 31st, there are no less than 8 races at World Tour level, 4 of them World Cup rounds, and the rest are either X2O Trofee, or Superprestige. The only days without a race are Christmas Day, and the 27th (for some reason).

I was planning to do Antwerpen on the 21st but had cherry-picked from the others. I wasn't chasing any of the overall series titles but, with the exception of the Koppenbergcross, I'd won every race I 'd done so far, and I quite liked the idea of keeping up that record.

I'd immediately rejected the Koksijde and Hofstade ("Plage-cross") races because they have too much sand. I don't mind a bit of sand, but those races are infamous and ridiculous. Antwerp has more than enough sand, thank you very much.

I'd also eschewed the Superprestige at Zolder because it basically meandered around the environs of a motor-racing circuit and didn't look particularly inspiring.

I decided my next race after Antwerp would be the World Cup at Gavere, on Boxing Day, and the only other I'd do would be the Superprestige at Diegem on the 30th.

The latter was a bit of a novelty, because it was held in the evening, in the dark, under floodlights, which would be a new experience for me.

I'd already discussed this programme with Molly, and she'd got very excited, saying. 'Brilliant, Chloe, you can stay with us for Christmas. I'll invite Mari and Tif. We can have a gay-girl cyclists party!'

'Oo, won't that be fun?' I said, grinning.

'Just a Christmas get together, Chloe,' she said, chidingly, 'I'm not talking about an orgy.'

I laughed. 'Aww, spoilsport.'

The invites were very short notice, but everyone was very much up for it, so there were going to be 6 of us at Molly's place on Christmas Day. Orgy or not, it would be fun.

I would have a nice break from racing between Antwerp and Gavere, but Licia's team wanted to chase World Cup points, so she would have to brave the hell-hole of sand that is Koksijde on the 22nd -- bizarrely, there were two rounds on the same weekend.

Of course, this meant I wouldn't be spending my traditional Christmas with Mum and Dad, but they were OK with that. They knew I wouldn't keep doing that forever and they probably liked the idea of having a quieter time, with just the two of them.

So, as we drove back to Waregem that Monday morning after the Citadelcross, we were looking forward to more than two weeks of Molly's marvellous hospitality. There would be wonderful conviviality, fantastic food, bike rides and, orgy or not, there would surely be sex. Sublime Molly sex.

Despite Christmas looming (or "crossmas" as Licia called it) with its multiple races, Molly kept me honest with my training, taking Licia and me out on the Wednesday for my scheduled threshold session.

We did a familiar route, out to the north of Waregem on quiet, pan-flat lanes that Molly and I had used for this session before, and it was interesting to have Licia with us, and to compare her (and Molly) with Maddy.

Licia's main strength is her explosiveness, and she can almost match me over a short sprint, whereas Molly comes into her own on longer efforts, and seems to get stronger the longer the session goes on. Even at 38, she's still formidable.

I sometimes think it's a shame Molly retired so early (she was only 33) because I think she'd still be competitive, even now. She could certainly match someone like Tif. I'd have loved to have raced against her when she was in her prime.

I adore spending time with Molly and Licia. They are my two favourite people in the world (although there are others who vie for my affection) and we were, as always, a great trio. Fanny was not with us for most of that first week because she had to work, so it was just the three of us.

We helped with trimming up the house, putting up the tree etc, and we went shopping to the local Lidl, filling two trolleys with mouth-watering goodies.

Licia was keen to test Molly's suggestion of making a stoofvlees with Guinness, and we went looking for it in the beer isle. Imagine our delight when we found there was a Belgian version called Guinness Special Export (8% ABV). Molly seemed surprised we didn't know about it.

'That will be great for an Irish stoofvlees,' said Licia, loading a case of 24 bottles into the trolley. She looked at me with that mischievous grin and said, 'That should be just about enough.'

That afternoon, Licia and I collaborated on making the stoofvlees, banning Molly from the kitchen while we improvised an Anglo-Irish-Belgian concoction, loosely based on Molly's recipe.

We also shared a couple of bottles while we were cooking, and it was very nice, but we knew we couldn't drink much, with serious racing on the horizon.

It made a good stoofvlees too - rich and kind of smoky -- and it met with Molly's approval, which was our main aim. 'Mmm, very nice. I think I'll make it for Fanny sometime. Tell me how you made it.' Licia and I looked at each other. Now that was a hard one. We'd made it up as we went along, but we did manage to remember the main things we changed from Molly's recipe, and she made a few notes. It's good to experiment. With cooking as well as sex.

We'd been at Molly's for three days and there hadn't been any sex, which was unusual. I think perhaps we were a little tired after the weekend, but three women like us were never going to resist it for long. When it came it was slightly unusual though.

We'd settled down on Thursday night to watch a film, which was in Dutch, but had English subtitles. It was a romantic comedy, with lesbian undertones, and it was quite funny. The main character was kind of kooky, and she was young and impressionable, and just starting to explore her sexuality, talking to older women and trying to figure out how she was wired inside.

One of the older characters mentioned "women who masturbate," as if they were a different subspecies. Surely, ALL women masturbate at least at some time in their lives.

This prompted me to relate the story of a girl I met during my early years in the British cyclocross scene, who confided in me that she hadn't masturbated or had a period for over a year. I'd been horrified, and said she must be overtraining massively. I told her she had to cut back until her libido and her periods returned, because that's not healthy.

I told Molly and Licia that I always used to say, If my curse went away (nice though that might be) or I stopped masturbating, I'd regard that as a sign that something was badly wrong.

This led on to us discussing our masturbatory habits, and the conversation took a decidedly sexual turn. We even had to pause the film.

We asked each other the big question (How often do you do it?') and we all gave similar answers: 'Most days when I don't have sex.'

I said four days was the longest I could ever remember going without, and that was when I was ill. 'I don't even stop when I'm on my period. In fact I often feel even more horny then. I do stick to a clit wank though... Luckily, I can come easily with a clit wank. Nipple and clit works well.'

They were nodding their agreement. Suddenly, I needed a clit wank.

'How many times do you usually come in one session on your own?' Licia asked.

'Depends how horny I'm feeling. Sometimes just one quickie does me, other times, I can spend hours and hours, like that all-day session when Storm Bertha was raging. Storm Chloe was raging too!' I grinned.

'Yeah, I do like a long one,' said Molly with a smirk, and we all chuckled. 'To be honest,' she said, 'I expected to be doing it less at my age, but that hasn't happened so far. In fact, I think I'm doing it more.'

'Do you and Fanny ever watch each other?' Licia asked. 'Chloe and me do that a lot. It's so fucking hot.'

We do, but it's mostly Fanny watching me. My libido is much higher, as you know, and she likes to watch. I quite like being watched.' She gave us a pouty look.

'I think we'd like to watch you Molly,' I said, knowing that was exactly what Licia was thinking.

'Oh, would you now?' said Molly, raising her eyebrows and nodding, knowingly. 'OK, but only if you return the favour.'

'Oh, that will be our pleasure.' Said Licia.

We were all sat on the sofa, but Molly got up and turned to face us, then started undoing the beautifully-fitted black jeans she was wearing. We just got a glimpse of her lacy knickers as she eased both them and the jeans down over her slinky hips.

She kicked off her slippers, but left her tops in place, then she sat down in the armchair with her legs draped lewdly over the arms in a brazen display.

'Come closer,' she breathed, and we dropped to our knees in front of her, both of us fizzing with anticipation as she placed her hands on her inner thighs then moved them up to her groins.

With deft, elegant fingers, she spread her labia apart in a stunning display. The combination of her pink flesh, black pubes and glossy red nails (Christmas nails, as she called them) was simply stunning, and we gazed at her in awe.

Well, I did anyway. Licia has a pussy that is almost as rude, almost as lush, but mine is nothing like that. The fact that mine has been called "cute" should tell you all you need to know.

You would never call Molly's pussy "cute." It's far too hairy, far too fleshy, and far too RUDE to attract such a twee epithet. Maybe it's because it's so different that I love it (and Licia's) so much.

We watched enraptured as Molly gave us a beautiful wank show. Beautiful? Yes, it was. Her pussy might not be "cute," but it is certainly beautiful to my eyes. Beautifully carnal. Gorgeously sexual.

As she played with herself, stroking her lips, drubbing her hard little button, and probing her entrance, her juice gradually appeared and overflowed, trickling down between her bum cheeks in a graphic expression of her arousal.

She gave a little shudder and her thigh muscles tensed momentarily, and she groaned, 'Oh it's so horny with you watching me.'

The focus was on Molly and her outrageously lewd show, but all three of us were masturbating now. I think my hands would have had to be tied to keep them from my aching pussy. It was hard enough to keep my tongue from Molly's succulent flesh.

The temptation was clearly too much for Licia though, and she murmured in a thick, croaky voice, a strangely deferential question; 'Please can I tongue-fuck you, Molly?'

It was a sign of her obeisance towards Molly, and it surprised me a little. She's never that obsequious with me.

Molly smiled and stretched her legs further apart luxuriously. 'Mmm, I couldn't resist such a request, could I Licia? Not with a tongue like yours.' She shuffled slightly further forward, and lifted her left leg up and back until her knee was almost beside her head, fully exposing her glistening pink lips in all their glory, then she spread them with her fingertips, opening herself wide.

She was right about Licia's tongue, too. It's incredibly long -- almost freakish -- and also fabulously agile and muscular. To have it writhing, whirling and curling in my pussy is sheer heaven. It makes me yelp with pleasure. There's simply nothing like it.

Watching her do it to someone else is pretty special too, though, and when that someone is Molly, OMFG. My fingers went faster, just with the delicious anticipation of it.

She stuck it out, and waggled it, just showing it off then, keeping eye-contact with me, she slowly sank it deep into Molly's dribbling honeypot until her nose was buried in that dense black bush.

Molly's deep, guttural, 'Ohhh,' told me that Licia's tongue was doing its thing, or things, but then she pulled back so that the whole creamy length of it could be seen, before easing it back in.

I moved closer. So close I could feel the heat of Molly's sex on my face, and the scent of feminine desire was intoxicating. I could already feel an orgasm rising in my loins, and I moderated my finger-fucking to prolong the pleasure.

Licia always says she adores giving this pleasure almost as much as receiving it, and it was obvious that doing it to Molly was something to be savoured. She closed her eyes and lost herself in pussy paradise. Moaning in bliss as her fingers teased her clit.