Chloe's Torrid Tour

This series continues Chloe's timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," "Chloe Rides Again," "Chloe's Return," and "Chloe's Sweet Pink." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for background, you ideally need to have read the other series' first.

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 Torrid Tour Pt. 02

Six minutes behind? MORE than six minutes! It was a nightmare. I woke with a start and, very briefly, I thought it WAS a nightmare, but then it dawned on me that it wasn't. I really had lost over six minutes on the first stage. Surely, my GC ambitions were over? How could I gain back six minutes against the likes of Lucy, Leona, and Elisa? It wasn't possible.

Trude woke up and said, 'Chloe? Are you OK?. You look like you saw a ghost.'

'Six and a half minutes, Trude. I've blown it. I'm never getting that back. It's over.'

She turned stern, in a way I hadn't seen before. 'HEY. Stop that. This is not the Chloe Lyons I know. What have you done with MY Chloe? Give her back to me, right now.'

'But...'

'No buts. We all think you can get it back, and everyone in the team is going to make sure you do, in any way we can. Bigger gaps have been overturned, you know that, but this Chloe can't do it. Only the real Chloe can.'

Only the real Chloe...

In the shower, I reflected that I did feel a little better. The hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach was gone, and my legs had lost their leadenness. I looked at myself in the mirror and I definitely looked better... Maybe I was re-emerging. Maybe I COULD turn it around? Trude was right. The REAL Chloe could.

I was hungry like you wouldn't believe, and I descended upon the breakfast buffet like a voracious valkyrie, and started fuelling myself for a fightback. I waved the empty drinking bottle at Debbie and she gave me a nod and a thumbs up. It was time for a refill of her magic potion and a reset of my magic legs.

I have great faith in my body's ability to recover, from injuries, from illness, and in this case, from whatever had unbalanced my hormones. Past experience told me that I WOULD recover. The real Chloe WOULD return.

***

Stage 2: Vannes to Plumelec.

Hilly. 90km / 1400m of ascent.

My struggle on Stage 1 was the talk of the peloton. Everyone was gossiping about what had gone wrong, and only my close circle had any knowledge because, immediately after I'd finished, I'd escaped to the bus without giving interviews to anyone, even my reliable Eurosport ally, Mark Richards.

I usually give post-race interviews, even after I've been beaten, but not yesterday. I'd needed quietude.

I hardly ever give interviews before a race though. I find them too distracting. They interfere with my pre-race focus, and can be unsettling, especially if the stage is a high-pressure one.

However, on this occasion, I felt I owed my public some explanation. You see, I'm getting used to the responsibilities of being a star. I granted Eurosport a rare pre-stage interview.

'Chloe, thanks for talking to us,' said Mark, 'I know you need to focus on the stage, but everyone is wondering what happened yesterday, I mean, apart from the puncture.'

It was a subject not often talked about, but I saw no reason to be shy about it. it's something all female athletes -- all women - have to deal with, so we can't pretend it doesn't exist.

'I only finished my period three days ago, Mark, and it's left me a bit washed out. It's as simple as that, really.'

'Oh, wow....' there was a pause. 'Is that something you will recover from quickly? I mean, do you feel better today?'

'I think so. I'll only really know when I get going. I'm not finished though. I'm still in there and fighting.'

'Of course. We wouldn't expect anything less from you, Chloe.' He grinned his affable grin. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks, Mark.'

I made my way to the start, fist-bumping all my mates, as usual, as we milled around, waiting for the off. By the time we were forming up behind the commissaire's car, my malady was already well-known. It's amazing how fast news travels in a bunch of gossipy women. I got a lot of empathetic looks and 'good luck' wishes.

Ronni was looking lustrous in all yellow, but she was unlikely to hold the lead for more than a day or two. The main contenders for the GC were lined up behind her; Lucy and Leona at 7 seconds, and Elisa at 15, and after my downfall on Stage 1, all eyes were on those three to battle it out for the win.

Stage 2 was almost a carbon-copy of Stage 1. It was a little shorter, and not quite as hilly, but it had some similarly sharp little climbs, and a similar 30km finishing circuit with a long uphill finish. I was hoping my performance would not be a carbon-copy of the previous day.

We rolled out and, as usual, attacks started from km 0. This time it was a group of 6 that eventually got clear. Ronni had optimistically tried to escape again but of course, being in yellow, she was immediately brought back by domestiques working for Lucy, Leona and Elisa. They wanted to keep her nice and close until the time-trial and the big hills arrived. M

She seemed to be enjoying herself though. I think she was just flourishing the yellow, more than anything.

After 29km of mild terrain, I was sitting in the bunch and feeling OK, surrounded by my team, like a bunch of mother-hens protecting their vulnerable chick. I liked the feeling. Not the feeling of vulnerability, but being looked after by the team.

They were all attentive to everything I needed; drinks, food, gels... I didn't need anything yet, but it was nice to know, if I did want anything, I could just put out my hand and it would be there. It made a nice change from being Wonder Woman.

At 30km, the first cat 4 climb arrived., the Côte de Botségalo, about a kilometre at 5%. Nothing of a climb really, but after the previous day I approached it with a certain trepidation. Would I collapse like a punctured balloon again?

No (phew), it passed without drama and we entered a flat stretch of almost 30km, which brought us to the first passage of Plumelec and the start of the finishing circuit. It was here that the pace started to wind up as the peloton began its reeling-in of the breakaway. They hadn't gained much of a lead, and it was obvious they were going to be caught.

Things became frenetic, and the bunch thinned out as the sprinters' teams went to the front, lifting the pace, on their mission to catch the break. Everyone was jostling for position, and I became acutely aware of the risk of a crash, as the course twisted and turned and we bumped each other's shoulders.

Normally, I'd have kept myself up near the front, with the sprinters, where I'd be more likely to stay out of trouble if there was a crash in the middle of the bunch. That's where Lucy, Leona and Elisa were, but in my uncertain state, I was sitting near the back. I'm not sure why; the pace of the bunch was the same, near the front or near the back. I wasn't feeling bad, and I was keeping up OK. I should have been up there.

Predictably, just ahead of me, there was a touch of wheels, and a couple of riders came down, starting a chain reaction that led to a mass pile up. I saw riders hitting the deck across the whole width of the road, and I hit the brakes. Hard.

I almost avoided falling, but just as I was coming to a stop, I bumped a bike that was on the ground and did a slow-motion "endo" (end over end). I would have gone flying over the handlebars if I'd been going any faster, but instead, I turned over, complete with bike, and ended up upside down in a tangle of bikes and bodies, still clipped into my pedals.

Frustratingly, I struggled to unclip, and it took precious time to extricate myself, stand up, and untangle my bike. Meanwhile, Lucy, Leona and Elisa were roaring away, in the forward group that had been ahead of the pile-up.

FUCKING HELL! This Tour was going from bad to worse.

I stepped over bikes and riders, put my bike on its wheels and set off again. Thankfully, most of my team were OK and still with me, and we set about the chase-back grimly.

This time, I wasn't the lame duck. I took my turns on the front like everyone else. We were a team on a time-trial, trying to limit our losses, and we linked up with others, who were also on the same mission.

I was beset by a rage. A burning anger at myself and my stupidity. The crash wasn't my fault, but getting caught up in it was. I should have been up with the leaders. Now, I'd lost even more time.

Gabi came on the radio to say that "peloton one" had caught the break and that they were now 2.20 ahead of the chasing group (including me). This meant that, at that moment, I was almost 9 minutes behind on the virtual GC.

My only hope was that now the break had been caught, some of the urgency might go out of the leading bunch, and they might slow slightly, saving themselves for the final wind-up to the now-inevitable bunch sprint.

I drove on with my companions. We were going well -- praise be, my magic legs seemed to be back -- and we started to eat into the lead of "peloton 1."

With 15km to go, we had the gap down to 1.30, and we then reached the last climb before the uphill finish, the cat 3 Côte de Cadoudal. Almost unbelievably, after the Stage 1 weakness, I surged up the climb, shedding half a dozen riders from the group, and by the top, I only had Kim and Marlen with me, with Gracie Trent and Franka Stellner chasing back on in the short descent.

We five continued to work together, reducing the defecit by another 30 seconds by the time we reached the 5km to go banner, but then the gap started to go up again as the leading bunch started their wind up for the finish.

Having rediscovered my legs, and with them my mojo, I was like a thing possessed. Soon, nobody could take a turn on the front. One by one, the group fell apart, but I remained, driving on, solo, towards the finish. Obsessed with reducing that time gap.

On a flat finish, I'd have had no chance - the bunch would just have gone faster and faster all the way to the line -- but here, the last 1500 metres were all uphill, which blunted their speed. Only the strongest sprinters and puncheurs would survive to contest the final metres.

As they reached the start of the final uphill, I had the gap down to 30 seconds, and the commentators were going crazy.

When I watched the coverage later, I chuckled to myself. 'But look at Lyons. She's got them down to half a minute... Unbelievable.'

All caution was thrown to the wind. It was pointless trying to save anything. Every second counted. I was fighting for my survival as a contender in this Tour. I went deeper into the red than I even knew I could, fighting all the way up that cruel uphill, to cross the line with 24 seconds on the clock.

Other riders ahead of me had cruised in on the tails of the bunch, looking quite relaxed, but I grovelled to the line as if I were fighting for a world record, and collapsed on the ground, gasping. On TV, it looked bizarre and pathetic, but those who had been paying attention knew perfectly well why.

I had buried myself deep in oxygen debt to finish 38th on the stage, and was now 7 minutes behind on the GC, but the fightback started here. This was a statement; write off Chloe Lyons at your peril.

Lucy, Leona, and Elisa had finished safe in the leading bunch, and the stage was won by Jude Choon, with Marieke second and Mae third -- another podium for her and Molly to celebrate.

I didn't submit to interviews, but Mark Richards saw me heading to the team bus and he just gave me a raised-eyebrow smile, and said 'Looks like I got my answer, Chloe.'

I was first back to the bus, and I immediately called Licia. It was such a massive relief to have found my legs again, I could hardly contain myself, but she was full of commiserations. 'What a bastard stage,' she said. 'You were so strong, babe. If it hadn't been for the pile-up, you could've gained some time back, instead of losing more.'

Strangely, I didn't feel like that. My mind had locked onto the positive; 'Yeh, but after the crash I was nearly 9 minutes down on the virtual, and I got that down to 7, so did gain time in a way. I proved to myself I could do it, and there are 6 stages left. I'm not out of it yet.'

She chuckled. 'You're brilliant, you know that? Nothing can keep you down.'

'No, and the best thing is, my legs are back!'

'Well don't go crazy and trash 'em. Like you say, 6 stages to go.'

I called Molly and gave her kudos for Mae's podium, then gabbled on excitedly about the rediscovery of my magic legs. 'I honestly can't believe it, Mol. It feels miraculous.'

Unsurprisingly, she said almost exactly the same as Licia; 'Don't go mad and destroy them. You have six stages left.'

Debbie climbed aboard. 'Oh, Chloe. How are you feeling?'

'Good, Debbie. I feel GOOD!' I grabbed her for a squeeze. 'Hey, that potion of yours is magic. Can you do me another bottle?'

She went to the kitchen and I suddenly had a panicky thought. I followed her. 'There's nothing naughty in it, is there Debs?' I mean, you wouldn't dope me, would you?'

She looked horrified, and a little hurt. 'Chloe... of course not. Would I be that stupid? No, it's just a lot of high-iron stuff, and some sweet stuff to make it more palatable. I used to make it when I was competing. I had a tendency to be anaemic and this always helped.'

'Well, it seems to have helped me. Thank you ' I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The other girls started arriving back, some bemoaning the time lost, some lauding my chase. It was interesting to observe their different reactions, but I was just glad they were all here and uninjured. I was going to need them over the next few days.

Although I'd performed well on the bike, I still didn't feel like I was back to 100%. Only when my libido came roaring back would I believe that I was "cured." I decided to seek a massage with Debbie, just to test myself.

The transfer to Stage 3 was in the morning, so the bus was staying here for the night. It would be easy to stay for a late massage, after everyone had gone back to the hotel. I just needed to arrange it with Debbie.

I was completely up-front about it. As people started to drift away, back to the accommodation, I went to the back of the bus to find her...

'Hey, Debbie. I know that potion of yours seems to have brought me back to life, but I'm wondering if It's also a love-potion.'

She smirked sideways at me. 'Oh, yes?'

'Yeh. I won't really know whether I'm properly better until my libido recovers, and I thought you might help me to test it.' I gave her a coquettish look.

'Hmmm, sounds like the kind of job I could get right into,' she murmured. 'I'll just go and tell Jon' (our team bus driver) 'that he can go and leave me to lock up the bus.'

I had an eye on the clock because dinner at the hotel was at 8, and I was hoping all the girls would have gone back well before that. As usual, there were a couple of stragglers, but by 7 we were alone. That only gave us an hour but it would be enough to find out just how restored I was.

'Come into my parlour,' she said, curling a finger, and I followed her into the little cubicle where her massage table was. 'Lie on the bench while I assess you.'

I liked this. She was making it into a little role-play game, with her as the sex-therapist and me as the patient. It was a role I was happy to play, and not so far from the truth, actually.

'Do you want me naked?' I asked.

'Oo good idea,' she smiled

I stripped, then lay on my back on the bench and just waited to see what she did. I was already getting quite excited as I watched her take off her polo shirt, revealing a nice sheer white bra with pink trim.

She stood quite close, leaning over me as she unhooked the bra and slipped the straps off her shoulders, letting the cups slowly fall away from her fantastic tits.

I had a strong urge to finger myself, but I resisted it, and just lay there, passively, feeling the delicious sensation of sex hormones flooding my body and mind.

She cupped her breasts and massaged her nipples and areolae firmly with her thumbs, leaning forward until I was almost cross-eyed to focus on their crinkly gorgeousness.

'You love these, don't you, Chloe?' I nodded and swallowed. I was loving the show, and my arousal was surging through my loins. 'Does it turn you on when I play with them?'

'Mm mmm,' I murmured.

'I can tell... Do you want to suck them...? Go ahead.'

I turned my head and suckled a nipple, while she pressed her big soft boob firmly into my face with one hand, and stroked my head with the other. Heavenly.

'Let's see how you're doing,' she said, and she reached down and slipped I finger into my rapidly moistening pussy, making me jolt with the unexpected shock of it. 'Mm, coming along nicely,' she said as she wiped her finger on her other nipple and then fed that one to me. Mm mmm.

I was just floating away in tit heaven, when she suddenly straightened up and pressed a lever with her foot. The bench slowly descended to its lowest setting, dropping me down until I was staring straight at her shorts.

She slowly started to undo her belt, then the button, then pulled the zip down, revealing a glimpse of her matching pink and white panties. It didn't remain a glimpse for long, as she eased the cotton shorts down over her hips.

The knickers were gorgeous, very feminine and sheer, and her pale triangle of pubes showed clearly through the material. I could smell her heat, she was so close, and she hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly pushed them down... OMG, I was getting the hottest of stripteases, and my arousal was skyrocketing.

Her knickers joined her shorts round her ankles, and she lifted one leg out of them, flexing her knee out wide and showing off her toned thigh, which could have been a cyclists thigh, with its long, defined muscles.

She kicked the shorts away, then adopted a provocative stance, with her legs wide apart. I gazed at her pussy, with its neat triangle of pale brown pubes and her prominent clit just peeping, and my mouth watered.

She spread her petals with her fingers, showing me the glistening pink flesh within, and she said, 'Do you like my pussy, or my tits best?'

Oh, God, an impossible question. I loved both, but differently. However, at that moment... 'Pussy,' I croaked.

'Thought so...' She put a hand on my head, encouraging me forward and I wriggled closer, until I could reach her with my tongue.

Oh, she tasted divine. So earthy, salty, musky. Yes, all those clichés for a woman's sexual taste. Truth is, good enough words don't exist. She tasted very Debbie, and I was ravenous for her.

'Ohhh, fuuuck Chloe' she groaned as I lapped hungrily at her flesh, flicking her clit and sucking her thick inner labia between my lips. I turned on my side to reach her better, but I still wanted to go deeper, so I put my hand on her bum cheek and pulled her towards me.

She wanted more as well, and she put one knee up on the bench so that my head was trapped under her thigh, with my face buried in her "coochie-pie," and she jerked with lust, fucking my face until her desire boiled over into a tensing, clenching, squeezing, jolting orgasm, and her dribbly juice suddenly bathed my lips and tongue. Absolutely nectarous.

After a few seconds of jerky aftershocks, she climbed off me and said, in a matter of fact way, 'No lack of libido there, I don't think," while I lay gasping with arousal and partial suffocation. She bent to kiss my wet, sapid mouth, and said, ' I think I can give you a clean bill of health.'