Maddy On The Move

This series is a spin-off from the Chloe Lyons series of cycling stories, which began with "Riding with Dirty Girls." Maddy was first introduced in "Chloe's Getting Dirty Again Part 04," so it might be best to read that series first, to get some background, or even start right at the beginning for a binge-read of stories about horny lesbian cyclists.

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?

* Special thanks to my partner Suzy for her input to the orgy scene. She's so naughty ;-)

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

***

Maddy on the Move Part 7

It was Wednesday morning. Three days to the weekend, and what a weekend to look forward to. On Saturday, I was riding my second World Tour race, the Trofeo Oro (gold trophy) in Italy, and that was very exciting, and not quite so daunting now I had my first race under my belt.

Equally exciting though (maybe even more) was the fact that I'd been invited to one of Jo-Jo's "temps de jeu" parties on Sunday, along with a number of other women, and that promised to be an afternoon of sheer debauchery. Delicious to think about.

So, I was lying in bed after I woke up that Wednesday, enjoying a little morning masturbation (I love morning masturbation) and thinking about my lesbian journey so far, and the women I'd already had sex with, in just a few weeks.

I used to struggle to find something hot to think about when masturbating. I would think about men, because that's what I thought should get me off but, quite often, it didn't, and there are few things as disappointing as the anti-climactic feeling of your arousal gradually deserting you when you're halfway there.

Sometimes, I'd think about women -- I was definitely lez-curious, even then -- and that would always do the trick. But they were fantasy women; women off the TV, singers, or sportswomen.

Now though, I had a wealth of delicious first-hand lesbian memories to draw upon, and I was waay more horny than I had been back then. From sometimes struggling to reach orgasm, multiples were now normal, and my sessions now tended to be long and indulgent. Just riding a euphoric wave of gratification. Sometimes for hours.

And, let's face it, I had a lot of memorable material to flash back to; Licia's long tongue, as I plunged my fingers deep. Chloe's dribbling juices in my throat, as I tasted mine. Carmen's bounteous boobs, as I sucked my nipples. Isy's nose nuzzling my clit, as I used my thumb... Mm, heavenly.

I had three wonderful orgasms that morning, then I lay luxuriating in a fuzzy aftermath and fell to musing on my new-found lesbian promiscuity.

I think lesbian promiscuity is an entirely different thing to straight promiscuity. Already, in a few short weeks, I'd jumped into bed with half a dozen women with no hesitation, sometimes within just a few hours of meeting them, and that's something I'd never have done with men. In fact, before my enlightenment, I'd only ever had sex on a first date once, and it was an experience never to be repeated.

I think it pays to apply a healthy dose of caution before letting a guy shag you. There's the risk of pregnancy, of course (and I always hated both condoms AND taking the pill) but besides that, I think it's true that guys are best treated warily until you get to know them, at least a bit.

With women, there's much less need for caution. Sorry guys, but the proportion of women who are complete arseholes is much lower.

So, I'd had no qualms about jumping into bed with any woman who turned me on, and would continue to do so, even half a dozen at once, as looked likely the coming weekend - and it definitely looked like it was going to be a "coming weekend."

As I lay musing, I wondered what it would be like to eat multiple pussies in a chain, one after another. It was a tantalising thought for a greedy girl like me. I thought about how different the pussies of my acquaintance were, and what it would be like to go from one to the next without a break. A gorgeous orgy of carnal cunnilingus. From Chloe, to Licia, to Isy, to Carmen, to Mavi, to Jo-Jo, to Runa. What a fucking fab feast that would be.

Just the thought of it made my clit tingle, and my fingers were drawn to it like a lodestone. Oh well, I guess there was no harm in going for O number 4.

***

On Friday afternoon, I drove to the airport and took my one-way flight to Pisa. As at Bilbao, I was travelling pretty light because the team would provide almost everything, so I emerged from the airport building with just my smaller draggy case bobbling along behind me.

The team bus was waiting, and this time I was last aboard. I had only just greeted the girls when the bus rumbled into life and trundled off to the hotel, which was in Montignoso, about 50km away.

I jumped into my seat, and sat looking out at surprisingly featureless terrain as we rolled away from the airport and headed northwest along the coast. The sea couldn't be seen because it was screened by roadside trees and bushes, so I picked up my phone and started reading up on the race.

Like the Trofeo Alfredo Binda, it was a stand-alone women's race, with no men's equivalent, which is always good to see. If nothing else, it meant there would be full live TV coverage. The race was 14 years old, but had only become a World Tour event two years before.

However, it had been won in the past by big Italian stars like Leona Breva, Elisa Abruzzi, and Zara Visto, and it had gained quite a lot of prestige, despite a route that was, to me, pretty unimaginative. It was in no way comparable to the Binda, or the previous week's Clásica de Bilbao.

The route was 107km long, and basically, it started at the coast and did 5 laps of an almost flat 13 km loop on the coastal plain, then headed inland for two loops over a small hill called Fortezza, before returning directly to the finish.

It was an uninspiring course, really. I know why they do these multiple laps of small loops; it makes organisation easier, and you could say it's better for spectators, but it's unimaginitive, or even cowardly, to my mind.

I couldn't imagine how it could end up in anything other than a bunch sprint, but apparently, both Abruzzi and Visto had won it with long-range solo escapes, attacking on the second ascent of Fortezza and riding clear. Obviously, they weren't up against top class opposition.

The start list didn't include those former winners, but there were a lot of Italians (of course) including Letizia Marchionni, and Chiara De Granda, as well as our own youngster Portia de Volare, who was being given the opportunity to get some experience in a World Tour race.

We arrived at the hotel and all trooped into the lobby. Everyone went to check the room roster to see who they were sharing with, and of course I was hoping for Runa. Phew. Yes.

'Are we together again?' she said, peering over my shoulder.

'Yes we are.'

She had her hands on my waist in a very familiar way, and I turned my head to smile at her. I very nearly kissed her, but then remembered where we were and stopped myself. I noticed Jo-Jo watching us with an impish smirk on her face.

At dinner, there was much speculation over who might win, and how a bunch sprint could possibly be prevented. Libby was obviously feeling a little playful -- still riding high after the previous week's success. Runa and I were sat together and she looked at us and said, 'If you two can provide the same service as last week, that will be just beaut.'

She was kidding -- the chances of pulling that off again on this much milder course were close to zero -- most of the other girls laughed, but Jo-Jo and her deputy Marthe were both nodding approvingly. They couldn't be serious, surely?

Jo-Jo didn't comment until we were having coffee, then she stood up to give us our pre-race briefing/pep talk; 'I know Libby was just being a little flippant earlier, but we should definitely try an escapade. We cannot win a sprint against Romi Wilde or Astrid Nistrom, so if we do not attack we will be, uhhh, only making up the numbers.'

'Softening up the sprinters won't work on this course though,' said Runa. 'We'd have to attack from a full peloton. It won't be easy to escape.'

'A surprise attack on the first climb might work,' said Sian, 'The element of surprise and all that.'

'Yes, but that's 35k from the finish, with the full power of the peloton chasing you down,' said Runa.

'Well we need to have a try,' said Marthe, otherwise, as Jo-Jo said, we are just making up the numbers.'

Runa was pondering... 'I think an attack on the second ascent, if we could get away, would have a better chance of succeeding.'

'Portia was listening to all this, and saying nothing. Like me, she didn't yet have the confidence to speak up but, as we were to find out, the tumblers in her brain were working away...

Portia was interesting to observe. She was one of the girls that Runa had said was a lesbian, so that made her even more interesting, but it wasn't just that. There was an intensity about her, and a sultriness which was unusual in someone only 20. I could sense there was a fire smouldering within her, ready to flare into a searing blaze with the right stimulus.

Physically, she was on the small side of average, but quite shapely. I suspected she had some very nice curves hiding under her baggy trackpants and sweatshirt.

Her hair was quite short, and made up of a jumble of tight black curls, and she had a slightly Roman nose with a stud in one nostril and a mouth that looked a touch sulky. A bit like mine, actually.

So, she was attractive and gay, but I had no idea how "free" she was. I would have to find out though, and Runa would surely know.

We chilled in the lounge after dinner, and I noticed that Portia was deep in conversation with Francine, who definitely isn't gay. Runa came to sit with me, and I said, 'So, Portia... She's gay, presumably unattached...?' Runa nodded. 'What's her story then? Is she "free?"

There was a little smile on her lips as she said, 'Well, she's new to the whole "free girl" thing, but she's definitely open to it. She's done one temps de jeu with Jo-Jo, and she seemed to enjoy it. She said she wants to do more, but I don't know if she's gonna be there on Sunday. I'll ask her when I can catch her on her own.'

I made the correct assumption that, even though we were room a sharing again, with the race looming there wouldn't be sex that night, and the following evening we'd be on a 6-hour bus ride back to Zürich. I hadn't got myself off since Wednesday, so I was going to have a lot of orgasmic energy saved up by Sunday afternoon. How exciting.

***

Race Day

I awoke with the sun streaming into the room through the thin curtains, and I stretched and looked across at Runa, her bed all in disarray again. This time it was a leg that was protruding from the covers, and I smiled at her painted toenails. Purple. Team colour!

I've never painted my toenails, but then, I don't have particularly beautiful feet. Runa's, on the other hand, are lovely. Long and fine-boned, with perfect Egyptian toe alignment. I made a mental note to make point of sucking them sometime.

Then I had a devilish thought, why not now?

I slipped stealthily out of bed and onto my knees, and crept close to her elegant foot. Then I took her little toe between my lips and sucked it gently, then moved along the beautifully regular progression from pinky to big toe, feeling the texture of her pads on my tongue and tasting the slight acrylic residue of her nail varnish.

She bent her leg in an involuntary reflex, but I took hold of her ankle and pulled it back. She woke, and lifted her head to see me sucking on her big toe, and her body juddered slightly as she chuckled.

'Well aren't you the playful one?' she grinned. 'I felt like my foot was wet as I started to wake, and I wondered why. You nearly made me wet myself. Nice way to wake up, but I need a piss,' and with that, she jumped up and headed for the en-suite, leaving me feeling deprived and toeless.

I got up and sat on my bed, listening to her having a powerful pee. She was obviously quite desperate.

Shame. I was enjoying that bit of foot-fetishism, but we obviously weren't going to have sex right then, so I grappled my libido back into captivity, and started putting my clothes on. I made a mental note to repeat the experience one day when I could indulge myself fully.

She returned, with a radiant smile, and started fixing her hair. 'I like you Maddy,' she said, 'you're fun... Sexy and fun,' and she gave me a coquettish sidelong look.

'The feeling is completely mutual, Runa,' I said with a fruity pout.

At breakfast, the other girls spotted her purple fingernails, and all wanted to know where she'd found the colour, which was an almost exact match for our bikes, a light, subtle purple.

'It's by Sally Hansen,' she said. 'It's called "Va Va Violet."

The whole team, including me, all prevailed upon Runa to let us use her bottle, promising to replace it later, and soon there were 6 girls in our room, busily purple-izing our nails.

By the time we were at the race start, with skinsuits, helmets, glasses, fingerless gloves, and on our bikes, we were the most colour-coordinated team you've ever seen, though white shoes and socks remained de rigueur.

The day was stunning, with a brilliant wall to wall blue sky, and a dazzling sun that meant we all had our darkest lenses in our glasses, but the temperature was very amenable, with a maximum of 20c forecast. Perfect for cycling.

Yes, the course might not be the most inspirational, but that morning, sitting in the bunch behind the Race Director's car as we rolled out on the neutralised start, I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be. Well, on the bike, I mean.

The flag dropped, and there were a few, rather half-hearted, attempts to escape, but all were brought back and the peloton settled into a fast but manageable pace. We all took turns in the wind, and the work was shared between at least four or five teams. I think everyone knew nothing was going to happen until the first, or even the second, ascent of the Fortezza.

I felt good, the pace was manageable, and I was loving riding with my team mates. Libby was of course, our main hope for the victory, but she actually took a couple of turns on the front, just letting her enthusiasm drive her. 'Bores my tits off just sitting in the bunch,' she said.

So round and round we went for 5 laps, then the Fortezza finally loomed into view. It's not a big climb. The hill is only 220 metres high, and the climb is just a simple matter of 3.5km at 5.5%, but it has decided the outcome of the race a number of times. I wondered whether it would do so again.

There was some jostling for position as the bunch hit the climb, with everybody wanting to be near the front and, almost inevitably, there was a touch of wheels and a number of riders went down. All our team escaped, thankfully, but the peloton's momentum was interrupted, and a pair of Italians took the opportunity to make a two-pronged attack. The duo were Letizia Marchionni, and our very own Portia de Volare.

With the peloton in momentary disarray, they escaped and quickly established a gap.

This brought about an interesting situation. Letizia was in Team Veloviewer, the same team as Romi Wilde, and they would normally be working to bring Romi to a bunch sprint, but with Letizia out in front, they immediately stopped pulling.

We hadn't planned for Portia to attempt an escape, but now she was away, we also ceased to pull, and it was left to other teams to organise the chase.

This didn't mean the peloton was rendered impotent, there were still strong teams who wanted it all back together at the finish, like Astrid Nistrom's Amstel-Rabo, Canyon-Zipp, Insta-Schwalbe, Vista Maxx, Pro-Fast, and the Italian squad, Polti de Rosa, so quite soon we were on a charge.

Over the summit, we hurtled down the very fast descent to the coastal plain, and started looping round, for the second ascent. There was an intermediate sprint at a place called Querceta, but it was completely ignored as the peloton thundered along, on a mission. The sprint teams were only interested in the finish.

Portia and Letizia were not given much breathing space, and Marthe came on the radio, saying 'Doesn't look like Portia is going to stay away. The gap is 33 seconds and falling fast.'

We had 15km to the start of the second ascent, and we were taking 2 seconds per kilometre, so it looked like we'd be on them by the time we hit the climb. It was all going to come back together.

Runa came up alongside me and quietly said, 'Fancy another adventure?' I looked at her and she had the most evil little grin on her face. I looked behind, and Libby's face was also a picture of mischief. Were we really going to attempt a repeat of last week? Surely the bunch wouldn't let us get away twice?

We continued to let the peloton do the work and, sure enough, as we approached the climb, Portia and Letizia could be seen up ahead. They were looking behind and no longer working together. They knew the game was up.

I knew exactly what Runa's scheme was. When we caught the break, there would be a collective 'Ahh' in the bunch as the mission was accomplished and the chase was over. This was when the peloton was at its weakest and most vulnerable, and it seemed an unavoidable syndrome, even though everyone was aware of it.

We caught the escapees on the lower part of the climb and, immediately, BANG! Runa was off up the left side of the road. Libby and I scrambled to follow her wheel, and we were unexpectedly joined by Selina Busto, of Canyon-Zipp, and Kat Scholz of Equipe Verso-Lab. Reaction in the bunch was slow as they hesitated, looking at each other, and that was all we needed. By the time we crested the summit, the 5 of us were clear.

Five was a handy number. A number with significant drafting power. A group of 5 had a much better chance of holding off a chasing peloton than two or three, let alone a solo rider, IF they work effectively together. The previous week, in the Basque Country, the three of us had cooperated perfectly because we were team mates, but when riders from different teams are involved, cooperation can be difficult.

We had 15km to go to the finish, the first four of them a descent, where the bunch would have little advantage, so I thought we had a decent chance of survival, and we worked together well at first, all taking fairly equal turns on the front. As we got closer to the finish though, cracks started appearing.

The bunch were gaining, but with 5km to go we still had 50 seconds, so it was still possible, physically, but the problem was in our heads.

We were all thinking tactically, playing out possible scenarios for the finish, trying to remember who had the best sprint, was it best to try to go solo, etc, and inevitably our pace dropped. Runa and I wanted to take Libby to the finish again, but she'd freed us by saying, 'Every girl for herself,' It was her payback for the previous week.

So we were all riding for ourselves, rather than as a team, but we weren't just going to let Kat and Selina sit on, get a free ride, then outsprint us.

Over the next couple of kilometres, there were a lot of elbows flapping, trying to beckon each other through to do a turn, but there was growing reluctance to work. We all wanted to have a chance to win, but in our attempts to save ourselves for a possible sprint, we actually blew our chances. Our momentum waned, and the charging peloton were munching into our lead. We were doomed.