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?

NB. This episode contains a little watersports, but only a little.

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

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Maddy on the Move Part 9

I awoke the morning after the whirl of Ventoux, in bed with Portia. We were lying facing each other, our legs intertwined, and our arms across each other's bodies. We had never separated through the whole night. We'd always been cuddling and caressing each other. Even when I was semi-conscious, I could feel her hand on my hip, or her legs squeezing my thigh. It was a blissful night, sleeping then half-waking to feel her soft, warm presence, so close and tactual.

I looked at her cute sleeping face, the absolute picture of nubile innocence, with one curly lock of hair across her cheek. Then I looked across to the other bed, a post-sexual shambles, and I remembered the way she had lubriciously fucked my face. That innocence was entirely illusory.

She stirred and opened her bottomless brown eyes, took a moment to focus on me, then a little smile creased the corners of her mouth. 'Buongiorno, bella,' I whispered.

She chuckled slightly and replied in English; 'Good morning, lovely.'

I rolled into my back, stretched and sighed. What a sweet way to wake up.

We allowed ourselves a few minutes to just lie together, savouring this... whatever it was.. that had suffused us with this feeling of extraordinary well-being, then we got up and threw ourselves into preparations for breakfast.

I had a slew of messages on my phone, and I found that my victory was even bigger than I'd realised. Everyone wanted an interview, including the race's instigator and director, Julie Bobet. She had left me a voice message in a wonderfully thick French accent that made Jo-Jo's seem positively slight.

'Allo, Madeleine. Can you possibly meet me in Bédoin before you go ome? I wish to filme une interview wis you.'

I had to clear it with Jo-Jo, but she was fine with it, and I arranged to meet her at 11 o'clock in the hotel lounge.

This was the inaugural edition of this race, and Julie was making a lot of effort to get it in the public eye. The interview was to be filmed for the race's own website, but would also find its way onto YouTube, and the race's Facebook page, along with other social media. She'd even managed to get a slot on the French national news channels.

She was determined to make sure the race arrived on the scene with a bang and, as the winner of the very first edition, I was swept along on that tide of publicity. As Chloe later said, 'a star is born.'

Julie, with a two-man crew, arrived for the interview looking very professional in tailored grey trousers, and a figure-hugging polo neck sweater, and we commandeered a corner of the lounge. There were others in the room but they kept their distance, content to watch and listen.

Julie is small and wiry, with short dark hair, an upturned nose, and an almost swarthy complexion. She used to be known in France as "Le volcan noir" (the black volcano) and she was pretty hot in her heyday. I've seen footage.

She was still very attractive for a woman in her 60s - she had obviously kept herself fit - and she still had the same intensity about her, but also a ready smile. I warmed to her immediately.

The interview went well. I was able to talk much more lucidly than I had immediately after the finish, and was able to convey my astonishment at what was a completely unexpected win. I'm sure, deep down, she would have preferred Soléne to have won, but she seemed to have a lot of admiration for the way I'd fought back after being caught. There was a twinkle of recognition of a fellow racer.

'Your attack at the Gorges was brave. Was it planned in advance?'

'Not really. Portia and I just cooked it up en-route. We just wanted to get a little time in the spotlight then, on the mountain, just try to finish as high as possible.'

'When did you realise you could win?'

'Well, at the start of the climb I thought it was possible, but by Chalet Reynard I was sure Solène was going to catch us. I definitely didn't expect to end up out sprinting her at the top!'

She asked me what I thought of the course, and I of course waxed lyrical about it. It wasn't hyperbole either, I really did think it was a fantastic course. 'It's a brilliant area for riding,' I said, making her grin approvingly.

I didn't know whether I was supposed to ask her questions, but I couldn't resist, and she seemed happy to talk. 'Do you still ride, Julie?'

'Oh yes. Only for plaisir, but I always ride Le Ventoux at least once per monthe. From my home in Carpentras, up from Bédoin, down to Malaucène, and back to Carpentras. I'm a little slower now, but I will keep on until it is impossible.'

'Well, chapeau to you Julie, for that, and for this race. I hope to be back next year. I think it's bound to become a new spring classic.

Without realising it, I had become a bit of an overnight sensation.

By 4 o'clock that afternoon I was on a plane back to Edinburgh, but I'd only have a couple of days at home because Jo-Jo had given me the momentous news that I was in the team for the Flèche Wallonne on the Wednesday evening.

The Flèche Wallonne (Walloon Arrow) was a long-established classic, and a first-tier World Tour race, and thus a significant step up for me. I'd be racing with all the big stars, including Chloe, a prospect I found both daunting and incredibly exciting.

"La Flèche," as it's known, is a race that Chloe really wants to win. The previous year, she'd been within a few hundred metres of the finish, and challenging for the win, half way up the final climb, the Mur de Huy, when a spectator waved something over the barrier which snagged her handlebars and brought her down.

I knew she was determined to gain some redress for that crash, and would be going all-out to win, especially after her disappointment at the Amstel Gold. I had to ring her!

After lunch on the Monday, I gave her a call, and she answered as chirpy as ever; 'Hey, Maddy, how's it going?'

'Great, Chloe. I'm in the team for the Flèche!'

Wow, brilliant! I'd better watch my back, you'll becoming after me...'

'Nooo, I'm not near your level, Chloe. I'm just glad Jo-Jo had the confidence to put me in the team.'

'Well, she had to, really, after Saturday. Your face is all over cycling media. A star is born.'

'I know. It's a bit scary really.'

She laughed. 'Don't worry, you'll get used to it.

'Anyway, the Flèche,' I said. 'I'm guessing you'll be going out all guns blazing, after last year.'

'Oh, bloody right I will. I'm gaggin for it. Can't wait to get at it. Molly keeps trying to calm me down. She's a wise old woman.'

I heard voices and laughter in the background. 'Are you at Molly's now?'

Of course she was. 'Yeah, Licia and I stayed here after the Amstel. It saves a load of flying back and forth. Are you back in Scotland?'

'Yeah, flew back last night, then I'm back at the airport again on Wednesday morning. ' I feigned a tiresome sigh.

'Yeh, it's a pain all this jet-setting, innit,' she chuckled.

Well, I was a bit jealous of her arrangement with Molly, to be honest (in more ways than one, actually) but it would be churlish of me to moan, after the massive enhancements that had just happened in my life.

'Hey, before I forget,' she said, Marianne has been watching your progress, and she has asked if you want her to chase some sponsorship deals for you. Your profile is skyrocketing, you could probably get some very tasty deals just now.'

'Crikey, I never thought about sponsorship... I have a couple of deals already, with Buff, and with Rocka, the glasses people, but I never thought of looking for others.'

'Well, even those could be renegotiated, probably, but there's potential for others too. Mari will be there on Wednesday, we'll have a chat.'

Wow. More sponsors? Even more money? Jeez.

'Chloe broke into my trance. 'Anyway, see you Wednesday.'

'Yeh... See you Chloe... Thanks.'

Once again I was in a bit of a daze. If my life was a roller-coaster, how come it was always on the up these days?

I made myself a cup of tea, and sat on the sofa to watch some earlier editions of La Flèche. It looked like, in every single edition, it all happened on the last climb up the Mur de Huy to the finish, and it seemed to me that it was all about timing. You had to judge your finishing effort to perfection, go too early and run out of steam before the line, leave it to late, and you miss the boat when those around you launch their efforts.

I watched the races that Molly Koppen had won, and her timing was always perfect. I'm sure she was passing on some of that wisdom to Chloe at that very moment.

Of course, I was very unlikely to be involved in the final battle for victory. I'd be working for our star riders, Gracie Trent and Anna Alphubel, and would probably have burned myself out for them before we even reached the Mur. It's just the lot of the domestique. Getting to ride the Flèche was still something special though.

I was just musing on all this when my phone rang. It was Isy.

'So, stranger... Big star cyclist... Where have you been? I haven't heard from you in AN AGE.' In fact, it was only a few days, but it was true that I'd neglected her a little.

'Sorry, Iss, I've been in a bit of a whirl,' I said, tongue in cheek.

'Oh, how very droll... I don't want to seem NEEDY, but I think you owe me a little TLC, don't you?

'Well, when you put it like that... Yes. I have plenty of that here for you.'

'I'm coming over, as soon as ah finish work. You'd better get a grip on your knickers...'

'Ooh, noo, I'll leave that to you...'

'Just you wait.'

'I'm waiting.'

She abruptly ended the call. God, I love this kind of phone-flirting.

I looked at the time: 4.38. I knew the earliest she could finish work was 5pm, so she would probably arrive in about 40 minutes. I jumped up and went to get ready.

I took off the plain black cotton knickers I had on, and put on some rather more skimpy lace ones, and a matching bra. The bra wasn't really necessary, but it's alluring to have a bit of cleavage, and it's always exciting to take off a bra, whether you do it yourself or let her do it.

I let my hair loose, and gave it a tiny little spray of Gisou hair perfume, and I put on some very subtle makeup. I didn't go full vamp, but just enough to make her go "wow" when she walked in.

I toyed with the idea of putting on some heels, or even stockings, but in the end decided against it. The bra and pants and the makeup would be enough.

God it was so exciting, this. Getting myself ready for what would surely be an explosive sexual encounter, with my COUSIN. It felt gloriously illicit. Delightfully dissolute.

Around 5:20, I heard a car pull up outside, and I peered out of the kitchen window to confirm it was her. I turned the sofa to face the door, then I took the door off the latch and left it open a crack, so she could walk straight in.

I was positively fizzing with excitement as I heard her heels clicking their way up the stairs, and I reclined on the sofa, resplendent in just my lacy black undies and looking, hopefully, irresistible.

She knocked, before pushing the door open and walking in, then she stopped dead in her tracks and dropped her car keys on the floor. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened, and we looked at each other.

'Well hello there,' I said in my most seductive voice. 'Come for a little TLC?'

She stood gaping, speechlessly for a few seconds, and in that brief interval, I took in her business-like look; she was wearing a dark grey, above-the-knee skirt suit with an elegant pinched-waist jacket, with a white shirt and a pair of burgundy kitten heels. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a neat bun, and her makeup was what might be called "professional," with subtle pink lippy, and understated pale eye shadow. It was a look for the office, not to impress, but I thought she looked as hot as fuck.

Her stunned gawp was slowly replaced by a broadening smile, and she slipped her bag off her shoulder and let it fall, then put her hands on her hips.

'Welll, this is even better than I was hoping for.'

She began walking towards me, very slowly, while unbuttoning her jacket which she shrugged off and tossed onto the armchair, and I just lay back and watched her.

Her blue eyes sparkled as she stood in front of me, unbuttoning her shirt to reveal her sheer white bra, then tugging it out of her skirt so she could discard it. She turned around and said, 'Unzip me,' and I sat up to pull the zip of her skirt down. I'm sure she could've done it herself, but I was glad she didn't.

I noticed her hosiery, which was pale grey and almost silvery, had fake seams, and I was hoping against hope that they were stockings, and not tights.

She dropped the skirt and stepped out of it, and all was revealed. Of course they were stockings - a beautiful pair of hold-ups with lacy grey tops - and I ran my hands up and down the outsides of her thighs, thrilling to the coarse, slightly scratchy feel of the nylon.

Her neat, shapely little bum was right there, looking positively peachy in her sheer white knickers, and I leant forward to kiss the small of her back as I let my hands wander around her stocking tops and onto her inner thighs. I pulled her back towards me as my hands moved up to frame the gusset of her knickers, and I could feel the heat of her sex as I continued to kiss her back. She murmured. 'Mmm.'

Suddenly, she pulled away and turned around. 'Sit on the floor,' she said, assertively, and I slid off the sofa onto the rug, heart thumping. fizzing with anticipation. She undid her bra and released her shapely little boobs (with super-erect nipples, I noticed) then dropped her knickers and stepped out of them, but then she bent to pick them up, and dangled them over me.

'I've been thinking about sex all afternoon, and these have been getting the full benefit. What shall we do with them?'

She didn't wait for an answer, she just dropped them on my face with a fake 'oops.'

They felt heavy and wet - laden with moisture -- and I was hungry for them. I opened my mouth wide and tried to hook them in with my tongue, but then Isy stepped forward again and thrust her pussy into my face, mashing the wet knickers deeper into my mouth with her even wetter flesh. God, she was so WET.

My heart rate spiked and my juice machine jumped up a couple of levels as my senses were assailed by this sudden sexual onslaught, and I was loving it.

'Oh yeah, fuck me,' I said, or tried to, but it wasn't easy to speak with a mouth full of wet knickers and coochie pie.

My hands came up to grab her bum cheeks, pulling her to me as I revelled in her steamy sex fluids, gorging on them, raveningly.

She grabbed the knickers and flung then away. They'd served their shock-value purpose. Now, she didn't want anything to come between her pussy and my mouth, and that suited me just fine.

She fucked me with jerky little thrusts, and I lapped and slurped at her lubricious, oily flesh as her dribbling pussy juice tricked down my face and into my throat.

Although she was quite obviously brimming with lust and arousal, she didn't come quickly. The face fucking went on for some time, until her legs were trembling with the effort, and her grunts and groans became more and more animalistic and desperate. She grabbed my hair in two great handfuls, and thrust against my face, harder and harder, working herself up to what was an almighty climax.

When she finally came, she was surprisingly quiet, like she was holding her breath, but she suddenly stopped thrusting and her legs tensed. I felt the unmistakable watery dribble of her orgasm juice, dribbling into my mouth, and tasted its piquant mustiness which, as always, was absolutely fucking delish at that moment.

I hadn't even touched my pussy, but I felt the shivery frisson of a mini orgasm, such was the empathic power of her come.

She fell forward, supporting herself with her arms on the sofa's backrest, her shaky legs buckled until her knees sank into the cushions each side of me, and I just lay there, kissing her stomach as she panted in her aftermath.

Eventually, she stirred herself and flopped down onto the sofa, and I got up and sat next to her..

'Wow that took a while,' I said. 'I was wondering if you were EVER going to come, and there was me, thinking I was good at cunnilingus...' I smirked, ruefully.

'Oh, y'are, Maddy, you really are, but, well...'

'What?'

'I have a little confession.'

'Oh, what's that?'

Oh God. I've been so horny today. At lunchtime, ah just couldn't resist. I went in the ladies loo and got myself off.'

'Ahh, so you were "pre-orgasmed."

'Aye, twice.'

'Twice?'

'Yeah, I did it once, then had a pee, and for some reason that turned me on, so I carried on for a second come.'

'Oh my God. You're a nymph, d'you know that?'

Aye, and it's all your fault, luring me into this lesbian sex trap...'

'Trap? Well if it's a trap it's a bloody nice one,' I grinned.

'Yeh. I just can't believe how horny it's made me.'

'And wet too...' I added. 'You were soo wet just now. Look at me. I'm streaked with your juice. Amazing if you had already come twice today.'

'Yeh, I am wetter these days. Maybe even as wet as you...'

'So, masturbating then having a pee turned you on, did it?'

'Yeah, isn't that weird?'

'Not really. Have you never had a peegasm?'

'What, you mean a pee and an orgasm at the same time? No ah haven't...'

'Chloe told me about it. If you have a wank with a full bladder, it makes the orgasm better, and if you let your pee go as you are coming, it's better still. I've tried it, and it's true.'

'Oh my God...' she said slowly. 'Get ye behind me, Satan... I'm going to need a friggin exorcism after all this.'

'Yea, well I'm gonna need an orgasm...' I said, reminding her that I was still without.

She turned to kiss me, then grabbed me by the legs and pulled me round so that I was flat on my back on the sofa.

'Grrrr, gimme that pussy, I LOVE IT!' she growled, moving down between my legs

But I sat up again, saying, "Oh no, you don't get off that lightly. You're gonna get the queening of your LIFE! Get on the floor.'

I grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it on the rug, and she lay down with her head on it. I stood astride her body and looked down at her, still in her grey hold up stockings. God, what a vision. I was so horny, I could probably have got myself off with my fingers in about one minute flat, just standing there and looking at her, but I promised her a queening.

As I've said before, I like playing the domme, and I'd felt a bit deprived of that for a while. Now, I could indulge myself with the full approval of Isy, who I know just loves being queened.

I decided to return the favour of the wet knickers, because mine were positively droukit by this point. I wouldn't have been surprised if they had dripped as I stood there with my legs loosely apart. I could certainly feel moisture on the insides of my thighs.

Isy just lay there passively, gazing up at me with a rapt look on her face, nipples pointing skywards, waiting for me to take my pleasure, and I stepped forward so that my feet were close each side of her head, almost squeezing her ears, then I started to ease my knickers down, slowly and seductively. First one side, then the other, working them down my thighs, past my knees, and bending to slide them down my calves until the gusset kissed her mouth.