Chloe Rides Again Pt. 06

This series is a sequel to the earlier work "Riding With Dirty Girls." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but to fully enjoy the story you really need to read Dirty Girls 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.

***

Part 06: De Ronde and a Blonde.

'Oh, what the f...'

There I was, 7pm Tuesday night, 50 mile training ride done, freshly showered, fed and watered, feeling horny, and just settling down, naked with my toys, for a long luxurious wank, when the bloody doorbell rang. Who the fuck was here at this time?

I thought of ignoring it, and I heard a car drive away, so I thought whoever it was may have gone, but then it rang again... Dammit. I got up, Put on my dressing gown and slippers, and went down, warily, to the front door. I looked through the peephole and my heart skipped a beat. There she was, brightly lit by the security light. Licia.

I fumbled with the door furniture; undo the mortice lock, take off the safety chain, release the Yale lock... and then she was in my arms, laughing as I swung her from side to side. Oh man, I squeezed her so tight, and clung to her for a long, long time, and she just held me.

Finally, I released her. 'Now that's the kind of welcome that's worth two taxis, two airports, and flying 200 miles for,' she grinned.

I went into babbling mode as I re-locked the door. 'But wha...? How? When did you...? Have you eaten...? Here, let me take your coat...'

She stood and stared at me steadily, ignoring everything I was babbling, then she stepped forward and undid the sash of my dressing gown. She peeled it off my shoulders and let it drop to the ground, and she looked at me, those big brown eyes smouldering with desire.

I stood there, naked apart from my tatty old slippers, with my gown pooled at my feet, and she pulled me to her and kissed me with a passion that was beyond a Helen kiss, a fervour that was greater than a Molly kiss, and lust that even exceeded that of Marianne, just three days before.

I stumbled back under the sheer power of her ardour, almost falling over her suitcase, which had been carelessly abandoned, and she manoeuvred me backwards -- without breaking the kiss -- into the lounge, where fell back onto the couch.

My joy and euphoria soared. She was here, she was making love to me, her desire was palpable and, as you may recall, I'd been about to have a wank... I was primed and ready.

Her lips hardly left me. She kissed her way down my neck (oohh) to my tits, and she sucked avidly on my oh-so pointy nipples, which were sending electric shocks to my clit as her mouth worked its magic. Her tongue writhed round and round, tracing squirls around my little spires of desire, and I gasped and moaned

She continued down, urgently, kissing my stomach and inhaling, as if savouring the scent of my skin, then she trailed her tongue through my pubes and down into the soft moist place between my lips. I opened my legs as wide as I could, and she plunged into me, holding me open with her thumbs, and simply gorging on me.

She was enraptured. As well as tonguing me expertly, she was also relishing feel of me and the taste of me. I was very, very wet, and she bathed her face in me, rubbing her nose and her cheeks against my sapid, syrupy flesh and moaning... 'Ohhh, so fuckin gorgeous.'

As I said, I was primed and ready, already hot and horny before she even arrived, and I simply could not survive this torrid onslaught of prurient passion. My first orgasm was sheer ecstasy, and I cried out as if in anguish as a hurricane of bliss swept me away.

I arced through a universe of pleasure, my peak rising higher and higher, every muscle tensed and trembling. My pussy pulsing with an exquisite pleasure-pain, and my hands clenched white-knuckle tight in her hair. My eyes were open but I saw only stars.

And then, the beautiful descent, as the pleasure coursed through my veins and I relaxed into limp serenity.

She didn't move. She wasn't clamouring for her own gratification. She just lay there, still fully-clothed, between my languid legs, occasionally kissing the inside of my thigh.

We didn't speak. We just lay there enjoying the intimacy, and the calm of my aftermath, for long priceless moments, then I felt her lips moving across my goose-flesh to softly kiss my pussy lips again. I looked down at her and she smiled. There was a subtle question in her eyes; did I want more?

I nodded, and she began a new, more gentle loving of my pussy. It was completely different; it involved as much kissing as it did licking. She pressed my mons and pulled up, making my inner lips pout, and she kissed them, succulently, as i watched her. I dropped my head back onto the cushion, closed my eyes and just abandoned myself to the resurging pleasure.

She took her time, pacing my growing arousal, and lifted me inexorably to a second peak, which was much less intense but just as gorgeous. It was shivery, shuddery, all trembly little spasms and vaginal clenching. Quite exquisite actually.

I pulled her up for a kiss. A lovely she and me flavoured kiss. I love the combination of her saliva and my pussy. It's so deliciously suggestive of her lust for me. Sharing it with her is just a transcendent feeling for me.

'Come on, I'm taking you to bed,' I said. It's your turn to be spoilt.'

We went up to the bedroom, which I'd forgotten was still set up for my earlier planned wank; lamp on low, folded towel on the bed, and my toys laid out. 'Oo, looks like I got here just in time,' she said.

'Yes, you did, and you have again. Get your arse on that towel.'

She stripped, gleefully, and tossed her knickers to me, saying 'Look what you made.' The gusset was sopping wet and I sucked it into my mouth, making a big show of savouring her sex fluid before taking them out and lewdly licking the wettest part of the fabric.

She climbed onto the bed and lay back on the pillows, with her legs apart, just as I had been when she rang the doorbell. I loved how startlingly erect her nipples were, and how her pubes were visibly wet and glistening with her moisture.

I crawled between her thighs -- those luscious thighs -- and gave each of them a kiss, then said 'Which toy do you want first?'

'Oooo, that clit sucking thing. Let's go quick and dirty to start with...'

I knew the combination of the clit sucker with Licia's propensity for a quick orgasm, was likely to be spectacular, but even I wasn't prepared for HOW spectacular. I lay between her legs and turned the toy on, choosing level three (of 7) which is my personal favourite.

She sighed as I wet the toy's "mouth" in her entrance then placed it carefully over her clit. She jumped a little, then almost immediately said 'Stop! Oh my God what setting is that?'

'Three... out of seven.'

'Christ, what's 7 like?'

'Mental. I never use anything above 4.'

'Try it on 2.'

'I started again, on 2.'

'Ohh fuuck, that's... ooohhh...'

Her head lolled back in a kind of rapture, and I briefly took the toy off, so I could watch her clit twitch, which it did, beautifully. Then I put it back on. Within seconds, she let out an almighty 'Ahhhhhh,' and her arms and legs started thrashing. It was all I could do to keep the toy in place. I was determined though, and I held it there until her 'ahhh' became a banshee wail. I was gazing at her sex, and there was a definite little squirt, or dribble, of white cunt cream as she came. I loved seeing that.

I removed the toy as her thrashing subsided, then I crawled up next to her and waited for her to calm. Eventually, she opened her eyes and said 'Fuck me, that thing's evil. My clit is still buzzing.'

I chuckled. 'It's definitely a sure-fire way to get off. Not my favourite way though.'

She turned towards me and said, 'What's your favourite way?'

'Your tongue.'

She smirked. 'Guess what my favourite way is.'

'Errrmm...'

'YOUR tongue. Fuck, we're so compatible.'

We lay holding hands for a while, then I said 'Have you recovered from the evil clit monster yet?'

'I think so.'

'Do you want some tongue?'

She wriggled luxuriously. 'Mmm, yes please.'

I moved down again and she opened her legs. Her pussy was something to behold. Wet and glistening, with flecks of white juice adorning the hairs on her labia majora. Her flesh an angry shade of dark pink, and her clit almost bluish. Obviously almost bursting with arousal.

Have I ever said how much I love eating pussy? I'm sure I must have. It fills me with a prurient lust like nothing else can. The hot radiant flesh, the oily, slippery lips, the firm engorged clitoris, the pubes against my nose (always better with pubes) the oozing dribbling cream - oh-so sapid and aromatic. And her little moans, as my hungry pleasure intensifies her appetite. My hunger equalling her hunger.

I ate her lovingly to a second, longer, less explosive climax, and she shivered and whimpered adorably as I lapped up her delicious love liquid. God, I was so glad she was here.

It wasn't until the tumultuous sex was over and we lay sated, that we really talked. She'd called me on the Monday night, saying that the virus, or whatever it was, hadn't amounted to much and that she was feeling much better. She said she felt she'd missed an opportunity and that she felt like jumping on a plane so she could come and 'jump my bones.'

I'd told her she was always welcome (of course) and that my bones were always available for her recreation. I wasn't expecting her to actually do it though.

'So, what brought on this mad flying visit?' I asked.

'Well, it's not flying really. I'll stay til weekend, if you'll have me.'

'Well, sudden then... and I'll definitely have you. A few times.'

'She grinned. 'I stayed in bed all morning today, but I felt OK, and I was horny. I was dreaming of you, and then I just decided -- fuck it, I'm going to Chloe's. I managed to get a mid-afternoon flight and, alacazam, here I am.'

I rolled on top of her and kissed her. 'Well I'm bloody glad you did. What a fantastic surprise!'

She smiled happily, then said. 'Have you got a bite to eat Chlo? I'm starving. Haven't eaten since 12...'

'Jeez, yeh, of course. Come on...' We got up, dressed and went down to the kitchen. 'What do you fancy...?' I turned sharply and pointed a finger at her. 'Don't say it...' and she pulled a mock-sulky face. We were getting to know each other really well now.

I started opening and closing all the cupboards and the fridge, flinging out the names of various foodstuffs as encountered them. 'It's not 10 yet, we could still send out for a takeaway.... or there's the chippy. It's open until half past.'

'Ooh, I could murder fish and chips,' she said.

'Come on,' I grabbed my car keys and we headed down to The Hake Boat, in town. We bought cod and chips (well I just had cod, since I'd eaten earlier) and we sat happily eating them in the car, on the car park by the river, watching the street lights making pretty patterns in the flowing water. Then we returned home and crawled into bed, replete and very, very satisfied.

The next three days were a blast. We had plenty of sex, but didn't go completely crazy, did some serious training on the bikes, experimented with making a stew/stoofpot using Guinness (pretty good, actually) and talked for the first time about moving in together permanently.

We agreed that it would make most sense for me to move to Ireland -- or for us both to move to Belgium or Holland -- but I loved my little house in Scotland, and couldn't bear to think of giving it up. We shelved the idea for the time being.

On Friday night, I called Molly and she brought me up to date on everything cycling. She keeps her ear closer to the ground than I do -- I'm a bit of a Dolly Daydream in that respect -- and she has a vast network of contacts. She always knows the latest transfer gossip, who's riding where, and she keeps a huge catalogue of race results in her head. Whenever something happens in a race, she can immediately come up with another time it had happened -- in 2003 or something. Amazing.

Of course, she was quick to point out that Lucy's impressive solo at Gent Wevelgem was almost identical to her victory in 2018, when she'd also attacked on the Kemmelberg and held off her chasers to win by just over a minute. She was still impressed by Lucy's win though, especially her margin of victory (2.42) which was the biggest in the race's history.

Latest news for Sunday was that Suzy was back for Team Amstel-Rabo. That team had been two riders down at Gent-Wevelgem; Suzy, and Pam Clitheroe, who had been back in the US for a wedding. They were thus weakened, but Lucy and Olga had proven a formidable double act, and had pulled off an extraordinary victory. Olga was even in the top 10 as well.

'Suzy must have been watching that at home and thinking "oh crap," said Molly. 'She'll be doubly fired up this weekend to re-establish herself as the team's number 1.'

Hmm, trust Molly to call it perfectly. That's exactly what would be in Suzy's head. Pam too, would be eager to get back into it after a weekend away from the action. Combine that with Lucy and Olga, flushed with success, and Amstel-Rabo were definitely going to be the team to watch on Sunday.

'Licia's here,' I said, she paid me a surprise visit...' We smiled at each other. 'Hope it's OK to bring her again tomorrow.'

'Oh sure... Fanny will be here though, so....'

'Yeah, OK, I understand. Flight gets in at 11. See you at the luchthaven.'

I could almost see her smirking at my crappy attempt at Dutch. 'Yeh, OK, see you there.'

Molly had been a little disappointed that I hadn't stayed with her for the week. There had been a mid-week race on, which started and finished in Waregem (Molly's home town) the Dwars Door Vlaanderen (across, or right through, Flanders). It would have been a nice Idea, but I didn't really fancy doing three pretty long races in a week.

Elisa Abruzzi had won the Dwars, which was a nice compensation for the Gent-Wevelgem, with Tera also on the podium, but they'd surely carry some fatigue from that into this weekend's race. I, on the other hand, was feeling tip top.

***

De Ronde van Vlaanderen.

We emerged into the Brussels arrivals lounge to see Molly and Fanny waiting for us. Molly in her yellow puffer jacket that she looks so good in, and Fanny in a nicely fitted red duffle coat with black buttons. The weather was dry but very cold, so we were also dressed warmly.

Kisses all round, and we headed for Molly's place where, as always, a delicious stoofpot awaited us. We told Molly about our invented English/Irish version using Guinness, and she said 'Mm, sounds interesting. I might give that a try.'

In the afternoon the four of us gathered around the TV to watch some highlights of past Tours of Flanders, and Molly regaled us with tales of her two wins. The footage of her climbing the Koppenberg when she made her winning attack in 2017 was very impressive, and I loved Mark Richard's' commentary on Eurosport: 'There she goes! Nobody can live with Molly Koppen in this mood. Koppen rules the Koppenberg.'

Molly was grinning. I wondered how many times she had watched this, and it still gave her immense pleasure. We watched her cross the finish line, arms aloft, and looking truly "fit as fuck," and I almost had tears in my eyes. I think I had a little bit of hero-worship. I'm so lucky that she's now my coach.

Although there are a number of classics in Belgium, there's no doubt that "De Ronde" is number one. Winning it carries the most prestige, and even finishing in the top 10, as Licia had once done, bestows a certain status. It makes you a true Flandrienne. Despite my podium at the Omloop, I didn't feel I'd earned that title. Yet.

Much later in the evening we were watching something frivolous on TV. Molly and Fanny were sharing a bottle of wine, while Licia and I were abstaining because we were racing the next day. Bizarrely, it felt strange, coming to Molly's and not having sex. It had become such a regular thing.

I assumed she and Fanny would have sex when they went to bed, and I was looking forward to Licia and I doing the same. A foursome was a tempting idea, but I didn't have the temerity to suggest it. I stored it away as something to suggest in the future.

The TV programme ended and we all got up to go to bed. We had an early start in the morning, because Molly was going to drop us in Oudenaarde in time for breakfast, then continue to Ronse to have breakfast with Marianne. All part of their spectating plan.

Licia and I said our goodnights and slipped away into the spare room, with a feeling of lovely anticipation. We stripped down to our knickers and got into bed, then began a lovely smooching session.

As you know by now, Licia's kisses are special. Different to Helen's or Molly's but just as hot and horny, Our hands were soon in the mood for exploring, and they swept over our curves, just enjoying how our bodies felt to the touch. We are young, fit, healthy women. Of course our skin is smooth and gorgeous, and I loved how there was just a tiny bit of "squidge" in her body. A super-thin layer of adipose tissue covering her bones and muscles.

I wriggled down under the covers, kissing her in choice locations as I made my way down; her shoulder, her collarbone, her sideboob, her ribs, her soft, slightly downy stomach, her hip bone. Making her giggle as she knew exactly where I was going...

I savoured the feel of her, the scent of her skin, and the taste of her as I trailed my tongue across her abdomen to the waistband of her knickers.

God, I love a pair of sexy, skimpy knickers. Even in the dim light under the covers I could see the shape and details of them. The little pink bow in the middle of the waistband, the stretchy, sheer material, the subtle lace edging, and the way they bulged slightly over her hairy mons. Gorgeous.

I settled myself between her legs and gave her mons a kiss, then I slipped the index fingers of my hands into each side of her panties and pulled the gusset away from the flesh of her labia. The material glistened with wetness and I nuzzled it, then trailed my tongue lasciviously up and down, savouring her musk.

She gave a little 'ohh' as I sucked her honey from the material, then pushed the gusset into my mouth. I clamped it with my teeth and started pulling, and she lifted her bum so that I could pull her knickers off, reversing down the bed until I emerged from the bottom of the duvet with knickers in mouth. Then I crawled up, flinging the duvet aside, and brought my lips to hers and we shared her moist pants between our mouths, tonguing and sucking on them. So fucking lewd and lovely.

'Oh fuck, I'm so horny now. Let's 69,' she said. Not my favourite, but I do like it with her on top. It's those thighs.

'OK, but you on top.'

I slipped my knickers off, then lay down with a pillow under my head and she straddled me. I felt her arms go round my legs and her hot breath on my pussy, then I abandoned myself to engulfment in her wet flesh.

She settled her vag on my nose, and I found her hot clit with my tongue, and we tongued each other to delicious, steamy orgasms. I thrust my pussy up into her face with lusty hip jerks as I came, and she wriggled her bum from side to side, dribbling her orgasm juice all over me. Maybe 69s aren't so bad after all.

We separated, and I picked up my tee shirt from the floor and used it to wipe my face, ears and neck, then we lay side by side, holding hands. In the sudden quiet, we heard Molly's unmistakeable sexual moans and we looked at each other and smiled.

***

Race Day.

We rolled reluctantly out of bed at 7am, and took our turns to shower. As always, my first thought was breakfast, but today I'd have to wait. The plan was for Molly to drive us to Oudenaarde, 20 minutes away, and drop us near our team hotels in time for breakfast, then continue to Marianne's place in Ronse, quite nearby.

Their plan for the day was to breakfast with Marianne, then get on their bikes and ride back up to Oudenaarde to see the start, catch the race again at the Molenberg, and then at the Koppenberg. This was easily possible, even at a leisurely pace, because of the way the race route wanders about, with multiple loops and meanders.

The route actually passed Marianne's front door at around the 140km mark, on its way back to Oudenaarde, and Molly reckoned they could possibly get back there from the Koppenberg in time to see the race for a final time from Marianne's front garden. I thought it was possible because the direct route from the Koppenberg to Ronse was 9km, whereas the race route was twice as far and had three climbs in it.

Anyway, at 7:35 we were rolling off Molly's driveway with two bikes on the roof. It was a densely cold day, but very sunny. A dark glasses and warm clothes day.

We dropped Licia outside her team hotel, then continued to mine, which, very happily, was the Hotel Steyaert, where we'd stayed for Molly's training camp back in January. I love that place, and our team were lucky to have bagged it, along with Amstel-Rabo - Lucy's team.

With good luck wishes, Molly and Fanny drove off, and I strode into the hotel. It was half an hour before breakfast time, so I checked the room roster -- I was in 22 with Helen -- and dragged my bag up to the room, where I found, not Helen, but Mia.

'Oo hello Mia, I was expecting Helen.'

'No, Helen swap with me. She goes with Marlen.'

Oo-er.

My stomach was rumbling as I went down to breakfast, and I indulged in some very enthusiastic carbo-loading as Robbie outlined the plan for the race.

The aim, as usual, was to achieve a victory with Tera, but this race was nothing like Gent-Wevelgem. With so many climbs -- 12 in all -- along with. 7 sectors of flat cobbles, a different strategy was needed, and it was not simple.

This race is not usually decided by a bunch sprint. In fact, the last time it happened was way back in 2016. The climbs, which are fairly evenly distributed through the remainder of the race after the first flattish 60km, tend to ensure that the peloton gradually fragments, and the win is usually contested between the strongest remaining group, or a solo break.

I liked this about the race. Like a mountain stage in a grand tour, the strongest rider usually wins. A course like this suited me very well.

Another thing about climbing is that there's little drafting advantage, so our role as domestiques was to provide Tera with slipstream where we could (between the climbs) and try not to get dropped ON the climbs. The latter held little fear for me, but I expected to end up as last girl standing out of the Canyon-Zipp domestiques.

We congregated by our team bus and team cars, on the huge market car park in front of the crazy Gothic town hall of Oudenaarde. It was freezing cold. Well, actually just above, but it felt cold enough to snow. In Early April! Everyone was dressed warmly. Still, it was better than the previous week's tempest.

We rolled out of town on a very short neutralised section to km 0, all very relaxed and chatty, but I kept close to the sharp end, ready for the racing to start. The flag dropped and we picked up pace, but then we had to immediately make a sharp right turn and almost the whole peloton hit the deck. There must have been a touch of wheels or something, and - WHAM - mass pile-up.

I was lucky enough to be in the small group ahead of the crash, and I escaped. It was a reminder that staying near the front keeps you out of trouble.

Tera was still in the group, as were Marlen, Helen, and Selina, but there was no sign of Mia. She must have been caught up in the crash, so we were one down immediately.

We rode on at a modest pace and, in ones and twos, fallen riders chased back on and the peloton grew again. No sign of Mia though.

Gabi came on the radio: '10 riders out of the race including Mia. Also Marieke and Lucy.'

Oh, cripes. Sounded like a bad crash. We pedalled on, skirting Waregem, quite close to Molly's house. Gabi came on the radio again: 'Mia to hospital with a suspected broken collarbone.' Bummer.

I'm sure other girls were getting similar messages from their team cars, and the reduced peloton lacked momentum for a while, but as we returned to Oudenaarde after the initial 60km loop, the cheering crowds lifted us again and we picked up speed.

Up the Edelareberg and the Wolvenberg, I took the initiative and kept the pace strong, then Marlen and Helen shared the next 4km, over three cobbled sectors. Momentum was building.

Onto the Molenberg, and Amstel-Rabo came to the fore, with Olga and Pam sharing the lead for a while, before Team Veloviewer took over with Kat and Inga, working for Elisa.

This was all good. The work was being shared, rather than being left to one or two teams. It was obvious that a few riders thought they had a good shot at winning.

As we crested the Molenberg, I spotted Team Lyon by the roadside, cheering and holding a banner saying "Go-ee Chlo-ee" I rode past with a silly grin and a chuckle.

The climbs came in quick succession; Barendries, Valkenberg, Eikenberg, with very little respite between them, but wherever we could, we gave Tera the benefit of our draft.

The Koppenberg was looming, and everyone was jockeying for position. The Koppenberg, with its rough cobbles and brutal middle section containing gradients up to 20%, was infamous for shattering the peloton, and everyone was wary of it.

You had to be near the front at the bottom of the climb because, if a traffic jam formed, which was often the case, you'd end up having to unclip and walk.

The weather was dry though, and the cobbles weren't slippery. I made sure I stayed near the front, and it surprisingly passed without incident. The group stayed together, and no one chanced an attack, with 45km and 5 climbs still remaining.

At the top, Molly and co were chanting 'Go-ee Chlo-ee,' and they had got a sizeable bunch of people to join in. Wow. What a buzz. I was flying high.

The next surprise was when Suzy dropped out on the next section of cobbles. I learned later that her wrist was not sufficiently recovered, and the continual juddering over the cobbles had become too painful.

This left Pam and Olga as suddenly free agents, and removed another of Tera's main rivals. The group was getting smaller all the time, but it still included Elisa and her team mates Inga and Kat, Pam, Olga, Gigi, Tera, Marlen, Helen, and me.

Suddenly, on the Taaienberg, it all kicked off. Elisa, with the confidence from her recent win at the Dwars, launched a huge attack that immediately strung the group out into single file. She briefly opened a gap, but I was able to pull her back, and the group came back together, only for Pam, of all people, to counter attack. I was equal to that one too. In fact, I was feeling great. Maybe It was the effect of Molly and co and their excellent support.

There was a period of calm as we swept through Ronse and past Marianne's house, where Team Lyon were vocal again, and onto the Oude Kruisberg, but then Elisa attacked again, even more strongly. We were hanging by a thread. I really thought she might escape as I chased hard and just managed to catch her.

We eased, and it took a while for the others to regain contact with us, and then Pam went again. Wow, she was really on it today! With a huge effort, Elisa and I got back to her, but the others, including Tera, were clearly struggling. I think Dwars was taking its toll.

There was a lull, but as Tera came back to us, I looked round at her and she shook her head. She looked drained. As she came alongside me I said 'OK?'

'No, I'm done. Take it, Chloe.'

This was my chance. I was off the leash. We clasped hands, briefly, and I started chasing back to Elisa and Pam, who were a few metres ahead. I took one more look back and Tera was on the radio as she fell back to the others, who were still chasing from behind.

As I reeled Elisa and Pam in, Gabi came on the radio: 'Go, Chloe.'

On the Oude Kwaremont, the penultimate climb (and the longest of the race at 2.2km) the attacks recommenced, as I knew they would. Elisa launched first, and Pam and I chased back to her, then Pam countered, as I expected her to. Elisa and I chased her down, and we all sat down again. Stalemate.

I was biding my time. I knew there was a flatter section about two thirds of the way up, then a steady gradient of 4% to the top, and I had a plan.

I made my first attack just before the flatter section, where the gradient was about 8%. I got a small gap and kept going onto the false flat before sitting down. Elisa and Pam chased, and just as they got to me, I attacked a second time. They were at full stretch and weren't expecting this second acceleration. They had no answer, and I rode clear up the final slope and over the crest.

I kept them at bay with a reckless descent, went full-gas up the steep cobbles of the final hill, the Paterberg, like it was a 'cross race, then settled into full time trial mode for the final 11km back to Oudenaarde.

Team radio was blaring in my ears as I bore down on the finish: 'Go Chloe! You nailed it. You nailed it.'

In the finishing straight, I was looking for the hands of spectators, reaching out for a high five, like in 'cross, but that doesn't seem to happen on the road tour, maybe because the finish is much wider, to allow for the whole peloton arriving together.

The crowd were banging on the barriers though, as I coasted victorious to the line, arms aloft. Yay! I'd done it!

I rolled to a stop, and into a gale of cheers and congratulations. It didn't really dawn on me until later what a big thing winning the Tour of Flanders is. I'd joined an exclusive club. I was a Flandrienne.

I waited for Elisa to finish, then Tera (she had dug in and overhauled Pam on the run in) then Pam, so I could hug them all. Vanquished they may have been, but they were all an inextricable part of my victory. Rivals to be remembered whenever I thought back to this race. And I would think back to it. Often.

I negotiated a whirlwind of interviews, then sprayed champagne, rather more enthusiastically, from the top step of the podium. It was maybe half an hour after I'd finished that I got a minute to myself, and I went in search of Licia.

I met Becca on her way to the Insta-Schwalbe team bus, and she went aboard to see if Licia was there. She was, and she emerged, to my shock, fully dressed, with her team fleece on and her arm in a sling. 'Hey babe,' she smiled weakly, 'Congrats. Fantastic win.'

'Thanks, but never mind that. What happened to you?'

'Ah, I got caught in that big crash at kilometre zero. Dislocated my shoulder... and some other bits and bobs. I'm OK, just a bit beat up.'

'Bummer. Mia was in it too, she's bust her collarbone.'

'Yeah, I saw them putting her in the ambulance.'

'You get back to the hotel and look after yourself.'

'Yeh, I'm not staying though. I've booked a flight for tonight. I'm heading home. That's my classics season over I think.'

'Shit. I'm so fed up for you, Liss.' I hung my head sadly, and she gave me a gentle one-armed hug, with a slight wince.

'Don't worry about me. I'll be back soon enough. Meanwhile, you enjoy your win. Dinner tonight will be interesting.'

I kissed her, gingerly, and said, 'Thanks babe. Heal fast. I'll text you later... I'll come and see you soon.'

'She grinned. 'Great. See you soon,' and she turned and climbed the bus steps with a groan.

She was right about dinner. The team were giddy with success. I'd won by almost a minute, Tera was on the podium, and Marlen was 9th. A brilliant result.

We could hear Àmstel-Rabo being quite rowdy in the next room. Despite Lucy and Suzy's retirements, they were obviously pleased with Pam's consolation 4th spot -- her highest ever finishing position.

After all the toasts and tributes were over, I asked Helen, 'How's Lucy?'

'Oh she's a little sore, but it's only scrapes, and a bruised hip. It could have been worse... poor Mia.'

'Yeh, Licia's out for a few weeks too. Dislocated shoulder.'

'Oh no. I did that once and it took more than two months. I was back on the trainer quite quickly, but it was weeks before I could ride on the road and as for 'cross... not until the following year.'

'Yeh, it sucks.' I pulled a sad face.

'But you shouldn't be sad, Chloe. These are just cycling injuries. Hazards of the job. YOU just won De Ronde!'

'You're right Helen. We shouldn't let these little occupational hazards get us down, we should go out and have some fun. Let's hit the town!'

We gathered a group from our team and Amstel-Rabo, and set off for a bit of revelry. There was a carnival atmosphere in the market square, with the whole town celebrating. It was De Ronde day and everyone seemed to be out. All the bars were buzzing, and the place was thronged with cyclists and cycling fans.

I was recognised countless times and had my hand almost shaken off. All my cycling friends wanted to kiss my cheeks. People wanted selfies with me. A little girl even wanted an autograph. It was like being a proper celebrity.

I posed with the little girl, while her dad took a picture, and I told them to come to the hotel the next morning so I could give her some merch. They were all smiles. De Ronde really is a big deal in Flanders.

Throughout the evening, my phone kept beeping as messages of congratulation arrived: Molly Fanny, and Marianne, all separately, Mum and Dad, Brenda and Melvyn from my cycling club, numerous cyclocross girls, including Carmen... it was quite overwhelming really.

We went from bar to bar, and in one of them I spotted Pam. 'Hey Pam, great race today. You were really on it with some of those attacks.'

'Yeah, thanks, I felt good today. I've gotten a new coach and she's helped me move onto a higher level. Great win by the way. Congratulations.

'Thanks.' I grinned. There was a little pause as we just looked at each other, then I said, 'Catch you later,' and moved away. There had been a little frisson between us though, just in that few seconds, and she remained lodged in my head for the next hour. There was something about the way she looked at me, while pulling her bottom lip down with the rim of her glass. A button had been pressed.

I saw her again in the Wijnbar Markt, and again in the Peloton bar, and we caught each others eye each time. Even Marlen noticed. 'Are you and Pam making eyes at each other?'

I'm sure I blushed. 'Maybe.'

'Go and talk to her. She doesn't seem focussed on the group she's with.'

'Not a bad idea, Marlen,' I said 'See you later.'

I walked over to Pam, smiled at her companions, who were chattering away between themselves, and said, 'Can I take you somewhere quieter, Pam?' She excused herself and we stepped out into the street.

'But where? There will be nowhere quiet in this whole town tonight.'

'Team hotel bar. Nobody will have gone back there yet.'

'We walked back to the Hotel Steyaert, and it actually got much quieter as soon as we turned out of the main square. The bar was very quiet, with just a few people who had come back early from the revelry.

We found a quiet sofa and sat down with drinks. There was much unspoken going on here, but we stuck to small talk at first. We really didn't know each other at all.

We talked a little about our cycling backgrounds and our routes to the women's pro peloton, our hometowns (hers was Wilmington, Delaware) and our families. I was intrigued by her name: 'Pam's an unusual name,' I said, 'the only person I can think of called Pam is Pamela Anderson.'

She looked at me, knowingly. 'Yeah, it's a little old-fashioned. My Gran was called Pamela, but she called my mom Charlotte, which she hated with a passion. She always went by Lottie, but when I was born she called me what she always wanted to be called: her mom's name, Pamela.'

'Your surname, Clitheroe, is interesting too. It's the name of a town near where I come from, in northern England'

'I know. Maybe we originate there, I dunno. I had a girlfriend who always said she read it as "clit hero," which she said was quite appropriate.' She smirked.

Mm. Interesting.

'Does racing sometimes leave you feeling horny, Pam? It does me.'

'Always, Chloe. Especially when it's like it was today.' She looked at me with her pale grey eyes and I suddenly saw how pretty she was. My initial impression from her picture on Pro Cycling Stats was that she was boyish - maybe because of the short blonde hair - but now, here, talking to her and seeing her in the flesh, I saw that was far from the truth.

Her face had a certain angular leanness to it, and her features were strong rather than delicate, but there was no mistaking the femininity of those eyes, or her perfect Cupid's bow upper lip. Her hair was stylish, she had pretty little earrings in, and her voice and mannerisms were definitely girly.

I couldn't see much of her figure, in baggy pants and a fleece, but from what I remembered from when she was on the bike in her skinsuit, she was lean, but certainly not shapeless.

We talked a bit more about sex and libidos and she said she could go days without feeling horny (most unlike me) but then would get triggered by something; 'a random comment, or eye contact with a pretty girl like you, and then I just have to get off. Once my motor is revved up it takes some throttling back.' She looked at me as if to say 'D'you think you're up to it?' and I thought, 'bring it on.'

'Scuse me, I need a pee,' I said. 'Don't worry, you haven't scared me off, I'm just busting.'

I nipped into the ladies, and while I was sat there, I texted Licia. 'Hi babe, hope you got home OK. I'm with Pam.' I added an emoji with tongue out, so she'd get my meaning.

Her reply was rapid. 'No worries, babe. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.' I didn't deserve HER. I sent back a row of kissy faces, and headed back to Pam, who was sitting there with a suggestive smirk on her face.

'So, this little club of yours, the "free girls," she did air quotes. 'Are you free now? I know Licia has gone home...'

'Actually, it works out perfectly. My roomie was Mia, but she's gone home as well, so I have a vacancy. D'you wanna fill it?' I grinned cheekily.

'Oh baby, I thought you'd never ask.'

We got up and almost ran up the stairs to Room 22, and as soon as I closed the door behind us we were kissing. Her kiss was fervid, almost desperate, and I couldn't help noticing her hand was already down the front of her pants. Her pants, not mine. Her motor was already revving. She was desperate to get off.

I dropped to my knees in front of her and started tugging her baggy pants down, while she shrugged off her fleece and pulled her tops and her bra off all at once. I helped her kick off her trainers, and her hand was straight back to her pussy.

OMG. Her pussy was wicked. The fleshiest I'd ever seen, with big, dangly inner lips between fat, fubsy outer ones, and a triangle of curly blonde pubes on her mons. I saw the joke about "clit hero" now. Her clit was a prominent stalk of a thing, almost like a little dick, and her finger was rolling it round and round, flexuously.

I sat back on my heels and gazed at it, slack jawed, and she stepped forward, astride my knees, to bring it closer. It was obvious this was her secret weapon, and she was using it on me. My breathing and heart-rate were rising with anticipation. I could tell I was in for an extraordinary experience.

She trapped it between two fingers and started to wank it rudely, making her hood ride back and forth over its bulbous head, like a guy wanking, I guess. But guys don't have a well of hot honey to add to the experience. Pam was dipping the tips of her fingers in her well, and spreading that sweet stuff all over her lips and clit as she wanked, coating everything in delicious, glistening girl juice.

My own hand was deep inside my pants, churning in my little honeypot, and I wriggled my bum out of my trackies and spread my legs wider, so I could get my fingers deeper in... We were both absolutely loving this lewd little show. For my part, I have to admit that the sheer rudeness of her sex was incredibly arousing to me. A pussy worth wanking over.

She stood straddling me provocatively, with one hand on my head and the other frigging her little pedicle lubriciously. Her labia were dripping wet, and drops of her cream were occasionally flecking my face and neck as her hand went faster and faster. And mine did too. I leaned back against the bed and pumped my fingers in and out urgently, making obscene squelching noises as I just got wetter and wetter.

I could hear her breathing getting faster and heavier as her arousal built, then suddenly she stopped. The momentum went out of our build up, just as the orgasm express was accelerating, but this was all part of her plan. She squeezed her clit between her fingers so its head bulged, and she pushed her hips forward, whispering, 'kiss it.' I did so, eagerly, marvelling at how hot it was. 'Again.' I kissed it again, and she shuddered a tremulous 'ooh,' then, in a voice thick with lust, 'suck me.'

She pressed forward until the underside of her clitoris rode up against my nose, and I sucked those extraordinary lips into my mouth, extracting the juice from them.

She tasted strong and earthy, and I eagerly sucked and licked her like a juicy fruit until her cream ran down my chin... 'Ohh, honey, that's just divine... uh... uh... uh.' she started thrusting against me, quite slowly, but very firmly, and after just half a dozen lusty thrusts, she overflowed... UH... UH... UHH... UHHH... ohhhhh, fuck, yeahhh...!

Her climax bathed my tongue in watery O juice, and her hips went jerk, jerk, jerk, drubbing my face, the rubbery stalk of her clit fencing with my nose, and I finger-fucked myself furiously until I erupted into my own fiery paroxysm.

She stumbled forward, pushing my head back and smearing her still dripping pussy up over my forehead, and fell face down on the bed, while I stayed where I was, sat on the floor, just savouring exquisite little aftershocks.

Presently, her legs moved and she turned over. 'Oh, wow, that was hot Chloe. You really got into it, huh? Like you were ready for it.'

'Oh, I'm ready for most things,' I said as I got up onto the bed with her. I noticed her hand was already playing with her clit again, and it almost always was. Throughout the evening, if my fingers, or my lips and tongue, weren't playing with her clit, her fingers would be.

'You really enjoy having that amazing clit, don't you?'

'Well yeh. When I was a teenager I hated it, I felt like a freak, but then I found that some girls really liked it...'

'I'm one of them,' I interjected.

'... and I gradually grew to love it. Now, I couldn't imagine being without it. I even love how it shocks people sometimes. Not you though, Chloe, you took it completely in your stride...'

'Well I was a little stunned, but fascinated more than anything.' I was watching her playing with it as we were talking and, yes, it did fascinate me. 'It isn't always like that, is it?' I asked, marvelling at its startling erectness.

'No, it goes soft and squashy normally. Otherwise it would be hard to hide...' She smiled. 'Yours must be the same, surely?

'Well it gets harder when I'm turned on, but it doesn't really change SIZE. Not much anyway.'

'Come up here, I want to look at you.'

I straddled her and walked on my knees up to her face, so she could gaze at me, and I teased my lips apart to display myself to her.

'OH, look at that... such a pretty pussy.... It's perfectly formed. Delicate little petals.. ' she traced a finger over them and I shivered. Our arousal was rising again.

She still had one hand playing with her clit, and she said, 'Masturbate for me, Chloe, I want to watch you.' I was beginning to realise that masturbation was a favourite thing for her. Doing it herself, watching others do it, or doing it while being watched.

I began to play with my pussy as lewdly and erotically as I could; pulling up on my mons to make my clit and inner lips pout (though nothing like hers) parting my outer lips with two fingers while circling my clit with another, spreading my inner lips to show her the glistening pink flesh of my innermost recess, and easing my fingers into my vag and teasing out drooly strings of my honey.

She was wanking like crazy, and her breathing was staccato and irregular as she gazed, slightly cross-eyed, at my sex. 'Oh-h-h f-fuck-ck-ck...'

'You like that?' You like watching me wanking?' I moved forward slightly, making her go even more cross-eyed, and I slipped my syrupy fingers between her lips, then pumped them slowly in and out, like I was finger-fucking her mouth, while rubbing my clit with the other hand.

It was too much for her. She came in a blinding rush, sucking hard on my fingers, and that sent me over the edge too. I moved forward again, and wanked my clit in an orgasmic frenzy, giving her the full benefit of my climactic dribble, and leaving a creamy white streak across her cheek.

I flopped down next to her, and we lay panting in our aftermath. It was a while before either of us spoke, then she chuckled and said, 'Wanking. '

'What?'

'Wanking. It's such a funny word for it.'

'Is it?'

'Well yeah. I'm not used to it.'

'What do you call it?'

'Masturbating, or maybe 'bating for short, or just playing.'

'It's a crap word though, masturbate, isn't it?'

'Yeah. Australian women call it jilling. You know - men jack off and women jill. Maybe we should adopt that?'

'I'll stick wanking. It sounds suitably rude and mischievous.'

'I don't care what you call it, as long as I can watch you doing it.'

'You really like that, don't you?'

'I do. It was my first introduction to lesbian sex. My first girlfriend Callie and I used to spend hours just watching each other. I just thought she looked so sexy doing it, and I loved doing it for her. I've never gotten tired of it.'

'Licia and I sometimes do it for each other, and sometimes we watch solo girl porn together and wank ourselves silly.'

She giggled. 'Mm, sounds like fun.' Her hand was busy again. 'I do want to actually eat you though,' she said. 'Just in case you were wondering... Shall we 69?'

I demurred. 'I'd rather you just ate me. I'll do you again afterwards if you want.'

'OK,' she grinned.

I opened my legs for her and she turned over and wriggled down, lifting my leg over her head so she was up close and personal with my pussy. 'Your cooch really is so pretty, Chloe. Mine's just badass... ' We cackled.

'I like badass...'

'I like pretty... come here my lovely...' She hooked her arms around my legs and pulled herself up to me. She kissed my lips and rubbed her nose against my hard little button, then inhaled me. 'Mmm, gorgeous,' then she started to eat me with a passion that was palpable. She really loved pussy. It was plain to see in her avid kissing, sucking and tonguing, and in her lustful little moans and murmurs.

Her hand was busy bringing her to yet another climax as she ate me, and she expertly paced her stimulation and didn't let herself come until she was sure I was about to. Then, as my climax rushed up, she abandoned herself to it and we roared through the tunnel of lust together, moaning, howling, sobbing and whimpering, until we emerged, spent, surrendered, and so, so sated.

I never did get to eat that rude pussy of hers again.

Around 1am, Pam roused herself from post-coital dozing and crept back to her room, and I slipped away into that profound sleep that only sex can produce.

***

Monday morning found me rummaging for merchandise. The little girl, Lina, and her dad, from the town square, had come for some merch, as I'd promised them, and I gave them a Canyon cap, a Canyon-Zipp bidon (water bottle) and a Team Lyon scarf. We posed for another photo, and she was beaming with joy. Bless.

Molly came to collect me, and drove me to the airport. She said she, Fanny and Mariane had toured the bars in Oudenaarde, looking for me the previous evening, but never found me. 'Lots of people had seen you, but not us.'

'Hm, shame. I was in town for at least a couple of hours, but it was very crowded.'

She got out of the car at the drop-off to give me a hug and a 'Congratulations, Flandrienne,' then I headed into the building, feeling a bit dazed by my new status.

I checked the board to make sure the flight was on schedule, went through check-in, then found a seat and called Licia. 'Hey, how are you?'

'I'm OK, but bored already. I'm gonna go crazy, waiting for this to get better... Anyway, how was last night with Pam? Now come on, I want every detail, and I mean EVERY detail. I still have one hand free for wanking.'

(End of Part 06)