Chloe's Return Pt. 02

This story continues Chloe's timeline from "Riding With Dirty Girls," and "Chloe Rides Again." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for background, you probably 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 Return Pt. 02

'Oo, Chloe, you're SUCH a bad grrl. I love that you just come to me and ask me that. Of course I'm up for it. I'd never turn you down Chloe. I love how you do it to me, with such passion.'

I beamed. Helen is so irrepressible. Her spirit and élan are unquenchable. Even when she's pretty beaten up, like now.

'Think a couple of orgasms might help me to heal, actually,' she said, with a wry grin. Endorphins reduce pain and promote healing, you know.'

'Who says we're keeping to a couple of orgasms?' I said mischievously.

I was super-horny. Almost salivating. I was aching to get my mouth on her pussy, to lick her all the way to heaven, to feel her climax flood her body, to taste it on my tongue, and to savour her ambrosia.

'Shall we go up now?' I asked, a little too earnestly.

'Yes, let's do that.' She smiled and my heart did a little skip. Oh Helen, how you fire me.

We went up and undressed without any further delay and she lay on the bed, still festooned with dressings, and a few spectacular bruises. I got on the bed and she parted those beautiful thighs in a breath-taking invitation.

I crawled up over her for a kiss, supporting myself on my arms so that I didn't put my whole body weight on her, and we softly smooched, lips and tongues just gently caressing.

There's a gorgeous tenderness to Helen's kisses sometimes. Her mouth becomes a seductively soulful instrument of pleasure, communicating her feelings, drawing me in and making me want more and more.

I could feel my passion rising as we kissed, but I tore myself away from her magical lips and moved slowly down the left side of her body, where all her injuries were, symbolically kissing all the hurt places; her shoulder, her elbow, her hip, her ankle...

She chuckled slightly. 'Do your lips have healing properties, Chloe?'

'I hope so. They can certainly bring you the endorphins you need,' I murmured as I began to kiss my way up her leg.

Her thighs are things of wonder. I know I go on about them, but I can't help it. I'm besotted. They have THE most perfect combination; muscular yet soft, smooth and feminine. I shouldn't say it, but they are even better than Licia's. I love Licia's, but they are a little more brawny.

I kissed my way up the inside of her left one, my whole body fizzing with arousal, along the subtle curve of her quads, and up the faint flesh-covered ridge of her gracilis as she flexed her leg slightly.

She sighed and squirmed a little as I reached the lovely little band of gooseflesh at the border of her vulva, and I paused for a moment to gaze at her pussy, beautifully pouty, with its patch of curly hair, like finely spun rose gold.

She parted her legs even more, and I traced a finger up the crinkled flesh of her inner lips, which were just peeping between her fubsy outer ones. She sucked in her breath as I collected her glistening moisture on my fingertip then sucked it. Mmm, delicious.

I used two fingers of one hand to part her lips, revealing her tumid little button, and I teased it with the tip of my tongue, thrilled to feel how hot it was. Then I trailed my tongue down into her honeypot, and back up, coating her lips in lubriciously slippery juice.

She gave a little 'Oh je' as I increased the intensity of my tonguing; lapping, licking, probing, and flicking, and I revelled in having my nose buried in those golden pubes, breathing her in as I ate her like an over-ripe fruit; the kind where you can't stop the juice from dripping off your chin.

My own pussy had already made my inner thighs slick and slippery, and I hadn't even touched it yet, but now I got up on my knees, bum in the air, and slipped the middle two fingers of my hand into myself. I was obscenely hot and wet and I could clearly feel the hardness of my clit against my hand as I plunged my fingers, full-length deep into my hole until the outer two fingers squished my labia majora.

Still gorging on Helen's heavenly honeypot, I started fucking myself zestily, until my whole hand was a mess of gooey, syrupy girl juice.

This was all I needed. THIS. Kneeling between Helen's dreamy thighs, gorging on her creamy cunt, and finger-fucking myself to sexual Shangri-la.

We stayed like this for ages, alternating orgasms. Each time she came, it made me come shortly afterwards, and that started her off again. It was a self-sustaining cycle. Only lesbian sex can do this.

Obviously, it couldn't go on indefinitely, but while it lasted it was pure bliss.

In the end, I had to stop because my neck was so stiff I could hardly hold my head up. Still, if that meant I might end up helplessly drowning in her, I might have just let it happen. But no, we were orgasmically spent. Don't ask how many, I don't have a number, but I think you could say, 'an ample sufficiency.'

After such a sexual melding (I think we bonded at a chemical level) there was no way I was going to the other bed, and we slept as before, with Helen lying on her right side, and me moulded to her, spooned together in beautiful intimacy. Oh, wonderful Helen.

***

Stage 3: Almuñecar-Sierra Nevada. 118km / 3800m of climbing.

It was another hectic morning. The stage start was at 11am in Almuñecar, a resort on the Costa Granadina, which was an hour's bus ride away, and we needed to be there for 9:30, to have time for all the pre-stage rigmarole. That meant an early breakfast at 7:30. Ugh.

You may wonder why we didn't stay in Almuñecar instead of Granada. Well, Stage 4 was a time trial in Granada, and Stage 3 finished close to the city too, so Granada was the most convenient base overall.

The accursed alarm jolted me awake at 6:50, and I groaned and jumped in the shower, making Helen a little envious because, with her multifarious dressings, she needed to wash herself more "strategically."

Some riders don't like the early breakfast because they say they struggle to eat at that time in the morning. I don't like it either, but it's nothing to do with any difficulty eating. I can eat at any time of day (or night).

As usual, I approached the breakfast table figuratively rubbing my hands. I love a Spanish breakfast, and I indulged myself with three popular favourites; toast with olive oil and tomato to start, then a slice of toast with Seville marmalade, followed by a huge croissant (borrowed from the French, I know) and then polished off two coffees and a slab of cake. Who doesn't love a country that has coffee and cake for breakfast?

I noticed Helen looking at me with a smile as I demolished all this with gusto. OK, I admit it, I'm a bit of a gannet, but I must be burning it, because my weight is remarkably stable between 57.5 and 58 kilos. I guess it's one of the advantages of being young and doing humongous amounts of exercise.

The best thing about it is I don't tend to suffer from the dreaded "hunger bonk" (running out of fuel mid-race).

'Right, I'm ready,' I announced. 'Let's get at those mountains.'

The stage started at sea-level, on the Almuñecar seafront, and started climbing almost immediately. It reached 1100 metres altitude after only 25km, at a pass over the coastal mountains, so it was an unusually brutal start.

A long undulating crossing of a plateau then led to a second pass, and a descent to the outskirts of Granada at 75km. It was then that the real fun started.

The stage finish was at 2700m, high on the Sierra Nevada, on a piece of road that was closed to traffic. Special permission was needed for the race to go beyond the normal "roadhead," and this was going to be the highest stage finish ever in the World Tour, men's or women's. Quite a coup for the Vuelta Femenina.

Stages of the men's Vuelta had finished high on the Sierra before, but only at the roadhead (2550m) never this high. The new finish, up a series of hairpins, made a dramatic finale, and I was looking forward to it immensely.

We got on the bus for the drive to Almuñecar, and I sent Licia a message; 'On our way to the start. 3800 metres of climbing coming right up. Wish me luck.'

She sent back a thumbs up and a message that made me giggle; 'Thinking about getting out of bed. Hard decision about what to have for brekkie coming right up. Wish me luck.' Oh, she does do me good.

We negotiated the sign-on, the sorting out of bikes and kit, and a spot of journalist-dodging, and soon we were assembling for the neutralised start. There was a quiet air of apprehension.

This was the toughest stage yet in the women's Vuelta -- or any stage race on the women's tour - and it wasn't just the total climbing that was feared, it was also the altitude of the finish. Many girls in the peloton had never been to such a height (me included) and it was plenty high enough for the thin air to have an effect.

There's a high-altitude training centre on the Sierra Nevada, at 2300 metres, where many pros go for altitude training camps. Well, the stage finish was 400 metres higher than that. It was a daunting prospect.

The neutralised start was the shortest ever; only 2 kilometres. No sooner had we cleared the outskirts of town than the flag was waved and we were off up the hill.

It was curiously calm. There were no attacks at all. The daunting toughness of the stage had an inhibiting effect, and no-one wanted to commit themselves so early. The peloton tapped out a robust climbing rhythm and everyone just sat in the wheels, with three or four teams sharing the lead as we gained height.

Although it was relentless, the climb had an average gradient of under 5%, so it was pretty easy as climbs go, and I just pedalled along, enjoying the beautiful views over the coast. Climbing like this on a bike is almost therapeutic, but I knew it wouldn't feel like this by the time we were high on the Sierra Nevada.

Eventually, and pretty painlessly, we reached the first pass, the Collada de Cabra Montes (col of the mountain goat) and the road embarked on a glorious corniche section, winding along the slopes with stunning coastal views. This was truly the cyclist's high.

I think we were all feeling a little high because when we passed through a short tunnel, everyone started shouting, childishly, just to hear the resonant sound. I guess you could say we were a happy band of pedallers as we started the plateau section and, finally, the attacks began.

By the time we reached the second pass, the Ultimo Suspiro del Moro (last sigh of the Moor) a small group of 6 had broken clear, but they would need to be extremely strong to survive what was coming.

As we skirted Granada, the break had a lead of 2.30 but then we headed into the mountains and the race really began.

An easy 10km up the valley of the Rio Genil almost lulled us into a false sense of security, but then the work started. We had a 35km climb from here to the finish -- I think probably the longest ascent ever seen in women's professional cycling - taking us all the way to the snowline.

The gradient of the normal ski-resort road wasn't too bad at 7%, but they didn't take us that way, did they? Oh, no... Instead, they made us first climb up to a village called Güéjar Sierra at 1000m, then plunge back into the river valley, then climb back up the other side to re-join the normal route, using a gnarly little road with sections of 20% and 21%. Cruelty.

The ascent to Güéjar was enough to start loosening the grip of some riders on the peloton, and by the time we started that steep climb to the Puerto de Hazallanas, some of the sprinters, and some of the lesser domestiques, had already been dropped, and we had almost caught the girls in the break.

The remaining peloton strung out as the climb began to bite, and an elite group inexorably started to form, consisting of the top climbers and the strongest super-domestiques, while others were distanced and left to fend for themselves. The 6 girls in the breakaway were picked up, one by one, as the leading group started to apply the pressure.

I was still in this group, and still feeling physically strong, but I had jittery butterflies. I'd never done a climb anywhere near this length, and I had no idea how long I'd last. The fear was real.

I looked around at the riders I was with; Tera, Zara, Lucy, Suzy, Pam, Leona, Elisa... all of them with way more experience. Impostor Syndrome was nagging at me again, and I knew I had to shake myself free of it.

I tried to think of Molly, of how many times she'd told me what I was capable of, and how many times she'd been right... '... one of the best climbers in the world...' Really? Was I?

We emerged on the main Sierra Nevada road, and the gradient became more amenable again. The group, now consisting of only 16 riders, settled back into a metronomic climbing rhythm, with Lucy's trusty right-hand woman, Olga, leading, and Lucy sitting pretty in the red jersey behind her.

Amstel-Rabo still had four riders in the group, and so did we; Zara, Tera, Marlen, and me, while other teams were more depleted. Leona had no team mates left with her at all.

The pace was sufficient to ensure that no dropped riders could get back on the train, and we forged ahead, all sharing the lead at various times.

We rose above the 2000m contour and everyone's breathing started to become a little more audible, but the group stayed together. There was no talking. The tension was palpable. Everyone was just concentrating on turning the pedals. I still had butterflies. Who was going to be the next to crack?

At 2100m we reached the entrance of the main ski complex, Solynieve (sun and snow), but we swung left and climbed up to a col called Sabinas, 100m higher, where an older section of road was joined.

This road was built in the 1930s and used to go all the way to the summit of Pico Veleta at almost 3400m, making it the highest road in Europe, but in the 1990s, a barrier was installed at 2550m and the upper section was closed to cars. The old road surface still survives a little higher though, and that's where we were headed.

At Sabinas the road rounded a hairpin bend, and became rougher and a little steeper. Everything suddenly got a lot harder and I detected a wavering in the pace of those ahead of me. I came to the front and lifted the tempo again and riders started to drop from the group, one by one. The final selection had begun.

I was still leading as we passed above the high-altitude training facility, and up ahead I could see the sun glinting off the windscreens of a multitude of cars, parked at the roadhead at 2550m. It looked close, and after that, there would just be the final series of hairpins - zig-zags, switchbacks, whatever you call them -- up the Loma de Cauchiles to the finish.

I was still jittery though. Being on the front for so long was a questionable tactic, but my foggy notion was that if I kept the pace witheringly high, it would discourage any attacks, and I'd also get rid of a lot of the group, leaving just a small number of survivors to fight it out for the victory. Maybe I could even drop them all before the finish. It didn't quite work out like that.

Huge crowds had gathered at the roadhead, Hoya de La Mora (hollow of the moorish woman), all cheering enthusiastically, and I glimpsed a few Brits, waving flags and a banner that had my name on it. They'd been busy pre-race too: I spotted "Chloe" and "Lyoness" painted on the road a few times, which gave me a little lift as I led the remaining group of just 6 riders through the throng of enthusiastically cheering fans.

We rounded a bend and passed through the opened barrier onto the final, even rougher, section of road, and that's where Zara made her move.

To be honest, it took me by surprise, because I didn't think anyone would have an attack left in their legs at this point, but she wasn't the only one: Lucy was straight onto her wheel, determined to defend her overall lead.

To a casual observer, it probably looked like I'd been working for Zara all along, doing a perfect domestique job and launching her for this attack, but I knew nothing about it. We certainly hadn't planned it.

I was so unprepared that I didn't immediately respond, but as I rounded the next hairpin and looked back I could see that everyone behind was struggling. It was down to the three of us.

I could see Zara and Lucy up ahead, both still standing up in a slow-motion ding-dong battle. Zara trying to drop Lucy, and Lucy determined not to be dropped. The gap to them was growing, and I had to make a quick decision: Settle for third, or try to fight back?

Settle? SETTLE?... the demon was back. Of course I wouldn't settle...

I rose up out of the saddle and started mashing the pedals. My legs were made rubbery by the altitude, but I still had a little bit more speed in me. I wasn't done yet.

I saw that Zara had opened a small gap over Lucy, but they were both sat down again now, both hunched over the bars, and their weaving and meandering spoke of their fatigue. That little battle had taken its toll. My confidence rose.

They rounded the next hairpin just a few metres apart, and as they climbed the next incline they both looked down to me, anxiously.

I was well aware of the psychological battle that was going on here; I knew I needed to look good and threatening, so I stayed out of the saddle, trying to dance on the pedals, but in truth just rocking and rolling. Hopefully, I still looked strong and scary enough to strike fear into their hearts.

I gained a few yards, and all three of us were on the next incline together. Now, we were all sat down and just grimly grinding. The gradient was probably no more than 8% but there was a distinct lack of oxygen in the thin air. It was brutally hard.

I was gaining though. I was definitely gaining.

There were only three or four hairpins left now, and snow lay thickly on both sides of the road. It must have been cold up here but I didn't notice. My mind was focussed on catching Lucy, who I could tell was suffering.

Halfway up the next incline, I saw her head go down and I knew she'd cracked. I came gradually up behind her, agonisingly slowly - our speed must have been way down in single digits -- and I moved left and crawled past.

Zara was within reach now and I was seized with the lust for victory. Team leader or not, no quarter would be given if I caught her. I was not in the mood for gifts. If I could win this stage, I was definitely going to.

We were between the barriers now, less than a kilometre from the finish, and I had 30 metres to make up. Another crowd of diehard fans had gathered up here, and they were banging on the barriers, shouting, yelling, and making a hell of a racket, as they watched this slo-mo chase play out.

We were both meandering wearily, unable to keep a straight course, tired bodies starved of oxygen, legs gone to mush, but she was coming back to me, metre by metre.

She wasted time looking back to see where I was, which was a mistake. Molly always told me, in this situation, 'never look back, just GO.' I gained a little more ground.

The finish countdown markers arrived. 400 metres to go, 300... I was so close. 200... 100... I couldn't make it. She was almost in touching distance as she crossed the line, but a miss is as good as a mile, as they say, and I'd missed. Just.

We both came to a wobbly stop, straight after the line, and fell from our bikes, utterly exhausted, chests heaving to try to extract desperately-needed oxygen from the cold, rarefied air. It took us a little time before we could even sit up, then we looked at each other and shook our heads...

Adam and Debbie were on hand to collect the bikes, wrap us in warm clothing, and usher us into a tent, which felt surprisingly warm compared to outside. Probably because of its protection from the wind, which was only gentle but had a real bite to it at this altitude. Blessed be the soigneurs. Lifesavers.

Zara and I gave each other a high-five, which turned into a hand clasp, and we both fist-bumped Lucy when she joined us. We were not surprised when Suzy Goethe was next into the tent, followed by Tera, but the gaps were quite big. That's what mountain top finishes do.

This stage had truly provided the expected challenge and spectacle. The whole peloton was scattered all over the mountainside, and riders were still clawing their way across the line 45 minutes after Zara and I got there. It was a monster.

It didn't change the leader though. Lucy had managed to limit her time loss to 15 seconds, so she stayed in red. It was good to share a podium with Lucy again, and I have to say, she looks good in red.

The red jersey may not have changed hands, but the top 5 certainly looked different after the stage, with Zara now in 2nd place, me in third, Suzy Goethe in 4th, and Tera in 5th. I was now only 14 seconds off the lead, and on the virtual GC podium!

The dust settled, and I was borne off down to the Canyon-Zipp team bus, parked at the ski complex. The team reassembled and there were lots of hugs and hurrahs.

Later, as the bus rumbled down the mountain to Granada, in a slow-moving column of race vehicles, it dawned on me what an awesome ride I'd done. In my very first major tour, my very first mountain stage, and my very first time at altitude, I'd finished second, within a smidge of victory, and almost hunted down the legend that is Zara Visto.

It was a spectacular way to burst onto the stage racing scene, and the internet and social media were soon abuzz with the story. My phone was pinging continually with messages of congratulation, and EVERYONE in the team wanted to hug me..

I hadn't won, but my second place got more attention than Zara's victory. She was Zara Visto, she was EXPECTED to win, but I was the new sensation. The wunderkind.

I didn't really like it. Is that obtuse? Maybe it is, but it's how I felt. I love riding my bike, and I love racing and battling for victory, but I didn't like the attention my success brought. I APPRECIATED people's congratulations, but I didn't ENJOY being a star. I didn't like the fact that it kind of separated me from some of my team mates. Set me apart. I was acquiring one of those auras.

Back at the hotel, I called Molly and Licia.

Molly was surprised by Zara. 'Looks like I was wrong about Visto. She was impressive today, but wow, you gave her a fright, didn't you? It was a fantastic ride, 'Chloe. I knew you could do it, I just KNEW it!' She was very excited. 'Just watch your pacing tomorrow and you can be up there again. You are going to need to renegotiate your contract after this Vuelta, especially if you finish on the podium. €300k a year isn't enough.'

Trust Molly to think about that. It hadn't even crossed my mind, but she was always keeping a pragmatic eye on such things and, of course, more money for me would mean more money for her. She's not daft.

'Licia was also exultant about my ride; 'Well you didn't need any luck, did you? Whoaa, what a climb. Do you realise the climbers you dropped today?' I did, and I still didn't believe it really. 'You even had Visto in your sights. You should have seen the pain on her face when she crossed the line. She didn't even celebrate. You were RIGHT THERE. ON HER WHEEL. Oh, God, I'm so proud of you babe...'

I started laughing.

'What's funny?'

'Oh, sorry Liss, it's just your excitement. I love it '

'Well, it's exciting. You're up there with all those big names -- and not just staying with them - kicking their arses!

For an instant, I wished I was back in Ireland with her. I think we'd have had super-duper celebration sex.

We were a happy band at dinner, flushed with the team's success. We had three in the top 5, and Marlen too, had climbed amazingly well to be in the top 10. We suddenly seemed to have Amstel-Rabo under the cosh. Everyone was looking forward to the time-trial, where we expected Tera to make her mark.

As I was finishing my rice pudding dessert, I looked at Debbie, down at the far end of the table. I'd had the intention to visit her for a massage while the bus was parked up at Solynieve, but with all the excitement I didn't get around to it. Now, I wondered about how we could organise a little playtime.

I kept looking in her direction and eventually I caught her eye and gave her a cheeky little smile and a pout. Judging by her slow nod of the head, I think she got the message immediately.

We left the table, and I followed her into the lounge/bar, where we found a quiet couple of seats. 'So, something on your mind, Chloe?'

'Yeah, your tits.' Well, I thought, why not go bold, and I wasn't lying. They'd kind of been on my mind since she almost pushed them in my face on the bus to Valladolid.

She chuckled. 'Oo, forward. I like it. Let me get us some drinks and we'll talk about them.' She went to the bar.

I felt that familiar thrum of sexual excitement starting to build. Most of my sexual partners had been super fit, quite lean cyclists, and busty wasn't what you'd call them. There was Carmen, and Helen of course, but Debbie was even more busty, and I guess I had a bit of a fascination with big boobs, having hardly experienced them. I'd even sought out big boob porn and fantasised, on occasions.

She returned. 'I'm surprised you're feeling at all horny after your epic ride today Chloe,' she said. 'You should be fading fast by now, surely?'

I laughed. 'Nooo. My libido is even bigger than Pico Veleta. It takes more than a mere 120k and 4000 metres of climb to suppress it.'

'Wow, you really are a bundle of fire, aren't you?'

'Can be...'

She looked at me fruitily. 'And you fancy spending a bit of time with these, do you?' She squeezed her boobs together with her arms and jostled them from side to side.

'Yeh, they look like a lot of fun.' I said, and she cackled. She knew full well they were a "selling point."

'Don't know where though. I'm sharing with Helen.'

'Oh that's no problem. I was supposed to be sharing with Gabi, but she's got a room of her own now, so I have a vacant bed in my room.'

'Oh, we only need one bed, Debbie,' I smirked.

'How very true. When do you want to go?'

'Right now.'

We left unfinished drinks on the table and headed to her room, which was just along the corridor from the room I was sharing with Helen. We let ourselves in and immediately started undressing. Oh God, so exciting. I'll NEVER get tired of this. This delicious anticipation of carnal gratification. Why does riding the bike make me so horny?

I was naked in a flash, and she was down to bra and knickers. Nice, white, slightly lacy bra and knickers. 'Stop!' I said. 'Let me take those off.'

She giggled a little. 'OK then.'

I came close and put my arms around her, but then I got diverted by the desire to kiss her. I can never resist a kiss, and her lips looked very kissable. I brought mine to hers, and we smooched gently for a moment, soft lips to soft lips.

She didn't use her tongue at first. We just enjoyed the sensation of lingering lips, and our warm bodies pressing together.

There is something magical about a lesbian kiss like this. It's just such a tender connection. A savouring of this delectable prelude to sex, and a savouring of the closeness of our bodies.

Her tits felt gorgeous as they pressed against me. Soft cushions of feminine flesh. The material of her bra was slightly scratchy against my nipples -- such a gorgeous sensation - and they responded like rude, probing bolos. She broke the kiss. 'Ooh, Chloe, your nipples are so hard. I can feel them... You're REALLY aroused, aren't you?' Well she wasn't wrong on that. I was bursting with desire.

I resumed the kiss, and it became more lusty, with swirling tongues, and messy saliva, our heads rolling against each other. I put my hand on the back of her head to press her mouth more firmly to mine, and I found the slight spikiness of her short hair oddly stimulating. Because it was different, I guess.

I had to release those bustling breasts, and I fumbled behind her to undo her bra, a little clumsily. She shrugged off the shoulder straps so I could pull it out from between us, and I gave a little gasp as it flicked across my nipples, sending a momentary electric shock through me.

I stepped back to look at her tits, and they were just as I'd imagined; full and round, with nipples that were almost as scrunched up and pointy as mine. Absolutely luscious. I had breast envy.

'Do you like them?' she asked, lifting them up in her hands, and I could only swallow and nod. She bent her head and started lewdly sucking her nipples, making them even more prominent, and keeping eye contact with me whole time. She was loving this. Giving me a titillating show (pun very definitely intended).

'Your turn Chloe... Kiss them... Suck my nipples... Mmm, like that... Use your tongue... Mmm'

As I was soon to learn, Debbie was a very talkative lover. She liked to give instructions, even when I really didn't need any. I think it turned her on. Gave her a feeling of power maybe. I certainly wasn't complaining. I quite liked it too. In fact, I started doing it myself, which seemed to turn her on even more.

'Use the flat of your tongue... oh fuck yeah... suck it in... mm, oh, oh... squeeze it against the roof of your mouth... ah, ah, yeah... ohh, fucking perfect.'

I sat down on the bed and she stepped forward and continued to feed me those heavy breasts, telling me exactly what to do to them, and I just sat there and enjoyed it, my pussy going zing, zing, zing with arousal. Her sexual duende was immense, and I was helplessly enthralled by it.

I loved the texture of her nipples -- firm and erect, but a little softer than mine -- the way the flesh of her breast yielded sumptuously as my face pressed eagerly into it, and the scent of her skin, which was probably mostly the shower gel she used, but also distinctively HER.

Still gorging on her simply addictive breasts, I started pulling her knickers down, but she stepped back, leaving me momentarily deprived of my tit feast. She gave me a lewd smile, then wriggled her panties down and dropped them on the floor. Then she stepped forward again, straddling my legs and deliberately shimmying her boobs from side to side. They really were a magnificent pair and she was justifiably proud of them.

She stood there, with her body so close, and she said, 'Now you can have everything, Chloe.' She leaned down and kissed me again - a hungry, ravening kind of kiss - and I was suddenly aware of the sheer intensity of her arousal. I had to taste it.

I slid down to sit on the floor, and I looked up at her and simply said, 'Fuck me,' and she moved forward until her knees pressed into the side of the bed, then she began the most salacious hip rolling face-fuck I think I've ever experienced. God, she was so wet. Her pubes were matted with juice, and her inner thighs smeared my cheeks with it as she gyrated lubriciously on my face.

This was so hot. I ate her like a starving animal, almost choking myself on sex syrup and saliva, as my fingers plunged into my hole, fucking myself to a frantic, spurting climax.

I wailed, a gurgly, muffled wail as I came, and she started thrusting violently against me, fucking me hard until she reached her release, then slowing again with a salacious groan as I savoured the flavour of her orgasm.

I lay, almost smothered under her wet pussy, and she drew back, just slightly, and looked down at me. 'Oohh, look at that. I've dreamed of seeing that cute nose of yours between my lips... so hot.' She bent her legs a little more and rubbed her clit against my nose with a little chuckle, then she slid down to kneel astride my legs and started kissing and licking my face.

I sat there, limp, still recovering from my orgasm, and sated for now, but she wanted more. She stood up and pulled me up by my hands, then laid me on the bed.

She lay on top of me, gleefully, and we kissed again, writhing tongues together, sharing her taste, and my libido stirred again as I felt those heavy breasts squashing down on mine, almost nipple to nipple. 'Ooh you feel so good under me, Chloe. So lean and lithe, and those nipples... fuuuuck..' She squirmed a little rubbing her tits against me and obviously enjoying the feel of my hard little nubs pressing into her flesh.

'Why don't you suck them?' I suggested, and she giggled and started moving down, trailing her breasts over my ribs and stomach until she could get her lips on them. They were erect and sensitive, and I gave a sharp little intake of breath as her tongue twirled round and round, but I soon lost myself in the pleasure of her oral attention.

My nipples are very sensitive. I have proven to myself that I can make myself come simply from nipple stimulation. I did it as an experiment, just to see if I could, but I don't make a habit of it because I really can't keep my hands away from my pussy when I'm turned on.

So it was now. As she lay, half on top of me, sucking on my tits, I slipped a hand between my legs and toyed with my clit. It was a powerful combination and my arousal was soon rising like a soufflé again.

I love this double stimulation; a mouth on my nips and my fingers on my clit. There's only one thing better and that's a mouth on both...

I was just getting really into it when she realised what I was doing and said, 'Here, let me get that for you.' She shuffled down between my legs, and I took my hand away as she spread my lips with her fingers and gazed. 'Oh what a pretty little flower,' she cooed, 'and so wet... Wooow... so horny.' I was aching with desire for her lips, willing her to touch me.

'Kiss it,' I said, my voice a little croaky, and she leaned forward and planted a tender little kiss on my open pussy. Those soft lips of hers lingering on my hot, glistening flesh. She groaned. A groan of pure carnal lust as she savoured my heat and my honey.

'Put your tongue in me. Fuck me with it.'

'Oh baby, your wish...' she trailed off as she poked her tongue out and slipped it into my entrance, then started moving her head back and forth, stabbing it into me, over and over.

Her tongue was not as long or agile as Licia's, but I wasn't complaining. I loved the way her nose bumped against my clit hood with each stab, and I placed a finger at the top of the hood and pulled up so that her nose was nuzzling my clit more directly. Then I just lay enjoying the sensation and watching her short-haired head bobbing up and down between my legs.

She was diligent. My increasing little moans told her I was enjoying what she was doing, and she just kept at it. Stabbing my syrupy hole and stubbing her nose on my clit, and I helped my orgasm to surge by tweaking a nipple with my other hand until the climax flooded me with a seraphic bliss, and I flooded Debbie's tongue with a little taste of honey. Oh my God I love orgasms.

She crawled up next to me for a very tasty kiss, and we got under the covers and lay chatting for a while.

'That was gorgeous Chloe... Better than I'd hoped.'

'Glad I passed muster,' I said, with mock huffiness.

'Hey, that was meant to be a compliment. My hopes were very high, but you're a proper sex bomb.

'Well, thank you. You're pretty hot stuff yourself,' I chuckled, 'I really like the talking. Some women hardly say ANYTHING.'

'Oh, I've always been vocal. I like to get exactly what I want, and if I'm feeling good, I say so.'

'I still don't get the bi thing though. I mean, when lesbian sex is so good, why would you then go back to hairy-arsed men?'

She chuckled. 'You have a point. To be honest, I haven't been with a guy for a while now, and I think there's a lot of lesbian potential in this job. You are a bunch of very naughty girls, and I find that pretty damn hot. I might never go back.'

'I just couldn't imagine sex with no pussy to eat,' I pondered. It would just be... barren.'

'You love it, don't you? Pussy...

'Best thing in the world. I never get tired of it.'

'Want some more?' She pushed the covers down, to show me her neat little muff again, and I needed no further encouragement. I rolled over her leg and shuffled down, as she parted her lips with deft fingers, exposing her very prominent clitoris and her wet, pursy inner lips.

'Put your tongue just under my clit... just the tip... Yeah, just there. Squeeze it between my lips... now flick... Ahh... Yeah... Again... Ooo... Again... Ohh that's fucking awesome.'

It was after ten when I left her room and tiptoed along the corridor to mine and Helen's. I sneaked in quietly and Helen seemed to be sleeping so I tried to be quiet. I was wearing very little so it took about 5 seconds to undress for bed.

Helen wasn't sleeping. 'Hello, Chloe. Back from some little adventure, are you?' she said, still lying with her back to me.

'Mm,' I chuckled slightly and started getting into bed.

'Get in here with me,' she said. 'I want you to spoon me again. I like it.'

I smiled to myself, got into bed with her, and snuggled up to her back. 'You smell of sex,' she murmured.

***

Stage 4: Granada. Individual Time Trial. 32 km.

This Vuelta was unusual in that it included both a team time trial, AND an individual time trial. Not the norm in a seven-stage race. With the two high mountain stages, and a punchy Stage 6, it was slim pickings for the sprinters, but that was fine by me. The mountains and the time trials were proper tests, whereas I always think the bunch sprint stages are a bit of a sideshow.

I woke up on Wednesday morning feeling pleasantly mellow. Helen was lying warm beside me and I was snug and comfortable, but it took me a moment to figure out what day it was, and what was happening. Then the memories of that epic climb, and the sex with Debbie flooded back. Oh yes, it was Wednesday. The time trial.

I looked at the time, and lay a little longer. We only had a short bus ride today, and the race started in the afternoon. Luxury.

I tasted my fingers. Salty. Helen was right -- I did smell of sex.

The shower was almost as luxurious as the bed, and I lingered, enjoying sensuous feeling of hot water on my skin, but then my stomach said breakfast and I got out and dried myself.

'Morning, Helen,' I said, as we swapped places and she went in for her awkward "strategic" shower. Trying to avoid wetting her dressings.

'Is it rude to ask who you were with?' she asked as she began her judicious washing.

'No, I don't mind. I was with Debbie.'

'Oo, Debbie. She's frech, isn't she? She has already said we should "have some fun" when I'm better.'

A brief image of the two of them together flashed across my mind. Now that would be a feast of feminine flesh. I'd love to be a filling in THAT sandwich.

Debbie though, eh? She was obviously trying it on with more than just me. I hoped she wouldn't overstep the mark, or do something stupid and get herself sacked or something. I wanted to have much more fun with Debbie.

After another yummy Spanish breakfast, and a bit of heavenly relaxation, we got on the bus to go to the venue.

Unlike the Santiago time trial, this one wasn't in the city centre. The course was in the agricultural area just west of the city, based in the environs of the airport, and it was very different.

It was formed a rough triangle, made up of three sides of approximately 10km each, with a time check at each corner. Neat.

There were no tight U-turns or roundabout double-backs. In fact, there were only two sharp corners on the whole course. It was fast and flowing, with just one hill, at 14km. It wasn't a huge hill, but perhaps enough to swing the balance towards people who can climb as well as time-trial, like Tera, Lucy, and maybe me? We would see.

It was a course I could perhaps do well on, but I wouldn't really know - until I was out on the road - how knackered my legs were after the previous day's efforts, and I was also worried about the weather.

This was Andalucia in May, and the temperature was forecast to be 30 degrees C in the afternoon -- right when the race was scheduled. It was going to be a clear day and the course had no shade whatsoever, so the sun was going to be merciless.

Past experiences had shown me that I'm not at my best in hot weather, and that I have a tendency to overheat and "blow up." Not a disaster on a training ride, when you can just stop and go to a cafe for a cold lemonade, but something I would have to guard against here. 40 minutes flat out in the sun was more than enough to overheat and blow.

As usual with a time trial in a stage race, we started in reverse GC order - a minute and a half apart - meaning I would be third from last off the ramp, with Suzy ahead of me, and Zara then Lucy behind.

I stayed cool on the bus while the earlier riders were sent off, and I only emerged when I needed to, to go to bike check and get warmed up. Huh. Warmed up. It seemed a mad Idea in this temperature but it had to be done.

30 minutes before my start time saw me in the shade of a gazebo, pedalling steadily on rollers with a damp towel draped over my head and guzzling an electrolyte drink. My legs felt OK on the rollers, but only the road would really tell me how they were.

I saw Tera head to the start, then Suzy. It was time to go. I collected the time trial bike (God, I hate that thing) and put on my equally hateful silly aero helmet, complete with visor. Tera departed, and I took the bike up into the start house, fist bumping Zara and Lucy on the way, and got myself settled onto the bike behind Suzy.

When she'd gone and it was my turn, I sat at the top of the ramp and looked up the road. Shit. I was nervous. The road stretched away ahead of me, reflecting the cruel sun and I suddenly felt out of my depth. What was I doing here? This was big-girl stuff.

'C'mon Chloe, get a friggin grip,' I told myself as I waited for the countdown, which seemed to take an age. Pedal at the optimum angle, grip the bars... beep, beep, beep, BEEEP... and launch.

Strain to get that big gear moving, work the twitchy, ungainly TT bike up to speed then get quickly into the time-trial tuck, arms out front on the aero bars.

I left the perimeter of the airport, and settled in for the first 10km, westwards on an old road alongside the much newer autovia (motorway), with patterns of sticky black tar oozing from the surface. I tried to keep my heart rate between 170 and 180 beats per minute (my max is over 200) and that seemed to give me around 49 km per hour, which was a good speed for an individual TT.

I know that power meters are all the rage now, and everyone says they are more accurate, and more immediate, but I like the heart rate monitor, and it can give an early warning of overheating if it starts to rise unusually. I took a drink...

The first sharp turn came at 11.1km and, being in open country, could see Suzy and her team car on the next leg, along with another rider not far ahead of her. That couldn't be Tera, could it? No, the team car was the wrong colour.

On an elite World Tour time trial like this, each rider is followed by a team car, and there are also camera motorbikes etc mixed in, but drafting is strictly forbidden, and even the car behind you has to keep a certain distance to avoid assisting you with its "bow-wave."

I swept around the turn and got a time check from the car. I was in second place, just 3 seconds down on Tera. So far, so good. I stood up, briefly, to accelerate back up to speed, then settled into the tuck again.

I definitely seemed to be gaining on Suzy, and we were both pulling back the other rider ahead, who I hadn't identified yet.

We reached the hill, and the gaps narrowed further. My heart rate rose to 185, which was OK, and the gradient proved manageable while staying seated, so I just kept my head down and concentrated on churning the pedals.

I could see the rider up ahead standing to keep her speed up. She obviously lacked a bit of power.

Over the brow, it was obvious I was going to catch both of them, but I had to be careful. There could be no suggestion of drafting. I kept well to the right side of the road and the team cars kept left as they'd seen me approaching.

Suzy was almost up to the other rider - Romi Wilde of Veloviewer - who had started 4.30 ahead of her. Romi was clearly having a bad day.

Things were getting a little crowded as we all came together, with team cars and camera motorbikes keen to capture the action, but I couldn't afford to wait, and I stepped up my pace a little more and passed all of them in one long surge.

Once clear of the traffic, I settled down again and waited for my heart rate to recover to its previous level. I was still holding 48-49 kph and didn't feel too bad as I approached the second sharp right turn.

My team car had been snarled up a little with the other vehicles, but as I made the turn it was back with me and the time check told me that Tera had extended her lead over me to 18 seconds. She was clearly flying.

There was news from the first time check too, now that all riders were out on the road, and it wasn't good for our team. Zara had passed through the check a surprising 21 seconds down on me, while Lucy was 5 seconds up.

I told the car I didn't want any more updates. I was starting to feel the heat, and I wanted to concentrate on riding the last 10k as strongly as possible, with no distractions.

I could see a plane taking off from the airport in the distance, through a shimmering heat haze, as I ticked off the remaining kilometres, but my pace was faltering. By the last couple of kms my speed was down to under 47 kph and my heart-rate was rising alarmingly as I reached out with my mind for the finish. I passed the red kite (1km to go) and entered the final barriered section. Nearly there.

Blinded by sweat, and gasping for breath in air that felt like it came from a hairdryer, I negotiated the last couple of bends between the barriers, and grovelled to the finish.

Suzy crossed the line close behind me, having almost pulled me back over the last 5k, but I was still a minute and a half ahead of her of course, having erased that advantage over the first half of the race.

I rolled to a stop and was immediately overcome by dizziness. I almost fell over, but Adam and Debbie were there again to bear me up. Adam took the bike away, and Debbie ushered me into the shade of a tent, and then onwards to the cool comfort of the team bus.

'That was a tough one, huh?'

I puffed my cheeks out. 'Too hot for me, Debs. WAY too hot.'

'You should be on rollers, warming down, but you looked bad at the finish, so I thought it best to bring you back here.'

The other girls who were in the bus thought I'd done a great time, but it took me a while to even be interested. I stripped off my skinsuit, wiped myself down with a cold flannel, and put on some cool, dry clothes, then someone popped their head in to tell me I was wanted for the podium presentation. Surprisingly, I'd finished third:

1. Tera Griffin (TCZ) 38.59

2. Lucy van Barle (AR) 39.33

3. Chloe Lyons (TCZ) 40.03

4. Suzy Goethe (AR) 41.35

5. Elisa Abruzzi (TVV) 42.10

Zara had had a nightmare day, finishing a lowly 12th, almost 5 minutes behind Tera, which realistically put her out of contention for GC. The road had spoken.

It looked like Molly was right after all. Zara had looked impressive the previous day, but consistency only comes with lots and lots of training and racing, and two hard days in succession had shown up the holes in her form. Molly is rarely wrong.

Tera's ride was very impressive though; she had averaged over 49 kph (more than 30 mph) a speed not often achieved in a women's ITT, and on a bloody hot day, too.

Lucy had gone fast enough to keep herself in red, outstripping her team leader Suzy, by over two and a half minutes. In fact, at the age of 35, her form was maybe her best ever. Coming out as a lesbian was obviously good for her.

Despite my fade towards the end, I wasn't unhappy with the result. I was still in the mix, still lying third on GC, but now behind Lucy and Tera.

I was seriously knackered now though, and I went straight to bed after dinner. Helen came up soon after me, and I asked her how her race had gone. She had finished mid-field, not her usual position, but she was still on the road to recovery. She was well below-par, but keen to finish all 7 days, and to be there to provide whatever help she could on later stages. It's just how she's made.

'Come into my bed, Chloe. Let's snuggle again. I love it.'

With my current fatigue, and the fact that we had another early transfer in the morning, I didn't have a yen for sex. What? Me not horny? Yes, it does happen sometimes.

I wasn't going to turn down a cuddle with Helen though, there's something special about a cuddle with Helen. I love the soft womanliness of her body, the way her slightly frizzy hair tickles my face, her contented little sighs, and something hard to define. A feeling of sorority.

We spooned, and I had a wonderful feeling of calm. I kissed her neck and inhaled the scent of her hair. 'There's something special about this, Helen. Something I can't define.'

'Yes Chloe. I feel it too. Like sisters.'

'Night Helen.'

'Night Chloe.'

(To be continued)