Chloe's Return Pt. 04

This is the last part of a story which 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. 04

For once, I didn't need the alarm. I was awake and staring at the ceiling when it went off, and I silenced it almost instantly. Pam began to stir and I looked across to the other bed, smiling to myself at her messed up hair, sticking up like a brush.

I thought about our sex, and her extraordinary clit, and I had a sudden urge to burrow under her bed covers, part her legs, and suck it again, but I resisted.

It was funny. I was captivated by her pussy because it was so rude, extreme, almost freakish, and she was captivated by mine because it was her idea of perfection. We made a good pair in that respect.

I lay thinking about all my other sexual partners, and how lucky I was to have them all in my life. Just thinking about them gave me a little thrill. I think I love them all in some way. Yes, I am a greedy girl, but Licia once told me I just have so much love in me that no one person could ever consume it all. It was kind of her to say that and, I guess, it's kind of true.

'Morning Chloe.' Pam was awake.

'Morning.' I turned to face her with a sunny smile, which she returned.

'Ready for the race?'

Oh yeh, the race. Today was the big one. The final stage. The toughest stage yet seen in women's cycling, culminating in the toughest of all climbs. The Alto de l'Angliru.

I got up and peered out of the window. Perfect. Asturias was serving up the sullen weather it is infamous for. Our sunny smiles were the only sunshine to be seen for several miles.

'Looks like a typical Angliru day,' I said.

The men's Vuelta had been up the Angliru 7 or 8 times, and almost all of them had been in low cloud and rain. Its brutal steepness, and the bad conditions had made it infamous, with many riders hating it with a passion.

The men's Vuelta is in September, but it didn't look like ascending it in May instead was going to make any difference. It was still a dismal day.

'Crap weather,' I grumped.

'It'll weed out the weaklings,' said Pam with an evil grin.

We had a little more time today (phew) because, although the stage was long and had a midday start, we only had to travel 30km, to a big sports centre on the western edge of Oviedo, a simple 40-minute bus ride.

It was not yet 8am, and breakfast was at 8:30, so we had a little spare time. I was very tempted to jump her bones again (as Licia might have said) but I fought it off because, well, it seemed inappropriate on the morning of a race.

She had no such qualms though: 'You know, you didn't ought to walk around naked in front of me, Chloe...' I smiled at her coquettishly. It does things to my clit.' She pushed her bed covers down to reveal that I had indeed done things to it. There it was, protruding rudely between her lips, and looking as mouth-watering as ever.

'Fancy a quick 69?' she said.

That was it. Sensible, prudent resolve out of the window. She pointed to my bed and I crawled onto it and lay down obediently, as she got up from her bed and came across.

She knelt astride my head (and OMG her clit looked even more stunning from this angle) and started spreading her legs, bringing her dangly lips closer to my face. I tilted my head back to meet her and she pushed her clit down with a finger and slipped it between my lips, then dropped her body forward to eat me.

She wrapped her arms around my thighs and spread me wide, then we ate each other wildly to fantastic morning orgasms. I love morning orgasms. They can be so much more intense somehow.

It was astonishing how horny for each other we still were after the previous night's debauchery, but our ardour seemed undiminished. Her clit was just as tumid and delicious, and my pussy was just as wet and fervid. It was sublime.

A bad idea on race day? I don't think so.

We didn't leave ourselves much time for a shower, and we arrived at our breakfast tables a minute or two late, looking flushed, with hair still wet.

Of course, I was starving, and I indulged myself mightily, with about 5 courses. Every time I went back to the buffet for more, I just said 'Angliru fuel,' which seemed to amuse everyone no-end.

Robbie and Gabi couldn't really talk tactics with other teams nearby (thank God) but I already knew what the plan was: Make the third climb hard, to reduce the size of the group, cover any dangerous attacks, wait until the steepest part of the Angliru, then attack, hoping to put at least 13 seconds into Lucy and snatch the red jersey from her at the last gasp.

It sounded simple, but on a stage like this, things never are.

***

Stage 7: Oviedo - l'Angliru

158km / 4125m of climbing (gulp)

The stage looked like a proper bastard. It formed a kind of distorted letter G, starting in Oviedo, and heading north and west to Grado, then turning south to cross the Puerto de Marabio (climb number 1). It then meandered back eastwards to cross the Alto de La Cobertoria and descend to Pola de Lena. Then commenced a classic Vuelta stage finish, heading north over the Alto de El Cordal to meet that final vicious spike -- the Angliru.

The first three climbs were all category 1 and 2 -- hard enough to give your legs a bit of a pummelling - and were put in as "softeners," making sure we'd all be nice and tired when we arrived at the Angliru, which was, of course, in the "Especial" category, containing long sections above a 20% gradient, and a max of 24%. Even that 24% section - named the Cueña de Cabra (goat path) - is no short little ramp. It actually sustains 23/24% for a few hundred metres. A real brute.

I had little experience of such a climb. I had ridden Hardknott Pass in the English Lake District, which has similarly steep sections, but the Angliru is an altogether bigger and more sustained ascent.

However, I did have a secret weapon. I had got Karl (one of the team mechanics) to install a larger rear cassette, which would give me a lower bottom gear. I had read so many tales of people suffering on the Angliru because their gearing wasn't low enough, and I didn't want that to happen to me.

I had to get a bit shirty with him though: When I asked for the bigger sprocket, he laughed. 'What? Chloe Lyons, best climber in the peloton, wants a granny gear?'

'Yeh, remember when Wilco, best rider in the world at the time, lost the Angliru cos his gearing was too high?' I said, pointedly, 'Well that's not going to happen to me. Choosing gears that are too high is just macho crap. Get the bloody 34 on.'

'Yes miss,' he said, giving me a sardonic salute, and I marched off, grousing to myself.

I learned later that I wasn't the only rider to request a 34 tooth sprocket for the Angliru.

I say secret weapon, but I also had another one. Molly. She was flying out this morning, and would be collected at the airport and whisked up the mountain in one of Protime Femmes' team cars, so she could give me a shout near the top, and a shout from Molly always gives me a lift.

On the bus ride to Oviedo, I observed that the rain was easing off, and the forecast was for an improvement later in the day, so I kept my fingers crossed. I didn't fancy a repeat of what happened a few years back, when it was so wet and slippery that team cars got stuck on the climb, tyres slipping on the painted slogans of fans, and the stage ended in chaos.

That was also the year that was marred by multiple crashes on the descent of El Cordal (immediately before the Angliru), where subsidence of the mountainside has made the road treacherous.

I didn't dwell on those things though. I kept my positive head on. Today, I had the chance to do something great.

The leader board of the GC before the stage looked like this:

1. Lucy van Barle (AR) - 16:58.50

2. Chloe Lyons (TCZ) - +00:00.12

3. Olga Avonova (AR) - +00:01.21

4. Elisa Abruzzi (TVV) - +00:01.46

5. Tera Griffin (TCZ) - +00:02.06

6. Zara Visto (TCZ) - +00:02.51

It was tantalisingly close. The gap to Lucy was tiny, but I knew that a bad day on the Angliru could cost minutes. My pre-race target of being on the final podium was still not completely safe.

I got a 'good luck' and a thumbs up message from Molly, and one from Licia which, as usual, made me giggle: 'Good luck, babe. Go for red, or get back in bed.' She's just ace.

The rain was only light and the sky was brightening as we rolled out of the city and headed westwards towards Grado. Riders started to attack straight after km 0 but it wasn't until we'd crossed the Rio Nora at about 10km that a stiff little climb enabled a group to go clear. The group was 10 strong, and included some decent climbers, so they were dangerous.

You might think, on a stage as tough as this, that the break had no chance, but stages finishing on the Angliru had been won from breakaways at least twice in the men's Vuelta. We would need to keep them on a short leash.

At Grado, we swung south and began the ascent of the Puerto de Marabio, which would take us up to over 1000 metres. It was a mostly modest ascent, but did have a couple of short sections at 17% so it wasn't all easy.

The bunch rode pretty conservatively, and we crossed the plateau all together in a thick mountain mist, then descended, cautiously, into a tremendous canyon, where the road was hemmed in by immense walls of wet grey rock. The fact that the low cloud shrouded the tops of these walls made it seem even more oppressive and forbidding. Apparently, this area is a mecca for rock-climbers... I shuddered and concentrated on the slick black road ahead.

The second climb, Alto de La Cobertoria, was the first real test. It went up for 8km with many gradients in double digits, and took us up to almost 1200m altitude. It felt relentless, and Lucy put Olga, Pam, and Suzy, the only three really strong climbers she had, on the front to make the pace hard.

I knew riders would start to drop off the back now, but I was still fine, sitting behind Zara, Tera, and Marlen. My legs were good, and my heart rate within limits. I just had to decide how long to wait before trying to take those 12 seconds back from Lucy.

It was now, with the increase in pace, that the growth of the breakaway's gap was arrested at 2.25 and they started to come back to us. The chase was on.

As we crested the pass, we were more than two-thirds of the way through the stage, and the peloton, originally more than 100 strong, had been reduced by about half, as many of the sprinters and the weaker riders had struggled with the relentless pace Amstel-Rabo had set up this climb..

The bunch still contained all the main GC contenders though, and all of us seemed strong. No cracks were appearing just yet.

The descent from Cobertoria was one of the fastest in the race. It had no hairpins, and just meandered downhill with gradients of up to 14%. The road is wide and smooth, too, having been rebuilt relatively recently, so there's nothing to slow you down (apart from your own lack of courage) and it didn't surprise me that it had been the scene of some very nasty accidents involving amateur cyclists.

Zara led on the descent, and the speeds were crazy. I saw over 90kph displayed on my head unit at one point, which is a screaming white knuckles speed on a wet road. My heart rate was crazy high as I just tried to hang on and not lose touch. Zara is an absolute demon descender.

Somehow, we all arrived in Pola de Lena in one piece, and we rode through the town together, thinking 'phew.' Well, that's what I was thinking, anyway.

Pola de Lena (or La Pola) is a fantastic centre for cycling. It's not an attractive town, being full of dreary blocks of flats, but it's in the middle of superb cycling country. At a roundabout in the middle of town, there's a tall signpost which points to no less than 10 famous climbs, all of which have featured in the Vuelta over the years, and all of which are within rideable distance.

There was a feed zone at the entry to La Pola, a place where soigneurs line up by the roadside with musettes (small shoulder bags) containing energy foods, gels etc., and riders pick up the bags (without stopping of course) to eat.

Despite my well-known predilection for eating, I don't like eating on the move like this. It's just way too much of a faff. When I'm on the bike, I like to concentrate on riding the bike, and this is undoubtedly why I sometimes don't give on-the-go fuelling enough attention.

Anyway, I grabbed my musette from Debbie, and rode through town munching carbohydrate bars and sucking on gels. By the time we exited the northern end of town I was fully fuelled and ready to tackle the penultimate climb - El Cordal.

At 5.5km, it's only a relatively short climb, but it has multiple ramps of between 14 and 16 percent, many of them concentrated in the last couple of kilometres, which made it tempting to me. Some of my most successful attacks had been on steep gradients, and I thought the final 16% slopes could be an ideal launch pad.

Being 12 seconds down on GC meant it was essential that I attack at some point to try to gain that time, if I wanted to win, and I'd been pondering on where best to make my move. It wasn't much time to gain, so the safest option would be to try on the upper part of the last climb, but that would give me just one chance, and I knew how gritty and determined Lucy could be when the chips were down.

Alternatively, a surprise attack from a long way out would give me the chance to take more time, if I could survive the whole ascent of the Angliru on my own. It had been done before in the men's race, so it was possible, and it would be a great adventure, anyway.

I was still pondering as we turned under a railway bridge and started the climb, which immediately kicks up at 11%, and then 13%. Everyone was out of the saddle, and the group started to split as some riders quickly reached their limit and started to lose touch.

The rain had stopped now, and the sun was showing itself in glimpses as we climbed, which made everything feel better and more optimistic. The group was reducing all the time as the grinding pace took its toll, but it still contained Zara, Tera, Elisa, Pam, Lucy, Suzy and Olga, and I was still here and feeling quite frisky.

We reached an easier section, where the gradient was only about 6%, the final lull before the tough final 2km, and the sun suddenly broke out powerfully, turning everything bright and technicolour. That was it. I was decided. 'Fuck it,' I thought, 'I'm going.'

I waited until a short flight of hairpins, near an old mine, which was the steepest section, then I exploded into life, throwing down every bit of power I had.

Lucy and her team were alert, and they immediately responded, but my acceleration was too much. Olga, Suzy and Pam were immediately in difficulty and Lucy had to try to take up the chase herself. She held me to 30 metres initially, rocking and rolling all over the bike, but then, on the next hairpin, I threw in a second acceleration, and she cracked. I was away.

The hot sun was on my back as I climbed the last slope towards the summit, and I felt euphoric. There's something exhilarating about riding the whole peloton off your wheel, and I just love a solo adventure.

The descent was exhilarating too. The asphalt was steaming in the sun as I hurtled down this infamously treacherous road. In places, the surface was cracked and distorted by subsidence, and some bits were a little green and slimy. I could understand how it had seen lot of crashes, but I employed my old cyclocross bike-handling skills; shifting my weight to compensate for awkward cambers, spying out the best lines, and standing up to jump over tricky bumps and ripples. It was a total blast!

Behind me, the chase was on, and I knew that Lucy had those same cyclocross skills. Would she use them though? Or would she stay with her team and save herself, in the hope that they could hunt me down on the steep slopes of the final climb?

I guess it was the latter because, as I zoomed into La Vega, Gabi came on the radio: '28 seconds, Chloe, you're in virtual red. The break is just ahead of you.'

I turned onto the climb. It was time to face the fearsome Angliru. 13 kilometres to fight for victory.

In fact, the first part wasn't fearsome at all. It's a funny climb, the Angliru; the first half could make you wonder what all the fuss is about, because it only averages 8% but all the pain is reserved for the last 6km, where the average is double: 16%.

On the initial section, I was quite strong, getting out of the saddle regularly to keep the pace high, and I caught the break quite quickly. They were all still together, climbing in a long single-file line. I thought maybe one or two of them would come with me and we could perhaps work together for a while, but as I passed them, they offered no resistance, and none of them tried to take my wheel.

I continued on alone, and as I approached the Hostel Mirador de l'Angliru, at the 5km mark, I still had a 25 second lead on the red-jersey group.

At this point, there's a kilometre that trends slightly downhill, and there was a temptation to take a breather and just soak up the cheers of the spectators, who had gathered here in huge numbers, but I knew I couldn't afford to let up for a single second. I pressed on, parting the crowd like a ship cleaving the waves, and hit the start of the brutally steep final section.

The road suddenly reared up, with ramps of 16, 20, and 21%, and I was immediately grinding; weaving from side to side as the gradient bit hard. From here, it would be yelling crowds and grovelling all the way to the finish, as the road zig-zagged towards the sky.

I was determinedly keeping my lowest gear in reserve at this point, but I was glad I had it to fall back on, because I hadn't yet reached the steepest part, and it had all suddenly become much more difficult. The sun was now uncomfortably hot, and my leg strength seemed to be deserting me, just when I needed it most.

I was thirsty... That was it! I hadn't drunk enough! My bottles were both empty, so I called for the team car, but it took a while to get alongside me on the narrow road. I could hear its horn blaring as Robbie tried to clear the Shimano neutral service car, which was blocking him, and I grovelled on.

The Shimano car passed me, and finally the Canyon-Zipp car arrived with much-needed water.

Gabi tried to give me a "sticky bottle," a naughty trick where the rider gets hold of the bottle, but the person in the car doesn't immediately release it, giving a momentary tow to the rider. It's illegal, and if seen by the commissaires, can result in disqualification, even though it's not actually the rider's fault.

I didn't want any help like that, and I certainly didn't want to get disqualified. I was deep into a gruelling effort here, and my patience was paper-thin. I yanked the bottle from her hand, yelling 'Give me the fucking bottle Gabi!' then I struggled to guzzle the drink while riding sat down up a 15% incline. I took a second bottle and put it in the cage, then stood up again to round the next hairpin.

A rather chastened Gabi told me my gap was down to 18 seconds. Dammit. The water thing had cost me. Bad planning. I should have replaced the bottles earlier. I dug in again, fighting the gradient, fighting my growing weakness, fighting myself.

From here, each incline has a name, and is labelled with its horrific average and maximum gradients; Llagos (14%), Picones (18%), Cobayos (20%) and I tried to just keep churning, and drinking when I could, which was not easy on these gradients. The brutality of this climb had not been exaggerated.

The next hairpin brought me face to face with the Cueña de Cabra (24%) and I prepared for it by riding round the outside of the curve, where the gradient was slightly easier, and changing down. I was in the granny gear.

I got out of the saddle again, and observed with satisfaction that the granny gear was indeed easier to turn. I almost got back into a decent rhythm as I surmounted the steepest section, but it was not over yet. There were still two more inclines to face.

On the next one, Aviru, 16% felt remarkably easy after the 24%, but I looked down and suddenly saw my nearest chasers, Lucy and her super-duper domestique Olga, grovelling up the steep bit. How many seconds was that?? Not many. Come on legs!

I turned onto the final incline, Pedrusines, a sting in the tail if ever I saw one, at 21%, and I was fading fast. Suddenly, there was Molly, clapping her hands and saying 'Come on Chloe, you're nearly there, you've got it, you've got it!' I rallied a little.

Then, a Spanish man who I didn't even know, called me by name - 'Vamos, Chloee, ultima rampa!' (come on, Chloe, last ramp). I saw "Lyoness" painted on the road. The crowd were going crazy, and "Chloee," and "Vamos," and "Ànimo" rang in my ears. I felt my energy surge.

There was one last bend where I could glance back, and Olga and Lucy were horribly close, surely less than 12 seconds. Fight for it, Chloe, fight!

The Angliru has an odd finish. After the brutality of the climb, the last kilometre is flat. In fact, slightly downhill, falling from 1572m to a massive car park at 1555m, where the stage finish is.

I crested the brow and started the final slight downhill, moving up the gears, trying to get into time-trial mode for that last 1000 metres, but my legs were heavy, and my acceleration felt pretty pathetic. I was just hoping Lucy was feeling the same. I reached top gear and threw down every bit of power I had left. Come on legs, come ON!

I had the stage in the bag now, but to take the overall, I needed to be 13 seconds ahead of Lucy at the finish. Well, in fact, I could get away with 9, due to the bonus seconds I'd get for winning the stage, but Lucy was very close now. Talk about down to the wire...

I drove on through the line, no time for celebration, and immediately braked and turned around (counting in my head) to see Lucy and Olga coming to the finish. Olga was still leading Lucy, but she moved aside before the line, so that Lucy would get the second place bonus. It didn't seem like even 9 seconds.

Lucy braked to a stop next to me and our bikes clashed together as we embraced. At that moment, it didn't matter who had won.

We unclipped and stumbled off our bikes as the soigneurs took them away, and we welcomed Olga into our little hug. What a battle we'd had, and what a fantastic performance by Olga.

Lucy was kissing her cheek saying, 'Olga, Olga, Olga... I couldn't have done it without you,' and there was lots of breathless giggling -- and tears -- from all three of us.

I wasn't anxious about the result anymore. The experience, and my sorority with these women, was everything.

It was almost a minute before the next finisher, Zara, rolled in, and then the results started appearing on the board. I had won the stage by 7 seconds, and got a 10 second bonus for doing so, but Lucy had her 12 second cushion, and she got a bonus 6 for finishing 2nd, which meant... she had won the overall by a single second. The narrowest margin of victory ever in a "grand tour " We looked at each other and burst out laughing. What else could we do?

Molly arrived, having hitched a lift in another team car. She looked at the result and her jaw dropped. 'Wooow... een enkele verdomde seconde.' She said, falling back into Dutch, then she turned to me and said 'Awwww, Chloe...' and hugged me.

'Hey, I'm not sad, Mol. I won the stage. I won the Angliru!'

She kissed me on the cheek - 'Yes, you did. Fantastic,' then she said 'Must go and cheer the girls in,' and she set off to walk a little way back to give a shout to Leonie, Inga, and Mae, who would still be minutes from finishing.

I looked at the result again and shook my head. I'd won the Angliru.

***

Despite not taking the red jersey, the euphoria took days to subside. The podium celebrations had been overwhelming. I was on the podium three separate times; once for the stage win, once for being the best young rider (under 23), and once for my 2nd place overall.

Interviewers always seemed to expect me to be gutted to have missed out by a solitary second, but I didn't feel any of that. I'd had a fantastic Vuelta, and I was happy for Lucy. This was the biggest win of her career, at the age of almost 36, when she must have been expecting to start declining. 'No, I'm not unhappy,' I said to Mark Richards of Eurosport, 'I have plenty of time to win the Vuelta.'

And now, I was home in Scotland, still floating on a cloud, and still having moments of disbelief when I thought about what I'd achieved already this year. I always knew I had talent, and always believed I'd be a top rider one day, but in a few short months, I'd exceeded my wildest expectations: The cyclocross World Cup, the cyclocross World Championship, wins in Paris-Roubaix, and the Tour of Flanders -- two of the biggest races on the calendar -- and now a 2nd place overall and a stage win in the Vuelta Femenina. It was incredible.

My phone was awash, and my head was swimming, with messages of congratulation, and the cycling pages on social media were full of Chloe Lyons and The Lyoness Roars puns. I needed a little quiet time.

I seemed to have been away from home for AGES and it was nice to be back, and be alone for a little while. I love the buzz on the tour, and I am basically a gregarious person, but I also really enjoy my lonesome me time.

I had a few days of that to look forward to, and then Licia was coming for a week. I was looking forward to that, too, though I was a bit worried because Auntie Flo (my curse) was due soon, and that could get in the way. To me, it's the only disadvantage of being a woman.

Anyway, I had a couple of weeks chill time, then I was flying to Belgium to meet Molly. She had arranged a "contract discussion" with Robbie at team HQ in Maastricht, which was surely going to be interesting.

Molly was my coach, not my agent, though. In fact, I didn't have an agent, and Molly had suggested that Marianne could possibly fulfil that role. She knew the business inside out, and was well-respected among the teams, so we were also going to meet up with her, to talk about whether she wanted the job.

Bloody hell, I used to be just Chloe Lyons, now I was becoming Chloe Lyons PLC.

I wasn't thinking about any of that right now though. No, right now I was in the bathroom looking at my pubes. They'd been rather neglected over the past couple of weeks, and they were getting a bit bushy.

I had placed my free-standing makeup mirror on the toilet lid, and I stood in front of it and stroked my curly hairs this way and that, admiring their new luxuriance. Mm nice.

As you probably know, I do appreciate a nice bush. Eating pussy is a different experience with pubes than without, and I definitely prefer with, but it doesn't have to be a huge wild bush, and I always keep mine neatly trimmed. I think it looks prettier, and Licia likes it like that, so a little bit of grooming was needed.

Since we'd encountered Gigi and her beautifully trimmed pubes, I'd bought a men's beard trimmer, as she'd suggested. I'd splashed out on a swanky waterproof one as well, so I could take it into the shower, and it had an adjustable guard, so I could choose my length. I didn't want to go as close and stubbly as Gigi had, so I selected the third setting, which would leave it short, but still soft and silky.

I'm quite lucky that my pubes don't tend to stray beyond their boundaries. I don't have to shave the tops of my thighs or anything -- something that Licia always moans about having to do. So, it was just a simple matter of reducing the length.

I got into the shower and turned on the water, then just ran the trimmer over my mons, and parted my legs to do the lower part of my outer lips. An amazingly quick and simple operation.

Of course, I wasn't finished when I'd done the trimming. Standing under streaming hot water, running a buzzing thing over my pussy, was bound to turn me on, and with Auntie Flo imminent, my libido was even higher than usual. Yes, EVEN higher.

However, I had come prepared, and prepared to come. The trimmer wasn't the only buzzing thing I'd taken into the shower with me. I also had a favourite ribbed purple vibrator at the ready, and now I swapped the little buzzer for a much more substantial one.

This thing is evil, and it never fails to rock me to my core whenever I use it. I turned it on at a high setting, and eased its blunt tip between my lips, watching as I did so, and loving how the vibration turned my little petals to a blur. I groaned salaciously.

I set the shower on a narrow intense setting and stood leaning back against the glass cubicle wall, facing it, so that the jets played on my clit from above, then brought the vibe up from below until my pussy flesh was all abuzz. Fuck that felt good.

I closed my eyes and just savoured the sublime sensation of this divine stimulation, and the feeling of my orgasm stirring, deep inside me, like an awakening dragon. Stirring, waking, rising, growing. Ooohhh, yesss.

I held the pose until the climax was unstoppable. The dragon was rearing and opening its mouth to roar, then I slipped the toy inside me, driving it all the way in and holding it there as the beast breathed fire through my loins.

I held the toy, buzzing deep in my core as I jerked and spasmed through the first peak. The back of my head bumped the glass screen, and my feet splayed out until my toes were gripping the edges of the shower tray, and I stayed there, determinedly using my core strength to hold my position, pushing the toy deeper and breathing in little sobs, until the dragon filled its lungs for a second roar, a longer, more sustained, even more intense roar, with even bigger flames...

My legs gave out, and I curled forward, my abdominal muscles tensing in paroxysm, and only my knees bearing up against the cubicle wall prevented me from slumping to the floor. I released the toy and my pussy expelled it, no doubt with a big slug of orgasm juice, and I stood, legs half-buckled, face against the tiles, jerking in exquisite orgasmic spasms, as the shower continued to jet water down my back, sluicing through my bum crack and pouring off my quivering cunt lips.

OMG what a come... Only slowly, my mind resurfaced and I stood normally again, my body still vibrating in sympathy with the toy, which lay in the bottom of the shower tray, still buzzing.

I turned it off, rinsed it off, along with the trimmer and my body, then turned off the water and emerged to dry myself.

I admired my newly-neatened pubes in the mirror, then put on a pair of comfy clean knicks, and went to bed, where I slept like a mossy boulder.

In the morning, Auntie Flo had come to visit.

***

I spent the next five days just chilling, reading, listening to music, and sleeping a lot, though there was a nice little diversion on the third day, when Licia called me and we indulged in a lovely bit of phone sex.

There were no photos -- my bits were not a suitable subject for illustration just then -- so we just talked dirty to each other. I told her about Debbie, and Jude, and Pam, and she told me, in beautifully lurid detail, about her times with Lisa, and I rolled a finger round and round my clit until I had a lovely, shivery little come. She can always make me come, even when she's not there.

Two days later, she WAS there. I drove down to the airport to collect her from her early evening flight, and I was absolutely fizzing with anticipation. Auntie Flo had been sent packing and it was going to be the first time we'd seen each other in over two weeks. It was a recipe for THE most intense sexual fireworks.

We crashed together in arrivals and she swung me round like a rag doll. She's so amazingly strong. 'Shoulder feeling better then?' I gibed.

'Oh, it's much better babe. I can join you for a bike ride this week, if you take it easy.'

'Yay, fantastic.'

As soon as we got into the car, we devoured each other with kisses. Our hands were all over each other, and I had her tits out of her top -- no bra, nice -- before we suddenly stopped. I think we would have fucked each other right there in my little hatchback in the airport car park if we hadn't arrested ourselves.

'Come on,' I said, 'let's get home.'

She tucked her boobs back into her vest top with a rueful smile, and I fired up the car and drove like a rally driver back to Penicouls. On the way, I occasionally glanced at her excitedly. Her nipples were conspicuously erect, and her thighs looked fantastic, even in the baggy cotton shorts she had on. My God, I was so hot for her.

We burst through the front door and dashed up the stairs to the bedroom. The bedroom that was going to be fucking Shangri-la for the next week.

We couldn't get our clothes off fast enough, and I had her on the bed, and my mouth on those pointy nipples while she was still struggling out of her shorts and knickers.

She giggled as I devoured her like a hungry she-wolf. Her lips, her neck, her tits, her skin. Everything was intoxicating to me. When I got between those wondrous thighs and immersed myself in her pussy, I think I was slightly insane. Rabid with thirst, hunger, desire. My rapacity was endless. I'd been starved of her and now I was feasting. Feasting like a queen.

My hand couldn't keep away from my pussy, and I stuck my bum up in the air and finger-fucked myself wildly to a delicious orgasm as I ate her, fervidly. Her first orgasm was very fast, as they often are, and the second came after a wonderful long build up, her pussy drooling endlessly as I tongued her until she finally spilled her runny orgasmic nectar into my mouth. The nectar I was craving. Mm mmm.

Afterwards, I lay on my side, still between those luscious legs, with my head on her mons, blissfully breathing in her sex-scent and feeling her body breathing.

She toyed with my hair, and I heard her swallow and sniffle. I looked up to see she had tears in her eyes, and I crawled up quickly and said, 'Babe? What is it?'

'Oh, Chloe, I'm just overcome... I mean, how can I be desired like that? And desired by YOU? I don't deserve you.'

I put both my hands roughly over her mouth. 'Hey, stop that rubbish. I have lots of sexual partners, and they are wonderful, sexy, exciting, even lovable, but none of them do to me what you do to me. Of course you deserve me, and I hope I deserve you. Now no more silly talk, alright?'

She nodded and I uncovered her mouth. I snuggled down next to her and kissed her cheek, then drifted off to sleep. I was so happy to have her here in my bed again.

That week was sublime. We went for two fantastic bike rides, and we fucked each other senseless.

One morning, after we'd had thrilling wake-up sex, I lay musing and said, 'Can you think of anything more wonderful than spending a week just eating, sleeping, riding bikes, and fucking each other?'

She surprised me by saying, 'Don't you think it's weird, calling it "fucking?" It's not fucking is it?

'Is it not?'

'Not really. Fucking is what straight couples do. What we do is way better. We should have a different word for it.'

She had a point. 'Well, there's "making love" or "having sex" but I get what you mean. All the words for it are very hetero really.'

'Yeh, and it's not the same thing. It needs a better word. A proper lesbian word. Something better than just fucking or shagging.'

'Yeah, I agree, but what about face-fucking, or tongue-fucking?'

That mischievous grin crept across her features. 'OK, if you insist...'

***

We parted again at the airport, both quite yawny, both deeply satisfied, both with tingly pussies, and both with that slightly achy feeling that comes from over-orgasming. I don't know what would happen if we lived together permanently. I think we might put each other in hospital.

She flew to Dublin, and I flew to Brussels.

Molly greeted me in arrivals, looking as stunning as ever, but there was something slightly different. She clasped me in a hug and kissed my cheek, which wasn't in itself unusual, but there was something warmer and more emotional in it, and the way she looked into my eyes...

Molly is not a cold person, that should be obvious by now, but she can sometimes be a little business-like, distant, even. Not this time though. In that short embrace, I really felt her affection for me.

I was with Molly for four days before we had sex, which was very unusual. I don't normally manage to resist her for even one night, but this time was different. Not because she wasn't still as hot as hell, and certainly not because the feelings weren't there; I was still admiring her, and noticing the tantalisingly alluring little things about her just as much as ever, but the overpowering lust was missing. My libido was snoozing.

She understood, of course. Molly is one of the most sage and emotionally intelligent people I know. She was aware that I'd just spent a week living with my endlessly horny girlfriend, and she knew exactly what state I was in. We hardly even needed to talk about it.

She provided a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere, took me for an easy bike ride, fed me all my favourite foods, and generally pampered me like you wouldn't believe. It was rejuvenating.

I raised the possibility of Canyon-Zipp taking her on as a performance coach, maybe as part of my contract package, but she firmly demurred. 'Thanks, Chloe, I take that as a compliment, but I don't think so. I'd much rather remain independent, and we can get you a great contract without needing to do that, anyway.'

'OK Mol.'

On the fourth day, we went to Ronse to meet up with Marianne at her house, to talk about whether she wanted to be my agent. We rode there on our bikes, but it's only 25km from Molly's to Marianne's, and that's not worth putting your helmet on for, so we went via Oudenaarde and part of the De Ronde route.

I got a little buzz as we rode through Oudenaarde and memories of De Ronde and other times came flooding back. I think it's always going to be a special place for me, now that I'm a Flandrienne.

Our route took in "Molly's hill," the Koppenberg, of course. Laughable after the Angliru, but still a stiff little bastard, and as I followed her up the climb, watching her dance the bike up the hill, slim but shapely hips swaying sinuously, I felt that little fizz in my loins. The The Lyons libido was yawning and stretching.

Marianne greeted us at the door, looking surprisingly foxy. Hello, I thought, that's not accidental.

For a start, she was wearing makeup, which she only rarely does. It was subtle, but enough to add sultriness to her dark brown eyes, and to enhance the colour, and plumpness of her lips. She obviously had plans... Molly smirked at me as we brought our bikes into the hallway then walked behind her into the living room.

Her clothes had also been carefully chosen. She had a pair of very well-fitted sporty-girl bottoms on, and sandals with a slight wedge, but it was her bright yellow top that was most eye-popping. It wasn't the colour that caught my eye, and it wasn't low cut, so there was no cleavage on show, but it was extremely stretchy and figure hugging, and she was braless. I tell you, if she'd been completely topless I wouldn't have had a much better idea of the full, rounded shape of her boobs, and her nipples just about made me go cross-eyed.

As you'll know by now, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I wasn't going to let this go unmentioned. 'Woow, Marianne, you look GREAT. Seriously hot.'

She chuckled and blushed a little. 'Oo, er thank you Chloe... er, I erm,' she seemed a little flustered... 'Ah, er, Coffee?' we nodded and she went through to the kitchen.

I could tell she was pleased. She'd obviously made herself up like that for my benefit because, as Molly had said, she has a "thing" for me, but I got the impression the compliment threw her a little. She has this thing in her head that she's getting old but, honestly, I don't see any sign of that. She's only 38, and still looks fucking lush to my eyes.

The whole house was pervaded by the delicious aroma of fresh coffee, and Molly and I sat on the sofa in our cycling kit and stocking feet (our clumpy cycling shoes were in the porch).

We looked at each other. I raised my eyebrows, and Molly just nodded very slowly, with a fruity smile on her face. It was pretty obvious that Marianne was looking for some sexual fun with the two of us. I think seduction was at the top of her agenda. The Lyons libido was licking its lips.

She returned with coffees on a tray, placed them on the coffee table and sat in an armchair opposite us. Yep, my opinion wasn't wrong, she looked fucking hot. When she bent forward to pick up her cup, her tits bustled beautifully under that thin, stretchy fabric. 'Rarrr,' said the Lyons libido.

'So, Molly, what's this business proposition you have for me? It sounds intriguing.' Molly obviously hadn't told her what we had in mind yet. I was still looking at her tits and wondering if I'd be able to keep my mind on the business at hand with those in the room. Somehow, I doubted it.

Molly was speaking: 'Well, now that Chloe is one of the biggest stars on the women's tour, she's going to need an agent. I can't do it, because I'm her coach, and I also have three other girls to coach, so I don't want to take too much on, but we thought maybe you could.'

'Really? Are you offering me a job, Chloe?' she said with a smile. That's not all I'm offering, I thought, lasciviously.

'Yes, we're sure you could do it.'

'Oh, I'm sure I could. I'm flattered to be asked though, thank you.' For some reason -- all in my head -- her smile said "fuck me."

Molly continued; 'After her Vuelta success, she needs to renegotiate her contract, I think. We all knew you had talent, Chloe, but I don't think any of us quite expected the level of success. I thought it would be maybe five years to win a grand tour, but now I could see you doing it next year. You were so close at the Vuelta.'

Marianne was looking at me, and I could tell it wasn't grand tours or cycling contracts that were on her mind. She wasn't the only one.

Yes, I'd love to take the job,' she said, ' but can we talk about details later? I have something else on my mind right now.'

Molly chuckled. 'We thought so. You're turning into a bit of a sex maniac these days, Mari.'

'I know, but since I let myself out, I can't help it. And Chloe, you're so irresistible.'

"Irresistible?" Mm, well it definitely beat "cute."

'Well, strange thing is, Mari, I was just thinking the same about you. Your boobs look fantastic in that top.'

She got up and walked around the coffee table, pushing it back out of the way with her foot, and spilling coffee as she did so. She didn't seem to care.

Her nipples were almost boring through the stretchy fabric, which was so thin it was nearly sheer close up. Her breasts were simply breathtaking, and she stood in front of us, then crossed her arms and whipped the flimsy thing off over her head, letting them bob free impressively.

Molly and I sat forward. She had our full attention. Her tits were full, fleshy and pendulous and she swayed her body deliberately from side to set them in motion... She was getting very good at playing the vamp, and she leaned forward and lifted them in her hands, offering them to us for our delectation.

We took one each and suckled them like babies, making her groan. A deep, sexual groan that could be felt in her chest, and she pushed forward, crowding us, her knees between our legs, until we were back against the sofa's backrest, and being smothered by tits.

I don't know what it is that's so exciting about sucking a big pair of breasts. Is it some kind of mummy complex? I don't know. I only know I love it. I loved the soft warmth of her breast, and the weight of her as she pressed me against the sofa, the firm rudeness of her nipple - such a contrast to the pliant flesh of her boob - the curve of her waist as I ran my hand up her side... I even loved the fleshy muffin-top where the waistband of her bottoms pressed into her skin. So womanly.

I brought my other hand slowly up the inside of her thigh, feeling the increase in her steamy moistness as I approached her crotch, and I encountered Molly's hand, making the same journey. The fabric of her bottoms was warm and wet between her legs, betraying her overflowing arousal, and I loved that. WE were doing that to her.

'Oh mijn god, I love this...' she said. 'Let's go to bed.

She stood up and led us upstairs to her bedroom, and Molly and I stripped off our cycling kit. Marianne wasn't the only one with a wet gusset...

She came to me for a kiss, and Molly sat on the bed. She seemed to enjoy our kiss vicariously, and she watched as we rolled our tongues together and smooched our lips, slick with oddly smoky coffee-flavoured saliva.

I pushed Marianne back until she fell onto the bed, her breasts bouncing beautifully as she landed, and I crawled up over her for another suckle. Her tits were quite addictive, and I could have spent a long time gorging on them, just losing myself in their sumptuous sensuality, but Molly seemed to be really getting into the voyeurism and she had her own desires.

'I love watching you two together, the way you excite each other is so intense... Go down on her, Chloe. I want to watch you eat her.' Now that's an order I'd never tire of hearing.

I wriggled down, between Mari's soft thighs, and contemplated her pussy. It was not spectacular in anyway, but mouth-watering all the same. It was a little hairier than my freshly-trimmed little cooch, and a little more fleshy, with crinkly, fubsy inner lips, which glistened with her sex juice, and an exposed, almost hoodless clit.

'Spread it open for her,' said Molly and Mari's fingers came down and spread her soft, squidgy outer lips apart, revealing engorged, luridly pink flesh, with drooly, stringy strands of grey-white cunny-honey clinging to her petals. Her heat and scent were suddenly almost overwhelming.

I leaned in and licked up the glistening groove between her flaps, and I savoured her flavour on my tongue. Salty, slightly tangy, but predominantly creamy and alkaline. The taste of ambrosia.

I kissed her lips. A slow, sucky, succulent kiss, partly for Molly's benefit, and both of them moaned. Molly from the sight, and Mari from the sensation of it.

I was loving this. I mean, eating a luscious pussy is elysian anytime, but doing it as a show for Molly was unbelievably horny. She lay on her side, her head on Mari's hip, watching my every slurp, with her legs open, fingering herself, and occasionally sucking her fingers salaciously. So deliciously depraved and decadent.

I lifted my head and kissed her, sharing the tastes, then returned to my creamy cunnilingus.

I was neglecting my own pussy's pleasure deliberately; I was loving what I was doing to Mari, and I knew I'd get my turn, and that it would be all the more sensational when I did. I was, in a strange way, enjoying the aching want in my loins.

Molly was sucking her fingers, lewdly enjoying the taste of her arousal, and I brought my hand around the back of Mari's leg and slipped two fingers into her. There was a momentary intake of breath, then she moaned 'Ohhh, Chloe...' as I started to pump them in and out.

God, she was so hot, wet and slippery, My fingers were bathed in an oleaginous well of womanhood, and I could feel her innermost muscles twitching and squeezing as I finger-fucked her, first with the two fingers, then with three.

Being a woman, I'm good at multi tasking, and soon I had both of them making unmistakeable pre-orgasmic sounds. Molly seemed very close, and I intensified my oral caresses to bring Mari nearer. Faster, faster, faster. Fucking Molly, Lapping Mari.

Suddenly, Molly got up and, without a word, she moved up and plonked herself on Mari's face. I felt Mari's body jolt and heard a muffled 'Fuck' of surprise, then I was treated to the sight of Molly's bum cheeks quivering as she face-fucked Mari mercilessly. And I thought watching her arse dancing the bike up a hill was hot...

She used those powerful legs and lissom hips to drive herself to orgasm on Mari's face, and it certainly did the trick for Mari too, as I suddenly felt her hot orgasm juice flood my tongue. Nectar. I almost choked myself trying to tongue out as much of that sweet stuff as I could and swallow it. I was ravening.

We subsided, and lay together entangled for a while, just savouring the bliss. The glorious shambles of after sex satiation.

But I wasn't sated. I lay on my back with a pussy that was still craving... a tongue, or tongues, or fingers, or a toy... just something to get me off. I hardly dare touch my clit, which was like a fiery little ember of arousal, but my hand couldn't keep away...

I curled two fingers down and into myself, sliding them in and out in curving thrusts, and feeling my hot little button throbbing as they passed over it. Orgasm was not far away, and then, there was Molly, always alert to my needs, moving between my legs and moving my hand gently away. She replaced my fingers with hers, and succoured my aching clit with her soft, gentle tongue.

I often find bringing myself over the brink of orgasm very slowly results in a more intense climax, and that's exactly what Molly did now. She knew I was at a peak of arousal, but she coaxed me expertly; slowly, very slowly to the edge, pause, then the final rush. Not so much a dam bursting, more like a dam slowly collapsing, the orgasmic flood engulfing me almost in slo-mo. My toes curled, as every muscle in my body tensed in sheer bliss. Ecstasy.

We'd released the tension now, but we weren't finished. We'd also released our sexual genies, and we went on, playing with positions, queening and being queened, sharing fingers, sharing tongues, sharing the giving and receiving, sharing the delights of our bodies, and sharing orgasms. It was a magical afternoon. The kind only three women can share. Straight women really don't know what they're missing.

Much later, as Molly and I rode back to Waregem -- by the direct route - I had a feeling of immense peace and contentedness. I was floating. My legs turned the pedals with zero effort and it felt like the wheels weren't even touching the road. A little slice of heaven on the N36.

Two days later, we collected Marianne in the Lyonmobile, for the 200km drive to Maastricht. She was enthusiastic about her new role and was looking forward to negotiating an enhanced contract with Robbie. I could tell she was going to be good at it.

In contrast to the other day, she was wearing a very business-like navy blue trouser suit, with kitten heels, and a white shirt with a broad collar.

'You look like you mean business, Mari,' I said.

'I do. We're going to get you a contract to celebrate.'

During the two-and-a-half-hour drive, she and Molly discussed me and my contract, often as if I wasn't sat right there in the passenger seat. I realised that my success and my rising stardom made me a marketable commodity, and both of them were obviously aware that I was potentially a lucrative source of income to them.

I didn't begrudge them that; I had no problem with sharing the fruits of my success, especially not with those two, and I already had more money than I knew what to do with, but it did feel faintly bizarre to find myself in this position.

'I think we should be aiming for half a million a year on a three year deal,' said Molly, and Marianne agreed

'Yes, but I'll start higher than that, to give us some room to manoeuvre. I'm sure there will be conditions, but I'll resist any performance-related ones. I never liked payment on results.'

I was nodding, but it seemed an awful lot of money to me, even though it was much less than the top men got. I also knew some women got more than that -- Marieke, for instance -- but I was only 22, and my successes were not guaranteed to continue. €500,000 would be a bloody nice salary to have at my age.

Molly didn't join us for the negotiation, she left it all to Marianne and me. 'I'm going to take a nap in the car,' she said. I guess she and Marianne have known each other so long that there's a very high level of trust between them.

Robbie didn't know what hit him. Marianne was awesome. She went straight for the jugular. Her laudation of me and my career so far made me think 'She can't be talking about me, can she?' She dismissed any suggestion that I was still unproven, batted away any attempt to insert performance clauses ('Her performances up to now speak for themselves and make that unwarranted') and quietly made the point that she could have other teams queuing up to sign me at that salary if Canyon-Zipp wouldn't.

'Well, I'll have to clear it at the top level, but...' he held out his hand with a smile, 'I think we have an accord.'

We burst out of the building, cackling like schoolkids. 'Yay! Fantastic, Mari. YOU were fantastic!' I grabbed her and we swung each other round in circles in a joyous waltz.

'I knew they'd agree,' she laughed 'They know what a phenomenon they have on their hands in you.'

Molly got out of the car to greet us as she saw our beaming smiles approaching... '600 grand a year for four years, Molly,' I blurted out breathlessly as we reached her, '... and just a few stipulations on what races I have to do! Oh God, Mol, Mari was absolutely awesome.'

We came together in a three-way hug, jumping up and down in our excitement. We were so delirious that we had to go to a cafe to calm down a little before we could head back to Waregem.

My future was assured for the next four years -- and surely beyond -- and I was overjoyed with the new contract. I couldn't wait to tell Licia.

We booked a table at Molly's favourite local restaurant, the Hooiopper, for a slap-up celebration meal that evening, then we hot-footed it back to Waregem.

On the way there, I phoned Licia...

'600k?? 'kin ell, babe, you're a rich bitch.'

'I know, and the only conditions for the rest of this year are that I have to do the Giro d'Italia Donne and the Tour de France Femmes.'

(The End... for now)