This series is a sequel to the earlier work "Riding With Dirty Girls." You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but to fully enjoy the story you really need to read Dirty Girls first.
This is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. It is not meant to be big on realism. It's a fantasy. The culture around world-class women's cycling probably isn't a hotbed of lesbian lust, but wouldn't it be fun if it were?
All characters are fictitious, and any that are involved in sexual activities are over 18.
***
Part 08: Slings and Arrows
I woke up in a strange bed. Well, not a STRANGE bed, it was a very nice comfortable bed actually, but it wasn't MY bed. It was an indictment of my promiscuity that I couldn't immediately think whose bed it was... Oh, Aimée. It was Aimée's bed.
The bed was in a wonderfully sunny room in Aimée's first floor flat and I had a feeling of warm convivialité, just as she'd promised. I could hear her in the kitchen, and there was a wonderful aroma of coffee and croissants being warmed.
I snuggled down luxuriously under the duvet and thought about the previous evening. I'd left the dinner table at the team hotel, and gone to visit the loo, and while I was in there, with the window cracked open, I heard voices outside.
There were some picnic tables nearby and, now that the weather had cleared up, there were some people out there chatting. I identified Helen, Marlen and Trude's voices, luckily speaking in English -- their only common language. I stood up on the toilet seat to get my head closer to the high window so I could eavesdrop, cos I'm nosy like that.
'Come on Trude, it will be hot,' Helen was saying. 'You enjoyed yourself with Chloe didn't you? Why not have some fun with us?' OMG, I thought. They were trying to talk Trude into a threesome.
I wasn't really surprised; Trude had said they'd suggested that already. I decided there and then that I'd message Aimée and take her up on the invitation she'd given me in the velodrome showers.
I went up to the room and sent a message : 'Hi Aimée, does your invitation still stand? I think I need some of your convivialité.'
'Of course, come now.'
I packed my tiny rucksack with overnight things and slipped out of the hotel, making a slight detour to the picnic tables. I walked over, tiny rucksack hanging from one shoulder, and said 'Enjoy yourselves you three, I'm off out for the night.'
They looked a little nonplussed. 'Really?' said Helen. I could tell she was dying to ask where I was going, and with whom, but she didn't. 'Don't you want to join us?' she asked, with a mischievous look. 'We are planning something you would enjoy.'
Obviously, I knew exactly what that was, so didn't need to ask. 'Tempting, but maybe another time. See you tomorrow.' I turned and strode away.
I expected to stay the night with Aimée, and I had no worries about needing to get back early in the morning because the men's race was on, and both male and female teams were staying on until Monday. I got a taxi straight to Aimèe's place.
It was a good decision. Aimée's flat was a haven of calm and tranquillity -- her promised amicale convivialité -- and wonderful, wonderful sex.
I expected the sex too, of course, and it was dreamy, soothing sex. Sex that calmed me, rather than inflaming me. Sex as a kind of therapy. And Aimée seemed to instinctively know that I needed some kind of succour. That the raging emotions of my monumental victory needed to be pacified. She was exactly what I needed that night.
We made love for hours. Beautiful, slow, and seemingly endless. Sharing the pleasure, the soft caresses, the scents, saveurs and sensations. It was sex as a kind of narcotic and it led, almost seamlessly into a wonderful restorative sleep.
Success in sport is not the bed of roses people often imagine. It brings with it a gamut of emotions, some of them are positive, of course, but some are not.
When I outsprinted that illustrious group of elite women to win in the Roubaix velodrome, I felt a blinding joy and euphoria, but there was also astonishment, disbelief, as well as slightly less wholesome feelings of triumphalism, arrogance, even a feeling of revenge. Yes, revenge for them catching me and snuffing out my breakaway. It was a tumult of feelings.
And then came the doubts. The feeling of "do I deserve this?" I have no doubts during the heat of battle, only a fiery determination and a steely resolve. I don't lack the killer instinct, but the doubts creep in afterwards... "Did she deserve it more than me?" Daft, I know. Maybe I'm just too introspective.
But now, here I was, lying deep under Aimée's decadent duvet, with all those feelings assuaged. Endorphins and melatonin had taken over, thanks to her palliative sex, and I felt wonderful.
As she rattled around in the kitchen, I was tasting the smell of coffee and croissants, then she came, carrying a tray, with two large steaming bowls of cafe au lait, and the bestest, most buttery croissants I've ever had.
'Bonjour joli,' she said. 'Would you like some breakfast?'
'Ooh, Aimée you're an angel,' I murmured.
She set the tray down, and I looked at her, so, so sexy in her white linen dressing gown that was like a giant shirt. It came down to mid-thigh, showing off the tanned skin of her legs, and was unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of her modest but shapely cleavage.
I took at her jumbled, curly hair, brushed back over her head, her sultry brown eyes, her roman nose, and her spare, almost gaunt cheeks, which just accentuated the fullness of her lips.
She was a very good-looking woman, but there was more, much more, to her. An extraordinarily deep sensitivity and empathy. I'd never had this feeling in quite the same way with anyone, not even Licia, who I'm so in tune with. Maybe only Helen came close. A kind of sisterly connection.
We sat propped up against the pillows and I followed her lead in dipping my croissant in my bowl of coffee. It was a super-fun way to share a delicious breakfast.
When I finished, I leaned over to kiss her cheek. 'Thank you, Aimée... For everything. You were exactly what I needed last night, and you are this morning. Thank you.' I kissed her again, and she turned her head to kiss me properly. The emotional temperature suddenly shot up by 100 degrees.
'Wait,' she said 'let's get rid of these bowls, then you can have me, again, if you like.'
'If I like...?' I chuckled, 'Oh yes, I like...'
The shirt came off (I was already naked) and we enjoyed each other again. Her soft, hungry lips, her shapely breasts, her deft sensitive fingers, her lusciously lush pubes, the soft, subtle fleshiness of her labia, her toned, lissome legs... all the flesh and bones of her. It was delicious, and all underlaid by that extraordinary empathy. She always timed her orgasms to come immediately after mine, however we got there, with fingers, lips, or tongues. What an incredible lover.
***
I returned to the hotel, and spotted Helen, Marlen and Trude in the lounge. They were all smiles and giddy laughing, so I hardly needed to ask how their little troika had gone.
'Hey, here she is,' they greeted me. 'The one who disappears for a mysterious liaison...'
I smiled, but didn't give them any more info. I could tell Helen wouldn't leave it there though.
'So, come on, tell us where you went and who you were with. Come on, come on '
I smirked and said nothing. I liked keeping them in suspenders... mm, come to think of it, I'd like all three of them in suspenders.
Eventually, I gave in. 'OK, nosy parkers... I was with Aimèe '
'Oo, Aimée... Lovely,' said Helen, nodding approvingly.
'Yes, thanks, it was. Did you three enjoy yourselves?'
'We did...' They all smiled at each other and looked almost bashful. Ah, it was good to see them like this.
'Hey, a group of us are riding out to Cysoing later to watch the race,' said Marlen. 'Are you joining us?'
The men had got a much better day for their race; dry with sunny spells, so it was a much more suitable for spectating, but I had to decline. 'No, I've arranged to meet Aimée at the velodrome later on, to watch the finish.'
'Oo, getting very friendly with Aimée, aren't you, Chloe?' said Helen.
'I'm a friendly girl, you know that Helen.' I gave a cheeky smirk and disappeared up to the room.
