Riding with Dirty Girls

This story 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. At the same time, they are all over 18...

Unlike previous series' of mine, each part of this one can probably be read as a stand-alone story, once you have read the Prologue (Part 1).

***

Riding With Dirty Girls.

2. Brussels

The first two rounds of the World Cup were held in Belgium and, in theory, I could have stayed with Molly for the first two weeks of the season because both of them were an easy drive from her place, but I chose not to do that. Partly because I now knew about Fanny, and I didn't want to intrude, and partly because my team would pay for my flights and provide a hotel for two nights at each round, so why not partake? Anyway, it's better for team spirit to stay with the team.

The first round, at Brussels, was in late October, and as the date approached, excited phone calls were flying around among the free girls. I'd already spoken to five or six of the girls, and a thrum of excitement and anticipation was building. For the racing of course, but also for the sex.

This was going to be the second season of our sexual fun and games, third if you count the initial bits of exploration we'd enjoyed during 2021-2022 and I think we were all buzzing with the whole thing. By halfway through the 2022-2023 season, we realised we'd discovered something pretty special. We had a blast that winter, and now it was coming around again we could hardly contain our eagerness. Oh, it's so great to be a free and horny lesbian girl.

It was pretty well-known among all the girls on the tour what we were getting up to, and there was a wide range of attitudes to it, from "hey, why not," to something much more disapproving. Femke was one of those who took a dim view. Surprising, because the Dutch are usually much more free-minded about sex. She must have had a very conservative upbringing or something. Mostly though, the attitude tended to be "what you do is your business." Yes, it is.

Another of the advantages of doing the team hotel thing is that we are almost always put into twin rooms with a roommate. You never know who you'll be paired with, but it's an easy matter to do a bit of juggling, and the great thing is, three of the free girls, Mari, Annike, and Helen, are in my team, Febi-Sram!

Mari Springkells is 25, Dutch, blonde, blue-eyed, tall, thin, and willowy. And she does. Sprinkle, I mean. I think she's the wettest of all the girls I've been with, and I couldn't wait for her to give me more of that sweet stuff.

Annike Vachs is also Dutch and only 20 years old. She's the baby of the tour -- this will be her first year in the World Cup - but she's a friend of Mari's and she immediately wanted to be a part of the lesbian love club. I was looking forward to teaching her a thing or two.

And then there's Helen Clausters; Austrian, 34 years old and very experienced (in every way). They say we women reach our peak orgasmic frequency in our 30s, and Helen certainly makes me believe it. She also makes me look forward to getting to that age myself. She's about 165cm (5'5") with medium-sized breasts and wonderfully strong thighs. She's a touch heavier than most on the tour, and she's never been on the top step of a World Cup podium, but she's had a solid career, and she's just full of the joy of it. 'Hey, I ride a bike for a living!' she'd say with a grin.

I was really looking forward to renewing my connection with Mari and Helen, and getting to know Annike, but there were others that I could hardly wait to hook up with again, like Maisie - naughty, naughty Maisie - Sabina Cassini from Switzerland -- so very passionate -- and Carmen, always an enigma but oh so desirable. I'd only tasted her once, but I wanted another chance. I also wanted to beat her in a race, which I hadn't yet managed.

There were others who were actively part of "the club" but who I hadn't yet had the pleasure of, like the French girls, Lauren Varisse and Magi La Rochelle, and my fellow Brit, Alicia Francis. Jeeez, there was a lot to look forward to.

On the Wednesday of the week before round one, Maisie phoned me, and we had a very risqué conversation. Well, phone sex really. She was obviously feeling horny and wanted to talk dirty, and I had no problem with that.

'Hey, Chloe, how you doin?'

'Hi Maisie, I'm good. You OK? Raring to go?'

'Ohh, yes. God I've been so horny thinking about this season. All the girls from last year are there again. Can't wait.'

'Yes, plus a new one. Annike.'

'Really? Is she... one of us?"

'Mari says so, She's young, eager, and horny... apparently.'

'Woow. Fantastic.'

'Yeh, I've been pretty horny myself...'

'When did you last masturbate?' She asked, bluntly.

'Yesterday morning, in bed.'

'I'm doing it now. Thinking about those nipples of yours, and that time I ate you in the showers... I loved the way you talked to me...listening to your goofy British accent gets me right in the twat.'

'Hey, less of the goofy,' I said. Maisie often calls her pussy her twat, pronounced the weird American way, which sounds like "twot." It's not my favourite word for it, but none of them are good really. It makes me so mad that the words for female genitals are always used -- mostly by men - as an insult. They deserve better than that.

Anyway, she'd pressed my start button now, so I said 'Are you doing it one-handed?'

'No, I've got the phone on a stand -- both hands are busy.'

'Show me.'

'Hang on.'

Within a few seconds, a picture popped up on my phone, and I opened it to be greeted by a lurid close-up image of Maisie's "twat," spread wide open, with her two index fingers squeezing her clitoris from each side so it shone like a little pearl. 'Fuck, that's hot,' I said, salivating.

'Your turn,' she said. 'Fair's fair.'

'Hang on.'

I quickly dropped my jeans and knickers, then put one leg up on the chair. I spread my lips with two fingers and snapped an image from below, so I could be seen looking down with a sassy look on my face. Someone once said "Never have your fanny and your face in the same picture," well I say baubles to that. I sent the pic.

'Oohh, hornyyyy...' she said.

'Bet you've got your fingers deep inside your twat now, haven't you, Maisie, you horny little bitch?' I said, trying to sound as English but non-goofy as possible.

'Uh huh... keep talking, Chloe... just keep... fucking...talking...'

So I did. I slipped my fingers into my oozing honeypot, and wanked myself languidly as I talked dirty to her. 'Are you wet? Let me hear your fingers going in and out...'

'Ohh- h Ffuck..'

She placed the phone near her pussy (or her pussy near the phone) and pumped her fingers in and out rapidly so I could hear that unmistakeable squelchy sound.

'Do you want to hear mine? I said. 'I'm SO wet and juicy...' I placed the phone right next to my pussy, and fucked myself rapidly with three fingers, so she could hear the squelch, then I whispered 'I wish you could taste it.'

'Ooooh, fucking hell Chloe...'

We were both wanking furiously now, and I gave her more encouragement...'Yeah, fuck it Maisie. Imagine they are my fingers fucking you... Imagine these are your fingers fucking me...' I went on like this for a while and she was lapping it up. I hadn't realised what a turn-on my voice was to her.

'Ohh, Chloe... fuck...fuck...fuck... ahhhh...fuuuuuckkk..!

We both came, only seconds apart, and I dribbled a creamy white streak, down the front of my leather armchair. It wasn't the first time.

'Oh, God, Chloe, you're so fucking hot,' she said. 'MAN are we going to have some fun... See you Saturday.'

'Bye..'

The call abruptly ended. She was right, we WERE going to have some fun.

***

Round 1: Brussels

5:30pm Friday. Brussels airport. I walked into baggage claim in jeans and a down jacket, with my warm comfy chucka boots on my feet, and a Canyon beanie hat on my head. I collected my big kit bag and a small rucksack and took a taxi to the team hotel, which was just a short distance from the race venue.

Some of the girls were already in the hotel car park, messing with bikes, roof racks etc. We exchanged hugs and I headed to my room. I was lucky to have Team Lyon to look after me; all I had to do was turn up at the venue with my kit bag, ready to race, and my bikes and everything else would be there ready for me. Of course, this level of service costs me, but I'm making enough to afford it, so why not?

My roommate turned out to be the Belgian Ingrid van Heijke, who's lovely, but straight as a die. She was on the phone to her boyfriend when I got to the room, so I just waved, dropped my bags, and backed out. I went down to the bar and ordered a soft drink, and Sandi Cantrell (one of the older Belgian riders) came up to me and said 'Helen and I were looking for you. We've been put in Room 22 together but Helen wants to swap me for a gayer model.' She smirked.

'Yeh, OK, let's ask Ingrid if she'd mind you joining her instead of me. I can't see it being a problem. She's in Room 14.' Sandi headed off to see Ingrid.

It seemed like roommates had been allocated according to age, because Helen and Sandi are both thirty-something, whereas Ingrid and I are both early-twenties. I can think of a much better way of doing it though, and I made a mental note to have a word with Sharon, our team manager, about that.

Anyway, room arrangements were soon sorted, and Helen asked me if I wanted to have an early night. 'I need my beauty sleep,' she said (she really didn't) but I knew that wasn't what she had in mind.

'Sure,' I said, with a knowing smile, and we headed upstairs before ten. It was obvious that sex was going to happen. The pattern was so established now that we'd have to be explicit about saying it was NOT going to happen. Otherwise, it was inevitable. If for some bizarre reason I hadn't wanted it that night, I wouldn't have agreed to swapping rooms with Sandi.

Lesbian sex is so wonderfully addictive that if you find yourself in a situation that means you can have lots and lots of it, you don't question it, you just enjoy it, and that's exactly what I was doing.

Helen had something slightly different in mind though. When we got into the room, she said 'Nothing too energetic tonight Chloe, would you mind?'

I shook my head, but I was curious. 'No, what are you thinking of?'

'Oh just some gentle playing. You play with me, I play with you. Something like that.'

'Mm, OK then.' I didn't mind at all. It doesn't always have to be wild torrid sex, and something gentle the night before a race was fine with me. There had to be kissing though. Even though we weren't forming any romantic relationships -- in fact, I suppose we were deliberately avoiding that -- kissing is an essential part of sex for me. Without kisses, sex just loses something vital.

I took Helen around the waist, turned her to me, and kissed her, gently at first, but then gradually more sexually. She responded, as I knew she would, and we stood and smooched deliciously for long lovely moments, our tongues performing a smooth whirling dance together. Helen is a great kisser, and this was a wonderfully prolonged sensual kiss -- the kind I love.

We tried to undress while still maintaining the kiss, but eventually we had to separate to get rid of our final garments. Then we stood and looked at each other.

Helen has a gorgeous body. She looks less athletic than most girls on the tour I suppose. Softer and more womanly, with a certain amount of flesh on her hips, and lovely soft breasts. She's not quite what you'd call busty, but she's definitely got a lot more than my little mounds. Her thighs are full and quite muscular, and her patchy cyclist's suntan somehow makes her look even more alluring.

Some might think she doesn't look lean enough to be a pro cyclist, but she was 16th in last year's World Cup, and her best ever position was 8th, which is not bad against 80-odd of the best riders in the world.

She shook the ponytail out of her reddish-blonde hair and got onto the bed, saying 'Come play with me Chloe.'... Magic words.

She lay there, with those marvellous thighs apart, and I crawled between them. I couldn't resist kissing them, they are so bloody luscious. Thunder Thighs. I love 'em.

I held her leg in my hands like a succulent fruit and kissed my way up towards her pussy. God that leg was so gorge-worthy. So soft, yet so strong, with huge power just below the surface.

She giggled slightly. 'You like them, don't you? I remember...'

She was talking about a time the previous winter, when I was lucky enough to have her sit on my face; I wanted her to squeeze my head between those thighs and she did -- very effectively. Over and over again, as I lay gasping. Her strength was extraordinary, and I loved that feeling. The muscular embrace of her legs, which were slick with her juice. I really wanted her to do that to me again, but I didn't ask. She had said she wanted something more gentle tonight.

So, I continued kissing, all the way up to the goose flesh at the border of her vulva. I stared at her pussy, with its strawberry-blonde pubes and fubsy wet lips. Her inner lips pouted rudely between her outer ones, fleshy, crinkled and glistening with wetness, and I parted them with my fingers, revealing the gooey strands of her early arousal. She sighed and spread her legs even wider, making the tendons at the tops of her thighs stand out beautifully.

My initial intention had been to make her come just with my fingers, but now I was here, so close, enveloped in the heat and scent of her, my appetite surged, and I planted a soft little kiss on her clitoris. I pushed her fleshy hood back with my fingers and kissed it again, then ran the tip of my tongue delicately around it, sweeping across the apex of her inner lips and the underside of her little button, then around the top of it, squishing her hood back again with my tongue.

Round and round I went, slowly and salaciously, and she moaned, a throaty, growly moan of primitive sexual relish. This seemed to be pleasing her, but she had more pleasure to come. I slipped the two middle fingers of my left hand into her and pressed them up against the "roof" of her vagina. I parted them, forming a V-shape, then began sliding them in and out, maintaining the upward pressure and raking the area surrounding her "spot." It was a technique that Molly had taught me. Slightly awkward to get the angle just right on your own, but when doing it to someone else... easy.

I gradually increased the pace of my soft-rasping fingers, while keeping up the lingual loving of her squirling clit, and, she was soon making hoarse, desperate moans as I gradually brought her to the very edge of nirvana. When I sensed she was on the cusp, I stopped, just briefly, then took her clit between my lips and gently sucked, while fluttering my tongue against that hard, engorged little nub.

She sucked in her breath suddenly, then cried out like she was in pain. She sounded almost like a plaintive child, but I knew this was the most exquisite pain any woman can experience. The unutterable joy of orgasm.

I gradually slowed and eased my tonguing, until she passed into jerky aftershocks, then I stopped and just gazed at her still-twitching clit. I let her come down a little, then moved up to give her a salty sex-juice kiss., which went on and on, tongues slurping not just our mouths, but all over our lower faces, relishing a heady mixture of saliva and her pussy honey. Helen really is the queen of kissing.

'Chloe...' she finally broke the kiss...'Chloe, what you did, with your fingers, it was wonderful.'

'Yeh, Molly taught me that. Good, isn't it?'

'You have sex with your coach??' she asked, wide-eyed.

'Sometimes,' I admitted. 'She's taught me a lot about things other than cycling.' I smiled, fruitily.

'Teach me. The fingers.'

'OK.' I rolled onto my back and she wriggled down between my legs. She looked at my pussy, then kissed it. A long, savouring kind of kiss. I told you she was the queen.

'Mmm, very pretty pussy.'

I smiled. 'Thank you, she loves you too.' She chuckled and ran a finger up and down my groove, collecting my honey, and making me shudder, then she sucked it, looking at me with big wide beautiful eyes. God, I was so wet.

'Put your fingers in me,' I whispered, and she slipped her middle two fingers between my lips and into my hot well of creamy arousal. I shivered again, and caught my breath. Keeping my mind on teaching her was not going to be easy with my brain fuzzed by a cocktail of sexual chemicals.

'Now, part them, like this.' I demonstrated with my hand in the air. 'Push upwards... yeh... angle them up a little more... ohh fuck...' I took hold of her wrist and started moving her hand back and forth. 'Now, in and out...keep the angle... oh, oh... keep the pressure... ah oh ff... a bit faster... ohhh fuuck. Yeah, that's it. Keep going, keep going...' She kept going... and going, and going, all the time gazing at my oozing pussy, until - ' ah, ah, ah. I'm gonna come... gonna come... ahh, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhhh! I came in a rush, my vaginal muscles squeezing against her fingers in exquisite long spasms.

'Ooo, SUCH a tight pussy,' said Helen and she bent to kiss my mons as I gradually floated back to Earth.

I never thought that, at 22, I'd be teaching a 34-year-old woman a new fingering technique, but that's the wonderful thing about sex. There's always more to discover if you have an imagination.

Helen flopped on the bed beside me, and lay there contentedly, thoroughly licking her hand clean. 'Mmmm, your orgasm tastes GOOD, Chloe.'

I smiled. I was also very content, and could easily have gone to sleep, but I knew Helen was very multi-orgasmic, so I rolled on top of her and wriggled down to reprise what I'd previously done to her. I did it again, exactly as before, loved it, just as before, and she came again, just as readily, just as noisily, and just as creamily. Gorgeous.

After we'd both been to the bathroom, I climbed into the other bed, and pulled the covers up. It was cold after leaving Helen's warm bed, but my body soon warmed it and drowsiness began to take over.

'Helen yawned and said. 'You're such a star, Chloe, thank you.'

'Thank YOU, Helen. You're a wonder.

'Good luck tomorrow.'

'Same to you.'

'Goodnight, Chloe.'

'Night, Helen'

Then sleep claimed us.

***

Race Day.

Breakfast was at 9am, so we had a lovely long sleep and woke up refreshed and raring to go. The race didn't start until 2pm, so we had plenty of time. Team Lyon were picking me up at 12 to go to the venue, so there was plenty of time to eat, rest, and psyche myself up. Today, I wanted to win.

There was much excited chatter and banter around the breakfast table, and I noticed that Mari and Annike were sitting together and were all smiles. They'd spent the night together and I'm sure Annike was learning a lot from Mari -- including just how wet a woman can be. Helen and I didn't sit together, but we did exchange a couple of nice little smiles. Although there was no romance, we had bonded at some level.

I felt the weight of expectation on my shoulders, as the number 1 rider in the team, and there was talk about the best tactics to employ to beat Femke, Carmen, and Lucy, who were seen as my main rivals. In truth, there aren't many tactics in 'cross, apart from getting the pacing right, and not going too deep too soon. I'm always at my best in front, "running scared," rather than chasing from behind though, so a slow start is not for me. I'll leave that to Carmen, who seems to specialise in it.