This Girl Roars

This story is a work of fiction. A figment of the author's imagination. Thus, all characters are fictitious. At the same time, they are all over 18...

Definitely need to read the first nine parts before this one, to get the background.

***

Wee hours or not, dark or not, I was awake now, and I had a route to plan, and hotels to book. I got out the laptop and started with a grim determination, and it WAS a little grim. It meant I would have to forego the later part of my tour, and the places that had been floating, nebulously, in my imagination; Venice, the Italian lakes, Milan, Zermatt and the Matterhorn, the Riechenbach Falls of Sherlock Holmes fame... All would have to wait for a future trip, or trips.

I knew this was going to be a terrible night's sleep, so the first day would need to be relatively easy, and then two more solid days would take me to Calais and the Channel Tunnel, which I would use, just for its speed. After that, it would be 300 miles of dull old England to get home.

I envisaged arriving home sometime on Friday afternoon or evening, giving me a clear day before Kim's party.

By 6 am it was done. Route planned, hotels and chunnel train booked. It was brilliant being able to do all this online at any time of day or night. Just a few years ago I don't think it would have been possible.

I put my head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. I had very mixed emotions, but they didn't stop me from drifting off again. I was very, very tired.

'Ohh FUCK OFF!' I roared at the alarm as it chirped me awake at eight o'clock with its infuriating tones. I've tried many different alarm tones, but they are all just as fucking annoying. I think it's because they are alarm tones...

I got up, wearily, and started putting on my bike togs, I was resolved to set off immediately after breakfast to give myself plenty of time, and an easy day. The weather looked sunny, so that was a bonus and, despite my mixed feelings, I was looking forward to being on the road again. I mean, properly on the road again.

I remembered to reply to Kim, but I kept it simple. 'Hi Kim, I'm a long way away, but I'm heading back. I hope to be there on Saturday.'

Her reply was almost immediate, like she'd been anxiously waiting...'Yay! Awesome. Thanks Becky,' followed by a whole row of smiling faces. I chuckled to myself. I did like the fact I'd made her happy.

Before breakfast, I went down to the street and attached Storm's tank bag, then returned to meet Angie. I almost collided with her coming out of the door with a suitcase and rucksack. 'Morning Becky,' she grinned, 'Just dumping these in the car... be with you in a sec.'

'Morning... OK.'

I sat down in the dining room and she joined me moments later. She was looking very cool, in red jeans and trainers, with a black, square-neck long-sleeve top which just left a sliver of bare stomach on show.

She was surprised to see me togged up; 'Are you riding into Venice? I thought you'd take a bus or a taxi.'

'No, I'm not going to Venice. I'm setting off home.'

'Are you? What's brought that on? Was it something I said?'

I chuckled. 'No, it's not you...' I told her about the message from Kim, but she knew there must be more to it than just an invitation from a friend so, over breakfast, I told her the full background.

'Phew, there's a lot going on there, isn't there?' she said.

'Yes, I suppose there is. I still don't really know how I feel...'

'Want my two penn'orth?'

'Please,' I said, sipping my coffee.

'You're putting too much pressure on yourself, Becky. You don't need to make complete sense of everything immediately. Sometimes things take time to become clear. There's obviously something drawing you back home, but you can play it by ear. Just go with an open mind. Keep all your options open.'

'I nodded. She was right. There were lots of things drawing me home; seeing Jola and Carly, Mum and Dad, enjoying my flat, which I hadn't really spent much time in yet, sleeping -- and other things -- in my own bed every night, getting to know the other women in the Lez Ride club... I had lots to look forward to.

'Thanks, Angie. You've cheered me up there.' She grinned her toothy grin.

'Ready to go?'

'Yep.'

We paid up at reception and emerged onto the pavement. Her little yellow Nissan was parked a little further up the street, so we stopped by Storm and embraced. 'It was great to meet you -- and sleep with you - Becky.'

'You too... And to think, I nearly brushed you off. Madness.'

She beamed. 'You know, you'll still be giving me orgasms for the next several nights, don't you?'

'If that's a compliment, I'll take it... And I dare say that pussy of yours will appear in my dreams for a while... Gnarly indeed...' I shook my head.

She laughed. 'Bye Becky. Good luck with your homecoming.'

'Bye Angie. Enjoy the rest of your trip.

She walked off up the street and I stood and admired her neat little bum in those red jeans. I had just put my helmet on, when I remembered: Phone numbers!

I ran after her, as best I could in full 'bike clobber, and the little yellow car was just pulling out from the kerb when I got there. I only just managed to bang on the back window before she was gone forever, and she stopped. She lowered her window and I said, a little breathlessly, 'Phone numbers, Angie.'

'Oh crap. We forgot!' She stared at me, intensely. 'Hey, your eyes look great with your helmet on, Becky. Makes them stand out. Beautiful.'

'Oo, er...thank you.' I wanted to take my helmet off and kiss her, but I didn't. We hurriedly exchanged numbers, and blew each other kisses.

'See you, Becky.'

'See you, Angie.'

Then, she drove off, and I walked back to Storm. I patted her tank. 'Are you ready girl? Were going home.' I swung my leg over her, fired up her motor, and roared off up the street.

Our routes out of town diverged almost immediately, but I kept catching glimpses of Yellow Beryl on her route, as the two roads ran almost parallel only a field apart for I while. I smiled to myself. It was like sharing a final kilometer with each other. Then, my route swung west, and she was gone.

My destination was Bellinzona, in Switzerland, and my route took me past Verona (Romeo and Juliet!) along the southern edge of the Italian lakes, and to the north of Milan, but with no time to visit any of them, apart from a brief swoop along the shore of Lake Lugano.

It would have been an pleasant and uneventful ride, but for a heart-stopping incident that happened as I approached my journey's end. I had, perhaps unwisely, treated myself to a slap up lunch in Como -- comfort food -- and the combination of a full tummy, a very warm afternoon sun, and my general tiredness, made me very drowsy.

It was somewhere near Lugano where I dozed off and rode off the road.

I had come off the main road onto a smaller one because of the drowsiness, reasoning that the smaller road would demand more concentration and would therefore keep me awake. It didn't work.

I was extremely fortunate that, at the place where it happened, there was a broad, but rough, grass verge. Anywhere else and I would definitely have been seriously hurt. As it was, the first I knew of it was when the 'bike hit a big bump on the verge and almost threw me over the handlebars. I was instantly wrestling with the 'bike on pure reflex and instinct. Somehow, I managed to bring her to a stop inches before I crashed headlong into a road sign.

I collapsed onto the handlebars and burst into tears, with a combination of shock and relief. But Storm hadn't let me down. Henk, the Dutchman from that B&B in Monster, had told her to look after me, and she had.

Two biker's coming the other way, had seen my near miss and turned around to see if I was OK. They were two bearded Swiss guys on Harleys, dressed head to toe in black leather. They were intimidating to look at, but two of the kindest guys you could meet.

When I tearfully explained what had happened, they insisted on taking me to a nearby cafe on the back of one of their 'bikes. They sat me down with a strong coffee, then returned, two-up, to retrieve Storm.

It may seem too trusting and naive of me to allow them to do this, but I was in a daze, and they just seemed genuinely concerned. They sat with me, while I drank two coffees, and even offered to escort me to my hotel, which was about 20km in the opposite direction from where they were heading, but I said no, I'd be okay now. I was wide awake!

Thank you Lars and Ben. My heroes.

There were no more dozy incidents, but I was bone-achingly weary as I rolled into Bellinzona.

The Hotel Tamaro was three star, but all I wanted was a bed. I could have slept in a ditch. I checked in, let myself into my room, and stripped all my clothes off. I made myself have a shower, then crawled into to the sheer luxury of clean sheets and soft pillows. I was asleep in seconds and slept for 13 hours.

In the morning, I awoke both ravenous and thirsty and guzzled glass after glass of water before dressing and going downstairs. I only really felt OK after I'd completely monstered the breakfast buffet, having cereal, a croissant, bread and jam, AND scrambled eggs on toast. I also secreted a cinnamon bun on my person 'for later.' Thank goodness I have a fast metabolism.

My destination that day was a hotel I'd stayed in on the way south; the Hotel Cathédral in Metz, and it was about 500km away, so probably about 6 hours of riding on a route that went up by Lake Lucern, into the Rhine valley at Basel, then over the Vosges mountains. I used pay autoroute wherever I could, and managed to get to Metz by late afternoon. A pretty easy day, really.

I walked into reception at the hotel, and there was Claire, the same French woman who had checked me in last time. Her eyes lit up a little more than they perhaps should have when she saw me. 'Ahh, Mademoiselle Besom, you 'ave returned.'

'Yes, Claire, I couldn't keep away,' I said, cheekily, and she blushed slightly, and smiled.

'You 'ave the same room as before. Come, follow me.' I knew exactly where the room was, so she didn't need to show me, but I wasn't complaining, it gave me another opportunity to follow her up the flight of stairs to the next floor, enjoying the whiff of her perfume and watching the swish of her skirt as her hips swayed.

She was perhaps 30, very glam, with collar-length curly blonde hair that surely wasn't natural, quite a lot of makeup, including bright red lipstick and painted nails, a very classy satin blouse, that swishy below-the-knee skirt (which must have had a weighted hem) seamed stockings or tights, and stylish shoes with kitten heels. I was pretty sure she was straight (she had wedding and engagement rings on her left hand) but I was very tempted to try to seduce her. Better be careful though, I didn't want to get thrown out of the hotel for lewd behaviour or something.

It was question why she had felt the need to show me to the room though; I had the distinct impression she liked soaking up my attention, and I made no attempt to hide the fact I was ogling her. In fact, I deliberately made it quite obvious. It was time for compliments.

'I love your blouse, Claire. It's very flattering,' I said as she let me into the room (translation: "your tits look fucking hot.")

'Merci Mademoiselle Besom,' she smiled, a little shyly.

'Becky. You can call me Becky.'

She smiled again. 'You call if you need anything... Becky... anything at all.'

'Thank you, I will.'

I watched her walk away again; that hypnotic swing of the hem and her slender calves and ankles. I definitely would. Definitely WILL if I get half a chance, I thought.

I felt that familiar thrum of excitement again as I planned my seduction. Carly has the conviction that more than half of all women have lesbian desires, and that most of them will '...succumb to temptation, given the right stimulus.' All I needed was to find the right stimulus.

I thought she probably found me interesting because I'm so tall, but I didn't know what else she would find stimulating about me. I decided getting the girls out was probably a pretty safe bet though.

I got my clothes out for going out to eat, and lay them on the bed, then I stripped and got under the shower. After I'd rinsed away the day's road dust, I put on my black satin bathrobe, but fastened it very loosely, then called down to reception that I was struggling to control the temperature of the shower...

She arrived tout suite, as the French say, and I let her in. Her jaw dropped, momentarily, when she saw me in my robe -- something of a contrast after the 'bike suit - but she soon regained her composure and started demonstrating how to use the shower controls. 'You 'ave to first turn this one, like that, then this one... comme ça.'

She looked at me, and I leaned over to move the controls. 'Like this?' and my gown "accidentally" fell open, fully exposing my boobs. My nipples were shamelessly erect.

Her mouth fell open, and this time it stayed open, as her eyes went from my tits to my face and back again. I kept my eyes on her, and waited long moments before I slowly pulled the robe back together.

She didn't speak. She just looked at me with an expression I couldn't read, then turned and walked out, heels clicking on the tiled floor. Well, I'd got a reaction, of sorts, and I'd put an image in her head that would take some getting rid of, but I clearly needed to do more.

I decided to go and eat, and see what opportunities I could generate when I got back. I dressed as last time, in cropped jeans and a vest, but this time I left the bra off. I wanted to make an entrance when I walked back into the hotel later.

Unadventurous as I am, I returned to the Bistrot Bise, and had the same cassoulet as last time. Well, when something is that good, you don't need to look for anything else, do you?

I drank a half bottle of wine then walked back up to the hotel. It was 9:30 pm and, as I'd hoped, reception was deserted apart from Claire. I walked in with boobs jiggling, and nipples that were, shall we say, "enhanced" by the cool night air, and I walked straight up to the desk. She looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. 'Evening Claire.'

'Good evening, Mademois... ah, Becky.' She smiled her sweet reception smile, and I went bold.

'Would you join me for a drink in my room when you close reception, Claire?' I leaned forward, almost resting my boobs on the high counter in front of her.

'I, I don't think I should. I think you are trying to seduce me but I am not lesbienne.'

'Aww, come on Claire. Just for a drink. I won't make you do anything you don't want to,' and I gave her a coquettish smile.

'Just a drink?'

'Just a drink.'

'OK. 10:30.' -- he he, I knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

'Excellent. See you then.'

I went up to the room, and remembered the last time I was there. On that occasion, I'd had some virtual sex on the webcam with Jola and Carly. Lovely it was too, but this time I was hoping for something much more hands-on.

I took off my clothes and put on my satin dressing gown. It was a seductive move but I wasn't trying to hide the fact that I wanted her. I wasn't going to push her into anything, but I was hoping I wouldn't need to. There was something about the way she had already looked at me.

Although she was coming on the pretext of "just a drink," she knew what I wanted, and the fact that she'd agreed to come anyway proved, I thought, that in some way she wanted it too.

My pussy was crying out for attention, but I resisted the temptation to "waste" an orgasm before she even got there. I sat in one of the two armchairs and read a bit more of an erotic novel about a lesbian woman who had a long series of sexual encounters. I'd been reading it, bit by bit, since I came away, and I was just getting to the part where her emotions were getting in the way...'

I had made sure I had two bottles of an excellent Auxerrois blanc in the room, and I was just finishing my first glass when there was a tap on the door. 10:31 -- she was keen. Excellent.

I let her in, and sat her down with a glass of wine, then poured myself another and sat opposite her. I was barefoot, in just the robe, and I pulled my leg up onto the chair in a quite provocative pose. I was showing far more than was seemly, but I wanted to push her buttons as much as I could, to see how she reacted.

Initially, there was no reaction. She remained cool, and we made small talk, about my trip and where I'd been etc. She was quite open, and I learned that her husband was working away in Africa and wasn't actually home very often. Their sex life had become almost non-existent, and it sounded like a pretty barren marriage, to be honest. Who was this guy? He works away for weeks, then comes home and can resist this woman? He must be a fucking robot... I mean a non-fucking robot, obviously.

I plied her with wine and, gradually, she opened up a little more, as did I. I told her selected little snippets of what I'd been up to, and she was definitely interested, asking tentative little questions about lesbian sex. She mentioned a few near-misses she'd had with guests -- male guests -- but she said she had not been unfaithful. "But Is it unfaithful if it's lesbienne, Becky?' That was an interesting question. I couldn't answer it, but it was a question that seemed to have a prominence in her mind.

Eventually, she said, 'I am not lesbienne, Becky, but I like you.' She smiled nervously. 'When you came before, I had feelings. Feelings like I would get with a man. I was very excited that you were coming back. I have those feelings again.' She seemed very unsure, but she was obviously finding these feelings difficult to resist.

'Do you want to explore these feelings, Claire? You can if you like. I won't bite... I like you too.' I gave her a little smile.

She smirked. Then she looked at my breasts and said can I feel them?

'Of course.' I got up and went to stand near her, and she reached up and ran her hands over my tits, through the satin robe, kneading them slightly, squeezing them together and feeling their weight. Her thumbs tentatively brushed across my nipple bumps and she gave a little gasp.

'Do you want them naked?' I asked, and she nodded, so I undid the sash and let them fall free. She ran her hands over them again, but this time skin to bare skin, and she visibly shivered. I whispered, 'You can suck them,' and she looked up at me, full of doubt. I nodded reassuringly, and she brought her lips to one of my ragingly erect nipples and just kissed it with those lush red lips. I was going to have lipstick marks, but do you think I was fucking bothered?

She hesitantly sucked my nipple into her mouth, and her tongue briefly swept across my crinkled areola. Oh fuck, I was about ready to explode.

I shrugged off the robe so that I was completely naked, and she exclaimed, 'Oh... really?

'Yes, really.'

I knelt down in front of her, and pushed her skirt up her smooth thighs to reveal -- oh heaven - her stocking tops and suspenders. And those stockings weren't nylons, they were beautiful silk, with exquisite lace welts. She looked so glam and glitzy in her swanky clothes and makeup, with her brassy blonde curls, lying there in the chair, with her legs loosely apart, yet so innocent and trusting at the same time. It was an intoxicating combination.

I moved up to kiss her, but I didn't push it. I hovered over her, supporting myself on my arms, our lips almost touching, and whispered, 'Kiss me,' leaving it to her to make the final move. And she did, very tentatively, raising her head to bring our mouths together, then gradually melting into the kiss. Now a bit more encouraged, I imposed myself upon her a little more, pressing her back onto the chair, deepening the kiss and allowing my breasts to squish down on hers.