Chloe’s Sweet Pink Pt. 03

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This is part 3 of a series which continues Chloe’s timeline from “Riding With Dirty Girls,” “Chloe Rides Again,” and “Chloe’s Return.” You can probably get something out of the sex scenes in isolation, but for background, you ideally 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 Sweet Pink Pt. 03

Yawn… I was lying on the bed in the team hotel, looking at my phone and all the excited online gabble about the stage, but I was struggling to stay awake. I contemplated having a snooze, but dinner time was only 40 minutes away, and I didn’t want to miss it. I know, I could have set an alarm, but 40 minutes was enough time to fall into a really deep sleep, and then I’d struggle to wake up and I’d feel shit.

Where was Helen? Her stimulating presence would keep me awake, but she wasn’t here. She was no doubt with Marlen, somewhere. The two of them were becoming inseparable. Even on the bikes, they were rarely apart. During long easy stretches they’d spend kilometre after kilometre together, just ticking along, chatting or in companionable silence. It was easy to see the bond that was forming between them. Actually, I think it had been there for years and they were now just re-embracing it.

Why was I so tired? Well, I knew really. I was over-reaching. We were 4 stages in — 4 stages that were tiring enough on their own — and I’d already had sex with Helen, with Helen and Marlen together, and with Debbie — twice. No wonder I was shagged out.

I can’t help it though. I’ve always been a hedonist. I just love sex, and sex with these women is just too tempting.

What about Debbie though? She was voracious, and she seemed to be particularly focussed on me. I know she’d had some fun with Trude, and maybe others, but not on this Giro, as far as I knew. All her lustful attention was reserved for me.

It was very flattering, and of course I found her almost irresistible. Her ardour alone was enough to light my burners — I love an ardent woman — but then there was also her magic hands, and those addictive tits. I was helpless.

The tiredness was a worry though. The weekend was looming, with two big summit showdowns to decide the destination of that final pink jersey. I really, really wanted that jersey, but I wouldn’t get it if I was knackered. I guess I had a hard choice to make, between pink, and… er, pink.

I decided to call Molly. I was so lucky to have Molly. Not many athletes have the kind of relationship with their coach that would allow them to ask for advice about something like this, but I do.

I hadn’t spoken with her so far this Giro. She’d sent me messages on WhatsApp, congratulating me, or telling me not to panic, but we hadn’t actually spoken. It was great to hear her voice, so calm and unflappable. What a rock she is.

‘Hi Chloe, well ridden today, I didn’t expect you to take back 20 seconds so easily.’

‘It wasn’t easy, Mol,’ I protested.

‘Well, you know what I mean.’

‘Yeh, I do. I expected the others to put up more of a fight, to be honest. I think they were suffering with the heat.’

‘Yep, the heat can be a swine. How are you feeling now?’

‘Er, tired. I need some advice, actually.’

‘OK, go on.’

‘Well, I’ve handled the stages OK, and my recovery has been good each night, but I think I’m tired because of… other things.’

I could almost see her wry smile. ‘I’d give you advice about eating well, but you don’t need that, or getting enough sleep, but you don’t need that, so we’re talking about sex, aren’t we?’

‘You know me so well, Molly.’

She chuckled. ‘So, I’m right then…’

‘Yes. You know I can’t resist… and I’m sharing with Helen… and Helen is renewing her romance with Marlen… and we have a soigneur called Debbie, who is gay, and as horny as hell…

‘Hmm, and if I know you, Chloe, it will be full-on 110% sex, won’t it?’

‘Yes, always.’

‘It might surprise you to know that I used to have a lot of sex when I was at the peak of my racing, and it never did me any harm, so I’m not going to tell you to stop. BUT, and it’s a big but… no not that kind of big butt… you can overdo it.’

‘Mm, that’s my problem, I think. Debbie is mad for it, and I can’t resist.’

‘I think denying yourself, and lying awake with frustration, is counter-productive, but you need to keep it under control. Maybe even keep it to one orgasm. I know you’re multi-orgasmic, and a very greedy girl, but you should save that for when you are at home with Licia… or when you come here, of course…’

‘Oo-er, Molly, do stop.’ That was surprisingly cheeky for Molly. I liked it.

‘Anyway, your soigneur should understand. She doesn’t gebze escort want you to lose the Giro, does she? Talk to her about it.’

‘Good idea, Mol. I will.’

‘I have news for you. Fanny, Mari, and I are all coming over for the weekend. We’ll see you after Saturday’s stage, and we’ll be on the Zoncolan on Sunday.’

‘YAAY! Fantastic.’

I was so stoked to hear they’d be there. That gave me such a lift.

We signed off with excited chatter about travel arrangements etc, and strict orders to get an early night, and I headed down to dinner, very much wide awake now, and ravenously hungry.

Dinner was great, with toasts to the team’s success, though Zara and Tera were a little rueful about their inability to keep me under control; ‘If I’m La Petarda, Chloe, you must be La Bomba,’ said Zara with a surprisingly generous grin.

‘Ha! But you’re still the one in pink…’ I reminded her.

After I’d finished “eating well,” I buttonholed Debbie and took her into the lounge for a chat. We got a couple of drinks, then found seats in a quiet corner.

I must’ve looked serious, because as soon as we sat down she said, ‘This is the “cool it” chat, isn’t it?’

‘The ‘cool it” chat?’ I said, acting bemused, but knowing exactly what she meant.

‘Yeh, the one where you tell me to back off, cool it, calm my tits…’

I chuckled, ‘Well they’ll take some calming, I bet.’

‘You’re not wrong, but that’s what this is about, isn’t it?’

‘Well KIND of. You know I could fuck you twice daily, don’t you…?’

‘Only twice?’ she teased.

‘At least… but seriously…’

‘I know, Chloe. I understand. You are supposed to be racing a grand tour, and I’m draining the spunk out of you.’

‘Eww,’ I chuckled. ‘Not exactly spunk, but yes. I’m tired.’

‘Yeah, sorry. I just get so horny around you though.’ She gave me an adorably coquettish look.

‘I’m flattered, but the feeling is mutual, that’s for sure.’ I eyed those beautiful bustling boobs of hers.

‘I know I’ve been a little carried away. A quick fuck is one thing, but two on the bounce? That’s virtually a fokken relationship!’

‘They weren’t quick, either,’ I smirked. ‘HOW many orgasms??’

‘No idea.’ She shook her head, eyes wide. ‘Good ones, too.’

‘So, are you always this horny, Debs?’

‘NO! That’s what’s so surprising. It’s only since I’ve had this job. I’ve been bi for a long time, and I’ve always been attracted to both sexes, but since I’ve been on this team, I find I’m just lusting after the girls. Even the straight ones. I mean, look at Zara, she’s fokken smoking hot, don’t you think?’

‘I do, but I have plenty of gay girlfriends so I try not to lust after straight women. I’m glad it’s not just me you have the hots for, though.’

‘You’re pretty special, Chloe, but no, I’m turned on by lots of the girls. It’s weird; suddenly, I’m not even slightly interested in the men. Adam made a move on me the first week I joined, but I was like “ewww, no thanks.” I really think I’ve crossed the floor.’

I nodded, knowingly. ‘I was thinking that.’

‘Actually, I’m wondering how long I can keep this job. It takes too much willpower.’

‘Oh, don’t leave us, Debbie. That would be a real shame.’

She smiled at the implied compliment. ‘D’you know what else is weird? Besides the sex, I’ve been masturbating more too. I never knew I could get so much pleasure on my own.’

‘Hmm, funny that. Licia and I have a friend in Ireland who has just recently come out, and she said basically the same thing… The pleasure of pussy, eh?’

‘Damn right…’

‘Anyway, I’m not brushing you off, Debs, I just think I need to be careful. Especially before this weekend.’

‘Yeh, it’s fine Chloe. Maybe I could make a move on Zara…’ She grinned.

‘That would be bold and brave, but please do. It would be great if you could shag her out before Saturday…’

We chatted on for a while about the other girls on tour, how turnable Zara was (we both remembered the kiss at Gijón) and the pleasure of pussy. It was a very horny conversation, and I could easily have succumbed again — oh my God, it was only a couple of hours since last time we fucked — but I resisted.

‘Anyway, it’s time I went up and stacked some ZZs I think. See you at breakfast. She wiggled fingers at me and I headed for bed.

I let myself into the room. Hmm, still no sign of Helen. I sat on the bed and took my shoes off, and my fatigue came flooding back. I really needed this early night.

***

Stage 5. Mirano — Monselice.

120km — Negligible climbing.

Another pan-flat stage, the kind I usually grumble about, but this time I welcomed it, because it gave me more time to recover my freshness.

My ideal scenario was that a break would form, composed of riders who were miles behind on GC, and the peloton would have a day off and let them go. Then, I could have an easy day, sitting in the bunch, drafting, and turning the pedals with little gümüşhane escort effort. I’d keep my fingers crossed.

I woke that morning to the sound of Helen’s faint snoring. She had returned from wherever she’d been, without waking me, and was sound asleep. I tiptoed into the bathroom, peed, showered, then emerged to see her just waking up. She had her back to me, and she turned her head to look at me, her hair strewn wildly across her face.

I don’t know how Helen manages to look so lovely in any situation; ruffled dawn face, straight out of the shower with wet hair, frazzled, red faced and sweaty after a hard race, laughing at a joke, gazing fondly at Marlen, or looking down at me as she queened the living daylights out of me. Utterly bewitching every time. Ah, wondrous Helen.

‘Morning lovely,’ I greeted her.

She yawned — I forgot that one, she even looks gorgeous yawning. ‘Morning Chloe. Is it late?’

‘No, quarter to eight. Plenty of time.’ She stretched, one of those exquisite, sustained stretches that tenses every muscle in your body, then flopped, limp, and broke into a bright smile that it up the room.

‘Thank goodness it’s an easy stage today. I’m pretty stiff.’

‘I was just thinking that.’ I responded. ‘Yesterday was a grueller, eh?’

I lay on the bed with just a towel round me, looking at my phone and listening to Helen, humming in the shower. I smiled to myself. She sounded very happy, and that made me happy.

We went down to breakfast and I continued with my mission of eating well, having a double helping of just about everything (what could I do? My coach told me to) and I couldn’t help noticing that Debbie was sat next to Zara… Hmm.

The bus transfer to the start was, once again, quite short. Just over an hour to Mirano, which is very close to Venice. After the stage, another bus ride would take us northwest again to our next team hotel in Vicenza.

This was a very compact “tour” with quite a lot of overlap between stages, and no transfer longer than about an hour. It certainly made it more relaxed, but I’d like to see more stages really, to make it more worthy of the title “Grand Tour.”

Anyway, we got on the bus to go to Mirano, and Debbie informed us that it was the birthplace of Federica Pellegrini, who was apparently an Olympic swimmer. Zara was nodding knowingly, but there were a lot of blank looks from others.

‘Is she famous?’ I asked.

‘Oh yeah. Big name in the swimming world.’

‘If course, you were a swimmer, weren’t you?’

‘Yep. I raced against her a few times, but I was never in her class. She’s a multiple gold medal winner; Olympics, World Champs, world record holder over 400m…’

I fell to musing… the Olympics were one year away, and I realised I would probably be selected for the GB team. I’d never really thought about the Olympics, but I knew if I was asked, of course I’d go. But would I do the road race, or the time-trial? Or both?

We arrived in Mirano, an attractive place and typically Italian, and began the usual pre-race rigmarole. All the GC contenders, including me, were very relaxed because we didn’t expect to be doing battle today, but I spotted sprinters like Marieke, Mae, and Jude, and breakaway specialists like Franka, Inga, and Letizia, all looking focussed. Would it be a day for the break, or the sprinters?

As is often the case, there was some discussion around jerseys. Obviously, Zara was in pink, but I was now the holder of the white and the blue (mountains) jerseys. I couldn’t wear both, so I stayed in white. It matched my bike anyway.

As we rolled out, I positioned myself near the front, with the rest of my team, and in a good position to observe all the anticipated attacks. Sure enough, as soon as the flag fell, people started to try to jump clear. Anyone remotely dangerous was chased down immediately, but eventually a group of 10 got away, none of them within 30 minutes of the overall lead.

Just as I’d hoped, the peloton continued to ride at a relaxed tempo, and I settled into what was going to be a pleasant day out on the plains of Veneto. And it was pleasant; easy flat roads, little wind, 28 degrees, and a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. I was transported.

The break’s gap was allowed to grow to 5, 10, 15 minutes, before we stepped up the pace, just enough to hold them. The initial group of 10 fractured into three as they approached Monselice, and three of them ended up sprinting it out for the podium places. I wasn’t surprised to find out later that Franka Stellner had won, with Ellen Murren, and Esther Cruyff taking the other two steps.

When the peloton rolled in, there was a completely pointless sprint for 11th place. I never understand it in this situation. 11th place carried no prize money, no bonus seconds, not even any kudos. I don’t know why they bother.

Like Stage 3, this was another damp squib of a stage. Sometimes, there can be nail-biting tension on this kind of stage, if izmir escort the peloton is in full cry and the break’s survival is hanging by a thread, but there was none of that today. It must have made very poor TV. Such a contrast to the previous day’s battles. Still, there were better stages to come.

I returned to the bus and just sat on board, waiting to go to Vicenza. Debbie came to sit near me for a chat. ‘Well that was a nice restful stage, wasn’t it?’

I looked at her impishly. ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a massage?’

‘No, because we both know what that leads to don’t we?’

‘Not today though. The bus will be on the road in an hour.’

‘Well you can if you like. Just a massage.’

‘No, it’s OK. I was only being mischievous.’

She grinned and shook her head. Then Zara came on board, and Debbie got up from her seat. ‘Hi, Zara. Do you need a massage?’ What a bloody shameless minx she is.

Zara (innocently or not?) said, ‘Oo, yes OK,’ and went through to the little cubicle, while Debbie pulled the curtain across with a wink.

I sat and stared into space, with mixed feelings. I imagined Zara’s legs, and Debbie’s hands spreading her balm on them. Zara’s legs are lush and fleshy, with full thighs. They are a lot like Helen’s or Licia’s, except a gorgeous golden brown colour. She must spend a lot of time sunbathing, or walking around in swimwear, when she’s not riding, because she doesn’t have the usual cyclist’s ghost kit. Her tan goes all the way to her bikini line. They are completely gorge-worthy legs, and Debbie was laying hands on them right now, just behind that curtain. Lucky bitch.

Luckily, Helen and Marlen, with Trude, got on board, so I was distracted by their bright chatter, otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done. My tiredness couldn’t be that bad. I was still fucking horny.

Soon, Zara emerged, and joined our little chat, and before long, we were on the way to Vicenza, and my raging libido was subsiding.

The hotel was great. Air conditioned, with bar, restaurant, and spacious rooms. Helen asked if I’d mind her sharing with Marlen, and I said of course not. In fact, as it turned out, it came with a bonus, because I ended up with Zara. Oo er. The “bonus” was a double-edged sword though, as I would find out later.

Dinner was fun. It was unusually relaxed, with no particular agenda. Robbie didn’t make a speech (thank gawd) and it was all just easy chatter and bonhomie. The day’s stage had been a non-event for Canyon-Zipp, and the next day was a kind of transit stage, taking us back up to the Alps for the weekend showdown. It was the lull before the storm.

I managed to keep my sexual imperative suppressed, and just sat in the lounge, socialising with a few of the girls. However, Zara pulled me aside for a chat and surprised me by nipping in the bud any talk about sexual potential with her.

‘I don’t mind sharing room with you, Chloe, but don’ get any ideas about me.’ I looked askance at her. ‘Debbie already tries to seduce me into sex. Because I kissed you at Gijón, she thinks I am lesbica, but I’m not. Really not. The kiss is only because I am excited to win the stage. Definitely no because I am lesbica. I don’ want sex with you, so don’ try, OK?’

‘OK,’ I nodded solemnly.

Apart from thinking “methinks the lady protests too much,” she couldn’t really be plainer. It was disappointing, but I had to respect it.

I went to find Debbie, to see what had transpired between them, and she shrugged and said, ‘Yeh, she was firm about it. As soon as my hands wandered from the straight and narrow, she stopped me. She wasn’t freaked or anything. Just firm. “No no no, Debbie, please don’t.” she said in that sexy accent of hers, and she took hold of my wrists, shaking her head. I used that kiss with you in Gijón as an excuse, like I’d got the wrong idea, but she said no, it meant nothing. God almighty she’s sexy though.’

We both glazed over, thinking about her, and nodding, ruefully. ‘Good luck, sleeping in the same room with her,’ said Debbie.

I went up to bed for another early night. I’d had enough for one day, and I was hoping I’d be asleep by the time Zara came up, which I was, but Zara isn’t Helen, and her entrance wasn’t stealthy. I woke as soon as she closed the door behind her.

However, I stayed on my side with the covers over me and didn’t show that I was awake. I just lay there, and watched her covertly. Voyeuristically.

She turned on a dim bedside light, kicked off her trainers and pulled down her trackies, then she sat on the other bed to take her socks off, lifting her knees high in turn and hooking the socks off with a finger. Oh my God, those legs.

I was watching though slitted eyes that I hoped wouldn’t be noticed, with the covers partly over my head. Hiding.

She crossed her arms and whipped off her polo shirt, leaving her in just her undies, which were black and plain. Not lacy or anything, but quite skimpy and very sexy on her. I stirred slightly and murmured — an involuntary reaction to my growing arousal – and she glanced at me, but I closed my eyes and pretended to still be sleeping.

She disappeared into the en-suite, leaving me disappointed, and I heard her having a pee, then water running in the washbasin. At least she didn’t flush.

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