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(Zach and Cassie feature in ‘Café de Paris’. There may be other stories involving them to come. An ad hoc collection, not a series.)

Zach, being a keen cyclist, had entered the annual charity ride to the city down the coast. Thousands entered each year, some ignoring the oft repeated mantra, ‘it’s not a race’, others happy to meander at their leisure. Zach fell somewhere between the two. Pushing himself was half the fun, without having pretensions at being the next Bradley Wiggins, Chris Froome or Gerraint Thomas. For one thing, age was against him a little, at closer to 50 than he cared to accept.

A few days out from the Sunday in question, the two friends who’d agreed to join him in friendly rivalry, baulked at the forecast. The Bureau of Meteorology had been firming their prediction from ‘showers’ to ‘rain periods’ to ‘it’s going to rain pretty much all day’. Come 05:00 on the day, Zach arrived in the city to join a diminished, but still large, throng of two-wheel adherents. The rain was holding off, for the moment.

As he filtered through the starting zone, and turned onto the busway (closed for the occasion), the rain started. Light and intermittent initially until 10kms in, ‘steady’ seemed the best description. Zach hadn’t bothered with rain protection. It wasn’t cold and nothing was going to stop him getting wet.

As any cyclist will know, sometimes you get on the bike and you feel strong, the legs give power on demand, the wheels roll easily. Zach experienced such being at one with his machine and settled into a sustainable pace. The way it worked seemed to be that he’d fall in with a small bunch, ride with them for a while until a hill or some other reason caused them to slow more than he wanted and he’d kick on picking up the next bunch cruising at roughly the right pace. And so it went on, stretches of tucking in, draughting others, interspersed with pushing on alone.

Whilst there were more men than women, the latter were still plentiful. Not that the weather really made for much opportunity to observe any finer points. As it happened, Zach’s progress brought him onto the back wheel of another lone rider, a woman. He’d only recently left behind a small knot of riders and passed a couple of solitary ones. Inching up to this rider, Zach had to weigh up whether to put in the overtaking spurt or not. He hesitated, admitting to himself that he had only caught up by putting in a bit of extra effort, and that to pass would require another dig into the store of endurance, and the decision was made for him. Sitting just back and to one side, out of the spray from her rear wheel, Zach settled for the tow, soon confirming that the pace wasn’t shabby.

After five minutes, Zach started to feel the pressure of cycling etiquette. It’s not the done thing to sit in another rider’s slipstream, leaving them to do all the hard work without reciprocation. He put on a shade of extra pace, passing to the outside. Drawing level, he turned, flashed a smile and simply said, “My turn to lead for a bit.”

Zach didn’t wait for a response, simply easing in ahead of the woman. The rain was a bit more than steady by now, ‘pissing down’ seemed more appropriate. He reflected on seeing his ad hoc partner other than from the rear.

‘Wet!’, he mused.

She had appeared younger than himself, maybe in her 30s, a very short pony tail stuck to the back of her neck, looked like it might be a dirty blonde shade. With her rain spattered wrap-around glasses on, her face wasn’t fully visible. Nice looking mouth though. Her soaked, tight fitting ‘jersey’ left little to the imagination.

‘Fit’, in both senses of that word, sprang to Zach’s mind.

There wasn’t much chance to ponder more though, the conditions meant concentration was the order of the day. He assumed his companion was still tucked in behind him.

“Not far to the first stop now. I’ll take it from here.”

The voice came just before Zach saw the woman appear to his right. Her golden, smooth legs flexed powerfully, eryaman otele gelen escort shining with copious water.

And on they went. She’d obviously done the ride before. Zach had no real idea where the first pit stop location was in relation to their current position.

Then they were there, freewheeling into a park. Spotting the shelters covering people handing out bananas and energy bars, Zach said, “Shall I grab you what’s on offer?”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just head over to that shelter there,” she replied, pointing over the way.

Joining her a moment or two later, Zach introduced himself.

“Sally,” she responded briefly. “Great weather for it.”


“Um… can you watch my bike? Need to use the toilets.”

“No problem.”

Zach watched her walk away not sure what to make of his new found friend. When she came back, he simply said, “Do you want to stick together on the next leg? Feel free to go your own way if the pace isn’t right for you.”

“Sure, why not? If you hold me back, I’ll just drop you.” She grinned.

That smile lit up her face and Zach felt a spark of interest. He was beginning to be intrigued.

“Let’s go then before we get cool.”

They rolled out and soon settled into their rhythm again. The rain hadn’t abated, simply varied in intensity a bit. At times they fitted in behind larger groups of riders, each time they’d become annoyed by the pace, the way the group moved around the road or just got impatient and without communication one or other would make the break followed by the other. Then they just gave up with groups and approaching one simply accelerated past.

Another hour on the road found them at the second break point. A quick exchange confirmed they both wanted to take a brief pit stop. A breeze had kicked in by now, driving the rain and, when they stopped, rapidly cooling the heat of exertion.

As they stood devouring bananas and chewy bars, Sally blurted out, “Fuck, it’s cold!”

Zach noticed her arms forming goose pimples. As Sally pulled the zip of her jersey up to her neck, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her prominent nipples doing their best to punch holes in the clinging, wet fabric. Not just her nipples he noted, her areolae too, distinctly puffy at the peaks of her perky little breasts.

Partly to avoid staring at Sally’s chest in its second skin, Zach muttered, “Here,” and wrapped his arms around her, slowly pressing her bodily to himself.

Cautious initially, sensitive to resistance, then more firmly and assuredly as none came. He could feel her cheek pressed to his skin at the open neck of his jersey, feel her soft breasts and harder nipples squashed against his chest, feel her thighs against his, slightly offset, one of hers pressing between as one of his did with hers. He could feel her jaw moving against his chest. Sally’s scent filled his nose; he started to react.

“So much better.” Zach felt rather than heard Sally’s words.

Not wanting to risk too much of a good thing, Zach responded brightly, “Ok, best get our show back on the road.”

He thought he saw, through her lightly tinted glasses, Sally’s eyes flick down to his crotch.

“Not a bad show either.” She grinned at him before turning away and throwing one leg over her machine.

Finally the rain ceased. To be replaced with a strengthening breeze, right in the face, to rub salt in the wounds. They worked hard, tucking down into their drops and almost touching wheels in line behind. Zach could feel his legs getting heavy, the lactic acid building up in the well used muscles. He realised that Sally could leave him for dead if she chose to. His speedo told him that their pace was higher when she was in the lead.

About 5kms out from the finish, Sally pulled up alongside Zach, “Mind if I make for a sprint finish?”

Zach glanced over, couldn’t help but notice her jersey zip pulled down low like his own. The strengthening sunshine and lack of rain had prompted a quick sincan escort rise of temperature. The smooth, bronzed skin of her chest between her petite beasts struck Zach as incredibly sexy.

“Fuck she’s hot,” he thought.

“Course not! Go for it,” is what he actually said.

Sally had seen the flick of Zach’s eyes and the pause in his reply. Her transformative grin again lit up her face, “See you at the finish old man.”

She stood in her pedals and surged forward, leaving Zach admiring the perfect shapes of her calves and thighs as they worked in synchrony. And her bum, like a ripe peach, curving out and tapering gracefully in to her high waist.

Sally glanced back over her shoulder, “Thanks for the tow. You’ll get a reward!”

And she was away. Zach powered on as best as his leaden thighs would let him. “Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he checked his roaming thoughts.

Finish in sight, Zach relaxed, cracked a smile and raised a hand for the official photographer. Coasting in past the line, he scanned the smattering of cyclists who had finished and assembled well-wishers, reception committees and interested parties.

As he dismounted, flicking his feet from the cleats, he heard a familiar voice, “Not too far behind.”

Zach turned to see the welcome sight of Sally’s infectious smile, just as she added, “Old man.”

Zach raised an eyebrow, “Hey, less of the ‘old’ young lady. What do they call competitors over 40? Masters?”

“I’m sorry, I’m only teasing. Trying to hide my nerves.”


“Yes, because I want to do this…” And with that Sally stepped forward, pressing herself bodily against Zach, slipped one hand round his back, pulling him hard against her, and the other to the back of his neck, pulling his face down to hers. She kissed him with fierce passion. Lips crushed, her tongue finding his. It was over as abruptly as it began.

They stood looking at each other for what a seemed like an age.

“You’re forgiven,” Zach eventually spoke. “Was that my reward.”

Sally smirked, “It was going to be. Not so sure now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fancy coming back to my place?”

Zach’s mind grappled with the pace of events. Some people, the super fit ones, like Sally perhaps, rode back to the start after the ride.

“Don’t tell me. You’re riding back to the start?”

“No silly. I live just two streets over there,” Sally gestured vaguely behind her.

“Well, in that case… yes.”

“Good, I’m hungry and we can have brunch. I’ve got bacon and avocado. And a view of the Broadwater.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way.”


She stood in the doorway to the small balcony, looking out over the street. The rain had returned, falling heavily and loudly. Zach stepped up behind her, slipped his hands around her waist and felt her relax into his embrace.

His lips met the soft skin at the side of her neck. He relished the warmth, the taste of her skin and the almost inaudible low moan of pleasure that stayed in her throat.

With his right hand, Zach slowly moved up between her breasts, then equally slowly descended again with the zip tab. The garment parted, exposing her belly and the enticing valley between her breasts, to the grey sky. His hands drifted again, reaching up to push apart the fabric. Hands that cupped and squeezed her breasts. Fingers that pinched at her stiffened nipples and wider to explore the swollen puffiness around them.

All the while Zach’s mouth nipped, licked, kissed at her neck, her shoulders, her throat as she let her head fall back against him. She was pressing her soft, rounded bottom back against his prominent bulge, rubbing back and forth, teasing his erection to full staff.

Zach pulled the thin fabric away, discarding it. Grasping the fabric of her knickers, Zach pulled them down with decisive force, the momentum of his action taking them down past her thighs. She leant forward against elvankent escort the half wall of the balcony, bottom thrust back, bared. Zach let his downward movement follow through to a squat behind her. Gripping her thighs he lent in, pressing his lips to those of her suddenly exposed sex. He had seen that she was swollen, glistening, dark pink with arousal. Her scent and taste overwhelmed his senses and he paused, mouth open, taking in the plump outer lips, slowly pushing his tongue between them, savouring the flood of her juices that his action released.

“God, so ripe and ready.” He thought.

With increasing fervour Zach feasted on her pouting cunt. Hand grasping and revelling in the smooth curves of her thighs, her arse. His mouth roamed, lips and tongue busy from clit to stern, swirling around her tight little anus, probing it to open.

Then he was up on his feet, his jersey all but torn off and bike shorts shoved down. His rampant erection throbbed in the now warm humidity. Zach grabbed her hips, his cockhead, smooth and engorged, slipped over her wet lips. He thrust forward triumphantly, impaling her in one solid lunge.

“Oh fuck!” She exclaimed.

Zach paused as they stood, joined, panting with the rush of first penetration.

“Fuck me, please don’t stop. Just fuck me.” The spell was broken.

And Zach did. Steady, full length lunges. Deep, full. He listened to her moans and expletives with delight. He reached forward with one hand and took a firm grip of her mane of wavy, auburn hair. All the while, he kept at her with a pace he knew he could sustain for as long as necessary.

It wasn’t long, “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.” She spat out the words, face lifted to the outside world, her hips thrusting backwards, seeking deeper, harder penetration.

Zach had no intention of stopping.

“No, no, nooo… yes, fuck yes… more, harder… unghhh, arhhh… fuck, fuck…”

Then she burst, juices flooded out past Zach’s pistoning cock and he paused, fully embedded in her cunt as it gripped him with the spasms of orgasm.

He very slowly pulled back, “no, no, nooo…” she wailed.

His weapon slipped from her sheath. Then he pressed forward again.

“Oh, you bastard, fuck…” Zach’s engorged, glistening helmet pressed forward and upwards, sliding slowly through the crease in her bum. The rim of the glans, each ridge and vein along the underside of the shaft, bumped across her sensitive anus.

“No, nooo, noooo… oh god. Yeesssss.” Her panting breaths rasped, over-loud in Zach’s heightened senses.

He took a step back, using his left hand, taking a hold of her hip, to keep her at bay. Gripping his engorged prick in his right hand, Zach traced the curves of her beautiful bottom with the satin smooth dome of his erection.

“Oh God, don’t tease me. Fuck me. Do it again, fuck, please.”

And he did. Ploughed once more into her from behind with increasing vigour, through another loud climax from her before reaching the very cusp of his own explosion. And then it was upon him, hurtling up his shaft and bursting out into the superheated tunnel of her cunt, glazed eyes fixated on the flushed, ripe peach before him.

“Oh Cassie, you gorgeous woman.”

“Fuck, Zach. Farrrrkk. So good. Mmmmm.”

He held her firmly back to his chest, until, eventually, he slipped from her. Then turned her to wrap her up close.

“So after getting kissed, accepting coffee and avocado toast, did you get her number? Seems like you liked her a bit. Or was it only a certain bit of her!” Cassie asked with a small smirk.

“Well, she thrust a card into my hand.” Zach stooped to find the card in the rear pocket of his discarded jersey and turned it over in his hand. “Runs her own jewellery design business apparently. So, yes. And no. Well, possibly.” He added a little sheepishly.

“Maybe she’d like to come over for dinner with us. You could talk about the ride, try and explain to me the attraction of getting up at 4:00am to go and flog yourselves half to death in torrential rain. Oh, and how much you liked following her bottom. Find out if she returned the appreciation?”

Zach looked into Cassie’s eyes as she spoke, rolled his own eyes and grinned at the wicked gleam he could see in hers.

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