Tour de France is on. Lance Armstrong isn't, so who really cares, but it does apparently happen, and it's a France kind of thing, so why not take half an hour. (I only spent half an hour on this so it's really not all that good but who gives a fuck in the end. thxx Chris).
“And so they, ah, bike all around the country?” asked Jeanne, bewildered. “Why?”
Laeticia shrugged. “Masochism, maybe - a guy who won it a bunch had his balls cut off beforehand. And they always have beautiful girls to kiss the winner each day,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes.
“The entire country, you say.”
“Yeah; do you want me to show you?” Laeticia didn’t bother taking no for an answer and flopped off her bed to Jeanne’s, where she was sitting up against the headboard in her underwear. “Let’s say your stomach is France, okay? Both beautiful landscapes, of course.”
Jeanne blushed. Laeticia had taken the whole experience rather well to say the least, and had been close with her the last few weeks, like a surrogate sister, maybe, or. “This year, they started in Holland…” she began, examining a point under Jeanne’s left breast, and frowning. “Hold on.” She ducked off the side of the bed, rummaging around in the picnic basket for what turned out to be a little can of whipped cream. “So, they started in Holland…” Laeticia brought the can up and pressed down, spreading foam over Jeanne’s skin at the spot. “Hey, don’t giggle! I don’t want to mess up.”
“S-sorry,” Jeanne replied, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.
“Then, they went into Belgium, and into France, following down the northern coast all the way to Brittany…” Laeticia was saying, as she traced a line in cream diagonally down Jeanne’s stomach to reach her opposite waist. “Then, down to the border with Spain, and along it for a few days -” she slowly drew the line right above Jeanne’s underwear, and Jeanne desperately tried not to laugh or move - “along the highlands, eventually into the Alps with Italy -” the other side of her waist - “and then, they end in Paris.” The can floated towards her belly button, filling it with cream after a quick moment before Laeticia decided against geographical accuracy and ended the Tour with a flourish upwards, crossing the finish line of her bra and ending between its cups.
“I knew some people who went, and apparently, it’s quite exciting. Like an extended party; you get set up along the road days in advance, camping with all the other spectators…” Her face was suddenly close to Jeanne’s body, coming back to the cream’s start, and only after a bit of hesitation Laeticia crossed the last inch and started to lick her way up the trail.
“...and then on the day, a pack of cyclists rushes past you over the course of a few minutes or hours…” she was mumbling between laps of cream. Jeanne felt herself sliding lower on the bed as she paid far less attention to it than Laeticia’s warm tongue, playing over her skin and leaving behind a cooling trail, tainted with sugar.
“...all of them riding their hearts out, and you all scream for them even if they’re Americans or Spanish or German, you can’t really tell anyways…” It was harder to hear her as she moved down. Jeanne barely dared to breathe as Laeticia’s tongue ran just above the band of her panties, and the other girl giggled, shooting Jeanne a glance from the top of her eyes.
“...so you cheer with and for everyone, even the Red Lantern, and that’s that,” she said, finishing the Tour on Jeanne’s belly button, slurping the cream out, such a weird feeling that Jeanne squeaked in surprise. Laeticia licked it clean a few more times, poking fun at Jeanne’s weakness, before finishing in one go - Jeanne laid practically on her back now, propped up on a few pillows that had been behind her, and Laeticia lying on top of her, head resting in her chest with her nose spotted white. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
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Originally Posted by asterism42
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