A Long Hard Ride With Granddaughter

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

When Graham told the local cycling group that he was bringing his granddaughter on their weekly cycle ride, the group all groaned in disappointment.

"Graham!" they all exclaimed. "We ride a long way and fast. The last thing we need is a child slowing us down."

"Don't worry," Graham tried to reassure them all. "She's very fit and she's not a child anymore. She's 18 now and going to university in a few months. Besides, I've promised her."

So on Saturday morning, when the group received a text from Graham to say that he couldn't make it on account of his brother visiting, the group naturally assumed that his granddaughter would skip the days ride too.

The group of four older men had gathered in the car park of the Royal Oak, and were deciding where they should ride to. Harry was the youngest and the only one of the group who was not yet a grandfather. He was the quietest of the group, and the most recent to join. Malcolm, the oldest and loudest, and the self-proclaimed leader of the pack, was explaining the route the would be taking. Brad, a tall, wiry, super-fit type, was chipping in with advice about how hard they could push and on which sections. Rick, a shorter, muscly, power house was observing over Malcolm's shoulder.

They were about to move off, when a young girl on an expensive sportive bike pulled in beside them. She removed her helmet and stared at the four men.

"Bloody hell, it's Hermione Grainger," said Malcolm. The four men started at the young waif, each one agreeing that her appearance was indeed very much like the wee witch from Harry Potter. The girl must have been used to the comparison, as a slight lop-sided but very cute smile crept up the right side of her lips. "You must be Graham's granddaughter, Clara, right?"

The girl nodded.

Harry was stunned. It had been a couple of years since he seen Clara, and he wouldn't have recognised her. She was still a dainty, tiny, slender little thing, with a stunningly pretty face, high cheekbones, pure skin, and deep brown eyes. But gone were the long pigtails and ribbons, and in place was a head of short, cropped shiny chestnut hair, which exposed her pixie-like ears. She was dressed in tight cycling bib-shorts, with the straps looping over her shoulders. Under this was a tiny pink cycling top that covered her shoulders, but stopped way above her exposed belly button, showing off her flat stomach and tiny waist. The shape of her tiny, round, half-tennis-ball breasts were clearly outlined by the pink lycra, that did nothing to conceal two tiny nipples.

"My granddad said I could ride with you," she said innocently.

Harry almost choked on his juice, when he thought she had said: "My granddad said I could ride you." Her innocence was not lost on altogether men either, as Malcolm raised his eyebrows to Brad, and Rick adjusted himself inside his shorts rather indiscreetly.

"Of course you can ride with us, sweetheart," said Malcolm, placing a tender arm around her. "I'm sure you will help us all keep up."

Malcolm led the way, insisting Clara ride alongside, and Brad immediately behind. Rick and Harry tucked in behind them, as they headed up into the hills. Harry was amazed how the young girl kept up with the pace of the four older, more experienced cyclists. They attacked some long ascents which did not appear to phase her at all, and as the morning wore on, it became quite evident that she was more than capable of holding her own.

Harry tucked in behind her, and could not take his eyes off her perfectly round arse. The black lycra covered it perfectly, and Harry imagined how the chamois pad inside her shorts would provide comfort for her pussy lips and asshole, which he could only imagine must be beautifully tight.

The only curiosity about her was her need to stop for pee breaks every hour or so. Every time the group passed a cafe, petrol station, or public toilet, Clara would jump off her bike and dash to the toilet. Harry noticed that she didn't drink much during the ride, an unusual habit as the day was hot with a high sun and no cloud.

By lunchtime, it looked like she was becoming uncomfortable on her bike. Her face was strained, and it looked like she was in pain.

"Whassmatter, sweetie?" asked Malcolm.

"Need to pee," she whispered.

"Again? You already been about five times this morning!"

The group finally stopped at a remote cafe at the top of a steep climb. Clara dropped her bike and dashed into the toilet, returning several moments later.

"Feel better?" asked Malcolm. She nodded. "You know what you need?"

She shook her head. "No?"

"A trap door."

Clara stared at Malcolm for a few moments. "A what?"

"It's a tiny little zip in the back of ladies bibshorts," he explained. "You can unzip it when you need to pee, and then you can go in the bushes, by the road, wherever you like, without having to completely unstrip."

"Err, Malcolm," interjected Harry. "I'm sure the young lady doesn't need you educating her about that sort of thing. You'll just embarrass her."

"No, I won't," said Malcolm. "I'm only helping her. Aren't I?" He nudged Clara playfully, who smiled politely and nodded. "We can stop at the Cycle Shack on the way home. They have some there. I think there will be some in your size. You can try them on."

And so, on their way home, the group stopped at the Cycle Shack, a large cycling store on the edge of town. Malcolm seemed to know exactly where the ladies bib-shorts with the trap door were located, and quickly found Clara a set that he assured her would be a perfect fit.

Naturally, Clara was too shy to try them on, and appeared reluctant to go head with the purchase.

"Don't worry. I know the manager here," said Malcolm. "I've already paid for them. You take them home, try them on, and wear them next week."

"Next week?" exclaimed Harry. Although he had enjoyed watching Clara on her bicycle, and had been convinced that she would not want to continue mixing with a group of men who were old enough to be her granddad.

"Yes, next week," replied Malcolm. "Clara wants to ride with us again next week, don't you Clara?" The young girl nodded. "Then you'll have to wear these for sure. The route we're taking next week has no toilets at all, so you'll need to go in the bushes and places."

Much to Harry's surprise, Clara turned up at the Royal Oak car park the following week. And, just as Malcolm had insisted, she was wearing her new bib-shorts. They were white, very short, and extremely tight, with hardly any padding. The tiny zip was just visible, running up the side of her thigh, across the small of her back, and down the other leg. Much to the disappointment of all the men, Clara was not wearing her tiny pink cropped cycling top, but instead had ditched it for a light blue long-sleeved cycling jersey, that covered everything else.

"I think you'll be far too hot today in that," commented Malcolm about her top.

"I, err...had to wear something, as the...err...straps on my new bib-shorts aren't really very wide," she said nervously.

"Nonsense," said Malcolm determinedly. "These bib-shorts were designed for girls to wear them on their own, you know."

But he didn't push this any further, although Harry was almost sure he heard Malcolm tel Brad, "I'll get her out of that top, don't you worry."

As usual, Malcolm led the ride out of town, and up into the hills. The sun beat down on them, and they pushed hard, riding higher and higher.

They stopped every hour or so to allow Clara to pee behind a hedge or tree. Harry noticed that Malcolm too was disappearing to pee from time to time as well.

"Keep drinking, sweetie," said Malcolm, handing Clara her drinks bottle. "You really must keep hydrated in this heat. And remember, you can stop to pee anytime, ok?"

About an hour from their lunch stop, the group stopped for a final time. Clara went off to take a pee, and Harry decided he would do the same, and found a quiet spot behind a bush. He finished his leak, and headed back to the bikes, to find the three men gathered around Malcolm's phone, sniggering.

"What's up?" asked Harry?

"Come take a look what Mac's filmed," said Brad, beckoning Harry over. What Harry saw on Malcolm's phone made his jaw drop and his dick stand on its end. Clara had walked into a field and stood facing a stone wall, away from the cameraphone. Harry watched the screen as she delicately unzipped the trapdoor on her bib-shorts, and let it fall down to reveal a simply beautiful round pair of peaches. She squatted, and reached down through her legs and pulled the flap of lycra forward so it wouldn't get wet. There was the briefest of pauses, before she let flow with a golden stream of pee. The jet was forced out and the sound of it hitting the grass was picked up by the phone's microphone. Once she has finished, she stood, zipped up, and walked out of shot. Malcolm clicked on another video file, this time taken behind a bush, and looking up a grassy slope to where Clara was already squatting and peeing. The camera zoomed in, and from the angle could be seen the outline of two slender lips.

"Shit!" exclaimed Rick. "Are those pubes I can see? And look at her arse!"

Harry agreed. Her round, slender bottom was approaching perfection, and he wondered how many lucky guys were going to feel its smoothness when she was at University.

"What you looking at?" It was Clara, who had just appeared from behind a fence where she had been conducting her toilet, for once without being filmed by Malcolm.

"Just some real good porn," said Brad.

Clara stopped in her tracks, stunned, and walked over to her bike, putting on her helmet.

"You dickhead," Harry hissed at Brad.

They rode another hour before stopping at an isolated pub. The dropped their bikes on a grassy bank to the side of the pub before ordering lunch.

"I don't think I'll eat too much," said Clara, "or I'll probably fall asleep." She giggled nervously.

"Would you like a pint?" Malcolm threw his arm around her shoulder.

"Erm, I don't really like beer," she said.

"Wine? I know, champagne!"

There was no stopping Malcolm once had had an idea in his head. He proceeded to order a full all-day breakfast for everyone, pints all round, and a bottle of cheap sparkling white wine for Clara. Everyone was famished and ate like pigs, while the pints were finished, Brad bought another round, and Malcolm ensured Clara's glass was never empty.

After lunch they sat on the grassy slope by their bikes in the sun, chatting and letting their lunch settle. Harry stared up at the sky. He listed to Malcolm who was insisting that Clara take off her long sleeved cycling top, otherwise she would be too hot. Clara, who's voice was now very slurred, was doing her best to resist, but was no match for the speed of Malcolm's mouth and his persuasiveness.

Eventually, he coaxed her out of her top and it lay discarded by her side on the grass.

Clara had been right about how thin the straps on her bib-shorts were. On most other women with moderate breasts, the straps would barley have covered the nipples. On Clara, however, the straps did a good job of covering the outside half of each breast, pushing each one closer together, and giving the young girl a cleavage, probably for the first time in her life.

"There you go," said Malcolm. "You look great."

"Really?" Clara sounded uncertain. "You don't think it looks too...I mean, you can't see too much...you know? What do you think, Harry?"

Harry suddenly became tongue tied, and tried to take his eyes away from her breasts, and to look at her eyes. "Ohhh...It looks great, I mean, you look fine, yes, really fine..."

In the heat of the afternoon sun, they all lied down on the grassy slop. Harry was next to Clara. He couldn't take his eyes of her beautiful body, and was doing his best to hide his erection. On the other side of Clara was Malcolm, who was laying on his side, closely, facing her, and tickling her tummy with a long blade of grass.

Harry drifted off to sleep in the sunshine.

What must have been over an hour later, Harry woke in the heat of the later afternoon. As he slowly roused himself, he could hear heavy breathing and the occasional grunt. Turning to his right, he saw Malcolm knelt beside the sleeping Clara. Her breasts were fully exposed, and her hands up beside her head, which was turned to face Harry, her eyes closed. The heavy breathing and grunting was coming from Malcom, who had his cycling shorts round his knees and was masturbating furiously over Clara. Harry watched Malcolm's impressive girth as it took a beating, while his balls dangled closely at Clara's elbow.

Suddenly, and with a loud grunt, a rope of thick, white cum splatted over Clara's face. Another rope hit her chest, a further string of pearls scattered themselves over both breasts, before a final stream dribbled on her tummy.

With a satisfied sigh, Malcolm slumped back on to his back, leaving his cock exposed.

To Harry's astonishment, had stuffed his own hand into his shorts to feel his now fully erect cock. He was about to remove it and repeat Malcom's performance, when Clara stirred. Her hands moved to her breasts and rested their momentarily, before her eyes stared to open. Her tongue parted her delicate lips, licking the cum Malcolm had left for her.

She seemed puzzled, but in her semi-drunken state could not appear to figure out where the moisture had come from.

"Think we've had spots of rain," lied Malcolm. "Come on everyone. It's time we're off."

Leaving no time for any conversation, Malcolm mounted his bike and led the group off through the hills. The group pushed harder and harder, as the bright sunshine gave way to dark clouds. Before they knew it, rain had come. But instead of heading for home, Malcolm turned down the far side of the range of hills, heading further from home. Harry tried in vein to overtake him to see where he was heading, but just couldn't keep up.

As the heavy rain pelted at them, Malcolm eventually led them up a short, uneven road, to an old stone building. Smoke was billowing from the chimney on top of the roof.

"Come on! Quick!" shouted Malcolm. "Stash your bikes in the garage, and lets get inside."

"What is this place?" asked Harry.

"Youth hostel," answered Malcolm. "Well, it used to be. Jonah runs it now."

Jonah, it transpires, was from Jamaica, and ran the hostel, and for a small fee you could crash the night on one of the bunk beds, dry your clothes by the fire, take a shower, and cook yourself a hot meal on the open range.

Malcolm quickly made arrangements with Jonah, before anyone had chance to objet. "We'll stop here for tonight, as the storm is set to last all night."

He pointed Clara in the direction of the shower, and showed her where she could hang her clothes to dry. With the young girl in the shower, the men stripped off and hung their clothes near to the fire. Jonah provided them each with a pair of old shorts and a towel, and a small glass of scotch.

A few minutes later the men's attention was turned to the girl emerging from the shower wrapped only in a tiny white towel. They watched her hang her cycling clothes over the clothes horse beside the fire, before taking her place on a sofa beside Malcolm.

Clara had never tried whisky before, and Malcolm was delighted to show her how to drink it with water, with ice, with ginger, and finally with coke.

Jonah provided them all with portions of rice and beans and his special Jamaican sauce. Once consumed, he brought them all plates of his special chocolate brownies. Harry was sure that the brownies contained something more than just chocolate, but as he drifted slowly off to sleep, he decided that he really didn't care.

He woke up several times during the night, and thought he heard sounds of a young girl crying out, and an older man swearing and grunting, but he really couldn't be sure.

The next morning, Malcolm was extremely chirpy, laughing and joking even more than usual. Clara was strangely quiet, reserved, and was keeping herself to herself. Harry also thought that she was walking with difficulty, which he put down to the previous days ride.

Malcolm led the group away from Jonah's hostel, heading toward home, with Rick to one side, and Clara to the other. Harry tucked in a few yards behind next to Brad.

"Malc sure had a fun night last night, didn't he?" commented Brad, as they descended a long twisty hill.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"All that shagging he was doing. I'm surprised she can even stand."

"Who the hell was he shagging?" But Harry needn't have asked. The big grin on Brad's face said it all. "No! He hasn't? With Clara? You're joking?"

"She was up for it, alright. Don't tell me you didn't hear her?"

"Well, yes, I did actually. She sounded in pain."

"I think it hurt her a bit to start with. He had to hold her down as she struggled a bit. At first. But when she got used to it she loved it."

"Did she?"

"Yeah! Screaming out 'Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck' and stuff and 'Yes yes yes yes'." Brad laughed out loud. "Gave me a raging hard on just listening to her. Still have it in fact." Harry couldn't help noticing the unusually huge tent in Brad's shorts. "But she wouldn't let me any where near her, the miserable bitch."

Harry knew that Brad had a reputation for being hung like a horse, and was glad that he hadn't been let loose on a small frame like Clara.

At lunch, the group stopped at the same cafe as the previous day. They ate quickly, and Harry left to pay the bill, top up his drinks bottle, and visit the gents. Outside by the bikes, he noticed that the others were nowhere to be seen. He wandered around the cafe looking for them, and then down the road. A hundred yards away was a grassy bank with a wall on top. He headed up the bank, and began to hear a girls cry.

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god!" came the cry of a young girl who sounded in great distress.

Peering over the wall, Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Clara was on all fours in the grass. Her cycling top had been discarded a few yards way. The trapdoor on her bib-shorts was unzipped, exposing her beautiful pale, round, rear end. Behind her, with his shorts around one ankle, knelt Malcolm. His large hands grasped her slender hip bones firmly, as he thrusted in and out of her with increasing tempo. Clara's face was contorted, her eyes wide, head back and mouth open. Her fingers gripped the long grass as if trying to hold on as the assault on her body continued.

With a final series of thrusts that made her squeal reach a high bird-like pitch, Malcolm drove and held himself inside her as his orgasm came. Moments later he let her go, falling out of her, and she collapsed on her face in the grass.

"Right, my turn." It was Brad, pushing Malcolm out of the way. He quickly positioned himself at Clara's rear, ready to enter her. Clara twisted to see his huge pole, covered in pre-cum, and made even harder than usual first by listening to the sounds of sex the previous night, and then by watching Malcolm use her so noisily just now.

"No!" she cried out. "Not that. I told you last night. No! It's too big!"

Harry agreed. Brad's erection was quite spectacular. Not only was long, but its thickness and curvature gave it the appearance of a large, white, smooth cucumber.

"Just hold still, will you," he said, grabbing her bib-shorts to stop her crawling away. But Clara was slippery, and she shot forward on all fours, her hands and knees working to scurry her lithe body away from being penetrated. "Oh for fucks sake." In three long strides, Brad was over her. He reached down and flipped her over on to her back. "Look, I think it will hurt less from behind, but if you want to take it with your legs open that's just fine."