Date: Sun, 27 Jun 2021 09:36:46 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 269

Part 269: Knocked Out (Wales Edition)


The blow of the whistle should have felt like a relief, bringing the
wipe-out game to a close after Braithwaite's closing goal, but
adrenaline and disappointment were thundering through his big muscular
body and he wanted a half hour more of play to try and bring Wales level
with the Danish team; but there was no such luxury available, they had
lost 4-0 and would now be out of the delayed Euros tournament. The 6ft1
footballer brought both hands to drag across his craggy face, hunching
his thick shoulders and groaning his misery into his palms -- it had been
such a long and fierce route to get here to the last 16 of the `2020'
Euros, and Wales had stumbled at the first round of knockouts. It had
been a weak performance and the Danes had completely dominated them,
seemingly recovered from the trauma they'd endured at the start of the
competition.

Gareth Bale snorted unhappily and let his arms fall at his sides. He
picked himself up enough to put on a severe expression as he drifted to
the nearest of his teammates, clapping at their backs and pulling them
into brief stiff hugs, muttering words of support in simple Welsh, even
if they were English-born. He bumped fists and elbows with passing
Denmark players, acknowledging their success and wishing them all the
best even while a fire burnt in his chest and stomach.

Beneath the Dutch evening, Bale picked his way through the mob of
players, watching from afar as Denmark began to gather at one end to
celebrate properly in a mass of shouts and chants, while Wales players
either hurried indoors past the boss with their heads bowed, or lingered
on the turf, some collapsing into awkward seated positions or just
staring dolefully across at the celebrations they wished they could
steal.

Bale reached the Wales manager, shook his hand, accepted his condolences
-- then grimaced as the boss pointed out that a player would be needed
for interview. The Cardiff-born national hero nodded his head, knowing
that he should take that miserable duty rather than inflict on any of the
guys, but he felt far from benevolent and altruistic -- there were
several players he just wanted to go and shout out for their piss-poor
efforts in the match, a few he could quite happily land a punch on for
how little they'd given for their country. The pressure and expectation
he'd allowed to build up on the way to this game was making him feel far
more bad-tempered and aggressive than he normally allowed his sport to
make him. Losing with Wales was very different to losing with a club.

Besides, there'd been that fucking phone call last night. He'd been
trying to have a calm, relaxed night in the Amsterdam hotel at which the
Welshmen were stationed -- content with his appropriately dull roomie
Ramsey, two Welsh legends together like old times, he'd been winding
down and getting ready for a long healthy sleep, when his phone started
chiming away and he realised he'd accrued a dozen missed calls while
downstairs. Making awkward and unconvincing excuses about the missus,
Gareth had made his apologies to Aaron and headed out into the corridor
(but he had a horrible feeling that the distinctly handsome Juve player
might have seen the screen of his phone at that point, and noticed the
big bold KANE flashing back and forth as the impatient call berated his
device) to answer.

`Sorry, sorry,' the England captain had whined down the line at him,
and it had taken Bale a while to get any sense out of him, grunting
impatiently at him and interrupting his gibbering. `I'm so sorry,' a
drunk-sounding Harry Kane spilled down the line to him. `I got so
desperate, and he was so powerful, I just needed his cock, so...' Even
longer before the name was clarified: `It's just Jack, you know, he's
so... well, so... I mean, not like you at all, but...' `Grealish?' Bale
grunted irritably at him, dismissive rather than confronting that he WAS
a little hurt and jealous that his big bitch should be servicing any
other lad during the tournament. In fairness, it had been Gareth who
pinned him to the bed that last night in London and insisted that he keep
his hole clean for the summer and await his next fucking from the Welsh
dragon... though Gareth had never harboured any intention of upholding the
same promise himself.

But then Kane had become more needy and terrible on the phone, started
using the L word and confessing how much he was missing Bale, who just
wanted to get off the call and calm himself back down before bed. Kane
sounded like he'd got drunk on his own and was complaining of how lonely
he was away from Tottenham. He started saying how he was going to leave
his wife so that he and Gareth could be together properly and at that the
Welshman just became angry. He snapped and barked at his secret lover
and, eventually, hung up on him and temporarily blocked his number. What
nonsense! Jesus, what was wrong with that man? Snivelling apology for
giving up his mouth and arse to that handsome fuckwit had quickly turned
to much worse, declarations of love and some delusion of a proper
relationship between the two of them. Gareth shuddered shamefully,
thinking about his own prudish caution way back in Madrid, and still
unfairly blaming that pervert Sergio Ramos for beginning to lead him
astray. The one comfort in his uncertain club future next season was that
if he DID have to return to Real Madrid in August, it would be a Madrid
free of Ramos, who was finally accepting he'd passed his prime and
quitting the super-club.

Bale had returned to his room, deflecting Ramsey's polite questioning,
and gone to sleep in a foul mood that had leaked into his breakfast and
warm-ups, perhaps even his efforts in tonight's losing game. He was not
stupid enough to blame Wales' fate entirely on a needy bloke back in
England, but he felt pretty sure he would be giving Kane the cold
shoulder when they were reunited in London; and now, faced with such a
stinging defeat, he felt on edge. He had to put his own raging feelings
aside and take a seat while he waited for his turn to step over to the TV
facilities and be grilled with his own interview, watching from a
distance as more of his teammates traipsed inside and the coaching
entourage nearby thinned out.

The tall broad 31-year-old made his way over to the interviewer, who had
finished handling representatives of the winning side, and was ready for
him. He fiddled with the scraped-back knot of his dark hair and set his
jaw into a defiant expression, knowing that he needed to stand his ground
and defend the Welsh effort for the media here; but then the interview
began, and the English reporter had an almost smug edge to his
inquisitive voice. Gareth answered the first couple of questions tersely,
giving intense looks to the camera from his deep-set eyes, failing to be
magnanimous and upbeat; but it was the third question that threw him,
before it had even been fully uttered: `Gareth, we know that you said
you'd like to play even more, but...' For fuck's sake, were they really
about to ask him if this was his LAST game in a Wales shirt?

Bale became deaf to the voice of the reporter. He just winced, scowled,
and turned to the side, rejecting the interview in front of the live
camera. Fuck this. He didn't swear or rant out loud, just clenched his
fists and stormed away, no longer prepared to fanny about and give the
press what they wanted. Fuck the English and their smug arrogance.

Instead of paying attention to the gaggle of media reps at this end of
the pitch, the Wales player just marched aggressively away, striding down
the side of the pitch and catching more sight of the celebrating Danes.
He groaned unhappily to himself, rounding the corner and marching in
through the mouth of the tunnel. In the changing rooms occupied by the
Wales team, he found a quietly sore mood, and a number of players already
clean and suited up, as if they'd really rushed their showers and just
wanted out of Amsterdam now. Compared to his captainly interactions not
long ago, Bale now stalked past these guys in moody silence, winding
through the fragmented rooms and shower blocks of the changing facilities
until he could slap his arse down on the bench by his things and begin
unlacing each boot with as much violence as can be applied to such a
task.

Nearby to him, one such speedy changer was in the middle of buttoning up
his crisp white shirt, short and well-built and at least pretty
gloomy-looking from the result, even if he was a plastic Welshman like
half of these fuckers. Bale paused in the task of dragging the boots off
his large feet, then watched as Daniel James delicated buttoned up the
collar of his shirt and began fiddling with the team-branded tie. `Oi,'
Gareth found himself growling across at the 23-year-old fellow winger.
`Get over here, DJ, will ya?'

The Manchester United player, Hull-born but a proud honorary Welsh lad,
stared over this way and paused in the middle of draping his tie about
his neck and shoulders. He raised his neat thick brows and stared
questioningly this way at his leader. `Bale?' he questioned, giving him
a cherubin look from his youthful features.

The 6ft1 Wales hero leaned his broad back to the wall and let his strong
striker's legs spread in front of him, the shorts riding up his thigh
muscles a little as he did. He let one thick arm flop loosely down his
front until his hand rested over the crotch of his shorts, which he gave
a commanding squeeze. He stared fiercely at Daniel. `I said, Danny boy,
get over here. Now.'



Dan James took a couple of awkward steps over, his fresh socks padding
across the scruffy floor of the changing rooms, dark suit trousers
clinging to his stocky legs. As always, he felt the immediate frisson of
sexual interest at being anywhere near to his Welsh hero, but he was
alarmed by the stormy look on Bale's face, and the way the big man was
casually stroking his shorts here at the side of the changing rooms.
There were a few other guys nearby in various states of undress, some of
the moody guys who had taken longer to come in from the pitch after the
defeat.

`B-b-bale?' the youngster queried, letting go of his tie and just
hovering a few feet away from where the bigger footballer sat with his
legs apart.

`You know what I want,' Bale commented severely, lounging back against
the wall. Then, grabbing it in both hands, he proceeded to tear his Wales
top upwards and off until he was shirtless, his broad chest and defined
stomach on show with a little trail of glossy wet hair leading Dan's
eyes down it to the waistband of his briefs, showing over the top of his
shorts. The bulge sat prominently in the front of said shorts, and Dan
could not help but lick his lips.

Still, this wasn't a safe private moment like the little hotel incidents
that had occurred between them. This was Gareth sitting brazenly in the
changing room with two other guys next to him, stroking the crotch of his
shorts and staring demandingly at him. Was he being punked?

`Erm,' Dan began, but found he had no idea what else to say. He just
fumbled at the white cuffs of his shirt and stood there in front of the
shirtless man, who was lifting his other hand and beckoning him closer
with that same demanding expression.

`Come here and suck me off,' Gareth barked, and he didn't do it in a
low private voice. The two lads beyond him started and looked this way,
both of them glancing between Gareth and him. Dan blanched, mortified and
stricken, but he found his eyes wandering back to the front of those
shorts and the obvious semi that curved there beneath the sheen of
material.

He found himself giggling nervously because he didn't know what else to
do. `Don't be a prick,' the 23-year-old mumbled to the older player,
rocking on his heels a bit and grinning stupidly at the two other young
Wales nationals who were still ogling him and Bale at the command they'd
overheard.

`You know you want to, you little English slut,' Gareth said now, an
aggressive edge to his voice. He was reaching a hand inside the front of
his shorts to play with himself, and Dan could see the expressions of
surprise on the other lads' faces. `Get on your knees and show these
fellas what you can do, DJ. I mean it. Now.'

Dan found his body beginning to obey the commands, even though his cheeks
were going crimson and he was totally ashamed at being `outed' in this
fashion in front of a few of his teammates. It wasn't just the two other
youngsters along this wall now staring open-mouthed at him as he took a
couple more steps towards Bale, but a couple more who had just come back
through from the nearest showers, towels about their waists. The changing
rooms were not exactly full or crowded, but there was certainly a small
audience here as he bent his legs and stooped to the linoleum floor in
between Bale's thick legs, his lips trembling. Kneeling there, he stared
questioningly into Gareth's hard-set face and his sneering lips. `Come
on then, English kid, get your gob on my cock,' snapped Bale -- Dan knew
this greedy, demanding persona well, but in discreet changing cubicles or
convenient hotel bedrooms, not like this, not so publicly...



Joe Rodon stared down in absolute shock, watching as the formally dressed
United player stooped and rubbed his face in against the crotch of
Bale's shorts; he stared up from this, across the impressive physique of
his older teammate, to the sneering grimace on his face as he parted his
legs more and allowed another lad to kiss and nuzzle at his privates.
Rodon frowned and gawped and then looked across at the other half-dressed
lad at his side, as if wanting to check whether he was actually
hallucinating or if Neco Williams could see it too. Like him, the
20-year-old was staring at the scene, just as stunned as he was.

Joe let out a simple barking laugh, elbowed Neco in the arm, and mouthed
him a silent `What the actual fuck?' But then Gareth was looking this
way, giving him almost accusing eyes. Joe stood there very awkwardly, a
towering strong figure himself, but still just a touch intimidated by the
big international star of their squad, and his own teammate at Spurs this
past season.

`Look at him go,' Bale muttered for his benefit. He reached to stroke
the dark hair of James' uncomfortable head where it lay against his
shorts, nuzzling the obvious bulge of his manhood, making Rodon twitch
uncomfortably. `Look at how much he likes it, the English pussy-boy!'

Joe laughed, but awkwardly, and he leaned one of his tattooed arms to the
wall, tilting his head and examining the mad scene more closely. `Very
funny,' he said slowly, `but I think you'd had your joke now, fellas.
Fuck's sake.' He coughed uncomfortably and fiddled with the waistband
of his footy shorts, his sweaty shirt already shed and his long muscular
torso on show with its inky decorations. In front of him, the United
winger continued to bob about on his knees and make a few loud gaspy
breaths, then look up to meet his face, blushing in shame. Was Dan really
into this madness?

`Fucking hell,' announced another voice, and Rodon glanced away, to the
lads out of the shower, the leading of the two a very ripped sight down
the front of his chest and six-pack, steam rising from his smooth skin as
he stood there, a look of amusement on his handsome features. `Gaz,
Danny, what the hell are you two up to?' demanded the deep West Coast
accent of the Caerphilly 30-year-old. Aaron Ramsey had his hands on the
jutting muscles above his hips, frowning bemusedly at the sight of Dan on
his knees and Gareth just stroking his hair. But whereas Joe felt puzzled
and worried, Aaron seemed to just smirk a bit and shake his head with a
little tut. `Who'd have thought it?' muttered the Italian league
player curiously.

Joe glanced back at Neco to reaffirm his own horror, but thought that the
delicate dark features of the other tall young Welsh lad were a bit more
serious and interested as they stared on, and... was he... was Neco
grabbing, just loosely and uncertainly, at the front of his shorts a
bit...? Joe glanced quickly away, self-conscious that he was even looking
down there, following the decorated skin of Neco's forearm, but all this
meant was looking back at the main spectacle: and now Gareth's shorts
were being pulled down, and his black sports briefs after, and... holy
fuck, Dan's mouth was wide open and aiming for his curved veiny cock...



`Go on, lad,' Aaron called out in a jovial voice, shocked and amused
but with just a touch of envy. He watched Dan's head duck down, taking
the big Welsh meat into his mouth, and then he saw Gareth relax back at
the wall, pulling up his arms behind his head so that the furry caves of
his armpits were on show to the room. `Fucking hell,' Aaron chuckled
now, amused to see this sort of seedy behaviour here in the ranks of the
Wales team -- it was the sort of shit that he'd discovered in the
backrooms of Italian football, or at least in the orbit of that sleazy
god Cristiano Ronaldo, but had never imagined anyone might get up to back
in the Premier fucking League. Well, almost, he thought, with a vague
nostalgic pang for the latter days of his own Arsenal career, one that he
quickly brushed aside.

At Juventus, Ramsey had become quite casually aware that there were
always certain lads around who were keen to help out, and it was slutty
little Dybala who most commonly obliged in this role in recent years. He
smirked at the sight of Dan James fellating their great forward, and then
idly reached down to rub his own parts through the fluffy white of his
towel. He glanced up at the shocked expressions of Rodon and Williams to
one side, and then at the two towel-clad youths who'd followed him out
of the showers, whose reactions differed in that Roberts looked genuinely
outraged whilst Brooks seemed agog with... what, curiosity?

Ramsey smirked to himself, fiddling with the knot of his towel, and
taking a few wet footsteps forward. `Bloody hell, fellas,' he said, to
ease some of the steamy tension in the air, `couldn't you find a
quieter corner for this?' But to further normalise the horny action, he
leaned over, offering a wet palm towards his roommate Gareth, and
high-fived him above where Dan was busying on his cock. `You dirty
dog,' he teased his friend, someone he would long have dismissed as
prudish and reserved... but then perhaps life in the Spanish league was as
murky and cock-driven as some of the dynamics he'd discovered in
Northern Italy...?

`What's wrong lads?' Ramsey found himself barking encouragingly at the
stunned faces of Williams and Rodon. `Just a laugh, ain't it? Dan here
clearly enjoying himself.' And with that, Ramsey made the bold step of
unknotting his own towel, letting it fall away, and cupping his
still-damp prick and balls in one hand as he stood there beside them.
`Oi, Gareth -- you won't mind sharing, will ya?'

Bale smirked and groaned. `Nah, this English slut can suck us all off.'
He pushed James' face away from his crotch -- trials of saliva ran from
the young lad's plump lips and the big bulging head of Bale's
impressive long equipment. `It's all he's good for, isn't it? Fucking
fake Welsh.' Ramsey smirked at this exaggerated nationalism and gave his
own Welsh schlong a good stroke, nodding and shrugging his bare shoulders
as Dan held his gob open and leaned this way.



David Brooks quivered a bit at the anti-English sentiment that the two
more experienced pros were chuckling over -- like a lot of the Wales
squad, he'd been born over the border himself, though Warrington was not
too far from the edge of the mother country. He was technically English,
but he'd always been happy to cherish his Welsh roots and rise up
through the ranks of that national team, disinterested in all that
three-lions-on-a-shirt bollocks.

The Bournemouth player was incredibly curious and excited by what was
going on in front of him, and he quickly imitated his hero Ramsey:
undoing the white knot of his towel, loosening it from about his slim
waist, and throwing the towel about his lean shoulders instead, clutching
each end of it over his narrow chest and letting his dick and balls swing
comfortably loose as he stepped in beside the 30-year-old Arsenal
legend.

Brooks gawped down, watching as James really went to town, pressing his
face in and taking all of Ramsey's soft meat inside him, eyes squeezed
shut and neat formal clothes looking ridiculously as he fidgeted about on
the grimy changing rooms floor. Behind him, Brooks saw, big Bale was just
teasingly stroking his wet dick and grinning wickedly, seeming more than
chuffed to `share' his `English slut' -- but Brooks could see how
uncertain the other young lads were, huddled around them and anxious.
Maybe they had never felt the odd little curiosities that had plagued
David's early career, maybe they had never looked at older players in
the faint hopeful way that he had...?

The skinny 5ft8 midfielder shuffled closer, really side-by-side with
muscular Aaron, craning his neck to better view of Dan's lips sliding up
and down the hardening shaft. He reached down and played with himself,
stroking some life into his shrunken-looking privates, feeling his small
soft cock begin to stretch and stiffen with interest. `Looks like
Brooksy wants his go too,' growled Bale's voice. `Dan, why don't you
give him a hand?'

Wide-eyed and dazed, Dan James sat back and lifted both hands, one to
stroke the wet semi of Ramsey, the other to tickle at Brooks' own
bollocks and then take a few tugs on his growing prick, thin but long.
There were gasps and mutters from the others, from Ty Roberts at his side
and from the two shirtless studs paused next to Bale. `Nice one,' David
giggled, and he felt one of Aaron's strong arms lock across the back of
his shoulders, while the Juventus player gave a throaty laugh that
blended with Gareth Bale's muttered enjoyment. `Come on,' David
muttered now, trying and failing to match the growling intensity of
Ramsey or Bale, `come on and give us a suck, English boy!' He ignored
his own Warrington birth certificate and pushed his stiffening cock in
between Dan's wet lips, sniggering and glancing repeatedly to the older
men for approval.



Tyler Roberts could feel his dick responding inside his towel, beginning
to swell and push at the heavy soft material of it. He wasn't turned on
by the ridiculous stupid man-on-man action of it all, for fuck's sake,
of course not! He wasn't queer like some of these fuckers blatantly
were, that wasn't his thing. No way! But still... who didn't like their
dick sucked?! And he wasn't exactly shy about these things -- he'd been
amazed that night last summer when Leeds got their Premier League
promotion and he'd end up in a big public wank in the bar, all of them
drunk and watching porn, and even having a dick-size contest that Bamford
had won and little Leif had lost... he'd watched all of that in
amazement, pissed and relaxed with his nob in hand.

This, he knew, was a bit more than that -- well, more than a bit,
perhaps! -- but he was quickly rationalising it in his head. There
weren't two living Welshman that the Gloucester-born lad looked up to
and idolised more than Bale and Ramsey, and both fellas had gorgeous
wives and their own families, so... if it was okay for them to dip their
wick like this, then erm, surely a free single lad like himself could
just...? Unbidden, his chocolate-brown cock swelled and pushed at the
towel and he bit his lip curiously, stepping around a bit to complete the
huddled circle around where Dan James knelt and gobbled, noisy and wet as
he now sucked on Brooks, then slid back to Ramsey, then spun around to
descend his mouth back on Bale once more...

Coughing politely, the Leeds forward opened the front of his towel and
just let it skid down his thick thighs and to bunch around his ankles on
the damp floor, his cock arcing forward above the mound of his fat hairy
balls. Breathing heavily, he watched as Dan, wet hand-marks now staining
his white shirt, turned this way and stared hungrily at him, licking
frothy lips. There were a variety of jeering mutters and sniggers from
the lads around him and then Dan was lunging this way, taking his dick
into that soft warm mouth in one go, grabbing the curly hair of his
thighs, devouring him and making him let out a sudden fierce gasp, one
that seemed to make the older men chuckle and jeer at him... Ty just
stared down, agog, and watched his hard prick disappear into Dan's
sluttish lips, his body tensing up at the transgressive pleasure of it.

The others were all wanking, and this excited Roberts, just like it had
in that Elland Road club bar, getting his nob out and playing with it
among the hot drunken camaraderie of the other Leeds blokes -- it had
plagued him for a little while afterwards that his dick had got even
harder when Alioski insisted on that daft forfeit and they all watched
Leif Davis grab a hold of Paddy B's boner. But yeh, there was something
very exciting about the way the other Wales fellas were toying with their
varied cocks whilst his own was gobbled and sucked by this Man Utd pretty
boy on his knees. Ty stared at how big Bale's own was, the 6ft1 man
still sitting on the bench and pumping it in his fist; at his own right,
Brooks was jerking himself off quite furiously, maybe a bit TOO
excitedly, panting as he did, and contrasting with the lazy way that
Ramsey fondled his balls and let his hard-on slap side to side. Ty looked
across at the other two, the more reluctant members of this dirty circle:
Neco had both hands pushed down the front of his shorts, playing with
himself with a shy look in his almost feminine eyes, and big Joe was just
touching himself a bit through his shorts, a deep frown furrowing his
gormless face.

Now, trailing deliciously past the glans of his thick short tool, he felt
Dan's lips leave him, and he seized hold of his own dick to jerk
playfully on it, sad to be deprived of the blowie, but also quite excited
as he saw Bale and Ramsey's hands guide Dan across the circle towards
nervous-looking Rodon -- whose shorts were promptly tugged down by Dan's
hand, and his massive sweaty member freed. Fucking hell, it was clearly
the biggest here, bigger even than Bale's, it was a ridiculous monster,
cartoonish and grotesque in both its length and thickness... and yet Dan
was successfully opening wide and taking it into his mouth, angling his
face to do so, making big Joe tense up and stifle a few moans of
appreciation.

Instinctively, simultaneously, the circle of them closed in, the six men
closing in on their shared toy, all jerking off and even Bale rising up
from his seat. Fuck, Ty thought, this is so mad and exciting -- but could
he really manage to blow his load in front of all these others?!



Neco felt all eyes swing towards him, which somehow was more needling and
intense than the feel of Dan James grabbing his dick at the base and
pressing his tongue against the wet pink head. The slim 6ft right-back
jolted with base pleasure as his cock was licked and then sucked, and he
had to actually grab one of Joe's thick upper arms to steady himself; he
felt Ramsey at the other side of him, reaching around to pat and stroke
his bare lower back, just above the waist and the upper furrow of his
buttock -- for a moment, he thought Aaron's fingers were slipping that
way, but  30-year-old was just holding him about the waist to steady him
as he shuddered with enjoyment and was luxuriously fellated by the United
lad.

Was this okay? Should he be letting anyone else near his dick? He'd
hovered nervously on the edge of this scene, not shocked in the same way
as gawping Joe or transfixed David seemed to be, but reeling with
temptation and hesitation -- surely his captain would be furious to find
out he'd let anyone else touch him like this?! But then... well, Hendo
fucked his wife most nights, pounding her noisily in the room above where
he slept, and he'd had to live that knowledge for as long as their
slow-burning affair had taken place... so was he REALLY doing anything
wrong? He could think through this logic, but he still quailed at the
thought of having to tell Jordan about what was going on here!

But it felt SO good. Dan's tongue and lips, his wet touch, his hungry
panting... and the strong grip of the men either side of him, Rodon and
Ramsey both holding onto him now as he rolled his hips gently, guiding
his cock in and out of James' mouth. He sighed and gasped happily,
reaching down and tickling his fingers through the fluffy brown hair. Oh,
goddddd...

`Get in there, Neeks,' someone sniggered, Brooks it turned out,
excitable and encouraging.

`Suck him good, Dan, you little bitch,' teased Roberts' voice
hesitantly.

`He's a good slag, isn't he?' wheezed Bale's Cardiff accent.

`Fucking hell, guys,' murmured Rodon distantly, worriedly, `what the
hell are we...'

`Relax,' he heard Ramsey say soothingly, `it's all good fun, mate...
mmm...'

`I'm gonna cum!' This was David again, and he sounded almost as
embarrassed as he did ecstatic, gulping and going quiet immediately after
the outburst, as if he'd said too much. But his exclamation was met with
an excited growl from Bale: `Get round to him, slut, take his load,
Danny -- get your mouth open for some good Welsh spunk!' And the
23-year-old was doing exactly as he was told, keeping a hand around
Neco's sensitive prick, but turning on his sore knees and lurching
towards the skinny Bournemouth player, angling his face beneath his
crotch and opening his lips, sticking out his tongue... David made a real
fussy noise of it, all gurgles and rattling gasps, and then he was the
first but not last of them to dump his juices on their shared
cock-sucker.



Dan revelled in it, feeling David's juices ooze about his lips and fleck
his tongue with pangs of salty flavour. He let go of Neco's beautiful
cock and whirled about on his knees, a bit sore and uncomfortable, and
aware that his suit was getting ruined, but hungry for the next load. He
was grabbed a little roughly around the ears and pulled onto another cock
-- Ramsey's -- which pushed clumsily in and out against his tongue
before spilling stronger-tasting jizz against the roof of his mouth and
making him shake with excitement. Wow, Aaron fucking Ramsey, what a
gorgeous hunk to be using him as a cum-dump!

One by one, the wads of cum were shot against his face, or the collar of
his shirt, or straight down his throat, and the hard cocks were slapped
at his smooth cheeks and chin, hands grabbing at his small protruding
ears or messing with his hair. David's cum was cooling on his skin and
Aaron's was dribbling down his throat when he had Ty's explode messily
over him, painting his forehead and the bridge of his nose; then Joe's
reluctant, brutal orgasm missing his face entirely but dirtying the white
of his shirt with silvery stains, and Neco's back in his mouth,
swallowed entirely. Last but not least, Bale himself, fucking him quite
aggressively in the mouth until his familiar taste was oozing out, caught
on his tongue and bottom lip, and licked from around the thick head of
his equipment while other cocks were rubbed messily at the sides of his
mouths and he felt surrounded by gasps and laughter.

And then he was just gulping for air, grabbing at the nearest legs to
support himself and feeling a few different strong hands help him up to
his feet. `I think you might need another shower, mate!' someone was
laughing, and he felt himself lightly hugged in a naked squeeze from
Ramsey, who slapped him on one messy cheek and leaned in. `You're okay,
yeh? Good lad, good lad. I'm impressed, DJ, I really am. Good lad.'

Dan stared guardedly at them all, scared and liberated by this exposure,
but rock hard himself inside his suit trousers. He staggered apart a
little, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt again, but interrupted
by Bale's barking voice. `Nah, leave it,' the Cardiff hunk was saying,
striding past him towards the showers and patting his head. `You keep
that cum-stained shirt on for the rest of the evening. I mean it.' Off
he went, strutting naked with his cock swinging, off into the showers and
followed at a vague nervous pace by Williams and big Rodon.

Dan blinked and breathed and picked up his fallen tie from the floor,
finding it speckled with dubious stains itself. Then he looked
questioningly at Aaron, who was towelling fresh sweat from his chest and
neck. `Ignore him, he's being an angry gimp,' the 30-year-old
midfielder told him authoritatively. `Get yourself cleaned up and
feeling good, matey. Thanks for that, seriously.'

`No,' Dan murmured quietly, fiddling with a collar button. `If
B-b-bale wants me dirty, then...'

`Suit yourself,' Ramsey told him, moving away to find his own clothes,
flashing a beautiful rear-view of his muscular back and perky bottom.
Alone, James drifted back and finished his buttons, beginning to start
again on his tie, as he had been when first called over by Bale's lust.
Yes, he thought, if Gareth wants me dirty, I'll stay dirty; he was
hoping that later he might get even more treatment from the big hero,
called to his room for round 2, perhaps another fucking like he'd had on
the first night of training when the Wales team assembled for the
tournament. It seemed only right things should end as they had begun.



Joe splashed water over his face and then scrubbed furiously at himself
with soap and knuckles, feeling totally dazed by what he'd been drawn
into by the other men. He glanced angrily across the showers at shiny wet
Gareth Bale, the centre of the storm, and resented the arrogant prick
whose lust had kicked it all off -- they'd all sullied themselves, he
thought, just so that over-hyped twat could get his dick wet and keep his
ego afloat. Cunt. Rodon scowled and grunted and washed himself pure,
stealing annoyed looks at his friend Neco too, feeling that the Liverpool
player should have done more to resist, the two of them could have
stormed off and not got involved! Ridiculous, Joe told himself angrily,
ashamed at having his cock in another man's mouth, and trying as best as
he could to scrub away the memory of blasting his cum messily against
him...



A couple of showerheads away, Neco washed at his curly hair and closed
his eyes so that he didn't have to look either at Joe or Gareth. He was
just thinking of Jordan, and wondering whether he would dare tell him
that he'd played about with anyone else. What would the skipper think of
him, getting involved in a seedy moment like this?! Letting someone else
hold him, letting another mouth about his nob, cumming with all these
Welsh blokes like this? He thought desperately of what it would be like
going home to the Hendersons' tomorrow, but with Hendo himself still
away on England business; he and his wife stuck in that house, craving
and missing the man they shared, and Neco now holding this guilty secret
to his chest.



Ty giggled to himself as he finished doing up his tie, making bashful
glances to Brooks next to him and then watching as Dan James trotted by
them, grinning to himself and ignoring the little dirty marks that
decorated his collar and tie, the neat dark blazer mostly restoring
dignity to his outfit, except for the scuffs and damp patches around the
knees of his trousers, telltale signs of his time on his knees. Once he
was gone, Roberts failed to hold in his laughter, and he turned to mutter
a few insulting comments to his pal Brooks, high on the laddish
adrenaline of being serviced like that so publicly and dangerously. He
thought about who he might share the story with when he got back to
Leeds, who he might boast to that he got sucked off on his last night of
the Euros -- top quality banter!



Brooks giggled too and nodded along with Roberts, following him in their
slim-fit suits as they joined James and others on the way out to the
coach. He smirked to himself, excited by what the seven of them now
shared apart from the rest of the squad, and feeling his cock tremble and
ache inside his boxer shorts as he took his seat on the bus. But all the
skinny Warrington lad could think about as they waited for the last
passengers, was what it must have been like for Dan -- what did it taste
like, taking a dick in your mouth like that? And what about all of their
oozing spunk? Did each of them taste differently, or was it all gross and
the same? David shuddered a bit at these internal questions, ashamed as
well as aroused.



`Come on,' Ramsey called, having waited patiently for his old pal,
carefully suited and booted himself and just watching Bale dress in a
hurry. `The bus will leave without us if you don't hurry the fuck up,
mate.' He smiled as he spoke the harsh words, fiddling with the lapels
of his blazer and standing in the doorway. He knew his threat was
nonsense: no way would the busload of Wales players be going anywhere
without their talisman, even after that defeat. Gareth could take as long
as he wanted, and still the team bus would wait.

Aaron watched him thoughtfully, still marvelling at the depths of his
Cardiff friend. Who would have thought that Gareth Bale might be okay
with having a lad nosh him off, eh? The 30-year-old smirked playfully at
it, thinking of the naughty little episodes he'd enjoyed at Juve from
time to time, with Dybala and others eating his loads. It was fine, good
manly fun; it just made you feel even more like a Welsh warrior, he told
himself, that's all. Not like those dodgy feelings he'd once had for
another man back at Arsenal before fleeing to the Continent, he added
mentally, not daring to plunge back into the memories that had first
caused him to escape the Premiership and leave his beloved Arsenal
behind. Back then, Aaron had been scared by what he'd discovered in
himself with the guy whose name he wouldn't say to himself, but things
were different now... life at Juventus at shown him that you didn't need
to take stuff like that seriously.



Bale marched quietly after Ramsey and the two most experienced
international stars of the Wales team received a muted applause from
their pals as they joined them on the coach. Relaxed by sexual
satisfaction, Gareth cooled his temper and did his best to be a
supportive leader, speaking to many guys individually on his way down the
central aisle, full of humility and vocal pride in his countrymen. But he
found himself a seat right at the back where he didn't have to mix with
them too much, slumping into his window seat and letting out deep unhappy
breaths. Then, slipping it from the inside pocket of his blazer, he
opened up his phone and went into his contacts menu. He unblocked Harry
Kane with the swipe of a button, and the notifications flooded in: 22
missed calls today and a slew of brief needy messages from the celebrated
England striker.

Bale huffed noisily to himself and punched in the single response message
word by word, before returning to the contacts menu and re-blocking his
Tottenham ally with a callous flick of a button:

`Stop. It's over. This is too much, Harry. Leave me alone. Bye.'



COMING SOON... KNOCKED OUT, THE SCOTTISH EDITION - WHO SHOULD BE
INVOLVED?


'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on
Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/

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