Date: Thu, 4 Aug 2022 19:07:15 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 303

Part 303: Goodbye to the Great Dane


Fierce sunshine blazed over the Leicestershire countryside that Thursday
late afternoon, and the lawns of the small luxury housing estate were
scorched an off-putting yellow by the recent heat-waves, surrounded by
colourful but wilting flower-beds. He stepped out of the air-conditioned
domain of his Jeep and surveyed the blandly suburban front gardens of the
mansions that made up this small rural estate, thinking how tasteless his
friend and his wife were, classic British new money.

Vardy's was the biggest of the looming modernist properties, and he
walked up the sun-burnt approach to its doors, adjusting the collar of
his pale green shirt and thinking how warm he felt as soon as he was out
of the car. It had been a pretty busy day, though, of rushing between
urgent chores and dealing with the movement of their belongings back at
their own luxury pad on the edge of the city. Still, he'd known he would
make time for this detour, he was not about to let his buddy down.

Kasper Schmeichal dinged the bell of the complex-seeming security system
and peered into its apparent camera lens with a goofy smile, awaiting
some response from inside, but then backed away and surveyed the big
property while he waited. He was thinking not just about the crass
tastelessness of the British, but of the glamorous white villas he was
choosing between outside of Nice, his new Riviera life awaiting him with
his end-of-career stint in the South of France.

It had all happened so fast. Kasper had still had half a mind to commit
one last year to the Foxes, having loved every minute of his successful
decade there, though he'd known this might be the perfect moment to cut
his losses and leave the Premiership. The Nice offer had been pretty
last-minute and rushed, and if he was a touchier guy, he might have been
disappointed at the speed with which Leicester City agreed to ship him
off - but everybody knew the shelf life of the sport, and even in goal, a
35-year-old captain was starting to push it. Better to leave now, Kasper
knew, and get a few years in the easier French league with great pay and
lower expectations, and leave his Leicester legacy shiny and intact.

He rang the bell again, becoming impatient, and folded his big arms
across the chest of his shirt, backing away and looking up and down the
silent hamlet of modernist fronts. He knew that Jamie was in, because
he'd quickly rang the useless fucker as soon as he got away from the
removal men at his own mansion - and he could see Vardy's preferred car
gleaming behind the gates to his left, though Mrs V's big motor was not
there. As far as Kasper knew, she was still on some `girly retreat' on
the coast, recovering from the shameful debacle of her court cases,
leaving Jamie to ready himself for the new season.

Waiting a minute more before he'd get his phone out and become annoyed,
the 6ft2 Dane thought sadly about those impending Premier League games,
which would rattle on without his goalkeeping and captaincy. It was a
strange and hollow feeling, even though he'd felt so sure and optimistic
yesterday in Nice, signing all the paperwork and posing for the local
crowds in the Riviera sun. His cheeks and nose were bright red from it,
contrasted against the silvery blond of his hair and thin beard.

At last, the door opened, just as the 35-year-old footballer might have
stormed back to the Jeep or angrily rang up Vardy to shout at him down
the line - it shifted inwards and there was his long-time buddy in the
doorway, grinning stupidly at him and giving him a playful salute like a
visiting army captain. `Danish fwend,' cooed the striker in the
doorway, breaking into inane cackles before lunging forward and grabbing
him in a hug - Kasper grasped gratefully at the other `ageing'
Premiership star and gave him a squeeze, glad to see him for a goodbye
before he jetted back to Nice tonight.

`Come in, come in,' Vardy insisted. `Sorry - I was just out back and
couldn't hear the bell, that's all.'

Kasper wasn't surprised. The interior of the Vardy mansion reverberated
with loud dance music, and he just raised his white-blond eyebrows
silently as he followed his buddy into the cool shade of the central
hallway. `Alexa, shut up,' the Leicester goal-scorer was hawking loudly
at the invisible presence of his sound system. He tried again, subduing
his Sheffield snarl for a more formal tone: `Alexa, volume down,
thanks.'

The burly goalkeeper followed his friend through the ground floor of the
spacious home, somewhere he'd been for many a dinner party or barbecue
over their shared years as Foxes. It felt crowded with the thump of the
Ibiza compilation, even with the volume nominally lowered, but was empty
- well, empty but for the clutter of the Vardy spending habits and the
detritus of their absent children. From under one muscular arm, Kasper
produced the single bottle of vintage French wine he'd brought them, and
proffered it at his host with a simple grin.

`Nice,' Jamie said hesitantly, taking it from him. `Is this some fancy
shit I'm going to have to pretend doesn't taste like all the others,
then?'

`Pretty much that,' Kasper chuckled, knowing the half-joke of his
mate's banter. `And what about my gift?' he demanded with playful
aggression, fiddling with his top button and following Jamie through into
the cool kitchen space whilst the £500 wine bottle was lazily slid into a
rack in one corner. Vardy just cackled away at this question, going to
the fridge and pulling out a couple of ice-cool beers.

`About that,' he laughed, `just you wait and see. It's out back,
actually.'

`I was just kidding,' Kasper grunted softly. `You don't need to get
me nothing. Besides - I'll come back for a PROPER goodbye party at some
point, I'm sure, when things are less of a hectic rush, y'know?' He
glanced uncertainly at the beer that Jamie had opened for him. `I am
still driving quite a way, buddy-'

`One won't hurt,' Vardy grunted dismissively. `Here. Have it. Good
man. Hungry?'

`A bit, but... I don't have long,' Schmeichal insisted quietly. He took
a grateful sip of the cold beer, glad for its taste and temperature, but
knowing that he shouldn't be giving in to even this. But `no' was a
difficult answer around party Vardy, and this was a fitting swift goodbye
with the charismatic fuckwit - OF COURSE they'd sink a cheeky afternoon
beer, of course. He took a second, longer sip, and refused the various
snacks that his friend was now producing from the crowded chaos of their
fridge and larder. `No, really - I'll just grab something at the
airport later, it's fine. It's really all just a chaotic mission today,
mate, that's why I left the Mrs and the kids over in France. I'm really
just back to tie up loose ends.'

`That what I am?' laughed the other 35-year-old. `A loose end?'

`Huh. The loosest fucking end going,' he chided. `I was hardly gonna
fuck off without seeing my mate Jamie V, was I? But I can't stay long,
honest. I'll have this beer and that'll probably be it. How come
you're home already anyway? Shouldn't you still be at training?'

`It was a half day sorta thing. They're trying to rest us all for the
weekend, y'see. I mean it's only a Sunday afternoon against fucking
Brentford, but still... Best to start strong. And some of us ain't as
young as we were, huh?!' Both men laughed heartily at this and clinked
their beers together.

Vardy was still in the sleeveless training top he must have worn at the
Leicester camp earlier in the day, combined with a pair of dark swimming
trunks that clung to his legs enough to suggest he'd been in his outdoor
pool. He was leaning back against the fridge and grinning as he slugged
from the bottle of Moretti. He was a good guy, Vardy, for all his
excesses and the trouble that followed him - he'd been a great fucking
ally in leading this team through their ups and downs, and Kasper
couldn't imagine having gone through any of it without the cheeky
sniggers and insistent partying of this rogue Northern lad.

And yet... there would be a relief too, a part of him thought, at leaving
behind the unpredictable wildness of the striker, of exiting his orbit
and not being drawn into all the sordid little games he liked to play...!
Too many late nights at the wrong time, too many discreet baggies of
unidentified drugs when they were supposed to be treating their athletic
bodies like temples - too much philandering under Jamie's dark
influence, he mused, thinking of the women and the other stuff.

`You're thoughtful,' Vardy commented sharply. `Having second
thoughts?'

`Bit late for that,' he dismissed, `but hard not to be nostalgic,
ain't it? Ten years, mate. Ten years. Fuck.'

`Don't get maudlin, big guy. This is a party.'

`Of sorts, hah. It's just us.'

Jamie smirked. `Come on, out to the pool. I've got this gift for ya.'

Kasper rolled his eyes sceptically, suddenly wondering if he would leave
the Vardy house and find the whole squad there for a fucking surprise
party or something - he would hardly put that past Jamie and his
charisma, but it would be a terrible idea since he had to be back on the
road soon and he didn't have the time or energy to say all the goodbyes
he'd need to! Still, he loped after the excitable other guy, back
through the kitchen and lounges, and down some steps into the lowered
rear end of the house, a spacious dining area with an expense of tinted
French windows facing out into the garden and pool. Nothing immediately
caught Kasper's eye, and he was relieved not to be walking into a
surprise party, with Leicester players bursting out from behind furniture
and such, but he did feel a bit baffled about what stupid joke gift Vardy
was about to spring on him...

Jamie pushed his own beer into Kasper's hand while he slid his feet into
some flip-flops and then undid a latch on the sliding glass doors, and
led him out onto the stretch of patio beyond, still shaded by the house
but quickly stepping back out into the August sunshine. Kasper smiled
politely, holding the two beers and sipping from his bottle, his eyes
scanning the sizable domain of the Vardy gardens, unsure what here was
supposed to be waiting for him. He stretched out one strong arm in
Jamie's direction to give him back his beer, about to make a comment,
and then paused at the interruption.

A loud splashing noise, as of a body crashing upwards out of the pool
water just a few feet away from them, and then a pair of pink freckled
hands at the top of the metallic ladder there. Before Schmeichal could
say anything, a flare of red hair leapt into sight and a bare wet body
was clambering upwards on the ladder, exiting the pool with a couple more
loud splashes and then stumbling onto the hot stone flagging next to
them. `Here he is!' exclaimed the thick Burnley accent of the young
guy, and there he was - Leicester's Harvey Barnes, stumbling from the
Vardy pool with chlorinated water beading against his arm and chest
muscles, his bare body pink with sunburn and flecked with clusters of
red-brown freckles. All the 24-year-old wore was the skimpiest speedo
Kasper had every seen on a fella, a veritable thong of dark red material
that just about held his privates in place and strapped tightly across
either of his hips, just below the pronounced V of his adonis belt. The
young winger dragged his hands across his wet face and then through his
hair, beaming a welcoming smile at them, and then dashing past them to
collect a towel from one of the loungers.

`Did you want a beer, Harv?' Jamie was demanding bluntly.

Kasper just raised and knitted his brows and then took a long glug from
his beer, Jamie taking the other one from him and following Harvey to the
loungers. Not a full-on surprise party, then, but just one random member
of their Leicester colleagues - bit random, but nothing was too
surprising or impossible when it came to Jamie's extroversion.

`Oh yeah, great,' Barnes chirped brightly, sitting his wet legs down
sideways on one of the big wooden sun loungers, and wrapping the towel
about his shoulders and neck. He continued to beam at Schmeichal with the
big innocent smile that marked his youthful looks. `How's the move
going, big man?' he asked brightly.

Vardy moved between them and disappeared back into the house, and Kasper
stood smiling uncertainly back at the 24-year-old. `Yeah, yeah... it's
all a bit mad, but it'll be fine. Lots to get sorted out today and then
straight back to France tonight, you know.'

`Sure,' Harvey said distantly. `Must be mad. I remember what it was
like moving from Nottingham to here,' he said without a trace of irony.
Here was the very definition of a small-town kid, Kasper thought, a
coddled lad who didn't know much beyond the East Midlands of England and
somehow hadn't broadened those horizons after several years of
top-flight football. Kasper's own youth had been thoroughly
international due to his father's career before his own, and his ten
years of stability in Leicester had been the most settled and provincial
he'd ever become.

`Right, yeah,' the goalkeeper said slowly. `How was training?'

Harvey shrugged, nestling against the towel and shaking his wet hairy
legs. `All fine. Just can't wait for us to get started on Sunday. But
will be a big fucking absence at the back of the squad for sure!'

`Well, I'm hopeful they'll remember to put someone in goal,' Kasper
joked lightly, making the young winger burst into heady laughter. Trying
hard to sound casual, he asked, `Any word on who is going to take up the
captain's armband...?'

Harvey was blank on this. `Nothing said yet, and we're playing in a
couple of days...'

`Here, here,' came Vardy's voice, reappearing with an extra bottle of
beer open in his free hand. He passed it down to the young lad in his
ridiculously small speedo and then stood between them, grinning
mischievously enough to make Schmeichal look suspiciously at him and sup
cautiously on the rest of his Moretti.

Up got Barnes, lifting himself from the lounger and taking greedy slurps
from his bottle. The towel slid from his shoulders and onto the wooden
rungs of the lounger, leaving him stood there between them in his
glistening near-nudity. Kasper studied the speedo again - it really
wasn't very much material, a real strap of blood-red fabric, straining
to hold the youngster's parts, it seemed a pretty ridiculous and
unlikely choice of swimwear for the Burnley boy...

`It's part of Bekah's bikini,' supplied Vardy in a bright cheery
voice. `He offered to wear the bra top bit, you know, but it didn't fit
around his big pecs quite so well.' At this, Harvey just gurned
bashfully at them, reaching down and adjusting himself in the ill-fitting
female bottoms, then striding back to the pool's edge and lowering
himself into it whilst holding his beer aloft. Somehow, the young lad
managed the awkward move, descending into the blue waters and treading
water whilst continuing to sip his Italian beer.

Kasper watched him, and then stared back at Vardy, bemused. `You're a
weird fuck, sometimes, Jamie,' he remarked simply.

Jamie winked at him. `What? The lad likes to wear her undies sometimes,
even during a match. Don't be so judgmental, big man. We all have our
kinks.'

Kasper laughed but it turned into a sigh. `Right, what's he doing
here?' he demanded with gentle force. He waved vaguely about them. `I
was half-expecting some mad goodbye surprise party or some shit - have to
say, I'm glad it's just us! And, well, him too, I guess, but-'

`Ohhh shit,' wheezed Vardy. `That would have been great. If only I
could have been arsed.'

`Oh, fuck off. And what about this gift, eh? What were you on about on
the phone, having something special to give me before I jet off and
become boring? I dunno why you think I'd be boring living on the French
fucking Riviera compared to outer Leicestershire, mind...'

Vardy smirked again. `It's your default, I think. Without me to keep
you in check.'

`Huh, sure...! The gift, then...?'

In answer, the striker just grinned, took a sip, and turned to squint
across the pool, on whose surface the early evening sun twinkled
dramatically like a scattering of diamonds. Beyond that glare, the
pool-splashing guest could be soon making another exit, but this time on
the far side of the pool, his back to them - clambering up an opposite
set of metallic ladders with the same ungainly movement, splashing a lot
as his tightly muscled body left the water and hurried upwards. And from
this view, Kasper noted, the limitations of the woman's bikini bottom
were all the more apparent, an awkward V of material that couldn't even
begin to cover the muscular expanse of Barnes' buttocks, practically
disappearing between them like a thong or G-string.

`There you go,' Vardy said simply. `As you can see, I didn't bother
wrapping him much.'

Kasper gave a derisive snort of humour, and pushed lazily at Jamie's
bare shoulder where the sleeveless training top ended. `Fuck off, what
are you on about? Trying to give me your sloppy seconds, are ya?' he
grunted. He took a long drink of beer, almost finishing the icy bottle
off.

Next to him, Vardy chuckled happily, and then let out a little whoop of
excitement. `Oh Kas,' he jeered happily, `you have such low opinion of
me, don't you? Now don't get things wrong - ginger boy over there is a
virgin in all the right ways, I promise you. I've been saving him, and
now it's yours.'

Schmeichal grimaced and frowned at the crudeness and objectification, too
sober and exposed out here in the sunny garden for the kind of chat the
two of them might have more casually shared after too many beers and a
few white lines in a nightclub - he glared at his Leicester friend and
then back at Harvey, who was idling around the edges of the pool back
towards them, the wetness glittering on his pink skin.

`I've been training him up good,' Jamie said, as if discussing a
prized possession, `and he's come a long way, really, but it's time he
really went the whole way, and there's no better way to send you off to
a life of sensible boredom on the French coast, huh...?'

`Jamie...'

`He really likes to please,' leered the 35-year-old striker under his
breath.

`Mate...'

`And he squeals real good when you handle him right.'

`Fuck's sake, buddy...'

`Just look at him, butter wouldn't melt, but he's a good slut now, I
promise you...'

Schmeichal gritted his teeth, feeling a little tingle in his white trunks
underneath the denim shorts that hugged his thighs and waist. He puffed
out his chest, straining the buttons of the short-sleeved shirt, and he
glared to his right at the sleazy look on Vardy's thin face. `You're
always up to something,' he muttered critically at his hedonistic best
mate, and then looked back at the approaching figure of Harvey, grinning
lazily and running his fingers through his wet red hair.

`I really can't stay long,' the Danish keeper said, half to himself,
clinging to that bland truth to withstand the rising excitement in his
big muscular body, and to push away the suggestive gleam in Vardy's
wicked eyes. The striker just laughed, and patted him on his broad back.
`Just stay long enough,' the other 35-year-old football ace suggested
cheerfully. `And then we can say our goodbyes.'


Vardy turned his attention to the approaching youngster, whose wet feet
slapped loudly against the sun-warmed stones below. `Hey,' the former
England striker barked at his 24-year-old guest, gesturing impatiently to
him. `I think Kas here wants to feel just how good you've got with that
slut's mouth, okay?' The midfield player grinned straight at him with a
coy expression and a strong blush to his cheeks, but his wide eyes turned
towards the other older man, and his pink tongue slid unconsciously
across his lower lip.

Grinning, Jamie turned his attention back to the taller guy, patting
Kasper on his massive back muscles again, and nodding to the loungers.
`Go on, mate, take a seat, and just let him give you a going over, haha.
I'll wait my turn!'

The Dane gawped dumbly at him for a moment, his face coloured now with
embarrassment as well as too much French sun, and his mouth opening and
closing in some lame protest of `My wife!' or `I told you, no more'.
Jamie had heard it all before too many times to take it seriously,
because the big brutish Viking could always be drawn back in for a little
more fun when the timing was right. And come tonight, he'd be gone to
his boring new life on the Riviera, and so Vardy was determined to see
him off with a last bit of sordid action - if only Kasper could know how
selfless the gesture really was, since he'd been building up to this
climax with his boy Barnes for ages now!

Sure enough, the great Dane was responding to the generous offer. He was
backing away to the nearest lounger, next to the one still wet-marked
from Harvey sitting on it. Stiffly and primly, as if he hadn't already
crossed these naughty lines, the big blond man was settling down into the
wooden seat, resting back with his thick arms planted down the sides and
his legs stretching down to the plain white Nikes and ankle socks. Harvey
passed Jamie and he reached down to spank his pert bottom, feeling the
smooth wet muscle under his hand. At this signal, the submissive
24-year-old leaned in and Jamie planted a simple kiss on the side of his
neck. `Suck him good, lad,' he growled in his ear.

He now just took a step back and drained his beer, grabbing his privates
loosely through his still-damp swimming shorts, having lolled in the pool
for a while before and teased Barnes with a little underwater mutual
groping. In front of him, the bikini-clad boy was down on his knees,
rubbing gently at the fluffy hair of Kasper's shins and calves, and then
quietly removing his trainers and socks one at a time, in no rush at all
- the goalkeeper glared up from his seated position, meeting Jamie's
eyes, and earning another smirk.

`Get comfy,' Vardy cawed at him. `He knows what he's doing.'

Yes he did. It had taken him a while before he encouraged Harvey to suck
on his own cock, now stretching and sweating in the mesh of his swimmers,
and for months first he'd been the one doing the sucking, taking
Harvey's short thick meat in his mouth and bringing him to cries of
ecstasy. It had all started with a long slow rimming in the back of the
car, ages ago when he'd been asked to mentor the Lancashire lout to calm
his aggressive moods down; and up until now, he'd been quite selfish and
protective with his sexual protegee, always refusing Maddison's greedy
attempts to initiate something. True, he'd let Harvey take part in that
seedy little circle-jerk in the changing rooms at the end of last season,
but that had been the first time he tolerated other hands on his boy.

And bizarrely, he truly had held back all this time, and still not fucked
Barnes, nor vice versa. It was very unlike Vardy and his usual
seductions. His aim had been simple, and successful: he had toyed and
teased at the horny 24-year-old footballer until he had him begging for
it. For months now, the ginger stud had begun to murmur and rasp for it
in private, asking Jamie to pop his cherry at last, but he'd refused to
slip him more than a tongue and a finger, wanting to build up the
anticipation all the more. And now...


Harvey rubbed and nuzzled at it, pressing his face into the crotch of the
tight-fitting denim shorts worn by the hunky older man. He took it slow,
as Jamie had taught him, and rubbed his hands up and down the furry
thighs as he did it, teasing just above the knees. He could sense
Kasper's exaggerated reluctance, but also feel the horny heat rising off
him. He'd always admired this big powerful man, especially since that
five-man circle-jerk in the changing rooms, where he'd really seen what
Schmeichal Junior was packing, and how much of an animal he was under his
goalie kit.

Carrying on like this, Barnes paused only to twist his neck and look back
at Vardy for approval. His dirty mentor was crouched on the next sun
lounger, and had peeled off his training vest to expose the lean ripped
muscle of his torso. He had one hand pushed inside his swim shorts, and
with the other he was sipping from Harvey's abandoned beer. The young
winger grinned keenly at his daddy, and then got back to work.

He began to undo the button fly of the jeans shorts, starting at the top,
popping one open at a time with slow progress, and then parting them
enough to lean in and kiss through the white cotton of the boxer briefs
beneath, feeling the rough tickle of Kasper's pubic bush beneath the
material. He opened the shorts more and kissed more at the musty bulge
there, rubbing his lips and nose against the fleshy mound, doing his best
to wake up and arouse the dormant Norse god in front of him.

And then Kasper's feigned uncertainty seemed to leave him, because now
he was stroking Harvey's head, his hair and down the back of the neck,
fingertips tracing the edges of his ears. The hand was not pushy, but it
was guiding, keeping his face down there, pressing it in against the
white bulge, making him mouth the shape of the waking cock. Mmm. Harvey
loved the smell and heat of it, and it took a lot of self-discipline to
stay slow as he pulled more at the shorts, urging them open and
downwards, giving him more access to the boxer briefs and their heavy
contents. Kasper had to lift his body from the wooden slats a little to
allow it, and he did that, while his fingers clawed through Harvey's
short hair and down the back of his neck.

At last, Barnes got to it, pulling the waistband down, exposing first the
grey-blond pubes and then the uncurling snake of meat. Instantly, he put
his mouth around it, taking that thick monster in between his lips and
sucking it into its full hardness, which made him gag. It was girthier
than what he was used to in Jamie's long slim member. He choked a
little, but laughed and sucked in breath, and ran his tongue over the
huge head of it, rolling his eyes up to meet Kasper's baby blues, and
then glancing cheekily back over to the side towards Jamie, who was
wanking himself in his shorts. He looked thrilled, and that was always
Harvey's aim - to please his mentor.


How was he meant to resist any of it, really...? He was a hot-blooded man
in the middle of a hot summer's day, a busy one, bored by the litany of
chores and jobs on his to-do list. And he was caught up in so many
feelings about the big life changes he was making, moving from Leicester
City to Nice... he really didn't have it in him to end the blow-job and
assert his monogamy to his troublemaker friend. He failed now where he'd
failed so many times over the years of their friendship: once upon a
time, clumsy little wandering hands in the night, sharing hotel rooms on
away trips, just a hand-job here and there. And then, stunned, he had
once been invited to push his big cock inside his deviant buddy, fucking
him like a woman, and that had marked the seedy danger of this latest
chapter of their friendship! Part of him really did look forward to
putting some distance between himself and the insatiable fuck-boy that
was Jamie Vardy, and yet for now...

Harvey was slurping up and down his cock and clearly loving it, and
Kasper was relaxing the posture of his heavy body against the sun chair.
He'd had to unbutton his pale green shirt, feeling it tight and
irritating across his big chest, so it hung open now, exposing the
lightly haired pecs and abdomen, up and down which roved the pink
sunburnt hands of the ginger lad between his spread legs. His denim
shorts were about his ankles and his white undies halfway down his big
thighs. Oh god this lad WAS good, Vardy had him well-trained for sure!

And next to them, Vardy himself was up on his feet now, with his swimming
shorts pushed part of the way down his legs, his long cock out and
wanking now, wet at the tip already. Vardy was grinning like a maniac and
didn't seem to have any worries whatsoever about the privacy of their
sunny garden by the pool. A horrible future with drone photography in the
newspapers occurred vaguely to Kasper's worried imagination, but was
driven away by just how good the young lad's mouth was against the head
of his cock and then back down to the base. Oh, yes.

`Here, my turn,' Jamie barked, and apparently it was. The perfect mouth
slid away from his throbbing dick and Kasper had to grab and stroke at it
himself, pulling back and forth on his big Viking dick while watching
Harvey lean to one side and bury his face into the sweaty crotch of the
5ft10 striker instead. Jamie alternated between loving strokes of the
redhead and then clipping aggressively at him and pumping his hips
violently forward, seeming to treat his boy mean to keep him keen. Fuck,
this was so horny.

Kasper panted his breaths, excited and overheated. He continued to play
with his cock, kicking his shorts away and sliding his underpants further
down his thick legs, freeing himself from the shackles of clothing. He
shrugged the shirt away too, naked now as he got up to his feet, a
towering 6ft2 against the other two, and began slapping his wet dick
against one of Harvey's cheeks, smearing spit and pre-cum across the
red-freckled face and grinning sleazily as he did so, joining Vardy in
the depths of their sexual appetites.

`Knew this would put a smile on yer face,' his friend hissed at him.

`He's good,' Schmeichal grunted simply at him. `He's really good.'

`Shall we take this inside?' sighed Vardy.

He nodded fiercely. `You've really never fucked him, mate?'

Harvey, climbing to his feet between them with spit hanging from his
chin, stared hungrily this way, eyes wide and revealing his inexperienced
lust. Jamie kissed the lad on the cheek and ruffled his hair, and winked.
`He's ready for it, big man. Are you?'


Jamie swaggered through his empty house, naked but for the noisy
flip-flops on his feet, his long curved hard-on bouncing up and down from
his neatly trimmed pubes. He took a detour into the kitchen, lazily
pulling on his cock as he removed more beers from the fridge and popped
their lids. Briefly, he held one icy bottle against his neck and his
brow, cooling himself down, and then he carried them through into the
central hall - `Aha, don't be getting it on without me, guys,' he
boomed happily, finding Schmeichal sat down on the bottom of the spiral
staircase and Barnes hunched in front of him, sucking him off eagerly.
Still cackling, Jamie pushed one of the beers into Kasper's hand, then
yanked Harvey back by the shoulder, pulling him away from the task at
hand and giving him a beer.

The Dane guzzled the Moretti, lounged uncomfortably against the stairs,
his big body all bared and beautiful; Jamie gave Harvey a playful slap to
the cheek then forced a beer into his hand and kissed him on the
forehead. `You little slut,' he said, both a telling off and a
compliment. He pulled the 5ft9 ginger lad to him in a cuddle, bringing
their mouths teasingly close but not quite kissing him. Kissing was
another thing he had slowly made his submissive lad beg for, but
eventually gave in to.

`Upstairs with ya,' he barked at him, squeezing his arse again and
nodding that way. He reached out a hand and helped Kasper up to his feet,
and the three of them, three athletic studs, all scampered upwards into
the bedrooms of the Vardy mansion. Not to any of the many available guest
bedrooms, but to the master bedroom at the far end, at Jamie's
insistence; he loved nothing more than curling up beside his wife and
knowing who else he'd ploughed on those pristine sheets.

Vardy pushed the door shut behind him and licked his lips. Big Schmeichal
was storming towards the bed with a fierce determination about his 6ft2
form, and eager-faced Barnesy was hovering at the foot of the bed, toying
with the tight waistline of his borrowed bikini bottoms. Laughing, Vardy
walked up and held him from behind, kissing his neck and whispering in
his ear. `You beautiful little slut,' he told him, as he always did.
`You're a sexy little fuck, you know?'

`Yes sir,' Harvey whispered in an eager shudder, as Jamie proceeded to
peel down his wife's bikini pants from their terrible fit over the
muscled lad, freeing his semi-hard prick and his bubble butt. Jamie
grabbed and squeezed each cheek, cuddling his ginger boy-toy from behind
and rubbing his hard-on against his side. `Mmm,' gasped the
well-trained sub, `oh yes, Vardy...'

`My cock ain't sucking itself,' barked Kasper impatiently. The big
Norse god had thrown himself onto the marital bed, naked and spread out
over the sheets and pillows, and idly playing with his heavy balls and
massive cock.

Both Jamie and Harvey laughed at this, staggering closer to the side of
the bed as one; then Jamie pushed his younger lad forward, knocking him
up onto the bed so that he fell onto all fours and crawled insatiably
between the spread legs of the goalkeeper. Jamie stayed on his feet by
the bed, reaching down and cradling his balls, smirking as Harvey went
straight to it, taking Kasper in his mouth and sucking him quite
expertly. Jamie could remember how shite the lad had been the first few
times, all teeth and discomfort, needing lots of advice and coaching to
become the gorgeous cock-slut he was today. Every now and then, dirty
Vardy paused and thought about how different this all was for him,
maintaining a steady affair with a lad instead of his usual no-strings
naughtiness - he and Barnsey almost had a `relationship' of sorts now,
twisted and sordid as it was, and it was a far cry from the hedonism and
recklessness of Jamie's youth.

He climbed onto the bed now, shuffling forward on his knees until he was
behind the crouched form of Harvey's toned body. He smirked over his
back and ginger hair and met the sharp blue eyes of Kasper's sweating
face. `Let me prepare him for you,' the prolific striker groaned at his
departing friend, who he really would miss, and not just for his big
Scandi prick. He was losing a great friend today, and this three-way was
not JUST about his unstoppable lust, it really was an effort to send
Schmeichal off in style. He wanted the sexy bastard to remember him this
way, sweaty and sharing a twink in his bed, and hoped they would stay
close even once playing in different leagues.

`Prepare him?' Kasper asked through his groans of pleasure.

Vardy winked at him and stooped forward, prising open Harvey's beautiful
cheeks, and going in to rim him again, pressing his tongue to that fuzzy
crack and making his Burnley boy shudder and twitch with pleasure.


Harvey loved it, he always had - it had been such a shock to him, when he
was bent over in the back of Vardy's car and had his arse licked, it
wasn't anything he'd ever thought to try. But it was the talent of the
older man's tongue that had first tamed him, brought him out of his
sulky moods and made him so devoted and compliant to his legendary
teammate. And it still had that effect on him now, tongued and teased
from behind while he devoured Kasper's thick meat over and over,
positioned between two 35 year old heroes of his club.

He had to stop sucking for a moment, holding the Danish cock at the base
and resting his clammy face in against the inside of one thigh - the
pleasure of Vardy's tongue working his pink ring was just too much for
him to cope with, and he whimpered excitedly. He could feel Jamie's
rough hands on his sides, gripping and shaking him, and the scratch of
stubble on his cheeks at either side as the face worked there, spitting
in him and then probing him open with a longue experienced tongue... `Oh,
fuuuuuck,' he whined.

More powerful hands at this end of the action guided him back to work,
Kasper's big goal-keeper paws shifting his face away from the leg muscle
and positioning it back at the tasty delight of his pre-cum-leaking dick.
Harvey gladly opened his mouth and took it, feeling the massive weapon
push at the back of his throat again and gag him, while his arse cheeks
were slapped and jiggled and his hole was licked into readiness.


Schmeichal could only wait so long, and it had nothing to do with his
to-do list or his booked flight, and everything to do with the fact he
was hornier than he'd been in many months. He shuffled across the bed,
high-fiving a sniggering Vardy and then barging him out of the way.
`I'm gonna fuck him,' he growled impatiently, taking hold of Barnes'
smaller body and throwing him sideways, re-positioning him in front of
him.

`Yeah,' growled Jamie. `Fucking do it. You want that, Harvey boy?'

`God yes!'

`Fuck him good, the dirty lad...'

`Yeah,' Kasper grunted, never one for lengthy dirty talk, just a man of
action. He kneeled deeper into the expensive bed and pulled Harvey's
body closer to him, hooking his strong hands about his thighs to get him
into position, then angling his thick wet dick forward and pressing its
tip in between the slick cheeks. He pressed his head against the wet hole
that had been rimmed so thoroughly by dirty Jamie, and he grinned
wickedly across at his friend, who looked totally eager to see this
happen.

`Relax,' Vardy was gasping at his lad. `Relax and let him do it,
it'll feel amazing.'

`Yes sir,' gasped Barnes desperately.

Schmeichal, even through the red mist of his horny urges, felt a pang of
fondness for the bond between his filthy pal and the young upstart -
he'd been quietly aware of the professional mentoring going on between
them at the club, of course, and half-conscious of a sustained naughty
playtime behind the scenes, but he hadn't realised that Jamie had grown
QUITE this close to the youngster. He quite liked to see Jamie in a
different light, and he was glad the horny troublemaker had a regular
playmate now to keep him from getting up to anything even more
precarious.

But mostly... Kasper thought about how good it was going to feel pushing
his cock inside this muscular young player, and he pressed forward,
testing the virginal hole that had been teased and loosened by his
partner-in-crime. Rather than spitroasting Harvey and sharing him, Jamie
had crawled down next to him, and was kissing him on the neck and
stroking his shoulders attentively, relaxing him - haha, how fucking
sweet... Kasper pressed forward, gripping him on the sides of his arse
cheeks, and forcing his girth into him, making him groan and yelp and
tighten. Fuckkkk, yes...


Jamie petted and stroked at Harvey, who he knew would be struggling with
taking his first cock. `It's okay,' he breathed, kissing and nipping
at his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, rubbing his hand across his
muscles, slick with sweat and sun-lotion. He cuddled and held him and
then lifted his head to watch as the powerful goalie ploughed into him
from behind - he supposed that Kasper WAS taking it slow and easy, by his
standards, but he was a well-hung brute and such a big powerful force.
Poor Harvey!

Kasper had that same look of intensity and focus on his face as when
he'd topped Jamie himself, an act that had only been repeated a few
times before the Danish man refused, saying it was too much, too risky
for their friendship; and Vardy had always craved it, always wanted more,
sulked insanely over the handful of times he'd been allowed to take that
dick himself. He felt just as turned on now by watching it happen though,
and he knelt there, feeding his own long cock to Harvey's gasping mouth,
and taking in the majestic sight of Kasper's pumping muscles.

Jamie moved into position now so that the two older studs were facing
each other, making a sweaty spitroast of the red-haired Lancashire lad
between them. Jamie squatted low to feed his long cock between Harvey's
trembling lips, and held his head in both hands, feeding his cock slowly
in and out, not fucking his mouth ferociously like he sometimes did. He
paused now and then to take it out and just slide and slap it at the
lad's cheeks, looking lovingly down at his frowning face, knowing how
new and difficult it was for him to offer up his arse like this -
especially to someone as forceful as big Kasper.

Schmeichal ploughed on and on like some kind of Terminator, just slamming
back and forth with a machine-like rhythm and stamina, going gradually
redder across the face and chest. Jamie laughed at him, trying to catch
his eye and make more banter with him, but his `Danish fwend' was just
caught up in the act, lost in his own intense lust, slamming his cock
into Harvey's broad pink bottom over and over.

There was only so long Jamie could watch from this end, however, just
like the blowies on the sun loungers - soon he was impatient for his turn
with his favourite toy...


And Harvey's mind was all fireworks of pain and pleasure. How many times
had he begged Jamie for this, telling him how ready he was? How earnestly
he'd gasped it to his mentor, telling him his hole was ready, after a
good rimming and fingering from the ace striker; what a joke! How could
anyone be ready for feeling this massive thing up their backside?! He
couldn't believe the weird mix of pain and pleasure at being broken in
like this, and so he clung to the comfort of Jamie's presence, grasping
at his lean muscles and sucking hungrily on his dick, glad to be held
between two older guys like this.

When the changeover came, he was conflicted: he didn't want the joyous
presence of Kasper's thick weapon to leave his hole, and yet he was
desperate to be fucked by his daddy Vardy, the horny DILF who had teased
and trained him this far over the past eighteen months or so. Luckily, he
didn't seem to have much choice in the matter, manhandled by the other
two Leicester heroes and just passed between them across the silky white
sheets of the Vardys' bed.

One moment he was being done doggy style by the sweating muscular mass of
Schmeichal, and the next he was being pulled back with Jamie's arms
about his waist, being dragged to sit on his cock like this, descending
on it with his legs and cheeks spread, and KAsper standing up on the bed
in front of him, wanking his cock in his face... inch by inch, Harvey slid
down onto Jamie's pole, feeling this second cock enter and fill him up,
not so full and thick, but so LONG and DEEP inside him... and craved for
so very very long!


On and on it went, the two of them taking it in turns to fuck their
younger lad. Kasper was lost in the horny haze of it, and had no idea how
long it lasted. He fucked Harvey mercilessly for short bursts of crazed
energy, taking him from behind in a variety of positions on the bed and
beside it, pushing into him and loving the fleshy slap as he made those
butt cheeks jiggle and shake. And then he would withdraw and push the
ginger slut away from him, needing to lounge and rest and cool down, and
so Vardy would replace him, and Kasper would watch him like he'd done in
so many hotel suites over the years - usually it was watching him with
some female whore, of course, but the action was no different, Jamie
fucked like he'd been starved of sex for decades every single time.

There came a point where the Danish hunk was collapsed on his back across
the bed, his cock aching and his heart thumping inside his pecs, unsure
if he could go another round without passing out. He stayed where he'd
flopped, spreading his limbs and wiping his dripping sweat against the
bedding, and then turning to look at the corner of the bed where Jamie
was fucking Harvey standing up, holding him tightly whilst humping into
his big bottom like some crazed toy dog on its owner's leg.

Kasper let out a surreal horny laugh and reached for his veiny prick,
knowing that he could go for one more round after all, and that it was
time to empty his balls. He slid his big body off the bed, tottering
dizzily from foot to foot, and moved around the bed. He gave his mate a
gentle push, signalling a change in positions, and then grabbed hold of
trembling Harvey once Jamie had slid his cock out of the way.

Kasper pushed the lad forward, bending him over the side of the bed, and
unceremoniously entering him for this last round of thrusts and grunts.
His balls tingled and he knew he was close. He caught Jamie's eye and
grinned at him, thanking him wordlessly for his gift. And then he took a
tight hold of Barnesy's body and pumped him like a wank-sock or more
expensive sex toy, just a human fleshlight to deposit his seed in; thrust
and grunt, thrust and grunt, thrust and grunt. And then he was shooting
his load, dumping it inside the young lad, even as he saw Vardy firing
cum against his face on the other side, the three of them all a sticky
mess of sweat now.


There was a half-conscious naptime for about ten minutes, three athletic
bodies spread across the tangle of sweaty sheets - but then some little
switch in Schmeichal's head clicked and told him that he really did need
to get moving. He dragged himself out of the bed, shaking each hefty limb
and then dragging his hands through his short shag of blond hair.
`Hey,' drawled Jamie's lazy voice from the bed.

Kasper took a few steps away and grinned back at his friend. In the
centre of the bed, Barnes was completely asleep now, face down with his
big butt on show, marked red from grasping hands and slamming bodies.
Vardy was disentangling himself from the younger body, slipping off the
bed in the same sweaty nakedness as him, and coming over to grab him in a
nude hug. Kasper just laughed and squeezed him back, holding him and
rocking gently from side to side as they did.

`I really got to get the fuck out of here,' he chuckled sleepily. `You
fuckin' menace.'

`Aha, you don't want to wait for the boy to wake up and see what more
he can handle?' Vardy teased him, breaking the hug and standing there
with his hands on his hips in a businesslike fashion, as if they were
just too kitted players on the training ground together, rather than
secret lovers leaving their playmate to snore.

Together, they descended through the house, Kasper quietly admiring
Jamie's thin and ripped physique as they went down the stairs. He let
his eyes fall on the lean strong backside of the other senior player,
remembering the few times he'd used it and fucked his friend, before
putting a stop to it. It had been too much, and he'd worried at how much
he enjoyed it; Harvey was the only other guy he'd fucked, now, and again
he was startled by just how much better it felt than pussy. The thought
was going to haunt him all the way back to Nice tonight.

The two of them chatted idly as they passed through the house and then
went out onto the terrace, where Schmeichal retrieved his discarded
clothes, pulling each item over his clammy muscles and glancing furtively
about the sunny garden for the imaginary drone paparazzi out to ruin his
life.

`Well, that was some goodbye,' he laughed breathily, buttoning up his
shirt.

Still casually tugging his swimming shorts up bit by bit, Jamie
sniggered. `I knew you'd appreciate it, you beast. Something to
remember us by, right?'

With Jamie still fiddling with himself in his shorts, as if getting horny
again already, the two men lumbered through the house back to the front
door, where some awkward masculine behavioural code took over, even
though they'd just shared a twink in the master bedroom. They
half-hugged and patted weakly at each other's shoulders, and shared
bland platitudes about their friendship and plans for keeping in touch.

Kasper left his friend smirking in the doorway, leaning to the side and
hugging his chest, looking as if he was going to creep straight upstairs
and get up to more mischief with snoozing Harvey Barnes; he grinned back
at him and rolled his eyes, then climbed into the Jeep to make his exit.
He paused briefly, drumming the wheel and watching Jamie disappear back
into the house, then started up the engine.