Date: Tue, 28 Jan 2020 16:04:06 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 37: Magpies & Arseholes

Part thirty-seven: Magpies & Arseholes


A shrill whistle called time on a twilit training session in Newcastle, and
there was a general huffing of relief. This had been way too intense for a
Monday, all would agree, though they knew full well their goalless draw
against Oxford Town had been a poor showing, and that no chances were being
taken by Steve Bruce and his team. They would be hosting Norwich at the
weekend, and nobody wanted a repeat of that dull, ineffectual performance
in the cup. One by one, the Toon players filed off the training ground and
jogged, strolled or hopped their way indoors.

Paul Dummett, shivering a bit against the early evening chill, watched the
backsides of the players in front idly, the way they bounced a little in
shorts and tight-fitting trackies, their various curves and sides. It had
become something of an obsession, he would admit to himself, and fucking
his first male arse had done nothing to cure it. If anything, it had only
confirmed a desire that had been growing for years.

Instinctively, his eyes sought out that particular arse, as mighty big Andy
Carroll swooped through the gathering, laughing happily and play-fighting
with Matt Ritchie on the way inside. Paul smiled to himself, but with a
faint sense of... not regret, definitely not that, but unease. They hadn't
spoken much since that afternoon in Andy's master bedroom. Lines hadn't
just been crossed, they'd been fucking torn apart.

But still... it had been... special. And... had Andy enjoyed it too? It was
hard to say. Maybe for him it had been a necessary chore, a mere experiment
to be done, to go towards pleasing his stupid wife... Paul had not yet
plucked up the courage to ask Carroll the all-important question there: had
she ever used that crazy strap-on, ever tried to peg him...? Or had their
sweaty afternoon together been experimenting for nothing... Though
`nothing' was the last word Paul would use to describe any of it. He
whistled to himself and tried to blink away the surfacing memories of what
had gone on, the feel of it...

`You okay there?' came the smooth American voice of his shorter teammate,
DeAndre Yedlin sidling up to him and patting his arm. There was an unspoken
bond between them now that had not been there before their own
experimentations, though Dummett often suspected the 5'8 right-back of
wanting to ask him questions as blunt and invasive as he was avoiding
firing at Carroll.

`Yeah, grand,' Paul replied quickly, flashing him an awkward sign. `Just
tired. That was... intense.'

`Sure was,' Yedlin agreed with a nod. `Working us hard.'

`I'm just hoping to make the bench on Saturday!' Dummett confided with a
quiet laugh. `Not sure I've been in any real contention for past few
weeks. You?'

DeAndre shrugged. `Gaffer changes his mind about me every session, dude,'
he said philosophically. `I take the rough with the smooth. If I get to
play, I play. If not, I cheer every fucker here with my heart and soul.' He
grinned, patted Paul again, and sped ahead. They tramped indoors and many
kicked off their boots or trainers by the doors before continuing on into
the changing rooms. Paul did just that, watching the caked mud disintegrate
from his footwear and finding himself pretty much the last one into the
dressing rooms.

There was always something quite comforting about the general musty
atmosphere of these backstage spaces, full of male bodies and shedding
kit. Paul picked his way through to the peg where his things hung, and
started tugging his NUFC training shirt up over his tight vest, glad of the
warmth in here, both from the heating system and from the gathered
masculine bodies about him. He shoved his sweaty shirt to the bench beneath
and sat down for a moment, daring to enjoy some of the sights about
him. Exactly opposite, he could see the Toon's first-choice goalkeeper
beginning to undress from his things. The tall Slovakian was a well-built
figure with a particularly prominent backside, which was what always drew
Paul's eye to 6'2 Martin Dubraka. Off came the guy's long-sleeved goalie
shirt, baring the smooth toned muscle of the 31-year-old's torso.

Not far along from him, big Andy and 5'8 Matt Ritchie were undressing too,
their bared bodies pink with sweating in the cold, the height contrast
faintly amusing from this distance. Ritchie, like a lot of short guys, made
up for his height by being really fucking loud and confident, probably the
most passionate guy here on matchdays. The Scotland-playing southerner
looked his way then, and Paul averted his eyes self-consciously, always a
tiny bit paranoid he would stare too long at any teammate and arouse some
suspicion of his... leanings.

A lot of the guys seemed in a hurry to get changed and fuck off, many
skipping the showers or rushing in and out already. It really had been a
long day – a big meeting in the morning, some intense gym work after,
then a good couple of hours running about in the cold twilight just now. No
wonder most people were in a hurry. Paul, who knew he was going home to an
empty flat and whatever movie Netflix had lined up for him, felt less
urgency. He slowly rolled down his sweaty socks and peeled them off, then
yanked his compression vest up and off with a bit of difficulty, finding it
cling to the thick trunk of his body.

Next to him, the team's only Swiss player was stripped down to his tight
black Puma compression shorts, a slender 6'2 of lean muscle and almost
supermodel good looks that always looked somehow out of place in the rough
and ready world of Newcastle. Fabian Schar turned and gave an uncertain
smile at Dummett, perhaps catching him out with his appraising eyes.

`Showering, Dummo?' Schar asked in his tinkling Alpine accent.

`Sure,' Paul murmured. `You?'

`Oh definitely yes,' Fabian told him in his funny earnest way. `I am very,
very sweaty!' And with that he grabbed at the front of his tight black
shorts with a belly laugh. `Must wash it all off.'

Paul smirked at the thought but averted his eyes again, and pulled down on
his legging-like tracksuit bottoms, down to his grey briefs for a moment,
and then suddenly confronted by the appearance of their captain in front of
him, whose sudden proximity made him feel more acutely near-naked.

`Paolo,' the Derby-born lad called to him cheerily, stood beside him
stripped to the waist, his broad muscular frame all exposed. Paul often
thought that Jamaal Lascelles looked more like a rugby player than a
footballer, a very powerful presence on any pitch. The captain was still in
his NUFC shorts over some compression leggings, but his impressive pecs and
shoulder muscles were all pleasingly on show as he faced up to him. `Just
wanted to say how good you looked out there this evening,' Lascelles told
him lightly. `Really impressive work. I hope the gaffer gives you a proper
outing on Saturday, mate.'

Dummett grinned at the compliment. He always half-dismissed Jamaal's
kindness as perfunctory leadership, but he had also seen the bulky
26-year-old really tear a strip out of anyone who was slacking and letting
the side down... so in a way, his praise should be taken at face
value. `Well, thanks,' he told him with an expression of gratitude, `I
bloody hope so too, man...'

Left alone again, Paul gave a sidelong glance at Schar, who was in the
middle of twanging down his Puma shorts, but met his eyes with a
grin. `Compliments from the captain, ooh-err,' the Swiss centre-back cooed
playfully. `Good for you.' He tugged up a fresh towel from next to him just
as his pants dropped, so Paul got the most fleeting glimpse of his neatly
trimmed pubes and long slender prick before he started marching off into
the communal showers.

Paul contemplated his chances of making the starting line-up for the
Norwich game. Low, he concluded, thumbing at the waistband of his briefs
idly, but he had a decent chance of sitting on the bench and coming on
midway, perhaps. He tried to control his curious urges to look about and
get a better look at some of his teammates, as he turned and slipped off
his own undies and picked up a towel. The dressing room was one thing, but
the showers was different. There was a complex code of male behaviour that
dictated where your eyes did and didn't go. Unspoken rules you followed
since high school.

He passed a couple of the more hurried blokes on the way in, guys who had
rushed straight in for their hot showers, much-needed after the North East
chill, but were now already pretty much done. Paul hooked his towel up on
the rack and surveyed what little this left in the communal shower
block. Schar was just ahead of him, slapping on one showerhead and reaching
for some shower gel from the shelf; a little further down the row of posts
was Dubravka, and beyond him at the far corner, Yedlin. Paul let his eyes
survey their backs for a moment, flitting from the first two guys' lofty
heights to little DeAndre, but all three well-muscled, and DeAndre deeply
decorated by tattoo.

Dummett positioned himself comfortably between Dubravka and Schar, pushed
the button, and stood beneath the hot blast for a moment, letting it warm
his tingling bare skin and gush down his back and front, splashing at his
buttocks and crotch. Behind him he heard hoots of bantering laughter as
Ritchie and Carroll joined them, then the even deeper voice of Lascelles
lumbering in behind them. Again, Jamaal was suddenly beside him and in his
eyeline, taking the shower between he and Dubrovka. Wow, the muscle
definition on their captain was... Paul scolded himself and pulled his eyes
away from Jamaal's bulging arm as the mixed-race centre back began to
lather himself up with shower gel.

Paul turned round with his back to the wall and watched Ritchie and Andy
separate. He saw Andy seem to contemplate the showerhead on the other side
of him, between he and Schar, then think better of it and move the other
way... that was a stinging blow. Were things that awkward between them now?
There definitely hadn't been much contact, but Paul had dared to hope that
was coincidence... His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a pitchy
giggle and cry from Matt Ritchie, pointing at the much taller Geordie.

`Andy mate,' the Gosport lad laugh suddenly, `what the fuck is THAT?'

Andy paused in the middle of the shower block, looking sharply back at the
30-year-old winger, and one by one the other men at the showers turned with
various levels of curiosity. Paul stood uncomfortably, soap in hand, and
squinted through the growing steam of the room, down Andy's long back to
the curve of his butt cheeks (do NOT think about last time you were close
to them, he told himself furiously) and... there WAS something...

`Mate,' continued Matt giddily, `there's something sticking...'

Oh god, not that toy? No... not THAT, but... Paul took a step forward, out
of the rush of water beside him, and Andy whirled about to face laughing
Ritchie, and in doing so gave a bit more of a view to not only Paul, but
the others along the tiled wall. Just between the pale rounded cheeks,
something turquoise and rubbery was sliding out of Carroll's hairy
crack. Some kinda... butt plug...?

`What the fuck is it?' howled Martin Dubravka with his Slovak bluntness,
leaving his shower to approach the big striker, who he almost matched in
height if not quite breadth.

`Lads,' Jamaal called with an uneasy laugh, `what the fuck are you...?'

`Andy's got a fucking toy up his arse,' Ritchie announced in a loud voice,
though perhaps unheard out in the main changing room, for the syncopated
roar of the line of showerheads next to the scattered naked men in here.

Paul saw Andy's long face of horror. It was obvious, to Paul, what had
happened: this must be part of some ongoing game with his kinky bird, and
he'd forgotten he had... He thought fast, and flung aside dignity in favour
of friendship. `So what,' he called, hovering in the middle of the block,
`it's up to him what he plays about with, isn't it?' He forced out a ballsy
laugh. `We've all experimented, time to time...'

Ritchie, who was clearly still in shock at what he'd spotted, whirled a bit
to focus his laughter on Paul now, still standing unshowered and bollock
naked. `Have we?' he demanded. `Andy, mate... seriously!'

Carroll backed off embarrassedly into the one remaining space at the
showers, his back defensively to the wall, trying to look challenging and
unfazed, and failing spectacularly. Dubravka stepped closer to him with
open ridicule (or curiosity?) and looking down his back to see the jut of
rubbery material emerging from between clenched cheeks.

`Yeah, everyone has their toys,' Paul went on in a slightly strained voice,
not returning to his shower yet, watching Matt's amused face then glancing
uncertainly to the others, one by one, trying to judge their reactions. He
saw DeAndre looking defensive and tense, a look of bewilderment on their
captain's face, a sort of stern curiosity on the handsome face of Fabian
Schar...

Ritchie was not dropping this, muscling in beside Andy and Dubravka, all
caught under the spray of one showerhead as it rattled to the end of its
cycle, and Paul veered instinctively towards them, fearing for Andy at this
embarrassing discovery and unusual line of banter. The lads closed in on
their tall Geordie striker, who was adjusting his thick top-knot of
brunette locks and blushing deeply.

`Guys,' he said pleadingly, `can we just...'

`It is his business what he gets up to,' Lascelles pointed out fairly,
stepping in amongst them, a muscular presence of authority. Paul could not
help but glance down to his left at the Derby bloke and his swinging crown
jewels. He sometimes suspected that Lascelles' generous endowment was half
the reason he had so easily won respect as their captain.

`Of course it is,' Ritchie conceded, `but this is hilarious... Isn't it?'
The shorter lad of Scots heritage looked incredulously from Andy to Paul
and then around the others, bunching his arms and patting at his upper
abdomen playfully. `Andy mate, what has that missus of yours been getting
up to, haha! What shit you letting her watch on Amazon Prime?'

`Nowt wrong with experimenting,' Dummett put in hurriedly. Andy shot him a
look and in this steamy close quarters, it was kinda hard to tell if it was
a look of pleading gratitude or of warning dismissal not to make things
worse.

`No,' agreed Schar's voice to Paul's right. `Nothing wrong with
experiment. It nice to see Englishman be fun with such things, ha ha.' And
something about the tall European's input eased a growing tension and they
all laughed to different degrees at this angle on things, but nobody more
than Dubravka, who seemed so fascinated.

`But what IS it?' the Slovakian demanded, right beside Andy, who had pushed
the shower back on and was soaping up his chest as if he could wash away
all of this awkward attention at once. `Turn around, let us see,' Martin
demanded teasingly, and he squirmed, boyish and embarrassed despite being
the biggest guy in the steamy shower room. Nobody else was joining them, so
perhaps this was it for shower-time, just the seven of them.

`Well you better show us,' Jamaal then pointed out, as if this was the only
way to get the uncomfortable conversation to an end. Andy eyed him
frustratedly, then turned his back on them, and let out a nervous
laugh. The other six closed in a bit, and looked as one. `Right,' Jamaal
said slowly. `I mean... I've never... what's the point?'

`Nobody here's ever had a bird shove a pinkie up their jacksie?' Paul
demanded a little too enthusiastically. He eyed DeAndre, lurking behind
Lascelles and Schar, for some obvious support, but the short tattooed
American bloke looked like he wanted to be totally disconnected from this
sudden and deeply private discussion, whilst Dubravka looked amazed and
Ritchie was still struggling to contain his chuckles.

`Well,' Matt admitted, through his laughter, `I mean... yeah, a few have
tried, but...'

`It can feel good,' Martin conceded next to him. `But a finger is one
thing... THIS thing...'

`I've never even had a finger!' Jamaal admitted with a gruff, throaty
laugh, and the others echoed it with varying degrees of nervousness or
enjoyment. The seven naked footballers were huddled pretty close now, steam
curling between their bare bodies, showers hissing, spitting and dripping
along the wall at their sides.

`I've tried a toy or two,' Paul said hotly, needing to take some attention
from his mortified pal, and figuring honesty was the best policy
here. `It's no big deal.' Again, he looked Yedlin's way, but the American
avoided meeting his eyes. `Andy obviously just forgot he...'

`Yeah,' Carroll picked up quickly. `Oh god this is embarrassing, lads. It's
just something me and Billi are trying, so...' He shrugged his broad
shoulders, rubbed soapy suds down his six pack. `Can we just forget about
my fucking bum now, buddies...?'

`But does it feel good?' Ritchie demanded of him, looking up at him
earnestly.

`You want to borrow it off him?' Dubravak asked, then burst out laughing.

`Little Ritchie is getting excited, ha ha,' added Fabian, rolling his
eyes. `Honest... you silly English men and your games...' He elbowed the
shower behind him into action, leisurely dipped his head back under the
water, then reached down with both hands to give his cock and balls an idle
stroke. Perhaps only Paul noticed.

`Well you could just try fingering yourself first,' Dummett spat out with
thinly-veiled anxiety, giving Ritchie a nod, `if you're curious to try that
sorta thing, man...'

`Fuck off,' Matt muttered hurriedly.

`He was just being helpful,' Schar said, still pulling slowly on his
dangling dick.

Matt turned his way, scoffing, then let out another laugh. `Are you fuckin'
playing with yourself?!'

`He bloody is,' chuckled Lascelles in a slow, amused voice. `Fabian, you
dirty twat!'

The Swiss man just huffed, gargled his open mouth against the shower water,
then spat it out at his feet, and jiggled his cock and balls playfully. `Oh
fuck off, you English prudes,' he sneered teasingly.

`Don't include me in that,' Yedlin put in, speaking for the first time in
this weird exchange. `None of this stiff upper lit shit back in the
States!' He let out an awkward laugh, and when Paul glanced over his
shoulder, he saw that the black lad was toying with his privates too. He
lifted his eyebrows in surprise, whirled his eyes back to Andy.

`Well,' Carroll said suddenly, `you CAN try it if you want, Ritchie, boy!'
Something about the dirtier direction of the conversation had taken the
pressure off big Andy here, or he was just still trying to deflect the
banter away from him. He reached both hands behind his back, tensed a bit,
and then was wielding the surprisingly small item forward like a tiny
dagger of sexual embarrassment, making Matt flinch crudely, and the others
just burst out laughing.

`Yeah,' Dubravka chuckled, `I definitely think you should, for embarrassing
the poor man...'

`Good idea,' Yedlin said, with a relish that Paul was sure only he would
pick up on, `that seems... fair...'

`Fuck off,' Matt Ritchie said immediately, `it's been up his...! Well...!'
He looked wildly towards the captain as if only Lascelles could adjudicate
such nonsensical matters. But Jamaal shrugged his big round shoulders and
seemed to glance about, as if noting how much Fabian and DeAndre were
beginning to fondle themselves, and now Martin too, opposite them, slapping
gently at his low hanging prick and bollocks, and...

`Nah, it's clean,' Andy pointed out, rubbing soapy fingers over the awkward
plug of rubbery turquoise silicone that had been inside him moments ago,
`we're in the showers, everybody here is squeaky clean...'

`Come on,' Paul added supportively. `This will be funny.' Finally, Andy
gave him a clearer look, a meeting of knowing eyes, their intimate bond
acknowledged. There was more laughter from Dubravka and Schar, and a grunt
of approval from Yedlin. Even Lascelles let out an uncertain few
`hahs'. Ritchie looked aghast but also peer pressured. He forced out a
laugh himself, shrugged, and threw his arms up in defeat.

`This is madness,' he declared simply.

`Come on,' prodded Martin playfully, `get up against the wall,
short-stuff...' More manly laughter, and the strangely tense group closed
in a little more, their bodies shifting closer in the hot wet air, as Matt
made a show of stomping between Andy and Fabian and throwing his hands up
against the shower walls like something from a crime film, planting himself
against the tiles and jutting his little rounded backside into the air,
legs spread as if ready for a police pat-down.

Suddenly, Andy was tossing the toy into Paul's slipper handys. `You do it,
Dummo,' he said, almost excitedly, `you sound more experienced...'

`Yeah,' agreed Schar vaguely, `you made big claims, you show us your
skills... hehe...'

`Do I not get a say?' demanded Matt sarcastically.

`Nah, you just shut up and relax your hole, you whinging bastard,' Andy
guffawed, patting his backside patronisingly and winking to the others at
large. Paul joined in the laughter and took up position behind Ritchie, a
bit unsure any of this was really fucking happening, taking the small oddly
shaped plug in hand, and then giving one of Matt's tight little buns a
squeeze so the winger sniggered and squirmed.

Paul could feel all eyes on him as he got to work, but he zoned out of the
banter around him and pushed the pointed tip of the rubbery device in
between those cheeks, and slid it forward. He ignored Matt's silly yelps
and laughs, and felt the other guys seem to close in more around his left
and right, and pushed more. This thing was a lot gentler than the toy he'd
sampled in DeAndre's bed, or some of the things he had brought round to try
on Andy before finishing the job himself... he could feel this thing
starting to slide into Ritchie already, could it really be that easy?

`Oh shit,' Matt announced in confirmation.

`How is it?' demanded Jamaal almost breathlessly.

`Look at his face!' hooted Dubravka.

`Wank your dick,' suggested Carroll a little less obnoxiously, `that will
help you relax, mate...'

Paul focused on gentle strokes, pulling back a little and letting the plug
tickle about the lad's narrow crack a bit more before pressing forward and
easing it into his hole, lubed by hot soapy water. He could feel his own
dick twitching and waking between his hairy wet thighs. He glanced his eyes
up to the looming figure of Andy, who was patting Matt on the shoulder and
laughing uncomfortably. Next to him, Dubravka was openly pulling on a
gently stiffening cock and watching Paul's hand motions intently.

`Let me try doing it to him,' the Slovak suddenly suggested, and Paul let
out a nervous laugh before letting go of the butt plug and stepping aside,
taken aback by the goalkeeper's sudden enthusiasm for the job. `How this
feeling, Matty, hah?' he demanded loudly as he resumed Paul's duties and
pushed the plug a bit more forcefully between the cheeks.

Paul put a hand tentatively to his cock, and dared to meet eyes with Andy
again, and knew they were both recalling their own exploits, in here, and
at the New Year party, and that intense afternoon... he could see Carroll
was getting stiff too, for fuck's sake. The atmosphere was steamy, both
literally and figuratively. He looked over to his left, saw Schar really
beginning to wank, and DeAndre hesitantly fumbling with himself, and Jamaal
looking about, a bit lost.

Dubravka had finished stuffing the plug into Ritchie, and was stepping
back, idly stroking on his own semi, and hooting with laughter as Matt
straightened up and waddled around in a circle for a moment, getting used
to the full sensation in his backside. `Holy fuck,' Ritchie announced, when
he spotted Schar so calmly playing with his full hard-on. `You turned on
watching me get stuffed like an F-ing turkey, pal?!'

`I am just horny from playing football!' Fabian responded calmly,
dismissively, utterly unbothered by anyone's possible judgment as he leant
back under the shower spray and teased his prick with long slow strokes.

`You're not exactly, er, flaccid yourself, mate,' Lascelles pointed out,
giving the cocky short guy a firm nod. Paul followed his eyes to the rising
shape of Matt's disproportionately generous meat. `God,' the captain
exclaimed ironically, `are we ALL gonna start tossing off...?'

`Why not?' grunted Martin bluntly, taking his nob in hand. `No harm in it.'

`Aye,' agreed Carroll's voice a little hesitantly, `it's just us lads,
so...'

`I'm going for it,' DeAndre announced firmly, backing off towards his
corner shower and whacking it on as he also whacked off his veiny member.

It was a line of them now, handling their pricks shamelessly against the
rushing showers, dripping soap suds and erotic energy. Yedlin was doing it
a little shyly, leaning one forearm against the wall and dipping his
carefully woven cornrows under the showerhead whilst furtively wanking off
towards the wall. Next along, Schar was much more open, pulling on his long
thin erection with a face of content self-pleasure, clearly unbothered who
chose to look towards his exposed activity, tickling his own bollocks with
his other hand as he did. Between he and Paul, Jamaal was stood a bit
hunched, but was reaching down to tug very gently on his own member, which
had responded less immediately to the naughty silliness of the whole
interaction. Paul himself was pulling on his erection with slow but steady
moves, wildly turned on by all he had experienced here tonight. And next to
him, to his surprise, Matt Ritchie had gone from hoots of derisory laughter
to groans of pleasure – it was obvious that the toy up his backside was
driving the Scotland national player into a frenzied jerk-off, leaning his
back to the tiled wall to support himself as he did so. Beyond him, Andy
was looking on wide-eyed and laughing eagerly, whilst toying with his own
massive boner. Paul surmirsed that the big striker had been horny all day,
secretly holding that thing up his crack as he got on with all the hard
work at training. Lastly, Dubravka had one long arm reached to the wall to
support him, and his other was twitching with muscular power as he
furiously jerked on his decent-sized erection, a little red-faced with the
exertion.

Paul realised how openly he had been staring at the men's tools but laughed
to himself: all rules were broken here, so much for that strict code. He
lingered luxuriously against the heat of his shower, teased his dick with
great enjoyment, and marvelled at what a bunch of men could get up to when
the horny mood really took them by surprise. Not for the first time this
season, he wondered what weird power had suddenly started turning his most
repressed fantasies into snatches of lurid reality...

`Fucking hell,' Ritchie rasped. `This thing definitely feels... you
know... extra intense...'

`I bet it does!' chuckled Schar with the lazy groan of someone deep in
their own wanking, close to cumming. `You dirty English fuck... I take back
the word prude, ha ha...'

`I ain't English,' Ritchie claimed playfully, feeding the lads' longrunning
joke about his dubious claims to Scottish playing rights as an easy career
move. `This is prime haggis here in my fist, you fuckin'
Toblerone... Mmm... god... should this feel as good as it does, hah?!'

Their banter was interrupted by the loud, animalistic graons of the
Slovakian goalkeeper. Paul's, and he suspected a couple of the others',
eyes shifted that way. Still propping himself to the wall with one taut
arm, Martin pulled his cock to completion, splashing his cum amongst the
spray of the shower at his toes, streaming into a drain. He gasped
luxuriantly and his moans quickly turned to throaty laughs. He made some
jokey curse in his own language, and then shook off both arms with more
filthy chuckles.

Next came Yedlin his more discreet corner, having clearly been going for it
quite intensely in the past few minutes. Perhaps he hadn't blown a load in
a while. His suppressed groans of delight earned some chuckles of
appreciation from one or two of the others, and Paul glanced over just in
time to see him squirt at the wall. Wow.

`Nobody ever mention that Andy C's butt plug made me cum,' grunted Ritchie
playfully, and Paul looked around just as his close shower neighbour bust
his nut. The short guy's big allegedly Scottish prick burst with a little
fountain of white goo. Like Dubravka, his ecstatic moans were mixed with
self-deprecating laughs and he practically collapsed against the shower
wall for a minute of recovery. As he reached under his ballsack and
awkwardly removed the toy, Dubravka and Yedlin were already crossing the
room for their towels, their appetite for this silliness over now they had
already cum. The greeny-blue butt plug rolled awkwardly across the soaked
soapy floor and settled by a drain, and Paul watched it with a titter of
amusement. Next to him, he heard Schar let out a long gasp of arousal, and
saw out of the corner of his eye the splashes of seed hit the tiles.

Soon, it was only the three of them left, watching Ritchie grasp at a towel
and follow the other three out through into the dressing room. Paul stood
by his inactive showerhead, pulling on his prick, and looking down at the
twisted lump of silicon that had been inside both his treasured Andy and
that laughing idiot, Ritchie... He glanced over as Andy shuffled closer to
him, closing the gap that Matt had left. Then he looked over the other way,
and saw how uncomfortable Jamaal looked, pulling on his big thick semi
(wow) with a frustrated frown on his face.

Paul gave him a thoughtful look. `You say you've never even had a bird's
pinky up your backside, man?' he asked in a low, jovial voice, emboldened
by all the transgression in the air.

Jamaal chuckled dumbly. `Fuck, no,' he said. `Nothing like that...'

`You saw Matty lad enjoy it,' Andy grunted more loudly.

`Yeah,' Paul murmured. `You wanna try it...?'

`I guess, sometime,' Jamaal said, `if my girlfriend ever-`

`I meant now,' Paul said, with uncharacteristic boldness. He slowed his
wanking and smirked at the captain, whose jaw had dropped a bit at the
suggestion. The big muscular captain wasn't reacting very strongly, but his
eyes were quite intense with thought.

Andy giggled softly. `Go on, mate,' he whispered, voice almost lost against
the sound of the showers. `He, er, knows what he's doing.' He nodded
meaningfully to Dummett. `It's just a laugh between mates, ain't it?'

Jamaal gave them both odd glares, almost angry, then contradicted this with
his words. `Don't either of you tell a fucking SOUL, okay?' he hissed. With
nervous chuckles, Paul and Andy, the two real Geordies, closed excitedly in
on him. Like Matt before, Jamaal turned his big body to the wall and
pressed his two bulging arms forward, hands splayed to the tiles, glancing
over his thick shoulder. `You keep watch, Carroll,' he barked.

`Oh, yes captain...'

Paul stepped up close behind him, daringly grabbed at one firm cheek. `You
need to relax a bit, skipper, or it won't go in... trust me, it'll
feel... sweet...' He planted his left hand against the other man's lower
back, feeling the soft skin and toned muscle, then ran it down over one
thick cheek. Lascelle's big brown backside was thicker and rounder than
Andy's, an impressive bulge of strong glute. He slid his left index finger
into the downy furrow and prodded just above the hole. Jamaal made a
nervous half-moan of sound. Paul, excited by this final threesome, reached
his right hand out, and caught the tip of Andy's massive erection with
it. Unseen by Jamaal and anyone else, he closed his figners about his big
lover's rod, and guided Andy closer to his side so he could wank him off
with one hand whilst his other began to explore Jamaal's backside. Between
them, Paul tensed with excitement, feeling empowered by his position here,
pleasuring two beautiful strong men and playing the sight of the other four
over in his head: Fabian's handsome face as he came, Ritchie's groaning
laughs of climax, Dubravka's course openness, Yedlin's shy excitement
and... mmm, now, the tight hotness of the captain's hole on his finger, and
the huge presence of Andy's erection brushing his hip.

Tensing and flinching at the questing finger in his backside, Lascelles
leaned more heavily into the wall with one arm, then began to jack off with
the other. Andy made moans that sounded encouraging but had more to do with
Paul's eager tugs. Then he reached over and Paul tingled delicately at the
feel of the big married man grasping his prick. It had already been in
Carroll's virgin hole, once, yet this handjob now felt so much more
transgressive and intimate. The three-way action progressed with delicious
long moment after moment, undisturbed by the others, but so vulnerable to
the slightest interruption. All three knew they were going too far. The
mutual wanking of Paul and Andy would shock the others who had just engaged
in such open masturbation, and the finger in the captain's bum was so much
more private than the silly toy action the whole group had observed... or
did any of those rules and distinctions exist whatsoever?

Paul didn't know or care. He pushed his solitary finger deeper into
Jamaal's untouched anus, and felt his own cock near satisfaction. `Oh god,'
he thought aloud, `oh my god...'

Andy came before him, his huge rod quivering and tightening before
spurting. The 6'4 striker made a noise like some wild animal as he
climaxed. That sound drove Paul over the edge, and in turn made him dig his
finger deeper, and he knew he was making Jamaal explode too. It was only
then that he realised his own stream of cum was mingling with Andy's, and
both men's loads were landing on the meaty backside of their captain, who
was yelling out his own orgasm in front of them. Paul and Andy's eyes met
in amused horror: Jamaal probably hadn't even felt it, here in the steamy
wet shower. Perhaps he'd never know that he had been covered in their mixed
spunk.

Paul took his hand reluctantly from Andy's nob, and guided his finger out
of Jamaal with as much care as he could, and then ran both hands under the
steady stream of hot water, blinking it out of his eyes, his body heaving
with sexual exertion. Andy laughed and gasped and slapped his shoulder. In
front of them, Jamaal straightened up a bit, adjusted his muscular bulk,
and then looked over a shoulder at them, seeming not quite able to face
them.

He cleared his throat and spoke with the most forcedly masculine voice he
could. `That was a bit odd, right, lads?' he said with hollow peals of
laughter. `I mean...' More forced chuckling. `Shit. Thanks, I guess?
Hah...' And with that he slapped one hand to each of their shoulders in a
gesture of captainly superiority. `Best kept between us...?'

`Lips sealed,' Andy murmured.

`How was it?' Paul pushed cheekily. Jamaal just gave him a funny look, eyes
bulging, then muscled between them and left the steam of the showers,
hurrying for his towel. The two Geordies suppressed laughter, and once he
was fully gone, Paul dared a gentle wet spank to his big pal's backside,
and reached for the soap to fully clean his naughty finger. They lingered
under the hot spray for a minute or two longer.

`Thanks,' Andy grunted, eventually, in a very low, confidential voice.

`For tossing you off?' Paul asked, bemused. The formality and sincerity
felt out of place.

`No,' Andy muttered, `for... stepping in... when Ritchie...'

`Oh. Yeh. Right...'

`But, er, that escalated quickly!' They both sniggered. `Poor skipper... I
hope he's going to be walking okay after you...' More sniggering. `You
crazy fucker.'

`He wanted it,' Paul whispered smugly, allowing himself a moment of pure
satisfaction at what he'd got to do to their leader on the pitch, who he'd
been admiring from afar for so many months, if not so idolizingly as his
feelings for Andy here. He eyed the tall, magnificent Tynesider, and
finally dared to ask what he had been thinking for these past few
weeks. `So... your wife, did she... Well...' He grinned. `Did you get
pegged?'

Andy looked a little less open and satisfied at this, but he nodded his
head. `Yeah, we er... tried it out. I'm not sure she wants to do it again,
I think she's... er... happy that I'm... punished.'

`Oh. Right.'

There was another question, of course, that was an instant follow-up to the
first, but Dummett could no way bring himself to ask for that
comparison. How could he? It would be insane. And the answer would only
crush him. He shrugged it off, twisted off the control for the shower, let
the last droplets run down his naked body, over his wilting hard-on, and
sighed out his sexual satisfaction. Next to him, Andy did the same, then
reached over slowly, and stroked his gently drooping cock for a brief
tender moment, so their eyes met once more.

`The toy felt horrible,' Carroll admitted, and at first he sounded sad, and
it was Paul's empathy that lit up for his friend, but Andy had more to
say. `Horrible,' he repeated quietly, `compared to...' He faltered,
coughed, squeezed Paul's prick privately then let go of it. `Compared to
you,' he finished, in a whisper, and with that, he backed off, out of the
steam, and headed for his towel. Paul stared after him, mouth hanging open,
once more watching the light jiggle of his heavy hairy cheeks, and
remembering how good it had been to pound him into that marital bed.

Holy shit.


**FIRST VISIT BACK TO NEWCASTLE IN A WHILE - ARE PEOPLE KEEN TO READ MORE?
I THOUGHT A MORE LIGHT BIT OF FILTH MIGHT BE NEEDED AFTER THE DRAMATIC
MAGUIRE/SHAW CLIFFHANGER... GREAT TO HEAR HOW MUCH PEOPLE ARE ENJOYING THE
SERIES, KEEP READING! WHO DO WE NEED TO SEE NEXT?**