Date: Sun, 18 Feb 2024 16:10:57 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 389

Part 389: Portuguese Tart


The 23-year-old winger loved playing for Wolverhampton Wanderers,
comfortably settled at the West Midlands club since his late teens, part
of the heavy Portuguese contingent that partly defined its squad; he'd
steadily established him as one of the main performers on the Wolves
team, and finally felt like he was coming into his prime as a fierce
attacking player. He was popular on the team, with the coaches and the
fans, and happy to often be the handsome smiling face of his Premiership
club - especially on a Saturday like this when his side had beaten a
supposedly `bigger' club like Tottenham Hotspur, 2-1 away, and he could
really bask in the applause of their travelling fans...

But there was one aspect of Wolverhampton life which gave Pedro Neto some
cause for regret: he really did miss their former captain, Conor Coady.
Pedro had been a more bright-eyed and inexperienced player when he began
to bond with the confident English guy, though he was far less innocent
than he could look... he'd quickly become indispensable to the former
skipper once he began to suck his big cock at every available
opportunity, later offering up his pert shapely arse too. Coady had
always come at him with a certain hesitance and shame, aimlessly rending
him that he was happily married and a responsible dad - such
protestations had only ever made the older man more attractive and
exciting to Pedro, who loved the risk of playing around with the
Liverpudlian gent in toilet cubicles, their parked cars, the Coady family
home. Even when the disastrous inevitable occurred, and Mrs C walked in
on that sloppy blowjob on the rug, Neto had dared to hope that their
steamy affair could continue - `she will have to understand!' - but
nope, the Coadys had rapidly vanished from the West Midlands in no time
at all. Captain Conor had disappeared away to first Everton and now
Leicester, and the 23-year-old Portuguese twunk hadn't heard a word from
his lover since.

Handsome and horny Pedro was not exactly heartbroken - he'd had feelings
of a sort for Conor, but nothing deep and passionate, it had been far
more about physical needs and the sizzling excitement of risk - but he
DID greatly miss having regular access to a hot married DILF on the team,
and an outlet for his strong sexual energy when riding the captain's
cock in his marriage bed on quiet afternoons. So yes, as happy as the
young Portuguese international was at his Premiership club, it had begun
to lack a certain spark... and for a good length of time he had accepted
that, taking it as a sign to devote all of his vitality to his
footballing... for a time. But that time had ran out, and Pedro Neto was
HORNY; the Portuguese tart of Wolverhampton needed to replace his former
captain.


They were in a pricey little bar on the outskirts of Wolverhampton - the
West Midlands town was hardly a buzzing metropolitan for the well-paid
athletes, but it had its boujie corners where the players occupied VIP
areas on celebratory nights like this. Many of the men had come only for
one drink, a brief visit to the bar after the coaches returned them from
North London, but a small crew were still out enjoying themselves, and
providing Neto with vague shapeless prospects for a satisfying end to the
night.

Pedro was collecting another two bottles of champagne from the VIP
barmaid, hoisting the icy buckets and delivering them to the table
occupied by the other five men - he'd insisted on the fizz, brushing
aside banter from the others about overdoing it and acting as if they'd
won a cup. He'd insisted that they'd been too boring lately and needed
a proper night out, even if most of the other lads had already abandoned
them for their wives. A cheeky grin across his dark-stubbled face, the
5ft8 footy stud grinned encouragingly at his cronies for the night and
set about refilling glasses as if he was the VIP hostess himself, eager
to have everybody as drunk and excitable as he felt, and well on his way
to achieving that.

The Saturday hero was the most obviously drunk: the usual reserve of his
fellow 23-year-old Portuguese speaker was gone and Brazilian Joao Gomes
was demonstrative and brash under the influence of champagne and tequila
shots, his ego grown wild on his brace of goals and their victory over
Tottenham. Right now, he was narrating both goals to an attractive leggy
blond on either side of him, and demanding that Pedro fill glasses for
them; the central midfielder was quite visibly excited by his two female
companions, pulling greedily at the bulge in his designer jeans, either
trying to draw their attention to it, or already semi at the flirtations
of the two babes.

Their French-Algerian left-back, on the other hand, was a notable
exception, seemingly quite firm in his sobriety, but vaping obnoxiously
and ignoring the warning looks of the bar manager who hovered at the edge
of the VIP area noting how much they were spending. Rayan Ait-Norui was
unfazed by this, and the 22-year-old Frenchman lounged in a seat next to
Gomes' loud flirtations, looking studiously at one of the women but not
quite engaging with their excited Black Country accents or Joao's broken
limited English.

On the other side of the table, refilled glasses were greedily claimed by
two Englishman and an Irishman. Their newish full-back, Matt Doherty,
seemed to have put aside some earlier qualms about beating his former
club, and was now drunk enough to be full of victorious cheer like
everybody else, having left Tottenham for an unsuccessful stint at
Atletico Madrid before washing up here - the tall well-built Dubliner had
been unsure about champagne, insisting on whiskey, but he was now
knocking back the bubbles like an enthusiastic wedding guest, and Pedro
couldn't stop noticing how sleek and handsome the 6ft1 defender looked,
the oldest of their small clique.

Next to him, a guy who hadn't even made the pitch today was toasting the
victory as if it was all his own doing, red-cheeked and clearly
intoxicated - but Pedro had no resentment for the likeable loan
midfielder from Man City, happy to have the boy-next-door ginger out with
them as another drunk guy to ogle and contemplate. There was something
very bashful and unassuming about Tommy Doyle much of the time, but when
Pedro had laid eyes on the rock-solid celtic muscles under his kit, he'd
developed quite a liking for the 22-year-old bench-warmer... who had an
arm thrown about their current captain, a man who had taken the City
reject under his wing as he did with anyone else who struggled in the
squad.

Ah yes, the captain...

At the centre of their drunk gathering, laughing with his full broad
chest and downing his new glass of fizz in two gulps, was Max Kilman, an
Englishman who had become central to the Wolves squad after Coady's
shock departure, and who occupied a lot of Pedro Neto's naughtiest
thoughts when his lonely frustrations came to the surface. He reached
over and refilled Kilman's glass for him then sat down opposite,
grinning hungrily between the other men, and drinking from the bottle
himself. Yes, he thought decisively, I've been too well-behaved for too
long - tonight I need some cock.


The girls' flat was small and shabby, certainly compared to the kind of
luxury enjoyed by men on their Premier League salaries; clearly they were
uni students, but their excitement at having a small troop of
professional footballers swilling vodka in their tiny living room was a
mood that could match the enthusiasm levels of their visitors, who knew
that late night entertainment in Wolverhampton was somewhat limited.

Tonight, Pedro had no interest in the two blondes from the bar, nor their
scantily clad mixed-race housemate who had joined them here; he was
comfortably bisexual and had not turned his back on women since
discovering cock, but he could get with fawning female fans easily,
tonight he needed to replace Conor Coady.

He got up from his perch on the end of one small sofa and went to play
with the laptop hooked up to the speakers, putting on some Bad Bunny, and
jerking playfully about with a few dance moves whilst pouring a liberal
amount of vodka into his plastic cup. He smirked knowingly as one of the
girls, he had not caught their names, sidled away from the sofa, leading
Gomes by the hand; the 23-year-old South American looked this way and
Pedro winked encouragingly at him. He then took the warm patch of leather
cushion that they'd vacated and leered thoughtfully across at sober
Ait-Nouri, who puffed out bursts of vape like a fruity dragon, before
beginning to snog passionately at the other blond girl who was draped
across his lap.

Okay, he thought, so the Latino and North African studs were perhaps too
occupied to be led astray, but he had other options - he stared from this
plasticky leather sofa to the other, where the one sober girl was perched
delicately between the hulking forms of Doherty and Kilman, who seemed to
be competing to pay her the most obnoxious compliment, whilst charming
Doyle hovered on a folding chair just to the left, trying and failing to
chip in with the banter, and showing no obvious interest in the girl
herself. Hmm.

Unnoticed by the drunken interests of those around him, Neto got lightly
up from his seat, slurped on his drink, and moved towards the half-open
bedroom door; through it he could watch a vertical stripe of soft porn,
seeing the bare muscular back of the double goal-scorer, shirtless and
lain on top of his host, kissing and cuddling her, his strong
footballer's arse lifting and falling with a grinding motion, still
clothed in sagging jeans and a glimpse of designer underpants. Pedro
hovered at the door and licked his lips, touching himself through his
baggy cuffed trousers. He wondered if he could go in and make it a
threesome, wondered how open-minded the sexy Brazilian winger actually
was, and whether the UK student chick would enjoy having two Premiership
cocks in her tonight.

But Neto left them to it, pausing only to enjoy her moans as Joao's
kisses travelled down her front, and he saw that Rayan, sucking on his
vape, was now being led out through another door, the sexy Algerian
Frenchy - but the third flatmate was still giggling flirtatiously with
both Matt and Max, no decision reached. That left Tommy in a fairly
isolated position, getting up to fiddle with the drinks on the table, and
Pedro joined him thoughtfully, again interfering with the playlist, then
adding an extra measure to the drink that the 22-year-old Mancunian was
preparing. He stroked his shoulder a little. `Hey,' the Portuguese
winger purred to his newer friend, `did you not fancy any of the
girls?'

The ginger loan player turned an awkwardly shy expression his way,
freckled and blushing, and shook his head with an uncertain `No' when
Pedro prodded him further with another question: `Don't you see
anything you like?' Stroking and squeezing the increasingly muscular
youth by the shoulder, Pedro leaned in close, feeling more worldly and
confident than his temporary teammate, and murmured in his ear, `If not
the girls, is it Matt or Max you have your eyes on...?' It was a risky
question, even whispered against the boom of the speakers, at this
drunken hour of the morning, but the wide panic in Tommy's eyes told him
everything he needed to know, and he just smirked back at him; he carried
out his signature move, a long slow moistening of his dark pink lips with
his rather sizeable tongue, and then chuckled knowingly to himself.

He could see that Doyle was rattled, so he threw a matey arm about his
broad shoulders and squeezed the other 5ft8 player close to him as they
turned to look back at the three figures on the couch. `Is it captain
Max, or the big Irishman?' Pedro hissed sensuously in his ear, bringing
his face so close that he almost kissed his lobe, then letting go; Tommy
mumbled something incoherent and slid away from him to visit the student
flat's tiny bathroom - oh, silly boy, couldn't he take a bit of
teasing...?

Things on the couch had progressed - the girl had made a choice of sorts,
and was kissing heavily with the Wolves captain Kilman, stretching up to
snog with the very tall defensive player, but it was Matt Doherty's hand
that had slid in between her legs and whose long fingers were brushing
the front of her panties. Pedro stood in front of them, ignored, and
again stroked himself through his trouser pants, loving the sordid scene,
even if his options were running low - he loved the hints of sleaze in
his champagne-soaked teammates tonight, a change from the low-key
lifestyles around their mid-table club.

And then big lofty Kilman was getting up, a 6ft4 hulk who seemed to fill
this room, and the girl was getting up with him - but so was Doherty,
whose 6ft1 was rather dwarfed by the skipper. And between them the petite
sensuality of the excited girl, touched by both; she was taking them both
by a hand each and nodding to the remaining bedroom door that branched
off from this small central lounge. Soundtracked by the pulsing Latin
music from the speakers, there was a moment of comical British and Irish
awkwardness: Max and Matt seemed to realise at the same time that they
were sharing her, and stare each other down conservatively, not so
sexually open as someone like Pedro, but... they were drunk and horny and
she was pulling insistently on their big manly paws. Off they went, and
Pedro licked his lips again - three bedrooms around him, and four footy
hunks working their magic on thirsty uni girls. And stumbling back into
this space from the narrow brightness of the bathroom, Tommy Doyle looked
rather panicked to find the others gone.

`Where is...?' the red-haired lad began to ask, then seemed to become
shy about the name of who he was worried about; Pedro smirked at him, but
not unkindly, and he just played a guessing game in his head: surely it
was the captain that this cutey was hung up on, though it could just as
easily be the Dubliner...

`Everyone's having fun but us,' he said simply, watching Tommy's
lashes flutter and his hand come up to scratch the back of his neck.

`I might get an Uber,' murmured the slightly younger player.

`What's the rush?'

With that, Pedro leaned in and kissed him very softly on the cheek, then
steered him by the shoulder; gently, he guided the other medium-build
footy star to the least closed of the doors, and the pair of them paused
voyeuristically there, staring in through that strip of visibility. Joao
Gomes was really going to work now, his muscular back still on show, but
his firm caramel-coloured arse and hairy thighs also on show, the
Brazilian midfielder ploughing one of the blonde girls and making her
moan loudly. Tommy gawped, mouth hanging open a little, and Pedro stroked
the back of his neck, leaning in and kissing him again on the cheek -
`Are you jealous of her?' he purred.

But then he tugged back on the sleeve of Tommy's loose shirt, moving
towards the other door just to their right - it was only open a crack,
but Pedro could push softly to open it some more without disturbing the
occupants - again, they were hunched close together at the small cheap
doors of the student accommodation, and through even this narrow slit of
space, they could see that Rayan was having as much fun as their other
teammate; the other blonde was being fucked doggy style on her bed, and
if Pedro angled his head right, he could see the rippling beauty of
Ait-Nouri's six pack whilst the 22-year-old Frenchman thrusted against a
jiggling feminine booty, still puffing on his vape as he did.

Pedro tugged Tommy back from the door before he could lean in and creak
the door open too much - the boyish-faced ginger lad looked really taken
aback by these sordid glimpses, or the quantity of drink was just hitting
him. More confident, more controlled, more ambitious in his lust, Pedro
pulled him steady and pressed him to the wall of the room; he leaned in,
holding his sides, and kissed the sides of his neck, the bottom of his
throat, and then his nipples through the shirt, reaching down and
massaging his throbbing erection in the front of his baggy pale combat
pants. Tommy stared almost fearfully at him, but Pedro was sure this
wasn't the first time a man had touched him like this.

`What are we doing?' Doyle breathed cautiously. `Are you...?'

`Horny?' Neto insisted, irritated by the concept of labels. `As horny
as you.' And he pulled one of those shaky pale hands in against the
sizeable outline of his erection. `And the three girls are occupied,
so...' He pulled the other 5ft8 lad in and snogged him deeply, touching
tongues, before taking his hands and tugging him away from the wall; from
the two ajar doors close to them, showy feminine moans and fainter male
grunts sounded against the soundtrack of a reggaeton remix.

`Mate,' whispered the City loan nervously, but Pedro silenced him with
another kiss, and pushed a hand inside his pants and undies to fondle his
cock. `Should we open door number 3?' he chuckled teasingly, and he saw
a new wildness in those innocent eyes.

Both young men looked across beyond the two cheap sofas to the third door
that branched off from the messy lounge. Tommy looked breathless with
fearful excitement and Pedro laughed happily, delighted with how
tonight's drunken debauchery was turning out. He kept his hand in there,
tugging gently on the English manhood, and then bringing that paw up to
sniff the precum on his fingers, which he licked. He took Tommy by the
hand and moved the short distance to this invitingly closed door - it was
thin, but the music was loud, and nothing could be heard beyond it. `Go
on,' he urged, `open it.' Tommy stared at him and reached for the
handle, but seemed to stop short of pulling it down; the English youth
looked almost nauseous with secret lust and social awkwardness, but Pedro
just laughed at him, and snogged him again, really tonguing his sweet
mouth, then ruffling his hair and giving his rounded bottom a squeeze
through his baggy pants. He put his hand on top of Tommy's and
half-opened the door, and the two of them stared in.

It was the Wolves captain, big Kilman, who was sprawled out on the bed,
seemingly naked but for black socks and the wide-open resort shirt that
hung from his shoulders and biceps; he had his hands clasped behind his
head and was propped up against pillows and headboard, his chest and abs
glistening, but his crotch obscured by the bobbing head of the girl who
was sucking him off; and she in turn was near-naked, her pale brown body
stretched down between his long mighty legs; Matt Doherty was a hunched
figure at the foot of the bed, shirtless too, contorted into a strange
stooped posture so that he could press face down between her legs and
lick her cunt from behind, noisy and enthusiastic.

`Fuck,' breathed Tommy.

Pedro clutched his hand and retreated, pulling him back with him, and the
Englishman drifted with him, his face washed-out and his lip trembling.
Pedro, hungry, pushed him down into the couch, and paused only to dial
down the volume - not much, but enough to let the beats mingle with the
released sex noises of the three occupied bedrooms, a beautiful backing
track as he got on his knees and freed Tommy's cock from combat pants
and boxer briefs. He spat heavily on the pale thick shaft and then sucked
hungrily on it, making the shy lad's whimpers join the sounds of three
uni students being pleasured by Premiership hunks - the noises from the
first room becoming particularly loud, a fleshy slapping joining the
girl's squeals and Gomes' groaning.

Drooling, Neto stopped long enough to help Doyle unbutton his shirt; he
wanted to run his hands up that surprisingly dense six-pack and chest,
tweaking chunky nipples, enjoying the pale athletic body whilst gobbling
back down on his sweaty cock. He'd never have suspected such needy
openness in the midfield spare until tonight, but it made sense; he
should have gotten his hands on this ginger slut more quickly when Tommy
turned up at Wolverhampton last summer! But it was thoughts of pounding
Gomes and thrusting Ait-Nouri that flooded his mind, images of sprawling
decadent Kilman and hunched licking Doherty; he was turned on by all of
them, wanted to be in each of these three beds right now AS WELL AS
crouched at this sofa, noshing off the nervous ginger stud. His long
abstinence since jeopardising the Coady marriage had left him... greedy.

Instead, he focused his drunken libido on the here and now: Tommy's
pulsing erection and fat balls, the short curls of his red pubes, the
sweaty inners of his spread thighs. He held the lad's hands to each
sides, fingers locked, and bobbed his head up and down, putting his
strong skilled tongue to work, bringing the sexy guy to climax; he was
tempted to flip him over and see if he could take a fucking, but he
didn't want to take the shy guy too far! Besides, ginger Tommy was
clearly smitten with the skipper. And for all his drunken inertia, he was
sensitive and out of control - he was soon emptying his jizz on Pedro's
tongue, lips, dark Portuguese stubble. He lapped at it, licking it from
the cock and pubes and thighs, and from around his messy mouth. It tasted
good.

He sat back on his haunches and wiped the traces of spunk from his face
on the back of one arm, panting a little. In front of him, the
22-year-old was spent, his eyes closed and his mouth wide in a series of
throaty gasps; shirt hanging open and pants all about his hairy shins.
His cock flopped to one side against the greasy smears of seed and spit,
and his pale sturdy chest rose and fell. `Good boy,' giggled Neto - but
nope, this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, this wasn't quite a
replacement for his departed Captain Coady.

Rock-hard in his own slim-fit jeans, the 5ft8 cock-whore got up to his
feet and licked his salty lips, leaving Tommy to pant and tremble, and
checked in on the sexy North African: he hovered with his hand on the
door handle, watching as Rayan did his magic in missionary, the beautiful
smooth curve of his bum jerking up and down as he plunged himself into
her - Pedro wanted to sneak in there and kiss it, but he wasn't sure if
the French-Algerian would appreciate a helping hand; instead, he moved
back to the surprising kink of the two tall men who were sharing the
other flatmate - he was fascinated by the prospect of two rather
straitlaced men like Matt and Max engaging in a three-way. As he stumbled
eagerly to that far door and leant heavily on the handle, he leaned in
and saw that Kilman too was in missionary, his back and thighs and arse
exposed, roughly shagging his girl, whose brown legs were hooked about
his lower back whilst he gave her his all. And this, Pedro quickly
noticed, left a shiny-mouthed Doherty floating awkwardly to one side,
hand stuffed into the front of his boxer shorts, jeans about his ankles.

As drunk horny Neto floated on the threshold of this third small bedroom,
Matt shot him a wary look, seeming surprised to be observed; the 6ft1
Irish hunk said nothing, but his frustration and impatience was obvious
on his face. Pedro, drunk on champagne and cum, lurched his way, and
stroked his bare upper arm. `Enjoying the view?' he quipped at the new
defensive player, who stared hard at him, looking annoyed - not far from
either of them, the huge naked body of their captain continued to pound
into the screaming wetness of the room's occupant.

Not a word passed between the big full-back and the grinning shorter
Portuguese player; there was a special boldness that could only exist at
2am in a pool of champagne and vodka, with one masculine footballer
already sucked dry in the next room. As if Kilman and his shag were miles
away, Pedro Netro sank back to his knees on the cheap carpet, licked his
lips ostentatiously, and stared demandingly up at the former Hotspur.
Pedro could have no idea that stony-faced Matt Doherty had enjoyed his
first man-on-man blowjob shortly before his Madrid stint, his cock
devoured by his close pal Eric Dier, and that the shocking enjoyment of
such taboo had played on the Dubliner's mind during his entire
frustrating spell at Atletico. There could not have been a more sexually
charged and ready recipient stood in front of the cock-hungry
23-year-old; with the mixed-race girl gasping in the background, and the
sloppy wet slaps of Kilman's plunging cock, Pedro proceeded to pull down
the boxers and kiss the low-hanging Celtic balls. He opened his mouth
wide and took the near-hard stretch of cock inside it, bringing it
swiftly to full veiny hardness - with the same sloppy frenzy that he'd
pleasured Tommy next door, he began to suck off Doherty, maintaining
intense eye contact with that long frosty face. This, he thought, was
more like it - Doherty had the same steady macho energy as Coady, if less
jovial and playful, and he was tall and imposing; as cute as he was,
boy-next-door Tommy was not his type.

The risk in here, too, drove him wild, and he jerked himself through the
flies of his jeans, devouring Matt's long powerful tool in a hurry; if
the frantic fucking behind them stopped at any point then either Max or
his lover could look this way and see a shocking scene. But he sucked on
regardless, drunk and reckless and sure that he could swallow his second
load of the night in no time. Matt's face glowed with sweat and he
chewed his lip; Pedro thought about seeing him with his face pushed into
that girl's cunt, and he felt even more devoted to servicing him. Soon
he was getting a gobful of cum that was salter and more bitter than
Doyle's, but lapped up with equal gusto.

When Neto left the bedroom, the girl was screaming `Fuck me Max' and
Kilman sounded like he might be climaxing; he was aware of tall brooding
Doherty drifting out after him, clumsily pulling clothing on - and Tommy
was passed out on the couch with his soft cock nestled between open legs.
But Pedro swanned past him and away from both red-blooded men whose balls
had been emptied on his stubbled mouth; he pushed his way into the first
of the three bedrooms, stroking his cock through the open front of his
jeans. In here, Joao and the first blond girl were kissing and stroking
each other, bu the fucking was over, a big soft Brazilian whopper
flopping limp between caramel thighs; Pedro stood near the bed and
grinned pleadingly at both fuckers. `Room for a little one?' he quipped
spitting in his palm and playing with his own generously endowed
erection.


By the time he was clambering into a tax home, Pedro had fucked two of
the horny female students and eventually spent his load on one's tits.
He'd enjoyed that but was sure it would be the two rushed blowjobs that
he'd remember in the morning when he was hungover and indulgent. Even in
the cab, he couldn't stop smirking across at Doherty, wondering if he
would be able to taste that big Irish rod again soon; a sleepy Tommy was
squashed between them, head lolling side to side, and the other three
were already en route in the first of the two hire cars. The girls,
sexually satisfied and greatly amused, were left behind to snore and
recover, the debauched couple of hours of bed-hopping over; false numbers
exchanged and tabloid scandals risked. Pedro had lost track of who fucked
who, but he knew mostly that he'd taken two delicious loads, and that
the spent studs were insensible in the same taxi back seat as he, cute
fluffy Tommy and hard severe Matt. He hadn't quite replaced Conor Coady,
necessarily, but he'd had great fun trying.




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

Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL
https://www.amazon.co.uk/hz/wishlist/ls/26BW3WSABBHNM?ref_=wl_share