Date: Tue, 17 Dec 2019 22:03:39 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads Part 7: Ros the Boss

Part seven: Ross the Boss


`Howz it goin @ footy babes?'

Ross Barkley smiled at the message notification on his smartphone, before
swiping to unlock and punching in his quick response, on his way out onto
the training pitch with his squad mates on a bright, chilly winter
afternoon in southwest London.

`Gd gd, just bored n thinkin of u!'

He slid the phone back into the pocket of his waterproof coat and broke
from walk to jog as he'd fallen behind a bit. He unzipped the coat and
tossed it aside like everybody else, down to the close-fitting training top
and sports leggings they were all wearing to stay somewhere approaching
warm as they got started on today's training, a big London derby with Spurs
looming at the weekend. Ross smiled faintly to himself as he got to work,
initially slightly distracted by the message but quickly getting his focus
back: he was a really dedicated, hardworking player and not about to get
totally slack just because his hot girlfriend was a bit bored at work.

He'd been going out with Zoe for a while but things were still fresh, which
was good as in the past he'd really struggled to get relationships going
– girls often seemed put off more than really drawn by his rugged good
looks, for some reason, and the whole `bad boy footballer' persona that
floated around even though he was a pretty steadfast guy.

Training carried on, with the guys' youngish manager Frank Lampard, much
respected for his local experience, barking out the orders and the lads
doing their best to keep up. There was a short break as they shifted from
whole-team work to smaller groups based on skill and position; with some
thoughts of the missus ticking along at the back of his busy brain, Ross
shuffled over to the discarded coats and kit bags to kneel down and fetch
his phone for a moment. He let his breath blow out in a misty plume whilst
he swiped open the phone to check.

`Thinkin of u 2 hun!' read the message, and there was a picture attached
– holy fuck! – he gazed adoringly for a moment at the close up of his
girlfriend's cleavage that dominated the selfie, grinned cheerily, and
paused awkwardly over his reply.

`Looking gr8 hun... wish I could get my hands on them'

Ross bit his lip excitedly while the message sent, and glanced up briefly
at a hurrying shout from his fellow midfielder Mason Mount, who was dashing
over to join some of the other pacey players in some sprint
exercises. There was a ping and vibration as Zoe's response arrived: `u not
gonna send me something back?' Fuck's sake, haha. Ross took a cheeky selfie
of his lusty grin, sent it, locked the phone and shoved it in his pocket
before hopping to his feet and lunging quickly after Mason to join the
midfielder exercise.

The training afternoon ticked on: Ross's powerful legs did their work and
he breezed through some challenging activities that had his slower
teammates panting and aching. Ross's strong thighs were the envy of many
lads on the squad, and anyone who'd seen him dash back and forth across the
field like a machine. Soon both he and young Mason Mount were really
working up a sweat all the same, and during a brief respite, Ross couldn't
held but glance longingly over to where he'd dropped his coat, wanting
another peek at that titty pic from his girl.

`What's up with you today?' the 20 year old Pompey lad piped up, knocking
elbows for a minute and panting out shots of misty condensed air. `Your
head not in the game?'

`Mm, oh, nothing much,' Ross mumbled back in his raspy Scouse accent. `All
good, Mount.'

`If you say so, Boss,' Mount replied, using the boys' affectionate nickname
for their powerhouse attacking midfielder, recently turned 26. Mount in
particular, a fellow recent addition to the team, really looked up to and
idolised the Liverpudlian beast.

`Head in the game,' Ross quipped cheerily, and slapped Mason on the
back. `Head in the game. Back to work.'

And on they went, back to work. The coaching assistant leading their group
was a bit whistle-happy and the pace picked up even more. By the time there
was another proper break, both Ross and Mason had glossy sweaty brows and
their skintight kit was clinging to wearying muscles. When Ross padded his
way back to check his phone, risking a bollocking or even a fine by their
pretty strict new manager Lampard, Mason trailed idly after him.

`Just a selfie of your face???' and then `Wanna see more than that babe!'
Ross read the messages and raised his thick brows in amused enjoyment, then
flinched when he noticed Mount leaning up next to him trying to sneak a
look.

`Oi, buddy,' rasped Barkley a bit irritably, paranoid, and leaning over to
shove his phone back away.

`You got a new girl on the go or something, mr phone addict?' chuckled
young Mason with a wink.

`No, no, just Zoe,' Ross said earnestly – he was a very faithful guy, no
time for cheaters, hated even the joking insinuation that he might. `Leave
it, mate,' he grunted.

`Soz,' Mason said brightly, still grinning, `just a joke. Fuck, this is
getting intense, innit? They must be fretting about those fucking Spurs.'

`Dunno why,' Ross said confidently, `we'll smash them.'

`Sure we will!' Mount agreed firmly. `Come on, warm-down time.'

Both lads skipped their way to join the rest of the full squad in a few
warm-down exercises, and before long the afternoon was finally called to an
end with a short evaluative speech from Lampard, and the lads and coaching
staff dispersed: some towards the changing rooms already, some to the gym
to do extra work, others to hang out in the training ground cafeteria for a
bit first. Barkley pulled on his overcoat, slipped the phone out, and
checked the next impatient message from Zoe: `Oi, u ignoring me hun???'

`Fuck no, just been so busy – sweating like a piglet hehe xx'

`Where's my pic back????' And yet again, there was an attachment –
Barkley clicked it open and let out a little whistle of delight at the arty
nipple shot she'd managed in the toilets of the salon where she
worked. Fucking hell, she was in a right mood today, wasn't she!

`What's that?' chirped his 20 year old hanger-on, appearing at his side;
Ross swerved the phone out of view and frowned at the youngster.

`What's with you today, nosey chops?' he snapped, but not aggressively. He
did enjoy Mason's light-hearted company and had a lot of respect for the
talented younger player. They'd spent time together on England call-up as
well as here at Chelsea, and he knew the bright young joker persona hid a
really fucking hard worker with a lot of unfulfilled potential. But still,
Ross really valued his privacy and wasn't keen on the hint of intrusion.

`Oh, alright, be a man of mystery,' Mason joked.

`Fine,' Ross sighed. `Just my bird, trying to flirt with me while I'm at
training. You know how they are.' He toyed with the locked phone, wondering
what he was going to try to do to entertain her in response to that last
shot!

Mason nodded along and seemed to take the hint to back off. Besides, a
bunch of the other younger players were hurrying by on their way into the
cafeteria, and Mount got swept up amongst them in a rush of post-training
banter. Ross watched them go then made his way in through the other
entrance, hastily thumbing in a message. `will send something soon hehe, if
u still in mood!'

The reply was fast and exciting, and made entirely of emoji.

Ross lingered for a moment in to the entranceway, then strolled along
behind some of the others into the changing rooms. The guys were scattered
out and mostly in a hurry, so Ross made his way round to the other side for
a spot of privacy. He slung his jacket on a hook and fished his bag out of
his locker, and then found his way to a full height mirror in the corner by
these lockers. Phone in hand, he tugged up about half of his long-sleeve
training top, exposing a good view of his pretty defined abdomen, gleaming
with training sweat. Snap, sent, winky emoji message attached.

Ross let the top drop, chuckled to himself, and sat down on the bench
beneath the lockers to start unlacing his trainiers. On the wooden bench
beside his thigh, the phone buzzed with a very rapid response – he
leaned over a bit to check. `u kno I luv that 6pack but... is that ALL I
GET?' Ross sniggered to himself at her dirty mind, and before he could even
reply, a follow up message and attachment came: he let out another little
whistle of desire at what he saw, a dark but revealing view down the inside
of a blouse, the curve of tits and the hint of underwear down below. She
must be so randy.

There were still a few guys drifting back and forth in this half of the
training ground's changing rooms, and Ross exchanged pleasantries for a few
minutes before braving his next picture message. He got up, turned his back
to the room, lifting his shirt a bit again for some abs, and pulled open
the front of his running leggings a bit so he could take a photo of his
lower abs and the waistband of his training briefs, a slight curve of bulge
showing just beyond. She'd love that. He smirked to himself as he sent it
and let the leggings twang back in place.

He tugged off his sweaty long-sleeve top and hung it on a spare hook, then
turned back in the direction of the full-length mirror to take a cheeky
side-view of his topless reflection, capturing a bit of bicep flexing along
with the toned muscle of his torso before sending this second pic off to
Zoe, who just replied with a slew of sexually suggestive emoji.

He laughed, glanced about him self-consciously to check nobody had been
watching him take this pic, and then kicked off his trainers. `lookin good
sexy boi, but wearing 2 muchhhh' He laughed at this, paused indecisively,
then headed away back through the changing rooms and off to the toilet
block at the far side. He slipped in, letting the door slam behind him, and
sussed it was totally empty, the cubicle doors all ajar and no sign of
life.

There was another big mirror in here, by the sinks past the urinal trough,
and Ross paced halfway through the toilet block, popped his phone resting
on a sink, and yanked the tight fitting tracksuit leggings down over his
thick thighs to around his knees, so he was pretty much standing in just a
pair of tight grey briefs that were bulging as thickly as he always did
round the front. Snap, winky face, send.

He looked admiringly at the photo on his own phone, allowing himself a
moment of vanity at how good his muscular silhouette actually looked in the
shot, and grinned eagerly at the arrival of her response. `phworr, big boy
barkley ... Hehe... but lemme see dat ass' Ross could have groaned: he
found it weird and frustrating how obsessed girls got with his big muscular
rear, and he took a fair bit of banter from lads on the team about it
too. A popular joke on the team revolved around him taking out Ass
Insurance with his first professional paycheck. Yes it was big, but it was
cos he did all his exercises properly unlike them!

But he didn't wanna spoil the run of dirty messaging, thinking about how
fun things would be when he got home to the missus in a few hours. Ok,
ok. He turned about and, with awkward flexibility, leaned around with the
phone to try and get a rear pic reflected in the same mirror – there it
was, the prominent mound of his strong glutes, framed in grey briefs that
could barely cover each cheek, tensed beneath his strong back and above
thick fluffy thighs. Snap, then – a loud flush, and footsteps as Mason
emerged from one cubicle, in the middle of sending a text.

`Who, Boss!' the young lad cried in bewildered surprise.

Ross spun round and almost tripped over the tight tracksuit pants around
his shins as he reacted to this disturbance. `What the fuck,' he barked,
`where did you come from? How long you been in there? Jesus...' Ross tugged
the leggings up but without much luck, as they were tight and bunched and
his tensed muscles were getting in the way. This resulted in him hopping
about for a mad minute in just the bulging briefs. Mason burst into quiet
laughter and waved a hand apologetically.

`Sorry, sorry, what the hell,' giggled the young Pompey boy. `I just had a
piss and then was sending some texts before I flushed... I wasn't like
HIDING or... What the hell you up to, Barks?'

`I... was... just...' There was no good cover for this. Ross sighed. `Just
sending a pic to the lassie,' he snapped. `Fuck's sake...'

`Of that big ass?!' remarked Mason. `God, you poser!'

`It was what she asked for,' Ross moaned back embarrassedly, tugging again
on his leggings. `And trust me, you smug twit, there is no easy way of
taking a good ass pic without a mirror! STOP sniggering at me, little
prick...'

`I ain't sniggering,' Mason said but could barely finish the comment
without bursting into more soft laughs. `Awww, sorry pal, just such an
awkward moment... you gotta admit! Chill bro, chill...'

Ross just groaned his response, leaving his pants at the top of his thighs,
briefs still exposed, and turned back to look at his phone – well at
least the girl had responded to the pic that had earned him this mortifying
moment! `oh yes boi, there it is... now get those briefs off bad boi hehe
xxx' and the picture with it... fucking hell... a close up of her knickers
and... was that a little wet patch of excitement over her...? Oh my god.

`What is it?' pestered Mason. `Oh wow, that's the shit she sends you? No
wonder you're in here doing a little fucking photoshoot you big poser...'

`Oi stop looking,' Ross complained, but his vulnerable embarrassment made
it hard to really get angrier at Mount, who had caught him being such a
dick in here – and Barkley knew that Mason could easily make great fun
of this by bursting through those doors and telling anyone else what he'd
caught the mixed-race midfielder up to in their communal toilets. Ross's
high cheeks burned and he just glowered at the 20 year old's admiring
smirk.

`She want more ass pics, does she?' Mason muttered cheekily. `You might
need a cameraman!'

`Oh sure,' Ross spat sarcastically, `like I'd want you perving on me!'

Mason seemed to have been joking one minute, then half-serious the next. `I
wouldn't be perving,' he protested quietly, `it's just you said how
difficult it was to take!'

`Well, difficult to take without making a prick of yourself,' Ross whined
back, rolling his eyes.

Mason seemed to pause and think for a minute and then nodded into the
cubicle. `Come on, it'll just take a minute,' he said casually, `and my
phone has a much better camera than yours, old man. You need to move with
the times.'

Ross gave him an are-you-serious look, but also became very aware of the
door behind him and the still-busy changing rooms beyond. Last thing he
needed was some other cunt wandering in any minute, and he still hadn't
quite yanked up his leggings, so... Maybe Mason was right anyway. He did
need to upgrade his Samsung. He followed the casual youngster into one of
the cubicles and pushed the door shut behind them, and as he did, rethought
the whole idea – this was gonna be fucking weird.

`Alright,' Mason said quietly, `am I doing an arse shot or...?'

`Er, yeh,' Ross mumbled.

`Okay, okay, lean on the cubicle wall... yeh like that... let me
just... right...'

Barkley leant his forearms onto the divide of the cubicles, tensed his
torso, and pushed his backside out a bit, the training pants sliding down a
bit so most of his grey-clad arse was out and on view. He leant his head
round to watch Mason take a couple of quick snaps with a thoughtful look on
his fresh slim face. `Oi, don't need to stare at me so much,' Ross hissed
self-consciously.

`I kinda do!' Mason protested. `Right, did she want them off...?'

`Er... well... yeh... but...'

`Oh mate – how many times have we showered together? No need to be shy!'

Ross huffed a bit, but conceded. He reached down, hooked thumbs into the
waistband, and slid the briefs halfway down the twin globes of his
behind. Mason let out a playful breathy whistle. `Fuck you,' Ross responded
firmly, but lost sight of Mount as the lad slid round behind him to get a
good pic of the tensed big cheeks.

`Pull `em down a bit more?'

`What?! Okay, okay...'

`Yeah, that's better. Fuck, you really are the J Lo of Stamford Bridge...'

`Oh, fuck you.'

And then the clatter of the door and the raised voices of two teammates
– Alonso and Zouma – bursting in to the use the urinals. Ross looked
instantly to the lock of the cubicle door to check it was firm, then
twisted his head to glare accusingly at his young companion, as if the
ridiculous predicament was all his fault and not his own. Loud banter
echoed over the cubicle door from the two pissing footballers, and Ross
carefully turned around to face Mason, trying to avoid any creaking noise,
and really glaring down at the shorter, slimmer midfielder in front of
him. But Mason just smirked, lowered the angle of his iPhone, and took a
snap of the view offered: Ross's broad firm pecs leading down to the valley
of his six pack, and the briefs at the front tugged down slightly by his
big rump, exposing the hint of a penis outline and the furry growth where
he hadn't shaved his pubes in a while.

`Great pic,' whispered Mount.

`Shh, fuck's sake...'

The echoing metallic noise of two active lads pissing in urinals echoing
about the room amidst laughter over some inane joke. Mason leant in a bit
to take another pic. Ross looked down, fuming, as Mason leant way too close
to his midriff and bulging crotch. But fucking hell would these pics do it
for his sexy missus when he got hold of them and sent them her way!

More loud laughs from the other two lads beyond the thin plyboard door, and
Mason was on his knees to get a really good close-up. Ross reached down and
really grabbed his package for a hot image, squeezing and pulling on it
while Mason carefully tilted the phone to the right angle and snapped away,
and... The slamming of the door, and a sense that model and photographer
were really alone in their cramped cubicle, Mason on his knees phone in
hand, Ross poised awkwardly against the divide with his legs apart and his
package in hand.

`That does look good,' Mount chuckled as quietly as he good.

`It better!' Ross hissed down.

`You gonna get it out?' Mason asked in a careful whisper.

`Huh?'

`Well, don't you wanna send her a... dick pic, too?'

`Yeah, but... I don't want you taking it...!' There was a long awkward
pause. But it was such a daft moment that Ross wasn't sure what to say or
do – he'd just let the stupid young twat photograph his bare arse, and
like he'd said, they'd showered together so often that... Oh, hell... He
reached more firmly and pulled down the front pouch of these tight briefs
until out flopped his soft meat, a circumcised monster dangling towards the
camera, and towards young Mason...

Mason didn't make a noise, just tensed and crouched and angled the camera a
few different times. `Er, you wanna move it a bit for a better angle,' he
breathed awkwardly, and Ross uncomfortably did as told, playing with and
shifting his thick flaccid snake a couple of times, but then stopping
irritably, no idea how the pics were looking and what Mount was really
after, or if he was just taking the piss after all, the stupid
prick... `No,' Mason muttered, `like this' and just like that, he pushed
Ross's cock up a bit and pulled the pants more to show a bit of bollock,
lifting the cock up more impressively. Ross flinched and tensed and gritted
his teeth. Snap, snap...

`Enough,' Ross snapped, a bit louder than he wanted, and straightened his
body up.

Mason shot upright opposite him so the two men stood face to face in the
very narrow space. `Mate,' he whispered, `these pics look so fucking good,
I'm an artist, hah...'

`Shut up and whatsapp them to me,' insisted Ross in a dark mutter, giving
him a prod to the chest, standing a good few inches over him, then
remembering his cock and balls were still out. He stuffed them awkwardly
away into his undies and tugged his leggings up firmly to protect whatever
shred of dignity remained: in front of him, Mason was still flicking
through his camera roll. How many fucking pics had the stupid kid taken,
for god's sake?? `And once you send them,' Ross urged suddenly, `make sure
you bloody delete them, you perv.'

`Yeh, I'll send them now,' Mason said, nodding furiously.

Ross rolled his eyes, unlocked the door, and escaped out of the cramped
space – it had been getting more claustrophobic and weird by the second,
and now he was sure it had been a stupid idea. God, all this for a bit of a
giggle with a girl he could already make cum easily when he wanted, why was
he even bothering?! Her pics had been fun, but... oh, yeh... He grabbed up
his phone from where he'd rested it on the toilet roll holder, and checked
his messages whilst Mason drifted past him flicking through his phone.

`come on, send me some fun... I'm really ready for u now hun...' And there
was a video attached. Fingers at work in her cunt, only 5 seconds of it,
but holy shit. Ross bit his lip and let out another sigh. He needed to
finish up here and get home from work asap for fuck's sake. His phone
started to ping like mad as Mason forwarded one after another picture
message.

`Good job I sent them to you direct and not in the group chat by accident!'
quipped Mason, but Ross just shot him a dark look, and stormed past to
swing the door open and back out in to the changing rooms. He heard Mason
call something apologetic after him but he couldn't be fucked with the
funny young lad right now – taking pics of your mate's arse and cock
might be fun and games to some weirdo on the south coast, but it was not
how lads played on Merseyside, and sometimes Ross got really fed up of the
weird lads down here in Chelsea!

He grabbed his things, took a quick shower, and got changed fast. Then he
began to drip-feed Zoe the pictures from Mason's work: they really were
good, much better quality for the other phone, and for Mason's steady hand,
and for the better angles another bloke could reach rather than trying to
use a mirror! And best of all, Ross thought, getting into his motor in the
car park, none of them were positioned to look like someone else had taken
them, so no way would he have to admit to his lady that he'd enlisted
another player's assistance, thank god! On the way out of the footy ground
and across busy South London to his girlfriend's apartment, Ross sent a pic
every 5 minutes or so to Zoe: first some angled shots of his brilliant
arse, then a few arty poses of his big, packed bulge, and then the nicely
framed shots of his soft cock... Soft! It wasn't soft no more, he could
feel the erection in his skinny jeans as he raced to meet her.

When Ross reached her apartment, she'd only just got back from work
herself. She buzzed him in, he hurried up to her floor, and once in the
door, took her in her arms. It was an amazing shag. The tension and
expectation of the picture messaging made it somehow doubly electric. Ross
was always a rough and powerful shag, but this evening he really went for
it, and nearly broke her bed. He made her cum three times before letting go
himself, and they fell into the sweaty satisfied sleep of young lovers.

It was a good few hours when Ross woke up, alone in her tangled
sheets. Muffled music from the apartment's small kitchen told him she was
preparing their dinner, and a window had been opened to air the bedroom
which stunk of rough sex. Ross lay there naked for a minute, feeling the
breeze on his bare skin. Then, somewhere on the floor near the bed, a phone
– his phone – buzzed and vibrated and began to ring.

Ross crawled his naked body to the edge of the bed and reached a muscular
arm out to grab up the phone. Aha, it was Mason Mount. Hopefully the prick
was ringing to apologise for being a pervy weirdo this afternoon! Although
to be fair, Ross was gonna have to thank the lad for his photography
skills, after the wildness it had brought out in his girlfriend, so... Ross
swiped to answer and held the phone up to his hear.

`Alright?' he drawled in a sleepy Scouse voice, full of the satisfactions
of the flesh.

`Ross,' hissed Mason urgently down the line. `Ross, mate...'

`Hey, Mason lad, what is it...'

`Ross, I got mugged,' Mason cried a bit pathetically down the
line. `Walking home from the tube, got fucking jumped by some blokes, they
took everything...'

`What?' Ross groaned sleepily. `Oh shit pal, you okay...? Did they hurt
ya...?'

`No, no, not too much... well, a bit, but... fuck, mate, they took my
PHONE,' Mason whined.

`Yeah, and your wallet? How much money did they grab? Have you rang the
police?' Ross asked sympathetically, starting to wake up.

`Ross,' repeated Mason in a desperate voice, then a long pause. `Ross mate,
they took my phone... buddy, I hadn't... Mate they have my phone and it has
all those pictures of you on. It wasn't even locked, I was in the middle
of...'

Ross lay there, dangling at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, listening
to a panicked and presumably very distressed at what had happened to him,
gibbering on. Some pricks out there had just mugged the slight young man,
took his wallet and his phone, and on that fucking phone... It all settled
into place in Barkley's slow, sleepy mind. Holy shit – what would happen
if the robbing cunts found his photoshoot?


*HOPE YOU ENJOYED... COUPLE MORE GUYS ADDED TO THE MIX, PLENTY MORE TO COME
FROM THESE TWO I RECKON. FEEDBACK APPRECIATED AS ALWAYS!