Date: Wed, 8 Apr 2020 22:36:31 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 77: Fantasy Football

Part seventy-seven: Fantasy Football


At last, she screamed out her pleasure, and the job was done.

He shrunk back from her beautiful slim body, two fingers aching from the
rough frigging that had finished his girlfriend off, his own cock still
rigid and aching between his strong young legs. She writhed and gasped and
let out a satisfied giggle, and lifted herself to kiss him. With one hand,
he stroked her arm lovingly as they snogged, and with the other, he reached
for the duvet, and pulled it towards him and across his crotch, eager to
hide his own failure to climax. His failure would be swiftly interpreted as
HER failure, and he had no wish to send THAT message this morning.

Dan James, wearied and frustrated, sank back into the bed, curled against
her, and submitted to more dry, dehydrated kisses after the long early
morning session between the quarantined lovebirds in his Manchester home.

`Oh that was so good,' whispered his girlfriend, resting back against the
bank of pillows and fluttering her eyes sleepily towards him, her heavy
South Wales accent thick with the sleepy satisfaction of her orgasm.

`Yeh babe,' he replied quickly and earnestly, finding her hand to squeeze
under the sheets.

`YOU were so good,' she added more firmly, twisting her head a little to
smirk at him. `You are getting so much more...' Giggle. `Rough,' she
settled on, more giggling, and another kiss. `Not just the gentle lover-boy
from Swansea days...'

He smiled but awkwardly, feeling the implied criticism amongst the
affectionate praise of his love-making. He tried to shrug off that insecure
reaction, nestled here in their big comfortable bed in the home they
shared, but a chip had been on his shoulder for a while; perhaps it had
been there long before they met, perhaps it was just being 5ft7, perhaps it
was moving from one club to another and always being treated as the
baby-faced new kid no matter how skilled or experienced he became. She
liked to claim that his cute innocence had been what attracted her to him
in the first place, so why did she always hint she wanted him to be more
rugged, more assertive, more manly?

But then... she wasn't the only one in this relationship with unfair
expectations, was she?

They lay side by side, alternately yawning and separating then returning
for another cuddle or lingering snog, their bodies still warm and clammy
from the hour-long fuck that had started the day. Beneath the duvet, he
carefully angled his hips away and waiting for his unspent boner to sink,
fearing her confusion or annoyance to find he had `faked' his finish whilst
inside her. She seemed too wrapped up in her own enjoyment right now for
that to be a major danger, he noted gladly, and nuzzled her affectionately
as she spoke.

`And er, how was it for you?' she eventually asked, a tiny note of concern
in her singsong Welsh voice.

`Mmm? Oh, fantastic...' He didn't think it sounded so empty and ridiculous
til he heard his sleepy Yorkshire accent out loud, conscious of the
perfunctory answer and the lie between his legs. To escape further
questioning, he wriggled away a little and reached beneath the sheets to
find and pull on the pyjama bottoms he'd been wearing in the night.

`I mean,' she added slowly, `the... new stuff...'

He concentrated on tugging the long cotton bottoms up his legs and over his
thighs and plump buttocks, shoving his stiff prick into them and willing it
to disappear now there was no occasion for its rigidity. `Mmm?
Oh... yeah... so good...' A bit more convincing this time? He turned his
head a little to flash her one of his cheekiest grins. She rolled over his
way more.

`When I tweaked your nipples, how was that? I was worried it'd hurt.'

`It didn't hurt. It was good.'

`The spanking, then? Was that fun?'

`Heh... it was... interesting...'

`Was it hard enough?'

`It was... fine.'

`Fine!' She rolled her eyes and wriggled away a bit, her offence
obvious. `Fine. That's what every girl wants to hear, isn't it?'

Dan sensed the relationship tightrope wobble beneath his bare feet, and he
reached a hand over to stroker her waist. `Hun, it was so hot,' he said
more passionately, `it was just... you know. New. We're just... trying
stuff, yeh?' He leant in and kissed her bare, smooth shoulder.

`Yeah, new to both of us,' she said, a little bit harsh and defensive, no
longer smiling at him. She stared up at the ceiling and he felt fresh pangs
of guilt and inadequacy. `I know you said you wanted me to try being
more... dominant, but... I dunno what to do and not do. I dunno what's
just... silly. When we tried the handcuffs last month, you said...'

`I know, I know,' Dan mumbled sheepishly, turning his own body away,
mirroring her discomfort. He felt himself blush and it wasn't just the
post-coital flush from exertion and passion. And there had been passion, of
course there had, just not... not...

`Was it not enough?' she asked, nervous and insecure rather than accusing
or unkind.

`It was amazing,' he said, and this time his earnestness was
Oscar-worthy. He turned his head only slightly and gave her a deadpan
expression of the pleasure he wished he felt. She met his eyes, hesitated,
then grinned.

`It was,' she agreed, and another throaty giggle burst out. `God, you feel
so good inside me. My own little footballing hunk, babe. Hehe.'

He closed his eyes, feigning a lazy sleep, and turned over her
words. `That's me,' he said jokily, squeezing her palm under the covers,
and manoeuvring his body a little further away before his errant boner
brushed her hip where it tented his tartan PJs. It would sink down any
minute, and he could drift back to some leisurely sleep before his
Wednesday morning workout.

After a while, he felt rather than saw her body twitch into movement, the
slight bounce of the mattress as she slid fluidly out of bed and onto her
feet. Opening his eyes again, he caught sight of her bare back, perfect
rounded bottom, a side-view of one tit. Stunning, and his, and yet...

`I'm gonna have a bath, hun. You sleep in. I'll make us brunch after.' She
blew him a kiss as she fussed about picking up a robe and finding her novel
and other luxuries for a long bathtub soak. He watched her wordlessly, just
a little anticipatory groan at the mention of brunch.

Once she was gone, he lay still and idly played back the morning romp: the
initial fluttering of excitement, wandering hands still half-asleep, and
then that lovely girl's attempts to get rougher and more dominant with him,
the awkwardly broached requests of many recent conversations. And it had
been fun, it had. It had excited him, she always did. It was
just... gritting his teeth, he twanged at the fresh boner in his bottoms,
and resented it as if it was a totally separate entity, a troubling
doppelganger getting in the way of his relationship. He knew what the
problem was, he just didn't want to confront it head-on.

Listening to the echoey rush of a filling bath and the switched on Radio
One of his girlfriend in the bathroom down the upstairs hallway, Dan slid
out of bed and pottered the room alone. He paused by the full-length mirror
in the corner and allowed a moment's vanity, admiring the boyish face and
curly mop of dark brown hair, the very toned body, exposed on the upper
half. The tartan printed cotton of his pyjama bottoms pulled tight between
his rounded arse and the prominent hard-on at the front. Fuck's sake. His
attention was drawn to the developing problem of a spot somewhere on his
cheek, one of those little red pimples that felt huge.

Huh, well, one of the advantages he'd learned about being in a long-term
relationship was the cornucopia of skincare products that followed women
everywhere. Boner still bouncing a little in the front of his pants, the
22-year-old footballer skirted the bed and went to the set of drawers in
the table on her side of the kingsize. He knelt and tugged open the middle
drawer and rifled through its contents until his fingers were around a tube
of something he might loosely term `spot cream'. But as he did so, he
noticed something else amongst the chaotic contents, something he was only
vaguely aware she owned: in amongst the make-up wipes and random products
was a stubby pink length of rubber that was so absurdly phallic it could
only have one purpose. The Welsh national player smirked to himself for a
moment at the naughtiness of the toy, and the knowledge it was in here
gathering dust, because after all, he was pretty good at keeping her
satisfied.

He clutched the skin-cream and slid the drawer shut, shaking his head at
his own ego and titillation, distracted at least from the awkward
anti-climax of this morning's sex.

Back in front of the mirror, he rubbed a blob of the cream onto the top of
his cheek and dismissed the pimple as a non-event. He laughed aloud at his
own lingering teenage vanity and gave a cheeky wink to the cherub-like lad
in the reflection, then clambered lazily back into bed, and reached to the
other side-table to snatch up his iPad in vague notions of loading up a TV
show or a podcast or just cruising social media, fan mail, whatever.

But a pressing matter was, quite literally, pressing at the front of his
PJs.

He huffed in annoyance but even as he cradled the tablet in one arm, he
reached under the covers and allowed himself a teasing stroke of the
outline in the cotton. His dick responded with irritating immediacy, unlike
the weirdly numb state it had reached when thrusting into a wet pussy not
half an hour ago. It had felt like he might fuck for hours and not shoot,
but now it felt as sensitive as if he'd regressed to his early teens!

He had already loaded up Facebook on the iPad, his innocent time-killing at
odds with the unconscious fumbling of his other hand. But after all, she
was in the bath now, would be for a while. He could entertain himself for a
bit if he needed to, right? He'd already put all his energy into her
pleasure!

The trouble with this conflicted behaviour, the casual loading of social
media with one hand and the idly grabbing of his clammy dick with the
other, brought a perhaps inevitable consequence: just as he pushed down the
stretchy waistband of the pyjamas and took his dick in hand, he was staring
at a picture posted by his teammate and captain, Harry Maguire. The big
blockheaded fellow Yorkshireman gurned into the camera in some sickly pose
with his fiancée, grinning out of the screen into Dan's screwed up face,
and making his cock twitch and burn against his palm. For a moment he
froze, annoyed by this unfortunate coincidence, but then the desire to just
finish off his inconvenient arousal took over and he pressed his thumb to
the man's name, skipping to his profile and then an array of other
photos... he scrolled down, got some pics from a Maguire family holiday
last year, and saw the big man unclothed, posing on the beach and on a boat
in his damp trunks... fuck...

The dick in Dan's hand leaked precum on his sweaty fingers and he grimaced
at his own inexorable desires for such a man.

Mutual friends decorated the side of the screen, and Luke Shaw's pretty mug
grinned reassuringly at him, blue eyes sparkling. Dan pushed on it and was
taken to another thread of photos, mostly in United kit but some more
casual, and a couple of old holiday pics looming, the defender's chunky
smooth chest on show and his well-kept beard framing that adorable
grin. Fuck off!

But Dan James' mind was already racing back into late last year, to that
string of unexpected encounters... that first sniff of cocaine at the
Christmas party, the taste of Harry and Luke's big dicks in a disabled
bathroom... He squeezed his dick and felt his frothy pre-cum stain his
thumb. A groan escaped his tight lips and he glanced at the half-open
bedroom door, the gentle splashes of bath-time audible down the
hallway. Whilst he hopped out of bed and pushed the door more fully shut,
his mind was still pawing through the past: a giddy group play with those
two and with young Greenwood, and then that night in Shaw's flat when
he'd... he'd...

It wasn't just his cock throbbing in his hand now, he could feel his
arsehole twitching at the memory.

Dan closed his eyes, pushed the iPad away, tried his best to suppress the
familiar longing. But again his hands did what they wanted. Whilst he
pulled slowly up and down on his dick with his right hand, his left hand
was fingering at the tight bulge of his balls and reaching below. His
fingertips tickled his own crack and he shuddered. He shouldn't still be
thinking about this.

Another uninvited thought joined the party, and it was pink and perfectly
formed and lying in a thin layer of dust at the back of that miscellaneous
drawer. Dan opened his eyes again and darted them curiously at the little
bedside table across the mattress from him... then to the closed bedroom
door, then his guilty expression in the nearby mirror. Cherub no more.

Before he could stop himself, Dan was clambering over the bed, feeling the
mattress still warmed by her body beneath his flat tummy, and yanking that
drawer open. He pulled the toy out, then laughed stupidly. `It won't even
have batteries in,' he thought aloud, but then he pressed a button near the
bottom, and it fizzed and shook in his hand. He pushed another button and
it calmed to a low thrum, and his whole body tingled with appreciation and
possibility. On top of that same bedside table was a little round tin of
Vaseline. He chewed his lip and his arsehole throbbed.

In moments, the Man United twink was rolling back over the bed and swiping
the tablet screen back into life, pushing a few links back to the
photo-roll of Harry Maguire, that big burly bastard who threw his weight
around on and off the pitch. And as he stared hungrily at these images, Dan
smeared two fingers in the round tin of Vaseline and slipped them eagerly
against the tip of the humming toy. Then, not stopping to think it through,
he reached down and slid it just below his balls, letting its vibrating end
rub into his gooch and send shivers through his ballsack. `Oh...'

With his other hand he pushed at the screen, swiping through a few other
pics: Harry diving into a pool, Harry waist-deep in the water, his pecs
seeming more big and defined by the slicked wet hair between them, and then
Harry emerging from the pool, shorts darkened and wet and clinging to every
tight muscle of that... `Oh fuck,' Dan moaned, sliding the tip of the toy
down between the chubby flesh of his buttocks. He lifted and parted his
legs a little bit and stared at the holiday photo of his hunk captain
whilst running the vibrator in and down his crack and then back again.

Dan's mind raced with the same chaotic speed as the toy in his hand, which
was making his fingers and wrist numb with its battery-powered tremor. Now
he wasn't just thinking about Harry, he was thinking about Mason Greenwood
too... he pushed at a few more mutual friendships to bring up the smiling,
fresh-faced 18-year-old starlet. Dan admired the teen's newly shaved
quarantine buzzcut and tried to decide if it made him less or more
attractive. More? He thought about the energetic thrusting of that young
striker, which had felt so odd after the force and size of Harry's
tool. How much of that ridiculous rod had Dan even taken? Surely not more
than a few inches? He'd been so tight and terrified, it had hurt like
HELL...

In went the toy, his ring loosening with his excitement, slicked with
Vaseline. He couldn't hold in his gasps and he was glad he'd shut the door,
and that she had the radio on. In it went, tingling against his tight hole,
and his back arched and his feet pressed into the mattress where they
landed. `Oh shit, ohhhh...'

But his left hand was sliding adventurously over the iPad screen to please
his restless imagination. He'd been fucked, at least a bit, by those two
big Yorkshire hunks, but he had found his idle lust settle on so many
others in the months since. A photo slid up onto the screen of Greenwood
with another United young gun: Marcus Rashford grinned innocently out of
the screen, his handsome face above a taut six pack that Dan's eyes rarely
left in the changing room. As he studied the bulging front of the footy
shorts the other footballer was wearing, he parted his legs more and felt
the toy sliding inside him... he closed his eyes in a slow blink, unable to
believe the mix of pleasure and pain the entry brought him.

>From Rashford, he skipped to that irritating but likeable club joker,
Jesse Lingard, a pic of him and Rashford together, two mocha washboards
he'd love to lick and kiss. Dan began to edge the vibrator in and out of
his hole, trying to loosen or relax that entrance, squeezing at one chubby
buttock as he did. He groaned and resisted touching his dick, which
twitched and brushed the folds of duvet as he played on. But then his iPad
and his eyes were roving over a couple of the other black players on the
squad – Aaron Wan-Bissaka and Anthony Martial – and wondering about
loose racial stereotypes about male anatomy. Mind, was size so important?
He thought again of trying to take that monster dick of captain Harry's,
drunk and frightened, and decided he didn't care much for size!

He clicked on an image of his on-off roommate and older mentor, Juan Mata,
and found something in the homely bearded face that really tickled him. He
slid the toy in further, imagining someone older and more assured like the
Spanish midfielder taking control of his body, owning and entering him. He
almost burst with cum right then. He used his strong legs to kick the duvet
down the bed, irritated by its heat and weight, letting his pyjama bottoms
wriggle down his thighs and over his knees as he did.

But he was back on his main Facebook newsfeed now, whilst the vibrator
edged deeper into his arse – it didn't burn so much now, but its gentle
tingling was driving him absolutely nuts. He thought his dick might explode
in seconds if he actually dared to touch it with his slippery fingers
now. On the iPad screen, it wasn't his Man United teammates leering out at
him any more, but a shared memory of his appearances for the Wales national
side instead. Dan pushed repeatedly on the toy at his butt and stared at a
group shot of him celebrating with Aaron Ramsey (so chiselled and
handsome!), Joe Allen (that lustrous mane!) and Ben Davies (that intense
expression...) – oh fuck, had he ever even realised how hunky his Welsh
compatriots were? How lucky he was to have his family's Welsh blood to
advance him onto this team, not to have to bicker and fight his way into
the competitive England squad after all!

A few clicks and he was looking at the beast of them all, the talismanic
hero of the Welsh side and one of the highest paid footballers in the
world. A picture came up of him, pipsqueak that he was, being hugged by the
enfolding arm of Gareth Bale, kissing him on the head. Dan stared intensely
at the image from not so long ago and let out a long moan of desire for
that big powerhouse of a man, who had been so kind and brotherly to
him... Fucking hell, Gareth Bale...

In went the toy, almost slipping from its grasp as his entrance loosened
and the pink phallus pushed its trembling way into him. As it did, his
finger slipped more, and hit the other button. Oh shit! Dan's eyes bulged
and his tongue hung from his mouth as the higher tremor rocketed through
his backside, jiggling his young cheeks and making both legs tense up
against the bed. `Ohhhh,' he whined, grinding his shoulders and head back
into the bedding, an incredible sense of submission washing over him as he
imagined Ramsey, Allen, Davies then Bale all lining up to...

`Yes,' he breathed to nobody in particular, `oh yesssss...'

Dan had never in his life orgasmed without touching his dick, but here it
was. A thin line of wet spunk shot down the bedding, streaking his tartan
PJs and brushing the folds of duvet. He stared down his bare smooth torso
at the quivering prick, whole body seizing up in amazement at the
vibrations and their effect. Ohhhh...

Oh god...

His dick was still rock hard, held there by the throbbing tremor of the
toy. With one hand he reached clumsily beneath his thigh to hit the button
and turn it down or off, but with the other, he flicked through the
Facebook memory of his Welsh international time, seeing more pics of him on
and off the pitch with those burly Welsh buggers, or hugging and grinning
with other young squad members. He saw himself and David Brooks with cheesy
grins, neither able to believe they were representing the tiny country
despite being born on English soil, thrilled by the second-hand patriotism
of their families. Dan pictured himself kissing and fumbling with the other
junior Welsh player, and as he did, a last few drops of cum were squeezed
from the tip of his dick.

The toy slid from his buttocks as he finally hit the off switch. It slapped
to the mattress and he lay very still whilst his breathing whistled in and
out, dick and hole sore from enjoyment. He pushed the iPad away from him in
shameful dismissive, immediately trying to redact the morning fantasies
that had sped through his mind. He shoved the tablet off the side of the
bed, pleased with the chunky thud it made on the carpet, and then he
wriggled off the bed and onto his feet, picking up the sex toy and staring
it as if it was some intruder who'd sneaked into the room and taken
advantage of him, not just a silicon instrument he'd seized up in mad
lust. He shoved it safely under the pillow, hiding it until he could clean
it properly, and then he pulled off his PJs and used them to dab spunk from
the bedding before stuffing them into a laundry basket.

He stood naked in front of the mirror and stared himself down.

His face was pasty and aged by worry in the moment, but his eyes were wide
and intense, his hair ruffled and his cheeks hot pink. His body was pale
and naked, his dick finally drooping between his legs in a state of
satisfaction. He looked at himself and saw the eager sub who'd knelt down
for Harry Maguire, and finally realised that the sensation in his gut was
not disgust, it was... Desire.

At that moment he realised a voice was calling out, muffled by the closed
door. He stepped over, twisted the handle, tugged it ajar.

`Danny baby... aren't you gonna come and scrub my back...?'

He paused there by the door, and looked back at the mirror, then the
tangled duvet, the iPad on the bedroom floor. A slideshow of his athletic
older teammates paraded in his head, seemingly led by Bale's dark topknot
and mighty striding legs, a warrior figure on the pitch and a gentleman off
it... Dan James shuddered with confused desire, and he clutched the door
handle tightly.

`Dan! Honey?'

`Coming babe,' he called out in a hollow voice. `Coming.' He turned his
back on the fantasies once more, knowing that sooner or later he would have
to confront them properly, but not today.