Date: Sat, 1 Oct 2016 07:13:34 +0100
From: Christopher Hudson <christopherhudson1970@gmail.com>
Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 14

Gareth Hicks had his already short dark brown hair cropped in anticipation
of his England debut – an act that appeared to attempt a closure of some
kind in relation to his affair with Will Brandt. It was as if he was
attempting to cast aside his previous image – though in doing so, he had
perhaps only likened himself to the young Dutchman even more than before
(Will having always sported shorter hair than his footballing hero). As
such, Freud would surely have come to the conclusion that, in attempting to
finally shed his ex-lover from his life, Hicks was doing little more than
subconsciously setting a reminder on what might have been and what he would
dearly wish for if things were different. Indeed, if Gareth was brutally
honest with himself, he would surely have had to have confessed reality.
After all, there's only so much fooling yourself that you can do – even
when you're a handsome, young, over-sexed soccer star with basically too
much money in your bank account.
    Safe to say, the fellow's hair-cut did little to abate the frustrations
that he currently felt at that time – or the sense of horniness that seemed
to wash over him on a continual basis. No, Gareth's hormones were very much
in overdrive right now and as such it was only natural that his cock should
be in a near incessant state of arousal. Not that wanking seemed to do much
to relieve the condition – half an hour after spewing the contents of his
balls and he was fit and ready for the next session. As such, he was almost
reaching a point by the time of the England match that his shaft was
bearing the brunt of overuse – his thoughts still continually obsessed with
the thought of Will Brandt and his dripping knob-end paying the price for
such indulgence.
    These feelings and desires would pass, he thought – and what better way
of trying to forget than by putting his heart and soul into the game in
Amsterdam. Indeed, from the moment he stepped out onto the pitch that
evening, there was a zeal about the young man's play that outstripped
anything the Dutch defence could offer and it was with some manner of
naturalness that the team were two goals up by half-time (both courtesy of
Mr. Hicks himself). The man was at his sporting peak, it seemed – his skill
with the ball disguising all the trouble and turmoil that continued to mark
his existence.
    And then, early in the second half – at a point in the game when it
seemed nothing could go wrong – his enthusiasm exceeded itself. A very late
tackle of his on Marco Van Driel sent the Dutch midfielder tumbling to the
ground and brought the referee rushing to the scene with the sort of
keenness that instinctively told Gareth that he was in serious trouble. To
be honest, the incident looked worse than it was – the result more of
youthful exuberance than malicious intent – but the official appeared to
take the line that such behaviour was totally unacceptable in a friendly.
As a result, he had reached for his red card even before the City striker
had had chance to protest, and the look of intent on the arbiter's face was
enough to make the lad quickly realise that there was little point in
appeal. An early shower was on the cards – which understandably was not
exactly the manner with which he had planned to mark his England debut.
    It was a rather cold and lonely walk as he was escorted from the field
of play, down the tunnel and back towards the changing rooms – his two
goals suddenly appearing to count for precious little in the light of what
had now taken place. What made Gareth really cross was the fact that he
wasn't a player who was renowned for foul play – this incident being the
first time that he had ever received a red card. Yet clearly the referee
had felt that the tackle had been utterly unwarranted – and this despite
that fact that the Dutch player had been only superficially injured in the
ensuing tumble and had even joined in with the protests resulting from the
dismissal. Still, the official's word was final – a sentiment that Gareth
had always been taught to adhere to even from his earliest days, even when
(like today) he felt that he had been cheated from the chance of scoring a
hatrick.
    The changing room was naturally empty as he now stepped alone through
the door and crossed over to his peg – the heavy click of his muddy studs
on the tiled floor appearing only to resonate the depth of his present
disappointment. Seating himself down and tossing his boots to one side, he
sank into something of a sudden depression – his thoughts almost
immediately returning to the grief and distress that he felt beset his
life. As such, it was only a matter of course that his mind gradually
slipped back towards the one individual whom he had played his balls off
that evening to forget.
    And then, just as he was beginning to wish that he had Will beside him
to hold his hand and to tell him that everything was gonna be alright, the
door to the dressing room suddenly opened.
    To be honest, Gareth had every expectation that it would either be one
of the England coaches entering the room, ready to chat things over with
him and to try and persuade him that things weren't quite as bad as they
appeared – the `everyone will soon forget everything about it' approach to
a very public blunder – or one of the officials come to take a statement.
As a result, the lad found it hard to disguise his surprise when two young
men stepped into the room – both of them very good looking, with a somewhat
striking similarity that confirmed that they were brothers.
    As it happened, the England forward almost immediately recognised them
as the Clarijs brothers – a pair of talented young Dutch defenders, who
played club football in the German league and who had each played earlier
in the match before being substituted at half-time. The older of the two –
Dennis, who was 23 – was fair and beefy, with the sort of short, cropped
hair that Gareth himself now boasted. The younger – Natan, who had just
turned 21 – was taller and lankier than his brother and a shade darker.
Both, however, had the deepest denim eyes that Gareth could remember seeing
in a long, long time, and there was an air about their posture that
instantly suggested that they both wanted to comfort him in the most
intimate way possible.
    `Ve just wanted to tell you how sorry ve are for vhat happened ...'
Dennis began – his English clearly not as refined as Will's, but still
infinitely better than Gareth's Dutch. `Ve think the referee was very
unfair ...'
    `It was a clumsy challenge,' Gareth admitted, standing up to face them,
man to man. `I deserved it really. I just hope that there are no hard
feelings, that's all. I mean, I'm not usually a dirty player!'
    `Ve know,' the younger brother now acknowledged. `Indeed, you have
quite a reputation here in Holland already ...'
    `Really?' the Englishman exclaimed.
    `Ve see you playing in the English league,' he continued, `and ve know
that you are good. Very good ...'
    `Forget tonight!' Dennis insisted. `Your goals vill have made you hot
property across Europe!'
    Gareth could not stop himself from blushing. `Thanks,' he mumbled.
    `Now my brother and I are going in for a shower,' the elder sibling
remarked, scratching the top of his muscular  thigh as he did so. `Ve are
dirty and sweaty and ve need to wash ourselves down viz soap ...'
    `Sounds good,' the English lad could not help remarking.
    `Perhaps you vood be liking to join us ...' Natan suggested – the boyish
grin on his face one of pure expectation (and testimony that life in Dutch
football was as horny and just as much fun as that in England).
    For all his present worries and concerns, Gareth did not need a further
invitation. These two young lads were pretty fine specimens of manhood and
it would have seemed a great pity to decline such a tremendous opportunity
to get to know them better. Besides, having spurned one gorgeous Dutchman,
it appeared his duty to ensure that Anglo-Dutch relations were maintained –
and if that meant taking a shower with a couple of studs from Amsterdam
then so be it!
    He followed them back to the home changing room – his cock already
stiffening at the prospect of seeing these two young hunks stripped down to
their naked, tanned, rippling flesh. Indeed, by the time the three of them
had reached their destination, there was a distinct bulge in Gareth's dark
blue shorts, which neither brother appeared able to ignore.
    The steamy showers were switched on and the lads – now as bare as
nature intended – cast themselves into the streams of water. The mud and
grass stains that marked their bodies disappeared amidst the soapy flux
that immediately followed, and it was not long before the guys were
lathering for the sheer hell of it – their hands and fingers caressing
across their chests and stomachs, their muscled arms and legs, their gaping
arse-holes and their clearly excitable manhoods ...
    It was at this point that Gareth was finally able to examine the full
credentials of the two strangers before him – neither of whom one would've
kicked out of bed in a morning without serious regret. Dennis, the elder,
had a broad, slightly hairy chest and a washboard of a belly. His legs were
akin to tree-trunks, and in between he boasted an undeniably fat cock,
which must have measured eight inches at the very least and a nice pair of
hairy, low-hanging balls (which looked very capable of producing bountiful
quantities of cum when called upon to do so). His brother, meanwhile, was a
tad more youthful-looking, with smoother, slightly more delicate features
that gave him a somewhat pretty-faced appearance. Nevertheless, there was
no denying the plentiful assets that his parents had also bestowed upon him
where it counted – his cock of remarkably similar dimensions to those of
his older brother and his bollocks (if anything) even more appealing. No
wonder, then, that a voice in the back of Gareth's mind told the Englishman
that he had a very enjoyable time ahead of him!
    The brothers were each on either side of him – their uncut cocks now
proud and erect, waiting for the attention that the Englishman's hands,
mouth and butt-hole could provide, as the water continued to pound their
handsome frames. A moment or two of hesitation appeared to follow, as each
one of them quivered on the brink of something very intimate, but there was
little doubt that once the threshold was crossed, there would be no holding
these young men back from the pleasure that their lithe, admirable bodies
presently craved. A journey of discovery was about to be undertaken and
each fellow would enjoy it to the full.
    Gareth and Dennis' mouths fell slowly together, their tongues eager to
explore the dark recesses beyond, whilst Natan, whose excitement could be
visibly gauged by the slight tremble of his lip, lowered himself down to
his knees to examine the truly meaty offering that the English guy had
placed provocatively before him. The water from above matted his hair,
making it seem darker than it perhaps really was – but that certainly
didn't put him off his objective at this point. Indeed, far from it, and
grasping the base of Gareth's throbbing cock, there was a glint in those
deep blue eyes that betrayed his wicked determination.    The England
striker, meantime, was casting a slippery, soapy grasp across the older
brother's torso, trailing his fingers down towards that fine, extended pole
that was now jutting out from Dennis' groin. It was, after all, an organ of
immense interest to the man and Gareth simply knew that he would have to
delight in its fullest extent before long. For the moment, however, he had
precious little choice but to endure the attention of Natan on his own
crotch – for fuck's sake, how unbearable can life sometimes be for these
Premiership stars? – as the youngster slipped his soft, rosy,
innocent-looking lips over the head of his swollen knob, pushing the
engorged member slowly across his rough tongue and as far down his hungry
throat as possible.
    Natan was feeding off Gareth's shaft now like a new-born at the teat –
displaying the sort of agility and confidence that could only have resulted
from rich experience. Clearly life in the German league was just as risquι
and exciting as that on the other side of the North Sea – though until this
moment the English striker had been unaware that that was the case (the
secrets of the brotherhood evidently as tightly guarded in the rest of
Europe than as at home). That, of course, appeared to be good news for a
budding young international like Gareth Hicks, who enjoyed new `openings'
wherever and whenever he encountered them, though whether he would get to
savour them (given his disgrace on the pitch that evening) remained yet to
be seen.
    The City striker pulled himself away slightly from Dennis now, so that
he could arch his back forwards to trail his searching, probing tongue
across the Dutchman's chest – stretching from one dark, excited nipple to
the other in the process. His ultimate aim, naturally, was to slide down
towards that more prominent erection between the fellow's thighs, but just
at that moment the younger brother appeared to be having such a marvellous
time at the helm that it seemed almost cruel to push him out the way. In
the end, however, even fraternal instincts could not stand in the way of
raw, animalistic desires and Dennis demanded that his sibling move aside.
After all, he wanted his shaft to get the same sort of oral manipulation as
Gareth's cock had been enjoying – and knowing that the English lad was keen
to provide it, was not prepared to let his brother spoil his fun.
    By the time Gareth got down to investigate Dennis Clarijs' cock
head-to-head, so to speak, he was already dribbling with pure excitement
himself – though one could hardly tell in the showers. Only the frothy,
bubbly nature of Natan's mouth (which had just spent the last few minutes
lapping away on the Saxon's axle) gave any indication of the true condition
of Gareth's shaft – the sweet tasting pre-cum now lingering on the
youngster's taste-buds like a heady brew. No wonder, then, that the lad
should lick his lips with such eager relish as he watched his brother being
sucked off by the horny, brown-eyed bastard – after all, it wasn't every
day that a guy like him got to fully appreciate the delights that the
one-and-only Gareth Hicks had to offer! They might both be soccer-stars,
but circumstances were such that their encounters were likely to be few and
far between.
    There was no denying the sheer scale of the older brother's shaft – a
fact that was only underlined as Gareth at last opened his mouth to
accommodate the beast. Admittedly, it did not boast the indescribable
character of Will's member – though that in part probably had more to do
with who it belonged to than any particular uniqueness on its part.
Nevertheless, there was no denying the sheer pleasure that the Englishman
felt from taking the solid form between his lips and to have it pump his
throat with gusto. Yes, for sure, Dennis Clarijs' knob-head was just the
sort of thing to take Gareth's mind off the evening's problems!
    Indeed, by the time the younger brother had cast his rod before the
striker, all three of them had completely forgotten the real cause for them
being there at all – namely the game outside. Not that you would expect
such randy cock-lovers (as they clearly were) to be thinking of anything
other than their own carnal satisfaction at that present time – the copious
quantities of spunk in their balls was making sure of that! These, after
all, were talented young men in their very prime – their talents on the
pitch with their feet only rivalled by the more intimate skills that their
tongues, fingers and gaping orifices now proudly boasted.
    Given the generous dimensions of both brothers, it was difficult to
believe that Gareth could even possibly contemplate taking both cocks in
his mouth together – and yet that was exactly what he did! Admittedly his
mouth was stretched to its ultimate limits, but by grasping the bases of
each shaft simultaneously, the lad discovered that he was able to guide the
purple, swollen heads between his lips with almost astonishing ease. It was
a move that seemed to over-excite both siblings, who had perhaps never
encountered such gross wantonness, and casting a knowing glance at each
other through the humid mist, they no doubt privately marvelled at the
adept manner with which the English guy encompassed their pounding hardness.
    Gareth's own shaft was, quite unsurprisingly, raging – his libido
drawing on every cylinder available – as he literally struggled for breath
amidst the fiery combination of water, steam and cock. It was a sensual
blend that left him almost reeling in delight and which left him begging
for the ultimate consummation of their desires – his butt-hole nigh on
quivering in expectation of the buffing to come. Not that he was quite
aware of what he was letting himself in for as he tripped out from the
showers and lay himself prostrate on the leather benches – his legs lifted
high into the air. No doubt he innocently thought that his rear would
savour both brothers and that that would be that (as excellent an
experience though it would be). But if that was in fact the case then he
was to be very much surprised, for the match now had barely minutes to run
and soon the whole Dutch team would be pouring into the dressing room – no
doubt frustrated from defeat, but also feeling very, very horny (especially
upon seeing Gareth Hicks laid out having his butt fucked by two of their
team-mates).
    Ah, no prizes for guessing where that scenario would lead!
    Just at the moment, however, the two Clarijs brothers had the English
goalscorer to themselves – their crimson crowns almost bursting with
excitement at the glorious vision laid out before them: that of the famous
boy-wonder, his muscular arms stretched upwards so that they could see the
pretty wisp of dark hair in his pits, his smooth bronzed skin glistening in
the glow of the lights above and his joystick aching away in his groin,
just inches up from that sweet, tender pucker that was now just dying to be
filled. It was a fleeting illusion of just how perfect this one young man
was – and provided confirmation, if it were necessary, that he was
presently one of the most wanted footballers in the world (and not just for
his skills on the field!)
    Natan was the first to fill that tight little ass – his sheathed member
slipping past the defensive muscle with ease once the hole had been greased
by his somewhat inquisitive fingers. Dennis, meantime, stood up by Gareth's
head so that the English man might have something hard to suck on whilst
the younger brother buffed deeper and deeper (in a manner that suggested he
almost couldn't get deep enough). Hicks for his part was in seventh heaven
– a cock up the arse (which in itself was still a relatively new experience
for a man who had usually preferred to top) and another one down his
throat. And as if to add to the perversion, the two cocks belonged to two
young brothers – whose mother, no doubt, would've been perhaps forgiven for
being taken aback by such fucking wonderful behaviour had she ever realised
the truth behind their chosen profession.
    It was just then, as the younger, sweeter-looking kid continued to
thrash his wrinkly cum-stockists against the soft, pert slopes of his
opponent's rump, that the door to the changing room swung opened and in
began to step a whole bevy of tender yearlings – who up until then had
perhaps intended to drown their team's disappointment on the pitch with a
hot shower and a cold glass of Grolsch. Such thoughts were very quickly
forgotten, however, when they saw who the Clarijs brothers were screwing
and realised that they, too, might enjoy such pleasures for themselves. As
such, the whole room was enflamed within seconds – a crowd of horny,
well-hung studs pushing and jostling for position, hoping that they might
be the next one to fuck the living daylights out of the English forward's
shit-hole, or perhaps instead be one of the next to fill Gareth's mouth
with a fresh serving of hot Dutch salami (a meaty dish that is best served
hot and raw).
    For the spunky guest, of course, the sight surrounding him was an orgy
of pure animalistic delight – a veritable display of evolutionary fervour,
as the fittest and keenest of the players almost fought for the right to
mate with this wanton sex-god. Cock after cock – each one hard and
sheathed, each one aching for relief – mounted that rump in almost
religious succession, whilst other offerings graced the Englishman's lips,
filling his mouth with salty, creamy goodness. No doubt about it, this was
one post-match get-together that Gareth was going to remember for a long,
long time, and it seemed utterly natural that he should grab his own
flushed member so that he could tug on its pound of meat for all that it
was worth.
    The present frenzy, of course, could have but one singular conclusion –
and it was not one that the young man at the centre of all this unbridled
affection was totally sure that he wished to experience. After all, it was
one thing to have a succession of nicely toned, donkey-hung strangers
ravage your most excitable organs, but it was something else entirely to
have your body dowsed in free-flowing quantities of jizz – which is
basically what was about to happen. That said, there was little that he
could do to escape, given that he was being spit-roasted like it was going
out of fashion, and it was with something of a resigned but satisfied smile
that he welcomed the first milky bolts of white across his body. It was the
first of many, that was for sure – a blizzard of cum was about to descend
from above and the winsome striker had little choice but to enjoy each and
every drop!
    Natan finally spewed his load in a series of almost desperate blows,
then, soon after, his brother Dennis joined the fray. Finally, shaft after
scarlet shaft – some cut, but most with skins intact – puked the rich,
sticky contents of those manly groins, cloaking Gareth's form with a
delicious blanket of juice, whilst the object of their desires continued to
pull his pud with ever firmer, bolder strokes, that could result themselves
in but one marvellous finale. Writhing and groaning, his brown eyes closed
for fear of spunk splattering his face, the player could feel the well of
his own spunk at the base of his cock, and with a final, churning rasp, he
blew an initial arc of froth across his chest – that was but the start of a
full show from that hot-spring of virility. Wad after gooey wad emerged –
though the surroundings were now so awash with spunk that it was almost
impossible to tell where it landed. Still, who cared? The encircling
cum-lake was but testimony to the passion of these guys – a passion that
was restrained in public to kisses and hugs after a goal, but which in
private vented itself with almost demonic fury.
    By the time Gareth had emptied his balls, the zenith of all their lust
was quickly ebbing, and the young man slipped into the showers again to
clean himself down before returning to his own dressing-room, where the
exuberance of victory had all but overshadowed the striker's dismissal and
his subsequent absence. As he entered, however – noting the orgy that was
presently overtaking the England players (just as it had with the Dutch
next door) – the young man was suddenly and unexpectedly reminded of
something (or, more precisely, someone) that had given all this a meaning.
Sex was sex ... and as good as it was, it meant strangely nothing without the
companionship of the one person he so dearly loved and longed for.
    Quite suddenly – and in spite of having stepped from one crowded room
to another – Gareth Hicks felt like the loneliest human being on this
whole, crazy planet!