Date: Sat, 8 Apr 2017 07:51:58 +0100
From: Christopher Hudson <christopherhudson1970@gmail.com>
Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 20

To say that Todd Rankin was angry with Gareth when the young striker came
to see him that morning concerning Will would be something of a grand
understatement. Having previously been given assurances from the lad that
he was no longer seeing the youngster, City's skipper was clearly less than
amused at Gareth's ultimate admission -- and less still when he discovered
that the fellow was now in danger of blackmail from his lover's ex. For all
his annoyance, however, the fellow was still human enough to help his
colleague in his hour of need -- albeit at a price. For Rankin was as highly
sexed as they come and the opportunity to fuck fresh meat from beyond the
in-bred world of soccer was always something he relished with enthusiasm
(as in the case of his skiing holidays in Colorado). As such, Will Brandt
was one temptation that even he couldn't resist -- and when he saw the
doe-eyed Dutchman, he realised there and then the wisdom of his decision.
After all, what man in his sanity would've declined the opportunity to
pound the butt of a young foreigner who was simple made for fucking?
Certainly not Todd Rankin, that was for sure -- as his bold display in
Gareth's bedroom that April morning had clearly demonstrated.

               But every action, as they say, has a price, and the
striker's price in this respect was for Todd to come up with a satisfactory
solution to the problem of Drew Michaels, whose presence had cast a shadow
over both Will and Gareth's lives now for far too long. Fortunately for the
pair, Hicks had chosen the one person in Rankin that was not only prepared
to `do' the fellow (as the team captain ominously described it), but who
would actually rather enjoy it! Indeed, such was his growing enthusiasm for
the task that he was a tad dismayed to learn of Will's insistence that the
man should not be hurt. For Todd could be a hard-hitting, aggressive type
at times and his discovery that the man was threatening to embroil his team
in scandal was enough to secure a wrath that quickly eclipsed his initial
fury with Gareth. Nevertheless, the Dutch lad (to his utmost credit) was
determined to ensure Drew's silence was secured as deftly as humanly
possible. The man might be a bastard and had undoubtedly treated him with
the sort of painful disregard that one might fear possible from any one,
but there was still a part of Will that half-cared for him and wished to
God that they could've parted as friends. That sentiment, however, served
only to underline just how decent a guy the young man was -- a fact not lost
on Gareth, whose love was merely enhanced by all of this.

               For the next few days, there was little if any development,
as Todd considered the best course of action open to them. Drew's threats,
meantime, continued, and it was with the weight of such a lasting menace
that Gareth took to the pitch the following Saturday afternoon. The season,
of course, was now rapidly drawing to a close, and with European football
nigh on assured from their position in the league, the game in question
presented little real interest. The Cup Final against City's oldest rivals,
United, in a couple of weeks' time, was a far more pressing matter -- which
perhaps served as an excuse to the fans when their team produced one of
their direst shows for many a month. Gareth, in particular, hardly featured
in the game and plodded around the field with a blanket of apathy that was
hard even for Rooney to ignore. The supporters, of course, were ignorant of
the more probable reason for his inattention to the ball -- unaware of the
private concerns that swilled around his mind. But for once, it seemed,
they forgave him (and the rest of the team), knowing as they did that the
match that really mattered was yet to come.

               By this point, however, Todd had already cemented his plans
for Drew Michaels in his mind and it was with some relief to all concerned
that he made his final explanation to Gareth after the game. The initial
part of his scheme was simple: Will must give the impression of having
submitted to his ex-partner's demands and in doing so would have to arrange
a rendezvous with the fellow. Once that was secured, the second part of
Rankin's plot could then be undertaken -- but what that second part
comprised of only the captain appeared to know. `Just get your boyfriend to
meet up with him,' was all that he would say to Gareth -- a demand again so
vague that the striker found himself once again insisting on Drew's
ultimate safety.

               `Don't worry,' Todd assured him one more time. `Given what I
know about the Dungeon, I've a feeling your Mr. Michaels is going to be
more than happy when he finds out what's in store for him ...'

               Gareth was intrigued, but made no further question --
knowing, as he did, that it was unlikely to provide any answers. Instead,
he returned home that evening to inform Will of what was required of him
*now* ...

               `But you told me that I had done my part of the bargain!'
insisted the youngster, evidently unwilling to encounter Drew face-to-face.
`You said that if I let Todd Rankin screw me, then that would be it -- he
would deal with Drew for us and we could forget all about the guy!'

               `But he is dealing with him,' Gareth insisted. `It's just he
needs this extra bit of help, that's all ...'

               The Dutchman sighed. `I do not like it, Gareth ...' he
admitted.

               The athlete threw his arms around him and gave the sort of
winsome grin that Will knew he could never refuse. `No-one's asking you to
like it,' he sighed. `But you know that the moment Drew suspects that
you've involved other people in all of this then he's gonna go screaming to
the papers. It's vital, then, that you dig him out without raising any
suspicion -- that way, Todd can do the whole thing anonymously ...'

               Will sighed -- knowing that he had little choice but consent.
`I really ought to have just gone back to Holland when I had the chance!'
he laughed.

               But Gareth knew his lover didn't mean it. He also knew that,
when push came to shove, Will would produce the performance of his life
into his encounter with Drew -- in much the same way as he himself would
give his all when the time came to play United in the Cup. All the same, it
was not a prospect that enthralled the young Dutch lad and it was with some
evident apprehension that he anticipated the encounter -- now scheduled for
the following Wednesday evening.

               Will's half of the plan was relatively straightforward.
Gareth would drop him off two streets away from the Dungeon at nine
o'clock, from where he would walk directly to the night-club. Then he would
get himself into the establishment (if needs be by having sex with the
bouncers) and would locate Drew -- who would no doubt be indulging in the
pleasures of the flesh himself. Having announced his submission and asked
for the older guy's forgiveness for his infidelity, he would then entice
Michaels out of the club -- pretending to call a taxi on his mobile to take
them back to his flat. In fact, the call would be to Todd's `phone and
would signal the start of the second phase of the plot. For the cab that
arrived to collect them would not be a genuine taxi at all, but rather a
hired car, driven by an unspecified individual, which would take them to an
unknown destination -- where Drew's fate was set to be finally sealed. What
nature that fate would take, however, was something neither Will or Gareth
knew -- nor, indeed, if they were brutally honest, did they really care to
find out.

               As it happened, actually getting into the Dungeon that
evening proved somewhat easier than the Dutchman had ever anticipated --
thanks, ironically, to the fact that the same two guys were manning the
door as on the very last occasion that the lad had tried to get into the
club. At first, their recognition of him threatened a repeat of that day,
but the fact that it seemed somewhat busier than the time of their last
encounter prevented such an incident. As such, he trotted into the crazed
darkness with almost unbelievable ease and soon found himself glancing
around for Drew with somewhat nervous hesitation.

               There was no mistaking the fellow when Will at last saw him
out of the corner of his eye -- sat alone at a table, from where he was
watching a couple of male strippers engaging in a rather lewd display on
stage. They were tall, dark and chisel-jawed and already boasted the sort
of bulges that any fit young man would be proud of. What was more, they
were clearly floating Drew's well-equipped boat, for Will could tell (even
from this distance) that the fellow was rubbing his suit's crotch with one
hand as he observed the show (whilst supping a whisky with the other). It
was a sight that instantly sent a streak of trepidation through the
youngster's body, of course -- knowing, as he did, how much depended on the
next half hour or so -- but taking a deep breath, he stepped across the room
and planted himself on a chair directly opposite the man.

               You might have thought that the older fellow would have
looked surprised at Will's sudden presence, but that did not appear to be
the case at all -- in fact, one would almost have gained the distinct
impression that the Dutchman's entrance had been *exactly* what he had been
anticipating! For he continued to rub his swollen groin in a blatantly
unruffled manner and nodded for the boy to come across and kneel before him
-- a spark in his eye that merely testified to his overall sense of
superiority.

               Will did as requested, so that he was now looking up at the
man with fawning eyes. `I have done as you asked,' he sighed -- doing his
best to look sorry for his misdemeanour. `I have come back to you ...'

               Drew gave a broad, knowing smile. `I shall make you pay,' he
confessed. `No-one dumps me and gets away with it. But hey, let's not worry
about that now. You've done the right thing -- and I'm sure Gareth Hicks
will be more than pleased not to see his name in print!'

               The youngster unzipped the fellow's trousers. `Let us not
talk about him,' he sighed. `He is history now!'

               The older guy glanced down to see his hard cock emerge into
the open. `Very true,' he sighed. `Very true ...'

               Will gazed down at Drew's pounding shaft, which was already
dribbling pre-cum from him watching the lads on stage, then licked his lips
provocatively. Truth was, of course, he wished to God that it was Gareth's
shaft he was about to savour -- but needs must when the devil drives, as
they say and on this occasion Lucifer was getting every ounce of value for
his money. So it was that he buried his mouth over the head of those dark,
seven-and-a-half inches -- bobbing up and down on the length, whilst Drew
gave a delighted shiver and groaned his lasting satisfaction.

               The Dutchman could not resist pushing his hand inside the
fellow's trousers at this point, rimming the fuzz that underlay his cock
and grabbing hold of the neat pair of balls beneath. They felt clearly
tight between his fingers and were churning away for all that they were
worth, but Will's intent at this point was merely to stroke the chap into
sweet submission. Not that that appeared to be too difficult a task. The
youngster had gained the distinct impression that Drew had missed this sort
of cherished attention like mad since they had parted earlier in the year,
and the roll of the guy's deep-blue eyes seemed only to confirm this fact.
No doubt about it, Mr. Michaels was like a tom-cat having his tubby rubbed
at this particular moment, and the deeper that Will shoved that big, fat
cock into his mouth, the more compliant the greedy bastard appeared to be
getting.

               `Oh fuck me,' sighed Drew presently, as the end of his shaft
hit the back of Will's young mouth, `that's so nice ...'

               Will looked up from his duty. `You think so?' he grinned,
rubbing the rod with his fist as he did so.

               `Definitely!' he snapped, but pushing the lad away in the
process. `Come on,' he insisted, getting up and leading Will towards the
cages at the far side of the room, `I think it's time I screwed that cute
little butt of yours!'

               `Wait!' insisted Will -- knowing that he had to get the man
out of the club, but trying desperately not to show recklessness. `Why do
we not go back to my place? We can have some privacy there ...'

               `No way!' the taller man declared. `I wanna fuck your arse
in front of all these folks tonight -- I want them to see that you're  mine
again. All mine and no-one else's ...'

               Will was blushing out of fear and embarrassment, but was
adamant that he must keep his cool. `But I want us to be alone -- together,
just you and me. Besides,' he continued, brushing his fingers along the
fellow's cheek, `I might have something of a surprise for you ...'

               Drew looked suspicious. `Surprise?' he demanded. `What sort
of surprise?'

               The youngster had to think quick now and had to flirt even
quicker! So he grabbed hold of the man's bulge and squeezed. `That would be
telling, Drew,' he smiled, fluttering his lashes. `But you are going to
enjoy it, I know ...'

               The strippers continued in their revelry, as the sleek
professional glanced first at the cages, then back at Will. `A surprise,
you say?' he pondered, teasing the thought in his mind -- and perhaps
secretly thinking that Gareth Hicks might have taught the lad some kinky
new position. `Sounds interesting ...'

               Will saw a chink of opportunity in his deliberation and went
for it. `Come on!' he insisted, pulling him towards the exit -- with a
determination that Drew had never witnessed before. `It will make up for
what I have done to you ...'

               Drew was now putty in the Dutchman's hands as they left the
club together, and Will was even able to call for his taxi without any of
the objection that he might have anticipated. As a result, the plan had
worked even better than Todd Rankin might have hoped for and it was with
almost delirious effect that they stepped into the car together minutes
later.

               The youngster -- who knew his City footballers better than
anyone, thanks to his time at *Red Heaven* -- recognised the driver almost
instantly as Matt Foster, but Drew (whose senses had been made dull through
alcohol) made no such connection. All the same, Will was determined not to
give the man a chance (especially given that he had recognised Gareth that
fateful day), and before the older guy knew what was happening, the
Dutchman had leant across the cab and was gobbling once again at his hard
cock so as to distract attention. Not that slurping on someone's shaft
whilst the City defender drove down the road was something that Will had
ever anticipated doing in his life before this very moment -- but if it was
the difference between the plan's success and failure then he was now more
than determined to do exactly what he could for the cause.

               Drew closed his eyes and savoured the warmth of Will's warm
mouth around his cock -- delighting the heavenly blow-job so much that he
never once took note of where the car was going. As a result, he arrived at
Brandon Park in blissful ignorance, and had no idea what the hell was going
on until the car pulled to a stop and the young man (whose lips were now
drooling with sticky excitement) lifted himself up to speak with him.

               `I'm sorry, Drew,' he sighed -- noting the figures outside
the window, `but you left me no choice ...'

               The fellow suddenly appeared to come to his senses. `What
the fuck!' he exclaimed. `What the hell's going on ...?'

               `They promised me they wouldn't hurt you, though,' Will
assured him -- though his words were lost in the commotion of the moment.
For the guys beyond had opened the door and dragged Drew, kicking and
shouting, from the car.

               And that, indeed, was the last time Will Brandt ever saw
anything of the fellow.

               The same could not be said of those who had accosted Drew,
however -- for their purpose had only just begun.

               The crowd of five or six players literally carried the
fellow through a side door into the stadium, down a somewhat ill-lit
passageway and then through another door and down a flight of stone steps.
By now, of course, Drew Michaels was frantic, but it was nothing compared
to the feelings that flitted through his mind as he was bundled into a
half-forgotten room in the bowels of the stadium, where his course of
treatment was awaiting him.

               Actually, for a man who was highly sexed as he and who
enjoyed action of the hardest kind, his punishment was really something to
be relished -- or at least that was how Todd Rankin saw it, anyway. For
within seconds of entering the room, Drew found himself stripped of his
clothes by his captors and then fully harnessed in a leather sling which
hung from the ceiling. No question about it, he was in for some fun times
ahead -- and he'd better get used to the idea!

               The footballers did not speak, despite Drew's provocation
for them to do so. Instead, they too pulled away their jeans and
sweatshirts -- revealing their broad, toned figures in the process (a sight
that could do little but excite their prisoner, despite his circumstances).
Indeed, there was no denying the swelling in the fellow's groin (which
naturally he had no way of hiding), and it was with a knowing smile on his
face that Todd at last stepped forward and positioned himself between the
fellow's open legs, grabbing hold of the man's hard dick in the process.

               `Well,' the City captain remarked, `so you're Drew Michaels,
eh?'

               Drew tried in vain to kick out, then appeared to accept his
predicament. `Don't think I don't know who you are!' he exclaimed -- though
in all fairness he only recognised Todd and Philippe Bourg. The others --
Cary Jacobs, Matt Foster, Richard Boulby and a reserve by the name of Lee
Firth -- were perhaps vaguely familiar to him, but he would not have been
able to name them. `You'll pay for this -- all of you! And when I get hold
of that little mother fucker, Will Brandt, I'll ... I'll --'

               Todd rubbed his cock up and down with tightly clenched
fingers. `Don't worry so much,' he sighed. `You're not going to come to any
harm -- that *little mother fucker*, as you describe him, made quite sure of
that. No, I've a feeling you're gonna really enjoy what we've got in mind
for you. In fact, judging from this handy weapon in my hand, I think you
secretly want a good fucking -- don't you, Drew?'

               The fellow appeared to relax somewhat at this point --
perhaps realising that their intent might not be quite as malicious as it
had first seemed. `You wanna fuck me, then?' he quipped cockily.

               `You bet!' exclaimed the skipper ravenously. `We all want to
fuck you -- don't we, lads?'

               His friends nodded their agreement quietly -- grins on their
faces to underline their consent.

               `After all, we've been told what a good fuck you are ...' Todd
continued.

               Drew scoffed at the notion. `I've never *been* fucked!' he
mocked.

               `Even better!' the captain fired. `After all, we like virgin
ass better than anything!'

               `Don't think I can't take you all, though!' the captive
boasted, in his usual arrogant fashion.

               `Very good ...' drooled Rankin now, falling to his knees as he
did so. `That's what we hoped to hear!' And with that he sank his open jaws
over the fellow's shaft, which was already seeping with excitement. For
indeed, there was no doubt about it: Drew Michaels was actually enjoying
all of this and the throb in his groin only served to underline the point.

               It was the signal for the rest of Todd's semi-naked
colleagues to step forward -- which they did with undeniable enthusiasm. But
why not? After all, they were mature, randy individuals, for whom the rough
and tumble of the struggle (like that of a football match) had left them
feeling more than a little frisky. As such, their desire to kiss his mouth,
to fondle and play with his nipples, to suck on his toes and to lap on that
peak of hardness at the very centre of his handsome physique, were all
quite undeniable, and before many more moments had passed they had
collapsed inwards and were fully engaging in such rampant activities (for
which all of them felt wantonly born to engage in).

               There being six of them and with Drew only boasting one cock
-- albeit a handsome one -- the fellows were soon encouraged to feed of each
others' bodies to satisfy their own sore cravings. That had not really been
in Todd's script, it had to be said, but the whole plot to ensnare the
blackmailer had been so successful that their captain was not about to
scold them. Indeed, as he earnestly finger-fucked their prisoner, he could
not help but notice that Drew was merely turned on all the more by their
escapades -- which, if anything, made the scene even more erotic. And before
long the captain was screwing the older guy's butt to the unmistakable
delightful background of Bourg doing much the same thing to Jacobs and
Foster shafting the living daylights out of young Lee Firth (a darling of a
late teen, who Todd wouldn't have minded stiffing himself). Still, he
mustn't complain. His aching cock was filling Drew's untouched arse-hole
quite nicely, whilst Richard Boulby continued to shaft the fellow's mouth
with an eagerness that almost warranted some sort of award.

               Drew was crying out from the sheer pleasure of the occasion
by this point, clearly forgetful of the trick that Will had played on him
and exclaiming his desire for Todd to bash that greased love-tube of his in
a manner that suggested he had just discovered some form of new-found
indulgence. But the City captain was not the only one who wanted to ride
that sweet, tight rump that evening -- there a collection of studs rutting
for the privilege and none of them were willing to miss out. As a result,
Rankin's eight inches were soon replaced by those of the French
international, Bourg, whilst the captain sat down on the floor and started
to manhandle Drew's hairy balls, tugging on them with an almost evil menace
and rolling them around in their sac with his rough, manipulating fingers.
For all the apparent disregard of sensitivity, however, Drew appeared only
to be further encouraged by such horseplay, and, catching hold of his own
flesh, began to tug on his cock with clear added relish.

               Stiff cock after stiff cock buried their way into the
fellow's fuzzy rear, which was raised up for the easiest of accesses and
which was already displaying the sort of professionalism that one might
expect from a long-term bottom. Ultimately, however, such wanton beaming
was too much even for the ardent stamina of those half-dozen footballers,
and crowding around their prey, they gathered to express their concluding
appreciation of Drew's presence. After all, none of their enjoyment would
have been possible without him being and the fact that he had painfully
savoured every stroke of his punishment had merely added to thrill of the
night's unbridled action. No wonder, then, that -- to a man -- they all
started to bolt that thick, creamy nectar that they kept stored within
their loins, like a row of champagne bottles popping corks and spraying
their sweetness asunder. Their present victory was complete -- and Drew's
unparalleled vulnerability only added to the fact.

               Shafted and contented, the villain bathed in all that fresh
sperm -- sticky globules streaming across his skin, which dripped heavily to
the floor. The footballers, meantime, congratulated each other on a job
well done -- knowing, as they did, that they had not only saved their
profession from a scandal of Drew's own doing, but had enjoyed themselves
in the process. What more success could they ever have asked for?


               But one thing they hadn't done yet, to conclude their
triumph, was inform Drew of their absolute intention. For it was clear to
anyone that the man could never be trusted to keep his secrets to himself
now and as such there appeared to be only one suitable conclusion to their
efforts.

               `You're gonna have to stay here,' smiled Todd, now that the
gang was dressed -- with almost a malicious wink in his eye. `As our
personal sex-slave, so to speak ...'

               Drew (still strapped to his hoist -- as indeed he always
would be from this point on) thrashed about for release. `Let me out of
here!' he demanded. `You'll never get away with this, I tell you! Get me
fucking out of here!'

               `You're forgetting who we are, Mr. Michaels,' Todd smiled.
`We're soccer players -- rich, famous, have-anything-that-we-want soccer
players. And you -- well, you're a complete tosser, who's got exactly what
he deserves! Did you think you'd get away with threatening us like that?
Did you? Well, now you're going to pay the price for your mistake!'

               `Someone will hear me!' he exclaimed. `You can't get away
with this!'

               `No-one will hear you down here, Drew. But don't worry --
we'll make sure you get fed and watered. And look on the bright side, you
won't ever be short of protein -- if you know what I mean! No, mate, your
wildest dreams have all come true tonight -- sex, sex and more sex! That's
what you can look forward to from now on ... in fact, I'm almost half
jealous!'

               And with that, the City boys left.

               As for Drew Michaels, he was destined never to see the light
of day again. But hey, what an ending -- personal sex-toy to a team of randy
footballers. Why, it was almost the stuff dreams are made of!