Date: Tue, 9 Aug 2016 16:02:37 +0100
From: Christopher Hudson <christopherhudson1970@gmail.com>
Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 03

Gareth Hicks was a young man in a very privileged position. Talented,
good-looking, reasonably intelligent (for a footballer, at least) and with
a weekly salary that was more than comparable with what the average fellow
on the terraces earns in several years, he was a guy with everything going
for him. Or so, at least, it seemed. For whilst money and looks and talents
go a long way to making life easier, they are far from being everything and
even the most seemingly successful people can actually feel frustrations
and limitations that more ordinary souls might find difficult to appreciate
or understand.

                So it was with this professional soccer-star. He drove the
raciest Alfa Romeo, he partied at the hippiest joints, he had the most
beautiful women on his arm and wore the swankiest labels. What was more,
society itself appeared to want his company – demanding his image as though
it was almost in danger of going out of fashion. And yet for all this,
there was a part of Gareth Hicks that remained hollow and unfulfilled – a
part that craved real love and meaningful attention, a part that longed for
the in-depth affection of another human being, a part that desired another
man who would love him for being Gareth Hicks and not for the fact that he
was a mega-successful Premiership soccer-star come celebrity.

                For the moment at least, however, here was one young man
who would have to content himself with the small crumbs of comfort that his
life had given him – and for now that basically appeared to centre upon
Todd Rankin, the horny skipper, whose appetite for hot man-sex had taken
Gareth somewhat by surprise. After all, whilst the youngster had long since
been aware that there were gay men aplenty in the sport and that hard cocks
and eager butts were to be regularly found amongst the changing-rooms and
in the showers, he had never previously imagined that the City captain
ranked amidst the gay fraternity. After all, his personality was so
straight, his reputation so red-blooded, that Todd Rankin appeared to
compare solidly with some of the great phoneys of history – a man whose
real character was completely submerged  by the trappings of our society.

                Still, Gareth would not be harsh on him, knowing as he did
the hypocrisies of the footballing community. Besides, Todd was a nice
fuck, with a more than satisfactory cock – and during these early days at
the club that would provide a semblance of consolation. So it was again
with some degree of pleasure that the young star contemplated the imminent
arrival of his colleague that particular December evening, having arranged
to go out clubbing together at one of the city's most expensive (but
assuredly select) clubs – where hopefully a pair of shades would guarantee
some degree of anonymity.

                As it happened – though not unusually – the young man was
feeling more than a little frisky as he sat waiting, dressed to the hilt.
Little surprise, then, that he should pass the time trying to find a
porn-flick that he'd got stashed away in one of the boxes that he was
living out of at the moment (prior to finding more permanent accommodation)
– though at first his search appeared to be in vain. Indeed, it was only
just as the door-bell rang that he finally found the video, hiding away
beneath some old Cup Final programmes he had purchased in an auction, and
he was still holding the tape as he invited Todd inside.

                `I see you've got the porno to hand, then!' laughed the
skipper – unaware, no doubt, of the truth to what he said.

                Gareth smiled, raising his eyebrows knowingly. `Actually,'
he admitted, `it *is* porn  - rather good porn, at that!'

                Todd – who was equally well-dressed, if not indeed better –
could hardly believe his luck and threw himself down on one the leather
armchairs. `Come on then, mate,' he encouraged. `We've got a bit of time to
watch some before we go!'

                The younger player frowned. `I'm not exactly sure it's the
sort of thing a married man like you would want to watch,' he confessed –
with more than a hint of irony in his voice.

                `I'll be the judge of that!' snapped the captain sharply,
as Gareth slipped the cassette into the mouth of the machine.

                They sat on separate chairs, but neither was unaware of the
other as the action on the screen began – a flick set in a Swiss skiing
resort, where the term *apres-ski* took on a whole new meaning. A rather
magnificently-endowed black instructor was giving lessons amidst the finery
of the Alpine landscape – lessons not in skiing, it had to be said, but in
a variety of activities ranging from buggering a young lad in a ski-lift to
sucking off a couple of Hispanic twins in a outdoor hot-tub.

                `Reminds me of the holiday I had in Aspen last year ...'
sighed Todd – reminiscing over some almost half-forgotten encounter he had
once had, as he rubbed his straining groin with his firm, beefy fingers.
`Not that you're repeat that to anyone, you understand?!' he suddenly
barked – perhaps realising that he had said too much.

                `I won't!' Gareth protested innocently.

                `Coz you know the unwritten rule ...'

                `Yes, I know the rule ...'

                Todd grinned, as his attention turned away from the
television and more towards the young man sitting opposite him. `Good,' he
continued, unzipping his fly as he did so. `Now, what about sucking my big,
hard dick?' he questioned, as he pulled his swollen shaft from his jeans.
`After all, you're a professional footballer, so I've got no fucking
problem with you ...'

                Gareth was feeling equally as horny at this point and
needed little encouragement to crawl across the carpet in a bid to relieve
the skipper of his apparently painful stiffness. For Todd was afflicted
with one of the most pulsating, aching cocks that the youngster had ever
been fortunate to witness, and grasping the base of the mighty shaft with
his one hand, he could not help but favourably compare the bold
eight-incher with the hefty black weapon that was currently doing battle in
the Swiss Alps.

                Not that City's new star was concerned much for the
porn-show now. His attention was very firmly centred on the solid, meaty
knob-end that was stood before him, pointing up towards the ceiling with a
soldier's pride and already showing the first pool of juice in its eye. For
a moment Gareth simply observed the offering in all its vain simplicity,
but the revelation that Todd's wife was a piss-poor sucker made the young
man all the more determined to satisfy the wants of his colleague, who
looked down on him with those sultry eyes of his, urging him to take the
strapping cane between his soft, moist lips.

                But Gareth was in the mood for a certain amount of teasing
– aware as he was of the older fellow's desperation – and he began by
sucking the base on the underside of the shaft, which seemed more than a
tad sweaty having been cocooned in the fellow's jock-strap. The musky smell
was a decided turn-on for the rising star, however and it was no time at
all before he was working his mouth up and down the guy's urethra, licking
the sticky flesh and yearning for the taste of the cock-head just above.

                That moment came soon enough, as the lad observed the
dribble of pre-cum from the end and temptation gained the upper hand.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling back the foreskin that
suppressed that bulging head and was gorging on its sweet sustenance – the
juices frothing and bubbling in his mouth in the process. Trickles of
ball-juice flowed down his hungry throat, soothing his tonsils and feeding
the monstrous appetite that appeared almost in danger of consuming him. For
the strokes of his mouth now gained increasing ferocity, with Todd's rigid,
aching pole sliding deeper and deeper into that happy cavern in the process.

                Gareth himself was getting more than a little excited at
this point and was wishing that he'd not chosen to wear the tight-fitting
701's that he had. Having felt so hot even before Todd's arrival, the horny
bastard had decided not to put on any underwear that evening and as a
result his cock was now embedding itself into the rough denim. It was
fitting punishment, it seemed, for his own lechery, but the discomfort
almost encouraged him even more and the young man continued to cram as much
of his skipper's throbbing member into his mouth as was humanly possible.
He was a hungry boy, it seemed, and his thirst would not be satisfied until
he had drained that shaft of its salty secretions with the aid of his
equally ravenous shit-hole.

                He finally lifted himself up, as both began to strip away
their clothes – much to Gareth's cock's relief, as anything else! It sprang
up like a rocket, oozing a trail of pre-cum as if to underline its state of
arousal, whilst Todd reached tore open a rubber and pushed it down his own
broad stem. Moments later and Gareth was striding the older fellow in the
chair – his knees doubled on the leather arms and his butt-cheeks spread
wide open in the process. Penetration, it seemed, was but seconds away, and
pushing himself forward so that he might rest his hand on the back of the
chair – brushing his fingers through his short, dark brown hair in the
process – he looked down and smiled at City's captain, who in turn glanced
up and him and whispered his confession that he was really going to enjoy
the next few minutes.

                Gareth almost hovered in the air as Todd pasted his fingers
with spit and then reached up to touch the hairy crack above him. The
digits tickled the crimson folds, touching the very edge of heaven's door,
before slipping inside with such remarkable ease that the captain was
almost taken aback with surprise. Not that it disturbed his intent in any
way. Indeed, it was rather with increased enthusiasm that he now encouraged
the youngster to edge himself down onto his lap, where his sheathed cock
was waiting to satisfy Gareth's unoccupied slit.

                Such emptiness would not continue to be the case for much
longer, however, and before the younger lad had much chance to dwell on the
delights to come, he felt the head of Todd's manhood squeezing its way
through his love-hole, pushing into his guts with firm, sensual beats. A
sharp twinge made him gasp momentarily, as he closed his eyes and gritted
his teeth, but the stud was determined to take as much of his skipper's
shank as he possibly could and he ground ever deeper onto the rod, taking
bold breaths of air as he skimmed between pain and pleasure. Eventually,
however, as his bowels accustomed themselves to their new-found occupant,
it was sweet indulgence that gained mastery of the scene, and easing yet
further onto the pulsing rod, he finally started to cry out from the sheer
exquisiteness that the shaft of meat provided. With ever absorbing strokes,
Gareth bounced ever harder, ever more constantly – until at length his rump
was bounding off Todd's thighs with an athleticism that is rarely displayed
beyond the football-pitch, the slap of flesh serving only to add to the
magic of the experience.

                The skipper, meantime, could hardly resist the sight of
Gareth's still-inflexible cock springing about right in front of him and he
grabbed hold of its shaft with a firm, decisive clinch – much to the added
delight of the young soccer-star, it had to be said. Indeed, as the
youngster continued to ride Todd's armoury for all that he was worth, he
could not help but find his skipper's additional carnal attention as almost
too much for him to bear. For Todd's searching fingers were sliding about
on the head of his sticky lance like a skater on ice, rubbing in all the
most intimate places and bringing him to the very brink of rapture – when
he would once again prove what a world-class shooter he *really* was!

                In fact, both lads were now reaching the point of no
return, which explained why Todd motioned for Gareth to lift himself up out
of the chair – whereupon he ripped away the condom and began to wank
himself with much the same ferocity as the younger guy could muster.
Seconds on and the first arch of hot, fertile spunk volleyed from the eye
of Gareth's heaving cock – showering the band of hairs on his team-mate's
chest, before trickling across his six-pack in thick, heavy lumps. It was
followed almost immediately by the older guy's own cherished contribution –
a fine hail of cum that shot high into the humid air, before rebounding
onto his stomach to form a inviting cocktail with the sperm that Gareth had
already generously deposited.

                By this point, however, the younger lad was spewing yet
further quantities of his most precious nectar in Todd's direction, whilst
the captain continued to erupt in equally fervent measure. The result was a
delight to see: a gooey layer of cream splattered across the older guy's
bronzed flesh, as well as over the leather arm of the chair. There was
certainly some cleaning up to be done, that was for sure – though Todd
cheekily insisted that his friend should hire a cleaner out of *Yellow
Pages* in the morning, save risking being any later for the night-club.
`I'm sure there's someone out there who'd enjoy mopping up a famous
footballer's old semen stains!' he laughed mischievously, as he pulled up
his trousers and then checked his hair in the mirror.

                As it happened, they weren't that late reaching their
destination – half-ten at the outside, which is comparatively early for a
place like *Alfie's*, where nothing ever got going `til it was almost time
for bed! A taxi dropped them off, then a knowing bouncer filed the shaded
pair through the door, ahead of the jostling crowds. After that, it was
time for drinking, dancing ... and once again pretending that they were just
two lads-about-town, as straight as dice and as cool as the latest fad.

                Except, of course, things were quite as simple as that for
Gareth, who proceeded to spend the next hour or so eyeing up some (if not
all) of the lads about them. One guy took his particular fancy. He was a
couple of years older, with thick-lips and a broad, beaming smile, and
there was a flash in those deep-set cornflower eyes of his that suggested
the footballer's own flirting was being reciprocated. Yet the situation was
impossible. For one thing, Todd was around, reminding the younger player of
his responsibility to his sport. For another thing, this other lad had a
girl – tall, leggy and blonde – who appeared even more smitten with Gareth
than her boyfriend. She hung on his arm whilst they danced and kept
stealing kisses whenever she thought her man wouldn't notice. But her
attention was deeply irritating to the handsome soccer-star and eventually
he and Todd had little choice but to move on to another part of the club,
where hopefully their celebrity status would be less conspicuous.

                As it happened, however, they were indeed identified even
there – though this time only by a certain Stefan Wendrock, a bright-eyed
German lad, who played in defence for nearby rivals, Wanderers. He was much
the same age as Gareth, but his tall appearance was (unsurprisingly) more
Teutonic, with a somewhat angular jaw and heavier features. All the same,
there was no denying his clear respectability in the appearance-stakes and
neither of the City players would've minded bedding him if they could.
That, mind, might be easier said than done. It's all very well to meet a
fellow star of the soccer world, quite another to suggest taking off to a
quieter spot so that you can fuck the living daylights out of him!

                Todd Rankin was a cocky sod, though, who had the clear
nerve of the devil, and after enquiring as to what the United centre-back
was doing in what was generally considered to be a City watering-hole,
offered the man a drink. The German – whose English was near-perfect –
declined the invitation, however and confirmed that he was thinking of
going home. `It's too crowded in here,' he called above the music. `Too
many people ...'

                The City midfielder spotted his chance. `There's a quieter
room upstairs that I know,' he suggested. `The three of us could go there
for a chat – or whatever! That's if you're interested ...'

                Stefan rubbed his groin provocatively – a move that Gareth
could hardly fail to note. `You got anything specific in mind?' he asked.
Todd leant forward and whispered something in his ear. Seconds on and the
three were coming away from the dance-floor – making their way past several
well-muscled bouncers, who clearly recognised Todd and allowed his group to
continue upstairs.

                                They carried on down a dark, narrow
corridor, passing a number of evidently occupied rooms – until they reached
one which the City captain assumed was vacant. On opening the door,
however, he was confronted by the glorious sight of a young, spiky-haired
guy being fucked over a chair by a stockier, blonder fellow in his
early-thirties – a spectacle that could not fail to stop the three
footballers in their tracks. There was a moment of silent (but thoroughly
enjoyable) embarrassment, then Todd muttered his apologies, as he and his
colleagues fell back out from the room.

                                `Fucking hell!' whispered the City skipper
as they tripped further up the corridor. `I'm sure that was Fletcher ...' he
continued – referring to the older chap, who he believed to be the
supposedly injured Rovers goalie, whose presence had been sorely missed at
their recent encounter with City. `I never thought *he* was into man-sex,'
he carried on, shaking his head as he did so. `Bloody hell, I wish I'd
fuckin' known!'

                                He made his statements in such a manner
that suggested a hint of hypocrisy on his part, but neither Gareth or
Stefan passed comment. Instead, they bundled themselves into another room –
pushing a table against the door to ensure they themselves were not
interrupted. After all, the sight of the other two fellows had left them
feeling more than a tad frisky, and peeling away their clothes from their
athletic frames, it quickly became evident that all three of them now had
much the same idea on how they wished to spend the next half hour or more.

                                If it were indeed possible, however, the
intense fever of the moment was only increased by the discovery on Stefan's
part that Gareth wasn't wearing any underwear that evening – and that, in
fact, he very rarely did. Before the young English lad knew what was
happening, he was being lifted up onto the table by the muscular German,
who proceeded to draw almost immediate attention to the City star's very
upstanding shaft.

                                Stefan, for his part, was a very
respectable hunk, with an eager tongue, whose short, blond-brown hair and
light blue eyes gave him a typical German appearance. What interested
Gareth most of all, however, was his admirable equipment – but
unfortunately it was Todd who was gaining all the pleasure in that respect.
He had slid beneath the table and was now sucking on Stefan's cut beast,
lapping on the searing head and probing the delicate eye with refined
sagacity. After all, Todd Rankin was an experienced cock-sucker, who had
fed on the best in his sport and there was little evidence that he would
disappoint any player who was willing to share his hard, unrelenting tool
with his moist, devoted mouth.

And Stefan was one such individual – though his most immediate concern at
present was the long stretch of pumping flesh that Gareth was generously
providing, as his lips slipped effortlessly from head to base, lapping on
the beads of pre-cum that welled upon the peak with every passing stroke.
Then he turned his attention to the lad's balls, which had been emptied by
Todd just a short time before, but which were already swelling with the
next juicy load. For Gareth Hicks produced spunk just like a prize-cow
produces cream, and if ever aliens were looking for a man whom they could
imprison and milk like an aphid for man-seed then he was their guy. He was
a veritable walking sperm-geyser, and in a few moments he would again prove
how.

Before then, however, Stefan wanted to fuck that rosy arse-hole of his, and
lifting Gareth's legs high into the air, the German proceeded to lube the
hairy crack with saliva, using his tongue rather than a finger. As he did
so, however, he could distinctly taste the scent of the rubber that Todd
has used earlier – at which point the young foreigner realised that Gareth
had already been fucked that evening. It was a revelation that only spurred
his libido even further, and within seconds the hunk had pulled away his
knob-head from Todd's mouth and was shoving his sheathed member right up
into Gareth's hungry bowels. Todd, meantime, threw himself onto the table
and cast his own meaty rod straight into the young man's open mouth –
smiling broadly as he did so. In effect, Gareth was now duly spit-roasted –
Stefan's cock pummelling his backside so that the German's bollocks were
soon smacking up against his arse and Todd's shaft thrusting down his
throat so that his colleague's shaved balls were brushing against his chin.
Little wonder then that he should catch hold of his own crimson end and
start to pull it back and forth like some sort of frenzied teenager who had
just seen his first porn-flick.

It was in this highly-charged atmosphere, with a brace of moaning and
groaning set against the distant thud of garage music from the club below,
that the sticky sap of male youth now began to rise. Once again, it was
Gareth who set the benchmark – squirting curl after curl of salty protein
across his own smooth chest and belly, with one shot even managing to pound
his eye with almost venomous fury. But it was not at all long before both
Todd and Stefan were displaying very similar feats of penile athleticism,
spitting generous quantities of cum in Gareth's general direction. The
young German slipped his cock from its nest just in time to spume fresh
cream across the English lad's groin, whilst Todd managed to secure a
savoury facial blend, erupting over Gareth's comely features, as well as a
large stretch of the table. Altogether, it was a near-blissful performance
from players that might easily have lifted the World Cup had it been
decided on a spunk shoot-out.

Thus it seemed that life was good for footballers like Gareth Hicks – with
money in his pocket, cum in his sac and a ball at his feet. But forget the
balls on the pitch! For, as most soccer-stars appeared to know, the best
ones are brimmed full of spunk and are only ever played with after the
final whistle has been blown.

And to think that we thought that they were all as straight as sixpence ...