Date: Wed, 10 Aug 2016 09:16:25 +0100
From: Christopher Hudson <christopherhudson1970@gmail.com>
Subject: WHEN SATURDAY CUMS 04

Will Brandt went home for Christmas that year, as was the norm – back to
the small village outside Amsterdam where he had once lived with his
parents and two younger brothers, before wander-lust had got the better of
him and he had crossed the Channel to England. For all the liberalism of
his native land, Zaanmaar was a somewhat traditional community and Will had
longed to break free of what he had considered to be the restraints of his
family. Learning English – and learning it well – had promised to prove the
key to such longed-for freedom, although life in his adopted homeland had
singularly failed to prove quite as emancipating as he had perhaps once
dreamt. As such, he stepped back onto the boat at the Hook of Holland just
before New Year with very mixed emotions – unsure of the past, even more
uncertain of the future and yet peculiarly determined to refuse a
pessimistic outlook. With almost blind faith, he genuinely believed that
life was about to get very much better and that his new job at *Red*
*Heaven* was but indicative of that fact. It was a naοve outlook, maybe –
but he just had to believe it. He just had to.

                Actually, it had to be said that his journey across the
North Sea was to prove pretty memorable – although he had no obvious
intentions of that being the case. To be honest, he had anticipated much
the same sort of dour, cheerless crossing as he had experienced the day
before Christmas Eve, though the damp, clammy weather prior to the holiday
had at least now been replaced by crisper, sunnier conditions and as such
Will felt inclined to take to the deck shortly after the ship had pulled
out from the harbour. In hindsight it was perhaps fortunate that he did,
for otherwise he might never have encountered a handsome, blond, blue-eyed
English lad in his mid-twenties, who was well over six-foot and who seemed
to tower above the young Dutchman as a result. He had been standing at the
rear of the boat, watching the white, bubbly trail that the vessel had left
in its wake, though the generally reserved Will would probably not even
have started speaking to him had it not been for the fact that the fellow
made reference to the bold orange Dutch football backpack that the younger
lad had strewn across his shoulder.

                `You from Holland, then?' he chirped – dressed as he was in
jacket and gloves, though with no hat to cover his light, curtain-style
locks.

                Will smiled, flashing his dark brown eyes. `Yes,' he
sighed, with only the slightest of accents. `I am from Holland – near
Amsterdam. I have just been home for Christmas – and you?'

                The stranger smouldered quietly. `I went to spend the
holiday with my girlfriend ...'

                Will tried to hide his disappointment at the fact that the
chap was clearly straight, but said nothing.

                ` – I've decided to finish with her, though,' the fellow
continued.

                `I'm sorry to hear that ...' But Will was really anything but.

                `I'm Esmond. By the way, I like your eyebrow ...'

                `Hi, I'm Will,' he replied, before raising his eyes as if
he thought that he might see the piercing – when in fact he knew that to be
almost impossible. `Thanks,' he said, continuing the conversation without
serious thought. `My boyfriend –'

                He suddenly stopped in his tracks, as he realised what he
had said – noting the surprise in Esmond's eyes as he did so.

                `You have a boyfriend?' the stranger appeared to mock.
`You're gay?'

                Will shook his head. `He is not so much a boyfriend as ...
well, a complete bastard! And yes,' he added, `I am gay.'

                Esmond turned back to look out at the cold blue waters
beyond. `I've often wondered what it's like,' he remarked somewhat
enigmatically after a few moments.

                `*What it is like* ...?' Will queried.

                The blue-eyed stud returned his gaze. `Sex with another man
– you know, what it's really like. I guess all straight men wonder –
secretly ...'

                The Dutch lad could not resist the temptation. `You want to
find out?' he smiled.

                Esmond glanced him up and down, evidently taking care  to
note Will's credentials. `Might ...' he whispered.

                It was at this point that the younger guy perhaps first
started question himself as to whether the English fellow was being quite
as honest as he claimed. He said he'd been visiting his girlfriend, but the
sheer confidence that the man displayed over the next few minutes served
only to suggest that this was not the first time he had engaged in hot-male
action. For there was not a hint of reticence about him as they pushed
themselves into one of the cubicles in the nearest available toilet-block,
and unzipping his trousers, he pulled out a more-than-adequate shaft that
Will felt sure had seen more than enough action in its time.

                Not that the young Dutchman cared at that particular point.
The thrill of the encounter was such that all he really cared about was
finding space enough in the booth, amidst their various bags and carriers,
to enable him to fall to his knees – after all, he wanted to take that
thick, veined, purple rod in his mouth and he wanted to do it right now.
He'd waited long enough for some manner of excitement in his sex-life, and
although Esmond did not exactly fit the bill as the footballer of his
dreams, he was still more than spunky enough to secure a passing interest.
It was one opportunity that Will sensed he'd be foolish to miss.

                Esmond's shaft was positively throbbing, but the younger
lad knew of a satisfactory cure. Opening his mouth wider than he felt he'd
ever opened it before, Will began to consume the appendage with plainly
fervent desire, pushing it inside like it was the last dick on the planet.
Meantime, his own cock was pulsing away in his jeans, the blood rushing
through his most delicate organs to such a pitch that the youngster thought
that they might burst at any moment. Yet he was determined to keep his
concentration on Esmond's beautiful offering, laid out for him in all its
manly glory, and lifting it off his rough tongue for a moment, he pulled
back the generous fold of skin and began to suck exquisitely on the swollen
head beneath.

                By now the shaft was oozing generous reams of pre-cum in
expectation of the delicious spooge to follow, which dribbled from Will's
lips and down the navy fleece that he was wearing. Not that the Dutchman
looked greatly concerned – all that seemed to bother him was that he had a
fine roll of meat pressing firmly down his throat, almost knocking out his
tonsils and threatening to gag him at any moment. That wasn't set to be the
case for very much longer, though. The blond-haired wonder was getting
other ideas and urgently wanted to slip his member between Will's
bum-cheeks. But whether that would actually be possible – given the
claustrophobic nature of their surroundings – remained yet to be seen.

                All the same, Esmond was more than willing to give it a
try, and pushing their bags aside, now encouraged his new-found partner to
stand, undo his belt and then slip out of his trousers in preparation of a
buffeting that would surely equal anything the sea about them could ever
produce. It was going to be one rough, but very cool ride, and feeling the
stranger's finger's lube his hairy arse-hole, Will sensed that he would
shortly have to grit his teeth for fear of crying out aloud and drawing
attention to their antics. After all, he could already hear the movement of
several people outside and he felt sure that someone would call security if
suspicions were raised. All the same, there was actually something rather
appealing at the prospect of having intercourse just yards away from
unsuspecting trippers, and as Esmond forced him over the toilet, he
considered the sheer thrill that their present danger now provoked within
him.

                Will's pucker was raised and waiting, almost quivering in
expectation – whilst the English fellow slipped a condom over the raging
length of his emboldened shaft. A few breathless moments on and that same
prime shank of manhood was buckling down to its apparent naval duty, with
every stroke aiming to part the lips of man-cunt that lay between it and
paradise. Will, meantime, grasped hard to the cistern – desperate to
maintain his near-desperate silence and all the time only too painfully
aware that even the slightest groan might draw attention to their present
situation.

                It seemed almost to take forever, but at last Esmond's cock
began to push through Will's sweet ring – slowly but surely edging its way
inside the dark, delectable recess that nestled beyond. The process was
cramped at first, given their surroundings, and despite every effort to the
contrary, the younger lad could not prevent himself from yelping
momentarily as his cherished buggery began. It was enough to secure the
questioning of some interfering so-and-so outside – at which point both
lads stopped in their tracks, praying to God that their intercourse was not
about to be rudely interrupted.

                `I'm fine!' called Will deliberately at long last, as
Esmond glanced on with a winsome smile.

                `You sure, mate?' whined the man outside. `You don't sound
well ...'

                `Yes, I'm fine!' he repeated – a little curtly, if truth be
known. `I'm just a bit bunged up, that's all!'

                Esmond sniggered at the joke – but it was enough to secure
the man's dismissal (much to the relief of them both). For the two of them
had got a whole lot of fun to get on with and the last thing they wanted
was any further questioning.

                The coast was at last clear – and the taller lad made the
most of his advantage now by forcing his aching knob-head further into
Will's empty crack. The interruption, it seemed, had made little impact on
the ferocity of his stiffness – as lucky young Will was about to discover.
For soon his shit-hole was being pummelled with a near-insatiable fury, and
before long he could feel the slap of Esmond's loose-hanging balls against
his own. It was a delightful, cum-inspiring sensation that could only serve
to whip the lad into an ever-more-heightened frenzy, and clinging onto his
own erect staff, he started to beat his cock to the gaining rhythm behind.
Not that the older lad was having any of that. He wanted Will's hard shaft
for his own carnal delight, and throwing his hands forward, he caught hold
of the guy's arms and pinned them back to the cistern beyond.

                `I'll tell you when you can play with yourself ...' he
whispered mischievously, ramming even harder from the rear.

                Esmond was pounding without mercy now – perhaps somewhat
taking advantage of the fact that Will was unable to make so much as a
whimper in his present situation. The youngster longed to shout and groan
and bit his lip and rolled his eyes in a bid to hold back from the natural
desire to do so, whilst his heart raced away in his chest, to the point
where he almost thought that he might explode from the sheer thrill of the
occasion.

                In the end, however, it was Esmond who exploded – in a
thick, treacly eruption deep inside Will's butt-hole, which was only held
back by the rubber that he was wearing. A salvo of shots emerged, and this
time it was the blond who had to prevent himself from a public acclamation.
The cum poured in almost affected silence, as Esmond emptied his hairy
balls in a gush of wanton relish, whilst Will hung on in near-frustration,
longing to wank his own aching shaft, but prevented from doing so by the
older fellow's enduring clench.

Such hankering for stimulation would not go unrewarded, however, for
slipping his spent cock out from Will's well-worked slit, Esmond now turned
the fellow round and fell to his knees in humble adoration of that
more-than-worthy member. For Will's shaft was thick and tempting and it
wasn't many seconds before the Englishman was pulling back the foreskin to
examine the pulsing, crimson head beneath with his thirsty tongue. Not that
Esmond's mouth proved dry for long. The Dutch rod had already been oozing a
bountiful flow of pre-cum whilst the lad had been shafted over the toilet
and there was little indication of any turn in the tide. As such, the
taller guy's mouth now drooled with juice in much the same manner as Will's
had a short while before, though the look in the lad's cornflower eyes
seemed to suggest that he wouldn't be truly satisfied until he could feel a
pelt of cum at the back of his throat, white-washing his tonsils and
trickling down his lusty gullet.

                Will pushed his cock-head deeper into Esmond's mouth now,
until the older fellow's nose was pushing up against the thick, curly mat
of hair that stretched around the base of that gorgeous shaft. As he did
so, he could not help but begin to stroke his fingers through the English
lad's abundant, blond hair – bending down in supply, youthful manner to
kiss the top of his head in the process. As he did so, however, he could
sense the excitement of the moment about to overcome him, and he muttered
his intent to the chap, unsure as he was as to Esmond's reaction.

                He half expected the fellow to pull away, so that his cum
would splatter across the cubicle, but under the circumstances that might
have been a risky venture. Just as well then that Esmond was a thirsty boy
and was keen to ensure that none of Will's ball-juice would go to waste.
Realising this only served to encourage the Dutchman even more, and sensing
the rub of the end of his pal's tongue on his piss-hole, he stood erect
once again and started to release his precious load. One bolt of spunk
quickly followed another and Will glanced down to savour the sight of the
guy choking on the eruption. Except that Esmond showed no signs of being
unable to deal with the deluge, but instead swallowed at such an eager rate
that hardly a drop of nectar appeared to escape from his lips. It was an
act that only seemed to re-confirm Will's suspicions: that this was no
inexperienced novice serving his cock, but rather an expert of some year's
standing. The story concerning the girlfriend might or might not be true –
Will would never know, given that they would never meet again – but one
thing was certain. Esmond was a prime cock-sucker, whose insistence on
being straight disguised a reality that was infinitely more appealing.

                They parted with a long, tasty kiss – flicking the sperm
between their open mouths, so that it swam over their tongues and across
their gums. It was a dirty, but incredibly horny farewell, but it seemed to
underscore the brief and very sordid nature of their encounter. Amoral or
not, however – it had been a fucking enjoyable experience, which in the
short-term would make up for the lack of lasting sexual success in Will's
short life. One day, he was sure, things would change very much for the
better, but in the meantime he would simply smile and accept an experience
like this as the sweet, meaningless pleasantry that it was.

                Will saw Esmond one last time as they disembarked – a
short, momentary smile passing between them as they walked out through
customs. But before the Dutchman knew it, the fellow had disappeared in the
crowd, leaving only the memory of a good fuck in the mind and  the
lingering taste of semen in the mouth. Still, it was enough to take his
thoughts away from the drudgery of the train ride home, and indeed he was
still in a bubbly mood when he finally arrived back at his flat.

                It was a disposition that would not last for long, however,
for climbing the stairs in the block where he lived and opening the
fire-door that led on into the corridor beyond, he suddenly became aware of
someone standing outside his door – someone, it had to be said
straightaway, he had no real desire to see.

                The person in question was male and in his early thirties.
He was several inches taller than Will, with a thick head of black hair
which was brushed back on his head. He was well-built, but scarcely
overweight, and he had a very clean-cut, professional persona that
suggested a distinctly middle-class upbringing. As such, there was nothing
unusual about him being dressed in a tightly-pressed white shirt and tie,
and his near accent-less voice only underlined his privileged heritage.

                `Drew ...' stated the Dutch lad, trying desperately not to
look or sound in any way concerned or surprised.

                `Hello, Will,' he smiled in an almost oily fashion. `How's
Holland?'

                The youngster stepped towards the door, fishing in his
pocket for the key as he did so. `Fine,' he replied – but in a nervous,
edgy manner that suggested he was less than impressed with Drew Michaels's
attention.

                The older chap moved towards him with a sudden, almost
unexpected motion. `I've missed you ...' he confessed.

                Will glanced up at his distinct blue eyes, which seemed all
the more notable because of his dark eyelashes. `Did you want something,
Drew?' he asked finally, trying hard to disguise his Dutch intonation.

                Drew brushed his hand across Will's cheek, smiling (albeit
insincerely) as he did so. `I always want something from you, lover-boy.
You know that ...'

                Will pushed the key into the lock and opened the door. `By
the way,' he sighed, wishing to ignore the fellow's advances, `you still
have not taken the money you left here the other week ...'

                `Money?' Drew teased.

                `You left some money on the –' he began, trying hard to
think of the word, ` – the mantelpiece.'

                `That's yours, Will.'

                `I do not want your money, Drew!'

                `Why not?'

                Will stepped into the room and cast his bags on the bed.
`Because I am not needing your money anymore,' he proclaimed. `I have a job
now ...'

                Drew sighed. `Oh, that ...' he mocked. `I suppose you're
hoping you can hit it off with one of the players!'

                `I can always dream ...'

                `Well, tough shit, gay boy! Queers don't play football!'

                Will stepped across the room and picked up the money from
the shelf. `Like I was saying,' he continued, ignoring the guy's tormenting
and instead thrusting the notes into Drew's hand, `I am not needing this
money – understand?'

                The older guy looked thoughtful, waiting a moment or two
before pocketing the cash. `Right,' he sighed at length, now appearing to
look all contrite and innocent, `I might as well go if I'm not wanted ...'

                The Dutch lad glanced across at his handsome stature. `It
would probably be best,' he sighed.

                Drew edged slowly towards the door. `Right then ...' he
muttered, `I'll be off ...'

                Will continued to watch – seemingly unmoved. But he
refrained from saying anything else.

                And then, out of the blue, the visitor marched up to the
younger man and kissed him squarely on the lips. It was a firm, passionate
embrace, which Will clearly tried to ease away from at first, but Drew was
unrelenting and continued to force himself on the still-impressionable
foreigner with a determination that Will could never resist.

                Before either of them really knew what was happening, their
mouths had opened up and they were lapping away with youthful eagerness –
the Dutch lad clearly no longer able to avoid the charms and devotions of
his suave, urbane lover. Their tongues danced feverishly together, whilst
their bodies pressed closer and closer, so that they could soon feel the
hard excitement that each had to show in their groins. Indeed, it was this
evidence of firm, masculine passion that now led Drew to press down his
companion's sweet, tender frame – so that he was soon on his knees, pulling
away at the belt and zip of Will's jeans, with his mouth undeniably open
and ready for the tasty delights that he knew were inside.

                It was at this point that Will appeared to momentarily come
to his senses, as he pulled himself away and tried desperately to restore
his dignity. `No, Drew!' he insisted. `No, I think you had better be
leaving ...'

                But such rejection clearly had little impact on the
determined fellow. `You like it,' he whispered, refusing to let go. `You
know you like it, Will. Come on, relax – live a little ...'

                `I really do not think that you should ...'

                Those were the final words of resistance that the Dutch lad
was able to offer. Before he knew it, Drew had pushed him backwards onto
the bed and had removed his jeans and boxers – revealing seven inches of
hard, throbbing cock in the process. That Will had a strong physical
attraction to the fellow was bad enough. That Drew himself realised this,
was even worse. For, as this occasion demonstrated, the guy was more than
willing to take advantage – using a charisma that appeared to leave the
youngster at his raw mercy every single time.

                Drew had Will's handsome knob-head between his lips now,
sucking on its stiffness with a gusto that would have been almost admirable
under any other circumstances. Nevertheless, there was no denying the
physical pleasure that the younger chap was experiencing at this point, as
he writhed to his lover's wanton amusement. But all he really wanted was
for Drew to stop – though his aching cock prevented such sensibility. After
all, his most precious organ demanded rough attention, and with balls full
of churning cum to consider, Will knew that he had little choice but to
relax and savour the cruel ferocity of such devotion.

                Not that Drew would be content with just sucking his cock.
No, the fellow was a crazed sex-machine, who seemed almost to enjoy
degrading Will by every means possible, and it was little surprise when he
reached for a condom and began to lube the Dutch lad's hairy arse in
anticipation of his latest conquest. For that was how Drew regarded their
relationship: a continual succession of battles that would end in Will's
submission every time and which appeared only to feed his own dark ego. And
things were set to continue that way – at least until the youngster met
someone else, someone who would give him the strength of character to stand
up and say that he was worth more than a quick shag as and when Drew
himself demanded.

                He gained some comfort, mind, from what had happened
earlier that day, from those few stolen moments of real excitement that the
journey had provided – which the older guy clearly knew nothing about and
which Will was not about to reveal. And feeling the shaft push earnestly
into his bowels, he could not help but wish that it was Esmond who was
fucking his butt and not Drew. But the day would come – it would surely,
surely arrive – when he would meet the real man of his dreams, who would
lead him away from this life of miserable subjugation. And when that day
came, you could sure as fuck bet that Drew Michaels would be history.
History, man – yes, as sure as fuck is fuck, the man would be history!

                This was not rape – Will, after all, consented, though
admittedly with reluctance. But as Drew finally shot his load inside him
(still dressed as he was in his shirt and tie and with his trousers around
his knees) and as he himself spumed angrily across his own firm belly, the
Dutchman could not help but gasp at his own self-disgust. Why was he not
stronger? Why could he not resist the advances of a man who, in his very
own words that day, was nothing more than a complete bastard? Why couldn't
he just stand up and be counted and regard himself as someone who was worth
loving because he himself was lovely?

                Drew pulled up his slacks, kissed Will lamely on the
forehead and then headed for the door – leaving the youngster to hold back
the tears as best he could. Then, as if to throw salt into the wounds, he
tossed the money in his pocket back in Will's direction. `Here you are,
gay-boy,' he snapped. `Get yourself a football!'

                And with that he left, with a smug smile on his pretty face
– little realising that life's tide was about to turn against him. He'd had
it *all* his own way *all* these years. But that was just about to change ...