Voyeur Sex

Big Tits

Subject: Premiership Lads, Part 288 Part 288: Up the Arse(nal) A streaming service film jangled to its predictable conclusion on a huge wall-mounted screen, combining with a host of scented candles to cast a wholesome soft glow on the extensive sitting room; a young couple were perched intimately one of the large soft couches angled towards said television, the man propped up more neatly with the attractive brunette folded in against his athletic body. She cooed over the cinema-by-numbers rom-com that he had endured with chuckles and thinly-suppressed cynicism, and the attractive pair bickered aimlessly over a couple of plot-holes while relaxing further into the squishy sofa. The remnants of a Lebanese takeaway were scattered on the low table in front of them, and the young man leaned forward to pick at them, earning a light slap to the shoulder and more gentle criticism from his steady girlfriend, who he turned and smirked at with a greasy mouth, which he proceeded to lunge over and try to kiss her with, making her squeal and giggle as they fumbled and played about on the couch – his hands sliding along her curves under silky PJs and one of her feet straying to nudge meaningfully at the crease in his slack sweatpants, where his two outstretched legs met and something private bulged. In moments, Ben White was being led from his sofa by the hand, both young lovers giggling and grinning – the oversized TV was switched off and the candles were blown out, both little tasks interrupted by mutual buttock-grabbing and pecked kisses to cheeks and necks. Then the two of them were disappearing from the larger of the townhouse’s lounges and up a short flight of stairs towards Ben’s master bedroom – her pyjamas were shed within moments of entering the bedroom, and the 24-year-old footballer enjoyed the high-end lingerie that he’d treated his girl to this Valentine’s Day. He grinned excitedly and snogged his girlfriend Milly off her feet, before letting her help him to strip away the open hoodie and clingy white vest to bare more of his lean body and its neat ink printing, then clambering onto the bed together. She played with his hardening member through the sweatpants and he devoted his attention to her breasts as always, his favourite feature of the beautiful Instagram model and influencer who had captured his fickle footballer’s heart. White peeled down her lace panties and ate her out briefly, never a big fan of giving oral, but a huge fan of getting it – he quickly had his way, sprawled arrogantly back on his bedcovers in the chic bedroom, holding her hair back for her while she fellated his long curved prick and tickled at his tight hairless balls with her false nails. More snogging and fumbling about, remaining garments kicked fussily away from the bedding until they were naked, two tanned body beautifuls interlocking in careless fun. He entered her smoothly in missionary, cradling her in strong centre-back’s arms and fucking her with his usual plodding rhythm, far too handsome to have ever had to make a lot of effort in the bedroom before; they kissed as he did so and White allowed himself to get lost in the quick race towards completion that would end a romantic night in, but was interrupted very suddenly by an unwelcome new sensation that made him jolt still and open bulging eyes to stare down at her fluttering lashes and breathy lips – `Oi,’ the South Coast lad barked unexpectedly, as the stray finger curved between the downy mounds of his buttocks and tickled against his crack, taking him by surprise – he held himself still, tensing over her, and the finger prodded more firmly at a fleshy little spot down there, and it made the straight lad’s body all seize up rigidly against her and his cock retract from her wet garden. `Hey!’ he yelped, withdrawing from her and wriggling his perky bottom to shift away her exploring hand, shivering and uncomfortable. `What?!’ she demanded shrilly as their gorgeous bodies separated, and she stared irritably at him, pouting those lips that had left their cherry stain on the shaft of his cock. Her big lashes fluttered and she played with her hair. Ben rose up onto tattooed knees and hovered beside her, heart hammering for a few more moments before he calmed down again. `None of that!’ the Arsenal defender yelped at her, an uncertain laugh in his tone. `Alright, alright,’ she said impatiently, `just fuck me will you, stud? Get that big Premiership cock in here…’ She sounded demanding but she looked annoyed, even disappointed, and Ben hesitated uncomfortably before being fully enticed by the sight of those fingers and nails playing across her wet lips and inviting him in – the same finger that had rubbed between his cheeks invasively and made him leap off her as if electrocuted. `Why did you do that?’ the 24-year-old demanded sulkily, even as he bore back down on her and kissed at her neck. `My other boyfriends liked it,’ huffed the young model, cradling his lean torso and scratching down his back – the sharpness of her nails veered curiously close to the rise of his bottom and he wriggled to show his disapproval, sliding himself back into her and resuming the slow waves of action into her pussy, shaking his head. `Not me,’ he grunted, closing the matter and returning to his `mission’, pushing inexpertly into her until he was ready for the comfortably agreed withdrawal method across her tummy, and a snatch of uneasy snogging where she kept pulling moodily away from him, seeming unusually dissatisfied – the lazy lothario of youthful good looks was baffled and half-asleep, and he rolled away from her in the sluggish aftershock of his own cum explosion, telling himself she must be almost at her time of the month! Midweek half-day, the intense Spanish head coach announced to the lads – `Enjoy it,’ snapped the former club legend in his playing days, wagging a finger at the young men around him, `because tomorrow and Friday we will go hard to make sure Saturday is a BIG win for us, ok? I need you all at your BEST – get some rest this afternoon, promise me.’ The wannabe Pep Guardiola frowned meaningfully about the meeting room of the Arsenal training camp and then exited in a hasty strut once the assembled players had nodded and echoes their `Yes boss’ sentiments. Sat at the back of this assembly, the squad’s 23-year-old goalkeeper folded heavy arms across the front of his polo shirt and grinned loosely across his big features, able to enjoy the pomposity of Mikel Arteta’s tone whilst still admiring the Spaniard’s management style, and agreeing with his optimistic determination for the weekend ahead. Around him, the lads were getting up one by one and flitting out of the room, drifting through the communal spaces of the expensive training centre – Aaron Ramsdale followed them at a leisurely pace, fiddling with drawstrings on the front of his tracksuit bottoms and whistling idly to himself. `Pub, then?’ he joked lightly to the nearest few lads as they moved through into the relaxation area where a lot of their private belongings had been dropped before the formal meeting. His good pal and key defender grinned cheerfully back at him over this, nodding furiously. `Definitely, six or seven pints before tea-time, yup?’ Ben White quipped eagerly, and the two of them guffawed at the lame jest. `Absolute dad banter,’ critiqued their younger teammate, as Emile Smith-Rowe barged past them to fetch his backpack from the window seat it occupied, smirking and frowning at them both as he checked its contents and fetched out his smartphone. `What do you know about my girlfriend’s periods that I don’t?’ Ramsdale teased back at the 21-year-old starlet, with all the affable casualness of a 6ft2 gentle giant whose voice was rarely challenged by his mates. He chuckled weakly at his own crude joke and leaned his large keeper’s hands on the back of another seat, watching as Emile fussed with the device and seemed intent on his messages. `I wish,’ White was sighing, flopping into the next seat. `Would love a few bevvies.’ `Imagine Mikel’s face,’ Ramsdale sniggered to him. `He’d go mental,’ the 24-year-old agreed. `Who are you messaging anyway, youngster?’ he barked out at Smith-Rowe, voicing aloud the casual question that had just flickered through Aaron’s wandering thoughts. Smith-Rowe paused, seeming annoyed at having to multitask, his eyes trained on the phone screen and his knuckles poised to continue thumbing in a quick message. Aaron grinned knowingly at him. `Bootie call, is it?’ he pushed idly, enjoying the slight flush of colour it brought into the younger lad’s smug expression. `Of course,’ Smith-Rowe quipped back, either chuffed with his sexual exploits, or willing to play along with the banter. `Who?’ chirped Ben White, as nosy as ever. `Your missus,’ Ramsdale said, reaching across to deliver a gentle punch to the defensive player’s shoulder, then eyeing up Smith-Rowe expectantly, wanting the real answer. Emile shrugged and grinned coyly at them both. `Just some local bird around here,’ he said, unusually evasive for such a smug kid. His answer made both fellow Arsenal players snigger, and two others had joined them at this side of the lounge area too – Bukayo Saka and Rob Holding were grinning quite innocently across at the apparent Romeo, adding slight social pressure to the question. `Nobody special,’ the 21-year-old added, looking ambivalently pleased and tormented by the attention. `Probably Rob’s mum,’ Ben retorted, earning a light clip from the older player. Saka sniggered childishly at them all. `Guys, this is gross.’ `Nah, who is she?’ Aaron pushed with a grin, rocking on his heels and staring forcefully at his younger friend, enjoying the moment of discomfort. `You’re obviously sneaking off to bang her instead of hanging out with your bros here, so…’ `Some married bird,’ Emile said quickly and defensively. `You know the sort. Rich older woman, fucking goes mad for my cock!’ He seemed embarrassed and hiding behind this cocksure bravado, and it just made the other footballers snigger more. `Married with kids,’ Smith-Rowe added unnecessarily, `but makes time to nosh me off, you know the sort, yeah?’ He grinned hesitantly. `She got a name, this MILF?’ Holding asked him with a dollop of sarcasm, earning more high-pitched embarrassment from Saka, `Aw guys, let’s not be such cliches, yeah?’ `Harriet,’ grunted the 21-year-old attacking midfielder, and Aaron Ramsdale was the first to burst into heavy gruff laughter – it was so quick and flimsy that the youth was obviously lying, perhaps about the whole sexual arrangement. It made the big young goalie chortle and shake his head, grumbling out `Sure lad, sure, sounds definitely-not-made-up to me, haha…’ This all made the Surrey-born midfielder scowl and blush and pack up his things in a hurry to leave, surrounded by the jibes and sniggers of the other Premiership lads. `Fuck off,’ sparked Emile finally, `I’m gonna go get my dick sucked, you losers can stay here fantasising about being allowed a pint, okay?’ And off he went, disappearing away from their teasing digs and rattling laughter, and Ramsdale leered across at his usual banter buddy White, both of them enjoying the idea of the younger lad’s made-up and exaggerated sex life, briefly speculating further about the old granny that Smithy must be banging. `You lot are terrible,’ rebuked Bukayo, but lightly, the innocent young guy looking mortified but amused by the whole group conversation, and hoisting his own bag over his strong young shoulders to go. `See you tomorrow, anyway.’ `You not up for hanging out?’ Ben demanded disappointedly. `Tsk, nah, boys – I’ve got some online gaming scheduled…!’ `Ugh, laaaaame,’ groaned Ben. `Where was our invite?’ added Aaron critically, tilting his big head. `Just messin’ – go enjoy yourself, kiddo, and see ya when you grow some balls, okay…?’ `I’ll leave you to this lovely chat,’ Rob Holding told them, patting them each on one shoulder with a hand and ducking out, `some of us have actual real physical girlfriends to go hook up with on our free afternoons, unlike Smithy and his porno fantasy. Peace, brothers.’ The two giggling overgrown boys mersin escort were left to chuckle and chatter as just a pair, Ben still slumped in the hard chair and Aaron folding his arms across the backrest of another, looming over his fellow young Arsenal star. `If only dirty KT was here to add his sixpence,’ Ramsdale offered in a jokey tone, scratching at his faint blond stubble, `he’d bloody love this, wouldn’t he?’ `Oh, our Kieran would have LOADS to say, haha,’ Ben rapidly agreed, and they shared a meaningful look before bursting out laughing again. The Scotsman’s puritan prudishness was a running joke amongst the lads, with the hard-as-nails fellow defender always slow to get the simplest dirty joke or join in with anyone else’s banter about their sex life – Ben and Aaron even had a private joke that the innocent-faced 24-year-old was still a virgin, never actually risked in front of his face, but much enjoyed behind his back. And now Tierney was away with a fairly major knee injury, and so the easy butt of their schoolyard humour. `Bunch of geeks,’ Aaron concluded lightly, straightening up and stretching out his chest and shoulder muscles beneath the close-fitting training top. He glanced about the quiet room, realising that most of the lads had quite rapidly taken the boss’s instructions literally and headed home, though he felt in no particular rush to do so himself. Ben, in an unlikely turn of events, looked deep in thoughts in his seat, staring out of the window onto the Arsenal training pitch – or, Aaron thought more likely, just staring adoringly at his own handsome reflection in the glass, so he gave him a light clip and then shook him by the soldier. `Oi, are you still fantasising about this nana that Emile’s sticking his pinky finger in, are you?’ the big Midlands goalkeeper prodded playfully. `Hmm? Oh – er – what? Haha. No!’ The 24-year-old got up from the seat, laughing and shaking his head, but looking much more distracted than he had been when they were bantering with a bigger group of guys, and Emile was the easy young target of their jokes and jibes. `Right,’ said Ramsdale, `just checking out your reflection as usual, then…?’ White gave him a funny look and then snorted. `Sure, sure, sounds about right. Prick.’ They turned away from the area of seats, Aaron hoisting up a gym bag over one shoulder and sauntering through the room. He was really starting to feel established and settled here at the North London club now after an early phase of imposter syndrome, unable to quite believe the rapid upturn in his young goalkeeping career – and he was glad to be making a lot of close friendships with other similarly positioned lads like Ben here, and even the others that they liked to mock and tease. The older and more established fellas were slightly less open, he’d noted, but he didn’t mind so much – Arsenal had endured such up-and-down fortunes in recent seasons and the current team seemed to be young and dynamic, creating a certain nervousness to the more seasoned squad members that they mixed with. Like these two, he thought, noting Alexandre Lacazette and Granit Xhaka ahead of them, both seated on stools at a self-service refreshments bar, heads bowed in what appeared to be serious conversation – the French and Swiss pair, 30 and 29 respectively, did seem to keep to themselves and take a lot less interest in the banter of young studs like he and Ben. `Alright guys,’ he said anyway on the way past, and the two more experienced players just shot him half-smiles and wary eyes before returning to their conversation, unintelligible to a stereotypical Englishman without more than five words of French – although it did sound a little bit intense and personal. `What’s up with them?’ he asked Ben on their way out of the room. `Who?’ the former Brighton defender asked sharply. This made Ramsdale smile hesitantly and give his pal a more curious look, realising that the other player really was a little out of sorts and distracted after all – he wasn’t that interested in the affairs of Lacazette or Xhaka after all, so he didn’t pushed the topic, but just rested one of his big paws on the other lad’s shoulder for a brief moment of sensitivity and leaned his way. `Everything okay, Whitey?’ he enquired casually. `What?’ The centre-back gave him an oddly frosty glance, then shook it off. `Sorry – yes, all good, just… Nowt.’ `Look,’ Aaron said through a stifled yawn, `I was thinking of taking a bit of a sauna or something before I make my way home – otherwise it’s just a dull afternoon of waiting for the missus to finish up at work. You?’ Ben shrugged. `Sure. It’s either that or we take my car and stalk Emile for a laugh.’ They both burst into chuckles at this prospect, and Aaron was cheered by a return to form in his buddy’s humour and focus. They left the communal area and made their way back through the quiet fitness suites in the direction of the smaller separate recovery building where some sauna facilities should still be available despite Arteta’s instructions – the manager himself was in one of the gym areas, working out with three or four assistant coaches, Aaron noted, vaguely impressed to see the older bloke working on his personal fitness, or perhaps just making sure that none of the players were trying to do the same rather than resting their legs. Ben broached the subject with a delicate carelessness. He hadn’t actually known the big lad for very long, he supposed, although it had been a very bonding season and he’d definitely put Rammers up there with his closest mates in London after moving here last summer. And there was just something instantly trustworthy about the big goofy Stoke lad – not that he seemed dumb or anything, but open and honest and kind, things that mattered to Ben even if a lot of his pals were more self-obsessed posers like he tended be mistaken for. They were sat in the low-ceilinged wood-lined space of a sauna block, and stripped down to their under-shorts with club-branded towels draped about their shoulders as they sat on opposing benches in the already oppressive heat – he found that he quite liked seeing the visual contrast between his own lightly tanned skin, smooth but decorated in tattoo, and the chunky paleness of the other guy, fluffy with grey-blond hair all over his legs and much of his broad chest. `Has a girl ever slipped you the finger?’ White blurted. It wasn’t a total tangent, as the joke of Emile’s sex life had risen up in their banter and Ramsdale had been joking about how their mate was probably getting used by some whole club of bored North London wives as their sex slave. Still, the new Arsenal goalie gave him a thoughtful and surprised look before bursting into his loud, brash laugh. `I never said the Witches of Hampstead were doing THAT to poor Smithy, did I?’ came the jovial response, Aaron slapping big hands against his thighs and rattling against the wooden backrest as he laughed. `No,’ Ben said quickly – his blush probably didn’t show, because both men were already quite red and clammy in the face with the effects of the sauna heat. He came out with it quickly, because it was easier, like an elastoplast. `Just a funny thing last night,’ he mumbled, `and the missus tried to pop one in, y’know, like they do.’ He laughed at himself, hearing the question in the last phrase – it was a thing that happened, he was sure of it. `Oh aye, like they do,’ Aaron chuckled back at him quietly. A pause and then, `Nah, can’t say as that has happened to me, to be honest, but I do know what you mean – I reckon some lads are into that kinda thing, haha. Hey, bloody Emile probably is, the little pansy.’ Ben sniggered, but without feeling. He scratched the thin tufty facial hair on his sharp jawline, twisting his slim muscular body against the wooden slats and yanking briefly at the tight elasticated material of his Under-Armour shorts. `Obviously I told her where to stick her fingers, hah – silly bird. Milly normally just enjoys what we do, not like her to… Well. Push things.’ `Literally,’ smirked his mate. `Did it freak you out then?’ Ben just shrugged. He slightly regretted bringing it up, but as he’d hoped, there was something big and confident and reassuring about Rammers, who didn’t seem put out by the topic. `I suppose I’m not very exciting in bed,’ he found himself admitting with a hint of seriousness, a thought that had struck him over his breakfast muesli, unwilling to wake Milly and ask her about what she’d tried in bed – he probably never would, unless she had the nerve to attempt it again. `Pretty boy, ain’t you,’ chided Ramsdale now. `Never had to try.’ Ben scowled a little at this idea. `I know how to graft,’ he muttered, `you big ugly lump.’ He smirked at his friend to clarify the joke, hoping the lad didn’t really feel bad-looking or anything like that. Ben couldn’t help pride himself in his sharp looks, he always had, but he hated the idea that he had things any easier as a result of them! They were all hardworking sportsmen, grafting away at the big success, and dating was no different, in his opinion, so much hard work to get anything going. `But no,’ Aaron said lightly after a few quiet moments, `none of my lasses have ever tried that on me, have to say. I mean – maybe I don’t look the type?’ The rugged keeper shook with quiet laughter and Ben couldn’t help but frown and scowl a bit more at his mate across the hazy heat of the enclosed space. `What, and I do?!’ he exclaimed, a little too loudly. Aaron grinned foolishly, shrugged, then told him, `Nah, I didn’t mean it like that. I dunno. I mean, honestly mate, I’m more worried that no bird has ever let me get anything in HER arse, haha, you know what I mean? Always wanted to try anal. You done that, yeh?’ Though he was the one to make things so personal, White squirmed a little at this directness, giggling anxiously as he answered. `Yeh, just a couple of times, that’s all,’ he answered, trying to sound as brash and unbothered as they had when teasing the likes of Smithy or Saka or frigid Tierney. `Doesn’t mean I want no bird poking me up the bum, you know, bruv!’ `God, it’s really got to you, ain’t it?’ growled Rammers playfully. `Whitey, chill.’ He laughed at himself and shook his head, trying to shake off the idea that he was uncomfortable or worried. It was just a silly moment and he probably shouldn’t have brought it up here, although he DID feel better for it – Aaron just had that about him. He smiled vaguely and played with a thread on his towel, then watched a couple of beads of sweat travel over his inked chest and around the swell of his slight pecs. `What if she goes for it again tonight?’ prodded his goalie buddy quietly. Ben blinked at this and raised his eyebrows. He was a bit surprised Aaron wasn’t more keen to move on from the topic, but the dick was probably just teasing him. He rolled his eyes. `Oh, I’ll bend over for her and scream her name,’ he said dryly. `Fuck off, Rammers.’ Aaron looked at him levelly. `And… seriously?’ He shifted from thigh to thigh. `Tell her to watch herself! Fuck’s sake.’ A shrug of those broad white shoulders. `Maybe it turns her on. Fuck knows why. I wonder if I’d freak out as much as you are at it, Whitey.’ He made to say `I’m NOT freaking out’ but the bigger 23-year-old talked over him. `I probably would act just the same, have to say, but you never know – right lassie, right moment, whatever.’ Another shrug – `You should probably just let her explore it though, if it’s her thing. Don’t be a selfish lover, pretty boy.’ `Huh… easy for you to say. Your missus is as vanilla as you, by the sound of it, not letting you take her up the Arsenal. Huh.’ He shifted some more and used the edge of the towel to wipe a little sweat from his brow and cheeks, then his long neck. The 5ft11 centre-back tried not to look at Aaron’s infuriating smirk, instead fixating on the timer they’d set and the little temperature gauge panel – his embarrassment was making the sauna feel quickly too hot. `Maybe you should practise it,’ Ramsdale said in a gruff chuckle, and White couldn’t help but laugh at this idea. `Oh yeah,’ the Poole-born footballer escort mersin sighed at his friend, `that sounds a great idea, I’ll stick a finger up my bum in here with you, will I? You gonna coach me through it, big lad?’ He glared sourly at the other player, but smirked at the released tension. `Sure,’ Aaron responded, `and I’ll try it too for mutual fucking support!’ They both laughed. `Sometimes I’m not even sure when you’re kidding, Rammers!’ `Hah. Me neither, to be honest! It might be a laugh, but I was just messing with you – I doubt she gives a fuck about your skinny arse, matey, it was probably just something she’d seen in porn and thought you’d go mad for, that’s all.’ `Skinny arse?’ whistled Ben in mock horror. `Don’t disrespect my booty like that, Stokey.’ They grinned foolishly at one another and fell quiet, sweat pooling in armpits and in the depths of their covered crotches. Ben shook his head with a thin laugh, rubbing the towel over his face again and then folding it down on the bench beside him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees, hanging his head forward and just trying to enjoy the detoxing heat. When he lifted it, he found Aaron still smirking at him with an absent look in his eyes, and he kicked at his thick lower legs across the narrow space. `Stop thinking about my sex life, you twat,’ he scolded him. `Let’s get back to joking about Smithy, shall we? Wonder if he’s serviced your mum yet and moved on to your auntie.’ `I was thinking about whether I might suggest a bit of anal to my lass tonight, that’s it,’ muttered Ramsdale. `I wonder if it’s a fair trade – she can slip me a little finger for a sec and I’ll slam my big dick into her butt-hole, yeah…?’ He laughed goofily at how crass his comments were and Ben sniggered too, murmuring a sceptical `Sure’. But the idea was taking hold for the handsome centre-back now, and he looked thoughtfully at the firm door of the sauna – he thought about the quiet training centre and the afternoon of down-time stretching ahead of them. It wasn’t the worst idea. He rubbed his slight chinstrap beard again and shrugged vaguely. `I might just try it, if you don’t mind looking the other way,’ he said. `What, really?’ exclaimed Ramsdale instantly. The 6ft2 lad had eyes wide with surprise but he looked more amused than horrified, which just encouraged White with the scheme. `Sure. Are you gonna be my moral support?’ `Fuck off, Whitey.’ `You promised!’ he teased, only half-interested in the notion of the big jock trying it too. Instead, he pulled his toned legs up onto the bench with him and twisted himself around, trying to figure out the best position for it – he rested his head and shoulders to the wall that had been on his left and stretched his lean muscular form down the length of the boards, legs bent at the knees. A quick glance across to the parallel bench, and Ramsdale’s slightly disbelieving expression. `Well, don’t fucking watch me,’ he laughed. `You’re tapped in the head, brother.’ Ben ignored him, making a slight pillow of the dry towel, and then proceeding to remove his stretchy shorts – they twanged on his smooth light brown skin and he pulled the shorts away, easing them up his thighs and off, letting his cock and balls flop loosely between his legs, the positioning of his thigh allowing a bit of dignity if the other lad was still looking this way. He left the Under-Armour keks about his ankles and lay in this position for a thoughtful moment, then reached a bold hand past his privates and into his gooch. `Bloody hell,’ remarked the 23-year-old goalie. `Don’t fucking watch then,’ Ben advised him. `I thought you were gonna try it too, dickhead.’ He pushed his hand forward and ran three fingertips over his gooch, under the weight of his spreading bollocks, and then against the plump muscle of his buttocks – the crack between them was tight, so he had to shuffle a bit to loosen his cheeks, and lift his legs up a little bit more, and then he could slide a single finger into the crack. He touched himself there and laughed at how hot and fuzzy it felt. What the hell was he even doing?! Ramsdale grumbled to himself as he shifted his big body into position, glancing to the right and mirroring White’s posture – towel doubled over and tucked behind his spine to let him rest his head and shoulders, then tall athletic body stretching out down the bench until his heavy heels hit the far wall, a bit bigger than the centre-back. But, like him, he bent his legs at the knee and shuffled a bit, reaching down and removing his clingy lycra shorts in a series of furtive movements – that pretty boy dickhead had made it look so smooth and easy, but Aaron felt like an ungainly brute. `Well?’ he demanded, without rudely looking across at his teammate. `How’s it feeling?’ `Dunno really,’ came Ben’s quiet answer, `I’m just wondering why the hell Milly wanted to touch my arse at all, the more I feel it. Here, I bet yours is well hairy down there, isn’t it?’ `Fuck off,’ Ramsdale told him simply. His big privates drooped loosely between the two big fluffy pillars of his thighs, and he reached one hand over past his droopy cock and rubbed at his gooch in the way his pal had seemed to. Yes, he thought, really fucking hairy, but he didn’t confirm it for Ben, the wind-up merchant. Jesus, what were the pair of them playing at, doing this? `Here,’ he heard White say quietly now, `I’m gonna spit on my finger a bit first.’ `Okay,’ he said dimly, `I’ll do the same.’ He brought the hand back to his face and stuck his index finger between his lips, wetting it, then heard the more vocal spitting of the other lad, and copied, speckling his pointing finger with spittle, then sliding it back down past his hairy balls and down his gooch into the warm crevice between chubby arse-cheeks. He found it easily, the fleshy knot that marked the way in, and he just rubbed a cool wet finger against it, giggling slightly at the sensation. `This is stupid,’ he announced dully, to counteract the awkwardness of the new. Ben didn’t immediately answer, but made a soft little grunt noise. `You’ve put it in?’ he asked, hearing a breathy urgency in his voice that must give away his nervous energy. `Er, yeah, kinda,’ White told him. `How is it?’ he asked slowly, rubbing his own wet digit over the puckered muscle. `Weird.’ `Poetic description, bro.’ `Oh, sorry – shall I write a sonnet about my ring, dickhead?’ Aaron huffed with laughter and frowned privately. He ran his finger back and forth but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. It was a one-way fucking tunnel, wasn’t it? Still – he’d often fantasised about going in there when shagging his girlfriend, and previous one-night stands, and so he knew there was some stupid gendered hypocrisy in his attitude. But he was a straight lad, 100%, and before this afternoon it had never occurred to him that the one-way traffic might be re-routed. A little more muffled grunting from the centre-back, and Ramsdale couldn’t help but look, shifting his head a bit to the right – he could see the high colour in White’s cheeks, and the straining of one tattooed arm as it reached between his legs and beyond. Slight muscles twitched up and down Ben’s arm, revealing the hidden action. `Fuck,’ Aaron breathed out, `you’re actually fingering yourself?’ `Well, just a bit,’ grumbled the 24-year-old self-consciously. `I mean – how is it?’ `I dunno, what do you want me to say?’ `Soz – I don’t know, just- I dunno about this. Mine just feels… closed.’ `You gotta rub it some, man. Spit on your finger more.’ `I feel stupid.’ `Then don’t bother, I don’t care!’ His mate’s voice was reedy and breathy, distracted, irritable – it made Aaron looked at him again, and he immediately noticed the difference. Before, Ben’s bits had hung between his legs, more or less unseen, into the same hidden area which his hand disappeared to – but now, whereas one tattooed hand disappeared down between tanned legs, Ben’s other mitt was grabbing at his dick, which looked a bit stiff, playing with it while the muscles and sinews jerked in the other. Ramsdale wanted to make some jokey insult to the fact that his buddy was playing with himself so publicly, but he was lost for words – it just made him feel foolish and prudish, just like the Scottish presbytarian that they loved to bully in game-for-a-laugh Kieran Tierney, the dope. Instead, he just went awkwardly quiet, and thought about the dull throbs and tingles of his own privates – it’s not so much that he was turned on, he assured himself, but he was thinking about making love to his girlfriend tonight, and whether he might be bold enough to suggest anal sex to her. That was it, he thought, as his fat lazy cock twitched against his wrist. Ben played with himself quietly, an act of experiment: did this actually feel good? Was it helping to get his dick hard? Would it be exciting if it was Milly’s finger against his hole now, rather than his own? Hmm. He’d hardly inserted it really, he knew – just the tip of a finger pressing against the ring of muscle, the other hand teasing and stroking the semi-hard length of his prick in uncertain motions. He didn’t particularly have any answers to his questions, but he felt a surge of silent gratitude to his big oaf of a friend – it was cool that they’d been able to chat about this and that he was toying stupidly with himself like this in the sauna, without being jeered at or judged. He valued that. Rammers was a good guy. Led by these platonic thoughts, White couldn’t help but glance leftwards: the height of the goalkeeper seemed exaggerated by lying down, oddly, his body so huge and pale, a bulky length on the other side of the sauna, all pale-furred thigh and twitching upper arm muscle by that expanse of chest, dusted with curls of hair. He could see blotchy red and pink all over Aaron’s face and neck and he wondered how much of it was the heat and how much of it was embarrassment at what they were now doing. 50/50? `You okay, pal?’ he grunted, pausing both of his hands. `I guess.’ Ramsdale sounded worried. `You don’t mind me playing with my cock, do you?’ It sounded mad aloud, but he wasn’t sure what was okay right now, and he needed to ask it. `Why should I care?’ Rammers laughed hollowly. `I dunno,’ he admitted through a nervous chuckle. With his right hand, he continued to pull on his nob. `Are you doing the same?’ he asked, staring back up at the smooth dark material of the ceiling. Sweat stung at the edges of each eye. `Kinda,’ his pal mumbled. `Need a wank anyway,’ White told him, teasing the head of his cock and letting the foreskin roll back as it got harder. He brought his left hand back up close to his face and spat awkwardly against the fingers, too dehydrated to produce as much moisture as he’d like. Then back to the target; he poked at his hole, sure it was tighter than it had been just a minute ago, but then freshly surprised as his finger-tip slid in, and further this time, past the bend but not quite to the knuckle – it made him let out a soft gasp. He looked to the left again and this time met eyes with the other Premiership footballer – Aaron’s big face seemed gormless and unsure, but undoubtedly he was doing the same thing, one hand out of sight and the other toying with his manhood. This fact gave Ben a moment’s insecurity, seeing the size of the white schlong in his mate’s fingers, but that wasn’t a surprise – he’d seen it flopping about in the showers, after all, and he had no reason to be insecure about his own proportions or what he could do with them! `It’s okay,’ Ben said thinly, seeing something like panic in Aaron’s eyes. The big chilled out lad seemed nervey, so he laughed as lightly as he could. `You got it in yet, fella?’ `Kinda. It won’t go in much. Haha. Yours?’ `Erm. Same? I think. I dunno. But I did need a wank.’ `Huh, yeh. Me too, I guess. Huh.’ Ramsdale pulled back and forth on the increasingly solid length of his dick, and nuzzled the single finger across his twitchy hole, very slowly but surely encouraging it to open, and his very thick digit to enter the intimate heat of his own body. He gasped a bit at the progress, and mersin escort bayan his other hand squeezed at his veiny hard-on, tugging back on the foreskin. `Feels mad,’ he announced quietly to his friend. `Sure does,’ White agreed in a murmur. `Don’t think I can get it in any further,’ Aaron breathed out, as much to himself as to Ben. `Just try,’ laughed his accomplice uncertainly, and the goalkeeper instinctively did so – pushing in with his knuckles, forcing his thick finger inside himself with difficulty, feeling stretched and opened up even by the single digit barely within his hairy hole. In spite of the difficulty, it seemed to add pressure and intensity to the hard-on in his other hand, which he tugged ferociously now, getting carried up in the heat and his own nervous energy. Still, the Arsenal keeper pushed his middle finger more fully against his hole, feeling his own tight sphincter around it, getting it much further into himself after all, letting out a ragged groan as he did so. `Fuck,’ he huffed awkwardly, keeping it in there and jerking his thick meat in long pull after pull. `That’s it,’ he heard the centre-back say encouragingly. `FUCK,’ Ramsdale grunted again, more loudly. `Yup,’ agreed White earnestly. `I think I might cum.’ `Dirty bastard,’ he laughed raggedly. `Aren’t you?’ `Er – maybe. Hah!’ He could hear the fap fap of not just his own cock, but Ben’s too, and also the slight squelch sound of the other lad starting to work a bit more actively with his finger – it made him look over, though he knew he shouldn’t, and he saw more than he expected, because Ben had his strong player’s legs up in the air more, feet practically against the ceiling, giving slightly more profile of his twitching hand tucked against his firm tanned butt cheeks. Ramsdale gritted his teeth and tried the same, pulling back and forward with his one dirty finger whilst jerking his nob to completion. `Ugh,’ groaned the 24-year-old Poole lad, yanking on his dick and squidging his index finger in and out of his slightly-stretched hole, feet as high as he could get them in a crunch of his ab muscles – he was close, he could feel it, and there was definitely a sensible part of him shouting at himself to stop and relax – this was madness, doing this in here, in front of his pal! But it was like a rollercoaster ride he couldn’t get off until the green light said so, and he just poked repeatedly into himself and tugged on his dick, feeling that familiar tightening in his bollocks, and then… `Ohhh,’ he groaned, spilling the white goo over the crunched-up ridges of his six-pack, spewing a few more wads of the stuff up his torso, and trying to turn his orgasmic groans into self-effacing laughter in the hot buzz of the sauna. `Ohhh, haha, ohhh…. Erm…’ His finger immediately felt more alien and invasive and he retrieved it from his hole with a pop, wiping it swiftly across one buttock and thigh, and then just clinging to his own legs, feet jutted to the ceiling, cock flopped back and leaking a final drizzle of cum onto his tummy. Sweat soaked his face and his eyes stung as he blinked them. Then, giddy, Ben looked across to the left: wow, Ramsdale was really going for it, dragging up and down on that stupidly big thing, legs splayed out a bit to the side, and a hand still tucked down below, trying to finger himself. Ben’s eyes became locked on the sight of his big gangly pal, all blotchy white muscle and quivering body hair, grunting very loudly and rhythmically, then- Even if he’d been on a sex-ban before a crucial game, White had never seen himself release quite so much fluid as now burst from the pipe of the other player. Most of it shot against those massive fluffy thighs or back onto the man’s long torso, or perhaps a few glistening specs on the glossy wooden wall – but a smudge of it landed much closer to home, and Ben stared down at the side of his thigh, where a smear of the translucent stuff marked his own skin like a fresh tattoo. Ben flinched and coughed and then laughed nervously. Across the short space, Aaron’s breaths were long and desperate suckings of air, an his groans were shifting to awkward chortles too. Ben continued staring at the little marking of cum on his thigh, and then across at Aaron – should he say something? Complain at the stray splat? Make a joke about it? Nope – he just grabbed the towel pillow from under his head and ran it swiftly over his midriff, wiping up his own seed and then flicking away the speck of Ramsdale’s too, mildly traumatised by the intimacy of the sample. He was about to speak, to make some disarming ridiculous joke at another player’s expense, but then the cabin door was bursting inwards and he was sitting bolt upright in shock – he almost banged his head off the low ceiling in his hurry, but wasn’t quite tall enough, whereas Aaron actually did thud off it. `What are you doing here?’ demanded the intruder’s harsh voice. Mikel Arteta stood in the doorframe, holding the glass and wood panel inwards, and glaring at them with what seemed disproportionate anger. `Boys,’ ranted the Arsenal head coach. `What the hell are you playing at?’ It dawned on Ben just how bad the scene must look, his own dick still more or less erect between his sweaty legs, and Aaron’s monster surely even more obvious – suddenly, the 24-year-old was seeing it from somebody else’s perspective, and he gawped earnestly at the gaffer. `Wait,’ he barked uncomfortably, about to try and… explain? `Get up, and get out of here,’ Arteta was demanding, still stood there holding the door open, letting in a flood of cool air that tingled on overheated skin. Ben felt jittery and ridiculous, shooting anxious glances at the goalkeeper, as he dragged the cum-stained towel about his waist and found his lycra shorts on the thin strip of floor, then hurried out past the manager into the corridor beyond. Aaron lumbered after him, head hanging, and Arteta ranted a few phrases at them in half-understood Spanish, then slammed shut the sauna door. `I do NOT want to know,’ exclaimed the Arsenal boss, glaring from one to the other of them, then adding, `You were TOLD to go home and get some rest, gentlemen!’ His thick dark brows creased critically and Ben’s mind raced with sordid ideas about what his gaffer must think he’d been up to with the other young guy – well, the truth was sordid enough, but what did Arteta think had taken place, exactly…? The uncertainty was a killer. `Sorry chief,’ he heard Ramsdale offer gruffly at speed, knotting his own towel at the thick waist and backing away. `We just needed to…’ `I do NOT want to know!’ Arteta repeated loudly. As one, White and Ramsdale scampered away, clutching their shed under-shorts and holding towels about their sweaty waists, shifting away from the sauna block and past the row of recovery pools in the direction of the main changing rooms where they’d left their backpacks and kit. Ben’s heart drummed madly in his chest and his head felt light and dizzy. It wasn’t just Arteta’s angry voice ringing in his ear – as the two young players made to exit the therapy building, they found Lacazette by the door, arms folded and a bemused frown on his face. Shit! It wasn’t until several days later that Ben White found any brain capacity to question why the sturdy Frenchman was still on-site and in any less trouble than them. For now, all he could think about was being in trouble, and having people think he might be getting up to some naughty business with other guys. It made him tremble and gurn as they entered the changing rooms, thinking about the furious expression on Mikel’s dark features. But his intense mood was cut away by peals of raucous laughter from the other player, Ramsdale turning to smirk at him as they reached the safety of the locker-room where there things were dumped. `What do you think, a week’s fine?’ guffawed the tall West Midlander. Ben blinked dimly and tossed the towel aside, conscious of his own sticky mess on it, and a trace of the other lad’s somewhere (he half-noticed that Aaron was just drying himself down with the sauna towel, oblivious to what might be on it), and found another clean one to rub over his hot sweaty body. He felt more conscious of his nudity now and he made a fuss of getting into his clean clothes without exposing himself, while the big bugger rushed and flopped about carelessly, that ridiculous long python bouncing about as he dragged up boxer shorts then socks. `His face!’ cackled Ramsdale. `That was terrible,’ White complained. `Aren’t you worried?’ The goalkeeper snorted. `About what?’ Ben didn’t really know how to answer that. He just shrugged and pulled the training shirt over his upper body. He ought to shower, but clearly they were meant to be off the campus and away on their own private afternoons off – he didn’t want to risk pissing the chief off any more by staying for a cool shower and getting himself clean, even if it meant all of his clothes felt horrible and uncomfortable against his overwarm body. Aaron, who couldn’t stop laughing, was entirely pink and blotchy in the face as he pulled him into a loose hug and slapped him hard on the back. `What a pair of pillocks,’ the 23-year-old boomed. `Say that again,’ he muttered a little bitterly. Together, they hurried out into the car park. (Again, it would be a little while before either of them spared a thought for the other two remaining vehicles outside the training centre – so why were the chief and the striker still hanging about, then?) They said their goodbyes, Ramsdale rattling with laughter and minor embarrassment, White feeling tense and uncomfortable at what he’d initiated and how it had ended. Later on that night, he felt better about it – a string of messages and GIFs from Aaron had encouraged him to share the big lad’s jovial dismissal of the event as just a madcap story they would be able to look back on later in their Arsenal career. Ben could hardly probe his friend with the important questions of what Mikel thought they’d been up to… or worse, why exactly HAD they just lain there and wanked off side by side, after their shifty experimenting? It was all a bit shocking and naughty for a vanilla pretty boy like Ben White, and it took him many hours to relax once he was home. He took Milly out for a quick dinner at a local Italian to distract himself and forget the weird episode, and was more or less successful. That night, they were both bloated and tired after pizzas for dinner, but he still cuddled up to her in bed and rubbed some moisture into her fanny before bringing her hand to his semi and suggesting a quick shag. She was as quickly aroused as ever by his good looks and footballer’s physique, and he even spent a little longer under the duvet going down on her than usual, adamant at how much he liked pussy rather than the sensation of pushing his finger into an arsehole. `You can try that again if you want,’ the 24-year-old defender grumbled into her ear as he played with his cock and prepared to climb on top of her. `What?’ `You know – from last night.’ `What?’ `Shut up, you know – the finger.’ `Eh? Ben?’ `In my… you know, I mean…’ `Oh fuck that,’ his girlfriend giggled under the covers, `I hate doing that anyway, it’s dirty. Just my ex LOVED it, so I – don’t worry babe, I won’t be trying THAT again, not my cup of tea AT ALL haha… now, stick that big dick in me and breed me, baby, yeah? Mmmm… my Premiership boy…! Mmm…’ Ben slid inside her and laughed it off, kissing her silent and holding her tightly. Oh great, he thought. It had really freaked him out, hadn’t it? How great that she’d just been toying with it out of some past experience with whatever kinky freak she’d dated before, right! He didn’t need to worry about his tight little ring after all, haha. Silly bugger. He fucked her quietly, the bed squeaking very lightly beneath their calm, polite motion, and her breasts spilling heavily against his exploring hands as he kissed her on the neck… Good, he thought, this is what I like! Just… normal STRAIGHT sex, haha. Just this! Great. Lovely. Erm. As he thrust inside her, almost ready to cum again already, his strong cheeks tensed, and his fuzzy little hole tingled. ‘Writer guy’ – Premiership Lads on Nifty fty//gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/ Amazon Wishlist here if you wanna say thanks LOL

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