Author's note: Happy new year! This is the third chapter of this saga, and a new player enters the story. This one is less "romantic" than the first 2 chapters, but hopefully you will dig the more authoritative vibes that I brought to the chapter.
Since I’m not a native English speaker, I’ve used AI mainly to help calibrate character accents, double-check some football terminology, and translate some excerpts from my native language. I’m practicing to remove all of AI assistance as I improve my english writing skills.
This is a fictional story, not based on real events or on the actual sexuality of any real people mentioned. It’s intended for adult readers only, whatever the legal age is where you live.
Away Game
Smooth jazz played in the background, literally, as I ate what was probably my 10th hors d'oeuvre. There was nothing worse than not knowing anyone at a social function, even for someone with almost a superpower like me.
The room was theatrical, glass and metal combined to frame the views of Etihad Campus fields. The crowd was obnoxious, people that the UAE judged important enough to receive an invitation, and me, representing the terrific Lord John Crowell, at least that's what people told me when they saw my card. “Your godfather is a kind of man that is getting harder and harder to find,” I agreed, but they probably didn’t think that this was for the better, like I did.
The invitation had come my way at the beginning of the week when your lordship’s name lit up my screen. The event was Etihad’s way to nurture relations in the UK upper echelons, an exclusive night in the training grounds with some of City’s powerful players and their trainer. John couldn’t attend. “I’ll be sequestered up north for the weekend, unfortunately,” he told me right after calling it “a dreadful bore” and before telling me, “But you, my dear boy, you ought to go in my place. You have such… enthusiasm for this little game.”
I accepted. What would I do otherwise? Play Mario Kart while Leo tells me about his last conquests? At least if Declan wasn’t busy playing 3 matches each week or training for upcoming ones, but no. We met a few times ever since, of course, but his agenda was a little bit trickier than mine. I visited him on the Arsenal’s training grounds, where, in an empty meeting room, I gave him one blowjob that rocked his world. On another night, we jerked each other off in his Range Rover parked in an empty alley, and of course, the only other time we met with enough time to fully enjoy each other's company was in a hotel room, where Declan finally made me taste my own medicine and fucked me with tender devotion. Anyway, so here I was, suit and tie, horny, drinking champagne, and discovering that caviar was actually disgusting.
But I also had an expectation, this expectation had a name, Rúben fucking Dias, the Portuguese powerhouse, captain of City. Ever since the first morning with my powers, I developed a, let’s call it, crush on the man. His serious face on the streaming platform was the first infatuation, reinforced by hours of thirst trap’s appreciation, and matches hot takes watched on slow speed. I know I sound like a pervy (oh well, that ship has sailed a long time ago), but I was determined to stop watching behind a screen and finally meet the man, like a regular fan, at least that was what I was saying to myself, but just to be sure I had checked: No wife, no kids, and only a supposed affair with a television presenter. The coast was clear if there was an opportunity for shenanigans.
But my plans failed miserably when the hours kept passing, and the centre back was nowhere to be seen.
I already exchanged chit chat with some of the other players, but none of them compared to him. Not even the famous Jack Grealish, with his state-of-the-art humps, enticed me. I also noticed that premiership stats and football-related chit chat weren’t as entertaining for me as the game itself, but just as I thought the night was a waste of time, everything changed.
I was getting my sixth flute when I saw that the man of the moment was free of adulators, the only one who could truly help me.
Guardiola was busy with a cheese knife and a piece of Gouda when I approached smoothly. A subtle hand on his left shoulder, and I was in.
“Guardiola, nice meeting you! I’m Andrew Steele, but you can call me Drew”.
His eyes examined me all over, and his voice didn’t give me any impression of sympathy for my interruption of his first alone moment of the evening. “Nice meeting you, Drew,” he answered me in protocol, still focused on the Gouda.
Maintaining contact with his shoulder, I continued, “People said that I’m so easy to talk to. They say that they can’t lie to me. Don’t you agree?” his body shivered as if a shockwave had struck him.
“Si … yes, you are so easy to talk to.” The cheese knife was discarded as if it meant nothing.
“Great that you thought that! So let me ask you something, Pep, I mean, can I call you Pep?” he nodded. “So Pep, where is Rúben Dias?”
The Spaniard didn’t even flinch before telling me, “Oh, Rúben hates this kind of thing, he says that they make him feel like a show horse. He is probably at the gym, it’s our deal. He can excuse himself if he spends his time training”. The image in my head was as clear as day: Rúben working out, sweat-drenched, his focused expression as he lifted. I had to see that.
“Show me how to get to the gym.”
“Hombre, I can’t right now, I have to stay present here. Mas …” he looked around his surroundings til his eyes saw a young woman. “Michele,” he signaled to the woman to get closer. “He will guide you to it. Here, use my card,” he gave a keycard, and just as the deal was done, he went back to the cheese.
Michele was corpulent, with a round face and an easy smile. Likable, like you expect your dentist receptionist to be. She told me all about her job in the team’s PR, how she was Mancunian, and her dad was super proud of her job in the team of his heart. I didn’t even have to justify myself; I guess that Pep’s orders were enough for her to guide me throughout the maze. What intrigued me was how my command had failed on Guardiola. I had clearly given him an instruction, but he didn’t fulfill it. Yes, he ordered Michelle, but that wasn’t what I ordered him. Maybe there was a limit, a command that couldn’t overcome the person's hard beliefs or duties. Oh well, at least I was fine with the second-best thing, I was being escorted to the gym anyway.
Probably, if it weren’t late on a Friday, the corridors would be crowded, with players, staff, physiotherapists, and even some white collar workers, but right now everything was dark and silent, with a slight air of weirdness, like a school at night.
“We’re here,” she told me in front of a sleek stainless steel double door. “You can keep Pep’s card, just give it back to him or leave with anyone of the security team” Michelle instructed me with her spirited voice “I will leave you now, and go back to the party, but if you need me you know where to find me!”, and without even giving me time to answer, left, her block heels echoing through the deserted space.
Everything went silent to the point I thought that it wasn't possible that the man I had been lusting for the past weeks was behind that door. I breathe deeply, and brewing my champagne courage, swipe Guardiola's card on the electronic lock. The double doors parted in the middle, sliding to the sides like in a sci-fi movie, and for the first time, I heard his groans live.
“Dez, Onze, urgh, Doze.” Thump, the sound of weights hitting the rubber floor mat spreads throughout the deserted gym, breaking the monopoly of the air system humming.
The gym was first tier versus the regular places that I had always frequented. Instead of the faint smell of sweat that every gym has, this one smells clean and sterile, like a hospital room. The equipment was top-notch, polished metal shining under the LED lights, contrasting with the black on other surfaces. The room was L-shaped, with the door I’d entered on the longer side of it, so I still couldn’t see him, but only the prospect of his presence was already stirring my stomach and ringing in my ears.
I stared at my reflection in one of the full-length mirrors before crossing the corner and focused on getting my confidence back. I couldn’t face this man feeling like a wimp or a shy school boy. Fixing my hair and straightening my tie, I felt ready to complete my mission.
Rúben Dias was at the end of the room, seated at a bench with 2 large dumbbells resting at his feet like sleeping small dogs. I approached with ease, aiming for the thin line between making too much silence and looking like a creep, or making a fuss out of it and looking like a desperate fan. My noise caught his attention, and for a few seconds, he turned in my direction. Even from a few meters away, he imposed authority; his posture was impeccable, and his stern expression made the Portuguese look like a warrior. I’m unaware what my face was when he evaluated me for those crucial seconds, but I guess it didn’t impress him, cause right after his thunderous voice echoed in the deserted room “This space is not open for the public. If you are lost I can call someone to guide you back to the party” and just as if my presence wasn’t even worth his time he resumed his shoulder press, exhibiting his armpit covered by short manicured black hair.
I decided not to bend. I’ve dealt with strict guys like him at my job for so long that I knew, if in this introduction I made myself small in any regard, he would never respect me, and frankly, the failed command I gave Guardiola still haunted me; I needed to make this meeting worth all the dreadfulness of the night. “Yeah, I’m aware, but Guardiola lent me his card and gave me clearance to explore around”.
Now I was close enough to see his expression, and, boy, he didn’t look happy. Part of it was the effort he was putting into lifting the 2 dumbbells above his head, but the fact that his ‘boss’ allowed me to invade his sanctuary didn’t help. I leaned on a biceps curl bench and watched him finish his series, counting in what I assumed was his native Portuguese. The ‘thump’ sound happened when the weights hit the rubber floor. He leaned at his side, grabbing the white towel perfectly folded in a square that was previously resting on top of his city merch water bottle. The white cloth dried the sweat on his forehead just as our eyes met through the mirror reflection, the annoyance visible in his face. “I don’t think you should waste your time here; the events team always delivers at night like this. I will ask someone to guide you back to the party, ok?” He said, standing on his white pumas, not much taller than me, but fuck, he was impressive. While Dec was muscular in a lean way, Rúben was big; his muscles were toned and powerful, carved from hours in the gym. He walked toward an iPad fixed to the wall, strong calves flexing at each step, probably on his way to call someone to escort me out of his realm. I had to act fast.
“Wait!” I jogged to be next to him. “Let me just introduce myself first, I think we started on the wrong foot”. He exhaled sharply, “My name is Andrew Steele,” I told him, raising my hand to a handshake that he accepted indifferently. “But my friends call me Drew, you can call me that if you want, after all, I think we’re gonna be great friends”. Not letting his hand go, I gave him his first instructions: “Do not call anyone, even if the craziest shit happens, you won’t be able to report back to anyone or use your force to make me leave”. His eyes did not respond so quickly as they did with Leo, Declan, or even Lord John, but eventually, I saw a toned-down version of the regular effect I was used to crossing his brown orbs.
He still gave a few steps for the Ipad, but gave up altogether right after “You know what” He started saying, turning to face me again, hands on hips, evaluating me from head to toe “you are a grown man, If you want to miss the party it is up to you. But do not complain or give bad reviews about the event. I know the team always works hard on them”.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m having the privilege to watch Rúben Dias train in real life, that is the best party favour I could have.” My lips were smirking at him, tanning his annoyance with uncomfortable tints.
“Sure,” the skipper replied, tightening his jaw, “You can observe, but do not touch anything. This is not a playground, it is a workplace”, and with that he walked back to his weights, picking them up and putting them back on the shelf beside others of the same size. His movements were calm and collected; he didn’t show any real enthusiasm. For him, it was a job to be done, a duty even. He proceeded to grab a kettlebell and do the French press with it, facing the mirror once again. His glances through the reflection were quick, surveying me as you would do with an untrained pet. All this worry affected his focus and form. A couple of times, I saw his hands readjusting at the handle, the kettlebell going lower than expected, and hitting the middle of his grey sleeveless shirt. The moment he finished his 10th repetition, he left the weight in front of the mirror and walked in my direction. “For real, what are you doing here?”
“I told you, I’m here to watch you,” I replied with a shit eating grin.
“But I don’t like being watched by strangers while I’m training.” Dias stepped slightly closer and straightened his posture. Making himself seem bigger in front of me, but I was not gonna back down.
“But, I’m not a stranger, I already introduced myself to you.” Using the proximity to my advantage, my left hand made contact with his right shoulder, feeling the firm, hot, and moist body of him for the first time, and hopefully not the last. "Stay still while I give you your instructions”. He tensed, like a soldier ordered to halt, as if time had stopped, and if it weren’t for the digital clock on the wall, or the sweat drop rolling down his neck, I could think it really had. Originally, my plan was just to meet my crush, but seeing him in the flesh and bones changed everything. It was an opportunity I simply couldn’t waste. “Regarding you not liking being watched, I think we should try to fix that by exposure therapy, what do you think?” His brow furrowed while his deer-like eyes stared at me “You will keep training and every time you realize I’m watching you will train even harder …” I let my hand travel from his shoulder up to the nape of his neck “but you will also get hornier” My hand went down again, but missing the round shoulder went further, resting on his solid triceps “at some point you will misunderstand this lust you are feeling for heat. But the lust will only grow as you see me watching you. When this feeling reaches a breaking point, you will feel the need to act on it, with whoever is around to suffer these consequences. Now forget that I just said this and resume your exercises”. He regained movement as soon as I recoiled my hand from his body, and once again his brown eyes didn’t go blank right after, as they usually did, but a few seconds after the fog appeared, and disappeared, leaving a sweaty Rúben Dias once again with his jaw locked, returning to the abandoned weight.
The dance persisted for a while; every time we faced each other, he took a deep breath through his nose, mouth pressing into a fine line, and resumed. I thought the effects of my suggestions would happen fast, but I couldn’t be more wrong. Albeit for the constant adjustments in his posture, nothing seemed to be different from before, making me think that perhaps my command didn’t work again. That was until the French press ended, and the centre-back started doing lateral raises. At first, nothing really changed, but as his eyes pierced mine for the third time in this new exercise, his form slipped, and even still, he corrected it right after; something was still bothering him. Ignoring me completely, he laid the dumbbells on the floor and, in a quick movement, lifted the sleeveless shirt, using it to wipe the sweat off his face, before folding it and leaving it beside his towel, and grabbing his water bottle. The player’s focus on ignoring me allowed me to truly enjoy the show; his golden skin gleaming with perspiration, his pecs sculpted like a Michelangelo artwork, washboard abs looking almost photoshopped, and his delicious brown nipples extremely lickable. I felt the effect of his undressing on my pants, which became slightly more uncomfortable.
A few exercises later, and I could now see the full effects of my instruction. Without the shirt, nothing was covering his crotch, which looked more stuffed by the minute. The final wall was coming down, as his rhythm increased, his eyes were drawn to mine, like magnets, and the bulge on his shorts became larger and larger. His once impeccable form was now vanishing after each movement, and his attempt to recover it became futile by the minute. “Merda!” He yelled as his sneakers slipped while doing triceps dips, forcing him to sit on the box and remove both of his sneakers in a futile attempt to recover his posture.
It didn’t last long till another slip happened, his hands this time, slightly moving and compromising his balance, “Fuck” he muttered, straightening abruptly, hands settling at his hips. The gesture pulled the fabric back without thought, outlining a thick, unmistakable shape straining against the black shorts.
I got distracted by the sight, but the sharp “You, come here” cut through my sightseeing and set me in motion.
Up close, with him wearing nothing but shorts, restraint became a far more complicated exercise. Heat rolled off his body in waves, like asphalt under the summer sun. The scent, sandalwood, is heavier now, almost hypnotic. His left hand went to my right shoulder in a firm, patronizing way.
“It’s getting to my nerves that you are here,” he said flatly. “And your staring isn’t helping. You need to leave, so I can finish my set in peace”.
I tilted my head, letting my eyes drop deliberately.“Getting to your nerves? By the state of your shorts, I thought the problem was somewhere else.”
Whatever I’d hoped for died instantly when his expression didn’t soften, the bait was left untouched, or so I thought.
“If you are not gonna leave,” the city player said with a voice lower than usual, “then you will make yourself useful”.
His hands left my shoulder and grabbed my lapels, grip tight on the wool fabric. "Take the jacket off. It’s hot, and you look stupid wearing a suit in here”.
Compliant to his order, I shrugged my jacket off, tossing it into a stack of yoga mats not far away. Something in the air was shifting, charged and electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.
His hand returned, this time reaching for my tie. The Portuguese wrapped the silk strap around his fist and pulled me forward, using it almost like a dog leash. Only inches separated us now, my fully dressed body brushing against his bare, overheated skin.
Rúben released my tie, fingers settling back to my shoulder. “On your knees,” he ordered, breath steady through his nose. A pause. “Drew”.
The rugged rubber surface of the floor could still be felt through my pants, but I obeyed, staying face to face with the cloth-covered crotch that I had admired previously. But it didn’t last long, the cloth soon disappeared from my sight, together with the briefs underneath, leaving in front of me a magnificent erect cock.
I don’t have much experience in the field; besides mine, Declan’s was the only other equipment I had the opportunity of seeing in real life, but among the 3 of us, Rúben was definitely the biggest and girthiest. He was also the first uncut, but his horniness was at such a level that the skin had almost retracted, and the dark red head was on full display.
He pulled the hair on the back of his head down, forcing me to face up. If from the height of my 6 feet, he already looked impressive, from below, he was almost a god whom I was ready to worship.
“Suck my fucking dick,” he demanded.
My hand was trembling, the novelty of being ordered around running through my bones and making me shake with equal parts excitement and fear. Cautiously, I wrapped my fist around the heated meat weapon in front of me, giving a shy stroke, feeling each ridge through my palm, and coating the flesh tube with a slim layer of precum. Looking up, I saw Rúben still had his serious expression. How can someone remain still, having his dick jerked off by another human being? Leaving him be, I distracted myself, amazed by the impressive volume of his cock that seemed to still inflate even more as I pumped up and down. Precum flowed out of the redhead with my steadfast movements, making it glow more and more, but a loud groan interrupted my actions altogether. “Porra, pá. I said suck it, not jerk it”.
The order set me in motion, as the tip approached my anxious mouth, I couldn’t believe that I was gonna taste one of the more notable Premier League players of the past years, and my celebrity crush. My tongue tried wrapping itself around the head the moment the emptiness of my mouth was filled, almost as if automatically I started moving, setting myself the challenge of giving him a remarkable blowjob.
Even with a few practice sessions with Declan and his 7-inch fucker I knew my limit was at 5 inches, but the girth increase made the space between my jaws feel fuller than ever. The groans entered the slick symphony when I started making a suction chamber with my lips and cheeks. His calloused hands roamed in my scalp, pulling my head through my dark blond hair, making the tip hit the back of my throat at a constant pace.
“Such a slutty cocksucker,” the defender said, drawing my attention upwards again. He wasn’t smiling, but there was satisfaction in his demeanor for the first time since I arrived. “I bet that was what you wanted. Coming here, all posh, and with an attitude, interrupting my training, are you happy now?”
He slid his hips back and pulled my mouth out of his penis so I could answer. “Yes,” I mumbled, my mouth empty for the first time in a while.
“Yes, what, bitch?” his grip on my hair tightened.
I swallowed dry. It was my first time in such a submissive position, and I was well aware that I had it all under control, but it felt good to obey him in such a state. “Yes, I’m happy”.
“Good,” a quick smirk appeared on his lips. His free hand grabbed the saliva-covered organ and slapped it on my cheeks. “I will let you go back to it, but you will have to ask”.
“Please?” I begged, but he wasn’t satisfied yet.
“Please, what?” he slapped again, leaving my skin moist on my reddened face.
“Please, let me suck your dick?” I shamefully admitted, feeling the more slut I’ve ever been in my life, more than when Declan fucked me for the first time, making me scream profanities.
“That’s right, suck my cock, putinha.” he didn’t wait for me to move, guiding my head by my hair, he pushed his flesh tube in my willing mouth, going further than before, making me gag on it, before pulling it back, and repeating the process. Tears filled my eyes, but I felt so powerful to make this man act on his urges without even questioning what he was really doing. The best part was that he felt like he was in control, fuck, what a trip.
Even with water in my eyes, I saw clearly that his dark short pubes were closer than before. As he fucked my mouth, I reminded myself to breathe through my nose and relax my throat, allowing his piece to reach even further and harvesting his groans and Portuguese expressions like precious stones. Growing bold, I wrapped my hands around his glutes, massaging the rigid muscles grown with scrutiny and care as he increased his speed, the movement intense, so different from everything I had done with Dec. The flow of precum left a sweet taste on my mouth, so different from the alkaline taste that I had grown used to, that a part of me was growing excited by the prospect of feeling him cumming down between my lips.
Unfortunately, my hopes wouldn’t last long, as he withdrew abruptly, leaving me helpless, slicked face, kneeling on the floor, hardon pressing in my tailored trousers. Dias walked out, without saying anything, leaving only his shorts discarded where he had previously stood. The powerful 6 '2 defender's tan body went through a door with a “Treatment Room 3” sign fixed over it, and for a few seconds, as he disappeared out of my sight, I thought that was it, he had his fun, and now he decided that enough was enough, resuming his routine. But I couldn’t be more wrong. As soon as he disappeared in the adjacent room, he reappeared, still in his birthday suit, holding a cobalt blue bottle. He stopped a few feet away from me, standing near the unused bench.
“Stand up and get undressed,” he demanded before turning his back on me, leaving the blue bottle on the floor, and pulling the lever so that the bench now lay fully horizontal. I unbuttoned my shirt and was loosening the necklace knot when his voice sounded once again with new instructions, making me look at him, stern features, arms crossed, and pulsing erection.
I agreed with a simple “ok” and started working on my pants, removing them altogether with my boxers, letting them crumble over dress shoes. The confinement was over, and my dick had finally presented itself in all its 7-inch glory. My sudden nudity didn't impact Rúben’s demeanor. I didn’t know what I expected, but resigned in the coldness of my viewer, I leaned down and untied the dark oxfords, and finally removed them. My fingers grasped the edge of the black dress socks, ready to pull them in one go, when he interrupted again.
“That’s good enough” It was weird how much confidence this man had to a point that he being more naked than I made me feel inadequate, almost as if the tie and the socks were a distinctive of my subpar presence among him, after all he were the athlete, the point 0.01% of his profession, while I was only a white collar worker among millions. A god versus a mortal. “Get on the bench”.
I once again followed his demands, and set myself in motion, sensing the porous surface of the floor in my feet soles through the thin fabric while my dick led the way. Without wondering the specificity of his order, I sat, bare assed, on the leather cushion, eyes glued to the handsome face that sported a look of dissatisfaction.
“On all fours”, and once again I didn’t even bother to question his command, and soon I was seeing myself reflected in the mirror, tie draped under my neck, toned body, and black fabric reaching my calves. His reflection soon joined mine, appearing behind me, imposing muscles with natural authority. He raised his hand, and almost as if I was watching a movie, I saw it hit my white asscheek before even feeling the burning sensation setting my glutes on fire.
“I will fuck you,” he informed me with another hit, this time in my left cheek. I understood that it was a statement of fact, the consequence of all my actions throughout this night. His hands soon went back to my ass, but this time, rubbing my tender skin, without inflicting any kind of pain. My brain expected that this fucking wasn’t gonna be pleasurable, not in the first moment anyway, he was probably just gonna shove it in, and get his way. It was with surprise that I watched him go to one knee, opening my 2 cheeks, and diving in.
Unconsciously, I grasped a “What the fuck” as the alien feeling of his lips meeting my manhole sent fireworks to my mind. My amazement seemed to amuse him, causing his face to emerge beside me wearing a cocky smile.
“I always eat the pussy I decided to fuck”, and as soon as he appeared, he disappeared, his tongue reestablishing contact with my pink opening, his short brown beard scratching my skin, building layers of pleasure on my body.
Aiming to record the scene in my mind, I stared at the mirror in front of me, which is when my eyes weren’t rolling inwards. I could feel all his devotion to the task by how far he forced his tongue, tasting my insides, or by the pull of his fingers on the outer rim of my asshole so that he could go even further. My dick, hard and leaking occasionally, kissed a patch of skin, probably his arm, but while the Portuguese didn't seem to mind, for me, each tiny contact sent shivers through my spine.
“Such a tight pussy you have,” my brown eyed lover said when his mouth grew tired of eating me out, and his fingers assumed the leading role in my corruption. At first, it was his thumb slowly pressing inward till popping at the first knuckle. Pulling to the sides, he spat on the tiny gap, lubrication that he spread around with movements of in and out. I sensed my hole loosening up with the constant stimulus. Dias must have sensed it also; soon his thumb left my insides, and what was probably his index finger assumed the position, going further, and bringing the wetness to uncharted territory. The middle finger joined soon after, beginning a scissoring movement, enticing enough alone, but when they hit my prostate, I was left struggling to structure a cohesive thought.
“Fuck Yeah, right there,” I moaned involuntarily, using it as feedback, his tongue returned to my warm chute, making me quiver in a flinch. I could feel my prostate buzzing with the constant in and out of his fingers, and the lapping in my rosebud was almost creating a meltdown in my brain. He kept this crescendo of pleasure for a couple of minutes, but without a single warning, it was over. His fingers recoiled back from me, his tongue nowhere to be found, and my poor manhole was pulsing in desperate need to feel something again.
I opened my eyes again and saw that the captain was back at his feet beside me. In his hand, he held the blue bottle he brought from the other room, and now I could read the label: neutral massage oil. He used his fists to coat his almost 20 cm manhood, making it glisten under the lights of the gym. When Dias considered that the coat of oil was enough, he opened up the bottle again and, using his fingers as vessels, applied the oily liquid to my ass.
The new texture compensated for the interlude, and his 2 digits now resume their activities, but this time focusing on lubing my but channel for the main event. I had butterflies in my stomach, but a fire bursting through every nerve ending. At the same time, I was afraid to be fucked, for what would be my second time ever, I was excited by the idea that this man I had obsessed over ever since my transformation had chosen by himself to fuck me. I guess the City Player was more open to man-on-man sex than I had originally thought.
“Done”. The Centre-Back said, disposing of the oil bottle on the floor, and caressing my trench, added, “Now you are wet as a proper slut should be”. The touch started traveling upwards, massaging my glutes, and stopping by my hips, at least with one of his hands; the other vanished from my skin, but through the reflection I saw that the missing hand was busy launching the final attack on me. “Are you ready to be fucked, pretty boy?” He asked, the dark red glans kissing my pink entrance with abnormal care.
“So you think I’m pretty?” I asked, the emplastered smirk on his face tarnished by annoyance again for a few seconds.
“Fuck you, slut” the head of his 20cm pressing in, and retrieving. Not even given time for my overestimulated ass to drag him in for the first inches.
“I sure hope you do, big guy,” I replied, the emptiness in my ass growing more unnatural by the minute.
“So beg,” he ordered, as his first inch filled me, stretching me without mercy. God damn, he was thick.
Even with all his girth, I still complied, “Fuck me, Rúben Dias”, and just like that, more of his Portuguese mast penetrated me, the massage oil making it harder to slow progress, even with the initial pain making me automatically tighten up. My face must have revealed the tremendous discomfort that I was suffering, because the skipper remained in place. Our eyes met via reflection, mine wide with the mix of sensations I was being submitted, while his screamed discipline and control. I guess not going deep was a harder mission than I previously anticipated.
The aching evolved into numbness, and the growing pleasure must have lit up some kind of green light on my body, cause Rúben understood perfectly that I was ready for more. The next few inches were enough to hit my prostate again, making me buck like a wild horse, to which the player responded with “Calma-te, pah … I mean, chill out, man. If you keep moving like that, I’ll end up putting it in faster than you can handle”.
“Ok,” I breathed out, “but it felt so good”. A spontaneous cocky grin appeared between his short beard for a few seconds, and as if he considered me ready for more, he gave me another couple of inches. Judging me ready for some real movement, he started moving his hips, making me lose all of his cock, except the head, just to fill me back in. Leaving me once again, muffling obscenities, and pushing back.
“Are you ready for this whole dick in your ass? A fuckin’ athlete dick bursting you open?”
“Yes, please,” and with a powerful push, I felt his balls striking my glutes, the short pubic hair in contact with my milk white glutes. I didn’t even have the time to process the new wave of pleasure, for the defense player, it was like training season was over, and his tempo increased. His grip on my hips tightened, and small droplets of sweat started raining down on my back, mixing with my own, making both of our bodies shimmer. Soon, I felt the tie tightening around my neck as he held the black fabric and used it almost as a leash, applying pressure to control me, but not enough to leave a mark on me.
It took me a few repetitions, but soon all discomfort was gone, and a euphoria grew in its place. “Fuck yeah, take that, you fucker!” My Manchester City lover exhaled in a sudden confession while drilling my hole with gusto and strangling me slightly while doing it. I was losing sense of reality, and the strength of my arms, and without even realizing it, I caught myself leaning on the black faux-leather material of the bench. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I didn’t need it, cause I could feel him, all around me. My increased inclination made his raid reach new depths, pushing me even further into my ecstasy.
The tension was enough to be felt on all of the hairs on my body, and suddenly I realised that I couldn’t hold much longer. “I’m coming, if you keep hitting like that,” I told him, between heartfelt groans, making him extract himself entirely from inside me.
The emptiness allowed me to rise up again and see that he wasn’t beside me anymore. Looking around, I saw him walking to the stack of yoga mats on the corner, grabbing one of them, and returning. Lying it on the ground near the bench. “On your back,” Dias ordered me, pointing to the mat. “I want to look in your eyes while I make you cum”.
“That’s gay,” I told him, to which he responded by showing me the middle finger. I removed my tie and assumed the position he demanded, grabbing the back of my knees and opening myself to the Portuguese, who kneeled between my thighs. It was great finally seeing his face without needing the mirror. A first seat on the spectacle of seeing this handsome man putting the 20cm cock again on my pucker. It entered me like an old friend, sipping in like a knife through butter, which extracted a “Oh YES” from my lips.
“That is gay,” he told me, with a proud expression, puffed chest, and big biceps as he held my calves. Not wanting to let him get cocky, and now having more access than ever, I used my fingers to grasp his brown nipples and twist them. My insubordination shocked him, and a “Puta” slipped out of his well-defined lips, and his speed increased again.
I kept twisting his nipples and massaging his chest, and soon we were moaning together, like animals in lust. His eyes pierced mine, brown and grey linked together. My hands went to the nape of his neck, bringing the City captain closer to me to a point where it was futile to pretend what we both wanted. Lifting my neck, I closed the distance between our mouths, and we kissed. Our tongues battled for a while, his tasting of Gatorade, and mine of champagne, a wild contrast that only fueled our passion.
Lost in ourselves, it took a subtle squeeze of his hands on my hard cock to push me to the point of no going back. We broke apart seconds before the first volley hit my cheek, the second and third hit his neck, and the other fell on my torso. I caught the white streaks in his neck with my fingers and licked them clean, the alkaline flavor covering all of my taste buds, and soon his tongue was sharing the bitter tang.
The challenge of making this beast of a man cum remained, and I was determined to use all of the plays in my book. I twisted his nipples again, this time with sticky fingers, and he pumped with more determination. I tightened my manhole on his big piece, and it drove him crazy. I crossed my feet on his back, the contrast of his skin with the black fabric of my socks railing him up. Disconnecting our mouths, I bit his earlobe, and this finally did the trick.
Losing control, he confessed through clenched teeth, “Estou a gozar!”, and I felt the first splurts flooding my guts, filling me with his precious nectar. His powerful body dropped on top of mine, gluing our wet bodies together.
I don’t know how long we remained this way, connected in such a biblical way, but as his cock slipped from me, he rolled over and rose up. Stretching his hands to me, pulling me again to my feet. We exchanged a brief look, but he soon parted ways and started cleaning our mess. His towel, still damp from before, was thrown on my chest, and I gladly used it to whip all of the fluids that covered me.
The silence prevailed throughout the tidying up, but when there was no other reason for us to avoid one another, we drew close again, both dressed, although disheveled.
“Look, I don’t know what came to me. I had never done anything like that with a man before,” he started saying, staring at me with a serious expression.
“Don’t worry, I’m glad that I was the first guy to ... help you on your cardio,” I winked at him, disarming his stern facade, making him blush, and look down. “Really, it was great, you should focus on that, and not overthink about society norms or rules. It felt good, that’s it”.
“Makes sense. I will focus on that, god knows I was in desperate need of a ... workout session," he replied. “It was nice meeting you, in the end,” he extended his hand, and I gladly took it.
“I know I’m an acquired taste, but it was a pleasure meeting you”. Making use of our contact, I left my last command “Think fondly of me, and text me whenever you feel pent up. Remember my number …”, and began to calmly recite my number one by one. His puppy brown eyes blurred quicker this time, and it was time for us to part ways.
We parted ways, he in the direction of a side door, and I to the same door that I entered. I was still in the corridor where I walked with Michelle, my mind still struggling to comprehend that I had just been fucked by Rúben fucking Dias, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from an unknown number: “Thanks again for helping me with the cardio. Let’s keep in touch. Rubes”.
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