Part 389: Portuguese Tart
The 23-year-old winger loved playing for Wolverhampton Wanderers, comfortably settled at the West Midlands club since his late teens, part of the heavy Portuguese contingent that partly defined its squad; he'd steadily established him as one of the main performers on the Wolves team, and finally felt like he was coming into his prime as a fierce attacking player. He was popular on the team, with the coaches and the fans, and happy to often be the handsome smiling face of his Premiership club - especially on a Saturday like this when his side had beaten a supposedly `bigger' club like Tottenham Hotspur, 2-1 away, and he could really bask in the applause of their travelling fans...
But there was one aspect of Wolverhampton life which gave Pedro Neto some cause for regret: he really did miss their former captain, Conor Coady. Pedro had been a more bright-eyed and inexperienced player when he began to bond with the confident English guy, though he was far less innocent than he could look... he'd quickly become indispensable to the former skipper once he began to suck his big cock at every available opportunity, later offering up his pert shapely arse too. Coady had always come at him with a certain hesitance and shame, aimlessly rending him that he was happily married and a responsible dad - such protestations had only ever made the older man more attractive and exciting to Pedro, who loved the risk of playing around with the Liverpudlian gent in toilet cubicles, their parked cars, the Coady family home. Even when the disastrous inevitable occurred, and Mrs C walked in on that sloppy blowjob on the rug, Neto had dared to hope that their steamy affair could continue - `she will have to understand!' - but nope, the Coadys had rapidly vanished from the West Midlands in no time at all. Captain Conor had disappeared away to first Everton and now Leicester, and the 23-year-old Portuguese twunk hadn't heard a word from his lover since.
Handsome and horny Pedro was not exactly heartbroken - he'd had feelings of a sort for Conor, but nothing deep and passionate, it had been far more about physical needs and the sizzling excitement of risk - but he DID greatly miss having regular access to a hot married DILF on the team, and an outlet for his strong sexual energy when riding the captain's cock in his marriage bed on quiet afternoons. So yes, as happy as the young Portuguese international was at his Premiership club, it had begun to lack a certain spark... and for a good length of time he had accepted that, taking it as a sign to devote all of his vitality to his footballing... for a time. But that time had ran out, and Pedro Neto was HORNY; the Portuguese tart of Wolverhampton needed to replace his former captain.
They were in a pricey little bar on the outskirts of Wolverhampton - the West Midlands town was hardly a buzzing metropolitan for the well-paid athletes, but it had its boujie corners where the players occupied VIP areas on celebratory nights like this. Many of the men had come only for one drink, a brief visit to the bar after the coaches returned them from North London, but a small crew were still out enjoying themselves, and providing Neto with vague shapeless prospects for a satisfying end to the night.
Pedro was collecting another two bottles of champagne from the VIP barmaid, hoisting the icy buckets and delivering them to the table occupied by the other five men - he'd insisted on the fizz, brushing aside banter from the others about overdoing it and acting as if they'd won a cup. He'd insisted that they'd been too boring lately and needed a proper night out, even if most of the other lads had already abandoned them for their wives. A cheeky grin across his dark-stubbled face, the 5ft8 footy stud grinned encouragingly at his cronies for the night and set about refilling glasses as if he was the VIP hostess himself, eager to have everybody as drunk and excitable as he felt, and well on his way to achieving that.
The Saturday hero was the most obviously drunk: the usual reserve of his fellow 23-year-old Portuguese speaker was gone and Brazilian Joao Gomes was demonstrative and brash under the influence of champagne and tequila shots, his ego grown wild on his brace of goals and their victory over Tottenham. Right now, he was narrating both goals to an attractive leggy blond on either side of him, and demanding that Pedro fill glasses for them; the central midfielder was quite visibly excited by his two female companions, pulling greedily at the bulge in his designer jeans, either trying to draw their attention to it, or already semi at the flirtations of the two babes.
Their French-Algerian left-back, on the other hand, was a notable exception, seemingly quite firm in his sobriety, but vaping obnoxiously and ignoring the warning looks of the bar manager who hovered at the edge of the VIP area noting how much they were spending. Rayan Ait-Norui was unfazed by this, and the 22-year-old Frenchman lounged in a seat next to Gomes' loud flirtations, looking studiously at one of the women but not quite engaging with their excited Black Country accents or Joao's broken limited English.
On the other side of the table, refilled glasses were greedily claimed by two Englishman and an Irishman. Their newish full-back, Matt Doherty, seemed to have put aside some earlier qualms about beating his former club, and was now drunk enough to be full of victorious cheer like everybody else, having left Tottenham for an unsuccessful stint at Atletico Madrid before washing up here - the tall well-built Dubliner had been unsure about champagne, insisting on whiskey, but he was now knocking back the bubbles like an enthusiastic wedding guest, and Pedro couldn't stop noticing how sleek and handsome the 6ft1 defender looked, the oldest of their small clique.
Next to him, a guy who hadn't even made the pitch today was toasting the victory as if it was all his own doing, red-cheeked and clearly intoxicated - but Pedro had no resentment for the likeable loan midfielder from Man City, happy to have the boy-next-door ginger out with them as another drunk guy to ogle and contemplate. There was something very bashful and unassuming about Tommy Doyle much of the time, but when Pedro had laid eyes on the rock-solid celtic muscles under his kit, he'd developed quite a liking for the 22-year-old bench-warmer... who had an arm thrown about their current captain, a man who had taken the City reject under his wing as he did with anyone else who struggled in the squad.
Ah yes, the captain...
At the centre of their drunk gathering, laughing with his full broad chest and downing his new glass of fizz in two gulps, was Max Kilman, an Englishman who had become central to the Wolves squad after Coady's shock departure, and who occupied a lot of Pedro Neto's naughtiest thoughts when his lonely frustrations came to the surface. He reached over and refilled Kilman's glass for him then sat down opposite, grinning hungrily between the other men, and drinking from the bottle himself. Yes, he thought decisively, I've been too well-behaved for too long - tonight I need some cock.
The girls' flat was small and shabby, certainly compared to the kind of luxury enjoyed by men on their Premier League salaries; clearly they were uni students, but their excitement at having a small troop of professional footballers swilling vodka in their tiny living room was a mood that could match the enthusiasm levels of their visitors, who knew that late night entertainment in Wolverhampton was somewhat limited.
Tonight, Pedro had no interest in the two blondes from the bar, nor their scantily clad mixed-race housemate who had joined them here; he was comfortably bisexual and had not turned his back on women since discovering cock, but he could get with fawning female fans easily, tonight he needed to replace Conor Coady.
He got up from his perch on the end of one small sofa and went to play with the laptop hooked up to the speakers, putting on some Bad Bunny, and jerking playfully about with a few dance moves whilst pouring a liberal amount of vodka into his plastic cup. He smirked knowingly as one of the girls, he had not caught their names, sidled away from the sofa, leading Gomes by the hand; the 23-year-old South American looked this way and Pedro winked encouragingly at him. He then took the warm patch of leather cushion that they'd vacated and leered thoughtfully across at sober Ait-Nouri, who puffed out bursts of vape like a fruity dragon, before beginning to snog passionately at the other blond girl who was draped across his lap.
Okay, he thought, so the Latino and North African studs were perhaps too occupied to be led astray, but he had other options - he stared from this plasticky leather sofa to the other, where the one sober girl was perched delicately between the hulking forms of Doherty and Kilman, who seemed to be competing to pay her the most obnoxious compliment, whilst charming Doyle hovered on a folding chair just to the left, trying and failing to chip in with the banter, and showing no obvious interest in the girl herself. Hmm.
Unnoticed by the drunken interests of those around him, Neto got lightly up from his seat, slurped on his drink, and moved towards the half-open bedroom door; through it he could watch a vertical stripe of soft porn, seeing the bare muscular back of the double goal-scorer, shirtless and lain on top of his host, kissing and cuddling her, his strong footballer's arse lifting and falling with a grinding motion, still clothed in sagging jeans and a glimpse of designer underpants. Pedro hovered at the door and licked his lips, touching himself through his baggy cuffed trousers. He wondered if he could go in and make it a threesome, wondered how open-minded the sexy Brazilian winger actually was, and whether the UK student chick would enjoy having two Premiership cocks in her tonight.
But Neto left them to it, pausing only to enjoy her moans as Joao's kisses travelled down her front, and he saw that Rayan, sucking on his vape, was now being led out through another door, the sexy Algerian Frenchy - but the third flatmate was still giggling flirtatiously with both Matt and Max, no decision reached. That left Tommy in a fairly isolated position, getting up to fiddle with the drinks on the table, and Pedro joined him thoughtfully, again interfering with the playlist, then adding an extra measure to the drink that the 22-year-old Mancunian was preparing. He stroked his shoulder a little. Hey,' the Portuguese winger purred to his newer friend, did you not fancy any of the girls?'
The ginger loan player turned an awkwardly shy expression his way, freckled and blushing, and shook his head with an uncertain No' when Pedro prodded him further with another question: Don't you see anything you like?' Stroking and squeezing the increasingly muscular youth by the shoulder, Pedro leaned in close, feeling more worldly and confident than his temporary teammate, and murmured in his ear, `If not the girls, is it Matt or Max you have your eyes on...?' It was a risky question, even whispered against the boom of the speakers, at this drunken hour of the morning, but the wide panic in Tommy's eyes told him everything he needed to know, and he just smirked back at him; he carried out his signature move, a long slow moistening of his dark pink lips with his rather sizeable tongue, and then chuckled knowingly to himself.
He could see that Doyle was rattled, so he threw a matey arm about his broad shoulders and squeezed the other 5ft8 player close to him as they turned to look back at the three figures on the couch. `Is it captain Max, or the big Irishman?' Pedro hissed sensuously in his ear, bringing his face so close that he almost kissed his lobe, then letting go; Tommy mumbled something incoherent and slid away from him to visit the student flat's tiny bathroom - oh, silly boy, couldn't he take a bit of teasing...?
Things on the couch had progressed - the girl had made a choice of sorts, and was kissing heavily with the Wolves captain Kilman, stretching up to snog with the very tall defensive player, but it was Matt Doherty's hand that had slid in between her legs and whose long fingers were brushing the front of her panties. Pedro stood in front of them, ignored, and again stroked himself through his trouser pants, loving the sordid scene, even if his options were running low - he loved the hints of sleaze in his champagne-soaked teammates tonight, a change from the low-key lifestyles around their mid-table club.
And then big lofty Kilman was getting up, a 6ft4 hulk who seemed to fill this room, and the girl was getting up with him - but so was Doherty, whose 6ft1 was rather dwarfed by the skipper. And between them the petite sensuality of the excited girl, touched by both; she was taking them both by a hand each and nodding to the remaining bedroom door that branched off from this small central lounge. Soundtracked by the pulsing Latin music from the speakers, there was a moment of comical British and Irish awkwardness: Max and Matt seemed to realise at the same time that they were sharing her, and stare each other down conservatively, not so sexually open as someone like Pedro, but... they were drunk and horny and she was pulling insistently on their big manly paws. Off they went, and Pedro licked his lips again - three bedrooms around him, and four footy hunks working their magic on thirsty uni girls. And stumbling back into this space from the narrow brightness of the bathroom, Tommy Doyle looked rather panicked to find the others gone.
`Where is...?' the red-haired lad began to ask, then seemed to become shy about the name of who he was worried about; Pedro smirked at him, but not unkindly, and he just played a guessing game in his head: surely it was the captain that this cutey was hung up on, though it could just as easily be the Dubliner...
`Everyone's having fun but us,' he said simply, watching Tommy's lashes flutter and his hand come up to scratch the back of his neck.
`I might get an Uber,' murmured the slightly younger player.
`What's the rush?'
With that, Pedro leaned in and kissed him very softly on the cheek, then steered him by the shoulder; gently, he guided the other medium-build footy star to the least closed of the doors, and the pair of them paused voyeuristically there, staring in through that strip of visibility. Joao Gomes was really going to work now, his muscular back still on show, but his firm caramel-coloured arse and hairy thighs also on show, the Brazilian midfielder ploughing one of the blonde girls and making her moan loudly. Tommy gawped, mouth hanging open a little, and Pedro stroked the back of his neck, leaning in and kissing him again on the cheek - `Are you jealous of her?' he purred.
But then he tugged back on the sleeve of Tommy's loose shirt, moving towards the other door just to their right - it was only open a crack, but Pedro could push softly to open it some more without disturbing the occupants - again, they were hunched close together at the small cheap doors of the student accommodation, and through even this narrow slit of space, they could see that Rayan was having as much fun as their other teammate; the other blonde was being fucked doggy style on her bed, and if Pedro angled his head right, he could see the rippling beauty of Ait-Nouri's six pack whilst the 22-year-old Frenchman thrusted against a jiggling feminine booty, still puffing on his vape as he did.
Pedro tugged Tommy back from the door before he could lean in and creak the door open too much - the boyish-faced ginger lad looked really taken aback by these sordid glimpses, or the quantity of drink was just hitting him. More confident, more controlled, more ambitious in his lust, Pedro pulled him steady and pressed him to the wall of the room; he leaned in, holding his sides, and kissed the sides of his neck, the bottom of his throat, and then his nipples through the shirt, reaching down and massaging his throbbing erection in the front of his baggy pale combat pants. Tommy stared almost fearfully at him, but Pedro was sure this wasn't the first time a man had touched him like this.
What are we doing?' Doyle breathed cautiously. Are you...?'
Horny?' Neto insisted, irritated by the concept of labels. As horny as you.' And he pulled one of those shaky pale hands in against the sizeable outline of his erection. `And the three girls are occupied, so...' He pulled the other 5ft8 lad in and snogged him deeply, touching tongues, before taking his hands and tugging him away from the wall; from the two ajar doors close to them, showy feminine moans and fainter male grunts sounded against the soundtrack of a reggaeton remix.
Mate,' whispered the City loan nervously, but Pedro silenced him with another kiss, and pushed a hand inside his pants and undies to fondle his cock. Should we open door number 3?' he chuckled teasingly, and he saw a new wildness in those innocent eyes.
Both young men looked across beyond the two cheap sofas to the third door that branched off from the messy lounge. Tommy looked breathless with fearful excitement and Pedro laughed happily, delighted with how tonight's drunken debauchery was turning out. He kept his hand in there, tugging gently on the English manhood, and then bringing that paw up to sniff the precum on his fingers, which he licked. He took Tommy by the hand and moved the short distance to this invitingly closed door - it was thin, but the music was loud, and nothing could be heard beyond it. Go on,' he urged, open it.' Tommy stared at him and reached for the handle, but seemed to stop short of pulling it down; the English youth looked almost nauseous with secret lust and social awkwardness, but Pedro just laughed at him, and snogged him again, really tonguing his sweet mouth, then ruffling his hair and giving his rounded bottom a squeeze through his baggy pants. He put his hand on top of Tommy's and half-opened the door, and the two of them stared in.
It was the Wolves captain, big Kilman, who was sprawled out on the bed, seemingly naked but for black socks and the wide-open resort shirt that hung from his shoulders and biceps; he had his hands clasped behind his head and was propped up against pillows and headboard, his chest and abs glistening, but his crotch obscured by the bobbing head of the girl who was sucking him off; and she in turn was near-naked, her pale brown body stretched down between his long mighty legs; Matt Doherty was a hunched figure at the foot of the bed, shirtless too, contorted into a strange stooped posture so that he could press face down between her legs and lick her cunt from behind, noisy and enthusiastic.
`Fuck,' breathed Tommy.
Pedro clutched his hand and retreated, pulling him back with him, and the Englishman drifted with him, his face washed-out and his lip trembling. Pedro, hungry, pushed him down into the couch, and paused only to dial down the volume - not much, but enough to let the beats mingle with the released sex noises of the three occupied bedrooms, a beautiful backing track as he got on his knees and freed Tommy's cock from combat pants and boxer briefs. He spat heavily on the pale thick shaft and then sucked hungrily on it, making the shy lad's whimpers join the sounds of three uni students being pleasured by Premiership hunks - the noises from the first room becoming particularly loud, a fleshy slapping joining the girl's squeals and Gomes' groaning.
Drooling, Neto stopped long enough to help Doyle unbutton his shirt; he wanted to run his hands up that surprisingly dense six-pack and chest, tweaking chunky nipples, enjoying the pale athletic body whilst gobbling back down on his sweaty cock. He'd never have suspected such needy openness in the midfield spare until tonight, but it made sense; he should have gotten his hands on this ginger slut more quickly when Tommy turned up at Wolverhampton last summer! But it was thoughts of pounding Gomes and thrusting Ait-Nouri that flooded his mind, images of sprawling decadent Kilman and hunched licking Doherty; he was turned on by all of them, wanted to be in each of these three beds right now AS WELL AS crouched at this sofa, noshing off the nervous ginger stud. His long abstinence since jeopardising the Coady marriage had left him... greedy.
Instead, he focused his drunken libido on the here and now: Tommy's pulsing erection and fat balls, the short curls of his red pubes, the sweaty inners of his spread thighs. He held the lad's hands to each sides, fingers locked, and bobbed his head up and down, putting his strong skilled tongue to work, bringing the sexy guy to climax; he was tempted to flip him over and see if he could take a fucking, but he didn't want to take the shy guy too far! Besides, ginger Tommy was clearly smitten with the skipper. And for all his drunken inertia, he was sensitive and out of control - he was soon emptying his jizz on Pedro's tongue, lips, dark Portuguese stubble. He lapped at it, licking it from the cock and pubes and thighs, and from around his messy mouth. It tasted good.
He sat back on his haunches and wiped the traces of spunk from his face on the back of one arm, panting a little. In front of him, the 22-year-old was spent, his eyes closed and his mouth wide in a series of throaty gasps; shirt hanging open and pants all about his hairy shins. His cock flopped to one side against the greasy smears of seed and spit, and his pale sturdy chest rose and fell. `Good boy,' giggled Neto - but nope, this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind, this wasn't quite a replacement for his departed Captain Coady.
Rock-hard in his own slim-fit jeans, the 5ft8 cock-whore got up to his feet and licked his salty lips, leaving Tommy to pant and tremble, and checked in on the sexy North African: he hovered with his hand on the door handle, watching as Rayan did his magic in missionary, the beautiful smooth curve of his bum jerking up and down as he plunged himself into her - Pedro wanted to sneak in there and kiss it, but he wasn't sure if the French-Algerian would appreciate a helping hand; instead, he moved back to the surprising kink of the two tall men who were sharing the other flatmate - he was fascinated by the prospect of two rather straitlaced men like Matt and Max engaging in a three-way. As he stumbled eagerly to that far door and leant heavily on the handle, he leaned in and saw that Kilman too was in missionary, his back and thighs and arse exposed, roughly shagging his girl, whose brown legs were hooked about his lower back whilst he gave her his all. And this, Pedro quickly noticed, left a shiny-mouthed Doherty floating awkwardly to one side, hand stuffed into the front of his boxer shorts, jeans about his ankles.
As drunk horny Neto floated on the threshold of this third small bedroom, Matt shot him a wary look, seeming surprised to be observed; the 6ft1 Irish hunk said nothing, but his frustration and impatience was obvious on his face. Pedro, drunk on champagne and cum, lurched his way, and stroked his bare upper arm. `Enjoying the view?' he quipped at the new defensive player, who stared hard at him, looking annoyed - not far from either of them, the huge naked body of their captain continued to pound into the screaming wetness of the room's occupant.
Not a word passed between the big full-back and the grinning shorter Portuguese player; there was a special boldness that could only exist at 2am in a pool of champagne and vodka, with one masculine footballer already sucked dry in the next room. As if Kilman and his shag were miles away, Pedro Netro sank back to his knees on the cheap carpet, licked his lips ostentatiously, and stared demandingly up at the former Hotspur. Pedro could have no idea that stony-faced Matt Doherty had enjoyed his first man-on-man blowjob shortly before his Madrid stint, his cock devoured by his close pal Eric Dier, and that the shocking enjoyment of such taboo had played on the Dubliner's mind during his entire frustrating spell at Atletico. There could not have been a more sexually charged and ready recipient stood in front of the cock-hungry 23-year-old; with the mixed-race girl gasping in the background, and the sloppy wet slaps of Kilman's plunging cock, Pedro proceeded to pull down the boxers and kiss the low-hanging Celtic balls. He opened his mouth wide and took the near-hard stretch of cock inside it, bringing it swiftly to full veiny hardness - with the same sloppy frenzy that he'd pleasured Tommy next door, he began to suck off Doherty, maintaining intense eye contact with that long frosty face. This, he thought, was more like it - Doherty had the same steady macho energy as Coady, if less jovial and playful, and he was tall and imposing; as cute as he was, boy-next-door Tommy was not his type.
The risk in here, too, drove him wild, and he jerked himself through the flies of his jeans, devouring Matt's long powerful tool in a hurry; if the frantic fucking behind them stopped at any point then either Max or his lover could look this way and see a shocking scene. But he sucked on regardless, drunk and reckless and sure that he could swallow his second load of the night in no time. Matt's face glowed with sweat and he chewed his lip; Pedro thought about seeing him with his face pushed into that girl's cunt, and he felt even more devoted to servicing him. Soon he was getting a gobful of cum that was salter and more bitter than Doyle's, but lapped up with equal gusto.
When Neto left the bedroom, the girl was screaming Fuck me Max' and Kilman sounded like he might be climaxing; he was aware of tall brooding Doherty drifting out after him, clumsily pulling clothing on - and Tommy was passed out on the couch with his soft cock nestled between open legs. But Pedro swanned past him and away from both red-blooded men whose balls had been emptied on his stubbled mouth; he pushed his way into the first of the three bedrooms, stroking his cock through the open front of his jeans. In here, Joao and the first blond girl were kissing and stroking each other, bu the fucking was over, a big soft Brazilian whopper flopping limp between caramel thighs; Pedro stood near the bed and grinned pleadingly at both fuckers. Room for a little one?' he quipped spitting in his palm and playing with his own generously endowed erection.
By the time he was clambering into a tax home, Pedro had fucked two of the horny female students and eventually spent his load on one's tits. He'd enjoyed that but was sure it would be the two rushed blowjobs that he'd remember in the morning when he was hungover and indulgent. Even in the cab, he couldn't stop smirking across at Doherty, wondering if he would be able to taste that big Irish rod again soon; a sleepy Tommy was squashed between them, head lolling side to side, and the other three were already en route in the first of the two hire cars. The girls, sexually satisfied and greatly amused, were left behind to snore and recover, the debauched couple of hours of bed-hopping over; false numbers exchanged and tabloid scandals risked. Pedro had lost track of who fucked who, but he knew mostly that he'd taken two delicious loads, and that the spent studs were insensible in the same taxi back seat as he, cute fluffy Tommy and hard severe Matt. He hadn't quite replaced Conor Coady, necessarily, but he'd had great fun trying.
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