Part seventy-seven: Fantasy Football
At last, she screamed out her pleasure, and the job was done.
He shrunk back from her beautiful slim body, two fingers aching from the rough frigging that had finished his girlfriend off, his own cock still rigid and aching between his strong young legs. She writhed and gasped and let out a satisfied giggle, and lifted herself to kiss him. With one hand, he stroked her arm lovingly as they snogged, and with the other, he reached for the duvet, and pulled it towards him and across his crotch, eager to hide his own failure to climax. His failure would be swiftly interpreted as HER failure, and he had no wish to send THAT message this morning.
Dan James, wearied and frustrated, sank back into the bed, curled against her, and submitted to more dry, dehydrated kisses after the long early morning session between the quarantined lovebirds in his Manchester home.
`Oh that was so good,' whispered his girlfriend, resting back against the bank of pillows and fluttering her eyes sleepily towards him, her heavy South Wales accent thick with the sleepy satisfaction of her orgasm.
`Yeh babe,' he replied quickly and earnestly, finding her hand to squeeze under the sheets.
YOU were so good,' she added more firmly, twisting her head a little to smirk at him. You are getting so much more...' Giggle. Rough,' she settled on, more giggling, and another kiss. Not just the gentle lover-boy from Swansea days...'
He smiled but awkwardly, feeling the implied criticism amongst the affectionate praise of his love-making. He tried to shrug off that insecure reaction, nestled here in their big comfortable bed in the home they shared, but a chip had been on his shoulder for a while; perhaps it had been there long before they met, perhaps it was just being 5ft7, perhaps it was moving from one club to another and always being treated as the baby-faced new kid no matter how skilled or experienced he became. She liked to claim that his cute innocence had been what attracted her to him in the first place, so why did she always hint she wanted him to be more rugged, more assertive, more manly?
But then... she wasn't the only one in this relationship with unfair expectations, was she?
They lay side by side, alternately yawning and separating then returning for another cuddle or lingering snog, their bodies still warm and clammy from the hour-long fuck that had started the day. Beneath the duvet, he carefully angled his hips away and waiting for his unspent boner to sink, fearing her confusion or annoyance to find he had `faked' his finish whilst inside her. She seemed too wrapped up in her own enjoyment right now for that to be a major danger, he noted gladly, and nuzzled her affectionately as she spoke.
`And er, how was it for you?' she eventually asked, a tiny note of concern in her singsong Welsh voice.
`Mmm? Oh, fantastic...' He didn't think it sounded so empty and ridiculous til he heard his sleepy Yorkshire accent out loud, conscious of the perfunctory answer and the lie between his legs. To escape further questioning, he wriggled away a little and reached beneath the sheets to find and pull on the pyjama bottoms he'd been wearing in the night.
I mean,' she added slowly, the... new stuff...'
He concentrated on tugging the long cotton bottoms up his legs and over his thighs and plump buttocks, shoving his stiff prick into them and willing it to disappear now there was no occasion for its rigidity. `Mmm? Oh... yeah... so good...' A bit more convincing this time? He turned his head a little to flash her one of his cheekiest grins. She rolled over his way more.
`When I tweaked your nipples, how was that? I was worried it'd hurt.'
`It didn't hurt. It was good.'
`The spanking, then? Was that fun?'
`Heh... it was... interesting...'
`Was it hard enough?'
`It was... fine.'
Fine!' She rolled her eyes and wriggled away a bit, her offence obvious. Fine. That's what every girl wants to hear, isn't it?'
Dan sensed the relationship tightrope wobble beneath his bare feet, and he reached a hand over to stroker her waist. Hun, it was so hot,' he said more passionately, it was just... you know. New. We're just... trying stuff, yeh?' He leant in and kissed her bare, smooth shoulder.
Yeah, new to both of us,' she said, a little bit harsh and defensive, no longer smiling at him. She stared up at the ceiling and he felt fresh pangs of guilt and inadequacy. I know you said you wanted me to try being more... dominant, but... I dunno what to do and not do. I dunno what's just... silly. When we tried the handcuffs last month, you said...'
`I know, I know,' Dan mumbled sheepishly, turning his own body away, mirroring her discomfort. He felt himself blush and it wasn't just the post-coital flush from exertion and passion. And there had been passion, of course there had, just not... not...
`Was it not enough?' she asked, nervous and insecure rather than accusing or unkind.
`It was amazing,' he said, and this time his earnestness was Oscar-worthy. He turned his head only slightly and gave her a deadpan expression of the pleasure he wished he felt. She met his eyes, hesitated, then grinned.
It was,' she agreed, and another throaty giggle burst out. God, you feel so good inside me. My own little footballing hunk, babe. Hehe.'
He closed his eyes, feigning a lazy sleep, and turned over her words. `That's me,' he said jokily, squeezing her palm under the covers, and manoeuvring his body a little further away before his errant boner brushed her hip where it tented his tartan PJs. It would sink down any minute, and he could drift back to some leisurely sleep before his Wednesday morning workout.
After a while, he felt rather than saw her body twitch into movement, the slight bounce of the mattress as she slid fluidly out of bed and onto her feet. Opening his eyes again, he caught sight of her bare back, perfect rounded bottom, a side-view of one tit. Stunning, and his, and yet...
`I'm gonna have a bath, hun. You sleep in. I'll make us brunch after.' She blew him a kiss as she fussed about picking up a robe and finding her novel and other luxuries for a long bathtub soak. He watched her wordlessly, just a little anticipatory groan at the mention of brunch.
Once she was gone, he lay still and idly played back the morning romp: the initial fluttering of excitement, wandering hands still half-asleep, and then that lovely girl's attempts to get rougher and more dominant with him, the awkwardly broached requests of many recent conversations. And it had been fun, it had. It had excited him, she always did. It was just... gritting his teeth, he twanged at the fresh boner in his bottoms, and resented it as if it was a totally separate entity, a troubling doppelganger getting in the way of his relationship. He knew what the problem was, he just didn't want to confront it head-on.
Listening to the echoey rush of a filling bath and the switched on Radio One of his girlfriend in the bathroom down the upstairs hallway, Dan slid out of bed and pottered the room alone. He paused by the full-length mirror in the corner and allowed a moment's vanity, admiring the boyish face and curly mop of dark brown hair, the very toned body, exposed on the upper half. The tartan printed cotton of his pyjama bottoms pulled tight between his rounded arse and the prominent hard-on at the front. Fuck's sake. His attention was drawn to the developing problem of a spot somewhere on his cheek, one of those little red pimples that felt huge.
Huh, well, one of the advantages he'd learned about being in a long-term relationship was the cornucopia of skincare products that followed women everywhere. Boner still bouncing a little in the front of his pants, the 22-year-old footballer skirted the bed and went to the set of drawers in the table on her side of the kingsize. He knelt and tugged open the middle drawer and rifled through its contents until his fingers were around a tube of something he might loosely term `spot cream'. But as he did so, he noticed something else amongst the chaotic contents, something he was only vaguely aware she owned: in amongst the make-up wipes and random products was a stubby pink length of rubber that was so absurdly phallic it could only have one purpose. The Welsh national player smirked to himself for a moment at the naughtiness of the toy, and the knowledge it was in here gathering dust, because after all, he was pretty good at keeping her satisfied.
He clutched the skin-cream and slid the drawer shut, shaking his head at his own ego and titillation, distracted at least from the awkward anti-climax of this morning's sex.
Back in front of the mirror, he rubbed a blob of the cream onto the top of his cheek and dismissed the pimple as a non-event. He laughed aloud at his own lingering teenage vanity and gave a cheeky wink to the cherub-like lad in the reflection, then clambered lazily back into bed, and reached to the other side-table to snatch up his iPad in vague notions of loading up a TV show or a podcast or just cruising social media, fan mail, whatever.
But a pressing matter was, quite literally, pressing at the front of his PJs.
He huffed in annoyance but even as he cradled the tablet in one arm, he reached under the covers and allowed himself a teasing stroke of the outline in the cotton. His dick responded with irritating immediacy, unlike the weirdly numb state it had reached when thrusting into a wet pussy not half an hour ago. It had felt like he might fuck for hours and not shoot, but now it felt as sensitive as if he'd regressed to his early teens!
He had already loaded up Facebook on the iPad, his innocent time-killing at odds with the unconscious fumbling of his other hand. But after all, she was in the bath now, would be for a while. He could entertain himself for a bit if he needed to, right? He'd already put all his energy into her pleasure!
The trouble with this conflicted behaviour, the casual loading of social media with one hand and the idly grabbing of his clammy dick with the other, brought a perhaps inevitable consequence: just as he pushed down the stretchy waistband of the pyjamas and took his dick in hand, he was staring at a picture posted by his teammate and captain, Harry Maguire. The big blockheaded fellow Yorkshireman gurned into the camera in some sickly pose with his fiancée, grinning out of the screen into Dan's screwed up face, and making his cock twitch and burn against his palm. For a moment he froze, annoyed by this unfortunate coincidence, but then the desire to just finish off his inconvenient arousal took over and he pressed his thumb to the man's name, skipping to his profile and then an array of other photos... he scrolled down, got some pics from a Maguire family holiday last year, and saw the big man unclothed, posing on the beach and on a boat in his damp trunks... fuck...
The dick in Dan's hand leaked precum on his sweaty fingers and he grimaced at his own inexorable desires for such a man.
Mutual friends decorated the side of the screen, and Luke Shaw's pretty mug grinned reassuringly at him, blue eyes sparkling. Dan pushed on it and was taken to another thread of photos, mostly in United kit but some more casual, and a couple of old holiday pics looming, the defender's chunky smooth chest on show and his well-kept beard framing that adorable grin. Fuck off!
But Dan James' mind was already racing back into late last year, to that string of unexpected encounters... that first sniff of cocaine at the Christmas party, the taste of Harry and Luke's big dicks in a disabled bathroom... He squeezed his dick and felt his frothy pre-cum stain his thumb. A groan escaped his tight lips and he glanced at the half-open bedroom door, the gentle splashes of bath-time audible down the hallway. Whilst he hopped out of bed and pushed the door more fully shut, his mind was still pawing through the past: a giddy group play with those two and with young Greenwood, and then that night in Shaw's flat when he'd... he'd...
It wasn't just his cock throbbing in his hand now, he could feel his arsehole twitching at the memory.
Dan closed his eyes, pushed the iPad away, tried his best to suppress the familiar longing. But again his hands did what they wanted. Whilst he pulled slowly up and down on his dick with his right hand, his left hand was fingering at the tight bulge of his balls and reaching below. His fingertips tickled his own crack and he shuddered. He shouldn't still be thinking about this.
Another uninvited thought joined the party, and it was pink and perfectly formed and lying in a thin layer of dust at the back of that miscellaneous drawer. Dan opened his eyes again and darted them curiously at the little bedside table across the mattress from him... then to the closed bedroom door, then his guilty expression in the nearby mirror. Cherub no more.
Before he could stop himself, Dan was clambering over the bed, feeling the mattress still warmed by her body beneath his flat tummy, and yanking that drawer open. He pulled the toy out, then laughed stupidly. `It won't even have batteries in,' he thought aloud, but then he pressed a button near the bottom, and it fizzed and shook in his hand. He pushed another button and it calmed to a low thrum, and his whole body tingled with appreciation and possibility. On top of that same bedside table was a little round tin of Vaseline. He chewed his lip and his arsehole throbbed.
In moments, the Man United twink was rolling back over the bed and swiping the tablet screen back into life, pushing a few links back to the photo-roll of Harry Maguire, that big burly bastard who threw his weight around on and off the pitch. And as he stared hungrily at these images, Dan smeared two fingers in the round tin of Vaseline and slipped them eagerly against the tip of the humming toy. Then, not stopping to think it through, he reached down and slid it just below his balls, letting its vibrating end rub into his gooch and send shivers through his ballsack. `Oh...'
With his other hand he pushed at the screen, swiping through a few other pics: Harry diving into a pool, Harry waist-deep in the water, his pecs seeming more big and defined by the slicked wet hair between them, and then Harry emerging from the pool, shorts darkened and wet and clinging to every tight muscle of that... `Oh fuck,' Dan moaned, sliding the tip of the toy down between the chubby flesh of his buttocks. He lifted and parted his legs a little bit and stared at the holiday photo of his hunk captain whilst running the vibrator in and down his crack and then back again.
Dan's mind raced with the same chaotic speed as the toy in his hand, which was making his fingers and wrist numb with its battery-powered tremor. Now he wasn't just thinking about Harry, he was thinking about Mason Greenwood too... he pushed at a few more mutual friendships to bring up the smiling, fresh-faced 18-year-old starlet. Dan admired the teen's newly shaved quarantine buzzcut and tried to decide if it made him less or more attractive. More? He thought about the energetic thrusting of that young striker, which had felt so odd after the force and size of Harry's tool. How much of that ridiculous rod had Dan even taken? Surely not more than a few inches? He'd been so tight and terrified, it had hurt like HELL...
In went the toy, his ring loosening with his excitement, slicked with Vaseline. He couldn't hold in his gasps and he was glad he'd shut the door, and that she had the radio on. In it went, tingling against his tight hole, and his back arched and his feet pressed into the mattress where they landed. `Oh shit, ohhhh...'
But his left hand was sliding adventurously over the iPad screen to please his restless imagination. He'd been fucked, at least a bit, by those two big Yorkshire hunks, but he had found his idle lust settle on so many others in the months since. A photo slid up onto the screen of Greenwood with another United young gun: Marcus Rashford grinned innocently out of the screen, his handsome face above a taut six pack that Dan's eyes rarely left in the changing room. As he studied the bulging front of the footy shorts the other footballer was wearing, he parted his legs more and felt the toy sliding inside him... he closed his eyes in a slow blink, unable to believe the mix of pleasure and pain the entry brought him.
From Rashford, he skipped to that irritating but likeable club joker, Jesse Lingard, a pic of him and Rashford together, two mocha washboards he'd love to lick and kiss. Dan began to edge the vibrator in and out of his hole, trying to loosen or relax that entrance, squeezing at one chubby buttock as he did. He groaned and resisted touching his dick, which twitched and brushed the folds of duvet as he played on. But then his iPad and his eyes were roving over a couple of the other black players on the squad – Aaron Wan-Bissaka and Anthony Martial – and wondering about loose racial stereotypes about male anatomy. Mind, was size so important? He thought again of trying to take that monster dick of captain Harry's, drunk and frightened, and decided he didn't care much for size!
He clicked on an image of his on-off roommate and older mentor, Juan Mata, and found something in the homely bearded face that really tickled him. He slid the toy in further, imagining someone older and more assured like the Spanish midfielder taking control of his body, owning and entering him. He almost burst with cum right then. He used his strong legs to kick the duvet down the bed, irritated by its heat and weight, letting his pyjama bottoms wriggle down his thighs and over his knees as he did.
But he was back on his main Facebook newsfeed now, whilst the vibrator edged deeper into his arse – it didn't burn so much now, but its gentle tingling was driving him absolutely nuts. He thought his dick might explode in seconds if he actually dared to touch it with his slippery fingers now. On the iPad screen, it wasn't his Man United teammates leering out at him any more, but a shared memory of his appearances for the Wales national side instead. Dan pushed repeatedly on the toy at his butt and stared at a group shot of him celebrating with Aaron Ramsey (so chiselled and handsome!), Joe Allen (that lustrous mane!) and Ben Davies (that intense expression...) – oh fuck, had he ever even realised how hunky his Welsh compatriots were? How lucky he was to have his family's Welsh blood to advance him onto this team, not to have to bicker and fight his way into the competitive England squad after all!
A few clicks and he was looking at the beast of them all, the talismanic hero of the Welsh side and one of the highest paid footballers in the world. A picture came up of him, pipsqueak that he was, being hugged by the enfolding arm of Gareth Bale, kissing him on the head. Dan stared intensely at the image from not so long ago and let out a long moan of desire for that big powerhouse of a man, who had been so kind and brotherly to him... Fucking hell, Gareth Bale...
In went the toy, almost slipping from its grasp as his entrance loosened and the pink phallus pushed its trembling way into him. As it did, his finger slipped more, and hit the other button. Oh shit! Dan's eyes bulged and his tongue hung from his mouth as the higher tremor rocketed through his backside, jiggling his young cheeks and making both legs tense up against the bed. `Ohhhh,' he whined, grinding his shoulders and head back into the bedding, an incredible sense of submission washing over him as he imagined Ramsey, Allen, Davies then Bale all lining up to...
Yes,' he breathed to nobody in particular, oh yesssss...'
Dan had never in his life orgasmed without touching his dick, but here it was. A thin line of wet spunk shot down the bedding, streaking his tartan PJs and brushing the folds of duvet. He stared down his bare smooth torso at the quivering prick, whole body seizing up in amazement at the vibrations and their effect. Ohhhh...
Oh god...
His dick was still rock hard, held there by the throbbing tremor of the toy. With one hand he reached clumsily beneath his thigh to hit the button and turn it down or off, but with the other, he flicked through the Facebook memory of his Welsh international time, seeing more pics of him on and off the pitch with those burly Welsh buggers, or hugging and grinning with other young squad members. He saw himself and David Brooks with cheesy grins, neither able to believe they were representing the tiny country despite being born on English soil, thrilled by the second-hand patriotism of their families. Dan pictured himself kissing and fumbling with the other junior Welsh player, and as he did, a last few drops of cum were squeezed from the tip of his dick.
The toy slid from his buttocks as he finally hit the off switch. It slapped to the mattress and he lay very still whilst his breathing whistled in and out, dick and hole sore from enjoyment. He pushed the iPad away from him in shameful dismissive, immediately trying to redact the morning fantasies that had sped through his mind. He shoved the tablet off the side of the bed, pleased with the chunky thud it made on the carpet, and then he wriggled off the bed and onto his feet, picking up the sex toy and staring it as if it was some intruder who'd sneaked into the room and taken advantage of him, not just a silicon instrument he'd seized up in mad lust. He shoved it safely under the pillow, hiding it until he could clean it properly, and then he pulled off his PJs and used them to dab spunk from the bedding before stuffing them into a laundry basket.
He stood naked in front of the mirror and stared himself down.
His face was pasty and aged by worry in the moment, but his eyes were wide and intense, his hair ruffled and his cheeks hot pink. His body was pale and naked, his dick finally drooping between his legs in a state of satisfaction. He looked at himself and saw the eager sub who'd knelt down for Harry Maguire, and finally realised that the sensation in his gut was not disgust, it was... Desire.
At that moment he realised a voice was calling out, muffled by the closed door. He stepped over, twisted the handle, tugged it ajar.
`Danny baby... aren't you gonna come and scrub my back...?'
He paused there by the door, and looked back at the mirror, then the tangled duvet, the iPad on the bedroom floor. A slideshow of his athletic older teammates paraded in his head, seemingly led by Bale's dark topknot and mighty striding legs, a warrior figure on the pitch and a gentleman off it... Dan James shuddered with confused desire, and he clutched the door handle tightly.
`Dan! Honey?'
Coming babe,' he called out in a hollow voice. Coming.' He turned his back on the fantasies once more, knowing that sooner or later he would have to confront them properly, but not today.