Football Fuckers 1 -- After the Match
At just 21, Trent Alexander Arnold was riding high. He had a champion's league medal to his name, had just added a world club cup medal to his collection, and the best Liverpool team in years was closing in on a premiership title. He'd also just scored in the club's 4-0 drubbing of Leicester City, and got himself a couple of assists, too.
He was sweaty and knackered, but that couldn't keep the smile from his pretty face as he headed down into the King Power Stadium dressing rooms, having just finished lapping up the applause and cheers from the travelling fans. His muscular legs were starting to ache a little and he could feel he'd put a shift in, but it was all worth it for the result.
Before he got very far into the tunnel under the dugout, he heard a couple of voices call out in his direction.
"Over here, Trent ... Give us a minute, will ya?"
"Quick word, mate," came another voice. "Title's sewn up now, surely?"
Trent looked up and saw three or four TV journalists all clamouring for his attention. It was just about the last thing he wanted to do, but there was no avoiding media duties. He made his way over, flashed his cute smile, and talked them through the match in his distinctive, scouse accent. He left with the man of the match award and the journalists hanging on his every word. There was no doubt he was becoming the breakout star of the Liverpool team.
Finally, he made it through the throng of hangers-on and club staff in the tunnel, and pushed the door open into the away changing rooms. He was hit by a wall of noise, hot steam from the showers and the musky, sweaty smell of fit men after a tough game. The boss was talking to each player individually, debriefing them on their performances. Some players were getting massages and warming down. Everyone was in a state of undress and hyped up after their win.
Trent made his way over to where he kept his bags and change of clothes. He kept his head up, careful not to linger on the half-naked and naked bodies all around him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the muscular, stocky frame of James Milner, towelling himself off. The stray water was running in mini-waterfalls off his toned pecs and across his lightly-haired six pack, then down over his impressively thick, coke-can cock.
Then, there was the swinging dick of the smooth Robert Firmino. The Brazilian star was not shy at all about showing off his big package, which was swinging freely from leg to leg, as he stood talking animatedly to one of the coaches. It was longer than Milner's and a bit thinner, but the light pink head on the caramel-colours shaft was super enticing nonetheless.
It was one thing winning medals and plaudits, but for Trent, these dressing room scenes were half the reward for hitting the big time. He'd known he was into lads as well as lasses forever, even if he didn't have much experience -- just constant raging hormones. Any horny 21-year-old would kill to be in the dressing room of a premier league club, and here he was, amongst some of the hottest studs around.
As he made his way to where his bags were hanging, he let his mind wander to that long dick of Firmino's. In his mind the locker room was empty, he'd got down on both knees and was looking up at the star striker, the tip of his uncut cock grazing Trent's wet red, parted lips, just waiting for an eager tongue to...
"Alright, lad?" interrupted a familiar north-east voice from over his shoulder.
Fuck, Trent thought, trying to hide the chubby developing in his compression pants.
"Alright, Hendo," he said, a bit shyly. "What's up, mate?"
"Nothing, lad," the captain replied. "Just wanted to say what a good performance that was today. Goals, assists, the lot. You did well."
Jordan Henderson, the tall, muscly, commanding Liverpool captain put a hand out and rested it on Trent's shoulder. Trent shuddered at the strong grip and the funky smell of sweat that was wafting off him. He was captain was undoubtedly the boss of the dressing room, and a fucking alpha male stud if Trent had ever seen one. Firmino vanished from his mind -- he knew that Hendo had a massive dick, and if the rumours about him were true, he knew how to use it.
"No worries, boss," said Trent. "Team effort, right?"
"That's right," Hendo said, moving in even closer. But Trent noticed his smile begin to fade and turn down at the corners. "There was just one problem."
Trent gave a nervous laugh. He'd done everything asked of him on the pitch -- he hadn't fucked up at all, not even one stray pass.
"What's that, cap?"
"You might wanna mention your team mates when you're getting interviewed big shot. You're not the only star of the show, here, geddit?"
With one swift movement Hendo reached down with his free, left hand and grabbed Trent's dick through his shorts, squeezing and twisting hard.
Trent gasped at the sharp pain to his growing dick, panicked at the sudden change in Hendo's tone. "Fuck, I'm sorry mate I must have forgot, alright, chill..." he said, as he squirmed under the captain's grip.
Hendo stared him out for a second, his hand firmly clasped on Trent's meat. Suddenly, though, he let go, and the menacing smirk turned back into a smile. "Don't forget next time, mate. Yeah?"
Henderson gave Trent a gentle slap around the head and turned away to go into the showers, peeling off his sweaty top as he did so. A couple of the lads looked up, but didn't offer much in the way of help. Not many of the boys were willing to stand up to Hendo, or get in the way when he had a bee in his bonnet. Trent was left clutching his sore knob.
Jesus, he, thought. Fucking nutjob.
He picked up his towel and started to undress. He wasn't sure whether he was pissed off or turned on, or a bit of both. Hendo was a mean bastard sometimes, but a fucking hot one, too. Even though he was embarrassed to be put in his place like that, it felt fucking amazing to have the captains hand on his cock.
Anyway, Trent headed into the showers, and tried to forget that a bit of the shine had just been taken off his performance. He began soaping up, massaging his developing abs and pecs and gently washing his balls and dick. He wasn't the biggest lad in the world, but fully-up, his light-brown dick was at least 7 inches, and his bouncing balls hung nice and low. Not that he let himself get too worked up in the shower. Hunky Egyptian, Mo Salah, was right beside him.
"Ignore him," Mo said, in his heavy accent. "He give you any trouble, you come to me."
Trent just nodded, and Mo exited the shower, giving him a quick slap on the arse. It was all Trent could do not to cum right there and then.
After showering and getting changed, Trent was just about the last one ready, and practically getting kicked out of the changing rooms by the Liverpool staff and Leicester club reps. He signed a few autographs outside the ground as he made his way onto the coach, then hopped up onto the steps and into the dark interior. A few of the lads grumbled about having to wait for the princess to get ready, but he just laughed it off. Being late, though, he ended up without anyone to sit next to, so headed to the very back of the bus on his own.
Suits me, he thought, as he settled into the plush leather seat. His tired limbs were looking forward to the relaxing journey home to Liverpool, and he didn't really fancy talking to anyone, anyway. He put on his headphones and settled in, letting the music wash over him. Now his mind was truly free to wander; he closed his eyes and pulled up the mental photographs of the swinging dicks he'd seen in the dressing room and before long he could feel the strain of his cock pressing against his briefs.
The coach was dark and there was no one else in the row next to him, so he let his horny thoughts take over. He rested his hands just under the rim of his tracks bottoms, and traced his hand gently over the growing mound in his club-red Liverpool briefs. He let out a little whimper of desire as he remembered Salah's hand briefly on his arse.
Fuck, he thought, how long is it till we get back?
He let his hand slip into the briefs and clasp his stiff prick. He gave a couple of gentle jerks, pulling the foreskin back and forward so that he could feel the wetness of pre-cum slick his hand and the fabric of his underwear. All the while the music played and his eyes stayed closed, oblivious to his surroundings.
Trent moved his hips back and forward a little, getting himself into a rhythm with the music and the coach. His mouth was practically drooling. Milner in one hand, he imagined, Firmino in the other. Who was he going to suck first in his first-team fantasy? He gripped his dick harder with his right hand, and his left hand dived in to cradle his own balls. They felt heavy and full -- it had been a couple of days since his girlfriend had last noshed him off. And to be honest, it wasn't even as good as his own hand.
Hmmm, fuck lads, he thought, I'm gonna have both of you cumming when I'm done.
Suddenly, though, the dirty fantasies were rudely interrupted, and he came crashing back into the real world just as his headphones went crashing onto the floor of the coach.
"Oi oi!" the familiar, north-east voice grunted. "What do we have here, then, pretty boy?"
**
Thanks for reading -- would love to hear any feedback. Part 2 coming soon!