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Subject: Premiership Lads part 109: HALAMADRID Part 109: halamadrid The bedding was warm and scented with a delicate mix of their sweat and perfumes — a cosy nest of last night’s weary snuggles and morning peace before the day fully begins. Already, powerful summery light was leaking around the curtains in the master bedroom of the villa, creeping across the terracotta flooring towards the corner of the big bed. Sergio Ramos, sleepy but awake in one specific area, reached a tattooed hand across the white sheets to caress his wife’s arm. He lifted his head a little, his gingery beard scratching the pillow as he pulled over to kiss her soft cheek. She made a vague noise, an acknowledgement of his touch and of wakefulness, but without enthusiasm. Yet. The Real Madrid captain grinned sleepily and slid his hand past her arm and onto her flat tummy beneath the duvet until he found the lacy borderline of her knickers. She made a second noise, with a lilt of giggle to it, and slid her head closer to his for the first kiss of the day. She giggled at the tickle of his lockdown beard on her smooth face and he nudged his fingers beneath the lace, feeling the intimate warmth. He moved with agonising slowness, supremely confident in his ability to make her wet before getting too close. He grazed their lips tantalisingly and pulled very slightly closer, across the warmed softness of the mattress. Both of her hands were lifting slowly to stroke his bearded cheeks and pull him in for a deeper kiss. She hadn’t even opened her eyes yet. It was her favourite way to wake up, and his favourite time for foreplay. He pushed one long finger close to the folds of her cunt and then pulled it back, teasing, twanging the elastic of the lacy panties a little. She let out a soft groan and then formed, in Spanish, a few jokey swear words of sexual frustration. Sergio grinned goofily, kissed her deeply, then pushed two fingers inside Victoria’s Secret and found her entrance. In they went, just a little, and he felt her long toned body arch against him. Soon, he was knuckle-deep in her, parting the labia and finding rubbing this thumb against her clit. She whimpered into his mouth and he swallowed her sighs, the gentle but powerful Spanish lover. His morning wood throbbed inside the expensive designer boxer shorts and brushed her hip, a signal that he would want more than a kiss. His fingers went deeper and she cried out a little more firmly, finally opening her heavy lashes and staring lovingly across the pillow. `I love you,’ he whispered tenderly as he fingered her. He stuck out his thick tongue a little and curled it across his upper lip and the shaggy ginger growth there, his hair loose and wild about his tanned handsome face. `I love you and I’m going to make you cum four times,’ he promised, gently but firmly. She was just parting her plump reddened lips to speak when the interrupting scream came. The distressed early morning squeal of one of their numerous children, presumably because they’d woken from a shitty nightmare or couldn’t find their favourite toy within two minutes of waking up. Both parents paused and looked knowingly at each other, the familiar agony of pleasure deferred or worse, abandoned. He retreated his fingers and corrected the slip of her panties. `Your turn or mine?’ he breathed sensuously. `You aren’t going anywhere with THAT,’ he replied in sensual Spanish, cupping her hand briefly against the tented front of his silk boxer shorts, and slid away from him, the perfect mother to his darling children. Sergio sighed and relaxed gratefully but frustratedly against the bedding, nestling back in his longish locks and stretching out his muscular legs. Well, he thought, if madam is busy, perhaps monsieur must… But just as he began to reach for the front of his underpants, he remembered that the liberating lockdown days were more or less over. He cocked his head to look at an abstract little clock by the bed: oh fuck, he had to be at the training ground within half an hour. Sessions were very early here to avoid the midday sun and the traditional siesta. With great reluctance, Ramos abandoned his throbbing morning erection, a leftover from being too tired to fuck last night, and hopped begrudgingly out of bed to begin his day. The memory of pleasure interrupted bothered him throughout the morning, despite his great excitement to be back in full training sessions, and the importance of the day. At noon, they expected an announcement from the Spanish government to confirm if La Liga would resume on the proposed date in June; yet Sergio’s mind slipped repeatedly back to the erotic nest of the bed in morning, the pleasure he might have indulged. Still, he thought with some resentment, he would have been late to training, if he’d got invested in her cunt at that point. Their lovemaking sessions were hot and intense and rarely brief. He’d underestimated the time when he woke up and stroked her into arousal. Training was, yet again, strenuous, but Ramos loved that. Shorts rolled up to barely cover the tops of his thighs, and sleeveless Madrid vest stuck to his taut torso, the powerful captain led his men through drill after drill, a savage and charismatic figure on the sparkling green astroturf. He was able to perform his role as a leader of men even if half of his thoughts were still lingering in his beautiful wife’s knickers. In a way, it helped. It was the whole theory of the footballer’s sex ban: that frisson of anticipation and self-denial that supposedly brought the best in athletes. Sergio himself rarely followed the rules, simply viewing his sexual appetite as inexhaustible and therefore exempt. Lesser men might need to spare their cocks to play with fire, but not Sergio Ramos, captain of club and country. With this arrogance, he aggressively but supportively pushed the men around him throughout the morning’s hot, sweaty training session. He barked encouragement at that prudish Welshman Gareth Bale, practically chased midfielders Valverde and Vazquez into improving their pace, and blasted a series of impossible strikes at Courtois and Areola to sharpen their goalkeeping. He swaggered about the training ground as if he was an additional coach, applauded and encouraged by the actual coaches and the club’s legendary leader, Zidane. And now there was a slightly new angle to his proprietary treatment of the lads. A new appetite had been woken up in recent weeks, and he found himself taking particular interest in the impish Belgian responsible for that: it was difficult to watch and bark criticism at Eden Hazard without noting the size and shape of his rump in those pale bronze training shorts. It was a better backside than half the Real Madrid WAGS, he found himself thinking with a filthy grin. He found himself idly wondering about the contents of slick German Toni Kroos’ shorts as the midfielder bounded past him during some long passing work, and he sized up Serbian striker Luka Jovic when the young goal-scorer whipped off his vest after acing his penalty exercise. Young Asensio, passing him during a break for water and fresh orange slices, met his eyes with the same shifty guardedness that he always did now, clearly a little freaked by the playfulness in Sergio’s gym. He always saw the same flush of excitement in the young Spaniard’s dark eyes, but the wrinkling frown of uncertainty and embarrassment too. Bale adopted a more severe look of detachment, managing to avoid looking explicitly annoyed or angry when they made brief contact, but remaining aloof and serious-faced in a way that was unlike the club’s token Brit during summery training sessions. His warlike expression beneath the dark top-knot made him look like he was playing in a Champions League final rather than mid-season top-up sessions after weeks off. Hazard himself always looked sly, regardless mersin escort of whether Sergio was smirking knowingly at him across the table of water bottles, sucking provocatively on a thick orange slice and letting its juice trickle into his beard or not. It was clear that the poker night and the gym visit were nothing but gratifying diversions to the short chunky Belgian footballer, grinning beneath his perfect dark brows and short cropped hair. Though Ramos had not yet repeated the pleasure of those pouting lips, he felt confident that it waited there for him when next he needed it. Perhaps today would be that day, he thought idly, picking up another orange slice. Beside him, handsome little Franciso Suarez, his beloved Isco, sucked noisily on a slice himself, splattering droplets of its fresh juice all over his short thick facial hair and making his pink lips glisten attractively in the sun. Becoming aware of the bestial noise he made attacking the snack, he turned his head Sergio’s way with a little flicker of amusement in his small dark eyes. Ramos grinned down at his diminutive teammate, the Madrid and Spain midfielder suppressing a dirty laugh. `You suck so well,’ Ramos teased. He punched him lightly in the bare upper arm and Isco laughed too as he tossed the rind into the bin behind them. `Watch your filthy mouth, Senor Ramos,’ he replied sharply, `people will talk.’ Ramos laughed, pleased that there had been no tension or discomfort in this important friendship since the wet afternoon together; Francisco had none of Marco’s apprehension or evasiveness, though neither bloke had once mentioned what happened even when alone. Isco had joined him for walks and runs a couple of beers without a single peculiar or worried comment, and he’d even joked about Hazard being a man full of surprises, surely a cloaked reference to how that afternoon had ended. They got back to work, though there was only another hour to go. Every man looked darkened by tan and shiny with sweat. Almost immediately after training, the government announcement was due to be broadcast, and the men gathered beside the training ground rather than heading indoor for their showers. Ramos hovered close to Zidane and the other senior coaches, pale gold vest tugged off and decorated torso on show, bulging arms folded beneath his pecs as he listened closely to the broadcast on the gaffer’s phone speaker. When the confirmation came through, the gathered men broke out in multilingual cheers and there was some awkward grabbing and hugging, since the Liga rules still suggested that was not allowed yet. High spirits followed the Real Madrid players indoors to the air conditioning and showers. Sergio Ramos grinned triumphantly to himself, anticipating a proper football match in two weeks’ time — but still covertly aware of the throbbing in his big bollocks that came from not unloading in over twenty-four hours, a rare and irritating feat for him. It wasn’t just his bollocks throbbing, though; his big thighs ached and his tight, veiny calves. He’d been for a very long run last night and today’s intense training had drained his leg strength. `Hey,’ he called vaguely to the other men as they tumbled distantly down the corridor, `who will join me for icy dip? Recovery pool, eh? Who up for it?’ He called out in slightly broken English, not wanting to exclude his international teammates. Nearby, Eden Hazard gave him a sly but apologetic grin, vest folded in both hands and legs heading straight for the changing rooms. `Sorry, captain,’ he said, sounding it, `but I have plans with the wife, we have a family event — online, of course, ha ha.’ His grin looked full of a pleasing remorse, and Ramos felt more sure than ever that he would take a third poke between those lips, when he really chose to. He smirked back at the Belgian, vaguely asserting his dominance with a nod and a shrug of his broad, darkly tanned shoulders. `You?’ he called, as tall strong Gareth moved by him. Bale gave him a quite frosty look. `Recovery pool, after a training session?’ A hint of sneer to his singsong Welsh. `I don’t think many of us need that, Ramos. See ya later, skipper.’ With that, the frowning Welshman rushed ahead and into the changing rooms. Ramos scowled a little — he was rapidly moving from distant amusement to professional irritation at Bale’s overreaction to poker night and what he’d willingly participated in. It wasn’t as if he’d even been the one doing anything dirty, Ramos reflected. Fucking loser. There was little take-up for his suggestion though. Bale was right, it was not typical post-training behaviour, but still — his big legs ached with exertion and they were his golden weapon, they needed to be tiptop in this next fortnight of preparation. He turned and gave an expectant smile to Asensio, but the 24-year-old striker contrived not to hear him and jogged after another forward, into the changing rooms. Almost all of the lads had passed by, making Sergio frown with the air of a displeased manager; the familiar profile of his good friend Isco slowed down at his side and gave him a cynical look. `Icy dip, really?’ he demanded in Spanish. Ramos gestured at his bare legs, shorts still rolled up vainly, and laughed. `You know these two legs need to be perfection,’ he pronounced, and clapped his pal on one shoulder. `Will you join me? These fucking losers will not.’ The bearded 28-year-old laughed softly and nodded. `Very well, my captain and friend.’ Sergio enjoyed the contrast in their heights as they entered the cool air of the icy plunge pool, after a slightly awkward wait for a junior coach to unlock it and activate the disused temperature controls after such an absence. He watched as the 5ft9 midfielder pulled away his training jersey and tossed his shorts lightly aside, approaching the pool in only tight black lycra Under Armour, shorts that hugged his thighs and backside closely and pronounced their muscular curves. The 6ft captain enjoyed the vague enhancement of his own physique that being around the more traditional short Latino men lent; also the contrast between the darkness of Isco’s hair and the paler complexion of his bared body. Though the younger man had intricate and extensive tattoos on both arms, that was nothing compared to the map of artwork that travelled over Sergio’s deeply tanned muscles, making him look oddly fresh and innocent by contrast. At 34, Sergio knew he was quite an old dog by footballing standards, but he loved the sense of experience and superiority this gave him over friends like Isco, mere boys to him despite pushing 30. He pulled down his own shorts, tugging them off his legs and removing the thin ankle socks from his big feet. In the skimpy white briefs he always wore for training, he moved over to join Isco beneath the row of weak showers, rinsing away some of the lathered sweat before entering the icy recovery pool beside them. He undid the band about his overgrown hair and shook it out, wiping water from his eyes. `So we got to play soon,’ Isco said conversationally. `Cannot fucking wait.’ `We will be smashing our way through the opposition in no time,’ chuckled Sergio. `Oh yes, for sure. La Liga is ours.’ Grinning, Isco moved away and took the plunge first, dropping his legs and then crotch into the super-chilled water; Ramos gripped the bar at the side and hoisted himself down too, plunging himself up to the waist in the bitter cold and feelings its strange relief against the throb of his worn-out muscles. Little Isco had to take the cold water higher, halfway up his torso, his dark pink nipples standing immediately to attention. The men looked at each other with the generic `brr’ noises of the sudden chill. `Just a few minutes,’ Ramos told him quietly. `Enough to ease the burn.’ `Yeah, whatever you say,’ Isco agreed with chattering teeth, giving escort mersin him an impatient smile. Ramos stared at him openly, sizing him up, letting the unresolved desires of early this morning rise up. He could just picture the compact midfielder squatting on his gym floor again, allowing him to pull out his surprisingly ample privates, and then jerking himself off frantically as Eden got down on his bruised knees… Ramos realised that he hadn’t even thought to share Hazard’s mouth with his good pal that time; well that would have to be corrected in future. But for now… `Time’s up,’ Isco said firmly, shivering as he reached for the metal bars and dragged himself out. Ramos could not help but watch the cascade of cold water down the smaller guy’s broad muscular back and the way those black under-shorts held onto the bouncing bubble of his backside. He reached out with a cheeky grin and gave it a resounding smack on its way out of the pool, earning a playful yelp and laugh from the other player. Ramos grinned wickedly and tugged himself up out of the icy water too, onto the narrow strip of ribbed ground that separated it from the low neighbouring hot tub that was used to `recover’ from the `recovery’. He paused in the space between the two pools and pulled at the front of his briefs, looking down. `Hah, the cold water sure has a shrinking effect,’ he announced, forcing Isco to look his way. The dark Spaniard was clapping his hands together for warmth and bouncing from foot to foot. He stared down towards Ramos’ crotch and frowned. `Hardly, on you,’ he remarked critically, `you’ve enough to spare.’ Ramos chuckled and sighed. `True, perhaps — for both of us!’ He pulled again at the waist of the wet briefs, adjusting the sagging outline at the front, then nodded across to the bulging pocket of Isco’s own shorts. `We are two lucky men. Two lucky wives!’ Isco grinned but with a little less confidence, and descended the shallow steps into the lukewarm second pool, sighing gladly at the feel of it on his feet and calves and sinking his big arse onto the mid-step, up to the waist in water again and leaning his arms back on a higher step. Ramos slid down next to him, deliberately close, and pushed his legs apart a little so his right thigh and knees brushed almost innocently with Isco’s. The 28-year-old raised a dark eyebrow and looked over at him, seeming to pick up on his mood and appetites. `It’s a shame you didn’t convince Hazard to join us,’ he said slyly. `Agreed,’ Ramos grumbled, then laughed a little. He reached over and stroked the man’s bare shoulder just a little, then looked down the muscled plateau of his own chest and abs. `But I saw how well you handled little Marco, so…’ `Sergio,’ Isco responded with a mix of dirty chuckle and gruff protest. `In here…?’ Ramos smirked at him. `I locked the door,’ he said. `Everyone was in such a rush.’ He liked the little fiery doubt in Isco’s eyes; he knew that in many ways he had the power here, he could push this and have his way quite easily — but he had a lot of fondness for Isco and it wouldn’t be half so fun if he was just barking orders as captain. He rubbed his thick browned leg a little at Isco’s, parting his crotch more so the bulge sagged and bobbed a little at the surface of the water. `Go on,’ he purred, `give us a feel, my friend.’ Isco gave him a frustrated look, as if rolling his eyes at some madcap scheme on a night out, or reacting to some dirty tale of Sergio’s indiscretions; he didn’t look overly fazed as he reached his left hand over and cupped the heavy white package in it. `Not shrunk at all,’ he joked, giving it a slow tender stroke, splashing a little as he did. Sergio squeezed his shoulder more. `I am so horny,’ Ramos confessed bluntly. `You always are,’ Isco said reasonably. `I didn’t get my morning fuck,’ Ramos said, lowering his voice. `And you cannot wait til tonight?’ chuckled Isco. He looked only mildly embarrassed to be touching up his mate, feeling and testing the outline in the wet white fabric, translucent against the captain’s big weapon. Sergio slid over a little on the step, their legs really pushing together now and his damp hand moving over to stroke the furry back of Isco’s neck. `Why should Sergio Ramos wait?’ the Madrid leader asked in a firm, authoritative whisper that pushed a game chuckle from the other footballer’s mouth. `Okay, but you gotta do me too,’ Isco said. Sergio almost replied that he was in charge here and he didn’t have to do a fucking thing he didn’t feel like — but really, he did feel like it. He’d been so impressed by the size of Isco’s meaty piece in the gym, enjoyed the sight of trembling Marco’s hand on it, giving it a tug into life. He grabbed it through the tight lycra, remembering its size and shape against his palm. The two men stared into the lukewarm pool as they fondled each other, Isco making jumpy glances to the door whilst Ramos just began to lower his lids and sigh pleasantly. `You’re getting pretty hard,’ his teammate commented after a while. `And so are you,’ Ramos reminded him. He gave the semi in the lycra a good squeeze, then let go, pulling back and stretching out a bit. His own cock was straining at the skimpy covering of the white briefs. He saw Isco’s hand hesitate, and patted him on the back of the head. `Go on, my friend. It needs setting free.’ Almost as soon as Isco pulled on the tight white briefs, the big thick tool was loose, emerging from the water like a dangerous sea creature, its one eye directed up at them. Sergio groaned gently as his dick was taken in hand and looked over at Isco’s handsome dark features, the thick covering of his beard. He wanted to see his cum bead that Spanish hair like the orange juice in their water break, making this sexy fucker slurp on his seed. Isco met his eyes with a second’s alarm but then grinned, seeming glad of the approval. `That ok, captain?’ he asked with almost mocking subservience. `Si,’ groaned Sergio. He eased his body back, relaxing against the smoothed ridges of the steps, the warm water lapping up his abs now and then, his legs parting wide. He pulled and stroked at Isco’s neck and shoulders a bit. `But like you said, it is a shame Eden is absent… you will need to do his job.’ He had eased Isco’s head halfway across the gap but now those dark eyes flitted nervously back to him and he saw the red lips purse. `Captain…’ `Why not?’ `Sergio, I have a wife…’ `And she enjoys your lips,’ Sergio said rapidly. `I bet you will be excellent.’ `Sergio, I’ve never-` `I said you will be excellent,’ Ramos insisted. He pulled gently at the back of the man’s head. `You better never tell a soul,’ Isco said with a sort of restrained fury that sounded to Sergio like it covered some curious excitement. And with that he ducked his head close to the water and pushed his lips around the end of Sergio’s rock hard tool. He let out a quick gasp and scrunched his fingers through the shaggy darkness of Isco’s hair, still guiding his face into his wet crotch and lifting up his buttocks a little to feed inch after inch to the hesitant first-timer. After a few moments, Isco forcibly lifted his head, gasping a little, looking back up his ripped body. `How is that?’ he asked, sounding scared but eager to please. He looked cuter than ever in his nervous discomfort. `How is that, my friend?’ he asked quite sharply. `You can do better,’ Sergio chuckled simply back. He stroked his fingers down the side of the younger man’s face, brushing his beard, then pulled it back onto his neck and his firm shoulders, massaging at warm wet skin. Either provoked by the challenge or relaxed by this touch, Isco bent further down and tried again, and his touch was brilliant: clumsy and a little aimless, but so gladly received by ever-horny Ramos. It was as if his throbbing boner mersin escort bayan from the bed this morning had never quite subsided, easily reawakening here at the feel of Isco’s thin lips and darting tongue. Other instinctive muscle memories of this morning’s interrupted pleasure came to him. He let his fingers creep down Isco’s spine and he leant to the side a little to examine the beautiful curve of his arse as it rose from the shallow water on the upper step. He bit his lip with a delighted memory of the silk knickers and his finger’s brief stay inside his wife’s warm pussy; a hole is a goal, he reminded himself, and pushed his hand further down the small of Isco’s back. He let out little pleased grunts at the feel of the inexperienced mouth exploring his cock, and pushed his fingers beneath the tight band of the Under Armour. Isco tensed and trembled a bit but didn’t stop licking and kissing his shaft. He found the furry gap between the smooth cheeks and pushed one finger a little way into the crack, enjoying its heat and tightness against his digit. `Good work,’ Ramos growled at his cock-sucker, `such good work, my friend…’ Despite his words, he brought it to an end, guiding Isco’s head gently off his prick, smiling fondly at him. He could see the fiery excitement in the dark eyes, but also the guilty frown of someone disappointed at his own enjoyment. That sensitive tongue rolled over the lips and pool-water dripped from his beard and hair. Sergio reached over and pulled commandingly at his shoulders. `Kneel there,’ he ordered, and this time there was no discussion from a suddenly submissive Isco. The meaty little guy crawled into position as pushed, reaching his elbows up onto the top step and squatting his thick knees into the shallows. Sergio sat side-on, patting and stroking his back and then fondling his buttocks through the shorts. `Captain,’ he moaned, excited and cautious all at once. `Trust me,’ Sergio ordered, playing out his morning plans. He rolled the lycra down and bared those cheeks, pale globes of muscle with a fine coating of dark hair and a much thicker, darker covering in the gap between. He reached around and tickle his fingers along the crack, making Isco shudder and moan. But it wouldn’t have stopped at fingers this morning, he thought with filthy desire, giving Isco’s plump backside a measuring look: would it be so odd if he got in there and…? He pushed a finger more firmly in between, making a deeper moan come from the bloke, and he found the tight ring in amongst the wiry hair. He found he was leaning over excitedly, stroking his other hand along Isco’s flank, really tenderly holding his crouched body, excited by his bare bottom that he’d watched bounce along in shorts so many times. `Sergio,’ came Isco’s whimpering pant, `I think this is too much…’ Ramos couldn’t hide the frustration in his sigh. He restrained himself, holding his probing finger over the puckered hole but pushing no further. He stroked his other hand up his back and sighed at him over the gurgle of the pools. `Just let me try something,’ he muttered, and he saw Isco’s head nod. Okay, a finger was too much for the frightened virgin, but… Ramos had confidence in other skills. He shifted over with a ripple of water, deeper into the pool behind Isco’s body, lowering his knees to the floor and resting behind his lifted rump. He held a cheek in each hand, squeezing and then parting them, and brought his face close. He breathed gently into his crack and then stuck out his thick strong tongue. He thought about the half hour he might have spent with his head beneath the covers, licking screams out of his wife, and pushed his tongue into his mate’s furry crack. `OH!’ yelped Isco. Sergio held his face between the cheeks and ran his tongue back and forth over that quivering ring that he’d been banned from pushing a finger inside, teasing and tickling it and holding tightly to the man’s cheeks and hips. Isco’s gasps and groans were wild now, wilder than his own at that short-lived blowjob! It made Ramos crazy with lust, his dick flopping just beneath the surface of the water, rock hard and throbbing. He took his right hand form Isco’s plump cheek so he could wank himself while he licked and spat in the hairy hole. With his left hand he spanked and squeezed the other cheek. `Oh captain, oh my,’ whined Isco, `that is…. Oh my….’ A string of Spanish curses. Ramos pulled back, breathless and impatient, splashing water with his jerky movements. He rose off his knees, tugging furiously at his cock; he looked at the bare muscular back and the round hairy cheeks and thought about spilling all his streaming spunk over that view, but then remembered his momentary fantasy. `Turn round,’ he gasped commandingly, `on your knees…’ Isco scrabbled around, splashing his feet and legs back into the water more fully, slipping onto his arse and staring up, open-mouthed. He reached between his legs to take his own sizeable erection out of the front of the bunched up lycra shorts, wanking it with noisy splashes in the surface of the pool. Ramos stood over him, tugging back his baggy foreskin and yelping like a mad wolf. Neither man said another word for a while, just ragged breathy gasps and moans and intense stares from one to the other. Water dripped off every inch of Sergio’s big body and from his beard where it had dunked into the pool while licking his first arse. Isco no longer looked anxiously to the door, only focused on the mighty presence of his club and country captain. Sergio came first, spilling a heavy load directly at his friend’s face. Isco closed his eyes and held his mouth part open, tongue tucked nervously away, and let it hit him. Streaks of cum landing in his thick beard and streaming down his cheeks and nose. Some of it splashed into his mouth and Ramos could see his awkward indecision at the taste finding his tongue. `OH FUCK,’ he howled with no self-conscious worry of their being discovered; who the fuck at this club could judge him…? Now Isco was cumming too, making a noisy splash as he did, eyes closed tightly and his friend’s seed dripping from his beard into the water. His spunk fired off and mixed with the splashing lukewarm water about their legs, making Ramos laugh arrogantly at the fact they were defiling expensive Real Madrid property. He stroked his dick with long powerful pulls and then pushed the head into the thick wiry fur of Isco’s beard, rubbing more juices over that hair and then in against those thin red lips. They parted awkwardly and took in a few inches of softening meat, sucking the taste of his load from the bell-end and then pulling away with a little gurgle. `How does it taste?’ Sergio demanded. `How do I taste?’ Isco just looked lost for words, not really answering. He pulled away, grabbing Sergio’s offered hands to pull himself to his feet, their naked bodies briefly brushing. `I could ask you the same question,’ he muttered, and gave him an intense look; not angry or accusing but overwhelmed and shocked. Sergio grinned shamelessly, licking his lips. Isco began to turn away, headed for the shower, and he slapped him hard on the arse, leaving a pink print on that white bubble of meat. `Just warming up for tonight,’ Ramos growled, `when I go down on my wife.’ He followed Isco to the showers, reaching to grab his buttock again. `I’ll think of you for a moment when I lick her. Will you think of me?’ Smirking, he pulled his taller body close to the other man, up against the thin drizzle of these inferior showers, stroking his hand from the arse up his back, making him shudder beneath the sensual stroke. `I will,’ Isco confirmed hotly. `I will, my captain.’ `Such a good friend,’ Sergio chuckled. He leaned in and kissed him once on the forehead. `Hala Madrid,’ he quipped, as if this dirty episode was all for the sake of the club, like everything else they did. He grinned wickedly into his confused friend’s face, their bodies brushing under the heating spray, dicks swinging at their strong thighs. `Hala Madrid,’ Isco agreed quietly, giving a respectful nod to his leader.

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