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Subject: Premiership Lads Part 303 Part 303: Goodbye to the Great Dane Fierce sunshine blazed over the Leicestershire countryside that Thursday late afternoon, and the lawns of the small luxury housing estate were scorched an off-putting yellow by the recent heat-waves, surrounded by colourful but wilting flower-beds. He stepped out of the air-conditioned domain of his Jeep and surveyed the blandly suburban front gardens of the mansions that made up this small rural estate, thinking how tasteless his friend and his wife were, classic British new money. Vardy’s was the biggest of the looming modernist properties, and he walked up the sun-burnt approach to its doors, adjusting the collar of his pale green shirt and thinking how warm he felt as soon as he was out of the car. It had been a pretty busy day, though, of rushing between urgent chores and dealing with the movement of their belongings back at their own luxury pad on the edge of the city. Still, he’d known he would make time for this detour, he was not about to let his buddy down. Kasper Schmeichal dinged the bell of the complex-seeming security system and peered into its apparent camera lens with a goofy smile, awaiting some response from inside, but then backed away and surveyed the big property while he waited. He was thinking not just about the crass tastelessness of the British, but of the glamorous white villas he was choosing between outside of Nice, his new Riviera life awaiting him with his end-of-career stint in the South of France. It had all happened so fast. Kasper had still had half a mind to commit one last year to the Foxes, having loved every minute of his successful decade there, though he’d known this might be the perfect moment to cut his losses and leave the Premiership. The Nice offer had been pretty last-minute and rushed, and if he was a touchier guy, he might have been disappointed at the speed with which Leicester City agreed to ship him off – but everybody knew the shelf life of the sport, and even in goal, a 35-year-old captain was starting to push it. Better to leave now, Kasper knew, and get a few years in the easier French league with great pay and lower expectations, and leave his Leicester legacy shiny and intact. He rang the bell again, becoming impatient, and folded his big arms across the chest of his shirt, backing away and looking up and down the silent hamlet of modernist fronts. He knew that Jamie was in, because he’d quickly rang the useless fucker as soon as he got away from the removal men at his own mansion – and he could see Vardy’s preferred car gleaming behind the gates to his left, though Mrs V’s big motor was not there. As far as Kasper knew, she was still on some `girly retreat’ on the coast, recovering from the shameful debacle of her court cases, leaving Jamie to ready himself for the new season. Waiting a minute more before he’d get his phone out and become annoyed, the 6ft2 Dane thought sadly about those impending Premier League games, which would rattle on without his goalkeeping and captaincy. It was a strange and hollow feeling, even though he’d felt so sure and optimistic yesterday in Nice, signing all the paperwork and posing for the local crowds in the Riviera sun. His cheeks and nose were bright red from it, contrasted against the silvery blond of his hair and thin beard. At last, the door opened, just as the 35-year-old footballer might have stormed back to the Jeep or angrily rang up Vardy to shout at him down the line – it shifted inwards and there was his long-time buddy in the doorway, grinning stupidly at him and giving him a playful salute like a visiting army captain. `Danish fwend,’ cooed the striker in the doorway, breaking into inane cackles before lunging forward and grabbing him in a hug – Kasper grasped gratefully at the other `ageing’ Premiership star and gave him a squeeze, glad to see him for a goodbye before he jetted back to Nice tonight. `Come in, come in,’ Vardy insisted. `Sorry – I was just out back and couldn’t hear the bell, that’s all.’ Kasper wasn’t surprised. The interior of the Vardy mansion reverberated with loud dance music, and he just raised his white-blond eyebrows silently as he followed his buddy into the cool shade of the central hallway. `Alexa, shut up,’ the Leicester goal-scorer was hawking loudly at the invisible presence of his sound system. He tried again, subduing his Sheffield snarl for a more formal tone: `Alexa, volume down, thanks.’ The burly goalkeeper followed his friend through the ground floor of the spacious home, somewhere he’d been for many a dinner party or barbecue over their shared years as Foxes. It felt crowded with the thump of the Ibiza compilation, even with the volume nominally lowered, but was empty – well, empty but for the clutter of the Vardy spending habits and the detritus of their absent children. From under one muscular arm, Kasper produced the single bottle of vintage French wine he’d brought them, and proffered it at his host with a simple grin. `Nice,’ Jamie said hesitantly, taking it from him. `Is this some fancy shit I’m going to have to pretend doesn’t taste like all the others, then?’ `Pretty much that,’ Kasper chuckled, knowing the half-joke of his mate’s banter. `And what about my gift?’ he demanded with playful aggression, fiddling with his top button and following Jamie through into the cool kitchen space whilst the £500 wine bottle was lazily slid into a rack in one corner. Vardy just cackled away at this question, going to the fridge and pulling out a couple of ice-cool beers. `About that,’ he laughed, `just you wait and see. It’s out back, actually.’ `I was just kidding,’ Kasper grunted softly. `You don’t need to get me nothing. Besides – I’ll come back for a PROPER goodbye party at some point, I’m sure, when things are less of a hectic rush, y’know?’ He glanced uncertainly at the beer that Jamie had opened for him. `I am still driving quite a way, buddy-‘ `One won’t hurt,’ Vardy grunted dismissively. `Here. Have it. Good man. Hungry?’ `A bit, but… I don’t have long,’ Schmeichal insisted quietly. He took a grateful sip of the cold beer, glad for its taste and temperature, but knowing that he shouldn’t be giving in to even this. But `no’ was a difficult answer around party Vardy, and this was a fitting swift goodbye with the charismatic fuckwit – OF COURSE they’d sink a cheeky afternoon beer, of course. He took a second, longer sip, and refused the various snacks that his friend was now producing from the crowded chaos of their fridge and larder. `No, really – I’ll just grab something at the airport later, it’s fine. It’s really all just a chaotic mission today, mate, that’s why I left the Mrs and the kids over in France. I’m really just back to tie up loose ends.’ `That what I am?’ laughed the other 35-year-old. `A loose end?’ `Huh. The loosest fucking end going,’ he chided. `I was hardly gonna fuck off without seeing my mate Jamie V, was I? But I can’t stay long, honest. I’ll have this beer and that’ll probably be it. How come you’re home already anyway? Shouldn’t you still be at training?’ `It was a half day sorta thing. They’re trying to rest us all for the weekend, y’see. I mean it’s only a Sunday afternoon against fucking Brentford, but still… Best to start strong. And some of us ain’t as young as we were, huh?!’ Both men laughed heartily at this and clinked their beers together. Vardy was still in the sleeveless training top he must have worn at the Leicester camp earlier in the day, combined with a pair of dark swimming trunks that clung to his legs enough to suggest he’d been in his outdoor pool. He was leaning back against the fridge and grinning as he slugged from the bottle of Moretti. He was a good guy, Vardy, for all his excesses and the trouble that followed him – he’d been a great fucking ally in leading this team through their ups and downs, and Kasper couldn’t imagine having gone through any of it without the cheeky sniggers and insistent partying of this rogue Northern lad. And yet… there would be a relief too, a part of him thought, at leaving behind the unpredictable wildness of the striker, of exiting his orbit and not being drawn into all the sordid little games he liked to play…! Too many late nights at the wrong time, too many discreet baggies of unidentified drugs when they were supposed to be treating their athletic bodies like temples – too much philandering under Jamie’s dark influence, he mused, thinking of the women and the other stuff. `You’re thoughtful,’ Vardy commented sharply. `Having second thoughts?’ `Bit late for that,’ he dismissed, `but hard not to be nostalgic, ain’t it? Ten years, mate. Ten years. Fuck.’ `Don’t get maudlin, big guy. This is a party.’ `Of sorts, hah. It’s just us.’ Jamie smirked. `Come on, out to the pool. I’ve got this gift for ya.’ Kasper rolled his eyes sceptically, suddenly wondering if he would leave the Vardy house and find the whole squad there for a fucking surprise party or something – he would hardly put that past Jamie and his charisma, but it would be a terrible idea since he had to be back on the road soon and he didn’t have the time or energy to say all the goodbyes he’d need to! Still, he loped after the excitable other guy, back through the kitchen and lounges, and down some steps into the lowered rear end of the house, a spacious dining area with an expense of tinted French windows facing out into the garden and pool. Nothing immediately caught Kasper’s eye, and he was relieved not to be walking into a surprise party, with Leicester players bursting out from behind furniture and such, but he did feel a bit baffled about what stupid joke gift Vardy was about to spring on him… Jamie pushed his own beer into Kasper’s hand while he slid his feet into some flip-flops and then undid a latch on the sliding glass doors, and led him out onto the stretch of patio beyond, still shaded by the house but quickly stepping back out into the August sunshine. Kasper smiled politely, holding the two beers and sipping from his bottle, his eyes scanning the sizable domain of the Vardy gardens, unsure what here was supposed to be waiting for him. He stretched out one strong arm in Jamie’s direction to give him back his beer, about to make a comment, and then paused at the interruption. A loud splashing noise, as of a body crashing upwards out of the pool water just a few feet away from them, and then a pair of pink freckled hands at the top of the metallic ladder there. Before Schmeichal could say anything, a flare of red hair leapt into sight and a bare wet body was clambering upwards on the ladder, exiting the pool with a couple more loud splashes and then stumbling onto the hot stone flagging next to them. `Here he is!’ exclaimed the thick Burnley accent of the young guy, and there he was – Leicester’s Harvey Barnes, stumbling from the Vardy pool with chlorinated water beading against his arm and chest muscles, his bare body pink with sunburn and flecked with clusters of red-brown freckles. All the 24-year-old wore was the skimpiest speedo Kasper had every seen on a fella, a veritable thong of dark red material that just about held his privates in place and strapped tightly across either of his hips, just below the pronounced V of his adonis belt. The young winger dragged his hands across his wet face and then through his hair, beaming a welcoming smile at them, and then dashing past them to collect a towel from one of the loungers. `Did you want a beer, Harv?’ Jamie was demanding bluntly. Kasper just raised and knitted his brows and then took a long glug from his beer, Jamie taking the other one from him and following Harvey to the loungers. Not a full-on surprise party, then, but just one random member of their Leicester colleagues – bit random, but nothing was too surprising or impossible when it came to Jamie’s extroversion. `Oh yeah, great,’ mersin escort Barnes chirped brightly, sitting his wet legs down sideways on one of the big wooden sun loungers, and wrapping the towel about his shoulders and neck. He continued to beam at Schmeichal with the big innocent smile that marked his youthful looks. `How’s the move going, big man?’ he asked brightly. Vardy moved between them and disappeared back into the house, and Kasper stood smiling uncertainly back at the 24-year-old. `Yeah, yeah… it’s all a bit mad, but it’ll be fine. Lots to get sorted out today and then straight back to France tonight, you know.’ `Sure,’ Harvey said distantly. `Must be mad. I remember what it was like moving from Nottingham to here,’ he said without a trace of irony. Here was the very definition of a small-town kid, Kasper thought, a coddled lad who didn’t know much beyond the East Midlands of England and somehow hadn’t broadened those horizons after several years of top-flight football. Kasper’s own youth had been thoroughly international due to his father’s career before his own, and his ten years of stability in Leicester had been the most settled and provincial he’d ever become. `Right, yeah,’ the goalkeeper said slowly. `How was training?’ Harvey shrugged, nestling against the towel and shaking his wet hairy legs. `All fine. Just can’t wait for us to get started on Sunday. But will be a big fucking absence at the back of the squad for sure!’ `Well, I’m hopeful they’ll remember to put someone in goal,’ Kasper joked lightly, making the young winger burst into heady laughter. Trying hard to sound casual, he asked, `Any word on who is going to take up the captain’s armband…?’ Harvey was blank on this. `Nothing said yet, and we’re playing in a couple of days…’ `Here, here,’ came Vardy’s voice, reappearing with an extra bottle of beer open in his free hand. He passed it down to the young lad in his ridiculously small speedo and then stood between them, grinning mischievously enough to make Schmeichal look suspiciously at him and sup cautiously on the rest of his Moretti. Up got Barnes, lifting himself from the lounger and taking greedy slurps from his bottle. The towel slid from his shoulders and onto the wooden rungs of the lounger, leaving him stood there between them in his glistening near-nudity. Kasper studied the speedo again – it really wasn’t very much material, a real strap of blood-red fabric, straining to hold the youngster’s parts, it seemed a pretty ridiculous and unlikely choice of swimwear for the Burnley boy… `It’s part of Bekah’s bikini,’ supplied Vardy in a bright cheery voice. `He offered to wear the bra top bit, you know, but it didn’t fit around his big pecs quite so well.’ At this, Harvey just gurned bashfully at them, reaching down and adjusting himself in the ill-fitting female bottoms, then striding back to the pool’s edge and lowering himself into it whilst holding his beer aloft. Somehow, the young lad managed the awkward move, descending into the blue waters and treading water whilst continuing to sip his Italian beer. Kasper watched him, and then stared back at Vardy, bemused. `You’re a weird fuck, sometimes, Jamie,’ he remarked simply. Jamie winked at him. `What? The lad likes to wear her undies sometimes, even during a match. Don’t be so judgmental, big man. We all have our kinks.’ Kasper laughed but it turned into a sigh. `Right, what’s he doing here?’ he demanded with gentle force. He waved vaguely about them. `I was half-expecting some mad goodbye surprise party or some shit – have to say, I’m glad it’s just us! And, well, him too, I guess, but-‘ `Ohhh shit,’ wheezed Vardy. `That would have been great. If only I could have been arsed.’ `Oh, fuck off. And what about this gift, eh? What were you on about on the phone, having something special to give me before I jet off and become boring? I dunno why you think I’d be boring living on the French fucking Riviera compared to outer Leicestershire, mind…’ Vardy smirked again. `It’s your default, I think. Without me to keep you in check.’ `Huh, sure…! The gift, then…?’ In answer, the striker just grinned, took a sip, and turned to squint across the pool, on whose surface the early evening sun twinkled dramatically like a scattering of diamonds. Beyond that glare, the pool-splashing guest could be soon making another exit, but this time on the far side of the pool, his back to them – clambering up an opposite set of metallic ladders with the same ungainly movement, splashing a lot as his tightly muscled body left the water and hurried upwards. And from this view, Kasper noted, the limitations of the woman’s bikini bottom were all the more apparent, an awkward V of material that couldn’t even begin to cover the muscular expanse of Barnes’ buttocks, practically disappearing between them like a thong or G-string. `There you go,’ Vardy said simply. `As you can see, I didn’t bother wrapping him much.’ Kasper gave a derisive snort of humour, and pushed lazily at Jamie’s bare shoulder where the sleeveless training top ended. `Fuck off, what are you on about? Trying to give me your sloppy seconds, are ya?’ he grunted. He took a long drink of beer, almost finishing the icy bottle off. Next to him, Vardy chuckled happily, and then let out a little whoop of excitement. `Oh Kas,’ he jeered happily, `you have such low opinion of me, don’t you? Now don’t get things wrong – ginger boy over there is a virgin in all the right ways, I promise you. I’ve been saving him, and now it’s yours.’ Schmeichal grimaced and frowned at the crudeness and objectification, too sober and exposed out here in the sunny garden for the kind of chat the two of them might have more casually shared after too many beers and a few white lines in a nightclub – he glared at his Leicester friend and then back at Harvey, who was idling around the edges of the pool back towards them, the wetness glittering on his pink skin. `I’ve been training him up good,’ Jamie said, as if discussing a prized possession, `and he’s come a long way, really, but it’s time he really went the whole way, and there’s no better way to send you off to a life of sensible boredom on the French coast, huh…?’ `Jamie…’ `He really likes to please,’ leered the 35-year-old striker under his breath. `Mate…’ `And he squeals real good when you handle him right.’ `Fuck’s sake, buddy…’ `Just look at him, butter wouldn’t melt, but he’s a good slut now, I promise you…’ Schmeichal gritted his teeth, feeling a little tingle in his white trunks underneath the denim shorts that hugged his thighs and waist. He puffed out his chest, straining the buttons of the short-sleeved shirt, and he glared to his right at the sleazy look on Vardy’s thin face. `You’re always up to something,’ he muttered critically at his hedonistic best mate, and then looked back at the approaching figure of Harvey, grinning lazily and running his fingers through his wet red hair. `I really can’t stay long,’ the Danish keeper said, half to himself, clinging to that bland truth to withstand the rising excitement in his big muscular body, and to push away the suggestive gleam in Vardy’s wicked eyes. The striker just laughed, and patted him on his broad back. `Just stay long enough,’ the other 35-year-old football ace suggested cheerfully. `And then we can say our goodbyes.’ Vardy turned his attention to the approaching youngster, whose wet feet slapped loudly against the sun-warmed stones below. `Hey,’ the former England striker barked at his 24-year-old guest, gesturing impatiently to him. `I think Kas here wants to feel just how good you’ve got with that slut’s mouth, okay?’ The midfield player grinned straight at him with a coy expression and a strong blush to his cheeks, but his wide eyes turned towards the other older man, and his pink tongue slid unconsciously across his lower lip. Grinning, Jamie turned his attention back to the taller guy, patting Kasper on his massive back muscles again, and nodding to the loungers. `Go on, mate, take a seat, and just let him give you a going over, haha. I’ll wait my turn!’ The Dane gawped dumbly at him for a moment, his face coloured now with embarrassment as well as too much French sun, and his mouth opening and closing in some lame protest of `My wife!’ or `I told you, no more’. Jamie had heard it all before too many times to take it seriously, because the big brutish Viking could always be drawn back in for a little more fun when the timing was right. And come tonight, he’d be gone to his boring new life on the Riviera, and so Vardy was determined to see him off with a last bit of sordid action – if only Kasper could know how selfless the gesture really was, since he’d been building up to this climax with his boy Barnes for ages now! Sure enough, the great Dane was responding to the generous offer. He was backing away to the nearest lounger, next to the one still wet-marked from Harvey sitting on it. Stiffly and primly, as if he hadn’t already crossed these naughty lines, the big blond man was settling down into the wooden seat, resting back with his thick arms planted down the sides and his legs stretching down to the plain white Nikes and ankle socks. Harvey passed Jamie and he reached down to spank his pert bottom, feeling the smooth wet muscle under his hand. At this signal, the submissive 24-year-old leaned in and Jamie planted a simple kiss on the side of his neck. `Suck him good, lad,’ he growled in his ear. He now just took a step back and drained his beer, grabbing his privates loosely through his still-damp swimming shorts, having lolled in the pool for a while before and teased Barnes with a little underwater mutual groping. In front of him, the bikini-clad boy was down on his knees, rubbing gently at the fluffy hair of Kasper’s shins and calves, and then quietly removing his trainers and socks one at a time, in no rush at all – the goalkeeper glared up from his seated position, meeting Jamie’s eyes, and earning another smirk. `Get comfy,’ Vardy cawed at him. `He knows what he’s doing.’ Yes he did. It had taken him a while before he encouraged Harvey to suck on his own cock, now stretching and sweating in the mesh of his swimmers, and for months first he’d been the one doing the sucking, taking Harvey’s short thick meat in his mouth and bringing him to cries of ecstasy. It had all started with a long slow rimming in the back of the car, ages ago when he’d been asked to mentor the Lancashire lout to calm his aggressive moods down; and up until now, he’d been quite selfish and protective with his sexual protegee, always refusing Maddison’s greedy attempts to initiate something. True, he’d let Harvey take part in that seedy little circle-jerk in the changing rooms at the end of last season, but that had been the first time he tolerated other hands on his boy. And bizarrely, he truly had held back all this time, and still not fucked Barnes, nor vice versa. It was very unlike Vardy and his usual seductions. His aim had been simple, and successful: he had toyed and teased at the horny 24-year-old footballer until he had him begging for it. For months now, the ginger stud had begun to murmur and rasp for it in private, asking Jamie to pop his cherry at last, but he’d refused to slip him more than a tongue and a finger, wanting to build up the anticipation all the more. And now… Harvey rubbed and nuzzled at it, pressing his face into the crotch of the tight-fitting denim shorts worn by the hunky older man. He took it slow, as Jamie had taught him, and rubbed his hands up and down the furry thighs as he did it, teasing just above the knees. He could sense Kasper’s exaggerated reluctance, but also feel the horny heat rising off him. He’d always admired this big powerful man, especially since that five-man circle-jerk in the changing rooms, where he’d really seen what escort mersin Schmeichal Junior was packing, and how much of an animal he was under his goalie kit. Carrying on like this, Barnes paused only to twist his neck and look back at Vardy for approval. His dirty mentor was crouched on the next sun lounger, and had peeled off his training vest to expose the lean ripped muscle of his torso. He had one hand pushed inside his swim shorts, and with the other he was sipping from Harvey’s abandoned beer. The young winger grinned keenly at his daddy, and then got back to work. He began to undo the button fly of the jeans shorts, starting at the top, popping one open at a time with slow progress, and then parting them enough to lean in and kiss through the white cotton of the boxer briefs beneath, feeling the rough tickle of Kasper’s pubic bush beneath the material. He opened the shorts more and kissed more at the musty bulge there, rubbing his lips and nose against the fleshy mound, doing his best to wake up and arouse the dormant Norse god in front of him. And then Kasper’s feigned uncertainty seemed to leave him, because now he was stroking Harvey’s head, his hair and down the back of the neck, fingertips tracing the edges of his ears. The hand was not pushy, but it was guiding, keeping his face down there, pressing it in against the white bulge, making him mouth the shape of the waking cock. Mmm. Harvey loved the smell and heat of it, and it took a lot of self-discipline to stay slow as he pulled more at the shorts, urging them open and downwards, giving him more access to the boxer briefs and their heavy contents. Kasper had to lift his body from the wooden slats a little to allow it, and he did that, while his fingers clawed through Harvey’s short hair and down the back of his neck. At last, Barnes got to it, pulling the waistband down, exposing first the grey-blond pubes and then the uncurling snake of meat. Instantly, he put his mouth around it, taking that thick monster in between his lips and sucking it into its full hardness, which made him gag. It was girthier than what he was used to in Jamie’s long slim member. He choked a little, but laughed and sucked in breath, and ran his tongue over the huge head of it, rolling his eyes up to meet Kasper’s baby blues, and then glancing cheekily back over to the side towards Jamie, who was wanking himself in his shorts. He looked thrilled, and that was always Harvey’s aim – to please his mentor. How was he meant to resist any of it, really…? He was a hot-blooded man in the middle of a hot summer’s day, a busy one, bored by the litany of chores and jobs on his to-do list. And he was caught up in so many feelings about the big life changes he was making, moving from Leicester City to Nice… he really didn’t have it in him to end the blow-job and assert his monogamy to his troublemaker friend. He failed now where he’d failed so many times over the years of their friendship: once upon a time, clumsy little wandering hands in the night, sharing hotel rooms on away trips, just a hand-job here and there. And then, stunned, he had once been invited to push his big cock inside his deviant buddy, fucking him like a woman, and that had marked the seedy danger of this latest chapter of their friendship! Part of him really did look forward to putting some distance between himself and the insatiable fuck-boy that was Jamie Vardy, and yet for now… Harvey was slurping up and down his cock and clearly loving it, and Kasper was relaxing the posture of his heavy body against the sun chair. He’d had to unbutton his pale green shirt, feeling it tight and irritating across his big chest, so it hung open now, exposing the lightly haired pecs and abdomen, up and down which roved the pink sunburnt hands of the ginger lad between his spread legs. His denim shorts were about his ankles and his white undies halfway down his big thighs. Oh god this lad WAS good, Vardy had him well-trained for sure! And next to them, Vardy himself was up on his feet now, with his swimming shorts pushed part of the way down his legs, his long cock out and wanking now, wet at the tip already. Vardy was grinning like a maniac and didn’t seem to have any worries whatsoever about the privacy of their sunny garden by the pool. A horrible future with drone photography in the newspapers occurred vaguely to Kasper’s worried imagination, but was driven away by just how good the young lad’s mouth was against the head of his cock and then back down to the base. Oh, yes. `Here, my turn,’ Jamie barked, and apparently it was. The perfect mouth slid away from his throbbing dick and Kasper had to grab and stroke at it himself, pulling back and forth on his big Viking dick while watching Harvey lean to one side and bury his face into the sweaty crotch of the 5ft10 striker instead. Jamie alternated between loving strokes of the redhead and then clipping aggressively at him and pumping his hips violently forward, seeming to treat his boy mean to keep him keen. Fuck, this was so horny. Kasper panted his breaths, excited and overheated. He continued to play with his cock, kicking his shorts away and sliding his underpants further down his thick legs, freeing himself from the shackles of clothing. He shrugged the shirt away too, naked now as he got up to his feet, a towering 6ft2 against the other two, and began slapping his wet dick against one of Harvey’s cheeks, smearing spit and pre-cum across the red-freckled face and grinning sleazily as he did so, joining Vardy in the depths of their sexual appetites. `Knew this would put a smile on yer face,’ his friend hissed at him. `He’s good,’ Schmeichal grunted simply at him. `He’s really good.’ `Shall we take this inside?’ sighed Vardy. He nodded fiercely. `You’ve really never fucked him, mate?’ Harvey, climbing to his feet between them with spit hanging from his chin, stared hungrily this way, eyes wide and revealing his inexperienced lust. Jamie kissed the lad on the cheek and ruffled his hair, and winked. `He’s ready for it, big man. Are you?’ Jamie swaggered through his empty house, naked but for the noisy flip-flops on his feet, his long curved hard-on bouncing up and down from his neatly trimmed pubes. He took a detour into the kitchen, lazily pulling on his cock as he removed more beers from the fridge and popped their lids. Briefly, he held one icy bottle against his neck and his brow, cooling himself down, and then he carried them through into the central hall – `Aha, don’t be getting it on without me, guys,’ he boomed happily, finding Schmeichal sat down on the bottom of the spiral staircase and Barnes hunched in front of him, sucking him off eagerly. Still cackling, Jamie pushed one of the beers into Kasper’s hand, then yanked Harvey back by the shoulder, pulling him away from the task at hand and giving him a beer. The Dane guzzled the Moretti, lounged uncomfortably against the stairs, his big body all bared and beautiful; Jamie gave Harvey a playful slap to the cheek then forced a beer into his hand and kissed him on the forehead. `You little slut,’ he said, both a telling off and a compliment. He pulled the 5ft9 ginger lad to him in a cuddle, bringing their mouths teasingly close but not quite kissing him. Kissing was another thing he had slowly made his submissive lad beg for, but eventually gave in to. `Upstairs with ya,’ he barked at him, squeezing his arse again and nodding that way. He reached out a hand and helped Kasper up to his feet, and the three of them, three athletic studs, all scampered upwards into the bedrooms of the Vardy mansion. Not to any of the many available guest bedrooms, but to the master bedroom at the far end, at Jamie’s insistence; he loved nothing more than curling up beside his wife and knowing who else he’d ploughed on those pristine sheets. Vardy pushed the door shut behind him and licked his lips. Big Schmeichal was storming towards the bed with a fierce determination about his 6ft2 form, and eager-faced Barnesy was hovering at the foot of the bed, toying with the tight waistline of his borrowed bikini bottoms. Laughing, Vardy walked up and held him from behind, kissing his neck and whispering in his ear. `You beautiful little slut,’ he told him, as he always did. `You’re a sexy little fuck, you know?’ `Yes sir,’ Harvey whispered in an eager shudder, as Jamie proceeded to peel down his wife’s bikini pants from their terrible fit over the muscled lad, freeing his semi-hard prick and his bubble butt. Jamie grabbed and squeezed each cheek, cuddling his ginger boy-toy from behind and rubbing his hard-on against his side. `Mmm,’ gasped the well-trained sub, `oh yes, Vardy…’ `My cock ain’t sucking itself,’ barked Kasper impatiently. The big Norse god had thrown himself onto the marital bed, naked and spread out over the sheets and pillows, and idly playing with his heavy balls and massive cock. Both Jamie and Harvey laughed at this, staggering closer to the side of the bed as one; then Jamie pushed his younger lad forward, knocking him up onto the bed so that he fell onto all fours and crawled insatiably between the spread legs of the goalkeeper. Jamie stayed on his feet by the bed, reaching down and cradling his balls, smirking as Harvey went straight to it, taking Kasper in his mouth and sucking him quite expertly. Jamie could remember how shite the lad had been the first few times, all teeth and discomfort, needing lots of advice and coaching to become the gorgeous cock-slut he was today. Every now and then, dirty Vardy paused and thought about how different this all was for him, maintaining a steady affair with a lad instead of his usual no-strings naughtiness – he and Barnsey almost had a `relationship’ of sorts now, twisted and sordid as it was, and it was a far cry from the hedonism and recklessness of Jamie’s youth. He climbed onto the bed now, shuffling forward on his knees until he was behind the crouched form of Harvey’s toned body. He smirked over his back and ginger hair and met the sharp blue eyes of Kasper’s sweating face. `Let me prepare him for you,’ the prolific striker groaned at his departing friend, who he really would miss, and not just for his big Scandi prick. He was losing a great friend today, and this three-way was not JUST about his unstoppable lust, it really was an effort to send Schmeichal off in style. He wanted the sexy bastard to remember him this way, sweaty and sharing a twink in his bed, and hoped they would stay close even once playing in different leagues. `Prepare him?’ Kasper asked through his groans of pleasure. Vardy winked at him and stooped forward, prising open Harvey’s beautiful cheeks, and going in to rim him again, pressing his tongue to that fuzzy crack and making his Burnley boy shudder and twitch with pleasure. Harvey loved it, he always had – it had been such a shock to him, when he was bent over in the back of Vardy’s car and had his arse licked, it wasn’t anything he’d ever thought to try. But it was the talent of the older man’s tongue that had first tamed him, brought him out of his sulky moods and made him so devoted and compliant to his legendary teammate. And it still had that effect on him now, tongued and teased from behind while he devoured Kasper’s thick meat over and over, positioned between two 35 year old heroes of his club. He had to stop sucking for a moment, holding the Danish cock at the base and resting his clammy face in against the inside of one thigh – the pleasure of Vardy’s tongue working his pink ring was just too much for him to cope with, and he whimpered excitedly. He could feel Jamie’s rough hands on his sides, gripping and shaking him, and the scratch of stubble on his cheeks at either side as the face worked there, spitting in him and then probing him open with a longue experienced tongue… `Oh, fuuuuuck,’ he whined. More powerful hands at this mersin escort bayan end of the action guided him back to work, Kasper’s big goal-keeper paws shifting his face away from the leg muscle and positioning it back at the tasty delight of his pre-cum-leaking dick. Harvey gladly opened his mouth and took it, feeling the massive weapon push at the back of his throat again and gag him, while his arse cheeks were slapped and jiggled and his hole was licked into readiness. Schmeichal could only wait so long, and it had nothing to do with his to-do list or his booked flight, and everything to do with the fact he was hornier than he’d been in many months. He shuffled across the bed, high-fiving a sniggering Vardy and then barging him out of the way. `I’m gonna fuck him,’ he growled impatiently, taking hold of Barnes’ smaller body and throwing him sideways, re-positioning him in front of him. `Yeah,’ growled Jamie. `Fucking do it. You want that, Harvey boy?’ `God yes!’ `Fuck him good, the dirty lad…’ `Yeah,’ Kasper grunted, never one for lengthy dirty talk, just a man of action. He kneeled deeper into the expensive bed and pulled Harvey’s body closer to him, hooking his strong hands about his thighs to get him into position, then angling his thick wet dick forward and pressing its tip in between the slick cheeks. He pressed his head against the wet hole that had been rimmed so thoroughly by dirty Jamie, and he grinned wickedly across at his friend, who looked totally eager to see this happen. `Relax,’ Vardy was gasping at his lad. `Relax and let him do it, it’ll feel amazing.’ `Yes sir,’ gasped Barnes desperately. Schmeichal, even through the red mist of his horny urges, felt a pang of fondness for the bond between his filthy pal and the young upstart – he’d been quietly aware of the professional mentoring going on between them at the club, of course, and half-conscious of a sustained naughty playtime behind the scenes, but he hadn’t realised that Jamie had grown QUITE this close to the youngster. He quite liked to see Jamie in a different light, and he was glad the horny troublemaker had a regular playmate now to keep him from getting up to anything even more precarious. But mostly… Kasper thought about how good it was going to feel pushing his cock inside this muscular young player, and he pressed forward, testing the virginal hole that had been teased and loosened by his partner-in-crime. Rather than spitroasting Harvey and sharing him, Jamie had crawled down next to him, and was kissing him on the neck and stroking his shoulders attentively, relaxing him – haha, how fucking sweet… Kasper pressed forward, gripping him on the sides of his arse cheeks, and forcing his girth into him, making him groan and yelp and tighten. Fuckkkk, yes… Jamie petted and stroked at Harvey, who he knew would be struggling with taking his first cock. `It’s okay,’ he breathed, kissing and nipping at his cheek, his neck, his shoulder, rubbing his hand across his muscles, slick with sweat and sun-lotion. He cuddled and held him and then lifted his head to watch as the powerful goalie ploughed into him from behind – he supposed that Kasper WAS taking it slow and easy, by his standards, but he was a well-hung brute and such a big powerful force. Poor Harvey! Kasper had that same look of intensity and focus on his face as when he’d topped Jamie himself, an act that had only been repeated a few times before the Danish man refused, saying it was too much, too risky for their friendship; and Vardy had always craved it, always wanted more, sulked insanely over the handful of times he’d been allowed to take that dick himself. He felt just as turned on now by watching it happen though, and he knelt there, feeding his own long cock to Harvey’s gasping mouth, and taking in the majestic sight of Kasper’s pumping muscles. Jamie moved into position now so that the two older studs were facing each other, making a sweaty spitroast of the red-haired Lancashire lad between them. Jamie squatted low to feed his long cock between Harvey’s trembling lips, and held his head in both hands, feeding his cock slowly in and out, not fucking his mouth ferociously like he sometimes did. He paused now and then to take it out and just slide and slap it at the lad’s cheeks, looking lovingly down at his frowning face, knowing how new and difficult it was for him to offer up his arse like this – especially to someone as forceful as big Kasper. Schmeichal ploughed on and on like some kind of Terminator, just slamming back and forth with a machine-like rhythm and stamina, going gradually redder across the face and chest. Jamie laughed at him, trying to catch his eye and make more banter with him, but his `Danish fwend’ was just caught up in the act, lost in his own intense lust, slamming his cock into Harvey’s broad pink bottom over and over. There was only so long Jamie could watch from this end, however, just like the blowies on the sun loungers – soon he was impatient for his turn with his favourite toy… And Harvey’s mind was all fireworks of pain and pleasure. How many times had he begged Jamie for this, telling him how ready he was? How earnestly he’d gasped it to his mentor, telling him his hole was ready, after a good rimming and fingering from the ace striker; what a joke! How could anyone be ready for feeling this massive thing up their backside?! He couldn’t believe the weird mix of pain and pleasure at being broken in like this, and so he clung to the comfort of Jamie’s presence, grasping at his lean muscles and sucking hungrily on his dick, glad to be held between two older guys like this. When the changeover came, he was conflicted: he didn’t want the joyous presence of Kasper’s thick weapon to leave his hole, and yet he was desperate to be fucked by his daddy Vardy, the horny DILF who had teased and trained him this far over the past eighteen months or so. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter, manhandled by the other two Leicester heroes and just passed between them across the silky white sheets of the Vardys’ bed. One moment he was being done doggy style by the sweating muscular mass of Schmeichal, and the next he was being pulled back with Jamie’s arms about his waist, being dragged to sit on his cock like this, descending on it with his legs and cheeks spread, and KAsper standing up on the bed in front of him, wanking his cock in his face… inch by inch, Harvey slid down onto Jamie’s pole, feeling this second cock enter and fill him up, not so full and thick, but so LONG and DEEP inside him… and craved for so very very long! On and on it went, the two of them taking it in turns to fuck their younger lad. Kasper was lost in the horny haze of it, and had no idea how long it lasted. He fucked Harvey mercilessly for short bursts of crazed energy, taking him from behind in a variety of positions on the bed and beside it, pushing into him and loving the fleshy slap as he made those butt cheeks jiggle and shake. And then he would withdraw and push the ginger slut away from him, needing to lounge and rest and cool down, and so Vardy would replace him, and Kasper would watch him like he’d done in so many hotel suites over the years – usually it was watching him with some female whore, of course, but the action was no different, Jamie fucked like he’d been starved of sex for decades every single time. There came a point where the Danish hunk was collapsed on his back across the bed, his cock aching and his heart thumping inside his pecs, unsure if he could go another round without passing out. He stayed where he’d flopped, spreading his limbs and wiping his dripping sweat against the bedding, and then turning to look at the corner of the bed where Jamie was fucking Harvey standing up, holding him tightly whilst humping into his big bottom like some crazed toy dog on its owner’s leg. Kasper let out a surreal horny laugh and reached for his veiny prick, knowing that he could go for one more round after all, and that it was time to empty his balls. He slid his big body off the bed, tottering dizzily from foot to foot, and moved around the bed. He gave his mate a gentle push, signalling a change in positions, and then grabbed hold of trembling Harvey once Jamie had slid his cock out of the way. Kasper pushed the lad forward, bending him over the side of the bed, and unceremoniously entering him for this last round of thrusts and grunts. His balls tingled and he knew he was close. He caught Jamie’s eye and grinned at him, thanking him wordlessly for his gift. And then he took a tight hold of Barnesy’s body and pumped him like a wank-sock or more expensive sex toy, just a human fleshlight to deposit his seed in; thrust and grunt, thrust and grunt, thrust and grunt. And then he was shooting his load, dumping it inside the young lad, even as he saw Vardy firing cum against his face on the other side, the three of them all a sticky mess of sweat now. There was a half-conscious naptime for about ten minutes, three athletic bodies spread across the tangle of sweaty sheets – but then some little switch in Schmeichal’s head clicked and told him that he really did need to get moving. He dragged himself out of the bed, shaking each hefty limb and then dragging his hands through his short shag of blond hair. `Hey,’ drawled Jamie’s lazy voice from the bed. Kasper took a few steps away and grinned back at his friend. In the centre of the bed, Barnes was completely asleep now, face down with his big butt on show, marked red from grasping hands and slamming bodies. Vardy was disentangling himself from the younger body, slipping off the bed in the same sweaty nakedness as him, and coming over to grab him in a nude hug. Kasper just laughed and squeezed him back, holding him and rocking gently from side to side as they did. `I really got to get the fuck out of here,’ he chuckled sleepily. `You fuckin’ menace.’ `Aha, you don’t want to wait for the boy to wake up and see what more he can handle?’ Vardy teased him, breaking the hug and standing there with his hands on his hips in a businesslike fashion, as if they were just too kitted players on the training ground together, rather than secret lovers leaving their playmate to snore. Together, they descended through the house, Kasper quietly admiring Jamie’s thin and ripped physique as they went down the stairs. He let his eyes fall on the lean strong backside of the other senior player, remembering the few times he’d used it and fucked his friend, before putting a stop to it. It had been too much, and he’d worried at how much he enjoyed it; Harvey was the only other guy he’d fucked, now, and again he was startled by just how much better it felt than pussy. The thought was going to haunt him all the way back to Nice tonight. The two of them chatted idly as they passed through the house and then went out onto the terrace, where Schmeichal retrieved his discarded clothes, pulling each item over his clammy muscles and glancing furtively about the sunny garden for the imaginary drone paparazzi out to ruin his life. `Well, that was some goodbye,’ he laughed breathily, buttoning up his shirt. Still casually tugging his swimming shorts up bit by bit, Jamie sniggered. `I knew you’d appreciate it, you beast. Something to remember us by, right?’ With Jamie still fiddling with himself in his shorts, as if getting horny again already, the two men lumbered through the house back to the front door, where some awkward masculine behavioural code took over, even though they’d just shared a twink in the master bedroom. They half-hugged and patted weakly at each other’s shoulders, and shared bland platitudes about their friendship and plans for keeping in touch. Kasper left his friend smirking in the doorway, leaning to the side and hugging his chest, looking as if he was going to creep straight upstairs and get up to more mischief with snoozing Harvey Barnes; he grinned back at him and rolled his eyes, then climbed into the Jeep to make his exit. He paused briefly, drumming the wheel and watching Jamie disappear back into the house, then started up the engine.

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