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コメント > “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks. He does not hear the slamming of the front door. Neither does he hear the footsteps on the wood floor in the hallway. The shower drowns away all this noise.
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“I’m am nearly 6 foot 2 inches tall, dad. I weigh 210 lbs. I think, dad. At least I was the last time we were weighed at football practice.” The son says. “Much bigger than you, I should say.” The sound of the shower echoes throughout the empty house. The bathroom door is open. He knows he has privacy. He is alone. No older brother. No father. Or mother. It is just him.

He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them. “Dad! Dad!” His son says in a straining voice. “Release me?”

“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains. He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.

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The now lukewarm water streams through the curls of his hair rinsing away the last vestiges of the soapy lather. It all goes down the drain in a swirl of bubbles. The now lukewarm water streams through the curls of his hair rinsing away the last vestiges of the soapy lather. It all goes down the drain in a swirl of bubbles.

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“What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks. “I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad.” He says. “Coach even noticed how hard we all were.”

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“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father.

“I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad.” He says. “Coach even noticed how hard we all were.” Daddy gave me a look implying his shoes are needed to be removed. “Can I take off your loafers, daddy ?” I asked so quietly. He looked at me and nodded. I took off both his loafers and put them away neatly in front of me. Daddy then raised his right leg and stepped on my forehead, pushing me down into his loafers. It is a mixed smell with sweat, testosterone, and leather. I couldn’t help but take a big whiff every time I breathed. “Hands-on the floor” he commanded. He moved his feet from my head to my hands. “Kiss them and make the stink goes away using only your fag tongue.” “Yes sir.”

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Garrett thinks to himself; he did not wear a jock home from practice. He was ‘going commando.” Is it his older brother’s jock? “Oh, well. “He mumbles to himself as he takes another whiff of the musky scented pouch of the jock. “Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice.

“Have you fucked, son? Have you fucked? Have you dumped that seed of yours in those balls into a moist hole?” His father asks as he leans forward on the commode-chair. His hand squeezing the bulge growing larger in his tan khakis. Garrett can see what his father is doing, unconsciously his hands moves to his cock. He strokes the length of his tool with his left hand while he teases the blistering red crown with the fingertips of his right hand. The lightning of his cool fingertips sends sparks through every nerve in his body.

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