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“I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom. “I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom.

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“What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants. His dad’s cock does not curve like that of his son, it angles like a fishing rod looking for fish under rushing river waters, from the deep furry patch between the father’s legs.

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.” “Dad! Dad!” His son says in a straining voice. “Release me?”

“Do it!” His dad orders. “I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.”

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“I don’t wanna jack-off, dad.” He says flabbergasted to his dad as he turns off the tap to the hot and chilly water in the shower. “Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock.

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“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.” “Once you plant that cock of yours in some squirmy hole and empty those warm balls of yours into a moist wet hole. Then you are on your way to becoming a man, and only then will you, come-of-age. But it is only a step onto the winding pathway towards manhood. It is my job to teach you what it means to be a man.” His father stands as he finishes his sentence. Loosening his belt and pulling his shirt out from the tucked confines of his pants.

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“Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock. “Yes, sir.” He says as he straightens up, standing erect as his member pulses to life between his legs, and in his father’s right hand, which are firmly locked on his balls. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“Do it!” His dad orders. His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead.

“I knew ya couldn’t keep your hands off it.” His dad says. “Men can’t do it, we are drawn to our cocks, like a moth to a flame, and usually that burning sensation that a man feels is the cum boiling up in our balls. You know that feelin’ doncha son?” “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

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