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コメント > “You are grown. Yes. Physically. Yes, my son. But a full man. No! No!” His father, says, sharply. “You have much more to grow, to mature, before you are a man, before you can call yourself. A man.” “What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants.
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His dad takes a seat upon the closed commode lid. “Yes! Yes! I know you understand.” His father proudly exclaims.

The one shower after his workout and practice had been a good start. But the walk home had tired him. But the massaging jets of water caressing across his muscular frame takes the weariness from his bones from this stressful day. His father loosens his grip on the full balls of his son as he stands. He can see the spurts of hair that dot the chest of his son. And he can see the heaving and gentle rise and fall of his son’s chest, as he breathes, as his excitement builds.

“Dad! Dad!” His son says in a straining voice. “Release me?” Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son. “I ain’t a-talking ‘bout how big ya cock is, boy. I am talking ‘bout ya, weight. Your height.” His dad says. “I kinda figured on how big you are down there. That’s obvious. It makes me proud of you. My son. Of what I created, along with ya mother.”

“My hard-on. Somewhat. But I have them all the time. You know that. You’ve made enough comments about me sportin’ boners in the morning when you see them at breakfast.” “Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly.

“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” “What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants.

“Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock. “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

The helmet of the man’s cock weaves a picture of no recognition as the father’s cum streaks itself through the watery haze. His son bucks on the lid as he turns beet red from his carnal machinations.

“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says. “What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks.

“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 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.

“Yeah.” He answers his dad. “…and I was ‘going commando’ too.” “I look forward to the day when you are a fully grown man, my son.” His father says. “I am anxious to see the fruit of my loins reach his fully-adorned manhood. Adulthood.”

“My hard-on. Somewhat. But I have them all the time. You know that. You’ve made enough comments about me sportin’ boners in the morning when you see them at breakfast.” “See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.”

“That is your cock, son.” His father, says. “…but it does not make you a man. It only makes you a boy with a hard cock in his hand.” “Dad! Dad!” His son says in a straining voice. “Release me?”

“Damn it, son! Damn it! Damn it, you hit the mirror above the sink!” His father shouts as the bullets of cum shoot forth from his son’s cock and hits the adjacent mirror directly in front of the porcelain bathroom thrown. “Yes! Yes! I know you understand.” His father proudly exclaims.

Garrett nods to his father. “Yeah.” He answers his dad. “…and I was ‘going commando’ too.”

“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement. “Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad.

“That you are, son. You are busting at the seams with your youth and muscles. Rippled from those vigorous physical workouts and stroking sessions. I bet.” His dad says. “You are gonna hafta to take care of that or you are gonna be miserable. You know that son, doncha. You know, I am right.” “It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.

The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect and pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hairs of his proud father. His father squeezes the nuts of his son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence. “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

“Stoke your cock while you sniff that jock.” He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son.