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コメント > клиника лечения алкоголизма <a href=https://www.xn-----7kcablenaafvie2ajgchok2abjaz3cd3a1k2h.xn--p1ai>клиника лечения алкоголизма</a> .
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His father kicks the shoes from his feet and slides his khaki pants off, while still holding, the resistant nut-sac of his virile son in his right hand. He is now as naked as his 17-year-old son. “But you didn’t though, did you, son?”

“FUCK! FUCK!” He says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with its life-giving blood coursing through its many vein-filled region. “What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face.

“Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice. “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.”

“Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad. “This is what a man looks like, son.” His father says as his pants fall to the floor. From his waist out pops his representation of a 40-year-old-man. And father of two teenage boys. His cock.

“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.” “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.”

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.” He looks down. And then smiles at his dad.

His son bucks on the lid as he turns beet red from his carnal machinations. Garrett picks up the pee-stained and cum-leaked jock from the tile floor.

“What are ya now, by the way?” “FUCK! FUCK!” He says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with its life-giving blood coursing through its many vein-filled region.

All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed. “What are ya now, by the way?”

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“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says. “Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.”