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コメント > His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.
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“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. “And you did it with that. Your boner?” His dad asks. “I guess.”

“Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad. “Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.

His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. I used my teeth to strip off daddy’s black sheer socks. I placed them in my mouth and washed them with my saliva. I swallowed every single sweat and stink from these socks. It takes so well. I rolled them into a ball and stuck them into my jockstrap where my small dick and balls were.

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. “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.” His father steps into the shower, turning on the water. As he soaks and lathers himself up under the lukewarm stream of water, he fondles his cock and balls. His cock soon mimics that of his son.

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. “What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face.

“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway. “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.

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“Yeah, dad, it’s me.” He shouts over the blistering rush of the shower spray as it pelts him hotly with force. “It was a rough practice.” “That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway.

“What are you now, son?” 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.

“Back in the day, back before we turned into a modern society, a man would grab another man’s balls and swear an oath on them in his hand and state his words to be true. To be a friend” His father says. “Do you know what I mean, son?” “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

“Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock. “See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.”

“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains. “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?”

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. “I am fully grown now, Father.” He says in a heated rebuttal to his father’s words.

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His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says.

“What are you now, son?” “Yeah, dad, it’s me.” He shouts over the blistering rush of the shower spray as it pelts him hotly with force. “It was a rough practice.”

“See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.” “Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly.

“What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks. Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol.