おなまえ
Ｅメール
タイトル
コメント > All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed.
ＵＲＬ
削除キー	(記事を削除時に使用。英数字で8文字以内)
投稿キー	（投稿時 を入力してください）

“Lookin’ good, son. Lookin’ good.” His dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water as it caresses his mature man body.

He reaches and lets his hand glide over his swelled cock. Tickling the head of his bulbous cock with his rough fingertips which sends electric sparks through him and down to his toes.

“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.”

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

All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed.

“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.”

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.

He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.

He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

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

“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.

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

He reaches and lets his hand glide over his swelled cock. Tickling the head of his bulbous cock with his rough fingertips which sends electric sparks through him and down to his toes.

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.

“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.

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.

“Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says.

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

“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.”

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