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He is unfazed by the presence of his dad despite his nakedness inside the hot spray of the shower.

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

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.

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“Then, what is this, father.” He says as he wrestles his cock in a fierce grip and squeezes it like he is fighting against a serpent unleashed from its coil.

His father’s words are what he hears when he erupts. His cum streaming like liquid threads from the pee-hole of his rigid cock.

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“That’s it! That’s it! That’s it!” His father bellows.

His father strokes his own cock in the shower, the dew from his cock mixes with the drops condensing on the glass.

“Stoke your cock while you sniff that jock.”

His father strokes his own cock in the shower, the dew from his cock mixes with the drops condensing on the glass.

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.

Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol.

“That your jockstrap on the floor next to you, son?” His dad asks.

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 runs the towel through his curl-filled hair, and down over his chest, where the early signs of his manhood sprout like an uneven crop of hairs across his chest that run down to his furry-pillowed crotch. Where the throbbing from his hard-on springs back as the damp towel whips his erection back and forth with each swipe of the now dampened towel.

“I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad.” He says. “Coach even noticed how hard we all were.”

“Stoke it, boy! Stroke it! Stroke that beautiful cock!” His father demands as his own cock draws on the wet interior of the glass enclosure shower. “Pound it harder, boy! Pound it harder!”

Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

“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?”