The Send Off 🍑💦🌭[M/M, Toys, Dad/Son ]

[thelonegoonman]

Follow me on X: @thelonegoonman

The air in Kevin McAllister’s finished basement was a toxic soup of spilled beer, Fritos, and the cheap, cloying vanilla of a Black Ice air freshener dangling from a ceiling pipe. It was the kind of scent that clung to high school memories, a smell of last-ditch freedom before the world came calling. For Chad, Brody, Jax, and Kyle, that world was college, just two weeks away. Tonight was the ceremonial "send-off," a final, drunken bacchanal with the men who had sired them, a quartet of fathers trying to relive their own faded glories through the triumphs of their sons on the baseball diamond.

“Alright, you pansies,” boomed Mr. D, Jax’s father, his face flushed a dangerous shade of crimson. He slammed a heavy duffel bag on the beer-pong table, the plastic trestle groaning in protest. “Before you go off to whatever sausage fests you’re enrolled in, we gotta make sure you still know what to do with the real thing. Or, you know, the next best thing.”

He unzipped the bag with a theatrical flourish, spilling out a grotesque collection of silicone and plastic. There were fleshlights molded with an almost anatomical precision, and cheaper, more abstract plastic pussies in lurid shades of pink and beige. The boys stared, a mixture of shock, disgust, and a flicker of something else—a primal, unacknowledged curiosity—passing between them.

“What the fuck, Dad?” Jax muttered, his cheeks burning.

“It’s a test, son!” Mr. McAllister, Chad’s dad, slurred, clapping his son on the back so hard he stumbled. “Can’t have you going off to State and getting your ass turned out by some theater major named Julian. Gotta prove you can still pound some snatch.” The fathers roared with laughter, a beery, insecure sound that echoed off the wood-paneled walls.

The peer pressure was immense, a physical weight in the humid air. The dads were relentless. “What’s the matter, Brody?” taunted his own father, a wiry man with a mean streak. “Scared you might like it too much? Scared you’ll find out you’re a backdoor man after all?”
Brody, the team’s catcher, built like a brick shithouse with a massive, shelf-like ass that was the stuff of locker-room legend, felt his face harden. “Fuck you, Dad.” He snatched one of the fleshlights—a heavy, realistic model—and a bottle of lube from the table. “Fine. You wanna see a show? You’ll get a fucking show.”

He dropped his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion, turning his back to the room as he worked the lube into the toy’s opening. The fathers whistled and catcalled. “Jesus, Brody, look at the ass on that kid!” one of them yelled. “Could bounce a goddamn quarter off those cheeks!”
Brody’s ass was magnificent. Two heavy, perfectly sculpted globes of muscle and fat sat high on his thick thighs. Even standing still, they had a weight to them, a promise of kinetic energy. He turned, his cock already thick and semi-hard with a mixture of rage and unwilling excitement. It was an impressive sight—not overly long, but abnormally thick, a solid column of flesh with a heavy, purplish head.

He shoved the head of his cock into the slick orifice of the toy. A collective grunt went through the room.
“Get to it, boy!” his dad commanded.

Brody began to pump. Slowly at first, his movements stiff and angry. But the sensation was undeniable. The tight, textured sleeve gripped and pulled at him, and his hips started to move with more fluidity. With each thrust, his monumental ass cheeks clenched and then relaxed, creating a mesmerizing ripple effect.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Kyle whispered, his eyes glued to Brody’s ass. “Look at ‘em clap.”

As Brody picked up the pace, the sound started—a wet, slapping rhythm from the toy, punctuated by a soft, percussive thwack-thwack-thwack as his ass cheeks collided with each other. They weren’t just clapping; they were jigglers, wobbling and shaking with a life of their own. The sheer mass of them was hypnotic.

“Holy shit, dude,” Chad breathed, his own dick starting to twitch in his shorts. “Your ass is so fucking fat.”
The dads were loving it. “Look at him go! Pumping it like a pro! See? Told you he wasn't a fairy!” But their eyes weren’t just on the toy. They were locked on the powerful, rhythmic movement of their sons’ bodies, the play of muscle under skin, the undeniable eroticism of the scene they had engineered. A dark, hungry glaze was settling over their drunken features.

Brody let out a harsh groan, his back arching as he blasted his load deep into the silicone sleeve. He pulled out, his thick cock slick and red, and threw the toy onto the table. “Happy now, you sick fucks?” he spat, breathing heavily. He didn't bother pulling up his shorts, instead sinking onto the couch, his incredible ass spreading over the cheap upholstery.

The dam had broken. Fueled by booze and the sight of Brody’s raw display, Kyle was next. He was leaner than Brody, a shortstop with a runner’s body, but he was hiding a surprisingly fat, high-and-tight bubble butt. He chose a bright pink plastic pussy, and as he started fucking it, the commentary began anew.
“Dude, Kyle, I never realized your ass was so juicy,” Jax slurred, his eyes wide. “When you run the bases it’s just… poetry.”
Kyle’s cock was longer than Brody’s, leaner, but it filled the cheap plastic with an audible squelch. He fucked it fast, his hips snapping back and forth, and his smaller but no less jiggly ass cheeks slapped together in a frantic, high-pitched rhythm. “Fuck, this feels good,” he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut. The dads hooted, their voices getting thicker, their jokes becoming less about gay-proofing and more about pure, voyeuristic appreciation.
“Look at the curve of that kid’s back!”

“He’s got an ass like his mother, God bless her!”

Next was Jax, the pitcher. He had a classic jock’s physique, all broad shoulders and tapered waist, with an ass that was wide and solid. His cock was a perfect specimen, a postcard dick that looked like it was sculpted by a Greek god. He fucked his chosen toy with a steady, powerful rhythm, his movements economical and deadly efficient. His ass didn't jiggle as much as it flexed, each cheek a solid plate of muscle that contracted with every deep thrust. The sight of it, the sheer power, had the other three boys—and all four fathers—breathing through their mouths. The air was getting thick, heavy with testosterone and the smell of sex.

Finally, it was Chad’s turn. He was the first baseman, big and broad, with the fattest ass of them all. It was a true home-run dinger of a booty, wide and soft and utterly shameless. When he dropped his jeans, a low whistle went through the room.

“McAllister, you magnificent bastard,” Jax said with reverence. “You’ve been hiding that under your uniform all year.”
Chad grinned, his earlier embarrassment replaced by a drunken, exhibitionist pride. He grabbed a fleshlight and went to town. The moment he started pumping, the basement was filled with the loud, wet, clapping sound of his massive cheeks smacking together. It was a glorious symphony of fat and flesh. His cock, as thick as Brody’s but longer, disappeared completely into the toy with every thrust. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, giving everyone a prime view of his ass wobbling, jiggling, and clapping in a way that defied physics.

“Oh my GOD!” Kyle screamed with laughter and lust. “It’s like two walruses fighting under a blanket!”
The dads were silent now, their drunken bravado gone, replaced by a slack-jawed, primal fixation. Their eyes were glassy, their hands fidgeting in their laps. Mr. McAllister’s khakis were visibly darker at the crotch, a wet patch spreading from his zipper. Mr. D had tented his jeans, and Brody’s dad was just staring, a thin line of drool connecting his lips.

Chad let out a roar as he came, his whole body shuddering, his incredible ass giving one final, convulsive jiggle. He collapsed onto the floor, spent. One by one, the others followed, succumbing to the cocktail of alcohol, adrenaline, and raw horniness. They passed out in a tangle of limbs on the floor and couch, surrounded by spent toys and the heavy, musky scent of their release.

The fathers remained standing for a long moment, staring at the tableau of their sons’ naked, sleeping bodies. They didn’t speak. They just looked at each other, a silent, damning acknowledgment passing between them in the dim basement light, their pants all conspicuously, shamefully wet.

 

[im8inches]

Fuck I need more of this!!!

 

[Jaqc]

Wonder what’s happening next

 

[Alex472]

Seguira?

 

[Jake1973]

Follow me on X: @thelonegoonman

The air in Kevin McAllister’s finished basement was a toxic soup of spilled beer, Fritos, and the cheap, cloying vanilla of a Black Ice air freshener dangling from a ceiling pipe. It was the kind of scent that clung to high school memories, a smell of last-ditch freedom before the world came calling. For Chad, Brody, Jax, and Kyle, that world was college, just two weeks away. Tonight was the ceremonial "send-off," a final, drunken bacchanal with the men who had sired them, a quartet of fathers trying to relive their own faded glories through the triumphs of their sons on the baseball diamond.

“Alright, you pansies,” boomed Mr. D, Jax’s father, his face flushed a dangerous shade of crimson. He slammed a heavy duffel bag on the beer-pong table, the plastic trestle groaning in protest. “Before you go off to whatever sausage fests you’re enrolled in, we gotta make sure you still know what to do with the real thing. Or, you know, the next best thing.”

He unzipped the bag with a theatrical flourish, spilling out a grotesque collection of silicone and plastic. There were fleshlights molded with an almost anatomical precision, and cheaper, more abstract plastic pussies in lurid shades of pink and beige. The boys stared, a mixture of shock, disgust, and a flicker of something else—a primal, unacknowledged curiosity—passing between them.

“What the fuck, Dad?” Jax muttered, his cheeks burning.

“It’s a test, son!” Mr. McAllister, Chad’s dad, slurred, clapping his son on the back so hard he stumbled. “Can’t have you going off to State and getting your ass turned out by some theater major named Julian. Gotta prove you can still pound some snatch.” The fathers roared with laughter, a beery, insecure sound that echoed off the wood-paneled walls.

The peer pressure was immense, a physical weight in the humid air. The dads were relentless. “What’s the matter, Brody?” taunted his own father, a wiry man with a mean streak. “Scared you might like it too much? Scared you’ll find out you’re a backdoor man after all?”
Brody, the team’s catcher, built like a brick shithouse with a massive, shelf-like ass that was the stuff of locker-room legend, felt his face harden. “Fuck you, Dad.” He snatched one of the fleshlights—a heavy, realistic model—and a bottle of lube from the table. “Fine. You wanna see a show? You’ll get a fucking show.”

He dropped his shorts and boxers in one smooth motion, turning his back to the room as he worked the lube into the toy’s opening. The fathers whistled and catcalled. “Jesus, Brody, look at the ass on that kid!” one of them yelled. “Could bounce a goddamn quarter off those cheeks!”
Brody’s ass was magnificent. Two heavy, perfectly sculpted globes of muscle and fat sat high on his thick thighs. Even standing still, they had a weight to them, a promise of kinetic energy. He turned, his cock already thick and semi-hard with a mixture of rage and unwilling excitement. It was an impressive sight—not overly long, but abnormally thick, a solid column of flesh with a heavy, purplish head.

He shoved the head of his cock into the slick orifice of the toy. A collective grunt went through the room.
“Get to it, boy!” his dad commanded.

Brody began to pump. Slowly at first, his movements stiff and angry. But the sensation was undeniable. The tight, textured sleeve gripped and pulled at him, and his hips started to move with more fluidity. With each thrust, his monumental ass cheeks clenched and then relaxed, creating a mesmerizing ripple effect.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Kyle whispered, his eyes glued to Brody’s ass. “Look at ‘em clap.”

As Brody picked up the pace, the sound started—a wet, slapping rhythm from the toy, punctuated by a soft, percussive thwack-thwack-thwack as his ass cheeks collided with each other. They weren’t just clapping; they were jigglers, wobbling and shaking with a life of their own. The sheer mass of them was hypnotic.

“Holy shit, dude,” Chad breathed, his own dick starting to twitch in his shorts. “Your ass is so fucking fat.”
The dads were loving it. “Look at him go! Pumping it like a pro! See? Told you he wasn't a fairy!” But their eyes weren’t just on the toy. They were locked on the powerful, rhythmic movement of their sons’ bodies, the play of muscle under skin, the undeniable eroticism of the scene they had engineered. A dark, hungry glaze was settling over their drunken features.

Brody let out a harsh groan, his back arching as he blasted his load deep into the silicone sleeve. He pulled out, his thick cock slick and red, and threw the toy onto the table. “Happy now, you sick fucks?” he spat, breathing heavily. He didn't bother pulling up his shorts, instead sinking onto the couch, his incredible ass spreading over the cheap upholstery.

The dam had broken. Fueled by booze and the sight of Brody’s raw display, Kyle was next. He was leaner than Brody, a shortstop with a runner’s body, but he was hiding a surprisingly fat, high-and-tight bubble butt. He chose a bright pink plastic pussy, and as he started fucking it, the commentary began anew.
“Dude, Kyle, I never realized your ass was so juicy,” Jax slurred, his eyes wide. “When you run the bases it’s just… poetry.”
Kyle’s cock was longer than Brody’s, leaner, but it filled the cheap plastic with an audible squelch. He fucked it fast, his hips snapping back and forth, and his smaller but no less jiggly ass cheeks slapped together in a frantic, high-pitched rhythm. “Fuck, this feels good,” he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut. The dads hooted, their voices getting thicker, their jokes becoming less about gay-proofing and more about pure, voyeuristic appreciation.
“Look at the curve of that kid’s back!”

“He’s got an ass like his mother, God bless her!”

Next was Jax, the pitcher. He had a classic jock’s physique, all broad shoulders and tapered waist, with an ass that was wide and solid. His cock was a perfect specimen, a postcard dick that looked like it was sculpted by a Greek god. He fucked his chosen toy with a steady, powerful rhythm, his movements economical and deadly efficient. His ass didn't jiggle as much as it flexed, each cheek a solid plate of muscle that contracted with every deep thrust. The sight of it, the sheer power, had the other three boys—and all four fathers—breathing through their mouths. The air was getting thick, heavy with testosterone and the smell of sex.

Finally, it was Chad’s turn. He was the first baseman, big and broad, with the fattest ass of them all. It was a true home-run dinger of a booty, wide and soft and utterly shameless. When he dropped his jeans, a low whistle went through the room.

“McAllister, you magnificent bastard,” Jax said with reverence. “You’ve been hiding that under your uniform all year.”
Chad grinned, his earlier embarrassment replaced by a drunken, exhibitionist pride. He grabbed a fleshlight and went to town. The moment he started pumping, the basement was filled with the loud, wet, clapping sound of his massive cheeks smacking together. It was a glorious symphony of fat and flesh. His cock, as thick as Brody’s but longer, disappeared completely into the toy with every thrust. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, giving everyone a prime view of his ass wobbling, jiggling, and clapping in a way that defied physics.

“Oh my GOD!” Kyle screamed with laughter and lust. “It’s like two walruses fighting under a blanket!”
The dads were silent now, their drunken bravado gone, replaced by a slack-jawed, primal fixation. Their eyes were glassy, their hands fidgeting in their laps. Mr. McAllister’s khakis were visibly darker at the crotch, a wet patch spreading from his zipper. Mr. D had tented his jeans, and Brody’s dad was just staring, a thin line of drool connecting his lips.

Chad let out a roar as he came, his whole body shuddering, his incredible ass giving one final, convulsive jiggle. He collapsed onto the floor, spent. One by one, the others followed, succumbing to the cocktail of alcohol, adrenaline, and raw horniness. They passed out in a tangle of limbs on the floor and couch, surrounded by spent toys and the heavy, musky scent of their release.

The fathers remained standing for a long moment, staring at the tableau of their sons’ naked, sleeping bodies. They didn’t speak. They just looked at each other, a silent, damning acknowledgment passing between them in the dim basement light, their pants all conspicuously, shamefully wet.

When you paste content from another site do you think you could remove the formatting first? This comes out black on a black background and is impossible to read.

 

[thelonegoonman]

When you paste content from another site do you think you could remove the formatting first? This comes out black on a black background and is impossible to read.

Sorry I write on Google Docs but I also like everything in dark mode so it looks like you're the second person out of thousands to confront this as an issue and not know how to respond and for that I am sorry.

 

[Jake1973]

Sorry I write on Google Docs but I also like everything in dark mode so it looks like you're the second person out of thousands to confront this as an issue and not know how to respond and for that I am sorry.

I do know how to respond, I'll look for something else to read. Enjoy your night.

 

[deleted19847651]

@hairynlad

On telegram