Petey was roaring into his fifteenth birthday with male hormones that were before his time. He could have been interested in girls at this point and gotten himself into a lot of trouble, as the girls certainly were interested in him. He was on the short side but was a trim championship swimmer, both for his high school and for his community pool teams, and he already was being scouted by some big-name college swim teams. The swimming had developed his chest, arm, and leg muscles so that he was really well put together in the body department. Beyond that, he was a handsome young man, sultry looking, with dark hair and eyes. He cut his hair so that an “oh my gosh” lock dropped down to almost his eyebrows.
He had a gold ring in his right ear. He’d read somewhere in the magazines he gathered surreptitiously and stashed away carefully that that meant something. Already, at nearly fifteen, he knew he didn’t like girls all that much. His raging hormones and the magazines he read told him he liked men. Not boys. Men. He wore a gold ring in his right ear to broadcast this interest, he hoped, having read that this meant that he was interested in being topped and was available.
Of course he didn’t understand what that was really all about. But boy was he keyed up to start in those kinds of experiences.
One such fantasy of Petey’s was being bonked by Mr. Monroe, who lived down the block from Petey’s family, which consisted now of only an overworked mother. His father had flown the coup when Petey was barely ten. Mr. Monroe was a former Marine in his late thirties who worked hard to keep himself in tip-top shape. He was a runner, and Petey frequently had seen him running around the neighborhood, wearing no more than skimpy shorts and running shoes without socks. He wasn’t muscle bound by any stretch of the imagination, but he was finely built and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere. His buzz cut and exercise regime screamed that once a Marine, always a Marine. He did have one thing that was oversized, though, and once Petey had seen that he began to obsess with being with Mr. Monroe.
It seemed Mr. Monroe ran past Petey’s house often when Petey was there and he’d slow down when he did and give Petey a friendly wave when Petey was outside the house, which he tried to be when Mr. Monroe was running by. Petey did some work for the Monroes--lawn mowing and trimming of bushes and such--and he always tried to do it just in shorts when the weather permitted, because this drew Mr. Monroe out of his house to watch Petey work. Petey would fantasize about Mr. Monroe pulling him into the bushes and fucking the stuffing out of him with that special, oversized thing Mr. Monroe had. He wished that Mr. Monroe had the same fantasy.
The first thing that started Petey to fantasizing about Mr. Monroe, though, was his wife. She was a cute little blonde thing who always looked so satisfied with herself and who popped out a baby every twelve or thirteen months or so. In his adolescent mind, this suggested to Petey that every minute Mr. Monroe wasn’t out running, he and Mrs. Monroe were in their bed “doing it.” The mere image of that turned Petey on. Mrs. Monroe was such a small thing and Mr. Monroe had such a big thing that Petey obsessed about how she was able to take him inside her--and he projected to the fact that he was a lot smaller than Mr. Monroe was too. To pop out babies as often as she did and smile about it as much as she did, Mrs. Monroe must like having Mr. Monroe inside her. So, in Petey’s mind, he probably would too.
As has been noted, Petey was suffering from raging hormones then, and found himself fantasizing about being in bed with the Monroes--for several weeks about being in bed with Mrs. Monroe, and then for a while with both of them, and finally, distressingly, as Petey got older and collected more magazines that turned him on, he fixated on being in bed with just Mr. Monroe.
The Monroes belonged to the same community club Petey’s family did, and in the summer before Petey’s fifteenth birthday, he found himself at the pool the same afternoon the Monroe clan was there. Mr. Monroe looked mighty fine poolside in that Speedo of his. He was in the shower of the men’s locker room soaping himself up when Petey entered the shower after his practice swims. A lump went to his throat. Mr. Monroe’s body was magnificent--all sinew and muscle in motion and rolling veins lacing his body, having been pushed to the surface by his muscle and lack of any fat in which to hide. He was every bit as sexy looking as the men in the magazines Petey collected. The boy’s eyes went directly to the man’s dick, which was the biggest and thickest he’d ever seen as it plunged out of a clump of red hair at Mr. Monroe’s groin. He was every bit as big as the men in the magazines. And he was here, real, not just in the pages of a magazine.
Petey hadn’t thought of Mr. Monroe as a red head; his buzz cut was just too short to tell from that, and the rest of his body appeared smooth and hairless from a distance. Petey could see now, when Mr. Monroe was soaping himself all over, that he had tufts of red hair at his pits as well. His cock was half hard from him spending extra time soaping it up, and Petey’s own cock came to quick attention at what he was seeing. Petey could go hard with just the pure mention of anything sex related.
Mr. Monroe obviously saw Petey staring at his package as well as what the boy’s cock was doing in response.
“Hey, hi there, Pete,” the man called out in a pleasant tone, not bothering to stop soaping around his dangling dick. “Like what you see?”
“Yeah,” Petey managed to burble out, and followed up with a lame, “I see you running in the neighborhood sometimes.” Like Mr. Monroe didn’t know that.
“Well, how old are you, again?” he asked straight out.
Petey told him.
“When’s your fifteenth birthday?” Mr. Monroe then asked, which seemed a strange question at the time.
Petey told him that too.
“Not much time then. You been looking me over real good,” he said. “I think you want some of this.” He was fisting his soaped-up cock, which was in full erection now. “Tell me if that’s not right.”
“Petey’s tongue felt three times as big as it was and was keeping him from answering.” If he did answer he was tempted to say that Mr. Monroe had been looking him over real good too and that he thought Mr. Monroe wanted a piece of him. But it’s what Petey had been fantasizing about, so he went dumb and looked sheepish.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Mr. Monroe said. He made a move toward Petey, but just then someone entered the locker room just beyond the showers, and Mr. Monroe moved back to his side of the chamber.
He smiled at Petey, though. “I like ‘em young. Fifteen’s pushing it for me. You decide you do want it, it should be before your birthday. Just let me know. Until then, keep yourself clean, ya hear? When I run, after I’ve gone by your house, I run into Henderson Park. Thought you might like to know that.” He winked at Petey, and then said, “And you could stand to do some running of your own.” With that, he rinsed off and left Petey and his boner alone in the locker room shower.
Petey started running after that, and he continued fantasizing about Mr. Monroe.
A couple of weeks later, Petey looked out of the window of his house and saw Mr. Monroe slow down and look at the house as he was running past, just in shorts and running shoes. Petey had been watching for that. He was just in shorts and running shoes too, and after Mr. Monroe had past, he came out of the house and started running too--back from Mr. Monroe, but within sight of him. Both were moving toward Henderson Park, a heavily wooded area.
Somehow Petey lost sight of Mr. Monroe, but he continued running into the park. As he was steaming down the trail, he heard another runner coming up behind him, someone who was opening it up a lot faster than Petey was. When the runner came up level to Petey, he boy saw that it was Mr. Monroe in his skimpy shorts and sockless running shoes. The man had gone off the trail and waited for Petey to pass him before resuming his run.
“How’s it going, Sport?” Mr. Monroe called out to Petey in a voice that showed no signs of breathlessness. “Happy not yet your fifteenth birthday. Today isn’t your birthday yet, is it? Your birthday is August 15th, right? I remembered right, didn’t I?”
Petey was surprised. He’d remembered. It was July 29th now. Petey confirmed that.
“I see you took my advice on running,” Mr. Monroe said with a grin. “Lookin’ good, Sport. You ready for it? Decided you want it? Time’s getting short. If you want it, follow me.” And then he was off in front of Petey, leaving the boy in his dust as if he weren’t even flat out running himself.
Neither of them misunderstood what “it” was.
Petey followed Mr. Monroe as the man veered off the path and ran into the dense woods. When Petey reached him, Mr. Monroe was sitting on a thick fallen tree trunk that time dead had stripped off the bark, leaving a hard, smooth surface on the trunk.
He said nothing as Petey approached. He just stood up from the tree. Without fanfare, he pulled Petey into his chest and into a lip-lock kiss. He took the boy’s right hand by the wrist and dipped it down between their bodies and laid it on his basket. Of course he was hard. Petey could feel him hard and massive through the flimsy running shorts and jock strap.
“This can be your early birthday present, Sport, if you still want it,” Mr. Monroe said in a husky voice as he pulled away from the kiss but continued holding Petey’s hand to his basket. “I think you’ve wanted it for some time. Tell me you’ve wanted it for some time. Do you still want it, Sport? I won’t go any further unless you want it.”
“Yes, I’ve wanted it for some time,” Petey whimpered.
“And you’ve wanted it from me.”
“Yes, I’ve wanted it from you.”
“I’ve wanted to give to you for some time too. Tell me you want me to do you now.”
“Yes, oh yes,” Petey managed once the frog had been cleared from his throat.
“I can see you’ve kept up with the running as I suggested, Sport. But did you keep clean too? You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Petey answered faltingly, trying to keep his eyes connected with Mr. Monroe’s probing stare. “I mean yes to both. I understand, and I’ve kept clean.”
“There’s been no one else?”
“No. No one else yet.”
“Good,” he said with a satisfied tone. “It’s better, it feels better, if cleanliness can be assumed--if nothing has to get between skin and skin.” While Petey contemplated if he’d really understood what Mr. Monroe meant, the put the palm of a hand in the small of Petey’s back and turned him and bent him over the tree trunk. He stripped Petey’s shorts and jock to his ankles and growled, “Step out of them.” Petey complied. The boy felt Mr. Monroe stripping himself down too and then Petey moaned as he felt the underside of the man’s big cock rising up the small of his back.
“Please,” Petey whimpered.
“Please what?” The voice was gruff, deep.
“Please go slow. I’ve never.”
Mr. Monroe laughed. “You will now, and you’ll love it--not at first but before we’re done.”
Petey jerked as he felt the hard cock go between his thighs, but it went in under his perineum. The man reached around embraced Petey with one arm across his chest and he moved the other hand down to Petey’s groin. Grasping Petey’s cock, Mr. Monroe started slowly masturbating him as he slid his cock back and forth under Petey’s perineum.
“Close your legs up tight. Give me a tight slide,” Mr. Monroe growled, and Petey did so. “I can’t wait, I’m about to blow. But I want to do you right when I really stick it to you, so this first.” Petey had no idea what the man, who was breathing and panting hard and making little growling noises deep in this throat, meant. Petey writhed a bit as Mr. Monroe jacked him off, dry fucked him with strokes and slid across Petey’s hole and was making him hyperventilate--but also open up--and hovered close over his body, kissing him on the neck.
Petey came against the tree trunk in Mr. Monroe’s grasp, and he felt the wetness of Mr. Monroe coming between his thighs soon thereafter. They held there, both regaining the smooth rhythm of their breath.
Was that all? Was that all there was going to be with it? Petey wondered. But that wasn’t all. “Time for the main event now,” Mr. Monroe muttered after several minutes of just holding there, Petey embraced by Mr. Monroe and being bent over the tree trunk. “Ready for it?” Mr. Monroe asked. But he did wait for an answer. Still holding Petey tight, he started screwing fingers into Petey’s ass and Petey writhed and struggled ineffectively, and started to cry.
Mr. Monroe didn’t ask him if he wanted it to stop now. And it didn’t stop.
Satisfied that he’d opened Petey up as much as he was going to with his fingers and ready and anxious to fire off again, Monroe held Petey in a tight embrace over the log with one arm, latched his teeth onto the back of Petey’s neck like a mother cat would do to a kitten to bring it under control, and positioned his cock head with his other hand. Taking it slow, while Petey at first writhed in his embrace and cried out at the invasion and violation, Monroe worked his cock into the boy’s virginal passage, which slowly, at his encouragement and instruction on how to relax for it and give in to it, stretched and filled Petey’s passage to seven thick inches of in a bit. He held there, withdraw a bit, and then pressed in a little deeper work. He had a couple of inches to spare.
“You’re doing great, Pete. Don’t fight it. Relax. You’re already undone. You’re fucked now. No reason to fight us having a good time.” That worked, and Petey went completely docile for Monroe, just lying there in the older, bigger, more powerful man’s embrace, opening up as Monroe buried himself to the hilt.
But Monroe had lied. Petey hadn’t been fucked yet. When Monroe felt the boy totally relaxed, totally open to him, that’s when Petey got fucked as Monroe started to pump--slow and shallow at first and then, as Petey relaxed again and started going with him in the motion of his pelvis, sighs and moans and “Fuck me” expressions mingling more in with the gasps and groans and “Oh, shits” faster, deeper, and harder.
“You’re clutching up again. Just relax. It won’t hurt as much. The next time it won’t hurt at all, you’ll see.”
“The next time” reverberating through Petey’s brain and he clutched up even more. Monroe stopped pumping and went to kiss Petey on the neck and then on the mouth when Petey turned his face. The man ran his hands over Petey’s body, quietening him down as you would a skittish racehorse. The man was overwhelmed by his own need, though, and he began pumping again, insistently, thrusting again and again, no time for easing into anything now. Petey thrashed away under him, writing and sobbing. But Monroe was over the edge and took it to completion.
When he’d shot off again, his cum blasting Petey deep in three separate gushes, Monroe released Petey to collapse on his belly over the log, his trembling legs bearing little of his weight on the one side of the log and his arms dangling over the other side of the log, head down, whimpering and crying softly. He’d already come during the fuck, with Monroe pumping his cock with a hand while he pumped the boy’s passage with his own cock.
After a cool-down period, Monroe fucked the boy again, this time taking him more slowly, more sensually, and this time Petey going with it more willingly and more into the rhythm of the fuck, doing more sighing and moaning and whispering of “Yes, fuck me.” More pleasure for him; a bit less for Monroe who liked the first taking the best.
Monroe leaned down, kissed Petey on each buttock, patted him there, murmured, “Good boy. Good lay. Welcome to the club,” pulled up his jock and shorts, and jogged off, back to the trail, leaving Petey to recover by himself.
A week later, on a Saturday morning, while Petey was finishing up mowing the lawn of the Wilsons over on Sycamore Street, a black SUV with smoked windows pulled over to the curb beside him. The passenger window to the SUV rolled down, and a gruff voice called Petey over. Monroe, in a plaid cowboy shirt and jeans sat in the driver’s side. Petey’s heart and cock fluttered. He couldn’t deny that the man had a body of a Greek god. It was a Greek god who had fucked him the week before and then just left him. Petey was still struggling with how he thought about that.
Petey was looking pretty good himself, wearing just athletic shorts over a jock strap and gym shoes. His T-shirt was hanging off the waistband at the back of his shorts.
“You OK?” Monroe asked, leaning over toward the passenger door. “You’re looking great. Was it good for you? It was for me.”
Petey still didn’t know what to say, but the man’s voice drew him away from the mower and to the side of the car.
“You good with it, Pete?” Monroe asked again.
Petey hesitated, but then took a deep sigh and said, “Yeah, I’m good with it.”
“If you want more, if you’re curious what more is, get in the bus.”
Petey stood there, hesitating, but then, taking a look around to see that no one was observing them, he opened the passenger door to the SUV and slid in.
There was no talking. Mr. Monroe drove out into the countryside, toward the nearby mountains. After a half hour, they were in the mountains on a narrow asphalted road, and then, taking a right onto a gravel road following the curve of the mountain near the mountain top, they drove into the dense woods with a downslope on the passenger side.
Mr. Monroe reached out and took Petey’s left hand and moved it over to his crotch. Petey could tell Monroe was hard. He was too.
“Got all that for you, Pete,” the man said and then laughed. “This time you’re going to suck it for me.” Petey left his hand there for a few minutes but then took it away and directed his attention to the view between the trees of the valley below and tried hard not to hyperventilate--or to tremble noticeably.
Monroe turned into a narrow dirt-surfaced driveway descending the down slope and drove into the trees and to a clearing, where there was a small cabin.
“This is it; we’re here,” he said, climbing out of the SUV.
Monroe guided Petey to a door at the side of the cabin, a bit below the level of the cabin’s main floor. Petey moved like a zombie, letting Monroe maneuver him at will. The man opened the door, and they were descending stairs to a basement. The basement opened up toward the back of the cabin, but there was a closed door at the bottom of the stairs, it the right. The door was locked, but Monroe unlocked this and pushed Petey into a small, square, windowless room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were a stark white, and in the very center of the room, prominently located, was a black leather sling suspended from overhead beams by strong chains. Half way up each chain was a black leather cuff, now open, padded on the inside.
Petey just stood and stared at this. Something inside him was stirring. This was beyond his fantasy, but he found that it was turning him on. Strangely enough he was losing his nervousness. He’d seen this--the sling--before in the magazines he read. Maybe this was part of his fantasy, he thought, but a part he’d never consciously thought about before.
He heard the door close behind him and the key turn in the lock, but Petey just couldn’t take his eyes off that black leather sling.
“Seen one of those before, Pete?” a deep, husky voice behind him--Mr. Monroe’s voice when he was in heat--asked. “Curious about it?”
“Yes,” Petey answered, but not saying which question he was answering. Monroe laughed. The door was locked. Petey was here. He’d come on his own; Monroe hadn’t had to force him. It didn’t really matter what Petey answered. Monroe was going to fuck the luscious young man again, and he was going to do it in style. Petey was going to get a good fucking. Monroe was going to use him a fourteen-year-old treasure.
When, at last, Petey was able to turn his eyes away from the sling, he turned and his eyes popped open.
Mr. Monroe had taken off his shirt and jeans and stood before Petey, nearly naked. He was still wearing the black boots that came up above his bulging calf muscles, nearly to his knees, but, beyond that, all he was wearing was a black leather harness criss-crossing his chest, studded with silver studs, and studded black leather wrist bands and bands around his biceps. His horse-hung cock was at full staff, and he was wrapping a black leather, studded cock ring tightly around its base as Petey watched. Petey had been fucked from behind in the woods, so he hadn’t seen much of Monroe undressed then. He’d seen the man naked in the community pool shower. But he hadn’t seen the man both functionally naked and in leather gear. Petey had seen men outfitted like this in magazines, though, and he’d known they were outfitted like this to do special things to other guys. He began to pant, having a hard time catching his breath.
“Still curious, kid?” Monroe asked Petey. Didn’t matter what Petey thought now, but Monroe was curious just how cooperative he’d be--now much he wanted it, how much he’d be willing to give up.
“Yes,” Petey whispered in almost a whimper.
“I’m going to do you good, kid.”
“Yes,” Petey repeated.
“Strip, Sport,” Monroe said in a throaty voice. Petey just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of him.
“I said strip, Sport,” the more said more insistently. “And climb into that sling. I told you this would be special. But it won’t be any more dangerous than any other way we might have done it. I promised to show you more.”
Petey then did as Monroe directed, somewhat self-consciously pulling off his shorts and hunching over, trying to cover his manhood without any real means to do so. He suddenly was shy before the man and didn’t really know why.
“What’s the matter, kid?” Monroe asked.
“I’m scared. I’m a little scared,” Petey responded.
There was no quarter from Monroe now, though. It had come to the point that he’d take Petey one way or the other. “Good. I want you to be. Suck it up. We’re going to do this. Stand up straight, Sport. Push it out. Ah, very nice. Very nice, indeed. We’re going to have a good time, you and me. Now, into the sling.”
Not knowing quite how to get into the sling, Petey walked over to it and turned around, and tried ineffectually to hoist his butt up into the contraption. Mr. Monroe walked over and lifted him with strong hands at his waist, as if he were a rag doll, and plopped him ass into the sling.
While he had Petey lifted, Monroe kissed him on the neck and whispered, “It’s fine, kid. You’re doing fine. You’ll have a ball--and so will I balling you.”
Having put the boy in the sling, the man then walked around to above him, and took, first one wrist, and then the other, and bound them in the black leather cuffs up the chain. He repeated this below, with Petey’s ankles, and there the fourteen-year-old boy was, spread-eagled helplessly in the sling--trussed up and ready to be sacrificed to the fetishes of the thirty-five-year-old man. Fresh, yielding flesh to be pierced and debauched by a man’s steel-hard dick and a mature man’s desires and inventive imagination.
The bottom edge of the sling cut into Petey’s buttocks just where the small of his back flared out to his butt cheeks, and the upper edge hit between his shoulder blades. Monroe ran his rough, men’s hands over the soft, resilient skin of the young boy’s body. The index finger of one hand went to the opening of Petey’s ass and penetrated there, but just an inch. Petey moaned, as Monroe enjoyed the look of Petey’s rim puckering around the finger. He pressed it in deep, and Petey cried out, his body straining against the invasion and his buttock lifting up off the surface of the sling.