I was an impressionable teenager and prone to fantasies I couldn’t shake. And, like any teenager, I was raging with hormones. One such fantasy was Mr. Walker, who lived down the block from us. He was a former Marine in his thirties, who worked hard to keep himself in tip-top shape. He was a runner, and I’d frequently see him running around our 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.

The first thing that started me to fantasizing about Mr. Walker 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 my adolescent mind, this suggested to me that every minute Mr. Walker wasn’t out running, he and Mrs. Walker were in their bed "doing it." The mere image of that turned me on. As I said, I was suffering from raging hormones then, and I found myself fantasizing about being in bed with the Walkers—for several weeks about being in bed with Mrs. Walker, and then for a while with both of them, and finally, distressingly, I fixated on being in bed with just Mr. Walker.

The Walkers belonged to the same community club my family did, and in the summer of my sixteenth year, I found myself at the pool the same afternoon the Walker clan was there. Mr. Walker looked mighty fine poolside in that Speedo of his. He was in the shower of the men’s locker room soaping himself up when I entered the shower after my swim. A lump went to my throat. His 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. My eyes went directly to his dick, which was the biggest and thickest I’d ever seen as it plunged out of a clump of red hair at his groin. I hadn’t thought of Mr. Walker 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. I could see now, when he was soaping himself all over, that he had tufts of red hair at his pits as well. My own cock came to quick attention at what I was seeing.

Mr. Walker obviously saw me staring at his package as well as what my own was doing in response.

"Hey, you’re the kid living up the block from us, aren’t you?" he asked in a pleasant tone, not bothering to stop soaping around his dangling dick.

"Yeah," I managed to burble out. "I see you running in the neighborhood sometimes."

"Well, how old are you, kid?" he asked straight out.

I told him.

"When’s your birthday?" he then asked, which seemed a strange question at the time.

I told him that too.

"Well, on your eighteenth birthday, we’ll meet again," he said. "Until then, keep yourself clean, ya hear? And you could stand to do some running of your own." With that, he rinsed off and left me and my boner alone in the locker room shower.

I started running after that, but I never stopped fantasizing about Mr. Walker.

On my seventeenth birthday, I was out running a woodland trail. I’d gotten myself in great shape with my running, and I was grateful for that little nudge Mr. Walker had given me a year earlier. I was doing real well on the cross-country team now.

As I was steaming down the trail, I heard another runner coming up behind, someone, incredibly, who was opening it up a lot faster than I was. When he came up level to me, I saw that it was Mr. Walker in his skimpy shorts and sockless running shoes.

"How’s it going, Sport?" he called out to me in a voice that showed no signs of breathlessness. "Happy birthday. Today is your birthday, isn’t it? I remembered right, didn’t I?"

Besides being breathless from the exertion of running myself, what he was saying—having kept track of my birthday like this just from a chance encounter at the swimming pool—bowled me over so that the most I could do was mumble an affirmation that today, indeed, was my seventeenth birthday.

"I see you took my advice on running," he said with a grin. "Lookin’ good, Sport. See you on your eighteenth. Keep clean." And then he was off in front of me, leaving me in his dust as if I weren’t even flat out running myself.

This encounter didn’t cut down on my fantasy time about Mr. Walker for the next year.

It was my eighteenth birthday, and I was moving up the walk to my house after school, when a big SUV with smoked windows stopped beside me and the passenger window rolled down. I came over and looked inside. It was Mr. Walker. He was wearing a loose, long-sleeved shirt, worn blue jeans, and shiny black boots.

"Happy birthday, Sport," he said with a big grin. "Climb in."

I opened the door and climbed in. As the door shut, he rolled up my window. We were alone now, in his big SUV with the smoked window.

Without fanfare, he took my right hand by the wrist and brought it around and laid it on his basket. I could feel him hard and massive through the worn material of the blue jeans.

"This can be your eighteenth birthday present, Sport, if you still want it," he said in a husky voice. "You wanted it two years ago. Do you still want it, Sport? I won’t go any further unless you want it."

"Yes, oh yes," I managed to say once the frog had been cleared from my throat. He’d remembered. I knew I should say no and just get out of the car and bury myself in a safe, normal life. But this had been my fantasy for years.

"Well, then, let’s take a little ride. Buckle yourself up, but you don’t have to take your hand back, if you don’t want to. Here, let’s give it some air." He pushed my hand to the top of his thigh and worked his zipper down. Then he went back to putting the SUV into gear and driving away from the curb. I worked my hand into the gap in his pants, not believing I was even doing this, imaging it was happening to someone I was watching from across the room, and his big plump dick just popped out of his pants. I gently ran my hand up and down and around it as we drove into the countryside. It had this large, popping vein running up the underside. It got impossibly large and hard as we drove along, and I was smearing some precum around the knob of the head when we pulled up to a small cabin in the woods, well off the main road.

Mr. Walker was actually breathing pretty hard when he came around to my side of the SUV, pulled me out with a strong hand on my wrist, and guided me to the door of the cabin. I was wondering if he had been fantasizing about me that past two years as much as I had been fantasizing about him. He certainly had made a point of knowing exactly when we could do something about it.

He unlocked and pushed open the door to the cabin, but then he turned and looked hard into my eyes.

"Last chance, son. We can go back now if you’re scared. I like to do this kind of special like. This probably won’t be like anything you’d imagined it to be. Birthdays should be memorable, I think."

I just set my jaw and moved closer to the door. He got the message, and spoke again, in a softer voice.

"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," I answered faltingly, trying to keep my eyes connected with him. "I mean yes to both. I understand, and I’ve kept clean."

"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 I contemplated if I’d really understood what he meant, he put the palm of a hand in the small of my back and guided me to a door. He opened this, and we were descending stairs to a basement. The door at the bottom of the stairs was locked, but he unlocked this and pushed me into a small, square 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.

I just stood and stared at this. Something inside me was stirring. This was beyond my fantasy, but I found that it was turning me on. I heard the door close behind me and the key turn in the lock, but I just couldn’t take my eyes off that black leather sling. When, at last, I was able to do so, I turned and my eyes popped open.

Mr. Walker had taken off his shirt and jeans and stood before me, nearly naked. He was still wearing the black boots that came up above his bulging calf muscles, 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 I watched.

"Strip, Sport," he said in a throaty voice. I just stood there, mesmerized by the sight of him.

"I said strip, Sport," he 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 then did as he directed, somewhat self-consciously pulling off my clothes and hunching over before him, trying to cover my manhood without any real means to do so.

"Stand up straight, Sport. Push it out. Ah, very nice. Very nice, indeed. It was well worth the wait. Now, into the sling."

Not knowing quite how to get into the sling, I walked over to it and turned around, and tried ineffectually to hoist my butt up into the contraption. Mr. Walker walked over and lifted me with strong hands at my waist, as if I were a rag doll, and plopped my ass into the sling. He then walked around to above me, and took, first one wrist, and then the other, and locked them in the black leather cuffs up the chain. He repeated this below, with my ankles, and there I was, spread-eagled helplessly in the sling. The bottom edge of the sling cut into my buttocks just where the small of my back flared out to my butt cheeks, and the upper edge hit between my shoulder blades.

Mr. Walker walked away from me and the lights went out in the room, to be replaced by colored lights, beamed from several positions, swirling about the walls, ceiling, and floor, in undulating waves of blue, green, red, and purple.

Mr. Walker was above me now, pushing my shoulders down and then taking my head in his hands and pulling that back and down as well. He had his enormous cock at my mouth, pushing at my lips from above, and then he was inside my mouth and fucking my mouth in ever more insistent thrusts. I didn’t have to do more than gag for him; I couldn’t do more than gag for him, either, because I was completely trussed up and at his mercy. I wouldn’t have known what to do anyway. But he told me what to do.

"Just relax, Sport," he said. "Open wide, unlock your jaw, and get your tongue below it and let it slide in easy. Ahh, yes, like that. Ahh, yes, a sweet mouth. Teeth out of the way, lips closed tight on it. Yes, that’s better. Take it all, now. You can do it. Just loosen up and relax. There, just a bit more. Ahhhh, yesss. Feel the studs of the cock ring at your lips? That means you’ve taken it all. Now, letting it slide in and out. Yes, like that, in and out. Ahhhhh. Ah, AH, AHHH! Hot Damn!"

I started gagging again, as his cum burbled up in my mouth and overflowed on my chin. He pulled right out of me than, and his lips and tongue were at mine, cleaning me of his jism, and kissing me now.

He leaned his face into my ear and whispered to me. "That was nice, Sport. I think you’re going to learn to give head real good. But I bet what you really want is your birthday present. I’m going to give that to you in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Gotta reload from that nice blow job. Won’t take long to reload. Got some good advice for you on that. Eat healthy, live clean, stay fit, get plenty of sleep, and fuck often with a lot of variety, and you can keep your reload time down. Now, I’m gonna do you."

He walked away from me, and the next I saw he was below me between my spread-eagled legs. He held my balls in the palm of one hand like they were eggs he was about to crack, and he lowered his lips to my throbbing cock, licking it all over and then going down on it with his mouth. I almost lifted out of the sling in response to the teething and sucking he was doing on my cock. The meeting of fantasy and reality were just too much for me, and I shot my load down his throat in short order. I was embarrassed that I’d cum this quickly, but Mr. Walker seemed to be pleased. At least he gave me a big grin and then moved his lips and tongue to my asshole and wetted me up real well there. All the time he was sucking and rimming me, he was encouraging me to tell him what I liked and what I liked better, and, although words pretty much failed me, I think he got the answers he needed from the differing timbres of my moaning and groaning.

After a short while, he seemed ready to go again, because I saw him rise up below me, and I felt the head of his cock at my asshole. It was just pressing at my asshole, with its head rocking back and forth, straining the rim, and I already felt I wouldn’t be able to take him. My torso and limbs went rigid, and I arched my back against the sling.

"Relax there, Sport," he was saying. And then he left me for a minute, and when he came back, he had a black rubber plug with straps attached to it, which he plopped into my mouth, pushing my tongue down and filling my mouth, and he then pulled the straps around my head and tied them at the back.

"That isn’t to keep you from screaming, Sport. You’re going to want to do a lot of screaming, especially at the beginning. But we’re way out here in the woods. There’s nobody to hear your screaming. This is to keep you from biting your tongue off."

He went around to below me again, and with a sudden thrust of his hips, the head of his cock was inside my ass. I screamed in pain and went all rigid again. There was no sound, however, beyond a muffled grunt of pain, and I was biting down so hard on the rubber plug that I thought my teeth surely would bite through and meet.

"Not much else to do at the start, Sport," Mr. Walker was saying. "Your ass is new to this, and my cock is extra big. Trust me, it’s going to be bad for a few minutes, but then it’s going to get very, very good. And keep remembering that you wanted this. Ugh!" And with that his cock head and breached my virginal ring, and he held there.

"The worst is passed, now," he was saying. "The rest will be easier, especially if you’ll relax and let all of the tension flow out of your body."

He placed his hands on my belly and worked them up to my pecs, massaging me, helping me to relax. They came back down and then glided up my outstretched legs.

"Breath deeply and regularly," he was saying. "And as I snake up you, take short, panting breaths. It will help. But however you breathe, remember to continue to do it. Don’t hold your breath. This is your eighteenth birthday. I want to give you the fuck of your life."

I watched his strong, thickly veined hands, with those sensuous fingers, gliding across my body. One came back to my belly, palm down, and his finger spread out on my abs. I watched that hand, rising and falling as I breathed, and I relaxed as I could see my breath becoming more regular. And as I relaxed, his cock started its long, slow journey up my ass canal. My ass walls were welcoming it, the muscles moving in waves and closely caressing his pulsating rod.

"Nice, very nice," he was murmuring. "Your ass wants me, I can tell. It’s making love to my cock. You’re tight and sweet. Everything I’d imagined. There, can you feel them? The studs of my cock ring are at your asshole now. You’ve managed me; I’m all in."

And I could feel those studs, and it didn’t hurt so much anymore. And I was exhilarated that he was all in me, fulfilling my fantasies. He’d told me it would be a lot easier and less painful the next time, and I believed him.

He lifted his hands and wrapped them around the chain and my bound ankles now and started the sling in motion. My ass was being stroked, but it was happening by the motion of the sling Mr. Walker was setting with his hands. The swinging of the sling increased, both in arc and in speed, and soon Mr. Walker’s pelvis also was in motion, and he was fucking me in deep and long strokes. He was losing control of himself and giving me a wild ride, as I watched the motion of the studded leather harness across his chest. At length, he gave out a primeval scream, and I felt his cum jetting off deep inside me, and backing up along his buried cock and dribbling out of my asshole.

"Happy birthday, Sport," he exclaimed to me with a big grin, and then he helped me out of my bonds and the sling and supported me in his strong arms as we went back up the basement stairs to a small table in the kitchen. There he pulled food out of the refrigerator, and we both sat there, naked, at the kitchen table, and ate like we hadn’t seen food for a week.

After he’d had his fill, Mr. Walker winked at me, and said. "Think it’s been twenty minutes again, Sport. I can feel the power coming back. And my birthday is coming up soon. Let’s see if I can find a present too."

He pulled me up from the table by the wrists and marched me into a small bedroom that took up the other back corner of the house from the kitchen. He had leather thongs out and, after pushing me down on the bed on my belly, he tied my wrists together and strapped my arms to the rods at the center of the brass headboard and then tied my legs, from the ankles, to the opposite bed posts at the bottom of the bed. He then came up behind me and between my legs on his knees, and I felt that big, hard cock at my backdoor again. He lifted my pelvis with his hands on my hips and skewered me with his cock in one long gliding motion, having already stretched my ass to his specifications not more than an hour earlier. I gave him plenty of noise, while he rode me like a show bull. And rode me and rode me and rode me.

When he’d shot his load, he reached around and released my arms and legs and then went over on his side, pulling my butt into his pelvis. We cuddled and kissed and joyfully explored each other with our hands until he’d reloaded again, and then he lifted my leg, nuzzled his pelvis under my butt, and took me in a side split one more time, this time more gently and languidly, as if we had all of the time in the world to meld to each other.

It was near dusk before we had finished fucking and had gotten cleaned up. Mr. Walker drove me back into town, leaving me off a couple of blocks up the street from my house and then just driving on by my house and into his driveway before I reached our section of the sidewalk. He was greeted at the door by his pert little wife, who kissed him, and I saw him give her a little pat on the butt as they turned and went into the house. I wondered if he would take her straight to their bedroom and feed that enormous cock into her just like he’d done with me, and a little jolt of jealously shot through me. I knew then that Mr. Walker wasn’t a habit I’d be giving up anytime soon.

My family held a grand eighteenth-birthday party for me that evening, oblivious to the fact that I couldn’t bear to sit on the hard dining room chairs for any length of time. My gifts from that significant birthday were memorable—my parents gave me the keys to a red Mustang convertible—but none was as memorable as the gift Mr. Walker had given me in that cabin in the woods.

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