Sebastian

Some people are just too attractive for their own good—people so beautiful they should be strutting their stuff on a catwalk or modeling underwear for a living. Sebastian was one of those guys.

He was twenty years old and studying at UNLV. The blond-haired, blue-eyed stud with drop-dead looks that could easily have been spread among 4 people stood 5-11 and weighed 160 pounds. Despite his love for beer, he kept in shape with daily workouts in the university gym and pool. He was a star on both the water polo and swim teams.

Sebastian never lacked for female company. Wherever he went—the strip, a club, just walking on campus—women flocked to him like bees. He was used to getting Pussy whenever he wanted it. Nothing beat a good blow job!

It was Spring Break and Sebastian and his frat brothers headed to San Diego for the week. They checked into a sleazy motel on the beach within walking distance of a dozen clubs—no driving needed. A whole week of playing all day and partying all night. There were ten frat brothers and collectively they sweet-talked the manager into squeezing them into two rooms. Less money for the rooms meant more money for partying.

It was Friday night, only two nights left, and the guys couldn't decide where to go. Half wanted to go to Moondoggies, and half to the Pacific Bar & Grill. That wasn't really a problem, since they were only a couple blocks apart and close to the motel, so the guys decided to split up.

Sebastian finished styling his spiky blond hair and looked in the mirror. Perfect! It was tousled with a windblown look, but Sebastian had spent 20 minutes getting it right. He'd seen a ton of babes on the beach and looked forward to getting laid. He turned to catch his profile, white briefs tenting an erection. He grabbed his hard Cock and gave it a squeeze. A couple of frat brothers saw him and chuckled.

Sebastian pulled on his shorts and a tank top. He looked in the mirror. Aw, fuck the tank top! It was too warm outside and everybody was going shirtless. Plus he was proud of his sculptured torso. He strapped on his beach sandals and gave himself a last once over in the mirror. The white shorts proved a nice contrast to his tanned and toned body. He liked to wear them a little snug and short because of how they felt and how they looked when his fuck bulge stretched the material. Damn, he was hot! He could have passed for a Californian beach bum! He loved being him. He grabbed a wad of cash and shoved it, along with his room key, in his pocket and led his frat brothers down the street.

**********************************************************************************************

Photographer Paul's career seemed to be in high gear when he'd been POZZED by an anonymous Pick-Up. He planned to take advantage of his condition and draw disability. For 6 long years he ignored his Doctor's orders. His T-Cells plummeted. At 29, his immune system devastated, he proved to be a half-living, half-dead example of how the best laid plans go astray. He ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. Only then did he agree to start Meds. During a lengthy rehab back to a semblance of health, Paul plotted his revenge against those he deemed responsible for his disease—in his perverted visage every Gay or Straight male who'd ever caught his eye. .

At 30, living on his meager disability pension, though free from the humdrum necessity of earning a living, he discerned he had to supplement his income if he wished to continue his lifestyle.

So by 32 Paul had again become a professional—a professional hunter. His chosen vocation was to seek out hot young Studs, drug them, and photograph them in compromising positions and in various stages of undress. That he took liberties with their NEGATIVE Mancunts, he regarded as a well deserved fringe benefit of his vocation. (Actually the thought of spreading HIV and AIDS among the Uninfected gave Paul a hardon.) Paul had a website where the pics and videos of his victims could be downloaded—for a price. With no lack of voyeurs, his enterprise flourished.

He traversed the countryside in search of pretty young Twinks. But that night in San Diego, he'd returned to his birthplace. In fact, he was at one of his favorite haunts, the Pacific Bar & Grill. He was out for a night on the town and hadn't planned on working—until he spied Sebastian. One look at the Blonde Adonis strutting shirtless through the door, and Paul had an immediate and drastic change of plans.

He'd been with a group of his friends, but stopped drinking the moment he spotted Sebastian. Paul couldn't take his eyes off him. His friends eventually decided to move on. After all, it was Spring Break and San Diego was one humungous party. Paul said he was going to hang out for a while. As his friends left he moved to the bar. His strategy was simple—separate the Prey from his pals, gain his trust, and then work the Boy over.

From his spot at the bar Paul kept track of Sebastian's movements—who he came in with, who he talked to; who he danced with; what he drank, how much he drank, how often he went to the restroom—everything. As the evening wore on Paul noticed that most of Sebastian's friends had paired off with girls and left. Sebastian looked like he was having too much fun dancing, his hunky body twisting in perfect time with the music. The sheer gall the Stud had—cuming into this place dressed the way he was, shirtless, in short shorts and sandals—gave Paul the hardest boner he'd ever experienced

When the song ended Sebastian huffed his way to the bar, breathing heavily. The stool next to Paul was conveniently empty. Sebastian sat down and gave Paul a perfunctory nod.

"Anybody sitting here?" he asked, his voice incredibly sexy.

"No," Paul said, turning slightly on his stool. "She was hot," he remarked, commenting on Sebastian's last partner.

"She was a bore," Sebastian said. "Blah, blah, blah," He dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he flagged down the bartender. "Seabreeze."

"Still," he mulled, "it's getting late and most of the hotties have gone I probably shoulda fucked her." Sebastian grabbed his crotch. "You ever get totally horned up?"

The question took Paul by surprise, as it precisely described his current state, with Sebastian the object of his attraction. "Constantly! A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do."

Sebastian nodded, his mouth full of pretzels. "Exactly." Hs drink arrived and he downed half of it. He pulled out a five and told the bartender to keep the change. He grabbed his crotch again and spun around on the stool.

"Take a look," he mumbled, sounding bummed. "A bunch of dogs." He shook his head and grabbed his crotch again. Paul couldn't help but notice.

"You look like you surf."

"Just learned this week," Sebastian giggled, finishing his drink. "I'm here from Vegas on Spring Break. I took some lessons. It's great." He was about to order another drink when Paul hailed the bartender.

"This round's on me, Maybe you should lay off the hard stuff. This place isn't known for skimping on its liquor. It might be a good idea to slow down, especially if you wanna get laid."

Sebastian laughed again as he took his beer from the bartender and took a swig. "You're right, you're so fuckin' right. I'm just so fuckin' frustrated and horny. You shoulda seen the babes on the beach!"

Mixing alcohol wasn't the smartest thing to do, but Sebastian wasn't thinking about booze. He groped his crotch again. From where he sat Paul could see the Stud's Fuck Bulge. Nice! It was a good thing Sebastian's trunks weren't any shorter—or he'd have been arrested for indecent exposure.

"By the way, I'm Rob," Paul said. "I'm here from ASU."

"Sebastian. UNLV."

"Nice to meet you."

"Same here." Sebastian finished his beer and Paul bought him another. About halfway through it, Sebastian jumped up and headed to the john. Paul noticed he was none too steady on his feet. He'd had the roofie in his hand since Sebastian sat down, waiting for the right moment. Now the drunken stud was off taking a piss. Paul casually reached over, as if to stretch, and dropped the roofie into Sebastian's beer. The Kid wouldn't know what hit him. He ordered another.

Sebastian came back a few minutes later and grinned when he saw the extra bottle. He finished his first beer and started the second "Thanks, man," he said, holding the bottle while scouting the dance floor. "Let me get the next round."

Paul looked at his watch. With Sebastian already drunk, he anticipated 15 minutes at most. It wasn't too hard to keep up a conversation. Sebastian was a talker. He droned on about his countless cunt hunts and conquests and about the great time he was having in San Diego. Sebastian's speech slurred; and Paul knew it was time. He wanted Sebastian out of there before he became incapacitated.

"Man, you look wasted. I don't think you're gonna get any. Maybe you oughta call it a night."

Sebastian wobbled on his stool. "I think you're right. I feel kinda fucked up. Good thing my motel is just down the street." He stood up to leave, wavering, and patted Paul on the arm. "Nice to run into ya, Rob. Have fun the rest of the Break. See ya later."

As he turned to leave Paul also got up. "I should probably head out, too," he said, catching up with his Prey. "We were out in the sun all day and I'm whooped."

As the two guys left the Pacific Beach, Paul asked Sebastian where he was staying. Sebastian pointed down the street. "I can't remember the name of the place, but it's a couple blocks thata way."

Paul came up with a quickie. "My place is that way, too. My car's right over here. Let me drive you."

"'Preciate it," Sebastian slurred, and together the two, the Hunter and the Hunted, climbed into Paul's SUV. As they drove down Garnet Avenue, Paul remembered a motel he'd used once before where he could pay cash. He noticed that Sebastian was having difficulty staying awake.

"Hey, Sebastian, where did you say your motel was?" Sebastian looked at, or rather through, Paul. The roofie had him in its grips.

"I can't remember shit," Sebastian giggled.

"Well, this is my place," Paul lied, turning into the lot. "Wanna come in for a minute till you remember where you're staying?"

"Yeah," Sebastian replied. "Good idea."

"My room's over there." Paul pointed nowhere in particular. "Wait here while I get the key. I've lost one already so I don't carry it with me. They charge an arm and a leg for a replacement. I'll be right back."

"Okaaaaaaaay," Sebastian slurred, slumping in his seat. Paul entered the office to check in, then returned to Sebastian, who'd drifted off

"Come on, Buddy," Paul urged, shaking Sebastian, who stumbled after him toward the room. As soon as they were inside the Kid collapsed on the bed and conked out.

Paul had to restrain himself from jumping his bones right there. He returned to his car to get the gym bag where he kept his cameras, tripod, and toys. Back in the room, he lifted Sebastian's eyelids. The Youth's eyes rolled up. He was a goner. Paul started snapping pictures.

He pulled off Sebastian's shorts. Holy Shit! Paul had never seen anyone who looked so good in his underwear. He couldn't wait to see what was beneath. But first things first. Paul's website catered to a variety of fetishes, and he decided to feature Sebastian in every category.

First he took pictures of Sebastian dressed—on his back, on his stomach, sitting up. He took his sandals off and snapped a few pics of the Blonde Stud's nice size 9 feet. Paul stripped off Sebastian's shorts and let out a sigh as he gazed at the passed out Stud. Holy Shit! He'd never laid eyes on any guy so erotically photogenic. Sebastian was just plain hard to resist. Again Paul shot from every conceivable angle. The Ass shots were great—the white of the Boy's briefs stretched tautly across his tanned Ass.

Mmmmmm! Paul couldn't wait to dive into that Pussy! For sure the Fucker, straight as he was, was still a Virgin. Looked like Paul had some serious deflowering to do. He stroked Sebastian's Cock and Balls and flicked his jutting Nips. Bingo! The dazed Stud began to moan and get hard; but he was gonna get harder still. Having cum this far, Paul felt an obligation to teach the Hunk something he didn't already know about Sex; and despite his hetero expertise, the Youth was a total Ignoramus about what two men could do to please each other. Paul would fix that.

He lifted the naked Youth's head and slipped a Viagra between his soft, pale pink lips. He helped him swallow by giving him a little water and steadily, slowly stroked his throat. In about 20 minutes, Sebastian would be as hard as Paul.

Paul passed the time by stroking Sebastian's bod. As Sebastian moaned in obvious pleasure, Paul decided to get a couple of facial shots—Cum Facials. He dropped his pants and jerked his Dick until he shot a Load of Slop right onto Sebastian's Pretty Boy Face.

His photos captured the Cum as it dripped down the Spunky Boy's brow, across his nose, over his lips and under his chin. Still horny and full of Jizz, Paul decided to see what kind of Cocksucker Sebastian was. He sat him up and stuck his hard Cock between the Kid's lips, thrusting his hips back and forth and sliding his Cock in and out of the Boy's hot mouth. Pretty soon he was ready to Cum again and let his Load slide down Sebastian's throat. For a Straight, Sebastian turned out to be a pretty good Cocksucker.

At last it was time for the Promised Land! His next Load was goin' right up the Straight Boy's Ass—but then he wouldn't be a Straight Boy after that, would he? He fitted Sebastian with a Ball Gag, which allowed him to breath, but not scream, Paul slowly peeled off Sebastian's briefs. The Hunk's Shaft was probably a good six inches when soft, but the Viagra stretched It to a delectable eight. As he watched Sebastian sprout, he took more pictures. Then he jacked off the dazed Stud. It didn't take much to get Sebastian to shoot his first Load. He bet the Youth was constantly hard.

He stared in awe as he slowly jerked Sebastian to his second ejaculation. Sebastian's eight-inch Cock was as perfect as the rest of his body. He figured It felt good up a girl's pussy. Bet the bitches didn't appreciate It nearly as much as he did. Just as Sebastian was ready to Cum, he straddled the Boy's body and sat down on his erect Shaft. Sebastian shot his Neg Jizm right up Paul's Ass.

"Whew!" Paul cried out as Sebastian's beautiful Dick spasmed in his Hole. Sebastian would make a great Giver someday, with a little help from...well...Paul.

"And now for the finishing touch, Buddy Boy," Paul remonstrated, as he climbed off the bed, Sebastian's Cum running down his leg. He drew the limp Hottie's legs over his shoulders and thrust as hard as he could into the Boy's tight Ass. Sebastian cried out in pain (or was it delight?) but the sounds were all but muffled by the Ball Gag. The poor Frat Boy apparently had some comprehension of what was goin’ down, because Paul could make out: "I'm straight, Dude. Please stop! I don't wanna be Gay!"

Paul, undeterred, continued to fuck his thick Rod in and out of the abused Boy's Hole. God, Sebastian's Mancunt was tight! It felt extra good fucking his AIDS Cock back and forth up the Neg Boy's torn and abused Anus, enhancing the Jock's receptivity to the Bug. Paul figured he was doing Pretty Boy a favor—etching his Poison into his Neg DNA, assuring him notoriety for the rest of his days.

Anticipating the probable consequence of the Rape, and the ignorant bitches Sebastian was likely to breed, Paul plunged enthusiastically into the sobbing Jock's Anus, knowing that each Thrust rendered a POZITIVE OUTCUM more likely.

Pretty Boys like Sebastian deserved be bred in recompense for the smug superiority they displayed. And this Punk was no exception. With that justification, Paul ground in violently, mercilessly slapping his hips against the Straight's Bubble Butt, burying his Dick up to his Pubes in the violated ManPussy.

"Your Ass is mine, Kid!" Paul avowed, bucking as hard and violently as he could. Tears streaked down the Youth's Macho cheeks, for subconsciously Sebastian knew he was being irreversibly ravaged.

After he climaxed, Paul cleaned himself up, straightened the room, and hightailed it out of there, taking Sebastian's briefs as a souvenir. His only regret was that he wouldn't see the look on Sebastian's gorgeous face in the morning, followed by a grimace of pain and confusion—as the Youth gradually recollected that he'd been violated. As he drove to the airport, Paul bet that Sebastian would tell his buddies that he'd banged some chick at her place all night. He had no fear of reprisal. After all, what dude was going to report he'd been raped?

The next morning the rays of the hot San Diego sun shown through the window and aroused Sebastian from his drug-induced sleep. For a few moments he was confused about where he was. He was in a strange bed and, stranger still, alone. That almost never happened. Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he didn't go home with some broad. He tried to replay the previous evening. He sat up in bed and realized he was naked, his shorts on the carpet beside the bed. What the hell had happened last night?

Oh yeah.... That guy he'd met.... What was his name? Rob? Yeah, Rob. That was it. Cool guy. They 'd had a few drinks, and then he drove him home. No... they'd stopped at his motel first. Was that where he was? If so, where was Rob? Sebastian looked out the window and saw his motel a few blocks away.

After showering and dressing—where was his underwear—he went to the front desk and inquired about Rob. The stupid clerk was no help. All she could tell him was that the room had been paid for in cash. As he walked home, he felt a pain in his Ass and knew something had gone terribly wrong. He began to remember the events of last night and cried as he walked along.

Return to Index