Sometimes an idea hits me out of the blue. I met Baz on the handball court, a good-looking guy, nice build, but not one I thought of taking home until he mentioned that “Baz” was a nickname he adopted as a kid because he didn’t like to be called Sebastian. I was like, Whoa! Saint Sebastian. Every gay man’s fantasy. So, why not a Saint Sebastian scene with a real Sebastian. Long story short, he ended up in the playroom standing naked, wrists tied above his head. I had some arrows I’d bought at an Indian reservation, with extremely sharp heads, fantasizing at some time shooting them into naked savages. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a bow, but that wouldn’t prevent me from achieving the perfect visuals.
He was a little druggy when I put the first arrow to his bicep and began to push. He jerked as the point broke the skin and tore slowly through the muscle and out the other side. I stepped back. “Cool. This is going to work.” An arrow through Sebastian’s arm, just like in the paintings. The next arrow pierced his thigh, a tougher muscle than the bicep. Then one into his butt cheek. Ooh, that was sexy. Sebastian was awake now, screaming, and jerking violently on the ropes. His eyes were wild with fear and he looked in much greater pain in reality than in the paintings, where he often stood calmly with eyes cast lugubriously toward Heaven. I stood back and watched his suffering for a while, thinking the Romans must have enjoyed it just as much. Did they, too, stroke their cocks as they tortured Sebastian?
To shut him up, I punched hard into his gut, knocking the wind out of him, and then several times in the ribs and kidneys. He tried to keep his balance but his feet gave way and he hung limply by the wrists. I shoved an arrow up into his arm pit. It came out behind the shoulder. Then one through his ball sac, pinning it to his thigh. Another went through his pectoral and out under his arm.
I only had a few arrows left. One went though both cheeks and his mouth. I jammed another through his left hand and then on through his lower abdomen, just above his dick, and out through his back. With his hand pinned so close to his dick, it looked like he was about to jack off. Then, like in my childhood Bible, I jammed one into his neck, behind the Adams apple. Blood began to gurgle out of his mouth. Now, he really looked like the Sebastian in all those famous paintings.
And to add my own personal touch, the coup de grace, I shoved the last arrow through his eye into his brain. He shrieked, but no sound came out of his mouth, and he must have felt excruciating pain before he died, which is what the Romans intended when they killed the Christian martyrs.
Limp and dead, Sebastian hung by one wrist, my wet dream come true. I sat on the floor for a long time, admiring my saint. Just like the paintings but real…a blood and flesh martyr, dripping with real blood, and a look of pure agony frozen on his face. Must have jerked off three times looking at him.
He was a little druggy when I put the first arrow to his bicep and began to push. He jerked as the point broke the skin and tore slowly through the muscle and out the other side. I stepped back. “Cool. This is going to work.” An arrow through Sebastian’s arm, just like in the paintings. The next arrow pierced his thigh, a tougher muscle than the bicep. Then one into his butt cheek. Ooh, that was sexy. Sebastian was awake now, screaming, and jerking violently on the ropes. His eyes were wild with fear and he looked in much greater pain in reality than in the paintings, where he often stood calmly with eyes cast lugubriously toward Heaven. I stood back and watched his suffering for a while, thinking the Romans must have enjoyed it just as much. Did they, too, stroke their cocks as they tortured Sebastian?
To shut him up, I punched hard into his gut, knocking the wind out of him, and then several times in the ribs and kidneys. He tried to keep his balance but his feet gave way and he hung limply by the wrists. I shoved an arrow up into his arm pit. It came out behind the shoulder. Then one through his ball sac, pinning it to his thigh. Another went through his pectoral and out under his arm.
I only had a few arrows left. One went though both cheeks and his mouth. I jammed another through his left hand and then on through his lower abdomen, just above his dick, and out through his back. With his hand pinned so close to his dick, it looked like he was about to jack off. Then, like in my childhood Bible, I jammed one into his neck, behind the Adams apple. Blood began to gurgle out of his mouth. Now, he really looked like the Sebastian in all those famous paintings.
And to add my own personal touch, the coup de grace, I shoved the last arrow through his eye into his brain. He shrieked, but no sound came out of his mouth, and he must have felt excruciating pain before he died, which is what the Romans intended when they killed the Christian martyrs.
Limp and dead, Sebastian hung by one wrist, my wet dream come true. I sat on the floor for a long time, admiring my saint. Just like the paintings but real…a blood and flesh martyr, dripping with real blood, and a look of pure agony frozen on his face. Must have jerked off three times looking at him.
