This is a complete work of fiction for an adult, male-erotic readership. Characters within have been borrowed from other legitimately owned sources, or were entirely new creations and events... only for entertainment purposes. The material may not be used nor published else-where, without permission, except for private, individual usage. Created by the author: June/July/August 2016. [Male/male sex, and love, and severe violence are included.]
“I’ve got him!” he screamed, staring at the monitors, his jubilance fading into a semi-paralysis. Luthor sank back into his high-backed leather chair. The sound of his outburst had startled no less than six of his nearby associates, who rushed to his office in a blur, dropping everything. I mean, the boss rarely howled that loudly. If he did, you knew you’d better hop to it! His wondering minions found themselves embarrassedly confronting the mighty figure of their CEO sunk into his chair as if in a stupor, eyes almost glazed over—had he had a stroke? They approached his desk cautiously, fearful of a further outburst, but ready to call for a doctor, lawyer, or ambulance should such be necessary. Still in a thought-remote state, he breathed heavily into the air, more softly this time. “I’ve got him. He’s mine!”
The rapture of the moment superseded everything else.
He smiled, coming back, turning to them. The wall of monitors he had been viewing were some still flickering with blank, jumpy screens; others, continued their international news forecasts, or ran with the latest stock market tickers. Luthor raised his arms, his hands outspread in apology.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He surveyed the group, peering anxiously at him. He could not help himself. He gave them a great Cheshire Cat grin, and rose.
“A party,” he said. “We’re going to have a party. Everyone, we’re closing down early. Judith,” he nodded to his secretary, “call the caterer’s. I want a feast here within the hour. Champagne, whiskey the finest scotch; some superb wines. Call them now. The rest of you take off your coats and ties. This is Liberation Day! My greatest enemy... has been contained.”
Several, “Sure thing, boss. Right away’s!” filtered through the wondering group. If Lex wanted a party, a party he would get. It would be explained later. One did not question authority.
* * *
For a good thirteen years, Lex Luthor had had the greatest desire to defeat, de-wing, render powerless, de-flower, eliminate his most cherished and loathsome nemesis: Superman. While Lex’s corporate empire stretched globally, his hands in several international pies, (and not always in ethical trysts with government figures), he had always been careful to cover his under-desk tracks with the utmost legal security he could garner. His latest diamond mine scheme had fallen short. Superman, with the derring-do of a skilled reporter, inscrutable bloodhound instinct, and piercing astuteness, had uncovered his plot to monopolize all the diamond resources on the planet... had presented his findings to the Presidents of the EU, the United States, and the Union of South Africa, and they had flatly derailed his devious machinations.
If Luthor was angry, the explosion of Vesuvius would have been a simple pimple, comparatively. While he had never ruthlessly had anyone killed—none of this strong-armed, hooliganism stuff for him!—his methods were nonetheless lethal. Several CEO’s had met with untoward accidents, suicides, heart-attacks, bankruptcies, divorces, drugged-out kids, or simple nanny-failures in the course of his career. He was as adept at getting a senator’s wife in bed with a lovely female newscaster, as he was at having one’s son join the Intifada, proclaiming “Death to America” in the midst of a re-election campaign. But he’d never outrightly killed anyone.
And he was going to do it. As certainly as there was a small, glaring red birthmark on the top left side of his slick, bald head, or a hefty nine by six and a half inch cock, with balls the size of apricots, between his legs. Lyndon Johnson and he were “Jumbo’s” of a similar ilk. Only he did hear it said, his own balls were larger. Luthor was also a relatively muscular man; his physique robust, if not refined, no bodybuilder, but a resourceful weight-lifter of the basics, and a skilled black belt. At 230lbs. and 6’3”, he cut an impressive figure. His waist only at 38, was nicely impressive, under a 52 inch chest. He secretly was almost as narcissistic of his own assets... as was that fucking queer Superfag. He might even fuck the sonofabitch, once he took him down.
The idea crossed his mind. Hadn’t the Romans done such to their conquered, and in full public view while they had them pass by in parade? He could even have it all captured on videos. A just end for such a proud, invincible hero, don’t you think? And an alien queer one, at that. Extra-terrestrials had no business on this planet; much less meddling in his business, to boot!
But he didn’t relish the idea of shit on his stick. Though he’d heard after a forced enema, it might not be so bad. Humble the mighty superhero, the one no one could tame. Fuck him till he cried, “More, more!” That would be one for the newspapers. The Enquirer would love it. The great, straight Superman, bitched for the world to see. Maybe even get him to suck his cock, too. On his knees, begging for it. Aphrodisiacs can do wondrous things to anyone, if applied correctly.
This would be fun.
Nevermore would this Man of Steel stand tall. He would be shamed into a dung pile. Reputation forever destroyed. The public’s disgust of him would cinch it, internationally.
Now, he ruminated over all the ways he had previously thought to take down the superhero. His dearest friend, Dr. Marsden Slagschuster from Denmark, and he, had often discussed how to eclipse this impossible creature, whose genetics defied earthly standards, and whose powers were compared to the supernatural... or divine intervention. Over dinner at Lex’s home just the week before, they had reviewed their options.
They had dined well: fine reds, no less, to complement the Chateaubriand, stir-fried asparagus topped with Swiss cheese, carrots-peas-cauliflower and broccoli in a creamed sauce, miniature crab-briquettes, caramelized macaroni, crowned with chocolate-cherry mousse on vanilla pound cake, after. Tangerines and pears soaked in the dessert cabernet; now replaced with scotch and amaretto expertly blended. Almond-fingered cookies to the side if they wished to nibble, easily dipped into crushed cashews and macadamias.
A burp or two might have been forgiven, but were judiciously contained.
The good doctor had piercing brown eyes, often a bit sharply probing. Lex Luthor found them fascinating, enticing; though he was not one to rave over men. This one, however, continually torqued his interest, as much as wondering what Superman might look like naked.
Luthor cleared his throat, indicating the Scotch should be savored.
The doctor, too, acquiesced. “So, Lex we expound upon the same conclusions. Rather a waste of time, at your rate of progress.”
“Don’t be negative. All things take time. Even the destruction of alien forces.”
“To recount, he or it, is invulnerable. Exteriorly. Can only be conquered from within.”
“There has to be a way beyond that confounded metal he can’t withstand.”
“Blood, brain, or breath. Those are your only options. Penetrate them, you have broken the fortress. Victory assured.”
“What do you propose, doc?” he goaded the handsome Dane. (Aren’t all Danes handsome? This one compact, modestly broad, dark brown hair, with a face like St. Timothy, and a GQ wiriness. He was aware the doctor was bi-sexual; aware the doctor often looked at his crotch, surveyed his shoulders, a twinkle in his eyes. Sometimes Luthor had been tempted. Occasionally he put his arm around him, pulled him close to his side. And backed off, when he felt his cock stirring. “Not yet,” he thought. “Maybe sometime? Interesting, my reaction....”)
“You—we—are dealing with a species not known to our intelligence. Not easy to say.” Slagschuster was always correct, succinct, and to the point.
“A man who can fly on his own, stop a bullet fired at point blank range, lift the front end of a tank, throw a car across a parking lot, practically put out a fire just blowing on it, and see through normal structures... is not easy to subdue, or surprise,” Lex agreed.
Notwithstanding, many of Superman’s abilities had been exaggerated beyond comprehension. He was still very much close to being mortal, only he did have super strength and unusual abilities which defied science and all who studied such.
Luthor sighed, and continued.
“There has to be a chink somewhere. An anti-gravity device that could curtail his ability for flight? Something to weaken those mighty muscles, reduce him to at least a Mr. Olympia status, sans steroids; penetrate his superior skin-shell—get him high as a kite, drunk out of his mind—hypnotized?”
“Maybe the right woman?” Slagschuster suggested.
“From what I know, he’s sterile, and/or a-sexual. No one exists to have claimed to be with him. And he shuns close contact, except in rescues.”
“Maybe he needs a boost. A certain perfume? Maybe he’s never seen a hot, panting woman from Penthouse, or like those on Sports Illustrated swimsuit-less covers?”
“Unlikely. I’m sure he gets around. He’s probably peeped through a thousand brothels, and no one ever knew he was there—in, out, gone in a flash.” Luthor took a further sip of his Dewar’s, musing. The doctor met his eyes, probing. Triggering the other thought.
“Or, men?” Luthor offered. “Maybe men are his thing?”
The dark-eyed doctor grinned. “Physically fit men usually find each other attractive. Why else do they work out? Not for their wives to ogle over. Most women could care less the size of a man’s biceps, pecs. Waist maybe, and below.... You?”
“What do you mean?” Lex growled a tad hostilely.
“You like what you see when you shave? You keep at it, don’t you? Why—some secret attraction, maybe?”
“Damn you, Marsden!”
“You are an attractive man,” the doctor said calmly.
“Of course. Even to myself. And, obviously to you.”
“You’re not shy.”
“Neither one of us would have gotten anywhere, were we.” The doctor winked.
And Lex found it appealing. He pursed his lips.
“I need a cigar,” he said.
“Ahh, something nice and thick to put your mouth around—” Luthor looked askance when he said it—“like yours, like mine?”
“Doctor Slagschuster, speak carefully. I could still have your passport confiscated.”
“Then, who would you have to give you the GH unsanctioned FDA boosters, which you’ve told me do wonders for your semen ejaculate volume?”
“I could find someone. I’m not without resources.”
“Agreed. But I think you are comfortable with me as I am. No threat. And always at your call.”
“Should that change, you will be notified.”
“Ouch,” frowned the doctor.
But Luthor reached out, and grasped his hand, patted it fatherly... and suggestively.
“Perhaps,” then he stopped. Lit his cigar, after another swig of the Scotch. Leaned back, took a deep drag, blew the smoke ceiling-ward. “But we were talking of Superman. The Alien. His impending demise.”
“The subjects you choose do not have easy solutions.”
“It’s why I do the topping... in this city. Ahh, Metropolis!”
“Well, what? Short of Kryptonite—practically impossible to obtain, locked up tighter than Fort Knox, what they know of it, at his own instigation—what magic bullets do we have?”
The handsome doctor furrowed his brow. “There is hypnosis; but how could you get him into such a compromising position to “try” it, much less know if he is susceptible? First, you have to snare the quarry. Then apply your strategies. I have no doubt, anyone, anywhere, no matter how strong physically or mentally, were they inundated for hours and hours, days even, with a pre-recorded message penetrating into their ear channels—you say he is impossible to “inject” with anything, but the ears are fair targets—could well drive a sane man out of his mind, his equilibrium. Alter his consciousness. Reprogram him into another entity.”
“Bingo! And he does have super-hearing. Would be extra-sensory, sensitive to the assault.” Lex rubbed his smooth pate in little circular movements, thoughtfully. “But, as you said, how to ensnare him? Force him to comply?”
“A being of such intelligence, and capabilities, strength beyond human-kind... not easy. I can only think of three ways. Get something into his system: whether by digestion, air, or pharmaceuticals. He cannot live without air. Contaminate it, or curtail it. Secondly, he must have his blood to function. Contaminate it, or curtail it. Thirdly, his mind and senses. Control them, contain them—you control him ! Simple.”
The good doctor was mindful of his cleverness. Luthor stared.
Slagschuster added, “It can only happen from within .”
“Simple as containing a nuclear explosion! You jest!”
“Nuclear reaction has to have a trigger. So must the diffusion of the process. It can be done; we have safeguards on all our weapons. Wouldn’t the same principle apply?”
Luthor wanted to shout. “You approach genius. But, unless we know the process, it can’t be tackled.”
“More Scotch?” the doctor smiled. Luther rambled on.
“Lure him into an airtight vault, and then evacuate the air!? How long could he last without breathing? And who knows where or what he eats: have his food and water laced with paralyzing chemicals, render him unconscious? In that state, perhaps he could be injected with poisons that could destroy his blood supply from within, destroy his brain? Injected through the vulnerable membranes of his mouth and throat? Or once unconscious, close off his air, strangle him, hang him, while unable to respond. Drown him! Jam an electric dildo up his ass, and fry his insides!”
The doctor gave him a strange look, considering. “Oh, the possibilities are endless! You just have to be determined. Nothing exists which cannot be destroyed—eventually.”
“Yeah, I like that air-thing,” Luthor thought. “Lure him in. A lead-lined room, so he couldn’t tell what other equipment was there, waiting to take him down. Seal the place, fill it with gas of some sort, or make sure no oxygen was available to take into his lungs.... How long can someone go without air?”
“Depends. Some three minutes before they faint. Others longer. Depends what you replace it with. Or, in a total vacuum, his lungs might explode, and kill him instantly.”
“Now, that’s an idea. I like that!” Lex sipped gingerly at his Scotch. “I like that, a lot.”
The doctor nodded back in agreement, shrugged.
“Yes, and other equipment. His semen would be fascinating to analyze. Saved for cloning other monsters, all programmed to do your bidding, of course.”
“My own invincible army!” Luthor exclaimed.
“Glad to be of service. For a fee....”
“Have no fear. I will need you to further the proceedings. And the pay is compensatory, no less. Let’s get on this, right away. Construct the chamber. Cheers!”
They shook hands.
“He’s as good as dead,” Luthor gloated.
“But, why do you have to kill him? Magnificent creature.”
“Why run a zoo? No point to it. Feed him, keep his cage clean? How long? It’d be simpler to get rid of him A.S.A.P.”
“I’d love to study his DNA. Keep him alive. Harvest him.”
“Uhhh, perhaps. For a short time. I’ll think about it....”
Lex tossed down the last of his Scotch with a flourish. Then, uncharacteristically, he leaned in. “Tell you what... care to spend the night? Just to seal the deal—.”
Dr. Slagschuster turned suddenly crimson. He had an instant hard-on, and swallowed. In bed with the boss? And he knew he was hung. They both were, what a joy! He’d been taking his own GH. They were sure to become intoxicated. Maybe more?
“Lex,” he said, choosing his words, “a single blow job isn’t sufficient. What you want is something longer lasting... Superman curtailed. But, providing we service each other mutually, at the same time, it could lead to a longer lasting containment.”
“I don’t have time for “love,” you fox. This is just a curious thank you—for your insights. Don’t get carried away.”
“But you might. Once you taste me. I didn’t become a urologist for nothing.”
This time it was Luthor’s turn to flush red. He took a sharp intake of breath. What well-endowed man has not entertained the idea of taking a cock very much like his own? And he looked forward to it, at long last. Thinking also what kind of a cock our great alien might have; a tire stem, a modest rod, something spectacular? No matter, it wouldn’t do him a bit of good, once Lex was done with him. He wouldn’t even be breathing, much less ejaculate....
* * *
Now his objective was within reach. Within sight! He was ecstatic.
After viewing the monitors, giving orders to his staff, his first note on the agenda was to call Dr. Slagschuster. He did so comfortably relaxed is his leather office chair, one of his big hands curled over his crotch as he waited for the doctor to pick up. He caressed himself, remembering. Being with the doctor had enlightened him beyond his ideas of what men with men might be like. He wanted to repeat the episode; but did not dare sound eager. He still had four women he serviced regularly—or rather they serviced him.
“It’s Lex, how are you?”
“I was beginning to think you... had forgotten. I’ve missed you, Lex. And I know I shouldn’t say that. I don’t want to compro— ”
“Compromise our relationship?” Luthor demanded. “Fuck you. Suck you, I’d like to very much again. If that’s what’s on your mind?”
There was a startled, almost too good to be true pause on the other end.
“Again, that’s not important. I have some staggering news.”
“It’s Superboy! I’ve got him! No question. He’s mine.”
“He’s mine. On his knees in front of me, begging for my cock. Just like you.”
“Are you for real?!”
“I’ve got him. Inside him!! You were right. From within.”
“What the hell are you talking about? How?”
“Continue with plans for the chamber, and the other equipment. This will still take some time. Got to clear up a few loose ends. Find the right lure. But I have the faggot right where I want him. He will NEVER get away! Can’t. Lethal as Kryptonite—his own cum.”
“Holy shit! How did you...?”
“Never mind. Meet me at 8:30, here in the office. We have to plan. And yes, I am looking forward to sucking that big boy of yours again. Had no idea we were such a good match.”
“Fantastic. Eight-thirty, then.”
“Right. And don’t wear boxers, I hate them. Be commando. Like me.”
And so it was, the fate of the mightiest man in the universe was sealed. No, he could not escape, could never overcome this. Luthor knew it. He had the goods right in his hands, had seen with his own eyes. Superman was dead.
Now, to locate his executioner.
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