Superman’s magnificent, naked mass lay piled and limp on the floor. His big cock slung sideways over his thighs. His balls fallen heavy between them. Powerless. All circuits shorted. Limbs crumpled and lifeless. Arms outspread.
No pulse. He was not breathing.
Kal-El was dead.
Something no one on earth had ever thought could happen.
He checked again. No breathing. No pulse.
Jack had killed him.
He was terror-stricken. In shock. Not only had he not wanted such a thing to happen—not to Superman!—but Luthor would kill him, too. And everyone else in the world!! How could his one finger have—?
By instinct, and frantic as a maniac, he rolled the sagged giant over onto his back, began to pound on his chest with all his might—breathed into his mouth—shook him—breathed, pounded. Breathed, shook, pounded. In moments, Clark’s eyes opened. Listless and stunned. He took in a great jolt of air, and color came back into his face. He began to breathe. His arms moved vaguely, his legs stirred.
Jack couldn’t help himself. He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.
Superman was still dazed. Had he been a normal man, it was as if he had been hit on the head with a hammer. Senses all askew. Trying to comprehend what had happened. Nothing like this had ever been done to him before. Come to think of it, no one had ever taken him down... period!! And this Jack, had now done it three times in one day! Staggering. He was still trying to get his mind around it. And while near-fatally intoxicated, he relished the warmth of Jack hard against him. Could not help but kiss him back, as he slowly regained sense and consciousness.
He was so much in love with his conqueror, he could hardly think.
Indeed, a man worth loving—that powerful!!
Because Jack had killed him, whether by accident or design. And brought him back to life. No other could have saved him. Only Jack.
* * *
It took him two more hours to get his brain to function, again. Jack did not dare try or help to get him up. He would have been too heavy. He just ran to the bedroom, grabbing pillows and blankets... came back, covered him like a dutiful lover, and crawled in snuggling against him. He knew he had to give his man time to recover, even the great Superman, whom he had inadvertently almost destroyed. Clark dozed.
When he came around again, he was able to think. He tried to ply Jack about how did Jack know he was so testicle-vulnerable? (And that his nipples were almost as lethally so?) Jack shrugged, and said he didn’t know, he’d just done what he wanted to do, and was as surprised as Kal at the result... even the putting him down, and to sleep. It had just happened.
And certainly, he had not had a clue, jamming his finger into Kal’s center—his birth source, and seat of his power—as simply as David Bowman had unmanned the computer HAL in 2001, A Space Odyssey— only 100 times quicker!—that he would be affected that rapidly or completely. It had never entered his mind; it was just something that struck him to do, to see what would happen. Like would Superman have been turned on greatly more so, (the navel being a super sensitive spot for some), or would it have just been a teasing part of their love-play, he didn’t know?
Then, Kal-El had to explain to him, what was what. The susceptible, pliability of his testicles and nipples were part of his Kryptonian heritage. And they had been greatly more affected by his sojourn on Earth. It had been a tremendous joy and pleasant discovery, once he’d begun to explore his own sexuality in his late teens. Really, not until he was sixteen had he ever climaxed, nor shot his semen. It was a shock to him when it happened. Having heard such stories at school, and how most of the guys in his class already had good-sized boners, and were dicking half the girls there, as well. He had been very small as a youth, his cock only five inches, while seeing other boys in the showers looking twice his size. Always embarrassed. Then, he started to grow at seventeen, when most had started at thirteen. The delayed shock was quite overwhelming. He had become more than well-hung.
And also staggeringly narcissistic, when he found he could do things he never heard anyone else talk about. But then, he was alone most of the time. No friends to really discuss things with. In college, just overhearing this and that, now and then. Gradually checking out things on the internet. And when he found a site for self-suckers, he finally relaxed, and realized he wasn’t so odd after all. But due to his nature, he also learned he couldn’t share himself with just anyone. It could be fatal: a component of his alien composition. As well, he was getting too big for one thing, and not all that interested for another; except to want to be with other built, hung men... whom he daydreamed over. And over and over. Until he realized he would only be happy with a matching equal. Women barely aroused him. They were nice, but didn’t make him breathe heavy. Or stiffen his member.
Then, now, that it had happened? Jack was certainly not his equal. But having been smart enough to catch him off guard, and assault him in just the right (and totally unexpected) manner, he had fallen like the walls of Troy, to a lesser force, a lesser man... who had staked his claim, and taken him before he could resist. Mated him before he knew what was happening.
Defenseless; frightened; and so hungry to be taken, wanted, loved, powered down.
Many he had wanted to power down on his own. But knowing the inevitable consequence of mating with the wrong person, which could be disastrous, he had never found the one to be vulnerable with, or truly take for his own. Even if more than once he had literally thought of kidnapping some hunkly stud and practically raping him—forcing him. Ahhh, but that was not his desire nor his nature. He would have to bide his time, find, or not find the man of his heart. Yet not “all” are really lucky in that. Some never do, nor will. Most of them, too busy in self-indulgent play or numbered conquests to think seriously. Anyway, he had been had!
He was therefore bound to the one who had slipped in unawares, and snared him.
Now Superman was desperately trying to determine if he had been duped, or if his mate was a worthwhile man. He prayed he was. (But who did he pray to? Yeah, there was a God. Even on Krypton, they believed in a God. Of course, he hadn’t grown up there, but it was spoken of in the crystal library, on the discs of knowledge sent with him as a refugee to Earth.)
Therein was also the single mention of how he could be instantly terminated from existence. To attack him straight through to his core, via his navel... his birth-cord. He hadn’t even thought of it in years. Always wore a titanium small navel protector in his uniform, just in case. Knowing, in actuality, had a ten year old come up to him with an ice pick, and jammed it into his navel, he would have died on the spot. Or even a sharp pencil. The one weakness on his exterior body which could be called his Achilles Heel. But only if it happened “unawares.” Nonetheless, he had never allowed close contact with any humans who could disarm him that way. If there had ever been any sense of danger, all he would have to do is tighten his abdominal muscles, and nothing could penetrate the cellular structure of them. Jack had staggered him when he was most vulnerable: sexually excited, which always made him “weaker,” anyway... with no warning or defense. The thrust was so quick and deep, it had severed his life-connection and all his systems in an instant.
Without Jack, however, he would not have come back, nor be alive to love and caress him anymore. He would have been terminated.
Ahhh! And now with all this knowledge, Jack had the secret to destroy Superman. No Kryptonite needed. What a coup!! Luthor would pay handsomely for this further information. Would Jack tell him? Hmmmmn. He’d have to think about it. After all, there was this game to be played—package to deliver, right? He didn’t want Superman harmed. And he was the only one who could except Lex Luthor, who’d said he had his own way of bringing the proud superhero to his knees, make him grovel and beg for mercy.
Jack wanted to doubt it. But seeing how he had conquered the man, himself, he feared Luthor might have something worse in mind. Well, he wouldn’t worry about it. We could all use a little humiliation. So, Superman would end up with a red face, and know his feathers had been plucked. That still didn’t make him less, did it? Couldn’t permanently curtail his mighty strength, could it?
* * *
Now, that Clark was more rested, had revealed his soul to him... he seemed suddenly recharged, more like his real self. He grappled with Jack, easily overpowering him, pulled him in, and fellated him so hard and deep, Jack thought his eyelids would fall off, his cock and his balls, and all of his semen consumed for weeks down the road. Surely, Clark had vacuumed him to his marrow. He’d never known any man to take him so completely: both his balls and his cock, in and down into his throat, all at one time. It was impossible. But Kal-El did. Showing his man how much he loved him, and could, and needed him, had ached for him as if for centuries. Only when erupting, while taking Jack, Kal lost his own seed, wasting it on the carpet. No time to take it back.
Anyway, it was way past dark. Jack had to continue to show control and restraint. He couldn’t allow himself to be overcome. This was only to last a day or two. He had to bind the hero, keep him down. If he fucked him enough, he could probably keep him pretty tame. Although he kind of really wanted Kal to drill him, too. Just for the experience. Damn, the guy was a real stallion, a true horse. He’d never let anyone do that to him before. Might be interesting. He strangely found he truly craved it. Wanted to be close to him.
Only to show him who was boss, reassert himself, as Kal kissed him, Jack slipped his hand down between them, and grasped Superman’s wondrous balls. Feeling the easy touch, and then Jack’s squeezing lightly on them in just the right way... alarmed, he knew Jack was taking him out. Kal moaned, “NO, please don’t! Don’t, Jack! !” as his own control was being taken away from him again, and he weakened, as Jack continued the massage, and put him down and out, fast asleep in moments.
Superman, thoroughly exhausted and drained, fell out for a full ten hours, afterwards.
Jack owned him now, muscle and all.
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