By Rick Henry
Email: strawbridge88@att.net

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THE ANGRY SUN

Part Ten—Crushed From Below.

(Epilogue)

It hardly lasted four months. Unable to stand it any longer, Jimmy reached Jamie. Had to see him. They met in New York. At Jamie’s hotel, were in each other’s arms almost instantly, made love all afternoon.

“I feel so guilty,” Jimmy sighed. “I love him so much. I do, really. We’re due to “reacquaint” ourselves in two more months—in Miami, I know. But I couldn’t wait. Need you so bad.”

“Jimmy, love—me, too. Don’t want to be apart from you. Never felt this way before about any bloke. Torment to wait so long in between.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Jimmy concluded.

“Don’t expect he needs to.”

Jimmy then unloaded his burden, begging for help. He didn’t know how much more he could take. Loving his man to distraction: but a different demure Clark than he’d fallen for, since once upon a time, and the ego-bold Superman, impregnable to anything (except his Jimmy’s Nordic cock and mouth). Had the mixing of the two blended, disappeared, or were they now completely unstable? He never knew which man he was going to be with from day to day—not to mention, the ever-superhero, now somewhat retired, and suffering continual bouts of what others would call PTSD, a wilting paragon of might, sometimes helpless as a kitten, needing his ever-consoling arms and words… other days without a care about anything; or the bored to death Clark also still chomping at the bit to do something useful, significant, not living as a non-entity. He relayed to Jamie how his man awoke several nights a week in a raging sweat, tossing, turning, groaning, crying out in his sleep.

How long was this going to go on? Jimmy was on the verge of resigning his job as well, to take care of him. But then, he’d had to equally worry about taking care of himself, not to mention the pondering, “forced to be hidden away from local public view” Clark, and the dundering re-programmed alien, fighting to get a grip on himself and the world… with nothing to stand on in between. It was like he was babysitting three volatile persons at once, never knowing who was going to appear at which hour, day or night. He didn’t dare tell Lois anything, either. Who could he turn to? Jamie his only solace; and he, Jamie’s.

They were in a mess.

“Studies haven’t really been very conclusive on cases like this: the sensory-deprivation thing. Most do not survive. Why MI6 bade caution, and wanted our boy to hide out, wait and see—before resuming any prior heroics. To be safe. After all, he’s not Earth material.”

Jamie was concerned. Promised he’d look into it, see what could be done. Was there any possibility of “counseling”… for a Superman? Someone who could be trusted with the deep dark secrets of International Security, plus the personality of one of the most incredible beings on the planet? Who could possibly deal with such a case? A wonderment, for sure. Then, to find out he was also a closeted, but active homosexual with two other partners. A dilly of a subject, indeed.

Time passed. They met in Miami as planned, and fucked each other, the three of them, more than silly. A fun interlude. Joyous. Yet still serious and bonding them deeper than before. Not forgetting the alien’s superior DNA was more and more being absorbed into their systems; each of the earthling men noted strange increases in their genitalia, musculature, and nipples. If only a half-inch difference in their members, it was delightful no less. And the buds on their pecs had started to protrude just the slightest bit more. (Actually, by a year and a half later, they were amazed to find they were now a full inch-plus long; though their other parts had not grown as much. And Superman’s own nipples, now burst-thrusting at three and a half plus inches!)

Superman, himself, sort of mellowed out. Got himself into doing some charity work in full costume. Occasionally some rescues of note: a few boats caught off-shore, a private plane snagged from near disaster; quenching the fires in several high rises; but nothing of criminal note, per se. It was well believed Lex Luthor’s nephew had managed to finagle his way into his uncle’s former position, but so far had kept a low profile. And Superman had been warned not to get embroiled with trying to squelch criminal activities, in case another Anomaly might occur. He might not survive the next one.

MI6 asked him to politely check in once in a while. The CIA and FBI basically ignored him. NASA was interested in pursuing some ideas with him on space exploration, and how astronauts might acclimate themselves better on say a trip to Mars; but he fudged and fidgeted, and was not much help. Though he was courteous, and said they might could have some discussions when he was feeling better. The Anomaly had rather unsettled him….

Only Jimmy and Jamie were falling deeply in love, and met every two to three months now. Could not get enough of each other, and were like love-sick puppies when apart. Though Jimmy still had his Kal-El, whom he adored to no end, and was being worn to a frazzle by. This was wearing on his nerves quite deeply. To love two men, so very different, wanting to give up neither, and still have them both. Feeling as much guilty, as ecstatic. He finally did resign his post at the Daily Planet, and moved on to doing freelance work as best he could. With Kal’s ability to produce any financial resources when needed, he could relax about the simpler things. It meant all Kal would have to do is fly off somewhere, get a few raw gemstones from a remote part of the planet, and sell them off to an interested buyer. No problem. Their cash accounts allowed them to depart Metropolis, and head for sunnier shores.

The suggested counseling for Superman never occurred; it couldn’t have saved him anyway.

After a year more of this, Jimmy finally broke down. In Jamie’s arms, he sadly confided, “I love him so much, but I just can’t take anymore…! He still has those night sweats, and fits; times he wanders about like a person with Alzheimer’s, but it only lasts maybe an hour or so. Then, he’s back. And wants to make love to me. Jamie, you know him, you’ve been with him—you know how damned big he is. And I can’t take him. He wants me to so much. But, you, like me, can only take so much of him… and he keeps hounding me to take more and more. God, after he’s fucked me like a maniac, I’m truly sore for a blasted week after. I want him so much, but he’s just “too much.” What can I do? I’ll be damned if I’m going to practice on road cones, just to make him happy—!”

“And everybody screams they want to be huge and hung, and have a really hung lover. Who’s also a mountain of muscle…. Well, you sure got that one, mate! And it’s not the happily ever-after one might think, eh?”

“You damned Scotsman! Least you could do is cry with me. Not against me.”

“Mate, I fucking love to be inside you all the way, and you in me. I can understand that— and what he wants, too. But we were made for each other, and fit so perfect…. He can’t, and won’t, not unless he does himself. Which I’m sure he has, and does—but it’s never the same as with a true mate.”

“How do I solve this?”

“You can’t. Only live with it, or… without.”

“Not a cheery solution.”

“Hmmm. I’m thinking. Now, that I’m no longer with MI6. Why should I… all that money just rotting in Switzerland? Think I’ll get me a place in Corsica, one in Florida, and a nice niche in Carmel, too.”

“And so, what do the idle rich do?”

“You tell me. Besides fuck Superman.”

“Boring, actually. Over time. Filling the time I mean. Not him.”

“You know, Jimmy, what I heard… before I left the home office?”

“What?”

“That a certain Lev Levkowicz… was found at his estate in Thailand. His genitals ripped off, stuffed in his mouth, and his head removed and placed on a silver platter in his dining room. Not a clue who did it, or why. Prior to that, all his funds had been transferred to a Jorel Abernathy in Bermuda. No clue who that is, either. And that every single one of Lev’s remaining partners, except for me ... have disappeared. Ka-poof! No trace whatsoever. Really strange.”

It took him a minute, but it did dawn.

“Oh, my God! You don’t think… he’s gone rogue, do you?”

“At this point, anything’s possible.” And shrugged. Tightened his arms around Jimmy. Kissed him on his ear, rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, no, no. Please, not that!”

“It might mean, then, we are dealing with something we don’t want to deal with. Keep our secrets, or get rid of them. Flesh them out.”

“We have to know.”

“I think you’re right. I have a few tests in mind….”

* * *

Their next rendezvous for the three was not set until April, again in Miami. But Jamie and Jimmy were still meeting frequently on the sly. Only Jamie decided to bridge the channel a bit shorter. And stealthily set up a date with the MOS for mid-February, just he and Kal… in the Bahamas. He would meet him at such and such a hotel, needed to see him rather urgently, he said. Kal intrigued, and actually “turned on” at the prospect, agreed. It was to be their secret. In the meantime, Kal’s chest had even more blossomed forth with enormous results, beyond what had been removed from him by the Don a year and a half before. In fact, his balls now were also the size of a pair of oranges, as if he had found some secret formula, to increase his growth all over. Was it from the super-tonic he had concocted, or some other factor? The same as some invertebrates lose body parts, and are regenerated as equal or better than the originals. Or like male deer especially, who continually shed and regrow their antlers year after year, and ever gaining larger ones in the process. Had the abuse he’d suffered also triggered some sort of “reproductive” increase mechanisms. Who could say?

He'd also gotten somewhat risqué in his appearance. Wearing a skin-tight suit, but with no chest shield as before (to cover the abnormal growth-thrusts from his pecs, and the largeness of his genitals he seemed quite willing to display now), rarely bothering to cup himself any longer. He was surely not the boy-scout figure of before (a manly righteousness, but definitely over-muscled); and one could instantly fall in lust with him close up—maybe that’s what he wanted?

Superman landed with a smiling flourish on his balcony at around eleven p.m., knowing the drinks would be ready, the lights low, and soft music playing… as Jamie like it. He swept into the room like a silent ghost, startling the younger Scot who expected him, but was still staggered at his appearance.

“You wanted to see me?” he grinned rakishly. Knowing what would happen, eventually. He hadn’t flown all this way to sit and chat, and rehash the world news in a low-lit room.

Jamie naturally gulped, stood to greet him, was never un-stupefied by his presence. In fact, the MOS seemed even larger than ever before, certainly less trim than he had been as a captive in the Ukraine, and must have gained twenty more pounds of generally sculpted, but firmly-loose muscle since then and over the time he’d known him. Now, it was impossible not to notice the increased burgeoning bulk of his crotch; and the wonder of his chest, those huge twin slabs of muscle, with an additional tubular bulging-down along the fronts of them. All over a still near-boyish waist of cobbled abdominals.

Jamie also knew his man, his weak spots, and how to play him. And play him he would. He started with some fine, straight up Gentleman Jack, passed him the glass on ice, which he knew the alien loved, rarely indulged in, and would soak up like a sponge. With Hennessy smooth chasers. The two of them tossed them down like Pepsi, twice. (Jamie thinking at once of the lower bulky “juicers” the MOS was proudly not hiding….) He also knew, since Clark was a pussy with liquor, it took very little to get him tipsy. Easier to handle. They went for a third round, not speaking really, just grinning at each other. As Superman, the alien never indulged in alcoholic beverages; but at his Fortress of Solitude, or with his newly acquired “boys,” he was wide open to almost anything. Shedding all of his past inhibitions, once they had indoctrinated him to their love, and his loving with them… making it normal as breathing.

“So, why did you want to see me?” the MOS a bit liquor-flushed, waited, standing there.

“Does there have to be a reason? Other than your presence… I yearn for almost every day. To be near you?”

Superman liked that. Shyly, actually. He adored the Scotsman, very much. In some ways more than Jimmy, but didn’t want to admit it. Jimmy softer, the Scot more masculine overall.

Jamie made his move, neared himself up close to the MOS, four inches shorter, of course, and about 70 pounds lighter… looked up into his eyes, said, “Kiss me, mate.”

The blue clad figure gripped onto him tight, met his mouth, and gave a low, deep purring sound; Jamie also sighing his concurrence.

Then, his hands did what they had planned for all along. Caressed over the taunt-wrapped fabric of the alien’s silken breasts, finding the nubbed ends of his humongous down-slanted nipples, and teased at their tips with a feathery lightness. The MOS, as if lightly taser-struck—taking huge deep breaths, his mighty pecs expanding, lifting, soaring, arching back—“Annhhh, ohhhhh! UunnnhhhHHHH!! No-nohhh, oh —yes, yes!! ” Eyes not alarmed, but knowing he was being taken captive.

“Get out of that shirt. Let me see those babies. Suck them, play them.”

He quickly bared his torso then, for Jamie’s plunder, rising in full thrust to be taken. The regrown nipples were this time greatly different. Beginning darkly from their wide base directly out of the areolae which were at least three inches in diameter, and then jutting forwards, richly swollen: lightly corrugated cones, at four inches in length, and fully four inches around, larger than ever before—a marvel of a sight: his greatest weakness, and source of his magnificent strengths. The ends of them already seeping moist with his arousal… Jamie kept teasing their tips with the ends of his fingers ever so lightly, tormenting him with anticipation. And when Jamie’s lips finally closed over their shafts, they nearly spurted into his mouth with bursts of involuntary nectar, his teeth scraping over them. Superman, moaning out of his mind—came instantly, gasping. Pulling Jamie hard-in close against him as Jamie knew he would. Fighting for his breath to regulate. While his nipples each spasmed with their inner climaxes, and expelled essences.

First conquest accomplished.

Jamie then curled his hand down over the muscle man’s bulging testicled briefs and very wet splotched thigh, his cock still lengthened and longly-thick against it.

“Better get out of those, too. Your Master ... knows you have more—much more.”

Almost deliriously, the MOS complied, “Yes, yes, yes...” so much in heat, knowing what was coming, and hungry for it, while Jamie shucked his own trousers. Both of them quickly nude.

And then, as part of “the test,” Jamie suddenly grew bolder, more strident. Stepped close, swiftly and unexpectedly, grasped his muscular guest by the left wrist, who gave a sharp “Unhh-unhh!” of surprise, shoving his big arm tight up behind him, whirling him around, amazed at his actual complicity… kneed-in behind his, and then pushed him down, face towards the floor.

Commanding: “Now bitch, on the floor! Hands and knees! Ass up! While I mount you, milk you—fuck you, like the muscle-whore you are!”

There was only a brief stiffening uptightness in the MOS’s figure, then a simple, surrendering compliance. Falling forwards.

“Oh, yes, Master, please! Milk me—take my tits. Fuck me with your beautiful cock. Please, Master, fuck me, fuck me, milk me! My big wet tits, my muscled-udders. Yours, all yours!! ” Half sighing, half wailing, half cooing, groaning with pure ecstasy, as Jamie slipped his torpid dick into him with no resistance… reached around and under, grasped fist-holds over his man-teats and milked him roughly, while he rode him. The alien keening softly at his conquest.

Superman blew three loads, one after the other, all over the hard wood floor, spaced at roughly less than two minutes apart. Jamie, his hands thoroughly drenched with the alien’s milk, also shot twice, and almost as rapidly. But inside him.

Then, while the spent muscled mass of the alien was still panting, Jamie again demanded, “Look you freak. The mess you made! Get down there and clean up that mess. Every fucking drop, you bitch! Lick it up. All of it!”

And Superman, cowed, hastily went groveling over and across the floor, like a dog seeking spilt milk, lapping up the effusion of his semen, savoring the taste, and fearful of missing any which might displease the one who had fucked him, had caused him to spurt himself loose.

“Come over here, slut. Now clean off my cock! I know you love my juice as much as you love your own. Suck me clean, bitch. Show me how much of a whore you really are!”

And making whimpering little sounds in his throat, whether of pleasure or humiliation Jamie couldn’t tell, Superman crawled obediently to his crotch, laved over his cock with his tongue and mouth, swallowing the residue of Jamie’s jizz, as well as the musk from his own ass (clean as he always was, nonetheless)… the smell and taste of his own self mixed with it. And seemed satedly content.

Jamie watching him enthralled, almost expected the alien to wag his buttocks for approval. His sweet blue eyes staring up into his, awaiting orders. “Good boy,” he said, patting his slave on his handsome head, the face eager to hear his satisfaction. “Now lay down, cunt, take a rest. Your master is very pleased.”

In wonderment, he then watched—and with a great inner sadness—at how the heaving, former and mighty, huge and naked MOS lay obediently onto the floor, gathered loosely into a semi-ball. Tenderly, Jamie went and laid down, curled up and over him, drawing him in.

They were quiet for a several minutes just breathing. Then, suddenly as if snapped back into reality, Superman rolled, and his arms claimed Jamie, instead—now the stronger one… treasuring him close. Superman kissed him and kissed him, sighed contentedly. Nuzzling.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, Jamie. Your wonderful cock, how you fuck me. Just a little bigger than Jimmy, and he’s so wonderful to me. But you, you’re bigger—go deeper, stronger. Are more of a man about it; though Jimmy’s no softy. But you, so manly, so strong and assertive. I adore you….”

Jamie, as if his heart had skipped a beat. Concerned and confused at the change. “You gonna tell me you’re in love with me, mate?”

“Yeah, I guess… I could say that. But Jimmy’s my love, my one true love.”

“And you love both of us. Is that it?”

“Yeah. Each of you. So much. Only two men in the world I have been with, or trusted. You two make me equally strong and safe, and weak at the same time. So fine, so good to be with.”

“And you are now my willing bitch , anytime I want, right Superman?”

“Hey, what’s that bitch-stuff? I’m nobody’s bitch! Don’t talk that way, Jamie. It’s demeaning. Takes away what we have…. I’d never be like that for anyone.”

“But you just were. Minutes ago. And loved me bitching you, O, Mighty Muscle Man. Didn’t you?”

“But, you… you caught me by my tits. I couldn’t help myself. You made me yours, wanted me so much, like I wanted you. Needed. Love your big cock inside me, while you milk me. Makes me real— different, complete. To give myself to you that way.”

“You like being bitched. Way it goes. No problem.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Ah, don’t mull over it, lad. Semantics, that’s all. With a cock like yours, you could strangle any bastard calls you a bitch. And ram him through right up from his arse to his throat. Then see if he calls you a cunt.”

“You’re right, Jamie. Knew I liked you, your way of putting things. Now, I’m going to fuck you, and you can’t do anything about it. Call me a bitch, you cunt! You like my rod in your ass, as much as I like yours in mine. So which one of us is the real cunt?”

Kal’s cock rock hard… he, moving over him, lifting his legs, and pressing to dominate.

“Hey, now, let’s not get too carried away, muscle boy! Oh, damn—oh, Clark—Kal—easy baby, easy!! You’re too fucking big, easy! Easy. Easy…!! Ahhhh, ah-ahhhhhhh!! ” in both pain and rapture, allowing Superman at last, to take him as far as he could go. Loving it, but aching all through his guts at the same time. Nothing new they hadn’t done before. But somehow, it was different. For good or bad, he couldn’t decide. And Kal, flexible as he was, sucked Jamie off while fucking him. Normal fare—.

But the problem after, well, where was Jamie going with all this? Had he proven some kind of point, he wasn’t sure? Big Blue culpable, pliable in his arms…. Said finally he’d just called Kal because he needed his cock, and couldn’t wait two more months. Superman mulled that over, not exactly satisfied. Then surprisingly Superman finally asked him: “Uhh, Jamie, you know any other guys… hung guys, into fisting? Like you did to me?”

“What?!”

“Like you did to me. Really hurt, almost never forgave you. But I was wondering, if there’s any guys you know—decent chaps, of course—into that sort of thing. Who might also be rather well built, or nicely so, and hung… and uhhhhh—”

“You want to get fisted?!!” Jamie could hardly believe what he was hearing. Maybe Superman had gone loco, after all. More so, than just the display of minutes ago. Worse, maybe?

“It’s just that, well, I’m big. Really big. I hurt Jimmie all the time, and I don’t want to; and I hurt you, too, sometimes. I was just wondering if maybe there are guys out there used to taking an arm, that maybe then could take me, instead. Decent guys, not freaks. You can’t imagine how much I want to be in another guy, all the way to the hilt—and fuck like crazy. But, I really can’t…. Does that sound weird?”

Jamie sort of grimaced, but said no. He didn’t know anyone exactly “decent” into that sort of thing, but he could understand Kal’s ache to be totally immersed in a partner for a change—not always partially. And told him if he found someone, he’d let him know. Also, why did the guy have to be hung big, too?

“So we can do each other, the same.”

“And I thought you said you loved Jimmy. And me, too. And now, who else…? Three’s a bit of a crowd, mate. But more is disaster, if you know what I mean. Eventually. Not the best thing at all.”

“Maybe you’re right. Not a good idea. Might hurt Jimmy too much.”

“Speak o’the devil, you know, your lad’s got a birthday coming up. Heard him once say he’d really like a Rolex, a gold one, sometime.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, maybe I can fix that.”

“Good idea. Good idea.”

Then Jamie winked, and said, “Superman, you’re really getting a bit obscene. You can’t be flying around showing off your tits and balls like that—it’s not right. Ruins your reputation—shocks hell out of people. Go back to using those cups, and that pec plate. Can’t forget who you are, now. Even if sort of retired. Chin up, pal.”

Superman nodded, and sighed. “You’re right, I guess. Don’t know what’s come over me. I-uhh, don’t always think right, since the Anomaly. I’ll do better. For you. And Jimmy.”

* * *

Jamie’s heart was sinking when he told him… but did see the gold Rolex, and feared the worst. Jimmy was near paralyzed when it was relayed to him what had happened in the Bahamas. Their Clark, their Kal, was a genuine Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And Jimmy confirmed there had been a local jewelry store robbery in the news the day before he got his present from Kal. The police utterly mystified that the owner reported only one item had been stolen, and it was a spanking fine gold Rolex.

“But he’s never done wrong before! Wouldn’t think of it! No way, not even against his enemies.”

“… And has killed seven men in cold blood. Stolen someone’s bank account. Robbed a jewelry store. Goes around parading his fucking huge genitals and monster nipples for all to see through his uniform. Unashamedly. Wants to find a fist-fucker to screw regularly. And can be commanded to be my bitch, and slurp up his own cum from off the floor—and mine from my cock, and call me Master… without a shiver. And wagging his dong while doing it. Waiting for a pat on the head, and his next screwing.”

“No, no; no, no, no! ” Jimmy wailed.

“Truth is, Jimmy—he’s damaged goods. Will never recover. No matter how much you love him.”

“But, he’s-he’s Superman. He has to be well!”

“He isn’t. Can’t be. You know…. We’re the only ones who can help him. Whom he trusts.”

“What can we do?”

Jamie paused. This was going to be hard. He loved him, too.

“We have to take him out.”

And Jimmy stared at him as if he were holding a Luger to his head, ready to fire.

“You’re insane!”

“For his own good. For the sake of the world. For himself. For us. For all of what he used to be. It’s the only kind thing we can do.”

“Never! Impossible! You can’t love him, and say that!!”

“I can fuck him to glory, and say that. And love him, doing it.”

“What devil is inside you, Jamie?! You’re as insane as he is, then!”

“The same one that tells me if I can walk up to him—grasp him by his tits, cradle his big balls—in five seconds, he’ll willingly bend over to be fucked, or drop to his knees to suck whatever cock presents itself… no questions asked! He’s sick, Jimmy. Sick! And any petty criminal could do the same, or someone who knows his vulnerability—that he’s as wide open to sexual assault and compliance, as much as he is for a nuclear bomb to be stuffed down his throat and exploded: NO MORE SUPERMAN!! It’s over, he’s gone…. Will never be again. Already as good as dead.”

A long silence. The shock almost palpable.

“But he’s Superman. Indestructible….”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Anomaly proved he isn’t,” Jamie reminded him.

“But we don’t have any Anomalies to use.”

“There are ways. We could red-lamp him, maybe. Weaken him enough. Then, do our thing.”

“Which would be—what?”

“Kill him, the simplest way possible.”

Jimmy sat there like a stone. Could not grasp what was being said.

Well, it was rather predictable, considering he’d never been an MI6 agent… seen death often as a more expedient or humane solution, than to let something poisonous, or terribly wounded live on and on. Making other things worse, or contaminate the little life there might be left in them to hope for. Or live by.

Jamie, too, was struck on two counts: he loved his redheaded near twin beyond his own capacity to absorb, and he truly loved the wondrous male muscle-stud he once could have worshipped forever, and had inadvertently instead helped to ultimately destroy. Wanting to save and spare him, he had in the end failed: could not redeem nor rescue him… nor now even want to do what he knew must be done! He had become the unexpected assassin—bodyguard to the king—when the king, in whom was found an irredeemable flaw, could not remain… to preserve the good of the kingdom.

“I have money,” he said. “Enough to buy any amount of Kryptonite needed. Probably the most humane way to do it, little by little…. Only I’ll have to use every past contact I’ve ever had to procure it. Since everyone has done their damnedest to hide it away, to save his ass in the first place. And now we need it to finish the job.”

“Jamie, I love you,” Jimmy’s face screwed into a knot. “And I love him . Help me.”

And Jamie said as briskly as he could, “If you truly love him, this is the only way to save him. For his own sake—. He must die.”

* * *

It cost him a bundle, but the plans had to be foolproof. Twelve and a half million for the boat, and fifteen more for the Kryptonite. It was a white and silver trimmed 120-foot Christensen yacht, pre-owned 2012 model, with four staterooms, needed a crew of four minimum; and then the lead coffin lined with the radiant outer-world material, custom made. Plus, the necessary additional adjustments for the bed in the main stateroom, where the finale would be played out. A special mounting of a mirror, easily concealed with a retractable slide, directly over the main play area, above the large bed. (And the further installation of some hidden, special coolers built into the walls.)

Name of the vessel was “Sweet Dreams.” Appropriate, Jamie thought.

The crew of four was selected carefully (and the Jamaican cook, especially). They were under orders to keep out of sight, except when dinner was to be served; not to be seen by anyone or ever go into the passengers’ quarters. Their pay was $10,000 each for the two week run. It was a hush-hush operation, for a very “private party”: a huge muscleman who liked to be serviced by his boys , and thus the probability of there being continual nudity and some outrageous sexual activity going on: BDSM, some screaming noise—all nobody’s business. The crew also did not have exactly savory reputations, so their complicity was rather expected, and whatever happened would not be considered out of the norm. They’d seen it all; and done worse.

The plan was to board in San Juan, and cruise leisurely through the Virgin Islands. Clark and Jimmy flew in together, with altered passports. After all, the very last known existence of Clark Kent was to appear to have been in Miami; Jimmy, too; Jamie took care of the details. He’d done all this smooth-shaven, as he requested Jimmy do the same. They would regrow their beards on the trip. Identities continually altered. As well, they would also denude the MOS of his hair completely, along the way. Once into his inescapable captivity.

As he told Jimmy, “There needs to be four phases, about three days each, I figure…. Lull him, prime him, deplete him, then execute him.” Jimmy blanched, but agreed. Smooth and painless as possible (though Jamie had a few things in mind, not necessarily painless, but didn’t want to alarm Jimmy, who he knew would accede, once things were set in motion). There would be eating, drinking, swimming, snorkeling, sight-seeing… whatever.

And as Superman said, “I’ve really never had a vacation, Jimmy. Always busier than a hornet’s nest, one thing after another. Endless the things that need to be taken care of in the world, from minor traffic crashes to petty thief robberies. Tiresome as hell, and always hard to prioritize what is immediately most important. Now that things have calmed down, quite a relief to just go with the flow. Forget most of it all. Always too much, too much, too much…. This idea of Jamie’s is just perfect. A real killer.”

Jimmy kind of swallowed, and rolled his eyes.

When they boarded ship, the Captain nearly did a double-take: his one passenger, while a fine six-foot-three, was a staggeringly built hunk of muscle, on par like a Mr. Olympia, no roided-gut here, and the biggest chest, shoulders and arms he’d ever seen on a man, topping the tiniest waist imaginable. The thirty-four-year-old Clark… with an almost innocent but cherubic face, azure startling eyes, and a very quiet, but utterly masculine demeanor. Dark-haired, with a warm, flashing smile. Knowing as told, they were all going to fuck each other silly; and inside , was sure he’d like to participate, but knew not to ask…. The other two: a notably built dark red (the one who had hired him), and the other, a lesser, but also built and younger ginger. A fine and handsome trio, who he also later saw were abnormally well-endowed—with the impressive muscleman, the most gigantic of the lot. Though he somehow felt a twinge of recognition, but couldn’t quite place him.

Must have been someone from a film, somewhere…?

Deck wear was generally shorts, ample-filled thongs, clogs/sandals, and light-weight cotton robes; the evenings could be chilly, heavier robes available—the Caribbean sunsets spectacular. They had to be careful where they swam: shark-free, jellyfish free, no moray eels. First day they did some free-form snorkeling, chattered pleasantly, were going to watch a movie. At dinner after, Jamie then came up behind Clark, began to massage his neck and shoulders. They hadn’t none of them touched beyond shaking hands since boarding. Jamie’s hands slithered down over Clark’s pecs, and it was over. Robes off, thongs gone, fucking each other in moments. Jimmy drilling Jamie, while Jamie drilled the MOS. The MOS’s monster rod, being frotted close against his abs and torso, shot fairly quick, and again as Jamie hadn’t finished and needed to, bringing him to climax again. Then, they watched the movie all curled in a mass, and went to bed. The main below stateroom, with a huge emperor-sized bed. Repeating the process, only this time Jimmy was the main driller, Jamie on top of him. Falling asleep, smiles all around.

Clark and Jimmy both, perfectly enchanted with the mirror above in the ceiling, and able to watch the entirety of their frolicking three-some. Beaming like teenagers.

(Though Jamie had warned him ahead of time, “Don’t let him take on the aggressor role; we need to keep him submissive, or it will be harder than hell to handle him, if he goes back and forth, or tries to gain or maintain as much control as he might like. Even if now and then. His mind has to be geared to being “conquered,” as much as possible. Major part of the plan.” And knowing Clark’s greatest weakness was his nipples (and his balls), Jimmy figured it would be pretty simple to carry through. Latch onto them, the guy generally would become helpless enough to be raped by a bold twelve-year old. No resistance. Which was actually scary, if one thought about it. The Great Superman—downed that easily? Yeah, a problem which needed to be taken care of, for sure!)

* * *

While the third day was going well, late in the afternoon the captain informed them he had to head for port. A tropical storm was brewing, and at this point whether it was a natural, hurricane building force, or merely an annoying depression, it could delay everything by days—best not to be at sea. Jamie agreed. They also dared not let Superman reveal himself by coming off with some sort of dramatic rescue should they be caught outside. His costume had been left at home. It was upsetting the protocol, but no choice remained. They were hoteled for three days. At least Jamie could procure some steel chains he considered using, just in case. It was not near as interesting touring a few museums, while the rain poured outside. A strong storm, passing.

Taking a breather, the MOS fucked them both, several times, jockeying his status, and his strength being what it was, absolutely no way to stop him, they had to accept and play along. The weakening process hadn’t yet been able to be put into place. While uncomfortable often, they still enjoyed it; knew they would miss his empowered domination, later…. Few men on the planet to compare, they realized. Just relax, and ride out the storm. His was a once in a lifetime extravagance to be savored. And… cherished. Till they snuffed him. All that muscle, all that cock. Soon gone. They did love him. But, his was no longer a viable living, workable reality.

And after, they would still have each other. Very workable, very viable.

Back at sea, the plan unfolded. Jamie decided to speed up the operation. “Hey, Clark, I heard you used to be a real pussy when you were younger. Let the kids walk all over you.” The big muscle hunk having just come from his morning shower, naked and wet, drying his hair. He looked kind of quizzical at Jamie.

“What do you mean? That never happened?”

“How I heard Kal-El from Krypton… it’s natural for him to like big cock up his ass. Since when he’s alone, he loves to stuff-in his own, fuck himself, while he sucks his own nipples. And comes like a bandit!”

“Did Jimmy… tell you that?”

“Didn’t have to. I’m not stupid. I’d like to see that, Superman. How you do it. Really hot, if you ask me.” He saw the MOS had already started to spring an erection. “Come on, show me. Show Jimmy and I—we’d love to see that.”

“You guys know I take myself, at least once a day, to maintain my strength. But, it’s a-a private thing, and…”

“And we know you’d love to reveal, show us, how easily you do it. Nothing odd about it, since we’re all the same family, now.” Jamie turned on his Cheshire grin.

“But—.” He could tell Clark was a little shy, but also “enticed” by the idea.

“You’re getting hard, Clark. You want us to share. Maybe even add to the fun? Come on, let’s see how you pussy yourself. I remember how you once told us you had perfect muscle control. Could even fuck yourself with your own cock-root from within , no insertion… can massage your own prostate, just by controlling the muscles inside… just flicking your nips a little to get started, and rubbing your own dick up between your pecs. Did it for years, no Jimmy. And using no hands at all. Just mind and muscle control.”

The MOS was breathing hard, his foot-long plus rising, though not quite fully firm. He was snared.

“Well, if you… want to help out….”

“Down, boy, down. On the bed. Like a good puppy. Let’s see. Just like we’re not here at all…. Bend and flex that big whopper up inside you… suck those udders. Oh, wow, I know you can. And do. Big muscle, cunting himself—just like a real whore-man. Bitching himself...! ”

Jimmy and Jamie both then laying down gently beside him, watching while he began to manage his bulky testicles aside, raise a knee, and slip his cock up into himself, little by little. The MOS already entering another world, heave-breathing, moaning, feeling the rapture of himself in himself, further and further, and hardening as he went. Jimmy flicked a little at one of his nipples to prime him; Jamie leaned close in to his ear, and whispered, “Now I know why you asked me about other hung guys into fisting? You really liked it. And want a whole arm up inside you, big as your cock. Or, another cock as big… to pleasure you. Right, Super-cunt? Right?”

“Jamie, don’t,” Clark whispered back. “Don’t say that. What you did, I-I…” but he couldn’t finish. The shocking memory of Austin beginning to fist him lurched back, unsettling him, and then Jimmy on the other side of him, was lifting up one of his heavy muscled pecs to his mouth, his own lips, so he could suck on the protrusion of his own monster teat, and began the taking of his needed, necessary milk… completely lost. While Jamie took his other teat, and roll-chewed on it, Jimmy kissing all over his face, and then reaching down to play with his churning swelled testicles, which began to withdraw, contract, then lower and expand, and contract again. Minute after minute after minute, but it didn’t take long. Totally, completely out of it, breathing as if he’d run a marathon—while he flexed his hips, and his anal muscles within and around his cock, fucking himself… practically choking, when Jamie additionally squeeze- thrust his other teat up into his mouth—both of his nipples soon exploding then into his own mouth, climaxing, his pecs convulsing—while his jizz shot deep into himself at the same time.

Renewed, restored, replenished! He gurgled something unintelligible, rivulets of his nectar seeping from the sides of his mouth, he bucked, still receiving his own ejaculate, his eyes rolled upwards, he stiffened a moment. And passed out. (Normal, when sating himself that way. Which Jimmy had told him about, and Jamie already knew.)

“Damn, hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Jamie wowed. And stared wide-eyed over towards Jimmy. Who actually was wiping tears from his eyes.

“I still love him,” he gasped. “I really do.” And crying he threw his arms around the unconscious alien as much as he could, and hugged him close.

“So do I,” whispered Jamie. And threw his arms around the both of them.

Superman awoke an hour later, ready to fuck each of them… who couldn’t escape, and did. One after the other, alternately howling, and yelling, sighing, and ohhhing. Rapturously. In his full strength and demand, they were helpless. And knew it. The alien insatiable.

But this could not go on.

Later, Jamie knew he had to act. Cleverly, nonchalantly after dinner, and a few glasses of wine, he brought up the subject. “You know, Superman, this is really great for us. We all enjoy the heck out of our interlude. Each with the other, and all together.”

Clark was nodding, absorbing what he said with a wide smile. Jimmy, too, who reached out a hand to grasp onto the Scot’s. They were still in the main bedroom, seated at a small table.

“But, I kinda thought, maybe we could add a little spice to all this. A couple of toys, not much. Just a wee bit of “role-play,” maybe? Could be cool. Knowing how you… like to serve , and be served. Maybe some “bind and tame the big-muscle captive” routine? Watch him squirm while we get ready to fuck him, tease, pleasure him into busting a nut, without hardly touching him. How’s that sound, Kal? You like the idea?”

“Getting me to spontaneously blow, you mean? If you can. I love that, when it happens! Always so long and slow, and drawn out—intense as hell, too. Why not? I’m game. Being as I’m the one getting all the attention.” He crinkled his eyebrows, looked to Jimmy for approval.

“I do that with you a lot, anyway. Don’t I, Kal?” Jimmy piped in.

“Why I like it so much,” Clark answered. “Bring it on, baby. Bring it on. Me, “the big and mighty Superman,” who loves to get pleasured by his boy. Always. His man , I mean.” And he leaned over and kissed Jimmy sweetly on his cheek, ruffled his hair. Kissed him again.

Jamie stood up, went around behind him, pulled the already prepared steel chain out of his robe pocket. “I was just waiting the right time for this. Hey, Clark?”

And he slipped the cold, heavy round-linked steel chain around the alien’s neck, a 25-incher that would fit fairly tight, with maybe only room enough to get one’s hand under it and pull on. After all, Superman’s neck was practically 22 inches around, nearly as large as his biceps. It was like a large dog’s choke chain, with a loop at the back. Superman seemed to like it.

“So, what do you plan to do with this?”

Jamie suddenly then jerked roughly on the chain, practically pulling the startled man out of his seat, almost choking him.

“To Master you with, bitch! To teach you who’s boss—the true strong one! To make you service me, like the whore you are!” Clark’s eyes went wild-wide, his fingers quick to claw at the chain, his mighty strength certainly beyond a match for puny Jamie’s… and stopped, almost paralyzed.

“Come here, slave! Let’s get you prepared for some real fun.” And he jerk-tugged the much larger, taller MOS across the room. “Now get out of that robe,” he said, slam-whirling the surprised Clark tight up against the wall—watching how the alien meekly slipped down his robe from off his massive shoulders, let it drop to the floor with a soft plop.

“Stand up, straight! Turn around. Show us those big tits of yours. Chin up, and be still! Be quick!” and with an adept flourish, Jamie then snapped the loop of the chain on the muscled neck to a previously not seen ring attached to the wall at neck height.

If he’d wanted to, Kal could have ripped the wall down with the chain to get free. But he didn’t, just stood there straight and still. As if he’d been hit in the forehead with a hammer, hard.

Jamie then leaned in, and bit down as hard as he could, on each of the MOS’s nipples, one after the other—who almost screamed. His arms in defense, yet cherished and rising, to encircle his assaulter’s head, but merely just held him close to him, while nearly shrieking, head banging back against the wall, while being savagely chewed on. His erection, of course, flared instantaneously, stretching his thong forward outlandishly.

Jamie then ordered him, “Get out of that fucking thong, you queer. Let’s see that flag pole rise, and shoot.” He had another chain that seemed to appear from nowhere, and loop-fastened it around the alien’s waist to another ring in the wall.

Head forcefully crimped back, waist secured, though his arms and legs were free, the MOS was hopelessly bound. His eyes looking frantically around for some kind of help, some hope of release, not forthcoming.

“Jamie. Jamie, please… let me go,” he moaned softly. “Not this. Not this way… wasn’t what I-I meant, believed—”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch! You’re mine, now. You’re just a big pile of muscle-shit, not good for anything, but following orders. YOU GOT THAT?!” right up in his face.

The MOS swallowed desperately. Something was very wrong. He felt so weak….

“Listen, slave, to your Master! Both of us. We own you, now, self-fucker!”

“Ye-yes, sir,” Superman gabbled out. He looked to Jimmy helplessly for aid. Who raised his eyebrows, and just shrugged.

“Do what the man says, cocksucker—freak-bitch! It’s over.”

“Now,” commanded Jamie, “I see that dick of yours’s hard as a mast. So you just make it spit it out for us. No hands!! See how far you can shoot. Bet it’s not even a yard, you wimp-ass. Big dick, no power to it! Prostate’s too pussy weak, with no dick to rub in against it. Now, grab onto those damn big cow tits of yours, and jack them till they blow your juice all over the place. Until I tell you to stop. If it takes all night, over and over and over. Capiche? I want to see how much you got? If you’re man enough—super-hero, my ass. You’ve already shot three loads today. A real self-cunted bitch!”

With garbled sounds in his throat, a wailing desperateness being made known, Clark began to comply, fist-cupping up and under his huge breasts, slowly jacking them… like he’d always done alone, sometimes slow, sometimes fast… the firm-loose outer skin of his nipples slipping joyously over the matrix of their long, turgid shafts, equally if not as intensely as if fisting over his cock, if he could only grasp it… and down to the sensitive, ridge-rounded ends of them, so tender, they surely would make him cum in minutes, already wet with his nectar, nearly ready to burst forth.

He did; super-excited, he shot a full yard plus, the first volley, his whole body arching with the joy of it. Then, again, in about ten minutes. The third time, it took nearly twenty minutes. And then he sagged almost hopelessly, expended, nearly choking himself. Jimmy hastened to unfasten the chain at his neck and waist, and the MOS slumped, dropped to his knees, moaning, sighing, tears pouring down his cheeks, gasping for breath, obviously spent, exhausted.

A broken heap of muscle on the floor. He looked imploringly to Jamie, “Master...?”

“Good bitch. Good boy. I won’t have to spank you, this time. BUT! Clean up that jizz all over the floor. Lick it up, Superman! It’ll give you back your strength. Then we’ll let you rest till tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Master,” the MOS stammered. “Thank you.” And desperately sought to take as much of his seed as he could find, lapping it up hungrily from his expulsions across the teak wood flooring. Urgent to repower himself, maybe make this nightmare no longer a strange, long- ago dream, now suddenly come to re-haunt him again? Could not be real! Out of his control?

“I-I had no idea,” Jimmy hard-whispered to his friend, “that it was this bad.”

“I told you, mate. Doesn’t take much. He’s been trashed out…. We have to do it.”

“You’re right…. The only way to save him. What he was.”

* * *

He slept unusually late, and after showering and breakfast, still had a kind of stunned look to his eyes. Though dismissing it, not wanting to dull the party asking troubling questions, the so-endearingly handsome, demure looking Clark, with a face one instantly would want to put your hands up to at his cheeks and kiss yourself breathless against… not to mention the staggering wonder of his nakedness, superbly built, hung like a true stallion with a pair of bull’s balls, and pecs that defied description, from which protruded nipples defying even any more description, over a boy’s tiny waist, arms any contest bodybuilder would cry for, and beautifully tapered, but not excessively thick thighs, reared by a set of buttocks tight and firm and rounded past awe… he stood ego proud on the outer deck, and dove into the water. No worry with sharks, temperature, who saw him or not.

He was under for a good twenty minutes. When he resurfaced, he was not even gasping for breath; and must have circled the boat a good twenty times as well; then more or less lifted himself in a half-jump sort of flight-hop (careful no one else would see him except his two men), onto the rear deck… with a large-chested pushed-out, and arms wide “ta-dahh”—a huge grin on his face.

The two devious friends encircled his body mischievously with their arms, still hardly able to bridge around his mass, smiling, and assuring him after all that exercise, he’d surely need a little relaxing… and ushered him below, in a now anticipatory half-risen status, with all three of them sporting semi-rising erections. Leading him down to his unsuspecting fate.

Once below on the large bed, trading multiple kisses and caresses, as they rolled and frolicked, finally one each, taking his overly swollen nipples into their mouths, suck-draining his juices… the now powerless MOS was all theirs. After driving him nearly wild with writhing need, Jamie stood up and away, had him slide his massive torso and head half-hanging off the bed, and slipped his ten inches deep into Superman’s eager throat, who also easily sucked in his balls as well… while Jimmy entered his nine and a half inches into the alien’s moistened under-hole at the same time, and lifting that raging horse cock to his lips, plunged his tongue deep and swirling into his mate’s glans slit, who arched and squirmed frantically—Jimmy and Jamie’s fingers still each milking at his udders, while they raped him voraciously, all three to ecstasy.

Actually this time, the alien was out of breath, because they kept him down, relentlessly, till he came four times. Fucking, milking, sucking, jacking, and torquing him. Never allowing him any thought of reciprocal domination in return. Knowing this would also deplete and exhaust him, make him more than conqueredly pliable.

* * *

Of course, being all this time at sea, if not making love, or swimming, things could get on the boring side… sunbathing, reading. Oh, well, they knew what they had to do, and take the phases as they came.

Later, that same evening, after watching another film in the main lounge, they played a few games of cards. Superman somewhat still unsteady from the earlier rounds of his expulsions, knew also that to “take of” from his men was about as nearly restorative as he might get (their DNAs thoroughly mingled with his), and he started to uncharacteristically move into a more dominant mode. Scooping both men up in his arms, one under each, he dragged them off in protest downstairs to his stateroom, intent on draining the both of them. He took the least resistant Jimmy first, who burst into his mouth as expected, and then while taking the willing Jamie… Jamie nodded slyly to Jimmy.

With no notice at all, Jimmy slid off the bed, found what he was looking for, eased quietly up behind the cock-engaged MOS, and slipped a black silk hood over his head. In a matter of seconds, there was an instant reaction: a definite pause, as Jimmy secured the hood and stepped back. The hulking muscle-bound alien froze in place for several moments, then began to tremble, and shake uncontrollably. No one was holding him. He let out a mournful, heart-rendering wail. His arms and legs seemed to be desperately clawing at the air, his torso lurched, convulsing in great heaves.

“Now, you fucking slave , get off this bed. And on the floor where you belong, dog !!” Jamie commanded.

There was a palpable pause, and the muscled mass of the alien went still. While his hands rose up desperate to remove the hood, it was as if he couldn’t, frozen—pawed over it, but seemed not to dare undo the cords that wrapped around his throat. As if afraid to try. Jamie was on his feet by then, and had found what he wanted. A dowel only four feet long, having previously been tucked along a corner of the wall. He roughly slapped the hero’s bare ass with it several times, scowling. “ON THE FLOOR, MUTT!”

Superman jumped with a frightened yelp off the bed and onto the floor, shaking like a leaf.

“Come on, dog,” Jamie hollered. “Bark for us, crawl around; roll over. Howl!” The terrified figure with the darkened mask over his head was able to hear, could make noise, but not able to see. It was enough. He crawled unceremoniously on all fours, barking, and howling, sniffing, and scooting along the teakwood floor boards.

“Roll over, bitch! Kick your legs, howl at the moon!”

Jimmy with wide eyes saw it all happening, his heart shredding further and further—heard the whining, guttural dog-sounds, the legs and arms into the air… the woofing, the yowling.

“Now, you mongrel, back in the corner, till we tell you to come out. And be quiet!”

Whimpering softly, the creature did as told, curling up into a tight ball like a woodchuck, tremoring.

“Worse than I thought,” Jamie groaned. “Just the hood, alone.”

“And anyone could do the same, catch him unawares—.”

“Exactly.”

Then Jamie got the metal pan, with one of their half-eaten hamburgers in it, and placed it near his feet. He tapped the floor several times, and the hooded man stopped and became alert. Jamie then made noise on the pan, and the figure scurried towards the food. But he stopped suddenly with a sharp whack with the dowel on his ass, and waited.

“You know what you have to do, before you eat, pig! DO IT!” Jamie slapped the MOS’s gorgeous small ass once more with several blows. In horror, Jimmy watched while his beloved grasped hold of his own huge, lengthening member, and began to masturbate furiously over the food awaiting him. When he shot, he sat back on his haunches awaiting further instructions.

“Okay, slut-bitch. Raise that hood over your nose, sniff for your food,” Jamie ordered.

A tap on the floor, a tap on the pan, a strike across his gluteals… and the MOS lunged for the food, and face down gobbled it up in great ravenous jolts. Then sat back, awaiting further commands.

“Cover your face now. Back to your corner, dog! Back!”

The alien returned to a far corner of the cabin, whining softly.

Jimmy, however, interrupting, said, “Up. Up on the bed, now. Up!”

Scampering around blindly, then up onto the bed, the huge muscle man settled himself, like an obedient retriever… chin on his hands, still whimpering. Jimmy, his soul broken, threw himself on top of him, slipped off the hood. When the MOS saw the light suddenly again, he shook in great spasms. Let out a terrifying cry of anguish, shuddered and convulsed.

“It’s alright, Kal. It’s alright. It’s Jimmy. I’m here. It’s over…” and hugged him close. The both of them weeping copiously in each other’s arms for nearly twenty minutes. Jimmy finally lulled him to sleep, slipped a sedative into a bracing last drink, and watched him drift off.

* * *

“Remember those toys we talked about, to add in a little spice?” Jimmy ventured next morning. “We’ve got something special, just for you. Know you’ll love it.”

Groggy already from the previous night, the MOS was welcome to any idea that might be refreshing. They had him lay back, after a brief continental breakfast in bed, and Jamie told him, “Man, if you’ve never had your tits pumped, you are missing one hell of a thrill, big as they are —and we get them bigger, you’ll go fucking nuts.”

“No kidding? Never heard of that,” Clark mused. “Bigger, wow—that would be super !”

“Super , for… Super-man! Why not?” Jimmy coaxed. “Besides, I think we need to start building up a reserve source of your power, Kal. Case something happens. A few stored vials of your breast juice, and semen… might really come in handy. You know how you get sometimes, really worn out, exhausted? Can’t remember things? A few shots of your milk to restore you, might really be a boon. And quick. Or, we could use the excess to have some scientific studies done, maybe even start a clone-bank? Think of it, a bunch of little Superman’s all running around… and you’d never have to touch a woman to do it. Not that you’d want to, with me here. But a legacy of a super impressive nature. Maybe the world could use some other helpers?”

“Without you , I couldn’t live, Jimmy. Wouldn’t be alive…. Others , I don’t care about.”

It was a sobering statement that struck Jimmy to his core. “My love, my perfect love,” Jimmy smiled back, stroked his forehead.

Fascinated, both Superman and Jimmy watched, mesmerized as Jamie got him prepped, and attached the broad cups of the pump onto his chest. When Jamie turned on the switch, Clark gave an involuntary, “UnnnhhhHH!” aloud, and was shocked at the pull and suction on his sensitive teats. And because it was geared to be “strong,” the sensations had the MOS writhing in near ejaculate ecstasy within several minutes… gasping, and grabbing onto Jimmy to help him. His erection beyond ready to blow, while in surprise he saw Jamie slip a large Lucite cylinder over his penis, with a tube going out of the end of it; and it, too, began to pulsate and throb around his member, bringing him into a world of staggering sensations never before known.

He popped his nuts near instantly, and sank back… while the equipment was still running, saying “Wow, that was powerful stuff—really wild. Okay, okay. Turn it off.”

“No, not yet. We need to get at least a pint from each breast. And a half a gallon from your testicles. Then, we can rest, and keep on. Till we reach our quota.”

“What?! What, are you crazy ? You know how fast that will deplete me? No, no, guys! St-stop! Now! No-oow… please!! ” The pump continuing. As he shot another volley of his semen, was rapidly approaching the point of no return again—unable to stop anything—totally overcome by the power of his own alien hypersexuality—that once triggered could become insatiable, if not terminated in reasonable time. And oh, the pressure that always came: like some kind of crushing across the center of his forehead, and sharply slanted down behind his eyes, taking control of all his senses. His pecs throbbed and ached, and convulsed as he was experiencing waves of breast orgasms, his milk being out-pumped, and from below, his prostate producing an overload, taking over… climaxing within and without, paralyzing his will and abilities completely.

He tried to shift and get up, stop this. But Jimmy and Jamie were both holding onto him, lying beside him, each one of them nearly body-wrapped around each of his huge arms, holding him down fast, and each one of their legs wrapped around his thighs, imprisoning him. His great strength rapidly being pumped out and diminished. The ecstasy of the proceedings, staggering his mind, yet setting off fearful, terrible warning-bursts of alarm.

“No, Jimmy, no! Please, stop this! Stop—help me!!” Almost more terrified than ever before, realizing something more than strange was happening. And his boys were doing it to him!

After the fifth round, he was all but catatonic, his eyes glazing-wide, tears streaking from the corners of them, saliva dribbling from his mouth, helpless, and inert, except for the natural spasms his body made… his senses going into a nirvana of constant raptures, that could not be bridged nor controlled. A small part of him realized they were killing him—but why , he couldn’t perceive, or dare try to think of a reason. He was theirs. And they had him.

Completely.

He could not escape. Only they could set him free.

Once he finally lapsed into a coma, they replaced the broad breast cups with tubes more like those for cow-milking. Stronger, more durable, and custom-made to fit his length-largeness: both teats and cock. They let him rest for four hours, then began the process again for another two. Rest four, pump two. He was totally out of it, said nothing—could not speak, think, or barely move. His life essences being drained from him, and no way to replenish them… except by their own assets, which they, of course, were refraining to give him. As long as his body could reproduce, they kept pumping him. But soon trickles of blood began to be interspersed within his juices, and they knew the job was pretty well done.

When he finally came around, the apparatuses removed, he swirled in a hazy fog of consciousness, asking them over and over, why had they done this? Why? He was so weak, so weak now. Could not comprehend what they had done this for. And asked desperately for a vial of his own milk, his own semen, for some sort of restoration. They gave it to him, just a little, and he perked up, rather wide and more awake then. Feeling less woozy.

Though his wrists and ankles had been secured somehow. He couldn’t conceive why.

For your own good, they said. And then to his horror, to be sure, after each one of them laid him back comfortably on the pillows, not really noticing what more they were going to do… slipping a large ball gag over his head, into his mouth, his eyes widening—and with stark terror saw in their hands a pair of nearly ten inch long, large gauge, hypodermic needles! In shock, he saw and felt their firm hands grasping around each of his huge, so very tender udders in each of theirs, pulling forwards, and then slow-plunged the sharp points straight into the centered crowns of each his nipples—straight down and through their long fleshly shafts, and deep into his pecs—while he bucked, and screamed and screamed and screamed, not able to hardly make a sound, the ball gag stifling him. His panic and pain nearly suffocating him.

The cruel, thick needles piercing deep into his milk sacs, under his muscle, and drawing out whatever milk there was left… until the chambers of the needles filled with blood, and they knew they had tapped and depleted his strength-source completely. It would take his body more than a week to possibly replenish himself, regenerate more nectar—and by then, it would be no matter of concern. His keening, muffled wails went unheeded. Weakened, he now lay slack, powerless.

Jimmy gently removed the gag from his mouth. Superman’s still fear-shocked eyes, uncomprehending. “But we can still have sex,” Jimmy said. “We told you, we needed to save— prepare your “vitals” for later. If needed. Use them for some important things. It’s just temporary. You’ll be fine, soon enough.”

“No, Jimmy, no! Y-you took too much from me. I can tell—feel it! I-I’m barely able to even think. Why, Jimmy, why… don’t you love me?! You’ve raped, drained my—my strength-sources, my most vital need—all of my milk!! Why, why? I ache all through me, so badly. So deeply.” Begging, through a vague, irreversible anxiety.

“But you still have the sun. And our semen, to give you. You know we’re all basically one. We have so much in each of us now, to share… give life to. Give back to you.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Please, yes. Make love to me, Jimmy. Please mate me, seed me. I need you so bad. More than ever.”

His cries pierced Jimmy. But they were on the last phase. He needed to be firm, yet soothing with him. Give him hope, some kind of peace. It was the least he could do…. Jimmy carefully allowed him some further sip-taking of his essences from the vials, to help bolster his spirits. He surely didn’t want Kal, Clark, Superman, whatever.. . to go down like a useless dishrag. That wasn’t right! No, not for all he’d done: the great man he used to be. And still loved so much, he thought he would die. Thinking of. But saw he was completely worn-out, weary, and knew he had to let him nap.

Jamie was a bit tougher, thicker-skinned. And took Jimmy off into another cabin, and fucked him near senseless, to bring him back to reality. They had to do what they had agreed to do; and it would be as painless as possible. Or so he had said (knowing what was ahead, and it would not be, exactly). And thus, as planned, they then began to inject directly into their testicles the prepared Kryptonite solution Jamie had carefully had a chemist concoct. Not as painful as one would suppose; after all, many men inject their scrotums with saline to enlarge them. And between them, it would be no problem, the exchanging of their seeds. But once theirs were shot into and absorbed into Superman’s system, it would immediately begin to poison him, and take him out. Simply, effectively. Jamie had figured all the ins and outs, and they only had two more days to go.

Later, Jimmy sadly told him: “I really hadn’t realized it, until after you and I began. How much of an equal trade we are; and are for each other…. With him, it rather too quickly became all about him—me pleasuring him, more than him pleasuring me. Though I know he loves me, dearly. It’s just that it became so tiringly consistent, him being so big, and not able to pleasure me as much as he wanted to. And thus, he became more and more submissive, over and over. If I just took his nipples, he was all mine, whatever I wanted to do. And he needed that, so much—craved that release, that giving of himself. Even so, I never really tired of taking him. But still… not the same dynamic we have, and I adore with you, Jamie. I need to fuck you, too. And I’m going to. Right now, and you can’t stop me, unless you choke me out.”

“Oh, me-mate, my love. You inside me, me inside you. Never a wonder so great, so good. Oh, yes, mon, oh, yes! Forever, forever, forever .” Sighing, as Jimmy mounted him, and took him strong and clear. The bigger muscled Jamie in raptures, his near twin plundering him.

As they thereafter continued to consummately plunder Superman. Who weakly put up no resistance to anything, anymore. Letting them pound his ass and his mouth, and urging them to give him as much of their seed as they could produce. Not knowing… instead of being replenished by them, he was being effectively destroyed. Even his own regenerating essences, now contaminated, were hastening, taking him to his own doom.

* * *

It was to be near the last night, before the explosion. Finally, Jamie consulted the captain, and had him to send the Jamaican to serve them a special meal in the main dining area. The Jamaican having been previously told ashore when hired, that when and if summoned (though he was otherwise to remain forever out of sight, as were the whole crew), that then, he was to appear all smiling and gracious. And must be sure to let that huge cock of his be plainly seen down the leg of his snug white trousers—making it noticeable, and within their big muscle-man’s hungry view. The muscle-man, who he knew was being serviced by the two reds, and also was superbly well-endowed… not at all expecting to see such a comparable treat as his own, to appear out of the blue—and was overly ripe to be “taken,” easy as pie, at the opportune time. The Jamaican, Rufus, who was no less hot to mesh with another equally slung dude (so few of the monster danglers around), and for an extra $5,000 was game for anything; even were it for a midget with only four inches….

Dinner was served as planned, Rufus ever attentive. And utterly in awe of the hugely built American, who if he was the well-hung as reported, he could see would be one hell of a fuck to be with… and thinking about it constantly, had no trouble with a half-engorged penis, practically ripping through his pants when in their presence.

Jamie, of course, brought up the subject, since it was his plan, And Jimmy knew nothing of it. “That sure is a fine dinner you’ve fixed, Rufus.” And grinned broadly. “Almost as fine as that monster cock of yours I can plainly see. Sort of like Clark’s, here. Who’s been ever an eager beaver to find such a whopping match.”

Jimmy blanched, but realized it was part of the Jamie’s scheme, somehow. He had noticed the darker skinned man’s large endowment, hung near to his knees, and wondered at its intrusive display. Not the sort of thing you’d expect for the ship’s cook, to be serving them so nonchalantly, and somewhat purposefully.

Rufus smiled, and straightened. “Glory to God, and thankful I am. To be so blessed. As should any man, if he has any sense,” staring directly into Clark’s eyes.

Uncharacteristically, the subdued, still brain-dulled Clark, reached out an appreciative, timid hand to the near-standing black, and gave Rufus’s thigh-ridged display, a soft, long, and easy stroke. Saying, “Men like us, yes. Need to be thankful,” engaging his eyes. “And blessed, to share ourselves with the right partners.”

“Oh, Lordy, are you right about that, Mr. Clark. I do agree.”

Jamie interrupted to save face, and overcome Clark’s depleted natural condition, and now addled shyness… who was having difficulty swallowing, and turning red. Propelling his plan forwards.

“I believe, Rufus, we should like it if you served us some after-drinks below, in our stateroom. Hennessy, Drambuie, Crown Royal? In thirty minutes. Discreetly.... Do dress comfortably. A robe and thong, perhaps?”

“Any special color, sir?”

“Whatever suits you best,” smiled Jamie. And winked. “Clark can show you some of his.”

The MOS took a sharp intake of breath. Rufus departed.

“A gift,” Jamie grinned. “What you’ve always wanted.”

Clark looked blank, but still smiled gratuitously.

“Like hell,” retorted Jimmy. “Not a foursome. How dare you?!”

“Nor a threesome. Clark’s last night at sea. Why not?”

Jimmy shut up. And looked definitely glummer than glum.

The three of them moved below decks.

Rufus appeared shortly, white terry robe, a liquor carrier in hand, ice bucket, glasses.

“No one knows you’re here, right?” Jamie quizzed.

“Not even the Captain, who’s sound asleep, below with the engineer, and the First Mate busy on top.”

“Good. Cheers!”

They drank equally, all friends; Rufus invited as part of the gang. A few rounds, getting high, anticipating some sort of soon frolic….

“Clark, show him your stuff,” Jamie said finally. Indicated for his prey to disrobe, who did with little quaver… boldly, and with his massive thong bulging proudly.

Again, Rufus muttered, “Glory to God!” at the sight of the nearly nude muscled sculpture before him. “Ain’t never seen such a man.” Taking cue, to remove his own robe slowly.

“Gentlemen—your thongs,” (Jamie ever the ringmaster).

They were removed in moments… erections sprouting hopelessly in awe of each other. The large Jamaican, the overly muscled Clark.

Jamie moved up behind Rufus, whispered in his ear. “Do the 69-ing first, till you both come. Take a breather, then take his tits—never let go. and fuck him out of his mind. He will be tight, go easy…. All the way in! He’s been wanting this forever. Treat him good.”

Then he nodded to Jimmy, pulling him away, and they withdrew.

Rufus dropped to his knees and hungrily snared the MOS in his mouth. Used to taking his own big whopper, and Clark also his own… they were soon suck-mates in moments. Practically strangling on each other in their throats: so wanting, so hungry, so hot, so intoxicated. And later, taking the MOS back onto the bed, controlling him by his colossal teats, he shafted him almost crazy: the bigger muscle man almost screaming as he was cored further and deeper than anything he’d ever known, and cumming and cumming and cumming all over the place. Half the time, Rufus also sucking him down as fast as he could shoot forth.

After the third time, and he saw how that huge mass of muscle had fagged out, dull-eyed, and in another world somewhere, he re-thonged himself, put on his robe, and left. Actually wanted to get reamed himself by such a matching pillar of cock, but saw his partner was not up to it…. So he left.

Jamie, waiting, followed closely behind him, motioned him up to the rear deck. They chatted a few moments, Rufus going on and on about this was best piece of cock he’d ever known, and probably the best fuck of his life. How big muscle had fully taken him to his hilt, even down his throat, and then up his ass, while soft-screaming as he chewed on those impossible tits, wailing and thrashing, while they alternately also drank down their sperm by the buckets; and no one had ever done that—to either of them. What a night!!

Pointing across the water, Jamie suddenly said, “Is that a damned shark?” Rufus peered intently into the dark sea. Jamie shot him in the back of the head, and dumped his body over.

* * *

On the final leg, Clark was finally aroused, hardly one a.m. Came to, naked, awing over what had perhaps been the singular most wondrous experience of his life—other than his first time with Jimmy—or how Austin had ravaged him, never having let him know how astounding his rape had been… triggering within him something wondrous, and unwaveringly sealed, when Austin had later truly slow-fucked him when they were alone: so considerately, strong and manly, and fine… reminding him of Jimmy, but admittedly so much better than he believed possible. Is why he’d never told Jimmy, but ached to feel Austin’s power within him again, and had eagerly set up their trio—not wanting to hurt Jimmy whom he loved desperately, yet needed Austin’s greater strength, if perhaps only on occasion… and would have to be left to a mere infrequent passing.

“Clark, I know you’re tired, and it’s late, but we have some business we need to attend to. Pretty wonderful, that Rufus thing, eh?”

“You have no idea, Jamie. Thank you for that, really. It was heavenly.”

“Thought so. But now I need you to sign some papers. You know, for Jimmy’s good. And for mine. Those assets, from a Jorel Abernathy? They should be transferred to me, in my name, and Jimmy’s. That’s a lot of money, man. And you know, you’re not too strong these days, not thinking all that clearly. What’d’ya say? It would mean a lot, not to let all that stuff go to waste…. We know what you did to Lev. And all the rest…. I’m the only survivor. I know.”

“You, you… finally figured it out. I’m, I’m not a bad person. You know that. What they did to me. Unforgiveable. Still haven’t—quite recovered. Have had these awful dreams lately, like it was just yesterday. Or hours ago. I-I… get so confused, now. My head hurts. My nipples. Even my balls, something deep… aches within me like fire. Not feeling well, anymore….”

“That’s why we need you to help us. And to be able to take care of you, if something goes wrong. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” the grogged Man of Steel pondered. “Yeah, let me sign it all over to you, and to Jimmy. The best boys of my whole life. Want you to be taken care of. Want you so much… to jack me, and fuck me, and milk me, and love me. Both of you. Both. My so wonderful boys…!”

The papers signed, Jamie slipped them into the waterproof pouch he was wearing now. Time was short. Kept it close to his body, would have to swim away.

“Now, Superman, let’s see how tough you are. Wrestle me. Those huge, big arms. Think you can take me?’

“Are you crazy? My arms, your thighs are hardly any bigger. My shoulders, pecs. No one’s ever taken me down. Nor even tried, except for that sun thing, a few years ago. A real fluke. You’re dreaming.”

“No, I think you are, Superman. You’ve lost it. You’re pussy weak. And we both know it. Lost too much of your source-milk, your jizz. Not really “super” at all, anymore. Come on, grab my hand. Arm wrestle me.” He motioned they should sit.

“Ahh, you’re such a tease, Austin. You Scotty red.”

They locked hands across the table, and Jamie watched him. He squeezed hard, trying to make the MOS move first, to just power-plop his hand onto the table in an instant—but it didn’t happen. They both squeezed hard, then Jamie started to push. Clark’s face got tense, he bit his lips, the huge veins, the enormous biceps of his arm swelled to bursting… and Jamie flattened the back of his hand to the table in but a few long-strained minutes. Clark’s eyes wide, mouth half open.

“And I’m not half as big as you, cunt! Muscle or cock. I win. You’ve... lost! ”

The concerned Clark looked around in a semi-panic.

“Jimmy!” Jamie called.

Jimmy entered, a baseball bat in his hand, which Jamie took from him. Who said, “I don’t think we’ll need the tasers. But, we might. He’s done.”

Jimmy with a hang-dog look on his face. Jamie very strident. Superman arose, wary. A deep stir of wrong in his gut.

“Ordinarily, if I cracked you in the head with this, Clark, you’d laugh, grab it away, and probably bust it in half.”

“What are you up to?” a worried look now shadowed across the MOS’s countenance. He sensed something very out of the ordinary was occurring. That bat —for what? They were at sea. This was a damn weapon! What else could it be? He was still strong as a pair of oxen. Wasn’t he? But Jamie had just…. He figured he’d best play along, whatever was in the wind. Till he could get a focus. His mind clearer.

But Jamie had the oddest request. Muddling his thoughts even more. Anything sexual seemed to do that too much, lately.

He said, “Let me see you grab your cock, and pull it up high as it will go. Flaccid. To your tits, to your chin, to your mouth? Then tuck that chin, I want to see how you put your lips around that thing, even soft. Know you have often—damn self-sucker…. Show me how high.”

Thoroughly confused, and not knowing why, Superman slowly did as requested. His softly oblong balls hung there like a pair of oranges, more like some over-loaded avocados, tapered at their scrotal attachment, heavily bagged long and thick towards the bottom. They had tried just a day or so ago, and could not even get one of them in their mouths to suck on (having increased so much in size since the Anomaly). Had had to be content with just feeling, licking, kissing around on them. Bulwarked symbols of the very mighty and god-like being he was. Envy of all men, no less.

The MOS’s lips were now edging onto the rim of his glans. Standing there, vulnerable and nude before them, head bowed to reach himself. Waist sort of tucking in, naturally. The tug on himself, the press of his lips, beginning to harden him….

“What’s that noise, Jimmy” Jamie asked, as if someone were at the door. Jimmy turned, askance. Superman’s gaze shifted. And with no warning, Jamie swiftly up-stroked, hard—slammed the bat dead center into Superman’s bulk-sacked testicles. The MOS made not a sound, just suddenly stiff-jolted upright—a jerked, full body arch, head back, mouth fallen open—and dropped instantly in a crumpled mass onto the floor. Out cold.

“Ruined his power terminals on that one, didn’t I!” Jamie gloated. Satisfied.

How they got him up, and off the floor, onto the bed was more than an unexpected ordeal. He was like a dead pile of cement or granite, probably near 260 lbs. They were both sweating and exhausted by the time it was accomplished. And he had, since it was first fastened onto him, still been wearing that steel, silvery neck chain: symbol of something to him, and to them—ever perplexing.

This was the first thing Jamie secured him with. Usually, capture and snare a man’s neck, you control all the rest of him. There was a fastener clip to attach to the ring, never before noted in all their bed playing, and somehow had forever been cloaked out of sight and feel. Jamie knew he was too weak now to break free, only neck chained. Content to watch him breathe, figuring out more of the details yet to be finished. He still had to ready the bar-pins and spikes, turn on the piercing needles… hidden in the custom compartments of the bed. All the Kryptonite stuff had to be attached correctly.

Not much longer.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him; we didn’t have to?”

“Have to do what we must, lad. To make it right. Final, the easiest way.”

Ever the schooled pragmatist, Jamie truly regretted what was about to occur, still remembering the wonder of their first unions: he, with the mighty Man of Steel, as the once- dreamed-of muscle partner, powered down to a very pliable captive, fuck of a lifetime—Jimmy, an astonishing ecstasy, never so wonderfully expected, on that long ago Cornwall beach. Realizing sadly “emotion” could save neither one, nor himself.

Had to do what had to be done. Gritted his teeth. Best for all concerned.

It was two hours before the ball-crushed MOS came to. He appeared as blank as a white-washed wall. His mind… not there. Was he feeling anything? Alive, or too shocked to function? His eyes did but barely focus. Truly, as if tasered out of existence. Calm and quiet. Benumbed. Looking straight ahead, hardly blinking.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” his voice soft, and at last real.

“Yes,” Jimmy said. And squeezed his hand.

“Why?”

“You’re damaged,” Jamie affirmed. “Can’t be fixed. Only way to preserve your legacy,

save others, Kal. If someone got to you before we did… they could turn you into an indestructible weapon. What Luthor planned to do, once he bought you from the Don.”

“But I’m still Kryptonian. Damaged, but not destructible. Without Kryptonite.”

“We’ve fixed that.”

“Kal, it’s nothing we wanted to do. But did. For your sake, for the world,” Jimmy added.

“How?” still dazed.

“We’ve already been seeding you; Kryptonite in our sperm. Poisoning you from within, to make you begin to rot inside, weaken you. Depleted your strength-milk, your semen. Only a few things left to do.”

“Why?”

“Because we love you, have to. No choices left.” Jimmy thought he was going to have a complete breakdown. But he’d come through it before. He just shoved himself into auto-pilot, and was numbing himself as he went. Dared not think beyond the mission. Only his love for Jamie kept him going, what they had.

“Now, come on, big guy. Fight me again. If you can. And if you win, you are free. If not, then it’s over. Accept it.”

And Jamie grasped one of his arms, telling him they had to tie him down, to finish the last of it. If he could free himself, he was free. Otherwise—.

And suddenly the MOS valiantly tried with all his might, desperate and knowing, to brace back Jamie’s hands and arms… but could not. Knowing how much the loss of his juices had drained his normal, incredible might: terrified and panicked by the reality of it. This Anomaly worse than the Angry Sun. Then , he had kept the strength of an earthling for his size and build; now he was much, much lesser than either of his chosen lovers. Each one of his hugely muscled limbs, one by one, were compromised and fastened into cuffs, strapped along the bedsides. His neck already holding him powerless. One wrist after the other, then his ankles, the chain across his waist. Each of his men, weighing 70 to 80 pounds lesser than himself (even were he at ordinary human strength), had defeated him; he was being simply contained, secured, and overcome. Vanquished.

He knew he had to no hope to escape now, they were determined to take him out.

“Jimmy,” he wailed plaintively. “Jimmy?”

“I’m sorry, Kal. With all my heart. Really sorry.”

And Jimmy came close, a rag suddenly seen in his hand, an awful smell, as the hand went up and over his nose and mouth, and chloroformed him. He tried to gasp, to speak, to plead… three desperate breaths—and he was gone….

* * *

Blackness, blankness, blackness . Was this what it was like—to die? Blankness, blackness, blankness. When he awoke four hours later, he was wracked with so much pain he didn’t know if he preferred death to this most agonizing of aliveness. Terror swept through him. He was not able to move his head, of course, could not really see what the cause was: but his pecs were a raging fire, throb-piercing into him deeply, and an inferno of horror between his legs, that seared like a million cactus pricks. Jamie kindly also again dosed him with a bit of morphine, but even that hardly took the edge off of what had been accomplished.

The covering from the over-the-bed mirror was slowly rolled back. He was in utter shock, lanced through to his heart. How could they!! Have done this!!?? Not his beloved duo: with whom he had shared all of himself, received from them… such trust, such joy, such ecstasy!!

The mirror revealed the full, stark horror of what had been done. He raged and screamed, wept—and keened helplessly, hopelessly, totally broken: trying desperately to break free, but to where, to what? The murder was as good as they had planned. His body was now completely shorn of all his hair, every inch of him—his head completely slick-bald, even his eyebrows had been removed. (Reinforcing his conquest in his own eyes, even far worse than the Don had had done to him years ago.) His was a great mass of naked, wonderfully yet now marred, sculptured muscle, defined, and glorious to behold… well-oiled, yet with an overall soft, satiny sheen. Bound and straining, he could still not move, but could see every vibrant flex, every striation of his once prized musculature as it fought against his terrified captivity. Though he could pull and buck and twist in protest, that only made the shearing-into-him-pains much worse. His realization of his true powerlessness also tearing into him, crushing his psyche. He finally slipped into a dulled numbness, knowing his fate was sealed.

For the “what else” they had done was beyond his capacity to accept or absorb. A horror beyond imagining! Each of his huge nipples had been lanced, pierced through… perpendicular silver bars against his chest, straight up and down, and close-in at their base-roots through his areolae. Plus, the additional horror: they had then both been stretched, and pair-pulled together, and also again spiked, barred through—across the center of his chest—and fastened tightly, lengthwise alongside of each other, about 1/3 of the way back from their tips, just behind the wondrously sensitive, ridge-crowned ends of them. Creating both exquisite and anguished nightmares of pain and arousal within him. And, as they told him, the inner shafts of each of the piercings were filled with radiating cores of Kryptonite. It might wear off in three months, but he wouldn’t know it….

Thus, his main power-source, his breasts’ nectar, his milk, and access to it, had been effectively curtailed. The upper bars against his pecs would corrode into his production centers, and the lower ones well-hinder any possible outflow from the shafts of his thick teats, forevermore. Or his suckling on them.

But was it worse than the other?

His magnificent cock… now sporting a two pound, thickly shiny and reverse Prince Albert ring through his glans. It ached like a hot vice: strange, wondrous, and horrible.

And further, most devastating of all, they had taken a single, thick, silvery 9 inch spike (larger and longer than a ten penny nail), and hammered it, thrust it through the pairing of his testicles horizontally, forcing them to be adhered together—and then cap-soldered each of the ends, so the spike could not be removed without castrating him. It was also filled with Kryptonite, which was now destroying his sperm and any possibility of his ever being able to ejaculate… forever.

The pain was nearly unbearable.

Oddly enough, as he was informed, while he should still be able to orgasm inside himself, providing he could actualize the joy of any sexual stimulation whatsoever—nothing of his essences could ever be expelled, nor could his testicles withdraw upwards to eject any of his fluids, which were basically poisoned, anyway. (His balls, a locked pair, no longer able to separately lift, lengthen, or contract… already castrating him from within.) And, even were he able again to ingest any of himself from his breasts or gonads, it would be a fatal contaminate, destroying him further and quicker, than were they to have remained unsavored.

It was nearing daybreak and much had yet to be done. Jamie, now a more lethal agent than Jimmy ever would have surmised. The crew must be dispatched, the boat set on autopilot, a distress signal given… oh, well, the rest was a mess.

The first mate, the night-shifter, was the first to go (actually the second, if counting Rufus). His demise was a swift bat to the back of the head, and was quietly left where he fell.

When the captain come topside, he was choke-gripped from behind, and his neck slit. The engineer was last, called into the other stateroom, where nobody had slept, with a complaint about an abnormal bathroom water problem, and was hand-under-his-chin, back-knifed to the heart, when he bent over to have a look at the plumbing by the shower. Through all this, Jamie had continued to wear the same clothes, and splatters of blood had seeped into his shirt and pants and shoes. Otherwise, he was a normally “clean” assassin, but truly was in a hurry.

Jimmy had remained behind to tend to his former lover. And Jamie returned to help.

Now, it was Superman’s turn. He was unchained, uncuffed, wrists and legs, with little resistant strength to fight, and rolled onto his stomach, still having to keep his legs somewhat apart because of his spiked testicles. Though he struggled futilely, his hands were then bound behind him firmly with steel handcuffs. Rolled over onto his back again, and ankles somewhat loosely secured. Pressing a variety of buttons, the topside of the bed then began to slide aside, and beneath, what had been there all along: Superman’s coffin. It was on rollers and was wheeled from beneath. The slight curved lid was opened. It was a tight fit, considering, but they got him into it—his terror rising to a newer threshold. A snug fit, with barely two inches space on each side of his shoulders, or three below his feet. His arms thrust behind him waist high, powerless, and his ankles clipped securely to some rings on the insides of the bottom; his neck once more securely looped and fastened above his torso, behind his head.

They explained what would happen. The container was made of heavy lead, which would rapidly sink—the inside of which was completely lined with a Kryptonite veneer a quarter-inch thick. The reason he hadn’t felt its effects before, enclosed within the lead, its radiation had been contained. The coffin would be airtight when closed.

“Even Superman can’t live without air,” Jamie said matter-of-factly. “We estimate it may take about an hour… your oxygen will be gone, you will drift off to sleep, and it will be over. No pain, no problem. Just a deep, quiet drifting sleep. What the lack of air won’t do, the Kryptonite will, as well you know. Doesn’t take much, and was a wee bit of a bitch to obtain: expensive, too. Almost wiped out half of my cut from Levkowicz. But now, replenished thanks to your signatures, and the bank codes.”

“This was nothing we wanted to happen,” Jimmy consoled. “I put my life on the line to rescue you, Kal. And now, after all this time—we know we can’t. You can’t be rescued. You were destroyed, altered. No amount of help can repair that. Or my heart, to do this.”

“You… don’t have to, Jimmy—do this! You don’t. Please, have mercy! Oh, my love, my only love. How much—” his pleading eyes desperate as a startled deer, caught in the headlights of a roaring semi, about to connect with the no more of his existence.

“It’s no good, Superman. Words are wasted, time’s up. Jimmy and I will be married in a month or two. That’s the good that has come of this. Would you deny him the happiness the three of us have known, with no restraints? And such depth? Jimmy and I are far better suited for each other, than the two of you ever were. We’re practically a matched set—you and he, too many vast and varied distances, as you began to learn over time. This is the best. For all three of us. And you, with your superhero reputation untarnished… that you just “disappeared.” Vanished. And no one will ever know, but Jimmy and I. And you’re safe… the history books will praise and adore you. Forever. And so will we….”

“Oh, God, no, Jamie! Save, please! I’ll, I’ll try to do better. Listen to what you tell me. Try really hard to be and become, and—and to rise again. Like the Phoenix, from its ashes… like, like—”

“Won’t work, lad. We tried that. And you were bitched—with just a few strong words, and a hard cock! Over and over. My kid brother could have done it. Grabbed you by your tits, twisted, and you’d be on your knees sucking him off, before he could say, “John Middlefinger and Up Yours, Matey.” Which is the last thing we’re gonna do for you. You won’t be able to shoot, but you will feel the joy of it. Inside . Work yourself. Even in the dark. May help pass the time.”

And Jamie and Jimmy did then, the last of what they had planned, a last mercy… bending over, reaching in, moving his huge spiked testicles aside—and impaled the alien with his own cock. Not easy, working astutely with the extra encumbrance of the Kryptonite ring in his glans… and shoved it slow and deep up inside him, as he wept and pleaded and keened and wailed. Jimmy, even giving him a few quick bites on the ends of his adhered together nipples, to stimulate him ecstatically, as he knew would happen. Even so, for all the terror of the moment, Superman’s body betraying him, his magnificent penis that grew long and stiff and thick inside himself—knowing he could do what he’d always done. Or now, rape himself to death? Still with his muscle control, easy, well-used and well-learned. Most of his life, having been spent utterly alone… his only solace. And now his last. Though he couldn’t cum.

Gazing down at him a last time: to them he looked like a shorn giant, devoid of all power and threat, or even skill: slick, bound and impotent. Not even masculine, his cock hidden away. They each kissed him, long and full… his lips ever trying to beg for mercy, for help, for their love, under theirs. His fragile blue eyes awash with beyond desperation, terror and fear. Jimmy viewing his almost unrecognizable visage once more, his bald face and head in torment, still incredibly handsome, otherworldly. His astounding body….

“Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, please. No, no, no, no...!!” as the lid slowly closed and was locked into place. At the last moment, Jimmy tossed in a huge wad of the chloroformed rag around his neck, and one near his feet. Hoping perhaps, the fumes might quickly lull him to sleep, into unconsciousness, before it was done. And he’d have no more fear, no more panic, no more pain.

They then rolled the coffin to the edge of the deck, ever hearing faint sounds of a frantic, useless bucking and lurching, muffled weeping cries from within—until there was a soon silence. Then, wet-eyed, with a hearty shove… watched it plunge into the depths, and disappear.

It was Jamie’s sudden thought, then—before having to send the distress call, before setting off the explosion—piercing through him… he had to strangle Jimmy.

With tears in his eyes, he slipped up behind his still sobbing friend, put him in a startling sleeper hold, and put him down in less than 15 struggling, though frantic and bewildered, feet-kicking seconds. Then broke his neck. Slipped a life jacket over him, fastened it, laid his limp body onto the deck. Sent out the distress signal. Opened the fuel tanks.

And blew up the yacht.

The pieces and bodies they might or might not find. He dog-paddled leisurely alone in the warm Caribbean waters, his life jacket secure around him. His fortune more or less stuck in his body-strap pocket. He really grieved at what he had done to his mate—his true and only love, he knew. But Jimmy was a witness, could later be a teller of tales if pressured. If the two of them survived, he might eventually crack under guilt, and fall into despair over the whole business. It had been known to have happened before.

Well, he couldn’t let that happen. Life was too precarious. Such a bitch. He still had a fine manly cock, a great physique and face… somebody would be glad to have him! And soon, he hoped. Money could procure him a lot of favors all over the place. At worst, he could maybe “buy” a stud like that Rufus, and enjoy everything. He began to relax. Rescue was surely forthcoming; they weren’t that far offshore.

But a stirring in the waters nearby caught his attention. “Oh, God! Oh, no, no... not —!!”

And he suddenly remembered all of his unchanged and blood-splattered clothes, drawing a school of them in for the feast.

The life jacket would really be just a bunch of confetti….

The End.

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(Part Ten, Epilogue , completely by Rick Henry; basic original story by Henry Dee. Rick Henry, author of the novel, CHRONICLES OF THE MIGHTY AND THE FALLEN , published under the name of Richard McHenry. strawbridge88@att.net.)