The Telemachus Story Archive

Angry Sun
Part 4 - De-powered
By Rick Henry

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Part 4—De-powered.

A triumphant sneer spread across Levkowicz’s face as he walked towards the stairs leading to the higher levels of the war-wrecked warehouse. He felt almost dizzy with elation at what had transpired the past few hours. Not only had he captured the criminal world’s most hated enemy, for whom he was soon to be paid a billion dollars, but he had also supervised the torture, degradation and utter humiliation of their great foe. And, had even fucked him!

As he headed upstairs, he stopped to watch the further events taking place on the ground floor. Superman, hogtied and tethered, had curled meekly alongside the wooden post at the center of the room. Members of the Levkowicz gang who had just moments ago witnessed Lev’s ritual sodomizing of the fallen superhero were still gathered around laughing and shouting their insults. Austin, Andreas, and Terry had been joined by a burly young Maori, Ken, and the middle-aged bald Argentinian, Juan.

“Hey Puta!” yelled Juan, “You such a mess! We gonna clean you off, now!” And with that, the four of the gang members unzipped their trousers and began to rain down streams of hot yellow urine onto their hapless victim.

Lev chuckled malevolently to himself. It was good to know his men would participate enthusiastically in the continued annihilation of whatever dignity was left to the former Man of Steel.

Superman curled up more tightly, struggling to avoid the torrents of vile liquid which streamed down upon him, clearly aimed most purposefully at his mouth, face and head. He tried to hold his breath and close his lips against the hot, stinking fluid, but his hair and ears were soon saturated, and his eyes stung as it penetrated his closely clamped eyelids. Gasping for air, he couldn’t prevent the flood washing into his mouth, his nose and throat filled with the stench of the fumes. Yet despite the seemingly hopeless nature of his predicament, he knew he must not surrender his wits to the onslaught of abuse.

Stay in control!” he tried to tell himself, though his mind was a whirling mass of pain and concern. “Keep calm! Panic is your worst enemy!”

Now, other members of the gang joined the four assailants, and new floods of urine flowed until he was thoroughly covered with the stuff, and lay in the center of a reeking, foul pool of it spreading out across the floor. Amidst the contemptuous laughter and shouts of abuse, he heard a voice call out: “Bukkake!”

Lev grinned even more broadly and nodded his head approvingly as his men began to masturbate over the coughing, spluttering figure on the floor beneath them. Within mere minutes, Ken had unloaded from his nicely uncut Polynesian phallus, and long strings of white sticky goo splattered across the Kryptonian’s already drenched face, soon followed by others. Satisfied that things were well in hand, Lev continued up to the second floor.

It was only then that his attitude began to shift. Other thoughts invaded his mind, his brows began to knit. It was clear that Superman’s disempowerment was linked to whatever was happening with the sun and the weather. What if it was only temporary , though? Would his powers return as quickly as they had deserted him, if conditions returned to normal? And what possible “revenge” would he take on those who had so demeaned him? Would he, or would he not—the Big American Blue Boy Scout, ever with a pristine and staunch sense of morality?

And, if the change were permanent, what did that mean for their survival? Sure, they would not have Superman to worry about anymore—but little comfort if the world itself was coming to an end! Outside the wind continued to howl and gust, and the late afternoon sunlight streamed amber-like through the large, dirt-paned windows. A roiling ball of crimson hung above the horizon, Lev having no idea whether it was friend or foe.

Pushing aside these thoughts he turned his mind to more immediate matters. It would be many hours yet before Stan reached Don Lucio Lucifero in Vienna with the costume, proof that they had indeed captured Superman. Right now, however, he could use some advice. Electronics were behaving too erratically at the moment, but he would try to get through to Don Lucio, nonetheless.

“Goal!” came a shout and laughter from downstairs, and Lev imagined another spurt of hot macho seed had found its mark somewhere on its unwilling target. He pictured the male- expelled discharge dripping slowly down over the handsome, proud-wilting face… and grinned.

Five times he tried to get through to the Don, but each time he was greeted only with static. He was trying a sixth time when the phone sprang to life indicating a call from Stan.

“Hey, Boss! Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you, Stan. Breaking up a bit, but I hear you. How far are you from Vienna?”

“Doesn’t matter; the Don is heading east. We’re meeting him in Budapest.”


“Yea. I don’t know what he’s driving, but it moves like nothing else on earth.”

“Good. Then, he’ll get the costume that much sooner.”

“Sorry, Boss, but he’s changed his mind on that.”


“I talked to him just a half hour ago. He says the costume’s not enough to prove we really have Superman. Says we might’ve rigged the costume, without actually having him. He wants more.”

“Like what?”

“DNA, Boss. He wants a sample of Superman’s alien DNA to prove we have him.”

“DNA? Shit! Ok, ok. We’ll send him some hair and saliva. Damn! That’s gonna put everything back hours. You better head back, then.”

“Can’t, Boss. He still wants the costume as a souvenir, so I’m heading to Budapest. You’ll need to send the DNA with someone else. Although with any luck, Don Lucio will keep moving closer. Also, he was pretty specific about the sample he wanted.”

“In what way?”

“He wants his semen, for the DNA. And if it checks out, he apparently has some experiments he wants to do with it. At least half a pint, or more—in four separate vials. Depends on how profusive he is.”

“Semen?! So, we’ve got to milk him? Ha! Austin will enjoy that. Ok, okay. I’ll get something organized and send a few of the boys. Terry and Ken at least. If you can get through to the Don, tell him I got the message and the sample is on the way.”

“He said he wants to hear from you.”

“I tried, can’t get through. What a minute, you got through, didn’t you? Maybe I can piggy-back off you? Keep me on, but put a group call through to Lucio. I may be able to talk to him that way.”

“Ok. Hold on.”

While Stan afar began to punch in Don Lucio’s number, the wind outside reached a new crescendo. The building shook and groaned, and Lev heard loud obscenities shouted by the men downstairs. Almost immediately the screen on his phone split into two images: Stan, and the blurred but still recognizable face of Don Lucio Lucifero.

“Levkowicz! Your man gave you the message about the DNA?” Lev knew the voice straight away, a deep baritone drawl scraping over gravel, a strange blend of upper crust Brit and Milanese Italian.

“Yes, Don Lucio. I’m trying to get it organized right away. It will be on its way to Budapest very soon.”

“Good! As soon as I have that proof, I will eagerly join you, and take possession of your unfortunate friend. Once I do, I’ll give you the passcode to the account in Singapore. I’ve already transferred the billion American dollars into it.”

“Thanks, Don Lucio. Can I ask what your plans are for Superman?”

“Better than that. You can have a complimentary ticket to the show! Believe me, you’re going love what I have in store for that alien abnormality!”

“I can’t wait! But right now, I’m a bit nervous. Whatever is happening with the weather and the sun, the red light and all, might not last. I was thinking maybe I should take him down to the basement so if the sun returns to normal, he won’t get any of the yellow light.…”

“Levkowicz, I took you for someone of more intelligence than that. Do you really think the color of the light is what makes him Superman? Don’t you think I would have somehow lured him into a dungeon, red-lamped him, and dispatched him a long time ago, if that’s all it took? For Christ’s sake!”

“But isn’t it supposed to be about yellow suns, and red suns? I thought…”

“Look, I’ll make this as simple as I can. The color of the light is not what makes him Superman, that’s just a bit of electromagnetic radiation. But it’s an indicator of something much more fundamental: Quantum Harmonics. Every star in the universe emits it, and it creates Quantum Resonance in everything within its influence: planets, asteroids, plants, people—everything. They have no noticeable effect on us, but the Quantum Harmonics associated with G2V Main Sequence Stars like the sun create a resonance in Kryptonian DNA, which gives them the incredible powers we see in Superman. That’s why it doesn’t matter whether it’s day or night, or whether he’s in a dark room or under a red light, as long as he’s within our sun’s range of Quantum Influence. And that’s why this change, whatever it is, has robbed him of his powers. There’s been an alteration in/of the basic solar Quantum Level; but whether it’s permanent or only temporary, we can’t yet tell.”

“That makes so much more sense. But I guess if we want to finish him for keeps, we may be working against the clock.”

“You’ve got it. So, get me the proof I asked for, the DNA, in cooled sterile containers. And if it checks out, I will join you soon, and we will move quickly to the endgame. Although there are certain things I have no intention of rushing. Now, hurry up.”

The master criminal hung up without further word, and Lev went over the details of the rendezvous with Stan. Then he turned and headed back towards the stairs. As he quickly made his way down, he saw that the gang was no longer gathered close around their victim, but standing back, laughing, calling out, and mocking him.

“Smile!” they shouted—camera phones recording or clicking away at the filthy spectacle which lay tied up in the center of the room. Not only was he lying drenched in a pool of urine, with streaks and globules of semen over his face and hair, but someone, or several someone's, had gone a step further and covered him with waste from the old potbelly heater which sat against the street-side wall. Ash and crumbled charcoal had been smeared over his herculean frame and rubbed into his hair and face, mixing like a foul paste with the piss and discharges which covered him, distorting any sign of his former film star features. (No more the striking, clean visage between a staid Mark Forest and a perturbed Steve Reeves.)

“Enough fun and games, you guys! Get him cleaned up! I need to get something from him for Don Lucio; and he can’t be handled in this state. Gotta be clean—hose him off. Soap and water!”

Several members of the gang grabbed lengths of burlap sacking from the floor of the warehouse and began to wipe the disgusting mess from Superman. They partially untied him and spread him out of the floor, rolling him into whatever position they needed to get him clean. Terry and Ken were particularly vigorous in applying the ragged cloth to the begrimed flesh, especially when it came to the most sensitive areas of the hero’s face and genitals. Superman steadfastly gritted his teeth, trying to focus his mind, while his foes roughly cleaned at his flesh. They rubbed hard, leaving harsh red chaffing marks, re-causing the abraded skin to bleed once more.

Lev demanded they stand him up, get some buckets of soapy water, a hose, and some clean towels. The alien reeled a bit, unsteady on his feet. The men did as told.

“What is it you have to get, Boss?” queried Austin.

“His cum, dammit. His fucking cum!” Lev whipped back; Austin’s eyes went wide.

The shock hit hard. Barely stable from nervous exhaustion, and the beatings, the degradation he had endured, Superman struggled to hang onto his clarity of mind. The temptation to succumb to this newer rising hysteria and panic came in waves, wanting to collapse into an unconsciousness of safe retreat. But he knew he needed to maintain whatever control he could. The world needed him; Jimmy and Lois loved him. His chances were slim, but he would hang in there as long as he had life in him. Perhaps an opportunity to escape would present itself; or maybe the strange behavior of the sun would cease and his powers return?

And what was it Austin had whispered—a clever part of their plan to disarm him?

The bracing of the cold, soapy water, more stiff rubbing, and the aftermath of the sprayed hose brought him more sharply around. But it was cold as hell. He shivered uncontrollably. His guts in an unsettled, horrifying turmoil: the new upcoming stated degradation… inhuman.

“Something you might enjoy, Austin.” Lev moved closer to where the quivering, relatively clean Kryptonian stood. “This pathetic freak is going to jerk off for us, and we’re going to send his alien “power-seed” to Don Lucio for analysis.”

“He wants his cum? What the hell for?” Ken asked.

“The Don has his reasons, Ken. And we have a billion reasons to comply.”

“Might be a bit hard for him to get it up, considering the state he’s in.” Terry sneered.

“Maybe… I be the one—to give’em a hand?” Austin suggested.

Lev nodded. “Untie him. Leave the tether round his neck, and bring him upstairs.”

Superman’s complete ankle and wrist restraints were at last quickly untied, while Terry kept a tight grip on the leash. “Move your damn feet, ass-wipe,” he ordered, jerking the MOS forward.

Mustering a feigned, cored bravado, Superman cursed as his neck was jerked at, forcing him forwards. “You thugs can go to hell! I’m not jerking off for you!”

His defiance was immediately met with a hard tugging on the leash, which tightened and rasped around his throat, while a flurry of kicks into his still bruised buttocks sent him once more to his knees. Lev, assisted by Austin and Terry, dragged him towards the stairs, Austin’s arms supportively under his, and he was forcefully propelled further by the rest of the gang. As they emerged onto the next level, he was sent sprawling onto the planking.

At the far end of the second floor was a raised, two feet high level storage space, about four feet deep, currently clear of any objects, save for a ragged sort of blanket. Terry and Lev dragged the prone man along the floor to this stage, and with Ken’s help pulled him to his feet, then pushed him onto it alone. No one holding his leash, the dejected captive looked around futilely for an avenue of escape. His nerves roiling helplessly in his chest, his stomach.

“Now, you’re going to perform for us, Superior-shot, and provide us with a few big loads,” commanded Lev. “Juan, bring out those sterile containers from our medical supplies. He can jerk off into them for us.”

“Fuck you!” snarled Superman. Using unused expletives, never in his normal range, though he knew inside himself he was intrinsically doomed.

‘“Do it—you regular, self-pleasuring fag!! Or I’ll see to it you’re never able to use that alien-huge, “man-thing,” again! Ever!! ” shouted Yuri, cruelly. “Even if we have to leave it with you… in one floppy, shredded , little piece!” And he viciously slashed the air with the broken curtain rod, whaling it down on the platform sharply, that which had functioned for Superman’s earlier beating.

The sight and sound of the vicious instrument made his heart skip a beat. Much as he hated to give the despised criminals what they wanted, he feared the pain and destruction of the rod even more—knew Yuri could unman him, maim him for life! He would have to yield to Lev’s demand. With a deep groan, he slid backwards onto the stage, atop the blanket, lay back against the supporting wall, and closed his eyes. His hands reached down to his wondrous, flaccid cock and heavily sacked balls… began to slowly knead them. Maybe if he could put the current circumstances out of his mind, conjure up images and memories of making love with Jimmy, he would be able to harden and ultimately produce as required. Dispirited, his urges appeared quite unresponsive, failing.

He drew his feet in towards his ass, raising his knees and letting them drop partially to the sides. He rolled his weighted scrotal orbs between the fingers of his left hand, while his right gripped his longly-thick, soft tool, and slowly started to stroke it. He tried to picture Jimmy’s face… imagine his finely honed, endowed and muscled young lover bending over him, above… working him, touching him, arousing him. He remembered the first time that the bold young cameraman had penetrated him (but only at his “heated,” insistent urging)—how they both were suddenly surprised at their soon preferred roles: the bigger, stronger, older man yielding to the eager, assertive dominance of the younger. How good it felt to allow another to enforce his control, allow himself at last to be conquered—needy, and taken . Giving of himself to his core, to the gates of a longed-for heaven. As well, as he ached to be lying atop Jimmy, thrusting his powerful maleness into the one below, who adored and loved him… feeling also the demanding press of his surprisingly thick, long and rock-hard member deep inside the thrashed moaning of his young, ever hungry beloved, still never able to take the all of him.

But try as he might, it was near useless. He could not shake off the awareness of the brutality he had just experienced, the threat of his possibly being destroyed into a useless, flaccid impotency—nor the public mass of leering hateful faces, staring at his now ripped-open privacy.

“Hmmm, not much happening, is there?” scoffed Lev. “Austin, I think you’d better help him with this.”

“My pleasure!” laughed the young Scot, and he climbed onto the stage, stripping off his clothes, except for his briefs, revealing an astoundingly beautiful physique. Small waist, broad shoulders, muscled pecs, tapered thighs. Very similar in ways, but far more developed and muscled than Jimmy. The surprise was deep—Superman groaned, even in appreciation, as much as dread—as Austin warmly slipped in close upon him, between his tensed muscular thighs and widely separated knees. Resistant, yet welcoming, Superman steeled himself to endure the further humiliation of being forced to expel his seed in front of his enemies. Perfunctorily, like a good showman, Austin set about playing with the victim’s notably veined, flaccid cock. Though not revealing his own. (But first, unexpectedly, before doing so, he climbed up across the broad, hairy chest, one hand at his cheek, kissing the MOS fervently, whispering again, very lowly: “Trust me. I’m all you’ve got. Trust!” )

Superman tremored; Austin was quickly onto him.

First, he felt the alien’s member all over with his fingertips, noting every ridge and furrow of its silky surface, tracing the individual veins and the line of the circumcision scar, lush-squeezing the corona and the large, proud glans, probing the meatus, pulling gently on the frenulum. Then, he did the same with his tongue, allowing his saliva to cover every part of the beautiful organ. Since the alien was so large, so was his slit. Austin found it, laved his tongue inside. The captive’s preparatory flow, eagerly near surging to meet him.

Superman helplessly groaned at the intrusion, moaned as he felt his arousal deeply within. Something Jimmy also would have done…. Did almost every time.

Austin moved his mouth to the ball sac, and sucked individually on the larger than golf- ball sized glands, while his hands pulled and tugged at the less flaccid now filling cock. Superman tried to turn his mind away from the proceedings—the growing swelt of arousal from Austin’s expert mouth-play and his beautiful nearness, made it almost possible. He groaned again, aloud… and the gang laughed as one.

Superman’s penis then suddenly lost its priming, and began to wilt.

“I can’t,” he pleaded softly to Austin. Bracing himself, unsure if he would be heeded—or now more forcibly, viciously abused.

Lev had smiled broadly at the sight of his enemy’s large gonads stirring in their tightening skin sac, and at the effect of Austin’s continued arousal techniques. The splendid cock was lengthening, growing hard despite its owner’s attempts to ignore what was happening. Then, seeing it fail—he was pissed. This could take fucking hours!!

Austin called for a time out. Beckoned Lev over to him, while he knelt on the edge of the platform. Lev went forwards.

“You see, Boss. I can get him. Had him! But I think, this damn audience, it’s gonna take a very, very long time—up and down. Up and down. Gonna wear me the fuck out, too! I say we need privacy. And it’ll happen really quick. I know how to push his buttons. Give me twenty minutes. I know he’s loaded. Can take him; aching to shoot. Twenty minutes.”

Lev tightened his lips. “Damn-shit! I wanted to see this. Depleting the fucker’s sauce.”

“Twenty minutes. Thirty, at most?”

Levkowicz whirled around. “Okay, guys! Clear out. The big queer is stage shy, and holding his nuts. Later, you can fuck him dry. But I need some prime juice now. So, get out of here! Pronto! I ain’t got all night!”

Austin winked. Asked, “Is it okay if I fuck him?”

“You get me a quart of his juice, I don’t care what the hell you do. Hang him by his balls. But don’t damage him. Intact, remember?

Lev had the empty vials set on the stage. The men shuffled out, grumbling, vowing they would ream Superman silly, later. Not that they all wanted to. Maybe fist him, for the hell of it. But that could be smelly, messy. They’d think of something.

Austin returned. Superman took a huge breath. It began again. Quicker, easier. First, kissing him rapturously…. Not at all what the Man of Steel expected. And surprisingly responded.

Getting him going then, Austin moved his mouth up from the balls and took the expanding organ into his mouth, with one hand beginning to massage the now rapidly withdrawing tight sac, and with the other, slowly started to pump the base of the stiffening cock. His mouth moved back and forth, his tongue playing across the engorged head, his tongue deep, exploring the slit.

Still trying to conjure thoughts and images of Jimmy, Superman moved his hips in slow rhythm with the motion of the young Scot’s mouth and hands. Austin felt the glorious cock swell and grow to its full magnificence: a must be 12+ inch length, maybe 8+ around thickness; then, the sensation of his rising abundance, his captive’s viscous, salty-sweet flow on his tongue.

Lifting his head away, he allowed his hand to take full control of Superman’s cock. His left hand curled and massaged the balls, while his right hand now slowly stroked the full length of the fleshy wonder from base to tip, in a firm, yet loose grip that maximized the contact between hand and phallus. He stroked and pulled in different directions, first along the length of the torso, then perpendicular so that the shaft pointed directly up at the ceiling, then pushing down towards the feet so that discomfort was mingled confusingly with pleasure. He jerked it left and right, back and forth, gripping tighter and speeding up, so that now the gentle stroking was becoming a frenzy of tug and pull and slide. The alien’s glans a continual rivering flow, aiding with its slickness.

“Help me,” Austin whispered. But there was still some resistance, some withholding, he knew. It was even hard to suck him; he was so big, stretching his jaws to the limit. “Relax. It’ll be easier for both of us. And there is no escape.” Not a threat, but a reality.

Superman, acquiescing at last, his voice unsteady: “I trust you. My nipples. Take them, I’ll blow in moments.”

Austin then put his left arm around the hero’s torso, tucking his head against his chest.

“Use both of your hands, and I’ll use one of mine,” he instructed. And took one of the abnormal, swollen appendages in his mouth. Instantly, the man in his arms arched, sighed crazily, and he felt in his mouth… a strange, sweet almond-peach nectar. The alien groaned.

They pumped the superhero in easy, rhythmic strokes, timing together, slower, then faster and faster. Austin sucked and chewed strongly at his teats. Then, he knew it was over. The alien went wildly rigid, the juice from his nipples literally spurting outwards. “Aaaa-ahhhhHHH!!” Austin had to be swift, and capped his huge glans with a sterile container… which quickly overflowed, while Superman’s muscular body convulsed; he shook, moaned uncontrollably. Austin had to grab another container; that too, filled. The big hero, surging, then relaxing in his arms. Panting, shaking. Eyes almost rolled back. Heaving. His cock still lightly spasming.

“You’re not done yet, are you?” Austin quizzed in amazement. About to erupt his own self. The big man had his head clutched close to his breast, still taking huge breaths.

Superman sighed hopelessly, shook his head, “No.”

Austin said, “Then, allow me. Legs up, big guy.” And had him scootch down, back flat on the floor. Taking both of his hands, he then pressed Superman’s huge, muscular pecs together as much as he could, so he could take both of those remarkable moistening udders into his mouth at the same time—and without preamble, slipped his own sizeable member into the hero, while chewing them. The hung man beneath him jolted, his cock high upthrust to his chest between them.

Superman gasped, and moaned, “Oh, yes, yes… Jimmy! Jimmy! Jimmy! ” out of his mind. Austin drilled him, but sweetly. And he came three times more, all over the place, in rapid succession. Austin shot twice, even surprising himself.

They lay expended against each other. Austin and Superman both in awe; Superman’s eyes full of tears. Even so he kissed Austin tenderly, and rolled aside. Still shaking. Austin hastily had to get the other containers, and scoop up the great splotches of semen from the front of the alien’s torso. Apologizing as he did so, afraid to say hardly a word… in case they were being observed. As they might well have been. He didn’t know.

* * *

When he gave the still warm containers to Lev, forty minutes later, he had to cock his head, and remark snidely: “One hell of a fuck, I’ll say that. Doesn’t really know what hit him. Popped all his valves. Robbed him of his tit-milk, too! But damn, things like that don’t belong on this planet! Freak, fucking vermin. Needs to be exterminated, big time.”

“And so, we will. Big time. Good job, Austin. Good! These vials have to be iced, and on their way. The Don will be very happy.”

As was he. The incredible Superman: downed, captured, bound, stripped, beaten, sodomized, soiled, and milked… all in the course of a few hours. Left weak, and threatening as a worn-out pussy. It had been no less a strange, surprising, and unexpected day.

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