Lex Luthor and Don Lucio Lucifero strode purposefully across the fine-gravelled driveway leading to the ornate portico entrance of the old ochre-hued palazzo.
Each smiled broadly: Don Lucio as he contemplated the new special relationship he had negotiated with his American counterpart, which would be sealed with the very special gift he was about to hand over (getting back half the financial recompense from what he had thus expended)—and Luthor as he thought of the particular uses to which the gift could be applied.
Don Lucio was a fool, thought Luthor. Yes, the video clips the Don had shown him had been thoroughly enlightening, and he would most certainly enjoy the entertainment which the submissive Superman would provide for himself and his gang… but that was secondary. Luthor had already begun to plan the further conditioning of the Kryptonian into more than a mindless catamite! Superman would become his totally obedient slave, his ultimate weapon , and the first thing he would do would be to depose Don Lucio, and bring the Italian’s criminal empire into his own control and domain.
Luthor chuckled quietly considering his cleverness, and the huge man beside him did the same, thinking the American’s mirth was in expectation of some ribald and humiliating play with the naked prize which awaited them inside.
They paused at the portico entrance where a handsome young servant served them glasses of chilled Vin Santo. Don Lucio licked at the caramel-nuttiness on his lips, while eyeing the tight white shirt and butt-hugging black trousers of the Italian boy, recalling the savor of the young servant’s body the night before. He grinned to himself as he considered the privileges he enjoyed as the most powerful Don of his era.
“Is it to your pleasure, Don Lucio?” The young man’s eyes sparkled, his lips curled mischievously into a slight smile as he spoke. He was hardly eighteen.
“Perfetto, Enzo,” smiled the Don in reply. “Good boy, you spoke in English as a politeness to our guest. He is a good boy, Lex. A very good boy!”
Luthor grinned and nodded as his host enveloped the trimly beautiful young man in a possessive bear hug, kissing him deeply, and squeezing the firm round buttocks as he did so. Enzo was not exactly Luthor’s type, but because he was so obviously a favorite of Don Lucio’s, he thought he would fuck the boy hard and long once he had turned Superman into a weapon and disposed of the Don. “A major trophy fuck,” was the way he described it to himself in his mind, and rather chortled aloud.
“Ah, you like my young stallone, Lex? I see.” Don Lucio released the youth from his hug, grasping the tight black trousers at his provocative crotch. “Ahh, magnifico, so young and so hung. I would share him with you, but I have already given you your present for today. Who is way more than a stallion, as you will see.” He laughed as he massaged the boy’s quickening cock through the black fabric, and kissed him lightly once again. “One who is almost beyond imagining, and attached to such a physique!”
The Don released the aroused boy as the carved wooden doors of the palazzo opened. An imposing, swarthy middle-aged man in gray wool, white shirt and dark blue tie, walked stridently towards them. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket and donned them against the bright Italian sun. Luthor noted the bulky impression of a gun holster beneath the stylish jacket.
“Ah, Aldo! Has our touted guest arrived, yet?” asked Don Lucio as he patted Enzo on the rear, and indicated him to serve a glass of the sweet chilled wine to the gang’s second-in-command. Lucio, a late sleeper, had not earlier been awake to receive the visitor.
Luthor nodded a courteous acknowledgement to Aldo, with whom he had had regular contact during the negotiations on the African deal. The arrogant mobster gave a perfunctory nod in return as he answered his boss’s question.
“Yes, Don Lucio. About two or so hours ago. We quizzed him for nearly an hour; he checks out fine. Photos match ok, he knew all the inside information on the Levkowicz group and the Superman program. He’s Austin Mackenzie, for sure. His English is sometimes hard to understand, though.”
“Scottish accent,” Luthor offered. “It can be quite extreme, especially in the islands.”
“Well, I dare say he’s making himself understood very well, now, “sneered Aldo, without looking at the American. “I took him across to the prisoner over an hour ago, left him to “reacquaint” himself with him. He’s a fag, himself, though you’d never know it, and knows all the protocols of the conditioning… so I’m sure he’s having a good time with Super-slut’s ass, as we speak. Said he had a few tests he wanted to perform, reinforce his mastery over him.”
“Good!” said the Don. “If he’s going to be the primo of Mr. Luthor’s keepers when we hand the alien over, it’s important that a consistent status is well and truly reinforced.”
“And I’m dying to see some real humiliation of the Kryptonian freak, live and in-the-flesh this time,” Luthor added. “Can we go up now and watch Mr. Mackenzie at play?”
“Of course!” grinned the Don as he wrapped a giant arm around both Luthor and Aldo and walked them towards the palazzo doors.
Inside, the massive entryway was dimly lit through the ancient glass of the windows. Although an old lift with wrought iron grillwork had been installed in the nineteenth century, Don Lucio, launching into a loud, full-bellied basso rendition of Nessun Dorma , instead led his companions towards a wide sweeping staircase, and they began their ascent to the second floor.
As they left the landing accompanied by a full-throated and impressive final “ Vincerò,” and made their way along a wide-arched corridor, they became aware of the vague sound of a man crying; a deep, painful, unrestrained sobbing. The sound emanated from a door at the far end of the corridor, where two men with automatic weapons slung over their shoulders stood peering through a small hatch in the door into the area beyond. The view was onto the open patio immediately within, unable to see clearly into the farther interior cell. But why this should be happening, with the inside guard also there, was a mystery? On the alert, they quickened their pace in some alarm.
“What the… che succede?!!” yelled Aldo as he ran ahead, and pulled one of the men away from the door.
“Non lo so, Signore,” stammered the guard. He turned towards the Don and continued, “Don Lucio, Signore Luthor. It’s strange. All was quiet before. Our man inside is now not to be seen. And this new guy is holding the captive—how to say, abbracciando! The prisoner—actually both of them—seem to be crying come un bambinos!”
“Let me see!” commanded the Don as he strode towards the door, peered through the hatch, and demanded the door be opened. The guard fumbled unceremoniously with the keys in panic. Don Lucio yanked it open, followed by the hasty others. Inside, in the darker center of the farther gloomy room, the caped-naked form of Superman could be seen, somewhat quivering, and sobbing on his knees, his face pressed against the belly of the younger man holding him—the supposedly sturdy, dark redheaded, Austin. Both of them in tears, one comforting the other. Of course, they broke apart, somewhat stunned at the intrusion.
“Mr. Mackenzie!” bellowed Don Lucio Lucifero, “What the fuck is going on here!? What the fuck do you think you are doing!? What kind of “treatment” is this!!??”
The rust-haired young man pulled away from his paramour Superman, both of them frozen—ready for the worst. In the embracing visitor’s eyes, no less a shocked look of fear, apprehension, anger, and determination… as he turned to face them. From behind the Don, Lex Luthor gave a sharp intake of breath as the redhead’s face came into full view.
“Jimmy Olsen!” he gasped, stupefied, and began to edge backwards away from the pair in the room. The youth he had known with lighter hair, now darker; but no mistaking who he was. His brightly open face with a bit of a scowl, fewer freckles: one and the same.
“Jimmy Olsen?!” shouted the Don in disbelief and the sudden angry realization he had been duped. He grabbed the nearest AK47 weapon from the gaping guard alongside him, levelled it at the young American, and pulled the trigger.
Human eyes were not equipped to see what happened next! There was a blur and only the briefest sound of the gun bursting into life. Had the Earthmen present possessed the heightened senses of a Kryptonian empowered by the Quantum Harmonics of a yellow sun, they would have seen the thong-naked Man of Steel leap to his feet and crush the muzzle of the automatic rifle before the first bullet could leave the barrel. An instant later, they would have seen the wrecked weapon swung like a mace at the bald head of the huge Italian crime boss, instantly decapitating him, and smashing his head into the adjacent wall where it exploded like a watermelon.
What Luthor, the guards, Aldo and Jimmy did see was The Don grab a weapon, fire it—and his headless body then slump to the floor—a massive red mess appearing on the sides of the stone chamber. Superman hardly appeared to move as he returned instantaneously to again re-embrace the young man whose very existence he had forgotten, until their startling reunion just over an hour earlier.
In the meantime, Jimmy had activated the secret ring-alarm, and Austin and his MI6 cohorts had now begun to storm the villa.
Luthor turned and ran as fast as he could. He knew it was hopeless to expect to outrun Superman, if the Kryptonian had recovered himself, but there was the possibility that the Man of Steel would first focus all of his attentions on the Italians who had imprisoned him. If he could get outside to his jet-powered helicopter waiting in the grounds with its pilot, he might be able to escape.
The image of the headless Don Lucio, and the explosion of blood and brains on the palazzo wall was seared into Luthor’s terrified mind, trying to process what he had seen. Superman did not kill, ever!! But it seemed now the extremity of the brutal, mind-altering treatment he had received at the hands of Levkowicz and the Don had annihilated that very principle. If he could unequivocally, instantaneously murder one arch enemy—what would prevent him doing the same to another? Screaming in panic to his startled pilot, Lex fled to his chopper, and they rose in a gust of whirling escape. Momentarily....
Aldo and the guards had also taken to their heels, heading to the sheds where cars and motor cycles were garaged. Neither they nor Luthor were aware that Superman, having disposed of the imminent threat posed by the Don, had his entire focus on returning to the arms of his young lover: the both of them in the shelter and comfort of the other. While the MI6 crew surprised the fleeing band, and rounded them up for final processing.
Shortly thereafter, the explosion later heard—pieces of the helicopter were found scattered in disarray along the rocky landscape nearby.
* * *
Once inside the more interior darkened chamber, the watchful guard who was permanently stationed there—no chances to be taken—allowed this “Austin” to do as he wished, Don’s orders. He sauntered back to his niched desk, and continued to thumb his magazines, not really curious. The care and training of his “pet” was well within normal methodology and control. The “super-fag” to be used and abused as often and as wanted, by a select few of several in-coming/out-going visitors who had previously so done. Some who had flown in thousands of miles to specifically observe, or do—. For a price. Days on end. He was merely the gate keeper, or water boy, as it were. (A small pull-down cot had even been installed for their conveniences.)
Jimmy did ask for some water. And broke his neck, when taken completely off-guard. Knowing Austin had insisted on and schooled him to do so, if the chance arose to be in “private” with the prisoner. There were no options; they must be alone! No one must view their interactions. Or be able to raise an alarm. All opposition had to be immediately curtailed. Jimmy had almost been “hypnotized” to do it, not being a nasty person, himself; and did as instructed. (Austin had also had some significant mind-control techniques, which he used whenever necessary; psychological tricks he had learned to use with great effect, to coerce or influence others…. One never knew how important or critical they could be employed. And they had saved his ass often.)
The guard’s body he dragged to a far corner of the cell, and left hidden there.
Once finally alone, Jimmy had observed in near horror, the besmudged, yet staggeringly beautiful physique of his beloved. No pride or ego in his standing when upright, only his natural skeletal structure—head cowed, shoulders slumped, chest sunken, arms listless—though still shoulder-broad and hugely hung. Yet with a thick steel ring around the base of his genitals; and oddly, looking quite flat-chested… (not sinking in, what was wrong there, at first)… and wearing a long, soiled red, facsimile Superman cape with which to cover himself, so his man appeared.
Seeing too, in shock, how his magnificent body had a dirt-smeared sheen now, denuded of all body hair—the hair of his head, which had been shaved as well, barely sprouting a two month’s unruly sprout of stubble—yet with a strangely full six month’s growth of dark, unkempt, and foul-matted beard, hiding his once before strikingly handsome face. It stank!
Tears rushed to his eyes… viewing also, the completely vacant look behind Kal’s eyes, his Superman’s lackluster, catatonic gaze: nobody home —tearing his heart into untold shreds. What had they done to him?! A robotic piece of breathing, dead and dulled flesh that stood before him. Empty and wasted.
“At, at your… service, sir. Whatever you wish,” the thing said hollowly. Awaiting instructions, perhaps some position to assume, some need to be performed.
Unlike the others, the creature was taken just a little aback, when this new visitor drew close to him, and wrapped his arms around him… though hard to do, considering his muscular mass… and clung to him like saran wrap, tearing and crying softly against him. It did something to him, inside . Some new thing he was not used to experiencing within the scope of his vacuous existence. His nostrils flared, and took in the scent of… something that shook him to his core. That—smell!!
The muscular figure gave a slight tremor.
“Oh, Kal, oh, Kal, oh, Kal…!” and Jimmy held him tighter. Those manly other huge arms unconsciously rose up around him, but paused, even unaware “it” had done so. Still empty.
Stepping back finally, grasping him by that stench-filled beard, full of old and new, both semen and food stains and refuse, he pulled their faces together kissing his lips, murmuring, wailing, “Kal, Kal, Kal, Kal,” all over his face, ceaselessly. “It’s me. Jimmy, Jimmy! Don’t you know me?”
There was a violent shaking of the creature’s head, and eyes that seemed to suddenly glisten alive, but registered nothing but confusion. Jimmy stepped further back, and then began to slap him over and over in his face. Over and over, rougher and rougher.
“It’s me, Kal. Kal! You are Clark. You are Superman. You are Kal-El. I’m Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy! Your lover!!”
Of course, confused by the darker-colored red growth on his face, but not the sound of his voice, the feel of him, or his smell… Superman gave an enormous groan, slipped down onto the floor, curled up into a tight ball, and began to weep, and shake, and weep and convulse… non-stop. Jimmy fell down atop him, draped himself over him, and held on. The both of them in a writhing torment of pain, bewilderment… and dawning recognition, which lasted nearly half an hour. The great MOS’s body thrashing involuntarily, alternately tremoring, unfolding, tightening, and clasping Jimmy against him, as if he were to absorb him into his skin. Tears and groans that never seemed to cease, from a well so deep, it appeared fathomless.
Jimmy knew then, he had pulled him back to a minimum of sense; but not sure how long it would last, or if it were merely temporary. Austin had warned him: he may well be unstable as a nuclear reactor on a near meltdown. Caution, my friend. Caution; and move softly….
Finally, the hero had quieted, but could barely speak. As if he no longer knew how, or was able to use the fewest of words. “Jimmy. Jim-me. Jimmmm-eeeee?”
Jimmy never ceased to kiss over him, every part he could touch, trying to reassure him he was real. The nightmare was over. Things would be alright. Then, he felt for his chest, the nipples he knew could drive his alien lover crazy with rapture—but they were no longer there!
In deep shock, he felt all over him, crying out: “Kal, Kal, what did they do to you…?”
With a mournful wail, the caped nude cried out: “They took them. They took them, Jimmy. They took them. Off—! Oh, love, they took them, they cut them off! Destroyed me.... ” And caved in again, weeping inconsolably. Desperate.
But Jimmy, determined, knew better. From all Kal had told him about his Kryptonian heritage. Remembered. He felt again across the mass of those burgeoning pectoral muscles, felt, and pushed forcefully down with his thumbs, deep into the scarred, smoothed-over areolae… and there he felt what he was sure were the roots of his man’s innate milk-source: the major fount-spring of his alien strength. Vague, but notably tiny hard buds were there, hidden beneath still. Waiting to be stimulated, regenerated, regrown! He was sure of it; massaged them fiercely, and watched as Kal’s stunned reaction quickened throughout his whole body. Indeed, the power was still there: waiting to be re-awakened, reclaimed once more into new life. The alien groaned, sprouting a massive erection in moments. He was no longer dead. He had been triggered into a new vibrancy and sexual hunger with such suddenness, he was overwhelmed.
Then, he groaned again, in terror. “What they have done, Jimmy. Not only taken my source-milk. But encased me with a Kryptonite ring. To poison, destroy my seed. I’m sterile— impotent. A useless male! My seed is dead, no power in it. Cannot regenerate my strength. They told me. Told me, I was dead inside. Dead from what I used to be, cannot ever be again!!”
Which brought forth another round of desperate weeping. Till Jimmy finally used his head and memory again.
They talked it through, Jimmy reminding him that the small amount of Kryptonite they could have obtained, to core within the steel ring around his genitals, was only temporary; that in three months, due to the smallness of the amount, it’s effective radiation would have worn off. Instead, they had brainwashed him into believing even if he took of his own seed again (or his breast milk, which he could never now), it would be useless to empower him; they had convinced him he would be a forever, impotent eunuch, no matter what. Even though it was a false threat, his mind had been so convinced, it had been reinforced into him for a reality. Not to mention now, with the sun’s Harmonics as before, he was no longer in any way powerless. He may be slightly less, until completely regenerated in totality, but he was still an incredibly mighty being; he’d just have to learn to take control of himself once more.
“And just in case, we need to remove that cock ring. Now!” Jimmy asserted.
“But I can’t. When they put it on, they said if I tried to remove it, even forcibly, I’d be removing my cock and my testicles with it; they’d be torn off. It was locked in place. I never dared, then. Though I really didn’t think about it. Just accepted.”
“Well, if they got it on you, it has to be able to come off. It wasn’t soldered on. So there has to be a “catch” there. They usually do.” And he found the seam in no time. Simply twisted the ring, the grooved catches separated, and the ring was removed. And then he threw it aside near the guard’s body.
Still, in the process, the MOS grew a mighty erection, nonetheless… Jimmy so near and in his arms. But Jimmy was trying to use his head more than his senses. Austin’s group, once alerted, must be signaled to close in, to secure their escape if needed. And his mission was to get Kal out of there, the both of them, in one piece. Jimmy merely kissed his cock, fondled him a moment, then flicked hard under the glans of Superman’s shaft to make it subside almost instantly—having wrenched off the ring, and began to undo his own trousers.
“Kal, if we are going to get out of here, you need more than your cape. You can’t be flying around nude, no matter how fine that cape is, or me with you. So here, wear my thong. It will help cover you.”
The MOS obliged, but sheepishly as they both noted, Jimmy’s ample thong could barely cover a third of him, he was so large. “Well,” said Jimmy, “some is better than none. Now, we have to test your abilities.”
He then had Kal to laser into a small section of the room with his heat vision; it wasn’t simple, but Jimmy demanded him to focus, and soon one of the stones practically seemed to evaporate. Then Jimmy had him levitate off the floor a few feet. He couldn’t do it. Kal was demoralized. “Focus, focus. You can do it. The sun is normal—and so are you. You just have to accept, and control it. WILL yourself into the air! Do it.”
Kal tried again, moved into the patio, and was able to quickly rise to the top of the grilled-over skylight, and bend the bars apart big enough for an opening for them to squeeze through… and floated down again.
“My God, you are a sight,” Jimmy grinned. Enthralled with the beauty of his nearly naked muscle man, a thong barely covering his huge slack genitals, and that crazy, disgusting beard, and half-grown head of hair, who returned his grin, and pulled him in. “Ready?” Jimmy asked, meaning to get out of there.
But the hero said, “No. We have to go, from where we started. Just to be sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have been lovers, are mated . My DNA and yours irrevocably mingled: mine in yours, and yours in mine. If something in me failed, yours would supplement mine. We can’t take the chance. Especially not in mid-flight.”
He pulled Jimmy in close, held him, even in protest… undid his trousers, knelt before him very simply, and sucked him in. “I need your juice, Jimmy. And your love. Which only you can give me. Has saved me—can—us.”
Due to his incomparable skills, he brought Jimmy to climax in less than five minutes. And again, the both of them overwhelmed, Jimmy’s trousers refastened, Kal still in adoration kneeling before him, they each burst into weeping: the joy of their love, hope, and relief once more….
Which is how and in what condition Don Lucio found them, with Lex right behind.
The Superman of old, if a Superman fully recovered, would have controlled his emotions and thus constrained any impulse to destroy the man threatening Jimmy’s life. But in this moment, the superhero was still the victim of an overwhelming psychological turbulence, and his only impulse was to remove the threat to his newly and adamantly rediscovered love and actual savior. In a fitting irony, Don Lucio Lucifero, the “Don of Dons” in Europe and the Middle East—the genius who had imprisoned and psychologically neutered the Man of Steel to near extermination—became the first and only man to ever have died at the hands of the formidable, upstanding and righteous Superman.
Afterwards, and mostly ignoring the fleeing criminals, Superman and Jimmy remained where they were, waiting to see what would happen… then finally down-strolled and out onto the lawn to observe the proceedings. But once Austin and his men had rounded them up, and was informed of Luthor’s escape, Superman politely gave a mysterious and curt, “Excuse me….” Left the bewildered group, and flew off.
A distant explosion was heard from afar. Superman in twenty minutes returned.
Acknowledging the surprised MI6 agents, Interpol, Austin and Jimmy—Superman merely said, “I think Mr. Luthor has inadvertently met with an accident.” And said nothing more.
He and Austin were re-introduced.
Jimmy told him, “I will tell you more, later.”
But Superman hugged onto the MI6 agent long and hard, and assured him, “We will meet again.”
“Yes, we have to have you get together with us in London for further discussions. Imperative, you know.” Austin/Jamie handed Jimmy his long-forgotten other passport.
“You have Jimmy’s info, then,” Superman straightened. “Contact him in a week. No sooner. We will not be available.”
Austin/Jamie then, observing the practically nude wonder before him again, said, “I do believe, sir, you had better become more formally dressed, or you will alarm too many.”
With a wink, the shaggy-faced Superman agreed. “I—we’re—Jimmy and I, will be headed for Corfu… for a shave, bath, hair-trim, and some rest. Perhaps visit with a tailor, too.”
* * *
Once clean and detoxed, the Greek sunlight a fine wonder on their skins—Jimmy deciding to keep his beard, it added something stronger to his visage—on a remote, far end of the island guest house patio, they embraced without speaking seemingly hours… the sun fading into the Ionian Sea, warm and pleasant. A dinner was served, wine drunk, and they fell asleep on a wide couch, oblivious to the world. Superman often stirring fitfully in his sleep, crushing onto Jimmy like a life preserver, who often had to wake and tell him, “Not so hard, Kal, easy love…. It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re fine.”
Then suddenly in the morning, the MOS stretched wide awake, grabbed Jimmy up and flew him right into the sea for an early awakening. Then, tenderly cradling him up onto the beach, out of view of any prying eyes, dominantly fucked him very slow and easily… hardly able to get a bit more than halfway into his beloved. Jimmy grimaced with the pain of his ever-largeness, but adored their immersion. Kal expressing himself as the strong one, Jimmy enraptured. Looking up into his face, stroking his cheeks, Jimmy couldn’t help but cry again.
For those first many hours of rediscovered closeness, the only language they needed was the nearness of their flesh and heartbeats and breaths. The grip of their arms that gradually gave way to gentle stroking, then soft intimate touches. Lips meeting so tentatively at first then mouths locked together, and tongues searching deeply. As the sun rose and morning sunshine bathed them into crispness, the tentativeness gave way to passionate lovemaking. With Jimmy’s care to dig his thumbs deep into his lover’s areolae, the startlingly re-empowered, love-shocked alien, his breasts enflamed anew with a feared long-lost ecstasy… Superman rocked back and forth astride his rediscovered lover, riding the hips of the beautiful boy beneath him, whose engorged organ slid rhythmically in and out of him, thrusting harder and harder in time with their ecstatic moans. When he shot, he feared he might almost drown him, the heights of his emotion seeming to trigger an unusual quantity of his essence, as if from an untapped well. He came and came and came, and then fell weakly, and depleted, a hopeless mess atop the honed muscled form of his youthful, manly lover. Who hugged him close for nearly an hour, each equally licking, savoring their juices, and basking in the release of their fluids, as it further absorbed into their skins.
Strangely, their love-making continued unabated through the whole morning and into the late afternoon. Measured, simple, leisurely. Once more, Jimmy then re-asserting himself, fucking the MOS into a near senseless oblivion. Time after time….
Draining them both.
With only Jimmy’s still too small thong to cover him, Kal decided to make a quick trip to his home Fortress of Solitude, get a new costume, gather up some other clothes… in the middle of the night… and returned. It was surely a test of his abilities, to see how well he was functioning. And to his shock, he had to stop and recoup three different times along the way, both going and coming. Not sure if it was because of the amount of semen he had expended in Jimmy’s arms (which was a normal true depletion, really—if not thus having re-ingested that much of his own, nor able to partake any longer of his own breast milk [though it was building inside him to reproduce, yet had no way to be released]…), or if his basic physiology might have suffered irreparable harm from the Great Anomaly? A question he would have to explore and determine.
Thus when he returned, suitcase and all, papers, money, passport, etc., he knew he and Jimmy would have to rely on mechanical transport to London.
However, the Kryptonian’s sleep (even months long after) was still plagued by nightmares of torture and humiliation. Time and again over the next few days of renewal he awoke screaming, groaning or sobbing, to be comforted and soothed by his anguished lover. Gradually a semblance of calmness returned; but Jimmy had to bear the brunt of it. Not an easy task, his teeth ever set on edge—terrified of the internal damage that may yet be lingering for however long down the road. Someone ordinary, he realized, may never recover; someone “extraordinary…” well, that was a different pill to be dealt with.
Jimmy told the story of the rescue in close detail, how he had been schooled by the MI6 agent Jamie to take his place as “Austin,” in order to penetrate the palazzo which served as Superman’s prison. It dawned on Superman that the British agent had cleverly maintained his cover as a member of the Levkowicz gang while shielding him from the worst excesses of abuse; then later, using his undercover role as a means of access, had tutored and schooled Jimmy so that he could pass for “Austin.” Superman’s confused, initial appreciation, and not unexpected strongly hard bitterness (and bit of a residual fury at the young Scot who had abused him), slowly subsided, and gave way to an enormous gratitude and admiration. Oh, yes, he remembered well: the shocked raping, the fisting, the fucking… the whippings, the bindings, and those rare soothing words that had helped bolster his failing courage—but an also other strange something stirred within him... unexpected. Had been triggered. But it was a remote item, he would have to figure out for himself.
Both: intensely alarming, yet weirdly satisfying in the final assessment of it all.
Seven days later they were in London: he as Clark, Jimmy, Jamie/Austin… all in a hushed meeting with the Brits. Further details emerged, a shock to Superman they had known his pseudo-identity for ages; accepted it; and they avowed forever secrecy. Still, undercover, they were well planning to observe their rescued “item,” see how he fared… and he was urged extreme caution, and to remain as much out of the public eye as possible. He was also staggered to learn his own countrymen had more or less surrendered him to whatever fate he had fallen into—this he would not forget—and agreed his rescued existence should be dealt with as a continued matter of clandestine security.
Jimmy was kind of stuck in the middle, still having to figure how to report to Perry White, as his assignment had dictated—maintain his status quo with his lover, and still having to hide the fact that Clark Kent was near and dear… but that too, couldn’t be!!
Jamie/Austin, on his own, was mulling over how to deal with the fortune he had now tucked away in a Swiss bank (his cut from Lev Levkowicz, astutely hidden from even the knowledge of his own organization), and whether to hang on with MI6, or just retire quietly?
Whatever, they would each have to construct their futures and ways as best they could. It was finally decided, the best for all, at least temporarily , Superman should return home… give Lois the story: announce an unexpected early retirement from public service, due to a supposed illness from the effects of the Anomaly, from which he was not sure he could recover completely, and wished to nurse his wounds. They all figured that would be the best ploy, and to then let things unfold as they would.
With Europe’s most notorious Don out of the way, and the sudden demise of the U.S.’s equally abhorrent Lex Luthor, whose helicopter had crashed on a sightseeing tour of Italy—well, globally things were looking much cheerier…. MI6, most assuredly, keeping mum over the alien’s “murders”—such must never reach the public’s awareness!! Not even Interpol or the CIA hierarchies were to know the truth of that. What had happened had happened. The Brit’s agreed, “no problem”… for problems solved. Simple.
They parted on good terms. Jamie hugged them both without qualm, and sadly watched them off from the airport. Lois was overjoyed Superman had returned, but was equally un-balanced when giving him a fan-fare last interview on television. Jimmy sheepishly gave his excuse of a story in the location and rescue of the MOS from a notorious gang of arms dealers, omitting most of the real truths, and padding the tale as necessary. Perry was pleased, still grumbling over Clark’s mysterious defection, and life went on.
Surreptitiously.
Jimmy was obviously strung out to his limits, so Perry gave him two weeks off with pay. The poor guy was definitely frazzled. Even looked as if he had lost most of his freckles. And with that new scruff of a trimmed beard looked actually more masculine than before, though completely worn through.
Superman wasted no time, and spirited them both off to his Arctic Fortress. And they made love endlessly for days. And both were delighted that in this such short of a time, plus some review of his extensive crystals’ library, combing them for information, and a tonic he concocted… they could noticeably begin to see very tiny mounds beginning to protrude through the tight skin of the alien’s areolae. More like bloated pimples, but noticeable nonetheless. Hard as pebbles, and wacko extremely sensitive—so much so they literally hurt, and Superman begged him not to touch them other than with the tip of his tongue… if they got too carried away. Could hardly bear to even hold Jimmy too tightly in his arms, the pressure against them excruciating. Though insanely arousing, at the same time.
Jimmy, also, finally had to bare his heart, and revealed to his lover what other thing had happened between he and Jamie. The stunned Clark absorbed it. Forgave him. Loved him. And simply said, “Then, he’s fucked both of us. Fitting, I guess.” And let it go.
Though an automatic depression set in. What was the MOS going to do now? How to live his life—no longer Clark Kent, nor even officially Superman? It was a dilemma.
* * *
Sleepy-eyed, half awake, he heard a murmur of voices, and ambled into the main sanctuary’s living room. Abruptly his eyes popped open wide: there was Kal, in his Superman uniform, and Jamie beside him.
“Hi, mate. So good to see you again,” hand swallowing his tightly, pulling him hard and intensely in against him. And kissed him on the cheek.
“Oh, hell,” Kal grinned. “Kiss the fucker!” His arm crushed around them both, tightening—almost forcing them together. Jamie and Jimmy kissed mouth to mouth, like an astonished pair of long-lost lovers, at last reunited. No mistaking what they each felt.
“Hoping it would turn out that way,” smiled the blue clad figure, obviously pleased with himself.
“Clark called me over. I got to Montreal, he lifted me from the hotel. Wham! What a ride! Me head’s still whirly.”
“I-I-uh. I’m—uhh. Oh, Jamie. Really. Have thought about you often—. So, so surprised.”
“You’re looking good, lad. And your hunk, here.”
Superman stepped back, gave them his famous arms over the chest pose. Couldn’t stop smiling. “Since we’ve definitely shared with each other, I thought it might be… appropriate, to express our fullest care and appreciation. One on one. And together.”
“You’re kidding, Kal!” Jimmy gasped.
“Not my sort of thing, either,” Jamie added. Paused. Then said, “To be with the most wonderful two men I’ve ever known—again. I couldn’t say no.”
“Jimmy…?”
Jimmy just swallowed.
“I need some breakfast. Coffee.”
“Me, too.”
“Be my guests,” Kal smirked.
And served breakfast in a flash. A bit of chat, joking, kidding.
Afterwards, he shepherded them into the atrium. The sunlight through the crystalline structured walls was dazzling, an emperor’s sized round divan awaiting them.
“Oh, Gawd, this is amazing!” Jamie stammered, looking to each of them.
Superman moved them in, his arms widening, enclosed around… kissing them each, warmly, dearly. “Had it not been for you, the two of you… I would no longer “be alive.” I owe you everything. Even my breath.”
And he kissed them more passionately. They as one responded.
“Undress me,” he said. “Let me love you, be loved, show you—loving….”
They stripped him, covering him with their mouths. They got to the divan, removing their clothes, and unexpectedly, suddenly the both of them then went for his areolae at the same time—their hands onto his hugely erected phallus—(suddenly reversing his plans to make love to them both at once, instead!)—as they mutually assaulted him! He writhed, thrashed, screamed literally aloud, and went helplessly rigid as they mouthed onto his nipples—impossibly convulsed, and in twenty seconds shot a huge load instantaneously. They did not relent, assured of his ecstasy (they thought, being oddly expressed…) still at his so-tender nipples, continually jacking hands on his cock between them, and he shot again. And again. Still literally wailing, screaming… and passed out after the fourth volley. In true shock, and completely inert.
Then, they worried. What had seemed like giving him a truly mountain peak of joy, they re-evaluated.
Desperately, and in panic, they slapped him awake. He came to in half a stupor. “Oh, ohhhh... ohhhhhh! Too much, too soon; too quick, too… rough. I need to….” and passed out again.
Considering it was the effects of the Anomaly still, they covered him. Let him sleep. And unable to refrain, fuck/sucked each other as he lay catatonic beside them. He awoke three hours later. Stunned, disoriented. But they served him coffee, kisses, hugs, caresses… and soon he was stabilized.
More careful this time, and much later, having been warned not to overly stimulate his pecs, they went at it like madmen: each for each, each with each, any and every conceivable way possible for three men in love to make love. Unusual to say the least, exhausting themselves beyond what any of them had thought could be known or done. Naturally, it was extremely hard to accommodate him , Superman being so hugely hung, but they worked around and with him, so that their pleasure was his, and his was theirs. Whether partially so, or otherwise.
Superman’s powerful sexuality and emotions, overcoming even his own normal reserves and prudishness. Wants and needs overflowing. Splintering into and through each of them; the three becoming as one, as if unchained from a long sleep; their mutual desires surfaced, unquenchable. And tender. A love of instantaneous, unbridled immersion. Simple and clear. After all, two pairs of them had each previously shared of each other, whether rightly or not. This time it was completely right. And for all three—.
Jamie stayed with them for three days; and the huge bed became the setting for their exhilarating and uninhibited celebration of a wondrous shared victory. And much to Jamie’s delight, Superman, the mightiest man on earth, gave ultimate definition to the term “a man among men” as an incredible top driller (if only partially), and a superb “power bottom”—more than capable, and equally from both ends—in true love and appreciation, from the depths of his soul… for having saved his life, and his beloved from extinction.
Their essences and breaths shared and joined beyond brotherhood. Their life-forces forever intermingled as one. Bonding irrevocably.
While outside, the yellow-white, life-affirming Arctic sun once more played brilliantly, benignly across and over the vast reaches of the quiet realms of ice and snow. They were safe, they were home, they were free. Within each other’s arms. hearts, minds, bodies.
But indeed, had finally to part. And against all norms, because of their unusual bonding, Superman determined… they would re-meet again semi-annually, to celebrate their special union—something he and they could treasure forever. Cherish. Wholeheartedly needed. Nothing wrong nor immoral about it. A love between them which was truly holy. Agreed, accepted. And good.
A gift without which… neither one of them would ever have survived to know.
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