Part Ten
“Luthor, no. Please, mercy—don’t. You, you know who I am.... What else?”
“What else? Those prized bull-balls and horse-cock in a jar on my mantel. Your handsome head in a crystal box on my desk.”
Raleigh swallowed crazily.
They’d do it. They’d kill him. They had Kryptonite.
Lex calmly walked close to the table, looking down at his de-powered, massive enemy, who seemed as if he could, to shrink back deeper into the table, tensing, trembling to get away from him... his great arms and legs seeming to come alive with some residual resistance.
“Hold him down!” Luthor admonished. Four of his goons responded, each grabbing a limb of the hapless alien, applied their pressures to keep him in place.
Luthor very gently, slowly placed the ring on the center of Superman’s forehead, who moaned mournfully, shaking. Then he traced it down along the bridge of his nose, across his lips, his chin... the flustered, desperate alien quaking, struggling. Then down over his mighty, gasp-rising pecs, and let it sit, lay there directly over his heart.
Clark could feel the penetration, his heart started beating very erratically, as it struggled to adjust to the radiation seeping into him. He was making frantic, involuntary sounds, music to Lex’s ears. His eyes going very wide and desperate as if trying to blast a hole in the ceiling. True desperation caused him to engage his laser heat vision, or tried to... the shock of its uselessness worse than alarming. His superior powers were truly null and void. They had him!
Then Luthor did what was never expected, nor considered. He took Superman’s desirably gigantic cock, moved it aside with a little grimace of difficulty, and placed the ring right above the mid-center of Clark’s powerful balls. Clark screamed, whimpered, shook and shuddered.
The fire into his life-source was horrendous. It would kill him.
After the first incredible shock, his initial acute cries became lesser and quieter, and faded into merely stunned and continuous loud whimperings, while his huge chest was overly laden with very rapid and deep breaths... his system trying to adjust to the assault to his invulnerability, and the lethality of the destruction entering the power-center of his life forces. It was inevitable, he would die. Sweat breaking out all over him in a rush. His innate great strength warring against those trying to hold him still, giving them a run for their efforts.
But that might take hours, half a day, a full day? Two days? Unable at this point to be determined. The smallness of the Kryptonite mineral in the MOS’s momentary favor, though ultimately still deadly. Luthor surmised the same.... Yet knowing he had struck the effective blows that would finish him off. He didn’t have time to be standing around waiting for the grass to grow. It had to be tonight.
He called for more of the same string that was binding the alien’s large, phallic-sized teats. Aha, he finally removed the scorching ring from the exhausted testicles of the once superhero, fastened it with a secure loop, and draped it around Clark’s neck, so it fell directly again over his heart, and between his bound tits... (already poisoning the milk he needed to drink from, if he ever could or would again, and so wanted to).
Raleigh, through it all, had tears in his eyes and clenched fists. He must save him, he must! Without a clue how.
“Now, let’s get down to work. Finish this,” Luthor demanded. He instructed one of the men to go out to his van, and bring in the several coils of white nylon rope already waiting there. Several of ¼” thickness, the other of ½” thickness. They would be more than sufficient, seeing how Superman was “super” no more. Not even a Mr. Olympia would be able to break through the fibers of these smallest of restraints.
“The perfect solution, Superman,” gloated Lex. “We’ll have you gone and out of here in no time.” The worried MOS knowing it was true, resigning himself to his demise. But how quick, or even “how” that might occur, his mind could not quite fathom. Just hoped it would be merciful, and not near as painful as the crushing of his treasured testicles... which some low-lifes such as Lex Luthor’s crew might be wont to do.
Still on the table, they were instructed to place several firm pillows under Clark’s upper torso and shoulders, and one under his hips, too, effectively arching his ribcage to a higher prominence, and allowing his head and neck then to fall at a slant back over and off the edge of the massage table. He would not be able to see anything except the ceiling, nor even his nipples, much less his feet, unless severely craning his neck, which would be very difficult to do.
His arms were pulled aside and back also, wrists fastened, then the restraints anchored to the table legs under him. Same for his ankles, each bound, the cords securely attached to the metal legs beneath.
Both Raleigh and Clark were in some distress as to what might be unfolding, or even how.
“Do you have some buckets, plastic? Five, ten gallons should do. Filled with cold, even tepid water. Some small plastic trash bags, similar size?”
“Yes, sir,” Raleigh replied. “In the utility area.”
“Bring them. Just one bucket full.”
“Right away.” His stomach churning, not happy at his task. He must do something to stop this. Not knowing what he was supposed to be “stopping.”
While Raleigh was gone—certainly later in intense surprise when he came back to see what had been done—Luthor instructed once more one of his men, “Take that thinner string, like the one binding his fag udders, and fasten it onto his tits, then take the length of that down and fasten it around his cock and scrotum. Nice and tight, so there’s a constant pull on both, and will keep him in a state of semi, if not full-blown arousal.”
“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”
“Then, with the remainder, loop some around that obscene thick glans of his, again pull tight, long and down, while he’s still rather flaccid, towards his feet as far as you can go, and fasten the end of it under the table, too.... So, with the arch of his torso, the strain on his cow-tits and genitals, then the further strain on his erection tormenting him... he’s in prime position to hardly dare struggle loose—even if he could—without literally castrating himself, or ripping off his tits. Should hold him in place, you think?”
“Brilliant, sir. Brilliant.”
“Because he will. He will put up a fight, be sure of that,” Luthor smug, assured them. “Might as well make his last few minutes as pleasantly un-pleasant as possible. Right?”
“Jesus,” one of them breathed. “And what else?”
Raleigh came back with the water bucket in one hand, the trash bags in the other.
“Over there, by his head,” Luthor indicated, taking the trash bags momentarily, before setting them aside.
Raleigh with the greatest dread did as he was told. And as he was bent forward, Clark whispered to him. “No matter what—know you gave me, greatest joy I’ve ever known. I love, forgive you, Raleigh. Wish we could—more.”
“Shut the fuck up, princess!” one of the goons spewed. And slapped Clark’s mouth hard and tight, his head jerked. And he was quiet.
Raleigh stood up furious.
“Now, gentlemen—places, please! One of you at each of his ankles, the other two at his knees. Then, one each at the wrists, the others on the elbows. He will buck, he will fight. But with no leverage, he’s going nowhere.”
They all took their places, wondering.
“Since I can’t remove his head, though in a good position to try, his alien invincibility is still in operation. Until he’s dead, I assume.... Then the forces that make his skin impenetrable will be curtailed, and we can do the clean-up, after. But to get him there takes some preparation.”
Everyone was all ears, and ready.
“Two things he can’t live without—or any of us. Blood, and air! Since he can’t be cut, we have to compromise his flow. End his breathing. The rest is... then, it’s done! I don’t have all night. So this is the quickest, simplest. Can’t stand around waiting for the Kryptonite to burn holes in his nuts, or bring his heart to a stop. Or even jam it up his ass and watch him convulse and jerk for hours or days.”
Still trying to think faster than Luthor, they rather shifted uneasily.
The arched, bound Superman’s stomach flipped internally. Equal measures of raw panic and deep peace filled him. He knew they could, and would kill him. No longer invincible, Luthor’s logic was beyond valid. His life was over.
“Yorgo, take his neck with the quarter inch. Garrot him tight—very, very tight. You probably won’t kill him outright, but the flow to his brain will surely stop, soon enough.”
It was then Raleigh acted. With super-human strength, he lunged for Yorgo, who had moved to slip the nylon around Clark’s neck (who knew he was finished if it happened). The two of them tousled in a furious tangle. The older, stronger man amazed at the ferocity of the younger. Not knowing the effect still working within him of having absorbed the MOS’s potent jizz, Raleigh was in a desperate fury.
“No, no, no you’re not! I’m not going to let you!!”
But another one got behind Raleigh, and soon had an arm around his throat, and one behind his head, and had fastened him securely in a death grip, while Raleigh’s legs valiantly kicked and surged outward. Giving his captor a difficult time, small as he was.
“My, my, my!” Luthor snorted. “A change of heart, a surge of conscience?”
“I... only called, for the reward. To say who he was. Not—not to kill him! You, you’re evil! An evil man! Superman is all that is good and fine, anywhere. And you want him dead!?”
“Sucking on some of that big cock seems to have altered your perspective, little man. A shame. Probably had a taste of those monster tits, too. Yes?” Luthor paused, thinking.
“So, who,” he continued, “knows you, or Kent were here?”
“The appointment book. The schedule. Security cameras.”
“And no roommate at home, no live-in girlfriend, boyfriend? Momma?”
Still struggling to get free. “I live alone. Nobody.”
“What about Kent?”
“I don’t know anything about him. Just works, a reporter.”
“And you agreed to play with his dick. For how much?”
“Maybe... two hundred, extra.”
“Till you got greedy. Saw twenty million flashing under his sheets?”
“I didn’t mean any harm. If he was Superman, you couldn’t hold him, anyway.”
“But alas, he is. And you fucked, drained him silly. Weaker than shit, now. Quite a feat. You should be proud. Not a clue he could be so easily had. Playing with his monster cock.”
“It, it wasn’t meant to be... something terrible. Just something pleasant. Lots of men do, that come here. You know. You own the place.”
“No, this isn’t a gay bath-house. I despise that shit. But you played. Didn’t have to, did you? Fag yourself. And I hate fags...! Just like this limp fairy here. Not worth the breathing.”
“Let him go, Mr. Luthor. You got what you wanted. His identity, isn’t that bad enough?”
“Bad, no. What’s good is to remove his damn cock, and his head. And give us some peace, nor more interference in my business... always making it his . Interrupting my deals.”
“If they were legit, you’d have had nothing to worry about.”
“Luthor, for God’s sake, let the boy go! He did what you paid him for. And now I’m yours.” Clark had strained to get that out, was urgent to see Raleigh came to no harm. But it was futile. Lex had his plans.
“Cocksucker—choke on it; go play with your tits! You’re over the rainbow, fuck-ass,” someone somewhere interjected, didn’t matter who.
“Well, well,” Luthor surmised. “We have a schedule to alter. No next of kin. Rework the phone message system, alter all the security tapes. Empty the garage, haul off the vehicles to the car crushers. No one will know anyone was ever here. Closed shop early at seven. Not a trace....”
“Someone will know. I have a dog.”
“Oh, good grief. He’ll just have to bark. And I’ve saved myself 20 million, to boot.”
Luthor gave a curt nod, a side flicker of his eyes. The thug holding him snapped Raleigh’s neck with a loud pop. The handsome young red-haired man went instantly limp in his arms. Was gone. And unceremoniously his body was let sag to the floor, arms and legs askew.
Superman had screamed, “NO!” But it was as vacuous a protest as if he’d said nothing. Tears coursed from his eyes, and someone kneed him in the teeth, but he really didn’t feel it. His heart was broken. The boy he’d loved. Had just moments ago wanted to spend his life with, if only he could have....
“Go ahead, finish him.” And Yorgo took the quarter inch nylon, and pulled it as tight around Clark’s dangling neck as was humanly possible. The veins in the MOS’s face and neck and head went instantly strong and thick and prominent. His skin and countenance registering shock red from his wide shoulders and downward. (Remember, his body was basically above him, not he above it.) Clark snarked and gurgled uselessly in protest, could no longer breathe, nor take in any air long enough to outlast such an ordeal.
Then, while they held him fast, not able to breathe, again Luthor nodded. And his head was slightly lifted, while the bucket full of water was placed under it, and his whole head and face were immersed into it. Drowning him in moments, though he shook it frantically from side to side within the container. Wasting his energy. Water sloshing everywhere.
Oh, yes, his great body bucked and strained, nearly ripped through the restraints holding him, the men struggled wildly to contain his sudden unearthly surges of strength, his huge body in a desperate bid for survival, and the oddly enough harsh pulling on his nipples and genitals caused him to instantly, involuntarily ejaculate several huge spurts of the last of his essences as he was dying. And finally... were stilled as he was, into nothing.
Actually quicker than Luthor expected. He slow counted for a full ten minutes to make sure. The magnificent physique of the massively sculptured, beautiful muscled being gradually ceased its futile tremorings and lay still. Not even a twitch.
Luthor counted out another ten minutes, and then got his knife. The alien’s overly large penis and balls were easily removed with barely a hitch, and placed in a nearby cooler. Then, once his head was released from the bucket, his beautiful blue eyes, still starkly wide-open in pure horror and anguish, were gently pushed shut, the rope uncinched from his neck, his mouth gaping as if still desperate for air... Luthor ripped through the strong sinews and tendons of his neck, and removed the MOS’s head. It, too, went into another cooler for preservation.
The bodies of both Raleigh and Clark were folded up, placed in the trunks of their vehicles. A flatbed was called for, the cars loaded quietly onto the trucks, and carted off for crushing at a secret location. Squashed into much smaller metal cubes for disposal as scrap.
All of the phone records, paper records, recordings, and cameras were adjusted to reveal nothing had ever happened at the facility past 7 p.m. And of course, the rooms used were terminally cleaned as if they had just been prepared for a crisp, pristine Opening Day.
Raleigh and his car had simply vanished after he had left school that day. The same with Clark Kent. Jimmy Olsen was in utter shock, but what could he do. He told the police Clark had been headed for the Westlake Therapy Center for a late appointment, but had apparently never arrived. It was a forever mystery. Nothing showed he’d ever gotten there.
Not to mention, at the same time, though it took a few weeks, all traces of the presence of Superman had been extinguished from the Earth. Strange, strange, strange.
While Luthor, in the privacy of his very private den, got no end of enjoyment gazing at his otherworldly trophies, and began to write his memoirs.
(An alternate, and somewhat highly illogical, implausible ending, taken with a grain of salt, and a soft-sighing smile: with some repetition.)
Part Ten
“Luthor, no. Please, mercy—don’t. You know who I am.... What else?”
“What else? Those prized bull-balls and horse-cock in a jar on my mantel. Your handsome head in a crystal box on my desk.”
Raleigh swallowed crazily.
They’d do it. They’d kill him. They had Kryptonite.
Lex calmly walked close to the table, looking down at his de-powered, massive enemy, who seemed as if he could, to shrink back deeper into the table, tensing, trembling to get away from him... his great arms and legs seeming to come alive with some residual resistance.
“Hold him down!” Luthor admonished. Four of his goons responded, each grabbing a limb of the hapless alien, applied their pressures to keep him in place.
Luthor very gently, slowly placed the ring on the center of Superman’s forehead, who moaned mournfully, shaking. Then he traced it down along the bridge of his nose, across his lips, his chin... the flustered, desperate alien quaking, struggling. Then down over his mighty, gasp-rising pecs, and let it sit, lay there directly over his heart.
Clark could feel the penetration, his heart started beating very erratically, as it struggled to adjust to the radiation seeping into him. He was making frantic, involuntary sounds, music to Lex’s ears. His eyes going very wide and desperate as if trying to blast a hole in the ceiling. True desperation caused him to engage his laser heat vision, or tried to... the shock of its uselessness worse than alarming. His superior powers were truly null and void. They had him!
Then Luthor did what was never expected, nor considered. He took Superman’s desirably gigantic cock, moved it aside with a little grimace of difficulty, and placed the ring right above the mid-center of Clark’s powerful balls. Clark screamed, whimpered, shook and shuddered.
The fire into his life-source was horrendous. It would kill him.
After the first incredible shock, his initial acute cries became lesser and quieter, and faded into merely stunned and continuous loud whimperings, while his huge chest was overly laden with very rapid and deep breaths... his system trying to adjust to the assault to his invulnerability, and the lethality of the destruction entering the power-center of his life forces. It was inevitable, he would die. Sweat breaking out all over him in a rush. His innate great strength warring against those trying to hold him still, giving them a run for their efforts.
But that might take hours, half a day, a full day? Two days? Unable at this point to be determined. The smallness of the Kryptonite mineral in the MOS’s momentary favor, though ultimately still deadly. Luthor surmised the same.... Yet knowing he had struck the effective blows that would finish him off. He didn’t have time to be standing around waiting for the grass to grow. It had to be tonight.
He called for more of the same string that was binding the alien’s large as phallic-sized teats. Aha, he finally removed the scorching ring from the exhausted testicles of the once superhero, fastened it with a secure loop, and draped it around Clark’s neck, so it fell directly again over his heart, and between his bound tits... (already poisoning the milk he needed to drink from, if he ever could or would again, and so wanted).
Raleigh, through it all, had tears in his eyes and clenched fists. He must save him, he must! Without a clue how.
“Now, let’s get down to work. Finish this,” Luthor demanded. He instructed one of the men to go out to his van, and bring in the several coils of white nylon rope already waiting there. Several of ¼” thickness, the other of ½” thickness. They would be more than sufficient, seeing how Superman was “super” no more. Not even a Mr. Olympia would be able to break through the fibers of these smallest of restraints.
“The perfect solution, Superman,” gloated Lex. “We’ll have you gone and out of here in no time.” The worried MOS knowing it was true, resigning himself to his demise. But how quick, or even “how” that might occur, his mind could not quite fathom. Just hoped it would be merciful, and not near as painful as the crushing of his treasured testicles... which some low-lifes such as Lex Luthor’s crew might be wont to do.
Still on the table, they were instructed to place several firm pillows under Clark’s upper torso and shoulders, and one under his hips, too, effectively arching his ribcage to a higher prominence, and allowing his head and neck then to fall at a slant back over and off the edge of the massage table. He would not be able to see anything except the ceiling, nor even his nipples, much less his feet, unless severely craning his neck, which would be very difficult to do.
His arms were pulled aside and back also, wrists fastened, then the restraints anchored to the table legs under him. Same for his ankles, each bound, the cords securely attached to the metal legs beneath.
Both Raleigh and Clark were in some distress as to what might be unfolding, or even how.
“Do you have some buckets, plastic? Five, ten gallons should do. Filled with cold, even tepid water. Some small plastic trash bags, similar size?”
“Yes, sir,” Raleigh replied. “In the utility area.”
“Bring them. Just one bucket full.”
“Right away.” His stomach churning, not happy at his task. He must do something to stop this. Not knowing what he was supposed to be “stopping.”
While Raleigh was gone—certainly later in intense surprise when he came back to see what had been done—Luthor instructed once more one of his men, “Take that thinner string, like the one binding his fag udders, encircling his tits, then take the length of that down and fasten it around his cock and scrotum. Nice and tight, so there’s a constant pull on both, and will keep him in a state of semi, if not full-blown arousal.”
“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”
“Then, with the remainder, loop some around that obscene glans of his, again pull tight, long and down, while he’s still rather flaccid, towards his feet as far as you can go, and fasten the end of it under the table, too.... So, with the arch of his torso, the strain on his cow-tits and genitals, then the further stress on his erection tormenting him... he’s in prime position to hardly dare struggle loose—even if he could—without literally castrating himself, or ripping off his tits. Should hold him in place, you think?”
“Brilliant, sir. Brilliant.”
“Because he will. He will put up a fight, be sure of that,” Luthor smug, assured them. “Might as well make his last few minutes as pleasantly un-pleasant as possible. Right?”
“Jesus,” one of them breathed. “And what else?”
Raleigh came back with the water bucket in one hand, the trash bags in the other.
“Over there, by his head,” Luthor indicated, taking the trash bags momentarily, before setting them aside.
Raleigh with the greatest dread did as he was told. And as he bent forward, Clark whispered to him. “No matter what—know you gave me, greatest joy I’ve known. I love you, Raleigh. Forgive... wish we could—more.”
One of the men didn’t like it that the two “fuck-boys” were communicating. He came closer trying to hear. Hastily, Clark went on. “My seed in you... may help. Only you can save me. Oxygen, oil! Fire alarm. Protect yourself.”
“Shut the fuck up, princess!” the goon spewed. “Kissy-Kissy is over!” And slapped Clark’s mouth hard and tight, his head jerked. And he was quiet.
Raleigh backed off and stood up furious.
“Now, gentlemen—places, please! One of you at each of his ankles, the other two at his knees. Then, one each at the wrists, the others on the elbows. He will buck, he will fight. But with no leverage, he’s going nowhere.”
They all took their places, wondering.
Raleigh, frantically trying to mull over the chemistry in his head.
“Since I can’t remove his head, though in a good position to try, his alien invincibility is still in operation. Until he’s dead, I assume.... Then the forces that make his skin impenetrable will be curtailed, and we can do the clean-up, after. But to get him there takes some preparation.”
Everyone was all ears, and ready.
“Two things he can’t live without—or any of us. Blood, and air! Since he can’t be cut, we have to compromise his flow. End his breathing. The rest is... then, it’s done! I don’t have all night. So this is the quickest, simplest. Can’t stand around waiting for the Kryptonite to burn holes in his nuts, or bring his heart to a stop. Or even jam it up his ass and watch him convulse and jerk for hours or days.”
Still trying to think faster than Luthor, they rather shifted uneasily.
The arched, bound Superman’s stomach flipped internally. Equal measures of raw panic and deep peace filled him. He knew they could, and would kill him. No longer invincible, Luthor’s logic was beyond valid. His life was over.
“Yorgo, take his neck with the quarter inch. Garrot him tight—very, very tight. You probably won’t kill him outright, but the flow to his brain will surely stop, soon enough.”
Raleigh, seeing the murder of his lover beginning to take place, the nylon being swiftly anchored to his sinewy neck—
“Go ahead, finish him,” Luthor nodded to Yorgo. “Before we drown him.”
Clark’s head, semi-dangling back and downwards, was being strangled... the veins in his face and neck and head going instantly strong and thick and prominent—his skin and countenance registering shock-red. Clark snarked and gurgled uselessly in protest, could no longer breathe, nor take in any air long enough to outlast such an ordeal.
It was then Raleigh acted. “No, no, you’re not—I won’t let you!!”
He lunged for Yorgo, but was thrust aside. Even with the increased strength surging through him, as if he could have whipped through six men, he was still easily pulled off and thrust aside like a pile of laundry into the corner.
“My, my, my. The little boy has decided he’d rather have his daddy’s cock, than see him snuffed. Not even for 20 million!”
“You’re evil, Luthor. You’re a fiend!”
While the sounds of Clark’s dying and gargling were dominant in their ears—his great torso and body arching, struggling, flailing as the others held onto him.
Then, while they held him fast, not able to breathe, again Luthor nodded. And his head was slightly lifted, while the bucket was placed under it, and his whole head and face were backwards forcefully immersed into it. Drowning him in moments, though he shook it frantically from side to side within the container. Wasting his energy. His desperate air bubbling in the water like boiling liquid. Their cruel hands curtailing his fervent efforts, restraining him.
But Raleigh was up and out of the room quicker than a flash. Into the adjacent tank room, he hastily released the valves of the giant O2 containers, five of them, upright against the wall. Found some discarded oil-soaked rags and flung them over the valves. Remembering his chemistry.
All the while, oh, yes, the MOS’s great body bucked and strained, nearly ripped through the restraints holding him, the men struggled wildly to contain his sudden, unearthly surges of strength, his huge body in a desperate bid for survival—the oddly enough harsh pulling on his nipples and genitals caused him to instantly, involuntarily ejaculate several huge spurts from the reservoirs of his super-essences as he was dying. Though he instantly fell into a chasm of unconsciousness anyway.
Raleigh managed to get as far as the fire alarm boxes halfway back and down the hall towards where they were murdering his beloved, and pulled them. Startling everyone.
Just as the clangs went off, and the explosion knocked through the walls and everyone off their feet... or into bits and pieces like shredded meat.
Dust and smoke and fire were everywhere. Terrified, Raleigh groped his way back to the massage room, bodies all over the place in disarray, his beloved companion inert in a heap on the floor under the table as if dead. Hastily he undid the murderous nylon still fastened to his neck, rolled him over, breathed frantically into him... felt him cough. But the flames were getting to be too much, the heat, the fire alarms still screaming like crazy.
With superhuman strength he did not know he had, he hoisted the naked, limp Superman up onto and across his shoulders, managed to find the keys from Clark’s clothes, and somehow found his way out into the garage... got the still pliant, groaning and inert Clark into the Porsche. And sped away, just as the fire engines were closing in from down the street, half a block off.
When he got home, and managed to slip in the back way, he dumped the big muscled alien onto his bed, who barely stirred, but gave him a thankful smile, as he held his head, gave him a few glasses of cool water. Then he mesmerized the giant powerless once more with just his fingertips, very firm, measured pressuring’s on and over the crowned glandes of his beyond huge, sensitive nipples, plunging him into a state of near catatonia... mouth following, claiming dominion... keeping him on his back, corded thighs in rapturous jerkings, while he fucked the mighty MOS over two hours straight, whose moans and spurts never ceased. Each of them . Until they both fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, and awoke past twelve hours later, wondering who and where they were. Their dried jizz, milks, salivas, and kisses all over them in the newly awakening day. And continued on, jacking, sucking, and 69-ing each other as much as they could... draining, restoring and renewing each other into a miraculous new reality—never to be let go of: spirits, bodies, hearts and souls. Essences mingled, mated, co-joined.
(Or we could again go with ending Number Three? Pick one you like and stick with it. Or make one up of your own.)
Part Ten:
When he got him home, and managed to slip in the back way, he dumped the big muscled alien onto his bed, who barely stirred, but gave him a grateful smile, as he held his head, gave him a few glasses of cool water. Then he mesmerized the giant powerless once more, with just very slow, light-soft flickerings over the crowned tips of his beyond huge, sensitive nipples, into a state of pure catatonia... mouth following, asserting dominion... and fucked the mighty MOS senseless for well over two hours. Then, thinking about it, he decided he might as well make his move. A gift horse dropped into his stable, a once in a lifetime opportunity.
While he had become once more nearly insensate, having lost more of his essences than ever in his life, unable to defend himself or protest, Clark found his young masseur had bound his inert mass of muscle into a final subjugation. Awakening, in mortal panic, he found his wrists behind him, tied with the same ½ inch nylon restraints, from which he could now never free himself, no matter how hard he tried—a gag in his mouth, a rope around his neck fastened down his back to his wrists so he could barely move his head—and realized his savior, Raleigh, had decided instead of loving him, to claim ownership and mastery of him while he was still vulnerable, and thus had enslaved him irrevocably.
Despite his gradually weakening pleas—when allowed to speak: “No, no. Oh, Raleigh, please! Only you—can save me. Spare . Please, don’t do this! Don’t! Save me . All I am, have... yours. The, the world... needs me. Mercy. Please! ” But the youth ignored him, usually kept him quiet with a mere simple triggering of his wondrous sexuality, which served only to imprison him further and further. And keeping his head in this mostly choked-back tight position, less than rarely mouth-gagged, he could neither plead more or reason his way for mercy... or take of his own cock juice and tit nectars to restrengthen himself, to ever possibly break free.
For the young man had also determined to keep him from sunlight... fed him sporadically vitamins, protein supplements, little solid food or drink; had him up only to bathe and relieve himself... and well-harvested him continually from his ample breasts and seed fountain, of which he partook at least four to six times a day; growing stronger and more powerful in the process. In short time, he had mastered the art of sucking Superman’s larger than horse-like cock, as well as the ability to ride/receive him incessantly... experiencing more joy than he ever thought was humanly possible, not to mention his continually being infused by the alien’s milk which strengthened him, and his powerful other-enhancing semen both orally and anally.
Watching sadly, that within the course of only five days, the captive, mighty alien’s mind was gone: having slipped into a totally insensate state of non-comprehension and robotic functionality, no longer able to cope or even think... the shock to his system from being so ravagedly depleted had finished him. He was just a hugely muscled automaton, doing whatever he was directed to do, with no sense of who or what he was any longer: the purely compliant sexual servant of another being.
But then also, within the space of two months, Raleigh noted how Clark’s superb muscle mass seemed to be withering and shrinking before his very eyes. Shockingly, without the ability (or allowing him) to take of his own replenishing factors, or bathe nude in the sun, the greatly built creature began to deteriorate at a most alarming rate. And by the fourth month, he had become nearly as wizened as an eighty-year-old man. And although his super-cock was still incredibly long, its thickness had decreased significantly, and to a spaghetti-like flexibility, compared to its former stiffness; and his coconut-paired testicles had now each withdrawn to only the size of regular hen’s eggs. His output was also becoming so diminished and pale and watery, it was practically distasteful. His nipples, as well, had simply elongated, hung pendulously down towards his waist, and were relatively no more desirable nor productive.
Confronted with all the realities, though he himself had become like a junior Mr. Olympia, with not but the slightest of efforts at the gym, and he was making small secret forays in how to bend crowbars like toothpicks, and was able to fly short distances of five or ten miles with little trouble, he finally figured he had gone as far as he could possibly go... not to mention how Clark’s usefulness was neither feasible, nor attractive enough to keep playing with any longer.
So it was finally one night he loaded what was left of the once great and incredible Superman into the back of his car. Out of kindness, kissed him one final time, watched his eyes flutter haplessly as he injected him with a massive dose of a sedative, until his mind surely left this world, if not his spirit and pulse rate. Drove to the edge of the city, parked near the freeway bridge by the harbor... tied cinder blocks around the completely still and silent once MOS’s ankles, and dropped him with a loud splash into the waters below.
Then he gave a wide expansive yawn, spread his arms with a sigh, staring up into the night-filled sky for a moment, adjusted his 11 ½ inch cock and plum-sized balls proudly loose in his trousers—flexed his mammoth 20-inch biceps, kissing each one with a big wet smile... and wondered where he could go for a good massage at this time of night. Have a real man’s hands on him, working into his strapping, impressive muscles with skill and relish, maybe play with his now big two plus inch long nipples—give him a “happy ending?” Mulling things over, he crawled back into his silvery gray Porsche... flipped on some head-banging music, and tooled away sharply into the vastness of the deepening dark.
Wondering what his next big adventure might be. And that dang Jimmy Olsen, who had forever been nagging him about the Clark Kent disappearance... even swearing his car was too nearly much like the very same one! Though he kind of liked him, considered what a cool thing it would be to hook up with someone whose looks were similar to his own, only with far less muscle. Wondered if he and Clark had ever had something going? How well he might be hung—or even what he might teach him (or feed him), if things got to a more intimate point. (Could Olsen possibly increase, taking from him what he had taken from the now extinguished alien? Be someone he could train, mentor?) The idea of Jimmy, another ginger sucking him off, really cranked his rod. Might even let him, too. If they got to know each other better, and this Clark thing would fade or disappear....
For sure, the idea of Jimmy biting on his nipples really got him hard, got him hot as hell. Began to crave it, more and more. Almost an obsession. He’d have to call him, have him come around. A lesser red like himself... more he thought about it, the more he liked it. More and more and more. Could imagine the other man’s freckle-faced mouth working on him, working him, working—his cock hard above his belt line, rubbing into the ridges of his abs while he drove... giving himself rigorous groin curls, hip thrusts into them, flexing his pecs in tightly, his big arms press-riding against the shafts of his swollen nipples, sighing loudly... until he came.
A torrent of white all over him, his complete front. He grinned. Jimmy’s teeth, Jimmy’s teeth . Had taken him, taken him, taken him. Nursed from—would.