"Listen carefully, my child,"
As the black-clad man contemplated his next move, a low and ominous voice suddenly echoed in his mind. It was Lex Luthor, using the communication device in his lab to relay new instructions to his creation.
It was Lex. Though inaudible to anyone else, his voice seemed to reverberate through the barn.
"I've made an interesting discovery. You were born from Superman's essence, and every time you touch him, it gives him an intense sensation. I'm beginning to suspect there's a gravitational-like connection between you and the fluids inside his body. When you touched him, you awaken that unimaginable power of libido within him. It seems like you have the ability to manipulate and control his essences with your energy."
"Yes, Father. I've sensed it too. Are you saying I can control those things and extract them from him directly, even from a distance?"
"No, that won't work," Lex replied. "If you pull them out without direct physical interaction, you won't engage his senses. He won't feel humiliation, and as a result, he won't produce his precum or even his cum all by himself. We'd quickly run out, and you know what I mean by that."
"You're right, Father. So how do you propose we extract it safely without triggering the ring?"
"Make it smaller," Lex's tone shifted to one of mockery.
"Make the ring smaller?" the man asked, confused.
"Not the ring, my child," Lex said with a cruel laugh. "His penis."
As the man clad in black conspired with Luthor over their sinister plan, Superman remained trapped in his own spiraling and lingering climax. That already-massive erection continued to swell, the veins beneath its skin visibly pulsating as the glans grew darker, taking on an indescribable shade of deep purple.
At the same time, the size of his scrotum was also expanding—two alien testicles swelling to nearly the size of billiard balls, visibly filling with the relentless flow of liquid being produced within his body. They appeared fragile, on the verge of rupture, a pale pink hue revealing the swirling mixture of blood, prostate fluid, and sperm inside.
Superman's entire body was drenched in sweat and tears as he writhed helplessly, shifting himself just a few centimeters back and forth in a desperate attempt to create enough friction to stimulate the inflamed, throbbing tip. His mouth spilled disjointed, incoherent murmurs—moans completely devoid of logic or sense.
"Help…me…cum…or…will…die…cum…I…cum….need…cum…"
Minutes later, the man seemed to have finished his conversation with Lex, his gaze now fixed firmly on Superman.
"How pathetic you are, Superman. Just look at yourself—like a mongrel dog in heat." Two thin beams of red laser shot from his eyes, striking directly at the tip of that almost purplish turgid gland. Superman let out a howl of satisfaction as his entire body trembled in unison with it.
Admiring his masterpiece, the black-clad monster moved closer, his eyes never leaving that overstimulated erection of his attention.
"What a shame. I truly admire your god-like super cock, you know. The grandeur, the sheer size of that erection—it's quite mesmerizing, I must admit. Honestly, I'd enjoy playing with it a little longer. But unfortunately, we have a pressing matter to address. That ridiculous dick ring of yours."
Raising his hands, the man extended his fingers about eight inches away from Superman's burning erection. His brows furrowed deeply, and his face twisted into a vicious, menacing expression. Suddenly, that wood-hard super dong began to shift, slowly pulling away from Superman's body. It tilted forward at a sharp, unnatural angle, roughly 50 degrees to the ground, and began to tremble—a rapid, erratic vibration far beyond the norm.
Superman gasped, his senses snapping back to reality by that extreme anomaly in his body. "What... wwww-what are you doing? My penis... What's happening? No…!" His voice quivered as he struggled to comprehend, but the man ignored him entirely.
Suddenly, he felt something writhing within his stiff penis, the veins pulsating unnaturally, like living maggots squirming beneath his skin.
"Stop it! Stop this now! What in heaven's name are you doing?!" Superman's cries grew desperate, his voice cracking with panic.
Then, without warning, an invisible aura seemed to surround his penis. From its swollen mushroom tip emerged a translucent, glistening, thick, white liquid filament, as if silk spun by a spider.
The black-clad man leaned forward and inhaled sharply, pulling the liquid filament through the air into his mouth.
"No… no! What are you doing to me?! Great Krypton! Stop it! Please, stop!" Superman's voice was hoarse from shouting, but the man remained unfazed.
Instantaneously, Superman's pupils dilated in sheer terror—his gaze fixed on the horrifying sight before him. His massive erect penis was shrinking, visibly diminishing in size. The deep purple hue began to fade, and with it, the searing pain started to recede. Yet, strangely, he felt no stimulation, no arousal, and no pain.
"Aaaaah! No… N-nnno! What have you done?!" Superman howled like he was in agony, his cries echoing with raw desperation. Ten inches… nine inches… shrinking further to six inches. Veins that once stood out prominently now appeared deflated and lifeless. Meanwhile, the gleaming liquid filament remained unbroken, continuing to draw from within Superman's peephole to the mouth of that black-clad monster, ceaselessly.
Four inches. Then Three. Then Two!
That once-proudly stood manhood was now no more than a button-sized remnant, just around one inch. Its surface became wrinkled and slack, clinging pitifully to his exposed crotch. That once-swollen now pinkish small glans retracted, resembling a baby turtle retreating into its shell.
At that moment, the red rubber dick ring, now loosened, gave way to gravity, snapping off and clattering to the floor.
"What have you done… you monster… you've destroyed everything… you've destroyed me…" Superman's voice was a trembling sob, his body convulsing with shame and disbelief.
He mustered all his strength to tilt his head downward, only seeing layers of saggy foreskin curling up like a deflated balloon. Only his scrotum remained there, not swollen any more but back to its regular sizes.
"Am I….CASTRATED…?"
The unbearable humiliation and sorrow engulfed him, threatening to consume him entirely. He wished, desperately, that this was a nightmare—a long, terrible dream from which he might awaken. Because if this was reality, he couldn't bear it. He would rather die than face what he had become.
Clark had never been close to anyone in his entire life, let alone fallen in love, making love, and ejaculating for the first time in his entire life. Maybe, just maybe, one day he could have found that special someone—perhaps Jimmy. He could learn to love, to make love, and to cum. He always daydreamed how sweet it would be.
But the sight before him was a brutal, undeniable truth, a reminder that such a future was now utterly out of reach. He was no longer the proud, world-saving Big Blue Boy Scout. He has turned into a broken disabled man, a mutilated shell of what he once was, a useless chump in a skin-tight monkey suit, with a tiny, tiny micro penis. Its size? Not even as big as a Coca-Cola bottle cap.
Sure, he still had that movie-star good looking face. But, so what? Once people saw that no-larger-than-thumb manhood…no it's not manhood, not even boyhood. Imagine the satire and the bottomless ridicule. Yet, so shameful that little bottom dick truly deserved it.
Thinking about all of this, Superman began to sob uncontrollably, his cries shaking the very walls of the barn. He was utterly destroyed, more deeply than even death could have done.
"It's all ruined... Oh God… it's all over…"
"Stop crying, you fool. I didn't take anything from you—your balls are still there, aren't they?" the man said impatiently, delivering a sharp slap to Superman's lowered head. But Superman seemed too drained to even lift it again.
"Your dick is not gone," the man continued. "I just made it smaller. Small enough to get that ridiculous ring off. You should be thanking me. Without that thing constraining you, I've set you free, you idiot."
Yet Superman remained in silence, trembling as his sobs grew heavier. Tears streamed down his face like broken pearl necklaces, falling onto the wooden floor beneath him.
"Clark..." A hoarse voice came from the corner of the barn. It was Jonathan's voice. He had just regained consciousness, and as he opened his eyes, he was met with a sight so cruel it took his breath away.
Beside him, Jimmy was completely shattered, his head buried deep in his arms, softly sobbing.
"Clark... what did he do to you..." Jonathan couldn't stop his voice from shaking as he just realized that black little dot, that tiny black stain, almost impossible to see, sitting right in the middle of Clark's exposed crotch, was actually his penis.
"Dad!!" Superman heard his father's desperate call and instantly lifted his head, his voice hoarse and frantic. "Help me... Dad... it's over... IT'S OVER..."
Jonathan suddenly noticed the man clad in black looming over his emasculated son, casting a horrifying shadow over the whole barn.
No—he wasn't the same as before. He had grown larger, towering at nearly 9 feet tall. His muscles had become monstrous, tearing through the once-sleek black rubber suit, exposing veins bulging over his grotesque physique. And then there was the massive bulge at his groin—so enormous that Jonathan couldn't help but feel it was bigger than Superman's entire face.
He has turned into a monster.
"Ah, you're awake, Jonathan. Too bad you missed the first half of the show," the massive creature said with a twisted grin.
"What did you do... what did you do to my son?" Jonathan shouted in despair.
The monster turned to face Superman, its enormous shadow engulfing him entirely. "Superman, thank you, honestly. I've never felt so powerful. Never felt so alive. It must be the essence in your penis. How magnificent are you! I didn't even reach to your testicles, but that's already more than enough."
It sneered, flexing its biceps as if admiring its new, stronger body. "And congratulations on your rebirth, Super Micro-dick. To remove that ring, we had to sacrifice something of yours, yes, your penis. But don't worry—it still works... more or less."
With that, a spark of energy shot from the creature's fingertip, striking at Superman's crotch again.
Instantly, Superman's entire body convulsed again, and his mind spiraled into chaos of lust once more. And, yes, his micro-penis did get erected, but just a pitiful 2 inches. It barely poked through layers of foreskin. Although stood stiff, Superman's tiny little button looked like it belonged to a toddler, not a 30-year-old man, not to mention he was once the strongest man on earth. Well, not anymore. Now, he was a true boy scout, who didn't even hit puberty.
But the monster hadn't lied. It still could work. Everything remained the same, except the size.
After thirty agonizing seconds, Superman's spasms ceased, and he slumped forward, his voice trembling as he weakly asked, "Why... what are you trying to do?"
The creature raised a massive hand, and with a flick of its wrist, Jonathan was freed from the ropes and hurled across the barn, crashing and skidding to a stop at the monster's feet.
"Since you're so eager to know... Yes, Superman, we need your essence, your precum and your sperm, the source of your power, the secret of House of El. That cock ring was a nuisance, but now that it's gone, all obstacles have been removed, and we can finally get to work."
Superman stared at the monster in horror, his voice rising to a roar. "Who's we?!! Who told you that…Why?! What do you need it for? What are you going to do with it?!"
Superman's heart felt like it was being twisted into a knot. Could it be…that the secret of the source of his superpowers had been discovered by someone else? He couldn't fathom the horrible consequences.
The black-clad beast reached down, its enormous hand wrapping completely around Jonathan's whole face as it lifted him into the air. "That's none of your concern, Superman. Ask another foolish question, and your dad may not live to see another sunrise."
Then, with a cruel chuckle, it released its grip, letting Jonathan collapse to the ground in a heap. Jonathan's face was utterly drained of color, as if every red blood cell had been sucked out of his body. He lay sprawled on the ground with his eyes unfocused, staring blankly ahead.
It was as if the sheer shock had overwhelmed him, leaving him in a state of complete, irreversible stupor.
"Now let's get to work. Shall we?" The black monster hovered in the center of the barn, facing Superman. In a deep, commanding voice, it ordered, "Old man, get up. Go to Superman. I want you to pull back his wrinkled foreskin and expose his piss slit for me to see."
Jonathan then stood up, mechanically, like an old, worn-out robot. Adjusting his glasses, he walked toward Superman. Without a trace of emotion, his eyes fixated blankly on his son's crotch. He raised both hands and began to fiddle with the folds of wrinkled skin.
"Dad, no... please, don't... stop... I'm begging you…"
Superman's tears flowed across his cheeks as he pleaded, his voice desperate yet weak. But Jonathan remained unmoved, carrying out the command with cold detachment. His fingers worked methodically, gripping the loose edges of the foreskin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing it firmly against the relatively smoother skin on Superman's groin.
A sudden, deeply unsettling sensation coursed through Superman—a perverse, forbidden rush that made his entire body flush with discomfort and heat.
"No... this is too horrifying... stop, Kal-El... please, stop…" he stammered, trembling, but the pulsating heat within his tiny little glans only intensified under Jonathan's touch.
The black monster watched as the small, barely visible sliver of that peephole came into view, peeking through the folds of gross wrinkled foreskin. A satisfied grin spread across its face. "Good. Superman, get ready. Our retrieval begins
NOW!"
As soon as the words left its lips, a surge of electricity, blazing like a fireball, shot from its fingertips and plunged directly into the narrow crevice, aka Superman's urethra.
"AAAARRGGGGHHHH!!!!!"
Superman's screams erupted uncontrollably, his entire body seized by a storm of pain and ecstasy, which sent him trembling violently at an almost unnaturally high frequency. His eyes rolled back, leaving only the stark white of his sclera visible. His mouth hung open, and drool poured freely, dripping down his chin, sliding along his neck, and soaking the blue fabric of his suit.
This time, the energy was unlike anything he had ever experienced—far stronger than before, undeniably amplified by the monster's absorption of Superman's own power. In an instant, Superman felt as though a raging bull had crashed into his chest, catapulting him back into that blank, desolate mental space. There was nothing there—nothing but a singular, overwhelming instinct: to cum.
Within just tens of seconds, a stream of yellowish transparent liquid burst forth from the narrow opening, shooting straight into the wooden bucket. The flow surged and ebbed with the rhythm of the electricity, intensifying, weakening, intensifying again—seemingly endless in its cycle.
Lasting for nearly 5 minutes, the transparent liquid began to wane, only to be replaced by a translucent white thick stream that oozed from the crevice. It grew thicker and more forceful, cascading into the bucket like overturned honey spilling down on a shelf. Thick and sweet.
Yes, it was his precum. The monster's electrical precision ensured Superman wouldn't be pushed too far too quickly, keeping his body on edge. The energy was now surging into Superman's prostate, making it produce that sweet Super juice relentlessly. The surge hadn't invaded his testicles, not yet, which prolonged the relentless stimulation.
"How beautiful it is, truly."
The black monster gazed at the scene, a perverse satisfaction washing over itself as it relished this unprecedented sense of pleasure. Yes, it had absorbed Superman's energy and, with it, inherited that extraordinary super sexuality. Before the monster realized that, its breaths grew heavier, matching the intensity of the surging liquid below. It was feeling it as well.
One hand, as if acting on its own volition, slowly ceased emitting electricity. Instead, it began to drift downward, drawn toward his bulge. Yes, it suddenly wanted to grasp it, to knead it tightly, and to unleash the excitement building within its own body.
The moment its hand touched that frenetic erection, the black, skin-tight rubber fabric, covering its crotch, stretched to its limit over his body, suddenly burst apart.
In an instant, an enormous god-like hard-on—nearly raging 15 inches—sprang free. The beast's massive hands seized it tightly, its eyes locking intensely onto Superman as he began to stroke it with an almost involuntary rhythm. It loved the view, the utterly tortured hero.
Superman's sweat-soaked skin glistened with an otherworldly sheen, the remnants of his tattered and grimy suit clinging to him. His damaged chest, with its torn and battered "S" logo, rose and fell in time with his pulsating body.
Even that tiny little penis—it all seemed to create an image of such surreal beauty that it nearly made the monster pause. The monster wanted to touch, to caress, to kiss, to taste. Superman was its own kind.
But no—that would never be enough for this ravenous beast.
As it let out a guttural roar, a darker thought solidified in the monster's mind.
One day, it would kill Superman with its own hands, in front of Jonathan and Jimmy, the only two people who really care for that stupid clumsy country chump, Clark Kent.
On their faces, its sharp fingernails would carve a bloody gash across Superman's chest, across that "S" emblem, and then it would stick its full erect cock into the hero's broken body, using its huge glans and shaft to crushing his organs and muscles into a pile of mashed bloody flesh. Then, it would use its teeth to tear Superman's face apart, to eat his brain, to munch on his skull. And yes, it would have to rip that small tiny dick from his body, while the world watching, then it would devour it whole or obliterate it into a drinkable essence.
These savage, whirlwind thoughts consumed the black beast as it stared at Superman's numb expression and half-open mouth.
"Fuck it, I wanna fuck his face. Fuck it hard, fuck it until it smashed into pieces. Die, you dirty little Super whore! Die!!"
Yes, it thought. Why not now.
As the thought crossed its mind, the black monster rose higher into the air, ascending until its crotch aligned level with Superman's face. Then, spreading its legs forward in an almost embracing posture, it moved closer.
That enormous erection, standing stiff, began to drift with its body, toward Superman's mouth, closing the distance inch by inch. The monster's body pressed ever nearer, the space between them shrinking, until its two legs settled firmly on Superman's left and right shoulders. Its abdomen pressed tightly against Superman's forehead. And its hands, no longer firing energy at Superman's crotch, but hold tightly on Kal's head, sending a new wave of destruction power directly into his brain.
In one forceful motion, the massive penis pried Superman's mouth wide open, pushing deep into his throat.
Lost in the blinding white void of pure sexual ecstasy, Superman suddenly felt an immense object force its way into his throat, filling it completely—so deep that it seemed to reach his lungs. He didn't even have time to process what it was before the overwhelming sensation of being stuffed began to move, up and down, up and down, again.
It surged with relentless force, showing no trace of mercy as it drove itself in and out.
Even as Superman's mind remained trapped in that strange, blank space, the fear was undeniable. He could feel every agonizing moment of it. The suffocating absence of air, the unbearable pressure tearing through his insides.
Back in reality, Superman, still pale-faced, pre-cumming uncontrollably, and trapped in a semi-conscious state, began to show a bluish tint creeping across his features. The flow of precum from below, driven by the suffocating climax, surged out even more uncontrollably, erupting with a relentless and chaotic force. Yes, he was on the brink of the final climax, his death.
Meanwhile, the monster riding on top of Superman, was thrusting his erection into Superman's unconscious open mouth. He growled in ecstasy, knowing the next few seconds, that Superman would be terminated, forever, in the most horrible way possible.
Superman was dying.
But no, not yet.
As the black monster reveled in its twisted climax, Jonathan's expression suddenly sharpened, a flicker of determination breaking through his aged face. One hand still steadied on Superman's foreskins, while the other crept to a nearby stone hidden in the hay. With a calculated flick, he hurled it toward Jimmy, who sat in the corner, head buried in his arms, sobbing.
Startled, Jimmy lifted his tear-streaked face to meet Jonathan's urgent gaze. Following the subtle nod of the older man, Jimmy noticed something glinting faintly in the hay beside him—the green Kryptonite crystal. It had originally been in Clark's work pants but had fallen into the barn during his transformation into Superman. Jonathan, stumbling upon it while cleaning up earlier, had discreetly pocketed the dangerous stone.
Jimmy leaned down and gripped the glowing crystal between his teeth, its jagged edges scraping against his lips. With determination, he began sawing the sharp edge against the rope binding his wrists. Within moments, the cord frayed and snapped. He quickly freed his legs in the same manner, the Kryptonite stone now clutched tightly in his trembling hand.
He glanced at Jonathan, who stared back with a silent, imploring intensity. And in that moment, Jimmy understood.
From the fragments of the monster's earlier taunts, he pieced together the truth—this creature might share Kryptonian blood. If so, the same deadly power of the glowing stone might hurt it.
There was no time for second-guessing. His tear-streaked face twisted into an expression of grim resolve as Jimmy darted forward in a blur, positioning himself between Superman and the monster. The creature, lost in its own depraved fantasies, failed to notice the sudden movement.
With all his strength, Jimmy drove the jagged Kryptonite crystal into the monster's butthole.
"AAAAAHHH!!!"
The creature let out a deafening roar of agony as searing pain rippled through its form.
The Kryptonite flared, radiating an intense green light that bathed the barn in an otherworldly glow. Then, with an ear-splitting boom, a massive explosion rocked the space. The blast's force hurled Superman, Jonathan, and Jimmy into the air, sending them crashing into hay piles, sprawling unconsciously.
The monster, however, transformed into a blazing sphere of light, its dark, viscous exterior writhing and entwined with glowing, pearly fluid.
Within seconds, the fiery orb detonated again, sending streams of brilliant white liquid streaking toward Superman. Silently, the fluid enveloped and coated his battered body and began to merge with him, seeping into his skin. Slowly, Superman's exposed micro-penis started to grow in size, as his strength returned.
Meanwhile, the black, sticky remnants of the creature splattered across the barn. Most of it hissed and evaporated into the air, accompanied by faint, eerie wails.
They did it. Jimmy and Jonathan saved Superman.
Yet one small puddle of the black substance did not dissipate. Instead, it quivered, alive, and began to slither across the splintered wooden floor.
Before anyone could react, the viscous black material shot forward and burrowed into Jimmy's fingertip.
"NOOOO!"
Lex Luthor slammed his fists onto the console, his lab illuminated only by the dim glow of the now-darkened monitor. His jaw clenched as the realization sank in—his monstrous creation had failed. Superman and his meddling little pals had destroyed it.
"NO! Not this again!" he roared, his voice echoing through the sterile walls of the lab. His breath came in heaves, and his mind raced with the weight of his failure.
If General Todd found out, he'd be dragged back to prison, stripped of everything—his freedom, his resources, his schemes.
From behind a stack of equipment, Lenny, his dimwitted nephew, timidly walked up to furious Lex Luthor.
"Uh... Uncle Lex? What's going on? We ran out of power?"
"Shut up, Lenny! You—" Lex barked, swiveling around to glare at the boy.
But his tirade was cut short. He noticed Lenny's pants hanging loosely around his waist, barely staying up, and doing little to hide what was underneath, a throbbing erection, and a huge wet patch on his crotch.
"Gee, Uncle Lex, don't blame me." Lenny shrugged, knowing his uncle saw it all. But he didn't cringe. "I mean, your creation was doing hot, hot things to that dumb Superman. I just came twice in my pants!!"
"You are disgusting. Unbelievable! "
Lex sunk back into his chair, scratching his bald head, and mused aloud. "Using his precum was not enough, obviously. I need a greater source of energy. If only I could bake the genetic material in the core of the sun! But how. Where can I find it? Something like the sun…"
Suddenly, the monitor flickered back to life, static dancing across the screen before resolving into a new image. Lex froze, his rage giving way to astonishment. The perspective was strange, disjointed—like someone else's point of view.
Then it hit him. The view was from Jimmy Olsen's eyes.
A slow, sinister smile spread across Lex's face as realization dawned. His creation wasn't dead. No—it had adapted, survived. His son had found a new host.
The voice came through the speakers, distorted but unmistakable. "Father... I'm still here. In Jimmy's body. I've taken his mind, his soul. He's gone."
Lex chuckled darkly, the tension in his shoulders melting into satisfaction. He reached for his helmet, sliding it on as he turned to his console. Lines of code streamed across the screen—Jimmy's memories, thoughts, and every secret he'd ever held were being downloaded into Lex's database.
"Perfect," Lex muttered, his hands flying across the keyboard. Superman wouldn't even suspect. One of his closest allies had been turned into a ticking time bomb.
As the data continued to pour in, Lex stumbled upon something fascinating—a memory of a handwritten fan letter. It was addressed to Superman, penned by a boy named Jeremy, pleading with the hero to rid the world of nuclear weapons.
Lex's grin widened. "Oh, this is rich," he murmured. His mind raced with possibilities. He could use this against Superman, turn the world's hope into fear, and engineer his ultimate downfall.
"Nuclear power…Superman…Kryptonian genes….destruction…" He whispered those words as he looked at the monitor.
"Yes... yes. Tonight, we made Superman confront his twisted, depraved desires for the very first time, and from here, it’s a slippery slope. Oh, yes, his complete downfall is just around the corner. And don't forget—the devil that awakens his darkest cravings now lurks right by his side."
"Oh, Superman, you can’t begin to imagine the horrors that await you. I simply can’t wait!" Luthor smiled with satisfaction, but there was a ruthless madness etched across his face that sent chills down the spine.
On the screen, the fake Jimmy approached Superman's unconscious body, feigning concern as Jonathan Kent rushed nearby. The rising sun cast a faint glow over the scene as Jimmy knelt to check Superman's faint pulse. "Thank god, he's still alive," the imposter said, his voice dripping with faux sincerity.
Watching from his lab, Lex leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The pieces were falling into place. He had Superman where he wanted him—vulnerable,unsuspecting, tortured by his own desire, and on the verge of a betrayal he'd never see coming.
"Soon," Lex whispered to himself, his wicked grin unwavering. "Soon, the Man of Steel will crumble. The show just began, my sweet prince."
......
(To be continued in Book 2)