“Okay, gentlemen, that’s it for today. You’ve seen all you need. We’ll be in contact as proceedings continue. Submit your initial payments through my secretary.” Luthor authoritatively addressed his guests, dismissing them. The men finished their toasts, still craning to view the inert mass of Superman, helpless and unconscious, practically at their feet, scant yards away on the inner floor of the atomic chamber.
Luthor continued. “Jack, you’ll be his official trainer. You know, help keep him in line, bring him around. I think he likes you.”
“Uhhh, yeah, okay.” Did he have a choice? “If I can.”
“You know how to push his buttons.”
“Never mind. Get in there, help get him up, out of the tube, fastened onto that rig before he comes around. There’s six of my men to help you, I know he’s heavy. If his eyes flicker, just assure him the Kryptonite is working, no sense to resist—the shackles holding him to the rig, impregnated with the stuff. Easier if he just relaxes; otherwise, he might tear his hands and feet off putting up too much of a struggle. That steel will be tight. Assure him. Gentle him. He likes you. Trusts you, I think.”
Luthor’s guests had gone, ushered out by his minions.
“If I must. What are you going to do?”
“You must!” Lex paused, glanced over at Marsden, who wet his lips and nodded. “Starting with a little playtime. Until you get further instructions. Once he’s strapped in and contained.”
“What if he breaks free?”
“He’s obviously too groggy to think,” Dr. Slagschuster affirmed, “and will be.... Apparently the chloroform affects his system more effectively than anyone thought it could—since no one’s tried before, or ever gotten close enough to do it. A coup-ful surprise. Much simpler than using the vacuum. We were afraid if we did that, it would kill him instantly: lungs ruptured, or worse, nitrogen bubbles into his brain—a lethal case of the bends. Very painful.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Not for you to like or decide, Jack. You’re an employee. Employees do as they are requested, or terminated. Firing isn’t an option.” Luthor pursed his lips.
“Terminated!?” Jack was more than mildly alarmed.
“Without your testicles, you might wish you had been. A good hang like yours, rather useless. Not too interesting in the showers.”
Jack gulped. “You wouldn’t!” Then, more tamely, “Would you?”
Lex smiled. “Wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t? Couldn’t catch Superman either, could we? Rationally thinking.”
“I did that, yeah—.”
“And very nicely. But couldn’t contain him as well as we shall, will—can .”
Luthor was being nice. Definitely simple. Assuredly emphatic.
“Are you going to hurt him?”
Marsden said, “If he’s inured to pain, we can’t. Instead, just a few humble-pie games.”
“No, I guess not, then. But he did once feel me digging into his arms with my fingers. Know his muscles can get sore, tired.”
“That’s news!” the doctor quipped, glancing sharply to Luthor. “Of course, if sexually aroused, “feeling” is a major part of the process.”
“Explain,” Luthor barbed.
“Well, he...” and Jack had to tell them as much as he could remember. Not telling them everything. But they already knew how sensitive his balls were from the videos. And now they further knew how he could be manipulated by them—not quite, but almost as much as by his unusually large nipples—but never did he breathe a word about the jab into his navel. (He’d decided before he got there, he wasn’t revealing that!) They plied him as thoroughly as they could. Seemed satisfied.
“Okay, Jack. Now into the chamber. The guys are ready to pick up the luggage. They’ll show you how to strap him onto the rig. You’ll be able to hear us give instructions from our console in the other room, even see us through the glass. Play along, the fun should be sublime. I may or may not join you.” Luthor indicated how Jack could get into the tube.
Inside, the men were pulling at, and dragging the hunk of muscle that was Superman across the floor... by his hands and wrists, his cape, his ankles, his neck slack, head dangling. No doubt about it, his 250+ pounds of meat was heavy. Quite a struggle to get him strapped into the scaffold: against the major, upright back-beam, with an easy to slide metal crossbar, horizontally behind it. It could be raised or lowered as they wished, to accommodate the stretching out of his arms. Once his wrists were fastened, it could be placed for support under his arms, or raised so the force of his weight would be borne only by his wrists... (a crucifix much more painful). Supporting his arms would be far more comfortable for the man—or the thing , whatever he was. Ankles, of course, secured about two feet apart at the bottom side, his feet just touching the floor. He was thus kept in a semi-position of suspension/relaxation and tension, simple to adjust at will.
There was a full length, broad mirror, facing opposite the scaffold. This, too, could be raised or lowered from/into the floor, so the captive could see whatever was being done to him if they wished having him do so. To remind him of where he was, to whom he belonged.
* * *
“... Superman...?” Jack was alone, standing in front of him. The body of his former lover fastened cruelly, spread-eagled to the scaffold, handsome head drooped forwards over the thickness of his mighty chest... breathing shallow, but regularly. His arms were fairly well supported by the horizontal cross-beam, so his shoulders would not bear the strain—and shoulders they were, magnificently broad and thick. As well Jack knew, and even more now appreciated the captive’s stunning beauty, unparalleled physique, vanquished before him.
Kal’s eyes flickered at the sound of his voice. Raised his head, wearily.
“Don’t struggle,” Jack soothed. “I’m here to help you. Here,” and he held up the cupped portion of the mask as he’d been told. A surge of fresh oxygen rushed into Superman’s lungs, stimulating him to further wakefulness.
“Superman, listen up. This is your friend, Lex Luthor. Now, your Lord and Master.”
The voice penetrated his fog, and caused his trussed being to respond... thrash a bit. He was testing his bonds, coming to terms with them; how strong were they, how could they contain him, the mightiest of all men, and beyond the mightiest? The gas! He’d had no idea he was so susceptible to it, applied in such oxygen-robbing concentrations. Jack had duped him. His heart lurched. Seeing him, super-feeling rushed through his chest, ached to hold him... his betrayer. Cared for him nonetheless, dearly.
Lex’s voice droned on. “Don’t try anything funny, or brave. Won’t work. We have you bound with Kryptonite, wrist and ankle restraints. Your cock and balls enclosed in our “magic ring” of control, weakening you each moment you breathe, more and more. Give in, give up. We’re here to settle some old scores, play new games. Might as well enjoy them.”
“What do you want, Luthor? To have stooped this low, to try to capture me—you know you can’t keep me here. Not long.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see. But you’re right. Not long at all. You’re too much of a problem to feed, keep clean.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“That would spoil the surprises, wouldn’t it? Little by little, bit by bit, take you apart.... Chunk by chunk, atom by atom, drop by drop.”
“If that’s your plan, get on with it. Why is Jack here? You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“He was a necessary ploy, works for me. May help aid in your comfort, if you go along, don’t fight. See, he’s already given you oxygen, to help get you back on your feet—or is it mind? Just long enough to keep things going. He has a job to do. Might be nice to comply.”
“So, what do you plan to do?” The caped superhero raised his chin in defiance. Jack was merely holding the O2 mask to where he could breathe better, not fastening it to his face, so he could talk, respond.
“I think we covered that, earlier. Forgot? Rearrange your brain, experiment on that weird physiology of yours; extract some hormones; pound you into fish bait, maybe?”
“Why, Luthor? For your own selfish ends? What about the people of the earth? You, trying to destroy me—how they will be hurt, affected?”
“Silly boy. Ever the do-gooder. Yes, to end your reign of terror over my enterprises! Bring some stability to the earth, not ruled by “powers” from outer space. You are queer, you know. Even more than your desire to suck cock. We’ve observed you for months. Saw you couldn’t get enough of your own. So, we had to send Jack to help you satisfy your thirst.”
At this, the Man of Steel turned pure crimson. Eyes rounding. “You didn’t—you couldn’t—!” in total disbelief.
“We did. We have. Nice story for The Times, The Daily Planet, ABC, CBS, BBC. With pictures, too. Some nice still shots, halfway down on your own giant rod, drinking your own jizz—a bonafide, self-sucking, perverted maniac!” Lex smirked. “Hey, Marsden?”
“And with those freaky-queer nipples,” the doctor chimed in, “the way he milks them. Even with his mouth. Maybe we should just call him “cow” boy?”
“Right!” Lex agreed. “Our very own “Space Cow -boy!!””
Superman could have shrunk to a dime, withered inside like a dried prune. Imagining what they had seen—him making love to himself!!! His self-pride, in mortification of his personal privacy thus violated, and total embarrassment thereof—burning him flame red, leaving him speechless. In catastrophic shame. He hung his head, brokenly. “No, no, oh, noooohh!!” a whipped dog, beaten to a pulp. His ego severely shattered. His macho secrets, if revealed to the world, effectively destroying him in the public’s eyes for all time. He was more than captured, now. Thoroughly unmanned, defeated. His spirit wounded.
“You knew...?” he groaned softly, seeking Jack’s eyes for solace, or confirmation—maybe understanding, admission of guilt. His eyes watered with unspeakable anguish.
But Jack braced in, leaned against and kissed him, arms around him, close. “I knew. Some, not all. But I’m proud to have been with you, regardless.”
“Jack, Jack, Jack, ” he cried, letting loose, sinking into the arms of the only man he’d ever become vulnerable with, dared to be intimate. Loved. Though an impossible accident of fate, it had changed him, made him more alive than he’d ever been. Aching for forgiveness of his narcissism, perhaps—his inability to be the staunch, mighty hero everyone had assumed he was, pure and blemish free?
“So, Superfag, we might could negotiate. Maybe I don’t need to release the news, inform the world? If you play along, maybe... use all that Herculean strength for some other purpose? Maybe even work for me, a little. Help me along. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“Refrain from evil—or compromise in doing it? You don’t offer me many options.”
“Sounds like a “personal problem,” Mr. Cow ! Bigger than most. Now, punier than a pimple.”
“What a worm you are,” rebuffed the failing hero.
“Join me. I can save you a lot of grief. Not just your reputation. Or your semen.”
The Man of Steel glared at him forthrightly, feeling some surge of his old power being resurrected in his oxygen-infused flesh.
Luthor smiled. “Think about it. Let me know.”
The lights where Luthor had been standing seemed to ink out, blot down. In fact, all around them seemed to be diffused in a cloak of special darkness, as if no one were able to see into the area where Jack and Clark were confined.
The ominous words filtered in through the darkened glass.
“Go ahead, Jack. Milk him.”
* * *
“No! Jack, please! What are you doing—going to do?” Kal remained in helpless distress. He vainly tried to flex free from his bonds. They wouldn’t budge. His head rolled.
Grimly, Jack pulled the tunic of Clark’s uniform up and out from his waistband, slipping it high and wide and tight under his bound arms, baring his mighty, richly dark-haired chest... curving it securely over the huge mounds of his pecs, which seemed to fall forth, his exposed breasts jutting strongly... bold, thick udders, prominently displayed for the taking. Kal moaned, knowing he was doomed. Already, his buds had begun to moisten, anticipating Jack’s mouth that would soon be on them. He knew it. Jack kissed one, then the other lightly. Kal groaned. This was so embarrassing—who was watching?
Though in his bound condition, it shockingly excited him.
Jack wondered, too, but he had to forget it. Do what he must. Make it as easy as possible for both of them. Concentrate. Ready the containers he was to use for sampling.
The Man of Steel could not see, but felt Jack’s hands sliding down, tugging his briefs, the lower part of his costume partially down his thighs, revealing his cupped glory, feeling the removal of it, already growing hard from Jack’s hands, the previous caress to his swollen nipples. Jack’s hand found the heavy warmth of his testicles, and began to ply him expertly.
“Jack, oh, Jack. Jack...” Superman once more, getting instantly lost in his brain, his alien sexuality rendering him helpless, disarming him. Jack knew how to play him, and did. It only took moments. He became erect as a horse, urgent... eager and willing.
The mirrored panel slid up from the floor and into place; Superman could now see himself being assaulted. The sight of his own exposed nakedness, Jack manipulating him, further enflamed him. Triggering his recent home-alone memories, his forever craving to take, be taken, shared. He writhed, moaned.
On a raised step in front of him, Jack then pressed in, and began taking his nipples in his mouth, taking his flow, holding onto his genitals, still working him. Superman was mewling, straining, aching to be in Jack’s arms, have Jack in his, but he was bound. His torment rising in a fast crescendo of want, need, and yes, love!
Only it was not love. As Jack began to jack his nipples, capturing the fluid from them into the vials that had been provided for him to do so. Taking the samples of Superman’s juice, the alien-charged hormones that gave him his enhanced strength if recycled, or causing intoxication to anyone who tasted them. (Jack, who had already nursed from him, not realizing their subtle power was at work within him, causing him to also crave more and more of his lover, bonding to him as mate... if he would accept it, only gradually aware it was happening.) Finding what his fingers did not do, his mouth craved to continue.
“I’m so sorry, have to do this, Kal. They’re making me. Don’t want to hurt you.”
“I... I know.” The Man of Steel gasped. Understanding, not wanting to.
Superman began trembling, Jack working him into a frenzy.
“Jack, I love you. Forgive you... love you!”
“I, I care, too... sorry,” Jack whispered. “Care for you so much, so much...” surprised at his own words, his own feelings. Clark moaned, keening against him, wanting him more and more, even yearned for his young, strong cock in his mouth, to suck him. Taste.
They were upright, face to face. Jack still dressed, Superman’s torso bold and bare and naked. His huge erection risen and pressed between them. Jack rubbing against him, alternately chewing his nipples, tonguing and sucking his near to bursting glans, but could not due to his great size take him further down than to his cut line. The Man of Steel writhing in ecstatic abandon. On the verge. Feeling Jack drawing the nectar from his cock, his nipples... driving him crazy.
Jack himself, falling into him, wanting to grind himself into his bones with the hunger he felt—to be part of this mountain of muscle, craving again for his entrance, to be taken. But, it could not be! Would it ever?!! He yearned, remembering. Savoring Kal’s bound, thrust pecs, the incredible ridges of his abs, navel, groin, pubis. Caressing him wildly, as if no Luthor, no watching, no nothing....
“Jack, please, ” Kal begged him. “Don’t, don’t let them take my seed! It weakens me. You know, you know! Need it for my strength. Only you can help me. When I—in your mouth. Then, into mine... please. You’re my only hope. Only hope to regain, re-strengthen. Please!!” Hoping Luthor couldn’t hear; hoping Jack would. Would he do it?
“I—aaahhh-uunnhhhhh! Love you, Jack—!” heaving like a mad man. “You’ve ... got me! Jack!!— taking my milk, my milk ... want you to have me so much. Taking me!! Taking me, oohhh- aaaughhhhhh-uuunnaaahhhhhhh!” Erupting like a volcano, Jack’s lips over his penis, filling his mouth rapidly to capacity with his hot jism, streams, chunks of it, coursing loose.
Jack struggled to remain standing, sucking him, while Superman’s mighty cock continued to spew forth his essence—Jack trying to trade his mouth hard and in against the Man of Steel’s, who desperately opened his own to receive his life-giving seed back into himself. Both of them merging, groaning in their heat. Jack’s own cock bursting his own cream, still confined in his trousers. The flow of Superman’s seed within each of their mouths, uniting—and surging still between them, phalluses erupting. Could it save?!! If his strength—
A big hand suddenly grasped Jack from the back of his neck, pulled his head away, separating the two lovers. The white streams of Superman’s magnificent jizz running out of both their startled mouths, down their chins... now being robbed, wrested from them.
“Oh, no, you don’t!! Come on, Jack. None of that!! None of that, now!!” Luthor’s powerful grip on him. “Got to keep our boy powered down, not fed like a kitten!”
Lex’s strong hand jerked him away, threw the young man downwards and to the floor, gave him a thundering kick in his ribs, causing him to howl in sharp surprise and agony. Then, the same deft, determined hand, fingers angrily probing into Superman’s face and mouth, wrenching away his rich seed from him, wiping it away furiously. With a “No, no, no, Superman! None of that!” Smoking dark eyes that burned into his startled, faltering blues.
Superman, a rift of anguish inside him, realizing his last hope was gone. Luthor had heard, had thwarted him. Maybe even harmed Jack. And with a snarl, the bald-headed man, no pushover, really... jammed on the O2 mask, fastening it firmly to his face. Stared him down.
Kal’s eyes going wide with fear and despair. A new mixture of anesthetic gases that flooded his nostrils, erasing his brain to nothing. Sensing it immediately.
And a set of earphones, placed firmly over his ears. Telling him over and over, his strength was gone, he was a true, ordinary weakling... maybe a bit of a strong man, but not all that mighty. The Kryptonite ring was destroying his cock and his balls, the majority of his powers... the shackles restraining him, keeping him weak, docile, and bound. Even were he released, he would no longer be able to fight, run, escape, fly that well. Maybe walk? Maybe come? Be fucked by whomever. No more the world’s special boy scout.
And since he did like cock, yeah... he really would. Maybe even Luthor’s.
* * *Next page