“Superman: The Alien Fag
Won’t you come into my parlor
said the spider to the fly—?
How great, how mighty, how handsome you are:
hung like a horse, virile as a bull
—but only a moment or two.
Won’t you stop and play in my parlor
said the spider to the fly—?
A game we have prepared for you,
a dinner by and by....
Though fight you may and fly you try,
those muscles come to nought:
pretty to view, potent to spew—
alas, your strength is pared away
... your big tits and your cock.”
The droning voice greeted them as they were returned to the lab, the two lovers. Luthor, a diabolical gleam in his eyes.
Superman was decently covered in a full, light silk, dark blue kimono; Jack fully redressed. Neither knowing what to expect. Luthor had said Jack had only one momentary assignment for which he was needed. Yet ragged from their experience together, and treasuring it still, though they had not been allowed to exchange their essences in any way, they were grateful. Their skins and hearts had bonded more than if they been allowed the most wondrous honeymoon; their spirits and souls were joined, surprising the both of them. Born of mutual need and desperation, or true love? An accident of happenstance. Nonetheless, with hardly more than the wonder of their physical union to base it on, they felt something deeper had transpired, and would forever be marked, changed by it.
“A poet I am not,” Lex told them. “But I could not resist. Like it?” Then looking specifically towards Superman, he continued drolly: “Not to mention, you no longer exist.”
It was a barb that sank deep. Superman knew he was being dismantled beyond repair. Unless someone from outside could rescue him and Jack, one or both of them would perish. He hoped Luthor would choose to free Jack.
The vials of his alien’s semen had been received, were being examined, retained. What next?
“How are we doing Superman? You look a little peaked, a bit anemic?”
The muscle man said nothing. Just took an indrawn breath.
“Disrobe,” he was ordered. And he let the robe slip from his shoulders to the floor. “Come to me, stud. Hold out your arms.”
Luthor walked over to him grasped him by the wrists. “Good God, even forearms to rival a weightlifter’s calves!” He held one of Clark’s arms up a little bit, pulled a hypodermic syringe from a nearby table... pressed the large needle end of it into an insertion point near the crook of his elbow, and thrust it in. In shocked surprise, Superman winced, they watched as the needle slid easily into place. Luthor withdrew some blood into the syringe, and pulled it out again.
“So. You are now ready. Your cellular structure is disintegrating. You’re finally vulnerable to wounding, to pain.”
A new threat now flooded Superman’s mind. He was stunned. For the first time in his life, someone could now harm him physically. His nostrils flared, not daring to believe it. There was a sharp fear in his eyes, and he could not deny it. Lex read the translation of it, and smiled.
Round Five. Or had they jumped to Six?
“With that in mind, then how about a little dose of this?”
Lex offered Superman four gel capsules in the palm of his hand.
“What is it?” the hero questioned.
“No more questions, Cow-boy. Only compliance. Take!” He also had a glass of water, which he raised. Superman took the glass, looked at the pills, then swallowed them. Jack was scared to death.
“The table there, now lay back on it.”
The alien went to where he was directed, and lay his massive body down onto the top of its low, cold steel surface. Two assistants who had been nearby, stepped forwards and cuffed the powerfully muscled body into wrist cuffs, arms stretched towards his head. They then fastened leg stirrups nearer the foot of the table.
“Your last assignment, Jack!” he was told. Jack furrowed his brow. He was not going to like this.
To Superman, Lex said, “A few little love pills, to keep you going. After all, you’ve had a fucked-out night, right?”
“Damn you, Luthor. Damn you! ”
“I didn’t think boy scout aliens were allowed such expressions?”
“Damn you, fucking damn you!!” Kal cried. He knew Luthor was going to do something horrible. He was right.
“Up with his legs!” Luthor directed his associates. They raised his knees, the curved metal stirrup-rests under them, the hero’s feet and ankles caught in webbed slings, exposing his vulnerable private parts, the heft of his male hang, the opening of his anal canal. The bottom half of the table was lowered for easier access.
“Get him hard!” Luthor commanded Jack, while he began to unzip his own trousers.
Yes, he was going to fuck the Man of Steel, on video. And he did. The aphrodisiac rapidly did its work in the alien’s system; he was crying out in severe sexual heat, once Jack had skillfully manipulated his scrotum into unbearable hunger, and as Luthor plugged him, he writhed and groaned, even seemed to welcome the assault, and could not help but cry out: “More, more, please, deeper, more!!”
Luthor was in heaven. Not that he enjoyed fucking another man. He enjoyed the emasculation of Superman by his own skill and cock, and that gave him an explosive ejaculate, almost greater than the one when Superman had sucked his cock.... The debased superhero was truly crying real tears of complete humiliation, and sexual torment.
Luthor, not to be outdone, invited Dr. Slagschuster to join them, which he did, with monumental glee. Howling, “Who would have thought, one of the best hung men on the planet, being bitched for everyone else. How’s this Superfag? Not as big as yours, but I do know how to use it. Most men cry “Mercy,” when I do them. How about you? Hunh, hunh?!!”
And not in his right mind or control, Clark whimpered, “No! No mercy , doc....! More, more, please more!!” The brown-eyed doctor watched amazed, as the bound captive seemed unable to stop coming every fifteen minutes. Which he naturally had to “collect” for further experimentation.
“One tight hole, indeed,” said the doctor, as he and Luthor shook hands.
Jack was burning inside, with anguish and anger. What they had done to his man—worse, what he himself had done, by capturing and bringing him here to be destroyed! He loathed himself; his heart was shredded. For he truly had fallen in love, at last—beyond too late.
And then finally, Luther said to Jack, “Your turn. Now, fuck him with his own cock!”
The ordeal lasted over an hour and a half. The alien came and came and came again, albeit less frequently, being raptured by his own member. All the while begging Jack to stop, to cease the torment, and all the while begging for more and more cock, his own, or anyone who would service him. Finally, in pure disgust, and perverseness, Luthor had a 14 inch dildo shoved up Superman’s ass, and left it there... the rest of the day. Superman screamed in pure pain and terror when he did it. The hero was gasping, drained, beaten, and defiled. Nearly passed out.
Jack was ordered to wash his hands, pack up, and get out; and sent home. He tried to resist, he could not leave Kal in Luthor’s hands, no one to help him!! But it was futile. “You will go, or be carried out in a box, the way he came in,” Lex affirmed. There was not time to say goodbye, or touch his lover’s hand. They were separated without words or breath.
Both of their hearts broken, their emotions shattered. Superman realized he was going to be murdered, finally. Accepted it. Stared dully at the ceiling. His strength so pared, he could no longer think. At least, Jack would be okay.
Yes, it was being done.
(He could not help but wonder, had he desired to be with a woman, would this have come upon him? He didn’t know. If he had mated with a female, would his destruction have been different—or never occurred at all? His vulnerability having clearly come from his own love of self: the desire for a matching equal, which had ensnared him... rendered him susceptible to whoever would/could to take him, and being more than hungry, willing to allow it. He had therefore become his own weakness, his own destruction, unwittingly.)
And it could not be undone....
He was so weak from within: physically, his spirit/mind/psyche, his need, his love for Jack—one, who had never before been vulnerable, finding himself now being torn to fragments.
Slagschuster remained for the final round, helping strap the massively naked and muscular form of the alien once more onto his resident scaffold. This was the one they had been waiting for, to see how it would turn out.
Once secured, Luthor proceeded to do the crowning touches.
“Knowing how much you love those babies, how wet they get... let’s spice up the action, Cow -man.”
While Superman screamed, Lex had Kal’s rich male teats stretched, pulled out from his chest with pliers, as far as they would go, and then had each one horizontally pierced with an eighth of an inch diameter, hot-spiked needle. In shock, the Man of Steel writhed and wailed, and came twice again spontaneously... the inherent deep sensitivity of each of his nipples ravaged mercilessly, sparking automatic orgasms. After the spikes were removed, large (so he was told), steel-covered, Kryptonite rings were inserted and fastened into place. Huge things, two and a half inches in diameter: about the width of his areolae, with rounded balls on the ends, and weighing a full half pound each... over a quarter inch thick, half the size of one’s little finger almost. (Amazing his buds were large enough to accommodate them.) The torment was sharply beyond anything the superhero could have imagined, (nearly as staggering as the ramrod they had earlier shoved up his anus, and from which he still throbbed painfully). He was told they were also remote-controlled electrified, and would be used later, once his wounds healed. In the meantime, he was going to be placed in stasis for a few days... fed intravenously, with tubes down his throat and into his lungs, while being completely immersed in a cylindrical tube, just large enough for his body, in a liquid solution. He would be unconscious, and only be able to breathe through the tubes, or drown. They hoped it worked.... Not sure if it would. No matter.
[They had also planned to spear his testicles the same way: a nine inch long, quarter inch spike, driven through both of them together. Only after some consideration, Marsden feared it might impair his sperm production and hinder any ejaculate fluid, or castrate him prematurely, if his balls were not able to withdraw and contract naturally each time he shot his load. The idea was abandoned, discarded for later... for maybe when the captive had no more semen to shoot.]
“To further complete your bitching, we need to remove that hair, cunt ! Gus, Leo—!”
The two attendants were called forth, and as the moaning Superman struggled, under Lex’s supervision, they covered his body with a depilatory cream: his torso, arms, legs, even his ass-crack, his balls, leaving only a token mass of hair around his pubis. Letting him watch in the mirror as they did it, then rinsing away the strands with small, warm water hoses, rubbing him down with a rough towel after. He felt more than naked, now. His burn-spiked nipples, enormously swollen and red. The pain, the weights, and the tug on them, both mindboggling, and hurtful and arousing inside him.
Stunning still, how beautiful he was, how his strained musculature seemed more defined and noticeable. Ah, but then... the murdering hands drew closer.
In panic, though he weakly tried to resist, hard but flexible tubes were jammed down his nose and throat, while they held him fast, a plastic mask fitted over his nose and mouth. A catheter was inserted into his long penis, another tube thrust up his ass (to accommodate his wastes). A new, clear body cylinder was brought into position, at a forty-five degree angle. Five men had to take him off the scaffold, and insert him into the see-through chamber on a flat backboard—slid the tube over him, sealed it, and flooded the cylinder with liquids. Horrified, as the level of the fluids in the chamber gradually rose, he tried valiantly to claw at the sides of the chamber, but his arms were pinned too tightly close to his torso to move. The liquid rose rapidly, and he blanked out into darkness, sure he was being drowned, and would never see daylight again.
They kept him that way for four days. All systems monitored. He seemed to be doing quite well. Not being human, he had some resilience they hadn’t expected. An unusual experiment, nonetheless.
(However, Lex did not expect him to make the full twelve; ten maybe?)
Coming out, the thing almost had no mind. His thought processes were definitely scrambled. He often appeared listless, staring into space. Once in awhile Luther went near, and waved his Superman costume, easily viewed, in his face. A spark of recognition would flood his features a few moments, and then gradually retreat. It took a full day and a half before his eyes focused properly. Naturally, they kept feeding him intravenously, since they could do that now. Allowing him to repair.
They still had to harvest his semen.
* * *
Once released, Jack hastened to switch his money to several different accounts, and all under different usable names. But it took more than a couple of days. He didn’t want Luthor’s machinations to somehow have the funds reversed, claiming an error. Also, with his heart in his mouth, he tried desperately to think of a way to contact Batman. The only being on earth who could help them.
Except Batman had oddly not been seen for weeks. An incredible mystery. And Robin was not accessible, either. It couldn’t be! Luthor couldn’t have somehow taken them captive, too! But, good God, no one could take Superman!! Knowing NOW that he had been!! It was enough to drive a sane man crazy.
The next best thing, he bought himself several concealable pistols, and began marksmanship training three hours a day. There was no time to waste. He also hired a martial arts instructor, and demanded he be primed to the max as soon as possible. Four hours a day; none of this bowing and hands in front of face stuff. He had to be a walking weapon immediately. The instructor didn’t like the brevity of the assignment, but for $15,000 for three days’ work, he hopped to it. He would show Jack how to kill.
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