Superman awoke long past noon, his arms wrapped around his lover. His head hurt, his balls were swollen, and ached something fierce. He remembered then he had shot so much semen, he wasn’t sure he would be able to walk for a week. He hadn’t been replenished, except from the youth’s own, within him Would it be enough—until their DNA’s could bind, mingle? Re-formulate?
He had no idea. The information on his scrolls concerning mating were at The Fortress. He would have to retrieve them as soon as he could. He cared to shelter his mate, secure him, protect him from any earthly harm. But he had to be strong enough to do so. He wondered how much of his power had been depleted, and for how long? How long until he could burst through a steel door again, stop a roaring El train in its tracks? What if...never ?
It frightened him. He would have to retest his skills, abilities, to make sure. And, too, would Jack be enabled to do more, be more, than just a regular earthling—Superman’s own essence now into him, as well? Something they’d have to learn about. He was still stunned. How this young man had come out of nowhere, overcome him, and fatally mated him for life. An accident by all regards. But it was done. He wanted to learn all about him, how to love him, how to make him happy. He craved in his soul that Jack would feel the same. God, he had a nice body, fine face, wonderful cock. Not near as big as himself, but with love, a small matter, really. He already cherished him just as he was. Maybe he could instruct him on how to increase his nipples, even his genitals, if pumped correctly. Clark knew it was possible. He’d worked on his own for years, enhancing his already stupendous genetics. He grew quick and easy, and maintained even easier. If he gained more, what would he do with it all? He could hardly handle his own self as he was, much less to expect someone else to take more.
Ahhh, and he hadn’t truly mated Jack, yet, either... though Jack had mated him. Something to look forward to, when the boy was ready. Well, the man . Jack was really no kid. But being younger, Clark would probably always think of him that way. His boy, his kid... his love, the man who had conquered him.
He got up, and began a rummage through his kitchen. Oh, God, he hoped he didn’t get a call, some kind of distress somewhere. He put on some coffee, and headed for the shower. The smell of Jack all over him gave him a hard-on. He switched his thinking. Probably fewer self hand-jobs would be much on the agenda anymore. He had Jack, and Jack had him; they would do each other. Surely, they would be hungry for each other: anytime, anywhere, any day.
“I’ve got to call my girl,” Jack said. Appearing in the bathroom doorway like an exploded grenade. “Where’s a phone?”
Clark froze in mid-stream. He swallowed hard and dry.
“There’s one in the kitchen, by the coffee pot. One in the living room, beside the brown leather chair.”
He was suddenly stupefied. Pierced as if with a Kryptonite lance.
Jack left. Clark doubled over, grabbing his gut. “No, no, no, no!!” Hit his head against the shower tiles, his eyes flooding up to the brim. Dropped to his knees. He was worse than terrified, now. This couldn’t be!! He couldn’t have been ensnared in a double-mating. “Good God, no!”
But who was God? He was an alien. And so was God, wasn’t He?
Superman was sure he was about to find out. Because he was going to go to this God, and demand an explanation.
Or a way out!
Even if he had to go beyond Pluto! (Though in reality, he couldn’t even get to the moon.) Only he didn’t know if he had strength enough to cross the room. Jack had stolen his seed, his source. His power.
He was sobbing like a kid, when Jack’s arms went around him, held him close, the water pouring down over them both in the stall.
“Hey, man, what’s wrong?”
“You, you... you tricked me. Have destroyed me, stolen my being—.”
“Came to kill me, alter my DNA, my life... can’t live without you. Your love, now. You’ve seeded me. I can’t change that. I’m yours. Only yours.... Can’t be without you, part of me now. Inside.”
“Fuck, man. Fuck! Look, I’m sorry. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“It was my life. You took my life.”
And Kal-El went into a numb silence. He didn’t speak for two hours. Jack got him up, dried him off, wrapped him in a robe, sat him down on the couch, poured him some coffee. Watched the man he’d just fucked crazy, for two long hours... wondering if he’d ever speak to him again.
“She’s just a broad,” Jack tried to say. “We were supposed to have dinner next Saturday. I mean, she wanted to know where to meet me, I hadn’t called her for two days. Thought I should, really. No one special.... But hey, we’re not married, man. You are a helluva fuck, I’ll say that. But I don’t get all this mating stuff you’ve been yammering about. Clue me in, what’re you trying to say?”
Superman stared long and hard at the blank television screen. Continuously, for two hours. Finally Jack gave up. Got showered, dressed. Came back in. “Want something to eat?” There was no response. “Hey, dammit, I do like you. Like you a lot, but what the hell? Sex is sex. It’s not the end of the world!”
There was a long silence. Then:
“You mated me.”
Another long silence.
Jack finally dropped to his knees, really concerned. In front of him. “Hey, guy, tell me about it. Tell me. Let me hear.”
Much to his surprise, he was deeply moved. He had taken down the most magnificent creature on earth, had him at his fingertips... a job he’d had to do... but something was hurting him inside to see Clark this way. Trying to understand it. Yet not even aware, the binding of their DNA’s had begun, ever so subtly. Jack found himself caring, wanting not to hurt the man he’d just fucked to oblivion. Wanting himself to be taken the same way, suddenly. And by the same man. Still knowing he had to keep the man down, and deliver him to Luthor in three days; and all in one piece. Course, Luthor didn’t say the guy had to be perky and happy about it; he could be half asleep, for all he cared. As long as he got his package, and dressed in the appropriate costume. Simple as pie.
“My real name is Kal-El. And I am Superman. Clark... is only a disguise.”
“And now you know. You’ve mated me. An alien being. I’m yours. And now you know.”
Jack was really trying to piece his own brain together. What the fuck had he gotten himself into? He didn’t hate Superman. Always rather idolized him. But Superman, he now found out, was the delivery job. And if he didn’t carry through, he’d be a very poor boy... and maybe, just maybe, not really alive...very much longer.
No one crossed Lex Luthor!
As he’d discovered. Not even Superman....
* * *
But then, if Superman were so powerful, how could he be overcome? He had once heard Lex grumbling about it, saying the creature could only be defeated by external forces. Possibly by a nuclear missile—no one had tried that—or with that Kryptonite stuff from another galaxy. Even some earthlings were known to have been affected by it; some sort of radiation it gave off. That’s why it was so highly contained by the government, and at Superman’s insistence... knowing it was his bane; and if he were affected, his “good work” on the planet could not be continued. Our government had to agree. If that was the only safety measure they could install to protect him, it was more than a fair trade. The creature was a God-send to so many, in so many countries. No, he couldn’t clean up the entire planet. But his fine work had saved the lives of many, and helped bring stability to an ever chaotic world.
Now Jack had this Superman in his hands, to be given over to Luthor. Had he known what he was dealing with from the beginning, he might have said “No!.” Then, when he had thought that that “might be” what Lex was trying to present to him, Lex gave him a howling laugh, and said, “Me, take down Superman? You’re kidding. I’m tough, but not that tough. No, this muscle stud I want you to rope and corral is someone who while, yes, is allergic to that Kryptonite stuff, he has also fouled up some very important business negotiations for me—costing me millions. And I want pay back. I’m not into murder, no way!! But he has to be taught a lesson; and we’ll be playing with his roided genetics along the way.”
“Okay,” Jack had said. “You’re the one with the money and the motivation. Downing some muscle-boy is not really a problem, if you know his weak points. Most of them are narcissistic as hell; like I’m in love with my own cock, and don’t mind saying so. It’s better than a gold card key at the Hilton, in many instances. You want him, I can take him. But he sure is an expensive dude, for that price.”
Luthor had smiled, and chewed on the end of his pen a moment. “Sort of next to Superman, or Batman? You got it. And when you find out who he really is, you’ll understand all my instructions. But don’t play funny with me, and try to hold out for more cash. I’ll end your little world like a squashed roach, and find me another delivery boy. Remember, I have six more like you, just waiting for the chance And the bank account. So why did I pick you? Good question. Two others were better hung. Four were better looking and better built. But you—don’t let it go to your glans—had a certain boyish innocence. Likeable, warm. Don’t look like you’ve toured the back alleys, full of street-smarts, or with that proverbial stick up your ass attitude. Grandma’s find you endearing. And 50 year old divorcees. Plus four men in my law firm, when I showed them just your face picture.”
“Yeah. Well-endowed, not dumb. And smart enough to know you can’t fuck Luthor.”
“Never entered my mind.”
“Indeed! And don’t ever dare.”
“Or you might not be so well-endowed, after. With an empty ball sac.”
So here he was. Superman and forty million dollars. Or nothing; and no cock or balls.
Stakes were very high. Even if he liked the guy. Surely, this Superman could handle himself with some ego-maniac like Luthor. So Jack would deliver the goods, and watch the fireworks later.
He also considered the lump of glowing Kryptonite in his tool bag; barely over the size of a walnut. And the cock ring Luthor had insisted must be fastened around his victim’s cock and balls. A slim, flexible silver chain, actually, with a core of Kryptonite, which would continually send out its radiation, and into the man, keeping him very low-keyed and easy to handle.
Since he hadn’t used the lump, or needed to in the pool, and had skillfully overcome his prey by instinct, and remembering the videos he’d seen—just a significant few—he had devised his own strategy, and was knocked-out amazed that it had worked so simply and effectively. He had reduced a mountain of muscle into a whimpering puppy in moments. Almost as easily as he had that one big Mr. Olympia guy, when he’d slipped in behind him, and asked, “Hey, stud, need someone to wash your back?” And the guy had turned and said, “Who the fuck do you...think... you...? Damn, that’s a cock, man. Damn!” “Yours, if you want it?” “Ahhh, uhhh... oh, damn, yes, yes.” On his knees, sucking him in, no questions, no kisses, nothing. Just sucked him and sucked him, his own thick stub, rodding out hard as a rock.
After a few minutes, and he was really primed, Jack had literally grabbed the guy by his hair, pulled him away from his cock, and told him, “I really think you want more. Don’t you? Up now. Bend over.” And Mr. Olympia had complied. Begged him, “Don’t hurt me, please. You’re too big... BIG !!” Almost screamed as Jack entered him, but he reamed him slow and easy. Took a good five minutes to get him to settle down. Then he drilled him hard. Leaving muscle boy laying on the floor of the shower, panting, while he went, cleaned, dried himself off, and left. The guy found him again later, in the bar. And said, “If you don’t come to my room, right now, I’m going to break your fucking neck. I need that cock of yours, again. And this time, you’re going to suck mine.”
Jack looked at him over a beer, and said. “Buzz off, baby. I only go with men. Real men. I don’t want to bitch you, again.” The guy had turned flame red, turned grey, grabbed him by the throat, threw him up against the bar—and security was there in a flash. The bodybuilder screaming, “You faggot, you faggot, you god-damned faggot!!” It took five men to wrestle Mr. Olympia away. But by then, Jack had evaded the whole mess, was back outside, and in his car. The biggest grin he’d had on his face since he’d nailed his last cheerleader in college.
He went over to Clark, and kissed him. Peeled off Clark’s robe, who still sat on the couch as if drunk; amazed at what had happened so far.
“Get up,” Jack ordered. Clark complied. “Come here.”
He got the again naked, incredibly muscled Superman, and leaned him against the wall by the fireplace.
“So, big boy. What do you do with your mate?”
“I... I don’t—even know... are you? Are you the one, who really wants... me , as I am...?”
“Let me show you what I want.” He kissed Clark long and sweet. There seemed to be no reaction. The mighty alien, stoic and still, rather dazed, mind not there.
“Let’s try this.”
And he went for those large, soft teats projecting so prominently from Superman’s chest. With just two fingers and his thumbs, he surrounded each one ever so lightly, encasing the tender length of the udders... going back in to the roots of them, sliding his fingers ever so slightly forwards, barely pulling, gradually increasing the pressure of his fingers on them, closer and closer out towards the tips. Then, he squeezed hard, digging his nails into the ends of them. Clark took a ripped, long and deep “OooOh-ing” gasp, failing backwards against the wall, pulling him into him. “Please, Jack, oh, please! Don’t stop... don’t stop! ” Barely able to breathe. Suddenly weak, so weak, pliant and docile.
“Man of the hour!”
“Jack... fuck me, fuck me. Ohhhhhh! Mate me, mate me... mate me....”
And then Jack did something unusual. He didn’t know why—thinking about it later. Clark, leaning back against the wall, aching to be jacked, sucked, fucked, something... Jack suddenly took his middle finger, making it stiff and hard, slow at first, then he rammed it full force directly into Superman’s navel as hard as he could. The reaction was immediate, alarming.
Startled him out of his wits.
Clark’s mouth fell open, he slam-stiffened-up backwards, as if receiving a million jolts of electricity directly into the inside of him, became rigid—eyes wide as saucers, lips quavering—gasped, barely audible, stricken: “Jack, you’ve murdered me! Murdered.... ” His body contorting as if one might have de-centered a robot, thrown a wrench into his core, ripped loose his wiring.
He jerk-spasmed a brief moment, then collapsed into a huge, muscular lump of flesh onto the floor. Out cold. Not moving. Inert. Eyes rolled back into his head. Neck at a crazy angle.
Jack was terrified. He’d killed him! The alien was dead.
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