The Telemachus Story Archive

The Extermination of Superman
Part 8 - Boxed, And Bound
By Rick Henry

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By Rick Henry

Chapter Eight: Boxed, And Bound –

When Jack called him from outside the apartment later, Lex was in the middle of a very important confab with three secretaries of the E.U., who had just flown in from a meeting at the U.N. in New York. Metropolis was a minor spot on the agenda, but Lex Luthor’s Global International Enterprises was a heavyweight to contend with. Anything he did was often a precursor to affecting world markets. Once he had caused the British pound to stumble for twenty six days running; at another, he’d had the Saudi’s about to start a jihad over his astute strangle hold imposed on imports of their oil to all the countries where he did business. He simply told them, “Lower you prices, or we will not—never—ever—in the future forever—have anything to do with Dubai, or you servicing our utilities anywhere on the planet. My own stakes in Alaska, the Indian Ocean, the Arctic Circle and Canada, plus Western Texas and the Gulf are sufficient to make your rigs unnecessary.” They gulped, he grinned.

“Jesus Christ, Jack! Do you know who I am talking with? How dare you—!”

“I’ve got him,” he said. “Eating candy out of my hand. Thought you’d want to know. You can have the box delivered Friday morning, 11:30 sharp.”

“Holy Fuck!” Lex shouted. “Really?!”

“Really. And, ‘Holy Fuck,’ Lex. You should’a told me who he was, instead of letting me figure it out.”

“You’re a bright boy. Remember I said he’s to be in costume, when you do it.”

“Yeah. Would’a been a little hard not to perceive, by then.”

“How’d you do it?”

“Just fucked him silly. He was vulnerable, as you said. Didn’t even need the green stuff, or the ring. Fucked him out. Weak as a baby, once you take his cum.”

“So, just as Slagschuster thought.”

“Course, he recovers pretty rapidly. When he takes mine, too.”

“And he does? Willingly?”

“We’re mates, now. Didn’t you know? Have a priest on hand when I bring him in. To make it “official,” he sort of laughed.

“Right. Make what official? The only official he’ll get is my intent to explore all his assets, and render them null and void. Good work, Jack. Good work.”

“I kind of like him, though.”

“Most people do. He’s not ugly.”

“And good God, he is hung! Makes me look like a pigmy.”

“But he took the pigmy—or rather, the pigmy took him!”

“You got it.”

“Okay, my boy. Friday, 11:30. The men will deliver the box. And be back by two to pick it up. Can you do it?”

“No, sweat. I’ll just fuck him in the morning, and he’ll be half out of it by then.”

“Suit yourself. And him, remember?”

“Gotcha. Gotta go. Think you could sort of slide a little into my account, in the meantime. Just so I know you’re not joshing me?”

“You’ll have ten mil in there by 4:30. Check on it.”


“Wow, indeed! See you Friday afternoon. Plan to stay the night.”

“Okay. Yeah, guess I need to fill you in on some things.”


“Ciao,” Jack tossed.

Ciao, to you, too!”

“But—isn’t that dogfood?”

“Could be...” an exceedingly self-satisfied smile that followed Lex’s words.

Poor Jack.

* * *

When he got out from his shave and shower which Jack had coerced him into taking (so he could sneak away), Superman was in more panic and anxiety than he had ever been in his life. He frantically sought Jack, who had literally disappeared without a trace. And he had no idea how to find him!

Didn’t even know his last name. Where he lived.

I mean, he hadn’t even thought to ask! Not that he expected Jack would be with him twenty-four hours a day, forever after... had assumed such things would just gradually buzz along, and resolve themselves very quickly.

Further, when under a disguised resident’s name (not daring to say the “on-vacation” Clark Kent) was calling, to determine who management had sent to fix the whirlpools in the building, he was startled to hear they had no such employee named Jack, to whom the description applied. There was a red-headed, lanky fellow of a similar description, with a face full of freckles, but his name was Chuck, not Jack. They had no record of a Jack anyone.

Clark hastily slipped into his famous uniform, departed to scan the area... rescued fifteen residents from a blazing apartment building, and two truckers from a fiery collision on the interstate nearby, but —. He noted that his strength seemed to be off a bit, his speed diminished, his thrust. But still, he managed a few quick poses: the triumphant one hand on hip display, enormous shoulders, small waist, cape casually swirled, massive chest proudly forwards, a new, secretly-based, warm smile on his lips, a trace of a mussed, black wave-curl on his forehead. A young girl with a sooty dress, hoisted on one shoulder, hugging his neck. And that was the last time on earth, later, anyone ever remembered seeing Superman in public.

Thereafter, he had vanished into legend.

He returned more distressed than he thought possible. By then, he had hoped Jack would’ve shown up, and hadn’t. Aching inside, he couldn’t help it; thinking of him like a madman. He stripped off his costume, caressing his pecs, the sight of his own body enflaming him further, and sucked himself, urgent to renew his strength, suddenly aware how truly well-hung he was, compared to Jack... yet craved Jack’s cock in his mouth so much the more, and teased and choked on his own glans, seeding himself with his precious fluids as he must. Until Jack’s could match the potency of his. If he ever would?

It soothed him, strengthened him, and depressed him. He didn’t want to be without him, without a mate, any longer. He was now spoiled to his core. Craved the taste of Jack’s semen, the richness of their breaths mingling. His warm, strong body in his arms. The smell of him, the feel.

He must have dozed. Was lulled into a strange wakefulness. Jack was there, and on him: suckling at his breasts, drawing forth his milk, while holding him in his arms... jerking him up and down, easy and slow, on his big cock again. Superman helplessly ensnared, his brain once more out of control, urgent to be sexually ravaged, allowing/willing his lover to take him and take him and take him—Jack once more power-fucking him into insanity, while fellating him. And yes, weakening him, as well, draining the richness of his pungent semen. Though Jack coursed his own into him, his rich, hot jism ripping loose inside him. Again, Jack the man in charge.

But it was so beautiful: to be wanted and ravished that much. No protest.

“Well, no wonder they didn’t have a record of me,” Jack replied, when Clark grilled him about where he had been. “Had to go out, pick up a few things... like a toothbrush, toothpaste. My actual name is Morris. Jack is what my friends call me. Not my boss.”

Clark looked at him with crossed eyes. Jack crossed his own back at him. “Besides, I called in sick after the first day, so they wouldn’t miss me not showing up. Only do this part time. Taking a couple of history and English classes, otherwise.”

Clark seemed vastly relieved. But made sure he got his address and phone number in case Jack pulled out again, and he needed to find him. He put it into his address book. Much happier, rested. “You don’t know how much you worried me,” he chided.

“Missed my cock, did you... inside you, did you?”


“Natural, isn’t it? Craving it so long.” Jack grinned.

Superman took in a deep breath of resignation. A wan smile back.

“Didn’t you miss mine, too?”

“That bastard is too much. I’m still sore! Have to wait a few days, okay?”

“It’ll be rough.”

“Easy, man; gotta take you easy. Anything else?”

“How about I order some food brought in? Anything special?”

“Milk of Tarzan. Nipples of Hercules. Minotaur Bull Nuts. Cream... of Superman. Cock ala mode.”

“You’re depraved!”

“You never said no....”

“I say, yes, yes, yes, yes! ” Clark murmured, kissing him. Held him a long moment. In bliss, nuzzling. Then made the call.

* * *

It was Friday morning, early. Jack’s stomach started flipping. He really didn’t want to do this, now. But he was committed. He gazed at the glory beside him: the body of the most magnificent man on the planet: handsome, built, hung, breathing easy and sweet against him... all his for the having. Forever —if he only had guts enough to take him, keep him! Really, it was as simple as that. He could—DID NOT... have ... to do this!!

He rolled over and down. His lips welcoming the flaccid mass of Clark’s huge member into his mouth and throat, stirring the mighty Superman into a reluctant, languid wakefulness. Draining his richness from him quickly. It never took Clark long.

The next time, both of them 69-ing, and jacking within the hour.

Around 11:15, he was getting super-antsy. Could hardly eat any breakfast, much less sip coffee. He tried watching television while Clark poured over some newspapers and magazines.

The knock came. He grimaced to himself. Clark went to the door. No one was there.

Just this long, wooden crate, about seven feet long, by four feet wide, and yeah... maybe three feet high/deep. Not a trace of anyone, or a note.

“What the...?” Superman asked, confused.

“Me,” Jack rushed up. “It’s for me. I had it sent up.”

“Well, it... looks like a coffin. Are you kidding?”

“No, it’s for me. A present. Trust me—.”

“Come on!”

“No, it is. I’ll show you later. Come on, help me get it in.”

Superman picked it up with not a trace of effort, brought it further inside, stepped back, walked around it. “I could say it’s heavy, by earthly standards. ‘Bout 200 pounds.” Out of courtesy to Jack, he did not focus his x-ray vision on it to scan the contents.

“Yeah, well. Kind of special. So, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” Clark wanted to know.

“Uhhh, go get dressed—in your costume. The Superman outfit. I want to take some pictures when we open it.”

Superman looked at him a long moment.

Jack countered with, “Please. For me? For you, too. Please?”

Clark raised his eyes, and shrugged.

As the big muscle hunk went to the bedroom, Jack added, “Don’t forget to go to the bathroom, first, too. Okay?”

Clark turned around again, and scrunched his eyebrows.

“Just do it. Please...?”

Clark disappeared. And Jack also slipped on a pair of jeans he’d earlier thrown across the back of the couch. The pouches in the back pocket, ready. Only had to be torn open....

Superman came back moments later, resplendent in his startling blue, form-fitting uniform, dark red, bulge-worthy briefs, noticeable, light-weight cape easy behind him. There was a question in his rich blue eyes, Jack snapped a few pictures near the crate from different angles.

Jack took in a deep, anxious breath. Smiled.

“Well, I guess, now... time for the present.” He went to the side of the box, took a key from his pocket, and jiggled with the large padlock fastener. Superman drew closer to watch. The lock came free, Jack dropped it.

“Help me with the lid...?”

Superman pushed it up easy, Jack quickly stepped to the side, and behind him. Ripping loose his own surprise-treasure from the foil pouch in his jean’s back pocket. It was either this, or the small lump of Kryptonite in his front pocket, he could use to press up against Superman’s throat or chest if needed. Either way, Superman, not suspecting anything, could never escape.

Clark gazed in confusion into the box. It was lined with excelsior, nice and cushiony. Nothing inside it. “There’s nothing there....”

Jack was beside and behind him, by his shoulder, near enough to kiss... Jack’s left hand lightly on the back of his broad neck, sort of nudging him forward.

“Yes, there it is—look closer,” his other hand on the cloth-soaked chloroformed wad in his right. “It’s a present—YOU!—for Lex Luthor!!”

Jack lunged. Thrust down with his left hand on his neck, jamming his right up over Kal’s face. Superman involuntarily drew back, sought to raise his chin. Nnnnhhh!. Nuuh- NOOOOH!!

“Whaa—?” it was the first deep breath that was fatal, and the subsequent short, quick, surprised ones thereafter—as Jack pressured the drug-laced cloth over his nose and mouth, holding him tight and firm... Kal’s brain going instantly fuzzy at the initial, indrawn gasp, quickly overwhelming him. “Nnnmmmnnnnmmhhh!!” Superman’s eyes wide with shocked surprise, and knowingness. His one hand futilely lifting to resist, sensing immediate danger. Too late! Felt his powers, his consciousness rapidly waning, mind going into Neverland. He didn’t completely black out. Jack eased him down onto the edge of the crate... then carefully, even as Superman continued trying valiantly to resist, eased him further back and down, into the excelsior. Superman’s startled eyes pleading up at him. Struggling bravely, yet useless as a seven year old boy. Hands weakly pulling at his, that held the cloth over his mouth and nose. Genuinely frightened. Barely able to whimper.

“Jahhck! Nn-o, noo... nooooh! Jack... whhyyyyy...? ” fading.

Jack bedded his struggling mass comfortably into the crate, as his tight, muscular body was squirming, twisting, failing... Superman helpless to stop him. His breaths becoming more and more faint, shallow, eyes rolling, out of focus. When he was in, Jack just left the cloth lying on his face, didn’t have to hold it, seeing he didn’t have the power to remove it anyway. And left. After a deep sigh.... He was literally shaking.

Went to the bar, and poured himself a stiff drink.

He cracked a hard fist, several times against his forehead. What had he done?!!

He could still save him!

But Superman was gone....

He went back, stood looking at Clark’s inert form, completely blanked out now, limp in his coffin. Face up, eyes closed, the subdued, wondrous Superman. Hardly breathing. Jack removed the cloth away from him. Something about chloroform they said could be fatal, on too long, had happened in early surgeries... why they didn’t use it much anymore, just mixed with other gases. He rearranged Clark’s arms, straightened them out. But kept the cloth nearby to use again. He knew he’d have to.

He snapped a few more pictures, went and got dressed. Was careful to go around gathering up his things. He called Luthor’s private number.

“We’re ready,” he said. “Pick us up, now .”

“So soon?”

“Yep, out like a light. But can’t keep him that way very long. The gas is not good to use long term.”

“And it worked, no problem?”

“Guess if he can’t breathe—no oxygen, no.”

“Hot dog!!”

“What do you mean?”

“Then the chamber we have will be just fine. You’ve already tested it for us.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll have the men back there in twenty minutes. Prepare to close. Nothing left.”

“Not a clue.”

Luthor hung up. Jack finished his drink, and poured another one.

Standing over him, he clasped Kal’s huge muscled arms in front of him at the wrists, with thin, silver cuffs. Clark began to recover; though having been astutely relieved of his semen, the hormones from his breasts, twice that morning, before getting out of bed, Jack knew he’d be on the downside, anyway. The metallic cuffs Luthor told him—and he also told Superman, as soon as his eyes opened—were enhanced with Kryptonite, same as the cock ring Jack had tagged him with.... No sense to struggle. He was being taken to Luthor in the box. Jack only had one thing to do, before fastening the lid.

“Sorry,” he said. “Boss’ orders. Got to gag you. So you don’t try to call for help in transport. Not that anyone would really be around to hear you.”

He proceeded to try to slip on the leather ball gag, but Clark was putting up a furious resistance, jerking his head back and forth, trying to arch his body. Mind still grogged, emotions panicked.

“God, Jack, please! Don’t do this! I beg you!”

“It’s done. I can’t help it.”

“For money, right? I can get you... all the money you could ever dream. Don’t , Jack, don’t! Help me!

“Right! And soon as you’re free, I’m off to jail for assault, kidnapping, rape, extortion, whatever!”

Please!” Kal eyes were so sad and deep, Jack almost relented.

“He just wants to humiliate you a little.”

“No, Jack. He’ll try to kill me. The Kryptonite —.”

“I won’t let him,” Jack tried to reassure him.

“Please, Jack. Don’t —I can’t stand to be confined in close quarters! It drives me mad. If you close the lid, I’ll go crazy! Please, Jack, please!! Don’t!!”

“Claustrophobic?” Jack couldn’t believe it. Must be a trick.

“I’m begging you! It will drive me crazy if I see that closed lid, the sides of the crate! Jack, for God’s sake! let me go!” His panic overwhelming him, even more than the realization of Jack’s betrayal.

“I don’t have a choice!” the blond said, finally. “And I do, I care for you a lot. Didn’t think I could. But I do.” With tears coursing from Superman’s eyes, Jack continued, forcefully inserted the ball gag into his mouth. Kal tried to resist, his eyes reflecting his terror, his anguish. Jack knew it was genuine. Done, he pulled back, considering.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I can blindfold you. Then, you can’t see. It won’t bother you. It’s a trick they do for people who can’t stand being in a closed MRI tube. It works.”

The relief in Clark’s eyes was more than apparent. The captive nodded vigorously.

“Okay, we’ll do that,” Jack said. With his heart lurching, he found some cloth, made a blindfold, began to fasten it, but stopped. Bent down, and kissed Superman first. “When this is over, promise you won’t hate me. I... I would, if you would... to be with you again. But maybe you hate me, already. Yeah, I know too many secrets. But I won’t tell them everything. I care, Kal. I really do. But I was forced into this. Luthor has me in a bind, too.”

Whether Clark would accept the truth, he didn’t know. He knew something was jagging into him, into his soul, to do this. Couldn’t figure what. But he had to do it. And he did care to have whatever was going to happen turn out as simple and easy as possible.

Once he had him bound, gagged, and blindfolded, he soothingly told the trussed Kal, he was sorry... and once more placed the chloroformed cloth over his mouth and nose. The subdued hero, bucking weakly in renewed panic, until he fell back into a deep unconsciousness. A timed few minutes later, Jack removed it.

Then, he fastened the lid. Had another drink. Drummed his fingers. Waiting.

Stared at Superman’s coffin.

His eyes oddly tearing.

* * *

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