Captain Marvel had had plenty of time to prepare his strategy. If Supes had merely by a fluke out-measured him, he was certainly not going to allow this nonsense to shift his status as the greatest body (possibly) known. First, they were both aliens, and had certain gifts not given to those of earthbound origins. Being from the galactic empire of Kree, not the most charitable of extra-terrestrials, he had aligned himself with the people of planet Earth, and become a notorious rebel from amongst and separate from his own kind. The other guy, the dual/split personality freak of the demure charactered Clark Kent, and the more ballsy but still demurely affable Kal-El from Krypton—a destroyed planet and system more charitable than his—commonly known as a Super-Man (since he outclassed all the inhabitants of his adopted planet)... well, he knew how to handle him! No sweat. The great Kal-El was not known to be a “fighter,” whereas the Captain had been a martial arts buff since his youth; something that was ingrained in him—his abilities never questioned, and his superiority always proven against any opponent. Thus, Superman, who relied on his overwhelming strength and speed to subdue any opposition, had not the finesse nor training of a true pugilist. Nevertheless, that strength was formidable. So Cap’s plan was to neutralize the fabled Kal’s strength, and merely clean-up after. Quickly, decisively. Take the duff down in two swift rounds, a third would not be necessary. He definitely had his machinations set in place.
No, he would not appear nude at first. They’d already seen his nine-plus flaccid (which would increase to eleven and a half when provoked), his dual, tennis-ball-sized hefty scrotum (causing many to quaver with the implication of his voluminous potency), and the displayed vastness of his miraculous and honed muscularity. He’d save his sexual superiority for later and the final coup, just to rub it in. (Although the other alien had surprisingly presented an overly prodigious sling full of his own that staggered the imagination! Well, then, all the better to fall : or fail with , Cap mused! Should be fun to humiliate the stupendous other, and whittle him down to a truly more demure size!) And, of course, Superman was restricted from using his laser-heat vision; the both of them restricted from doing battle in a levitated state—but there was no one to say he couldn’t “jump” higher than normal. Nor keep him from sledgehammering into those pack-loaded (hard?) pecs and abs of the other, softening them beyond redemption... and messing up his Hollyweird face with something he may no longer like to see in his mirror, alter his smug visage for a change?
His well-hidden ploy was to be spectacular. The whole thing done in moments. If he could render the mighty Superman powerless in his first strike, completely destroy those monolithic arms in one swift move, the man would be so astonished and immobilized, he’d be paralyzed in his tracks, and would topple after a few jabs to the gut, jaw, and temples—Round One, over!
The preparatory chime sounded.
P.R.#1: “Well, here they come, ladies and gentlemen, heroes and earthlings alike. Both ready for a final showdown: to prove WHO will be the supreme, acknowledged hero over all?!!
P.R.#2: “Captain Marvel in his unchanged towel rig. And Superman in his very revealing dark blue singlet as before. Each a sight for wonderment in their own right. All of us with bated breaths. No holds barred: legs, hands, heads, bodies every inch of them... equally weapons and targets! Speed and skill will certainly rule the day here, since both are stronger than tanks!!”
P.R.#1: “Best two out of three rounds. Each round lasting until unquestionable defeat—or surrender. Wonder who will “pussy-out” first? Or be whipped dumb and silly? Hard to think either one could be.”
P.R.#2: “And there’s the bell. No handshakes, the ref moves aside, and they head in for their first clash.”
P.R.#1: “Seem to be stymied. Five feet apart—sizing up each other, fists and arms up in position. Not even an eyeblink.”
P.R.#2: “WOW, you see that! Caps has launched himself like a rocket, those powerful legs coiled—up he goes, higher than Supes ears, his sledge-hammer fists arced wide, headed for Superman’s temples... or to be powering sharply down into his traps—immediately kill his arm functions—!!??”
P.R.#1: “WHOA, WHOA, NOOOOHH!! CAN’T BE!!”
P.R.#2: “His arms too wide! Left himself too vulnerable, in one stroke! Supes curling tight forwards in defense... then up and out!”
P.R.#1: “Supes’ guns longer, swift to the center—has grasped Cap’s neck in surprise, one-handed, holding him full-bodied off his feet, at arm’s length—squeezing his carotids—”
P.R.#2: “Cappy’s arms and legs, jerking, spasming!! The look on his face, pure shock, his mouth,“Ga, ga, ga, gugghhing” wide open, eyes rolling—”
P.R.#1: “Dangling! Going out, just hanging there...”
P.R.#2: “LIMP as spaghetti—OF AN INSTANT!!”
P.R.#1: “Supes eases him down, gently.”
P.R.#2: “Ref has called the match.”
P.R.#1: “Captain Marvel DOWN!! END ROUND ONE!!!!”
The arena in pure bedlam. Spiderman’s mouth unable to close. Batman, shaking his head back and forth in a slow, but secretly affirming consternation. (He’d already chosen.)
The bell clanged metallically. Fifteen minutes between to rest and recoup. Marvel was quickly brought around. And just as quickly, gathering his wits, raced to his private locker area. No way was this fucking Kryptonian going to make a fool out of him! He had come prepared for just such an impossible occurrence. No way!! Superman was finished! For good!
* * *
Determined, the Captain made all-out plans for Superman’s funeral. What had happened the first round had clinched it! No holds barred. And they wouldn’t be. He wasn’t sure he could kill him, but he would be able to destroy him, irrevocably. No doubt about that. He stripped down quickly, fastened himself into his equipment, and slipped on the very revealing too snug, overstretched flame-colored thong he’d intended to use all along (with but minor adjustments). While Superman, uncharacteristically, had so prodigiously displayed himself, Marvel knew he couldn’t overdo him there... but he did have a way to lower the playing field. (Having never expected to see the quite so startling abundance of male equipment the other had shown, it fit into his more secret plan perfectly—knowing from previous views his mounds were not small.) And now to make the “prodigious” Superman’s glory become his horrifying bane!—carefully thought out, and soon to be executed! A delightful thought. This was going to be the shocker of all time. For both Supes, and the jam-packed arena. Notwithstanding, what had long been hidden under his shirts... that too, he was sure, would be the all-time jaw dropper! And electrifyingly—all his!
P.R.#2: “So here we are, ladies and gentlemen, the contenders for Round Two. That first one was a doozy!”
P.R.#1: “This one, to be no less startling, I’m sure. Captain Marvel has shed his make-shift towel covering for a more conventional, but eye-popping, fiery red-orange genital sling... with Supes as before, all in body-revealing dark blue.”
P.R.#2: “These magnificent males a sight to behold, undressed or just partially.”
P.R.#1: “Cappy’s lat-spread gigantic, even relaxed. Superman’s pecs monumentally full, thrust wide and forwards. Arms and thighs like tree trunks—how these two guys got this way, beyond incredible... for us lesser. Don’t think they did it with just Spinach and Wheaties, ha!! Alien genes. Stupendous!”
P.R.#2: “And there goes the bell. And they close in, arms up, towards each other...”
P.R.#1: “But what’s this—unbelievable! Is he drunk? Acting like it. Supes is faltering, seems a little disoriented—”
P.R.#2: “Has lowered his guard, one hand rubbing his eyebrows, shaking his head?”
P.R.#1: “WHAM!! Cappy’s got him. A hard knee to those bull-heavy testicles! Power punch to the mid-gut.”
P.R.#2: “Supes has curled forward, in shock. Surprise. Heard him cry out....”
P.R.#1: “Marvel has hammered into his jaw. Superman’s head jerks back. He, he’s—oh, no!! Another close knee hit into his balls!!”
P.R.#2: “—staggering, twisting, big arms flopping, whirling to find his bearings—”
P.R.#1 “... feet’s unsteady. Oh, no, NO!! Marvel is blasting into Supe’s mountainous pecs like a jackhammer. Supe’s head going wild and back at each stroke. One, two, three, four... the MOS is crumbling—damn his singlet as if getting drenched with something—pounding him silly!”
P.R.#2: “Damn , his pecs are leaking...! Must be true, what many have thought?! Supes’ huge chest, actual/partial “man-breasts”—. Now, getting... dairy-ed out!?! ”
P.R.#1: “Not just muscle there! But damn, he’s also a MILKER!! And definitely loaded!!”
P.R.#2: “Unbelievable, why his pecs are so big. And Cappy is emptying him! Big time. Won’t stop. Supes—dazed crazy, arms hardly able to defend himself. Is, is FALLING—!! To his knees. What the hell?? Whimpering like a boy! Can hear him moaning.”
The roars were getting so loud, the moderators were being drowned out.
Marvel had him, and he knew it. Rupture those fucking milk-sacs, the man would be like a deflated balloon, his main power sources compromised. (Testes and breasts!) Yeah, Cappy had heard those rumors long ago when on his own planet... Kryptonian men, whether as lovers or singles (before their destruction), had breast fed themselves and each other, exchanging their incredibly powerful hormones (and semen) between them, a significant source of their physical strengths. As mothers breast feed children to grow, adult males resourced each other even as mature men; were most generally bi-sexual to a fault, and did love each other as well as their women. Only in Supe’s case, he only had himself.... And as suspected was his own best love and lover. For who had balls enough or bold desire enough to take him, could match him—dare share in each other’s bounty? (Or was it possible he could find and train an “earthly” mate? Unionizing their DNAs gradually over time? Surely a dream Superman might have always entertained. But had to be extremely selective. Or the wrong partner could do him in.)
Not that Cappy wasn’t quite as susceptible. Only his ace was in his sling....
Marvel had figured it out. But there was so much more! (Not that he, too, from the planet Kree, wasn’t similarly, but less abundantly wired.) Could now seriously clue in to the formidable Kryptonian’s weak points. Determinedly destroy him.
Making a deliberate half circle, raising his mammoth arms for all to see, coming in behind the stunned alien (partially disabled, weaving on his wobbly knees), he was not through. Oh, no! This was showtime! With a deftness that would have startled a PhD in neurology or chiropractic studies, he dropped his arms, dug his powerful fingers deep into the bowed Superman’s trapezius, effectively destroying the nerves which controlled the mighty Kryptonian’s arm movements, and rendered his useless. As if a hundred lightning bolts had shot through his prodigiously muscular arms—the terrified Superman knew he had been paralyzed of an instant, and cried out futilely for mercy. “Cappy, no, please. Mercy!!” But only Marvel could hear him, and was going for the kill.
“Ahhhh-AHHHH! UHHHHHHH!!” torn out of him aloud, Cappy’s fingers working him down helpless. The pain excruciating. Completely in rocked disbelief, and now even more so, unable to comprehend how his great strength and powers had been mysteriously sapped from him—become as nothing—(regardless of the hugely muscled man that he was should be... but now wasn’t?! ). As Marvel then let go, and gripped the straps of his singlet, jerking it down from his shoulders, further imprisoning his great arms impotently against his sides. Kal, in shock, could barely flex the slightest of any of his upper body muscles. Neither pecs or shoulders—hands, twitch-clawed desperately.
“And now for the fun,” gloated the Captain. “Show these goofy admirers what you’ve been hiding under that suit all along. Hey, cow-tits?! Never seen one’s like these, have they?!”
“Cappy, no, no! ” the MOS soft-pleaded powerlessly.
As the conquering Marvel yanked Superman’s singlet further down... his great pecs falling out forwards, revealing his monstrous male udders on full, naked display, stretched broadly wide to the left and the right sides of his male-haired torso, paired moderate zucchinis.
“My 62’s are more purely lat and pec muscle!” M. grinned at his ear. “Your 64’s, I believe, three-fourths muscle and one-quarter Dairy Queen—princess-boy! With teats to match. Now, they know!”
Superman replied weakly, knowing his opponent had near bested him. “You, yours are milkers, too. Why ... why’re you doing this? Didn’t have to—” in still searing testicular pain, stressed, and for sure embarrassed. As much in amazement as haze-minded, hardly able to think. (But could still otherwise be proud, and significantly so...if in the right way and circumstance. But not as a “public venue,” for being stared at! Much the same as if his other ....)
“Indeed, mine juice up just fine. And sweet. But they don’t fill, dangle and spurt out like yours, do they?! Rather a freak, aren’t you... thought your fans should know.”
P.R.#1: “My God, my God! Will you LOOK at THAT!!”
P.R.#2: “Superman! Pecs like a bull! Tits bigger than a cow! Holy Fuck, what a man! All that muscle, too.”
P.R.#1: “No wonder, never took his shirt off. Those nipples—!!”
P.R.#2: “Wonder who in hell ever gets on them.... Knockers , for sure!!”
Spiderman could not believe what he was seeing. Not only the sight, but the ever touted Superman on his knees, practically helplessly cowed by Captain Marvel. Batman, however, was about to go nuts—or almost pop one of his own. The idea of being with this man of his dreams had only intensified to astronomical proportions. If that’s what Superman had all along been hiding, had to offer: his mind could barely grasp it! His very thick ten and a half incher having started to fill, throb and flow.... But he just had to get to Superman’s corner! Something was definitely wrong! He knew it. Very wrong! The man of his heart could not be defeated like this!
And then the further gasps, which almost sent the crowd into a near silenced catatonia. Accented by the howl from Superman’s own lips. Unable in any way to use his mighty arms to save himself, or defend... Marvel then ripped his singlet completely off him like shredding paper, exposing the astounding Superman’s body to a full, public nude display. And there he was: huge haired pecs and unearthly mammillae lewdly revealed—still on his knees, his wondrous genitals now nakedly shown, hardly to be believed. (Although not easily viewed from all angles due to his debilitating position but easily seen binocular-wise.) His cock extraordinarily long and thick, no doubt 12 plus inches flaccid, and encased in a black, longitudinal and horizontal, exquisitely thin-stripped, open-weave leather harness, the plum-sized cut glans capped over... the rig which would easily stretch to accommodate any erection with no difficulty (since he would not be extending all that much more, as most hugely endowed men don’t)—and anchored by a heavy set of avocado-sized testicles, enclosed in a very fine silver, metallic-mesh protective covering.
No doubt some did more than adjust their crotches, if not dampen them. Women not immune to such wonderments, either. Especially strong, athletic women who favored built, very muscled and endowed men. The intoxication was rampant. The already practically bare-assed Captain Marvel, whose body sent shivers of desire through nearly anyone, compounded now by the revelatory assets of the supposed “once” most invincible man in the universe... notably no longer invincible! Who was the winner, who was the loser—when the best of the best was being viewed—but that “best” (called Superman) seemed to be nothing of true substance after all! Weaker than piss!
And the next that happened, incomprehensible! A swift knee to the chin, the crack heard arena-wide, and the MOS was splayed backwards, legs half curled under him, massive arms uselessly flung wide. “Unh-oooohhHH!!” riven out of him. Marvel could probably have just sat on his neck, held him down hands into hands, till the ref beat out the count. Instead, with a hyena-like grin, he chose to grasp at the dazed Kal-El, laying face up, fist-gripping over his right longly-thick udder, another hand in his hair, and dragged him unceremoniously across the canvas, and began banging the hapless Superman’s head into the hard stanchion of the ring post. Face, temples, forehead, cheeks, ears, nose, hair. Blam, blam, blam, blam! Like a sick motor with a warped-out fan. Supes’ colossal arms still slack as if broken, legs sporadically jerking. Blood and cuts notably marring his visage.... Could not himself believe what was happening. What little of his mind was left.
P.R.#2: “Holy Mother, Mary and Martha!!” the Ranger shrieked.
P.R.#1: “And it looks like Cappy’s the one’s who’s got them !! Taking Superman to his doom!”
P.R.#2: “With—only cries and whimpers. From such a Goliath?! His ass wiped over like last month’s toilet paper!”
Batman, about to have a nuclear stroke, on his way to Supes’ corner.
Spidey, stuck in his seat, going, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,” like a disconnected robot.
At last, Marvel turned him, got him practically into a sitting position, entwined the depowered Superman’s arms kind of loop-wrapped within the middle ropes of the ring to hold him fast, his heaving chest fully frontal, head warped back, spine at a slant. His gigantic nipples open to attack, and Cappy just leaned in and started to hard-flick at the ends of them... very deliberate, measured and slow. It seemed to bring the mind-woozed Superman around into instant awareness; he struggled to sit up forwards... his alien hyper-sexuality being now triggered into an overwhelming response. Begging desperate, and panicked, “Oh, Cappy, no! Not—not my, my huge nipples, my wondrous tits—!! Not here, please, no—don’t!! NOOOOHHH!!”
Not in public! For everyone to see! His penis automatically surge-rising, a remarkable tower of fourteen and a half inches long by eight and a half inches thick around of indisputable, pure masculine wonder. Tremoring and quivering hopelessly erect in front of him: the stimulation of his nipples alone that could climax him in but the fewest of minutes, if not ceased. Not here, not in public!! A horror and humiliation unspeakable!
P.R.#1 and #2: (practically at the same time) “By all that is Holy, and the gods—utterly unbelievable!! Cappy’s going to bring the great Superman to climax: HERE AND NOW!!”
Superman moan-whimpering incessantly. Immobilized. Blood gashes clouding his eyes.
Then Captain Marvel stopped. Looked down at his victim. And said, very succinctly, “It’s time, Superman. You’re done!”
Then he unraveled the stunned Clark’s arms from the ropes, let them drop with a thud, and his head... grabbed hold of his ankles and pulled him away from the post. Crouching down, he then slipped one of his massive arms up and under between his legs, beneath the lackluster MOS’s right buttock, hoisting his thigh and knee way up high... then getting the same hand along and across in front of his right shoulder, above those heaving thick pecs, and bridge-crushed across his neck, fastened himself onto him. The man beneath him half-crabbed into a striking ensnarement. Superman’s leg now locked, his right arm completely useless (as was his left for all practical purposes)... Cap’s forearm across his throat, scrunching his head back nearly choking him. It was much a moment of true astonishment: the inexplicable depowering of his beyond earthly, alien strength—was Marvel going to snap his neck, kill him on the spot—not even his Kryptonian heritage could save him from this, if applied quickly, correctly!!
It wasn’t to have been a “death-match,” but it very well could become. His!
With the yet stimulation of his humongous nipples having given him a strength-sapping erection, still masted high and steely between them. And with Machiavellian delight, the Kree alien leaned into his face, while he struggled but could not move his head (pushed back, locked in place), unable to meet him eye to eye, and whispered: “You know, I had thought of wearing my Reverse Prince Albert, with the serrated teeth edges, and fuck you senseless, the way I have you now—destroying your prostate for all time and eternity! Though who’s to say, you might actually later heal, grow a new one back again? Oh, no, that wouldn’t do! So instead, since we are here and now , in front of all your friends and the world, I came up with a better idea! Yeah, instead —I’m going to drain the milk from your blooming, bust-freaky mammaries, really drain you down next to dry—and fuck you silly, man... with your very own cock!! ”
Superman’s paralysis secure, his panic and disbelief risen to the stratosphere. No way could this be true! Not to him! Could not be happening!! He, the undefeated, invulnerable, most powerful being in the universe... about to be humiliated beyond imagination—in front of every one??!! Here, in this auditorium!! Across the networks of the world!! For all time!! He tried to speak, plead, negotiate, but all that came out was, “Guh, guhg, gaahhgghh.” Trying to shake his head violently in protest and anguish. But too entrapped to do anything whatsoever.
“So we can all see,” Marvel continued, “who really is the “Super-est” Superhero of all. And leave you with something you’ll never forget, nor be forgotten by... by any who might have witnessed this most astounding event! “The Great Superman” raped by his own cock! While his womanish, huge cow-tits were being nursed from—by another man!” In public!! Center stage. In the forever famous Mid-Town Square Garden Arena, New Ark City. USA. In the year of our Lord... “Kree... Mar-Vell’s” ascendency to the throne!”
Easily then ripping away Superman’s protective male harness, truly exposing his full Kryptonian nakedness. Holding it up for all to see, then tossing it victoriously aside like trash. Though no less a notable trophy to carry home with him later.
“Ah-gguhh. Guhh-unhh. Gagu-ugghhh!” was all that could be heard over the speakers.
The place nearly quiet as a tomb, waiting.
P.R.#1: “Would you believe—I don’t believe—is, is any of this real, really happening?!”
And with that, having cleverly had an assistant place the item near this corner, the Captain reached for the small container of lubricant nearby, pried the failed, flat-on-his-back Superman’s buttocks apart, having of course, only one hand to do it with, and struggled to shove aside the overly heavy load of his impossible testicles to clear the path... still maintaining his control of his opponent’s neck. Succeeded in greasing his chute. Then finally, with his free hand again, leaning hard in and against him, grasped hold of Superman’s monument of malehood, its magnificence high-wavering as he wriggled it around with a showmanship-like flourish in the air, easily to be seen by every eye. And then gripping it firmly, four and a half inches from the base of the massive shaft, not really able to get his hand around the grossly stalwart girth, but enough to do the job—snapped it sharply!!
The sound of it, and Superman’s scream, reverberated throughout every hall and space.
Followed by an almost hallowed silence. And then another scream as loud as the first, as Marvel plunged Kal-El’s own now broken, wondrous cock, the remaining hard ten-plus glorious inches up and through and deeply into his own ass. “UNH-UHH, UNH-UHH, UNH-UHHHH!!” Continued pistoning the alien’s rod in and out of him. Viciously, mercilessly. Then lay in against him, and took Superman’s whole left udder in his mouth all the way to the base, and began sucking and chewing on the tumid, swollen teat, large and thick and rubbery as a nicely endowed younger man’s cock. Superman’s milk flow, an unleashed river of no small abundance. And somehow he managed it, not easily, but Cap did... letting go of his former grip—Superman numb and swooned beneath him, both knees bent and spread—finally getting both ends of Kal’s nipples into his mouth at the same time, and drank and drank and drank. Knowing the power he was also absorbing from them; and what the man beneath him was losing.... Panic-stricken, half-stupored, powerless, and ego-demoralized. Unable to move. Big thighs jerking, tremoring helplessly. Fingers clawing and clenching futilely.
Superman, howling and gurgling, writhing and spasming desperately, in equal portions of unearthly pain and unalterable ecstasy... humiliation, defeat, and a nearly shattered psyche. Impossible not to be overwhelmed by the treasure of his own wonder-cock inside him, and the Captain astutely nursing from his breasts—the fiery, incredible pain in his penis (and testicles); not to mention his ego and mind nearly torqued to smithereens. Was on the verge of blacking out, going in and out on waves of staggering hazement. Half numbly dead, in shock, half in nirvana.
Could not, could not, could not admit defeat. Nor allow the darkness to descend. He fought valiantly. But then his climaxes rising; oh, my God, how rich, how deep—in not only his prostate, but in each of his breasts, in dual-shattering, now tripling tremors... he howl-keened aloud, his own seed rupturing inside him, as his nipples spurted forth stronger jets than normal.
Cappy was amazed; as much as Superman was equally exhausted, unloading. Supes’ own raptured, raped white seed pouring out from his own ass in abundance. Talk about being made a fool of!!! In front of millions—??!! His twin-jugged breasts still sporadically pulsing out his man-juice. As he groaned in his self-coital after-release, as much as from a deeply seared mortification.
Only Cappy said, very snidely, “Hey, Supes, I didn’t wear this thong for nothing. Easy access. Now time for me to actually plunder the once-royal goods. Going way deeper than that clipped, “new” stub of yours ever can, or will.... Not like you did with yourself before, eh?”
“No, no, no, no!!” This would be the ultimate dishonor and degradation. To be fucked also by Marvel!!
He felt of the Captain pulling aside his reddish thong, ready for entrance, his eleven-plus incher primed and ready. And also then felt the hard ring of his conquest close and near. He shivered. Marvel had been wearing a metallic gold cock ring! Suddenly it all made sense! He had been had, with the deception above deceptions! No other explanation possible. He had been duped. Big time! Devastatingly. It had cost him dearly, caught off-guard. Should have demanded a security check. Too late now.... The close proximity of which had undone him!
With every last shred and fiber of his strength and will, Superman twisting broke free and began raggedly crawling away to his corner. Cappy, rising to stand upright, followed. Slowly assured and confident, the Kree was determined to snare his prey and deflower him. But once nearly there, Supes had not the ability to rise or stand, could not even pull himself up by the ropes. Grabbed the lower one and just drooped there. Worn. Would not be fucked by Marvel! Rolling onto his back, he waved his hand in the air. Signaling his defeat to the ref... to the world.
Whistle blew. The match was called. Marvel was pissed. Superman passed out. The arena in high pandemonium.
* * *
Batman’s arms around him, Kal was brought back to sanity. Though he was jabbering like a sick monkey. Bruce wrapped his arms around him. Said, “I love you, even so.” Held him close. Poured spiked Gatorade into him, and jolts of strong coffee....
Four doctors were called, but there was nothing to be done for Supes’ cock; no time between rest sessions for anything more effective than a firm, snug wrapping of his member with a secure coban bandage to prevent further possible trauma. In fact, there was not even a sling or a thong, jock or a speedo available to contain his largeness. So he had to do what Marvel had done in the first round. Cover himself with a large towel pulled up between his thighs, and fastened with a belt at the waist. Only thing possible. Still allowing the mass of his beyond earthly pectorals to remain voluminously bare, although a bit swagged. His nipples still beacons of wonder. Well, they had been seen and “taken” from—why hide them with a shirt now? Display them. Be proud. Four-plus inches long, equally and more as thick around. (Wonders of both awe and disdain... depending, of course, on one’s perspective. Or desire.)
Though it was indeed reported that Captain Marvel had been wearing a Kryptonite cock ring! Gold, the most lethal of all! Batman demanded the contest be called, but since it had not been outlined in the rules, and it was a no-holds-barred conflict, he could not be disqualified. But he could be severely reprimanded. Only at this late time, what did it matter? The match was delayed another fifteen minutes owing to the severity of the infraction of “honor” which had occurred. But little else was to be addressed. Marvel skulked off on his own, but with the greatest satisfaction of having humiliated and caused Superman more than a world of hurts—not only physically, but mentally, and with such a damage to his reputation which would haunt him forever!
The so-renowned MOS had been publicly downed and fucked with his own cock in a public arena, and the seeing of it had been viewed by jillions. “Man of Steel, my ass!” many would or could later jeer. And legitimately. How could he ever hold his head up anymore? For any reason, no matter how strong... or powers he exhibited? He had been brought low. So defeat for him was now a forever possible option... considering how clever a foe, any foe, he might confront in the future, who might could do the same. His reputation tarnished like old silver.
Batman did his best to console him. After all, a broken cock of the MOS’s magnitude was no small deal. It could not at the moment be determined if he could ever be repaired... and any resulting good may not appear for months, possibly years down the road. He could no doubt still be functional, but not without great discomfort, and possibly even pain, merely just to masturbate on his own.
“So what are you going do about Cap?” Batman wanted to know. “Do you have a strategy?”
“Yes. Not one I would have chosen, but I believe an effective one. Since he played dishonorably, perhaps a dose of his own deviousness might be appropriate? And still be decent in the process.”
“Only one more chance.”
“I know. But if he wins, he wins. I can’t contest it.”
“I will. I’ll beat his ass into the dust,” Bruce groused.
“Oh? You and whose legion? He’s about the best of the best we have. And I’d not take it kindly if you two clash. Let him be his own man. If he has friends, he has friends. If he loses them, it’s his own worry. Not ours. I will still work with him, regardless.”
“You are a Boy Scout, aren’t you?”
“... But I fuck like the devil. With the right guy—!”
“Ha!! Not if I get you down first.”
“You think so?”
“Stick around. I win, we’ll see.”
“And if you lose...?”
“What good’s a fractured dick, and a wounded spirit? Either way.”
“I think... I’d like... to figure it out. Day at a time.”
The chime rang then. Time to take their places. Batman frowned, patted his friend on the shoulder. “Win or lose. Come home...?”
Spiderman popped his head in around the corner. “Come on, you guys. Gotta go, gotta go. Last round.”
“Thought you were in Cappy’s corner?”
“He’s not too happy. Nor thinking of me, I guess.”
Batman shrugged. “Your choice.”
“But if he gives me a wink... I’m his.”
Supes snorted. “If he can still walk, after. Or... maybe you can drag him along in a wheelbarrow?”
“Whatever,” Spidey rolled his eyes. “No offense. Don’t hurt him too bad, hey?”
Superman shifted, glanced askance, wriggled a shoulder.Next page