Superman had spewed his juices twice, his broken cock hard, down-angled towards his feet: the waste inevitable. His anal chute also spasming, ably gripping around Batman’s thick shaft, eliciting two instant loads from him, as well. Then Batman pulled back and out, but being a three-fold shot guy naturally, ready for more—still hard and ready. He leaned forwards, cupped one hand under the alien’s chin, jerking him backwards and upright, while also with his other hand anchored at his man’s wrists for support. Superman straightened woozily, was spun around to face him. Both panting, heaving like steam engines. The huge alien’s milkers flopped wet and heavily downwards, dripping noticeably. Each knowing it wasn’t over. Eyes meeting with soft questions, harder answers. The larger Superman unsteady on his feet, ragged in his mind. As Batman knew he would be. No matter.
“Down!” the Bat commanded.
“Suck my cock!” enforcing his already established superiority. His paired hands reaching up onto his man’s wide-thick trapezius, pressed into, and with little resistance felt him go down, easy to his knees. A wondering sort of plea on Clark’s upward face. Feeling not at all up to par. As if all his stamina had ebbed. His former worshipper, now demanding he worship him? A switch he’d never expected nor quite encountered. Rare alarms going off somewhere in his brain....
“What you’ve been wanting all along,” Batman said. “To assess how much I’ve got... see it. Feel it. Have it—in your mouth. Hands. Both ends.”
“Yes, but Bruce. I, I’m worn. Tired. Drained too much...”
“Bull—!” cutting him off. “Once hooked to those machines, you were milked beyond depletion. More they worked you, the more you produced. Told me yourself. Your body urgent to replace every drop, increase the output. Meet the demand. Natural! ”
“Yes! But it, it pared... my strength, in the process. Sapped my powers. Like now.”
“So, now’s your chance to “recharge.” My jizz—reloading you, right?”
“Ye-ah, normally. Ba-but... na, not as powerful. Helps—”
“Shut up, and suck!! My cum—your ass juices all over me. Nothing you haven’t tasted before.”
“Ba-Bruce—please, I, na, no...” handsome face askew.
“‘No—??’ Fuck!!” Control was the game. Reinforce it. He grasped the bigger man by his ears, pulled him forwards, the startled alien’s lips opened naturally to receive him. The Bat digging his fingers into his dark rich hair.
Though still coated slick, immediately acquiescent—Superman, seeing how lusciously long and thick he was—with unexpected surprise, also noted his friend was adorned with a fine cock ring, as well. Something he’d missed. But before he could say anything the whole of Batman’s phallic wonderment was deep in his mouth... his own hunger ease-drawing him completely down into his throat. Glans, shaft, balls, cock ring and all! The metallic jewelry clinking on his teeth. Insatiably devouring his longed-for mate’s treasures into him. His udders beginning to ooze-run as stridently as his Cowper’s flow, his huge cock once more fully stiffened and extended along the floor in front of him between his thighs, splayed as he was on his knees. His tiredness seemingly vanished. Now cock-sucking Batman with heartful pleasure.
The Dark Knight above him in rocking wonderment and pure ecstasy. Imagine! His egg-sized testicles and wrist-thick cock being completely sucked to their roots in Superman’s incredible, beyond flexible mouth and throat. The pressure on his balls almost beyond painfully endurable, about to crack, but he was unable to protest or withdraw, only moan helplessly aloud. Wanting more and more. Never believing such was possible. (Assured indeed of the mighty Kryptonian’s superpowers... beyond question, when accessed correctly! The ride of his life. And knew he was also going to experience that , too!! Time permitting.)
As well, keeping a firm pushdown on the alien’s colossal shoulders, who he could tell was tiring, yet trying a bit frantically, uselessly to free his hands, but couldn’t. Whether from wanting to truly embrace him, bring his body closer, curve-caress his gluteals—or just struggling for his freedom. Which was not to be.... Oh, no! The vanquished Superman was his!!
Miraculously, they each simultaneously shot two times more in rapid succession. Batman staggering on his legs above him... while the MOS wanly fell away, “Uhhh-ohhhhhhh”- ing — collapsing in a quivering, curled-up still bound heap onto his side... still mouth-swallowing the Bat’s essence, his big nipples and cock yet spurting involuntarily. Limp and sluggish. The cognac, he assumed, having done its work.
Then Batman saw after observing a few twitches, his captive had actually passed out. Not what he’d wanted, not yet. But knew he was effectively subdued. Decided to cut the zip-ties, allow Superman the use of his arms. If they were still capable, which he doubted. The gigantic alien proven to be now rendered powerless. Huge arms, legs—Herculean torso, larger than believable pecs, teats, genitals—handsome head, bearded face—asprawl and awry: all “out,” inert, breathing laboredly. Oh well, give him a few minutes more.
Thrilling, how but a few days earlier he’d been in such overwhelming awe at the two over-built aliens about to “duel-flex” each other at the Dakota... and here now, was one of those so-famed muscled titans collapsed unconscious at his feet. Drained, hopelessly weak. And he , the so much lesser in all respects, the man in charge!
In the meantime, catching his own breath, readying his equipment.
Even came again spontaneously, playing his own hardened nipples—over him, staring down. “Unnh, unnh, UNNNN-hhhhhh!!” The beauty of the depowered, built/hung Superman, whom he had mastered... semen-splattered richly onto.
* * *
With some consternation, he finally managed to get the hulking Superman moved up and around into position, sitting half upright on the floor, great arms and legs on each side of him thick and slack, back against the couch, dark-bearded head arch-thrust back onto the couch seat, mouth sagged a bit open and adrool. Ready for the next phase. Much as he wanted, he realized there was no way he could learn to be riding that huge alien cock up into him; it would just take too much time, too long, and that he didn’t have. Could take hours, even days/weeks to learn how. Things had to go faster. He began to slap Kal awake, careful not to mar him further in any way.
Superman came to with some reluctant groans, the cords of his thick neck tightened as he tried moving his head more upright; and while he struggled, could not seem to get his hands up very easily to rub at his face and eyes. Though he did wanly. His giant appendages seemingly near leaden and useless, though free. His big cock still a cumbersome fine tool stretched between his legs. Batman had even undone the coban wrap that had been supportive at its break so it was more accessible in a sense than before. His larger than avocado balls bulky and soft, packaged half under him. They, too, a latter part of the Bat’s strategy. The alien groaned, trying to gain his bearings, shaking his head, realizing something was beyond way off-curb. How weak he felt.
With a broad-forming smile, white teeth flashing, “Seems... like you fucked hell out of me, hey, Bruce? That fine cock of yours, beautiful body—so wonderful in me. Really ripped out my juices.” Rather inebriate. Not all there.
“MMMM-mmmmhh,” Bruce leaned in closer, scrooched down half beside, half in front of him. “But we’re not done yet.” And kissed him long and deep, one hand under his chin, one hand behind his neck, their eyes still wide open and immersing into each other... his dark orbs into those notable deep blues, savoring their looks and their closeness together. Superman’s face more handsome than a bearded Steve Reeves’; and Batman’s visage equally chiseled yet smooth-shaven. Mated lovers in a truly linked exploration and sharing.
“What you’ve done to me,” Bruce murmured. “No one before. I need... more, more.”
“But I, I think you’ve milked me out—why I feel so... so worn. Exhaust...”
“Come on, love. Don’t be that way. Those giant tits of yours hanging out there like that, can’t tell me...” though they were indeed long and soft, thick and pendulous, and given the mass of his relaxed pectorals in this position, albeit rimming his waist. “Just a little stimulation, and you’re ever good to go. See.... ” Batman slyly taking both of his hands, smooth-dropping down over the dense slope of the alien’s hairy forested chest. Then facilely grasping onto each of those huge teats at their bases, slow-sliding his fingers down over their impossible shaft lengths to their cap-ridged, corrugated tips... soon swelling to a silky fullness, where he paused to feather over their sensitive ends so lightly, lightly, ever so lightly. Then hard, dug in with his fingernails!
“Uhh-uhhh, ohhh! Unnn-uhhhhh, Bruce! Oh, BRUCE.!!!! ” Needle-thrills of rapture all through his shafts... his cock, his balls, his perineum, his prostate.
The Man of Steel beyond Man of Putty, instantly. Though already much of a nothing to worry about. Huge chest arching, waist drawn-in, areolae tightening, nipples filling, hardening—elongating outwards... chin and neck going up and back; his gaspingly large cock gaining an immediate blood-rushing fullness, thick and rigid for use along the front of his thighs. Completely under ownership of his possessor. Without defense or resistance. Although in semi-effort, raised his massive arms to push away at his conqueror’s taking, but could barely lock his hands over Wayne’s wrists... held firm but could not disengage them. Didn’t want to. Succumbing to his own paired nipples’ pleasuring. While Bruce flicked at them leisurely, slowly. Smirking.
“How’re you feeling, big boy?”
“My, my head... a little. Fuzzy. Unclear. You... oh, oh! Ohhhhh! Ba, Bruce!!”
“You like that, don’t you? Pussies you out, fast.” Working him, observing his quickening surrender. Rolling the broad-thick tips of his nubs astutely.
Superman, slackening back further, purely captive. Physically, mentally. Oh, the wonder , how his friend’s hands treasured his glories.... How he yearned offering himself again to him. Craved for his mouth to take them so bad—suck, chew, bite. His nipples, his nipples! Be in him of an instant! The sweet drawing out of his milks....
“Bruce, please... oh, please. Take me. Fuck me, fuck me... ” keen-whimpering.
“From now on,” Bruce said, “I’m not calling you Superman, anymore. Your new name is Fag-Tits! Because that’s what you are.”
A startling jolt, harsh and unwelcome. “Bruce! No, not that—! ”
“For sure, “Super Fag-Tits!””
“Admit it. Someone plays them, you’re his.”
“Well, yes... yes —they’re, they’re really huge. Sensitive. Can’t help that. Incredibly sensitive. Productive. But I don’t—”
“Anybody gets to them, you cave like ten-year-old girl.”
“No, no! Not true at all!”
“—I just proved it.”
“But you, only you—. "
“Anyone who catches, gets to you... “bared and there!” Told me yourself. Tarzan—Thor—Aquaman. I saw how Cappy did you in, in a flash. Now me. Showered you down, and off in seconds. Playing those freak-knockers.”
“But, but—for you, just you— "
Bruce’s mouth then went for him, sudden swallowed the full length of Superman’s huge left udder, which filled his mouth like a fifteen-year-old’s cock. Who gasped, quivered, and cried out. “Oh, Bruce, Bruce!! But, we—we’re lovers now . Normal, that you would—I would... unhh-ohhhhh—UHH-AAAHHHH! ”
“Shut up, and spread your legs, Faggot. Anyone fiddles a little with those pec-sausages of yours, you’re like a free whore ready for plunder!” Getting Superman to slide down further, now demeaned and compliant, completely onto his back... force-getting his knees wide, ankles towards his shoulders, who moaned only in token protest—Bruce fitting Supe’s fourteen-plus between them, who was soon eagerly and ably engaging his own big cock within his own lips once more... Bruce forcing him, but not really, to fellate himself—while he proceeded once more to take the alien’s ass with his own proud, hefty tool. The fully conquered Man of Steel writhing under him, he reaming him... who was no less moan/groaning near senseless. And Bruce suck-chewing on his thick tits one by one while he did it.
Pausing momentarily, to relish having taken and toppled the Man of Steel four times now, as he again saw him gushing forth his rich whiteness into his trembling, bearded mouth beneath him—almost wanting to jealously drown him in his own horse-like abundance, but had to refrain... just wouldn’t do! Had yet another stretch to go. Instead, snidely said, “That’s it, Fag-Tits! Swallow your own, though all that power-loaded serum can no longer do you any good. Not anymore. Actually, you’re finished. But don’t know it yet.... Enjoy the taste of your own suck-seed. The last you’ll ever get.”
In a sudden-struck alarm, Clark struggled to right himself—gather his torso and limbs together, blurted out, “Wha... what do you mean...? Bruce, Bruce?! ” Wanting to rise, but couldn’t. Found himself near paralyzed. His brain fuzzing erratically, mind grogged, body as if half numb... already grown noticeably feverish. Traces of a mini-furnace surging inside....
“Obvious, isn’t it, Tit-Fag?” Bruce still lodged between his legs. “Realizing now what you truly are: an insatiable “Muscle Cunt”—ever craving to be fucked by a real man, with more strength and power than you ever had! Just catch you by those huge cow udders of yours, you’re a done deal! Bare those gross mammaries in his face... a kid off the street could take you down in an eyeblink. Only a six-inch dick. Have you a wimpy fuck in seconds. Super-man, my ass!! ”
Still in the throes of savoring his essence, major source of his great powers besides the sun, the acrid sweet taste of himself still in his mouth... Kal was incredibly jolted. True, he was feeling weaker than before. And even less than “manly”—powerless, inexplicably. A warning shred of fear swirled in his stomach, his chest. Something was terribly wrong! Bruce was not acting like a desirable, enamored lover at all. But a contemptuous, controlling entity who suddenly seemed to want something incomprehensible! Not making a bit of sense . Could it be the alcohol, coupled with the loss of so much of his juices so often, so soon? Barbs of something completely out of kilter rising up to engulf him... sparked a quickening apprehension within.
Batman withdrew his yet unloaded, fading cock from within him, climbed off and back. Stood adjusting himself. And looked down. It was pretty much over. The mighty Superman was no more. Nearly haggard, with wide-eyed wonderment, and a face of some disbelief staring up at him, uneasily twitching and trying to rise, but couldn’t. That shock lancing deep into the struggling alien, who knew now he had been had.
For the simple taking of his own semen twice should have easily restored him (besides the debacle of the arena match earlier). His eyes at last resting on the very built, menacing Bruce Wayne above him... so handsome, wondrously muscled and desirable, a shade lesser of a twin than himself. His gaze then once more fastened onto the gold cock ring adorning his impressive genitals. The sudden perception of it—striking to his core! Knowing what it was: a stark reality! Having been cleverly lured-in, his demise he realized was now sealed. His betrayed fate, undeniable.
“Ba-Bruce—the ring... why?!! ”
“Good enough for Cappy. Good enough for me. I filched it when they weren’t looking. Suddenly aware what needed to be done. Not quite the muscle tryst we’d planned... looked forward to, huh?”
“All, all I had, am ... was yours.”
“But perishable,” Bruce observed. “And is— now!” And sighed. “Completely mine.”
“You, you’re going to kill me....”
“Already started... hours ago.”
“Why, why I continually felt so weak—’’
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Eyes into eyes, bold and strong. “Extinguish—a better word.”
Superman swallowed hard. Could not believe—and yet he did. “I, I... loved you. Years! Trusted, of all people.”
“Me, too.” Bruce said wryly.
“In the ring. “Superman: Super of all Superheroes.” Built, powerful beyond imagining. Stronger than Hercules.”
“Not with this!” And Batman slung his hips, a faint roll swiveling side to side. His genitals swaying heavily, adorned with the gold. “The taking of those so proud Fag-Tits... probably even if by some twink kid. Depleting your juices. Somehow able to keep you out of the sun?”
“Oh, fuck, Kal. How super is that? Not even 24 hours a day. You’re a fake.”
“I... I—no ,” trying to grasp the reality. Looked at him. “Please, at least help me up. To the couch. Not... on the floor...?”
“No. Not on the floor.”
Batman’s arms went around him, savoring still the mass of his profound musculature, knowing Kal was growing weaker than overcooked beans, those incredible arms nearly as thick as his own thighs, shapely beyond shapely, and utterly powerless to affect any sort of rescue, nor his big hands able to fist or fight... heavy and fumbling to get a grip. What the gold Kryptonite had done to him, was still doing, draining him permanently of all his strength, might and powers. (Far more lethal than the “green.”) From which now or never could there be any return once it had taken its toll. Its effects begun at Cappy’s first strike. If removed in short time, as it had been then, he could have recovered. But no more, once its prolonged presence had been presented and worn secretly with/by Bruce’s fatal nearness. Unseen, yet effectively destroying the nuclear structure of his body’s cells, and the capability to renew them.
“So. Just flick those Fag-Tits a little, wiggle a tiny piece of metal less than two pounds worth within a few feet—our Superman is no longer “super” anymore. Never was. A wimped pussy in seconds. Not exactly Superhero material now, are we?”
Batman helped ease the failing colossus into a comfortable position slanted onto his back on the couch, his head resting on one of the furniture arms... looking wan and pale. Could tell he was getting more and more feverish. Mental alacrity fading.
“Then, the title goes to Cappy. He wins after all,” Kal stuttered.
“No, not really. After I’m done here, I’ll have to pay him a little visit in the hospital. He’s too mean and cocky, too full of himself. He’d make a crappy head of the League. Spike his IV with a bit of a sedative. Return later, and take a ureteral sound, a rather long one, of course, and slip a few insulin capsules up and through his big Kree cock into his bladder. They’ll think he had a heart attack....”
“And, and... that means—”
“I’m the man. The one who should have been in charge all along.”
“I, I see. I guess they didn’t name you... “the Dark Knight,” for nothing.”
“Only room for one king at a time. And you’ve vacated the throne. Nice suicide note you wrote: ‘... stripped naked, jerked around by my own huge tits. My nudity bared... my oversized genitals exposed, cock “broken”... hopelessly raped by them, even ecstatically—in front of the whole world??!! How can I, or anyone else—possibly ever call me “Superman,” again?!!’ ”
“Oh, no, please!”
“There won’t be any questions.”
“You’re, you’re really going to do this...?”
“It’s done, Kal.... Just a little more nipple play, take you out—joyfully as possible.”
“Why, Bruce? Why? ”
“Because I can. Told you... surrendered your title. Nothing “super” about you, anymore. Everyone saw you freak-naked, and on display. Defeated like the actual girly-cunt you are.”
“Oh, Bruce, not by my tits, my wondrous tits... please, nohhhh .”
“Fag-Tits, you mean. Your Fag-Tits. Just partially.”
“Mercy, please. For the love of God, don’t...!”
“But you’re already on the way out! Damage done. Useless—finished. The whole world watching when Cappy took you down. Surprise of the century. Those massive, huge arms puny as flower stalks, when Cap grabbed onto your circus tits, broke your other worldly cock. Can’t ever live that one down, can you? Just like you wrote... !”
“Please, no! Spare.”
“Spare what? Your cells already dying...”
“How, how will you—finish. ..?”
“Just be glad it was me, not Lex Luthor. He’d have had those wurst-like nipples cut off and jammed down your throat. Choked you with them, cock and balls together. Encased your feet in cement blocks. Dropped you in the ocean.”
“Bruce, please. Don’t! ”
“No, won’t be doing that,” seeing the terror in his eyes. “But this time, I will suck your cock.... If I can. With the ring on it —.”
“Oh, no, no, nohhhh!!!! ”
Trying vainly to escape, his torso twisting, hands and arms desperate: pushing, flailing, shoulders tossing, legs striving... as Bruce unhooked the lethal gold from encompassing the fullness of his own cock and scrotum, but could only get it fastened to just behind the glans-rimmed mushroom of Kal’s 8-plus thick around penis... which then burned and itched and thrilled on his male flesh incessantly. But was soon soothed by the saliva of Batman’s mouth, striving to suck him in as much as he could. Never quite able to get the whole of his glans in, but could with his tongue delve center-deep within his large slit, driving Superman frantic with panic and ecstasy. Instantly arousing the weary alien, who at last fell back moaning uncontrollably, wondering at the same time how his friend was going to finish him. His mind effectively numb-jumbled and strained. And grateful the couch they were on was so large, able to accommodate their dual massive frames with little trouble. Kal on his widely sheathed lats, head thrust back, abandonedly crooked over the rolled-hard arms of it for support, “Ou-ou-ou-ouhhhhh” -ing.
Superman completely unable to quell his moans of pleasure as his once-believed friend was deftly working him towards annihilation. “Bruce, please. Please, save... what we have, could have—once I’m restored? Could, if—if I can only get to my Fortress of Solitude, the antidotal procedures there!”
“Fat chance. You can’t even fly....”
“You, you could help me. Your Bat-Jet!”
“If I wanted to—.” The vast silence following his words.
The horrifying reality then, Batman could —but wouldn’t! His last hope fled, futilely as the soft winds racing around and through the columned structures of New Ark’s concrete and steel monoliths outside. Batman intent on completing his murder. The final cut to his soul.
“We both know,” Bruce paused wryly, “from the gold, there’s no return—if not removed almost instantly, within minutes. Been almost two hours now,” and sighed. “Accept it, my man. Accept it. Be the “king” you were.”
“Oh, mercy! Mercy to God!” Knowing indeed it was true. Already as good as finished. Shocked by the knowledge. The persistence of the burn-feelings inside him, his cells being destroyed. Too late for reprieve. Rescue. Must accept.... At least, go with some dignity. Although his betrayal at the hand of one he had so yearned for, devastating, worse than he imagined possible.
“Well, to make it a grand finale, and a truly happy ending, how about you show me how you suck those monster Fag-Tits of yours, while you’re being pleasured. Make it that much more exciting, less painful...?”
“Oh, no. Not that, Bruce.”
“Oh, YES! And what do we call them now—? Tell me. TELL ME! ”
“Ma, my-my so wondrous, so huge... Fag-Tits, ” he stuttered. “Yes, my Fag-Tits! What they are.”
“What you’ve always wanted to call them. Obscene things you’ve sucked forever. Like your own cock and balls. Love, love, loved to do. How you got your super strength.... But no longer. Can’t, nor will.”
“Oh, Bruce... please . Don’t demean me.”
“Never could figure out who you really are/were, or wanted to be , could you? Ever conflicted. Sporting all that spectacular muscle around as the dundering, shy Clark Kent in baggy suits, and the bold, macho mighty Superman in flagrant skin-tights. Forever blessed and cursed, trying to hide those queer-huge chest dicks and your no less stallion cock—which you couldn’t keep your mouth or hands off of. Aching for them every hour of the day, and doing them yourself just as often and whenever you could. Playing the so-innocent reporter and the monk-perfect hero in between. Fooling everyone, even your own self.”
“Bruce, Bruce, please.”
“No wonder your brain is scrambled. Just helping you along now. Got you down where you’ve always craved and belong, surrendered to a superior cocksman. Like those you told me about—have at last met again.”
“You, you don’t have to do this.... You could— ”
“Shut up, and start sucking. Let me see you do it. Both at the same time. You can, I know.”
Defenses gone, mind sufficiently benumbed. Fading ego and reality shattered. Batman had him sit up a little more forwards so his back was curved. Kal’s super-udders naturally slung low and sausage-like from his titanic chest, making them more accessible. And with a hand pressed behind his neck to assist, saw how the alien slow-fumbled weakly, strength-pared to do so, resistance crumbled, each one of his hands under each magnificent pec, pushing upwards, the thick nipples easily inserting into his eagerly opening, tucked-chin mouth.... His garbled sighs immediate, his natural narcissism overwhelming him and his mind. Regardless of his approaching fate—as if forgotten. Rapturously sucking and chewing on his glorious tits, without restraint. A faint, deviant hope to restrengthen himself, unrealistically hazed . The wondrousness too intense. Overtaking his brain. Oh, yes... yes, to escape this way. Yes, yes!!
Until after a few moments more, resuming what he had done... to speed things up, and confirm what would be happening, Batman suddenly grasped Clark’s humongous, turgid cock and forcing it to bend at the break—swift-separating the paired bounty of his colossal, gelatinous testicles down the center—and jammed the alien’s massive member up and into his own ass—rough and quick and hard!
Superman gasped in pure shock, his giant lactating teats falling wetly from his mouth.
“Keep going, Fag-Tits! Keep sucking! Nothing you haven’t done before, and constantly did alone. I’m not stupid. For years, no partner. Ever nursing from your own loaded mammaries, while self-fucking yourself with your own ego-oversized cock. Or sucking it off between those huge muscle tits, for sure... fist-milking yourself crazy.”
“Oh, Bruce—no, no! Please!” To struggle or protest was futile. His fate sealed. No strength whatever left to do anything. Imprisoned now by his own sexuality, his body, his executioner. In paralyzed acquiescence: and a dually painful ecstasy, as even Marvel had done unto him.
“And that’s how they’re going to find you. Depleted. Your own cock thrust deep in your own ass, having committed suicide using the same ring of Cappy’s that you stole—to finish off your humiliation in perfect style. And the perfect, honorable way to do it.... While pleasuring yourself at the same time. Passed out. The gold then doing its job to completion in short time.”
(Only he didn’t tell him “the all” of it. Let the surprise be the finishing jolt it was meant to be.)
Finally, in complete surrender, knowing he had no ability or hope of survival, while Bruce worked his large horse-cocked member in and out of his body—the taking of his own self as he had so often done and previously, giving himself forever adept and intensely joyful climaxes... he once more enclosed his milk-giving nipples into his mouth, allowed himself to relax... hopelessly embracing his knowing extermination. His life to end as the climaxes from his incredible assets would carry him forth into his final heaven. Not a bad way to go, actually. All of his concentration now focused on the rising orgasms beginning to form and surge throughout his still powerfully muscled body, and his so wonderful man-cock and twinned mammoth breasts. Knowing they would be remarkably intense and simultaneous... udderly stunning. Perhaps swiftly blanking him out.
Or Bruce force-doing him, until he did....
But Batman was getting anxious. Wanted to finish this up as fast as he could. They’d already been locked away here longer than a reasonable time—without the world and reporters wanting to barge in and overrun them for an interview. Except the story they were about to later come across would soon be beyond shocking... unbelievable.
No, he would not have the time to experience the fantastic Man of Steel’s monument of a penis deep inside him. Would ever wonder about that. Be that as it may. This had to be a wrap.
When he saw Superman’s body beginning to writhe more and more, could tell he was on the edge of his orgasmic eruption, his weighty testicles withdrawing higher and tighter, hips beginning to thrust crazily, whimpering moans crescendoing, appearing more and more wild-eyed—he struck. Reaching for his “weapons of mass destruction,” he grasped hold of the two triple-powered tasers he’d carefully kept out of sight, and pressed them deep into the curled masses of the climaxing alien’s balls—firing into each one at the same time!
Had Superman’s mouth not been so full of his own sausage-huge nipples, his scream could probably have been heard for literally blocks. His colossal body arched, bucked, tightened—his gonads erupting impossibly huger loads of his seed into himself than he could have imagined possible—his shocked udders and tongue bursting loose from his mouth—his handsome face contorting, and his eyes beyond bolted saucer-wide... a stunned, titanic mass of beyond powerless astonishment. Tremoring in great muscular spasms and contortions.
“Since you’re already so bruised from Cappy’s assault, no one will notice what might be taser marks. And we had to complete the job. Fry that sperm to extinction—no duplicates ever to be made, no clones extracted for further use! And for you, no chance of coming back—partaking of your juice, regaining your powers. Ever.”
Whether the inert muscled Goliath could really hear him or not, he wasn’t sure. His eyes unfocused, hardly blinking. Massive muscularity still twitching. Some kinds of garbled sounds emanating from his throat. Knew Kal was stunned hopelessly senseless. Hoped his orgasm had been good. After all. Then reaching over with both hands, grabbed at his largely huge mammillae, reinserted them into the listless man’s mouth, who lay silent except for the few labored gurgles to be heard, eyes glazed.
“Your Fag-Tits, too! Just as bruised from before. And now... milk-centers also need to be extinguished!” And laid each of the tasers under the base of each of his Olympian nipple-shafts, pushed deep into the paired dark-circled areolae, noticing still how those long-thick babies seemed to rise, thrust forth for the taking. And fired again.
Lightning bolts throughout both mammaries, huge pectorals arching—he gave a short, strangled, stun-muffled cry.
Superman’s overly full breasts rupturing in rivers, electrifried—essences gushing out of the sides of his mouth, rushed across his torso, lips parted—pierced to his core—his entire being as if lifted a full half foot off the couch in its final convulsement... then drop-splayed quiet, neck and head flung back. Eyes ghosting, going vacant. Brain seared. No sounds. Those incredibly massive arms, slack and torpid. Muscular body inert.
Batman saw he was still breathing, nonetheless. Considered he was gone though, he gently closed his eyes. Kissed his milk-wet lips, held his handsome head a moment in his hands. Shook his own head, sadly. Assured of his unconsciousness. Then carefully scooched him up a bit, so his head was arced, dangling over the hard, arm-ridged end of the couch. Then just as carefully, with one hand firm on the upper part of his massive chest, the other on his sweat-streaked forehead, applied as much pressure as he could, until he heard Kal’s neck snap with a loud crack.
The body sharp-jerked, went completely limp. Breathing stopped. All tension gone.
Round Three , finished.
* * *
Though being a strong man himself, to man-handle the entirety of the dead muscle-hunk into proper positioning was a bit of an ordeal. He still didn’t know if his plan would work, not exactly knowing if the beam supports could hold the 275 lb. weight of the alien’s body. The girders above being steel, they should. Anyway, he looped the ends of the simple 3/4” inch thick white nylon rope from his bag up over the girders and down to the floor, standing on the couch to do so. Which was how Superman was to have done himself in. Taken the rope from the nearby janitor’s closet.
Of course, he astutely had to clean up most of the expelled semen, not only from the body, but from the floor and surrounding areas, so there’d be no question Superman alone had pleasured himself a few times in coming to terms with his “farewell,” trying to make it as pleasurable a process as possible. Not unheard of among suicides....
Even made sure the MOS’s own huge cock was to remain deep inside him, glans-collared with the finishing gold Kryptonite. Which would have drained his strength no less, hastened his demise, and made his body vulnerable to the chosen method of extermination.
At last, he was able to fashion the slip-knot, slipped it over the dead man’s head, tightened it at the neck... and pulled the body up with great determination, until the feet were hanging limply just three feet off the floor. It was a struggle, but he managed it—secured the ends of the rope properly, and surveyed his work.
Well, there it was. The idea had come to him in a flash, between the second and third rounds of Capt. Marvel’s and Superman’s go around. When the famed Superman had been so unceremoniously defeated and made powerless by the simple near use of a small piece of gold metal, and the playing on of his monstrous tits, turning him into a helpless, moaning wimp. Well, hell, regardless of those miraculous, touted arms, their incredible size and strength, other skills, etc.—why Kal-El was no true superhero at all!! If he could be downed that quick and easy, he didn’t deserve to be king of anything!! He was a true fraud. And a pussy for the taking....
Which Bruce had been “invited” to do. And did. Now, there was only Cappy to deal with. And Bruce Wayne, “the Dark Knight,” the very well-built, definitely gifted and skilled Batman (more than any of the others)... would finally be Lord of them all!
Bruce gathered his materials together, redressed in his street clothes, leaving no trace of having been there. Even though he had been seen entering with Superman, he would always say he left by the side door to escape attention shortly after he’d tried to console his friend. And it had been later locked behind him. Of course, he was now going to exit through the back bathroom window, rather effectively unseen. Simple as pie.
Yet, with a twinge of regret, he gazed up at the fully naked Kal-El hanging neatly and limply by his snapped neck from the girder over the couch. Massive shoulders slumped, wondrous big arms slack along his sides, hands partially curled; overwhelming, heavily paired, wide male breasts and bruised-dark nipples drooped frontally magnificent, over a tiny waist; gorgeously tight-smooth buttocks, curved above his tapered, shapely powerful legs, all silent and still... his other worldly cock still stuffed out of sight into the cleft of his inner core, though his huge testicles were yet freely slung, darkened, loose and heavy. Few physiques of his ilk or kind had ever been seen or known on earth, nor his handsomeness, remarkably stunning... the magnificent sculpture of his trim, striatedly, yet swole Herculean body. With the weight of his mass, somehow still swinging.
Not forgetting, Batman found his friend’s robe. Pulled out the hastily scrawled scrap of paper from one of its pockets, laid it neatly on a nearby table. No question what had happened. Held up the silky robe, reviewed the embroidered back of it:
With a faint smirk, and slight shrug, Bruce whirl-wrapped it into a tight ball, tucked it into his black bag. His, now. No doubt about it. Prepared for his exit.
A new king crowned. The other undeniably “hung,” but wimped out.
He’d won—all three rounds...!