The Telemachus Story Archive

Angry Sun
Part 3 - Superman Raped
By Rick Henry

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PART 3—Superman Raped.

He ached all over. His muscles cramped from being held fast too long in the one position, Superman’s skin and flesh smarted from chaffing against the splintered surface of the post… made even worse by his involuntary lurching in reaction to the spanking and caning; and, of course, the unbelievable throbbing of the bruises and welts which now covered his swollen, still glorious glutes.

Through the haze of pain, he felt a twinge of relief that whatever Austin had in mind, it would not be a continuation of the pummelling that he had just been subjected to. But the question was there: what was the bold muscly Scot going to do—somehow sensing an impending worse assault.

Lev looked past Superman to the young man walking slowly towards the degraded superhero. A wry smile spread across his face, a sign that he perhaps had already guessed what the only openly gay member of the gang had in mind.

“Sure, Austin. Go ahead, enjoy yourself. I have a feeling this is going to be even more entertaining.” And the remaining gang joined him in a low, menacing chuckle.

Superman steeled himself as best he could. He felt ashamed that he had surrendered so completely to the pain of the beating, and had whimpered and howled uncontrollably. This time he would do his best to preserve the dignity and manliness that was normally associated with his status. Teeth gritted, he stared across the room at Lev. The illegal arms dealer was a picture of almost unrestrained glee.

The first thing he felt was barely detectable, the soft warm breath of a face close to the back of his neck. Then, two gentle hands were laid on his bulging shoulders, moving down and along his biceps and triceps, appreciatively caressing the full length of his arms as far as his fingers, where they paused, stroked softly, then retraced their journey back up to the shoulders. In any other context it would have been sensual, seductive, but here, bound and immobile, it was for Superman a new and terrifying threat. He began to realize what Austin had meant by "something else," and why Lev Levkowicz had responded with such scorn.

“No. Please, don’t,” he groaned softly, imploring, barely a whisper, but the young gang member seemed oblivious to his entreaty.

Now the hands moved slowly down the back, tracing both scapulae, the lats, spreading fingers wide along the lower ribs; then back up and massaging the sweat-hairy underarms; continuing to the face, rubbing the sweat from them into the handsome features; further up and through the hair; then down the back of the head, the neck, tracing the spine as far as the deep muscular ravine which separated the inflamed buttocks.

Superman closed his eyes and pressed his forehead hard against the post, concentrating on tensing his muscles as tight as he could in an effort to seal off the intrusion he realized was coming. But it was to no avail. One hand continued its downward path, forcing itself between the tense, hard buttocks, while the other arm reached up and encircled the handsome Kryptonian head, under his chin, pulling it firmly back.

In surprise and shock, the young Scot’s mouth at his ear, he heard him rasp low and clear, so no others could hear: “I be your only friend. Only man on the planet who might can save you. But I must be rough! Play along!!

Then, he savagely bit his lobe. Superman yowled—Austin spit into the side of his face, while the others roared… and drew back.

The fingers of the Scot’s lower hand now began to knead forcefully along the inner surfaces of the beautiful crack, working against the resistance, finding the soft, moist entry point, then pushing hard against it.

“No, NO! ” came the resisting plea again. But Austin’s Cheshire Cat smile showed he had no intention of stopping. In full performance, he was about to live out the most desired of gay fantasies: sodomizing the impenetrable, wondrous Superman. And nothing would stop him, least of all a lack of consent. The sound of his zipper, a stunning death-knell.

“Shhhh, baby,” he wheedled aloud, close to the prisoner's ear. “Don't resist; just go with the flow, and it won't hurt. Well, not as much!” With a wicked grin.

At that moment, his long, bold middle finger found its way inside, and plunged deep into the hero’s asshole. Superman gasped, inhaled, and fought back a cry. Austin forced a second finger inside. He pushed in deep and hard, working his arm like a piston, rotating his hand and flexing his fingers, opening the hole wider and wider in preparation. Then he stopped, seemingly surprised at the ease of penetration. The wonder of Superman’s internal lubrication, as if naturally being “made ready.” Could it be…? He resumed, and added a third and fourth finger, thrusting deeper and harder. The alien was his!

(Superman suddenly remembered his first time. But nothing like this!!)

A new pain now emerged for the superhero, the feeling of being stretched and opened, beyond ever before—and against his will; a pain that reached up from his searing anus into the pit of his stomach. He arched and jerked against the intrusion, but he was impaled on the full knobby fist of the Scot's hand, and could not escape. His bellow, his wailing was not subtle: cries released—unrestrained and fearful. Terrified more and more. Not this, not this—no, please! Not this!!

“Ahhyy-hhhH! Ahhyggghh!! AYH-GGGHHHH!!” from deep in his throat.

Vaguely, from somewhere outside the agony, he heard laughter and catcalls.

“Yeah, Austin! Give it to him, pal!”

“Make a whore of the interfering bitch!”

“Arm in—all the way! Fuck him, Austin! Fuck him hard!”

The catcalls gave way to a chant, loud and angry, “Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him…!”

The chant continued, filling the room, almost drowning out the dull, sporadic, still heard roars of the wind outside—“Fuck him! Fuck him….”

“All the way—rip his fucking heart out!! Show it to him!!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Superman was near fainting. In incredible pain, as much as terrorized. Austin, he knew, could do it. (Had he whispered a deceptive lie to completely unman him? Warp his brain?)

But the fisted fingers and wrist suddenly withdrew. And before Superman could react or dare think of relief, he felt the hard, full length of the young man's thick, unexpectantly impressive cock plunge deep inside him. He arched. Almost like Jimmy’s, and more as much; but this was not love!

Brutal and unwelcome, horrifying and unreal. Plundering his resistance. He was being raped. “And I am your Master , Super-bitch! And you are my willing cunt!” The words harsh and commanding: possessing his senses, over-ruling all he ever was. Within him, he fought—.

Both assaulting arms were now locked around his head, pulling it hard back against Austin's shoulder, as the strong Scot's hips pounded in rapid rhythm against the bruised and welt-covered ass. Each thrust seemed to drive the ram-swollen member into the very core of the superhero's body, and he sobbed miserably. His mighty muscular tension collapsed, and he went limp, surrendering to the desecration. Now, as Austin continued his ravishment, the Kryptonian flesh simply rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the assailant's lunges. Conquered .

“Yeah, you like it, don’t you, Super-fag?” Austin gravelled into the bound man’s ear. “Done this before; you like big cock, I can tell. Hey guys! What do you think? He’s no virgin; he’s had it up the ass before—and more’n a few times, I reckon. Who’d have thought? Superman bottoms!!” And the whole warehouse rocked with derisive laughter.

“Who is it?” demanded Lev. “That lady reporter give it to you with a strap-on, or is it that ginger photographer friend, with a mail-order dildo, from the Daily Planet?”

Superman tried to close his mind to the room and its hateful inhabitants, and turn his mind to imagining Jimmy… in him , taking him, in control and so astutely: lovingly —not plundering him like a ravaging army. This other older, young redhead, Austin, so much like him, yet unlike him. Darker, brutal and macho. (Though a faint trace of “something” lingered….)

And Superman remembered how understanding Lois had been, when he had at last explained that all Kryptonian males were essentially bisexual. Not a lie; in fact, for as the only survivor of his planet, he was “all” Kryptonian males. Then, recalling Jimmy’s ultimate surprise at his shy response and compliant submission—after he had first taken Jimmy with his mouth, their very strange and unplanned for first time together. And how he had yearned for the younger man to “take him” (the much greater in strength and size): suddenly, inexplicably craving to be mastered by, sheltered within his lesser, yet finely muscled arms…. Jimmy, who had a many years’ honed physique from taking martial arts, was beautifully cut, and with a surprisingly magnificent cock, only three inches shorter than his own wonderment. But not nearly as thick. And when he simply also took Superman’s huge teats in his mouth while scoring him, chewing, and alternately sucking him, too… the alien became forever his, no question. Yet, he’d later also had to learn how to try to receive the MOS’ largeness. It hadn’t all been one-sided. Although that had been a challenge, indeed. Took weeks, really. And still yet couldn’t but take 2/3 of him. Both of them, eventually enraptured beyond sense and reason: adhered like super-glue. Oddly though, Jimmy soon dominating him more often than one might ever have expected.

But even at his most assertive and manly, which sometimes strangely happened, Jimmy would never seek to humiliate him like this ravaging monster. He bit his lip, clenched his eyes and teeth, and tried to shut out the unrelenting chant of his vile captors, which continued cruel and unabated. He realized with horror now that he might never hold Jimmy in his arms again. He knew they were all probably going to rape him—and the Don, surely castrate him.

And, if he survived… he’d be no less impotent and useless: forever.

“Oh-ohhh, yeah! Mmmmm. Feels soooo good,” mocked Austin, “Yeah, he's been done before; and not by a little one! Someone regular, with a large rod. Like mine. Or hell—probably stuffing-in his own?!! Wouldn’t doubt it! Though still kinda nice and tight. Ha, ha! Big muscle, big cock, big reputation—and now, all wimped to shit! He’s just a damned cow-tit pussy, after all! How does that ass appreciate being mastered by a real man’s cock, hey, Super-fuck?”

Though the hero felt the searing wonder of it, he was neither stimulated nor aroused. Austin’s commanding penis, which could have brought him to a full erection if perhaps used otherwise in his captivity, did nothing except stir his frustrated fears, anger, humiliation, and tore at the fabric of his flailing ego. His dick remained limp, only the slightest bit chubbed.

Austin fought back the temptation to cum; this was a singular moment which would never be repeated. He was going to enjoy this, as fully as he could as long as he could. For fifteen minutes, he continued to drive his unrelenting shaft into the defeated superhero, slowing when he needed to, revelling in his complete domination of the once all-powerful superhero. Moments he relented, and was gentle, but mostly not. He laughed loudly… as his helpless, moaning victim quavered and shook. And cried out hopelessly.

“Yea! That’s right, bottom-bitch. Moan for me. Moan! ” And he kept thrusting as hard and as fast as he could.

Finally, he let go of Superman's teary, sweat-soaked head, grabbed both shoulders tight, and stretched his arms to their full length as he arched backwards and roared ecstatically at the ceiling. He came and came and came inside the once undefeatable crime fighter, filling him with load after load of his hot, rich-Scot cum… until he withdrew, sated and triumphant.

Loud cheers now replaced the derisive chant, and Superman slumped low towards the floor, held up only by the ropes whose harsh biting felt like nothing compared to the utter degradation and humiliation he’d just endured. Eyes closed and tears streaking his cheeks, he did not see Lev Levkowicz now stand and move menacingly towards him, unzipping his fly as he walked.

Terry looked at his boss, bewildered at what he saw. “Hey, Lev,” he said, "What’re you doin’? You’re not gay, are you?"

Superman opened his eyes and looked at the approaching gang leader. Lev had undone his belt and was removing his trousers and shirt: a bull of a man. His veiny, uncut cock sported a full erection. Inspired by the sadistic enjoyment of the events he had been watching over the past hour, he wasn’t notably as long as the Scot, but he appeared near thick as an ear of corn.

“No, I'm not gay,” he sneered at the wretched Kryptonian, “but consider history. The act of sodomizing a fallen king or general signals his complete defeat. The loss of his manhood; the end of his potency! Don Lucio won't let me cut off your head or your balls, Super-boy, but I can still take away any shred of dignity you have left, and mark my complete mastery over you. Untie him boys, and stretch him out. I want to do him with his face in the dirt!”

Weakened and exhausted, Superman was capable of only a token struggle as the malicious gang members quickly unloosed his bindings and dragged him to the center of the room. Grasping him firmly, still roped by wrists and ankles, they spread him out face down like a starfish. For a moment, there flashed through his mind a song he'd heard about starfish, and the odd lyric: “It's true I always wanted love to be filled with pain and bruises.” He then fast-forward imagined himself being spread-eagled before Don Lucio Lucifero, while sadistic thugs drove metal spikes through his arms, legs, cock, balls, and body, affixing him to the floor like an insect on display: ready for disembowelment and decapitation. Or slow-roasting him on a spit, completely impaled, ass to mouth? He uncharacteristically began to snigger and sob. Somewhat approaching delirium. Emotionally, he felt every nail of his impending doom.

“What, is he laughing?” asked Terry angrily.

“He's gone loco, I think,” suggested one of the Hispanics.

“He won't laugh when I'm finished with him,” said Lev. “Stretch him out!”

With the hapless, fallen hero spread and pinned, Lev lowered himself between the beautiful, but powerless legs.

“Open him up!” he ordered, almost disdaining to touch him. Austin leaned in and across, separated the ever-smarting, injured glutes, revealing the ravaged hole, now leaking his own copious ejaculate. Lev met no resistance sliding his engorged cock deep into his fallen foe, and immediately began a furious assault that pounded his victim's hips against the harsh concrete floor. He had never felt more powerful in his life: fucking the renowned, vanquished Superman!!

“Yea!” shouted the Hispanic, Andreas, “take it all, take it hard, Puta! You are nothing, you hear? Nothing!!”

“You're our bitch, you piece of shit!” shouted Terry, grabbing a short piece of discarded rope that had been used to bind Superman to the post. He forced it between the hero’s clenched teeth like a bridle, and handed the two ends to his boss.

“Ride him, Boss! Ride that self-sucking, self-fucking faggot!”

Lev rose onto his knees and pulled Superman's hips towards him, so that his bull cock could enter even deeper into the aching rectum. By this time, Superman was barely conscious, wrecked and slobbering, uttering garbled pleas for mercy. Not so much from the pain, but from the unravelled depths of his once proud superhero psyche, and previously unmarred ego. He tried to think of Jimmy and Lois, his dearest friends, but their faces would not gel. There was only the derisive noise of laughter and insults, and the nightmare image of hateful faces. The sudden tug of the rope in his mouth being pulled hard by Lev brought him to, and he found himself being ridden on the spot like a mare being roughly serviced by a furious stallion.

How could this possibly be happening—to him? Superman, the All-Mighty!!

“Ride him, gaucho!” hollered Austin; and Lev redoubled his pace and power, showing the razed hole no mercy, and drawing blood from both the gasping rope-filled mouth, and his constantly rupturing anus.

Unlike Austin, Lev did not eke out the event, but rushed vehemently towards orgasm.

“Ahhhhh! It's done!” he shouted as he pumped his putrid semen into the weakened, destroyed ass. “There is no more “Superman!” Whatever you are now, alien-cunt, it's not what you were. You’re our whore, until we pass you on to the Don. And then you'll just be meat for him to carve up. Think about that, and pray the end comes quickly!”

Lev stood and stepped away from the defeated, groaning figure, a look of complete contempt on his face. He walked across the room and began to dress, while his ravaged victim pulled himself painfully into a shivering fetal position. Blood dribbled from the rope-shears to his face, the many splintered abrasions on his front from the wooden post. Semen and more blood seeping from his welt-covered rear.

“Tether it like a dog,” Lev said quietly; and the grinning, smirking gang-members hog-tied their broken prey, wrists to ankles, still naked on the floor. Another short length of rope with a slip knot was placed leash-like around his neck and secured once more to the post. If he dared pull back, it would be choking him. They left him there, half-conscious, whimpering, heaving in pain… longing for release. Masculinity shattered. Every breath a groan.

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