The Ultimate Take-Down
with some help from Catbatbom900900
I’m a fighter – professional, underground – not the biggest, but the best! It’s taken me years to develop my body into a supreme fighting machine – 6′, 210 pounds of solid, lighting-quick, gymnast-agile muscle. Fifteen years of pumping iron, rigorous diet and supplement, first level training in every martial art, and yeah, a few chemical helpers, forging a 50″ chest, a 30″ waist, shredded 8 pack, 20″ arms, 28″ quads, 20″ calves, and a 9″ x 6″ man-ramming cock. And I know how to use all of it!
And I know how to use one other “muscle”, the fastest, strongest “muscle” of all – the brain. You see… fighting’s a nighttime hobby. During the daytime I work at Star Labs as a biochemist. I’m good. I produce. I’m quiet. I keep to myself. But when the lab coat comes off, I hit the gym and chew up iron, destroy punching bags and take on any and all guys who think they can beat me. And then – for the real thing – I get into my gear and hit the warehouses, pits and cages of a secret underground circuit called Extreme Ultimate Fighting! I’ve been 5 years on the circuit – Metropolis, Gotham, Opal City, Manhattan, Berlin, Siberia, South East Asia – wherever men are willing to pay money to see another two men fight to knockdown and total submission, and I mean TOTAL. The loser is mine to do what ever I want with them right there in front of everyone – which usually means filling `em full of my fight-brewed cum.
I’ve only been defeated twice. I had rematches with the two guys that beat me, and they found out I was bigger and stronger and faster than before. They went down big time – both of `em.
Fighting’s a dick-pumping, testosterone-feeding rush. And now I was after the biggest rush of all – Superman. Yeah, I’d thought of taking on the Dark Knight, but he’s just a man. True… he’s pumped and trained to the max, but he’s still a man. But Superman is the “Man of Steel”. I’ve felt the power of taking down mortal men. I craved the rush of taking down a “Super” man.
I labored for three years to perfect a serum, the ultimate steroid that would give me the strength to take him on – muscle-fiber and nerve growth drugs mixed with a distillation of Kryptonite. I’d tested it once. Worked immediately, and the effects were incredible. The first tests were only temporary… 2 hours at most. But this was the full dose. The dose that would be permanent. No turning back. I only had two viles of it, just in case I needed back up.
I left the lab late. I picked a secluded spot – the old Metropolis National Airport. It hasn’t been used in years. It lies deserted, twenty miles outside of the city. A few hangers are still standing, but they’re falling apart fast. I chose the biggest hanger for the match of the century. It was empty except for an abandoned 727 ready for scrap.
I reached the north hanger of old Met National at midnight. It was pitch dark on the field. All of the lights were either broken or shot out. But there was power in the hanger. A few overhead lights still worked, dropping pools of light here and there, giving the space an eerie, cavernous feeling. A large 727 stood at one end of the hangar, paint stripped, windows broken, looking like an abandoned dinosaur. The space was dead quiet after the birds that lived there had scattered.
I’d planned this night for the last month – ever since I found the right serum. Being a showman as well as a gladiator, I made a special fighting brief just for the occasion, with a narrow pouch revealing all of my upper thighs. It was not straight across the top, but scooped in a V pointing down to the line of hair that rose above my crotch. It was red like “his” with a thin yellow band all around the edge that accentuated the V. It was made of special stretchable material so it would stay intact as I grew. Cause tonight I knew my clothes would not stay intact. I wore calf high red boots made out of the same material. Another nod of honor to the man I would face and bring down.
I placed a small plastic explosive in the wall of the hanger and detonated it. Just enough to blow out a wall, making an explosion that someone with super hearing might catch. I had already positioned a huge steel panel on the ground with enough room that I could get my leg “caught” under it. I laid down on the cold cement and yelled… “Help. Help. Somebody help!” My voice echoed off the metal walls. “Help! Anybody!” I waited. I yelled some more.
Nothing… No sound… No response. I was patient.
Then suddenly there was a distant rush of air, then a “whoosh” as a red and blue blur burst through the gapping hole in the building and landed a few feet in front of me. He leaned over me in the half light. Looking up at him he was bigger than I had thought – 6’4″ or 5′, 280 earth pounds easily if earth pounds was what he weighed. Massive upper body – 60 inch chest, 24 inch arms and bulging pecs that popped from wide shoulders, shoulders that tapered V-shaped down to a 32 inch waist. Steel blue eyes. Stunningly handsome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better body – except in the mirror the first time I took the K-steroid.
He instantly reached down, lifted off the metal panel as if it were paper and threw it aside. “Don’t move, let me look at your leg.” He said, his white teeth flashing, his eyes glowing in the half dark.
“No, I think I’m alright.” I said.
“My X-ray vision shows no broken bones.” he said like a doctor assuring a patient.
“Yeah, I was here on a scrap work job. Must have blown some fuel.”
“You’re sure you’re ok?” he asked.
I felt around under my short-sleeved shirt, looking like I was checking for injury. I pulled out the Kryptonite syringe.
“I’m very sure!” I said, plunging the needle into my arm. The green liquid disappeared into my bicep. Superman stepped back at the sight of the glowing syringe
“What are you doing?” Superman said with the slightest edge of fear in his voice. I looked the Man of Steel straight in the eye. The effects were swift. I felt the warm surge race through my body, and I readied myself for the wrenching jerk and body-wracking pain that would happen any second…