An entertaining bit of fan-fiction, Superman being the property of D.C. Comics. Story for mature readers only, male/male sex freely depicted.
Summary: Superman fights to free the enslaved Tarzan: against the Teen Titan, Tam-Rex.
Superman VS. Tam-Rex: The Ultimate Conclusion.
Revised by Rick Henry (email@example.com) enhanced, embellished, and expanded 04-2021.
Original Author: Ashtonjacobs123
Chapter One: Superman to the Rescue!
Kal Jor-El, Superman to most, is having a bad time of it in his personal life of late, having lost, at least temporarily, the great love of his life within the past year. It was long-time flame, Lois Lane, who has never been quite the same since her unfortunate kidnapping and subsequent brainwashing by master criminal, Lex Luthor. It darned near killed Kal trying to win back her affections after her release from Luthor’s clutches. But her being so addled, it didn’t look like anything remotely real might transpire. (After all, he was really “too big” to consummate much of an earthly relationship with anyone, anyway; at least females. As if doomed to be a perennial virgin in many respects.)
Now Tarzan (his once intimate friend), and still friend, has been savagely beaten and enslaved by that sadistic young Tiburrian Warrior, Tam-Rex. The former Jungle Lord, now known as “Jungle Slut” by his invading, scurrilous Tiburrian captors, is by all accounts outwardly content and earnest in his slavish 24/7 devotion to the imperious young Teen-Tyro, Tam-Rex. The news had taken a long time to reach him, being as secludedly hidden away in the wilds as the group was. But Superman knows, or thinks he does, that Tarzan cannot possibly be of sound mind; has perhaps been doped-up perpetually, artificially maintained in a strange state of vulnerability and weakness by this evil young warrior captor. There is no other logical explanation for such a bizarre transformation in his mind. He also knows he must do everything in his power to free him. And has committed himself to do so, a matter of valued friendship, and true honor. (For few has he known… so dearly.)
But freeing Tarzan won’t be as easy for Kal as it might appear. Reportedly, the once Jungle King, or rather Jungle Slut, is kept well guarded, and most times within a thick, lead-lined bar-type cell, thus neutralizing Superman’s x-ray vision and superhuman powers should he come nosing around un-announced. Kal’s sources also report that his enslaved friend has been seeing wearing a green glowing necklace while out of his lead-surrounded cell. From afar, Kal’s x-ray vision has, as suspected, ascertained traces of Kryptonite in the necklace; how powerful, or debilitating to his health, it would be has not yet been determined. Regardless, Kal has been around criminal elements enough to know this isn’t just a case of darting in, snatching his friend, and getting out of there. Nothing is ever that easy in the long running struggles between the Man of Steel and master criminals he’s confronted; and to his mind Tam-Rex is, indeed, just such a master criminal: old or young. Even if not of Earthly origins.
So Kal tries the diplomatic route to win Tarzan’s freedom, negotiating a trip to the cloistered away Tiburrian colony, to challenge their new warrior champion to a duel, with the freedom of his enslaved friend at stake. Kal is quite sure Tarzan will regain his rightful senses once he defeats the “evil” blond and releases the dark-haired man from the strange spell Tam-Rex has cast over him. Tam-Rex, for his part, thinks it’s the perfect set-up for the next step in his master plan to subjugate yet another Justice League “idiot,” as he refers to them… and move one step closer to this puny world’s subjugation. Their divergent views of the whole affair, not to mention poor Tarzan’s fate, will be put to the ultimate test in the battle arena on Tiburrian territory. (Even how they established a foothold there has been an on-going mystery.)
Kal is shocked, if not also doubly determined, upon landing in Tiburrian country, and first espying his enslaved friend more closely. For Superman’s contracted benefit, Tarzan is brought from his cell, naked save for a brown leather ample patch at his noticeable crotch and that threatening glinty, green-speckled necklace, looking gaunt and startlingly meek and submissive, and being shown off as the sudued trophy he has become. He doesn’t even shift to look Kal’s way, his usually sharp hazel eyes dull and hollow-looking, staring straight ahead… while “Boy,” Tam-Rex’s top aide and confidant, easily pushes him down to all fours and snaps a studded slave collar around his neck. Kal aches for his fallen friend, wants desperately to go to his side to comfort him; but he also knows there are traces of Kryptonite in the necklace. He doesn’t feel any effect from it at this distance, thinks the small traces found therein are perhaps not enough to significantly diminish his superpowers; but he’s also had enough bad run-ins with the lethal stuff to make him cautious, despite his great urge to rush to his friend’s side. Sensing his conflicted thoughts, Tam-Rex, emerging from his palatial quarters for the first time since Kal arrived, snears loudly to the glum-struck Man of Steel, “Look, but don’t touch, if you know what’s good for you. The “green” might be more than you can handle. Honored Pussy—.”
The sting of the insult goes gut-deep. Kal straightens, but decides with cool aplomb to ignore it.
The white-haired blond also takes in the sight presented before him: a massively, but stream-lined built, older male twice his age, a bit taller, wearing a blue skin-tight suit, clinging to every wondrous curve of his body… noting his gargantuan genital bulge, as well as some oddly strange protrusions, like extra mounds, capping the lower edge of his already densely packed pectorals: wondering, really?… arms and thighs no less impressive, and a well-trimmed waist—but never small as his own. With his relaxed red cape swirled loose behind his huge shoulders… hanging limp (as his body, Tam knows, will soon be in his clever-skilled hands). Raven-haired, movie star handsome, more than confident. Strong, gemstone blue eyes. Not someone to tangle with in either a dark alley or broad daylight. After all, his reputation has well proceeded him: “mightiest being in the universe!” Not just a simple overly-developed, yet lean-cut and symmetrical Mr. Olympia in a costume. (Though it was known the alien has never had to work nor train for it: his, a matter of natural Kryptonian genetics.)
“Oh, well. Easy built, easy down,” muses the young Tiburrian to himself.
Kal looks towards the brash and bold, nearly naked figure, also—can’t resist staring long and hard at the stunning sight before him: a truly muscled (much like his own, yet lighter in weight, three inches shorter), bronze-tanned, sculpted god-like creature, stripped to an imperial, scant dark gold loin cloth, striding arrogantly his way. (So much younger, it could have been his son, except for his coloring!) And his eyes, an unearthly hard yellow-brown, like fiery jewels… a wonder of their own. For a moment the MOS has to consider if the snide comment to ‘look, but don’t touch,’ hasn’t referred, indeed, to its owner’s imperious, younger incredible body—or instead, to Tarzan’s paler, seemingly now diminished, gaunter frame. Stymied, he takes a tensed in-drawn breath.
For suddenly Kal is filled with a striking, more than keen desire to do just that: to touch him, another glorious male—that incredible form; and all he is! Animal though his eyes are…. As if he were an angel, forged in the fires of heaven: his beauty astounding. Not to mention the width and thickness of his pecs, arms, tiny waist, and almost unearthly, equal “other” mass obviously mounded between his tapered, powerful thighs. But, of course, he’s too much of a man to do any such thing nor consider it; though those hidden carnal urges are certainly strong, and most unnervingly there!! He shakes his head slightly to wipe out such impure thoughts, disturbedly bothered by the fact that he’s let his superpowers of concentration waver so easily… even a little; and, truthfully, he’s momentarily forgotten his cowering friend across the way. Despite the radiant, almost magnetic, sensual allure of the muscled young warrior-ruler, he forces himself to return his attention to the sad sight of the once incomparable, manly Tarzan now on hands and knees, padding along with head down while being led on a leash by Boy toward his young Master king.
Kal watches nonetheless concerned, but at a safe distance, given the shiny green necklace adorning Tarzan’s neck, as his cowed friend, so far removed from the strong He-man he was once known to be, quivers uncontrollably when he crouches before his acknowledged Master. With a simple curt command from the imperious Teen-Tyro: “Eyes up, mouth wide; tongue out, slut—now do me! Or what little you can.” The enslaved, dark auburned-haired man begins to eagerly, shamelessly lap a devoted tongue over every exquisite inch of the impossibly large sex organs which have suddenly been bared and presented before him… a beautifully thick gold ring surrounding the wondrous heft-roots of the cut phallus and testicles, glimmering decoratively in the sun.
Amazed, the MOS observes that the youth’s genital assets are as large as his own hidden treasures: wonderously few on earth to compare! With a definite unease, yet pierced to his core with a marked appreciation—not only of awe, but an also impossible, disorienting, incredible hunger… torching his blood. And is become crazily light-headed by it for a few stark moments. Dear God!! Though the youth’s member remains flaccid, does not rise, only thickens. Much the same as Kal’s does!
Kal further remains stunned by the obediant Tarzan’s quailed, intense laving at his “Master”… and also is disturbingly aroused, as he gazes unavoidably at that stellar-perfect warrior-form, lording it over his kneeling friend… a sensation not helped by the sharp contrast between the two remarkable men, young and old. Yet chiding himself for doing so, Kal is unable to stop the comparison: noting the young blond is not only as equally tall, but more finely muscular than the disciplined creature kneeling before him, but everything about Tam-Rex’s fantastic body is still superior to the older man’s, which Kal and many others once thought exemplified true masculine perfection. The smooth pecs are wider and denser, his arms bigger, richer cut, and more defined; the midsection narrower, flat and rippling with muscularity—Tarzan’s own gut betraying just a tad of softness in his advancing years (being confined and unable to freely move about as before, which one can only dully reflect upon now); and, of course, those magnificent legs, longer, tapered, not overly bulked, the muscles much more defined than the jungle denizen’s… exquisite and miraculous.
Even his face, taut high cheekbones, squared jaw, broad-browed more manly than Tarzan’s, and so commanding for one of such a young age, Kal ruefully admits to himself. (Having rather always narcissistically also thought of himself and Batman [setting aside Tarzan, Aquaman, and Thor], as the two most astounding, built and handsome men around, in all respects, though having never seen Bruce Wayne naked, but wanting to… his mind slipping stupidly in and out of gear; having to struggle-focus back again. Remembering, of course, with some trepidation, his once with Tarzan… a whole week of incredible joy, never forgotten. Much of why he was here!)
A gaping Kal could go on and on with such lusty musings; but realizes he’s getting more derailed than he cares to admit. And because of another male?! So he forces himself to concentrate—the business at hand, and cries out angrily to Tam-Rex. “Mister, you can’t do that to him; he is Tarzan, King of the Jungle!! He doesn’t deserve such treatment—such flagrant disrespect!”
Tam-Rex merely scoffs at his gentlemanly protest, and snorts, “Yeah, right, big boy. Can’t you see your sordid “little friend” here adores me? A real cock-hound! He digs this, or haven’t you noticed? Just like you’ll be doing soon…! And he certainly ain’t king of anything, at the moment. Hah!”
Below the blond, the mindless Tarzan, or Jungle Slut (depending on who is referencing him), pulls away from lapping his devoted tongue over Tam-Rex’s full, heavily smooth bull balls for just an instant, when he hears Kal’s voice; but he stays on his knees… staring at the Man of Steel with a blank dullness… eyes that recognize no familiarity with or present concern for the man who was once his friend (and with whom he had once rapturously shared: mouths, nipples, glandes, seeds…).
Instead, to Superman’s dismay, even as he continues to reach out to him, calling him by name, promising him he will win him his freedom—the enslaved former “king” gives him a last dispassionate stare, before abruptly returning once again to lovingly lick and suckle at the monster crotch of his adored Master, his only concern….
Stung by the threat, and discourteous exchange, the grieved Kal is heartbroken by Tarzan’s vacuous stare, and enraged at the imperious Teen-Tyro—yet also is disturbingly aroused by the whole scene. Despite the danger signals, the quickening surge in his own crotch, the lapses in his normally iron-clad superpowers of concentration that have allowed him to ogle Tam-Rex’s heavenly body like a love-struck schoolboy, he angrily challenges Tam-Rex: “Mister, I will not stand for this another moment! Please have Tarzan put at a safe distance, where I can see him at all times to make sure he is okay. And then we must fight, RIGHT NOW, for his honor and freedom!”
Tam-Rex, visibly annoyed, snaps, “You’re on my turf, Big Cunt; so don’t get pushy! But I’ll fight you right now; sure I will. Free-raw wrestling okay by you? I think that’s what we agreed on?” Kal numbly nods his head, and the public square is quickly cleared for their fight; with the MOS thinking, “I’ll overpower this kid quickly, and end this charade! How dare he insult either one of us. He is built, but never strong as me. Brash little sonofabitch!” His ire causing him to think crude, uncharacteristic thoughts.
While at the same time, the amused Tam-Rex, his keen vision picking up the telltale stirred bulge of his visitor from 20 paces away, smirks silently. “Damn right—can see I’ve already got the “invincible” bastard right where I want him! Bring it on, Slut Boy! Right down to your sucking knees….”
With Tam-Rex’s main lieutenant Boy leading the dazed Tarzan off to one side, another of Tam-Rex’s top aides, a powerful black man, nearly nude, Evan (ironically another of Tarzan’s previous one-time “favors of the month,” who has eagerly switched allegiance to the new warrior champion), steps forward to act as match referee. He is also notably built, but surly; hung, and bull-strong. Has his own mate now, though for the hell of it, dicks Tarzan semi-regularly just for the exercised fun and remembrance of it—how he was before of so much lesser standing, and merely a passing fancy to “the once king” (if Boy were on assignment elsewhere). Now taking his turn at one of the continuing rods in charge….
The combatants step forward to within a few feet of each other, Kal, trying to mostly stare at the ground, in a vain attempt to avoid fixating his gaze on those gaspingly, dark-wide paired areolae set on the tight pecs of the young warrior’s body; (and crowned dear Lord! with a pair of larger than grape-sized nipples—for one so young?!)—and thus is entangled again, somewhat embattled to regain control of his churning sexuality. Quite aware of his effect, Tam-Rex teasingly pumps up his impressively developed arms, rapidly flexing his peak-matched 20’s, then doing a few quick up and down wide-stanced squats, and rocking out from side to side on and for his legs, to taunt him. And for additional effect, flex rolls his pectorals, so his proud nipples and areolae almost seem to wink at the stoked hero: one by one, by two. And within him, feels their throbbings at the prospect… knowing their “power.” Something Superman would never have considered, nor had a clue existed.
“Look away, Big Boy: see whatcha got to deal with! Think you can handle it?”
Kal ignores him, for the most part, judiciously shedding his red cape and handing it to Evan as agreed upon beforehand, then pointedly protests: “Please, my opponent is inappropriately dressed—shouldn’t he, at a minimum, cover his torso?!”
Evan sneers. “How ‘bout me? I been promised a piece of you, too.”
“Whaa—?” the MOS taken aback. Gaining composure. “Fat chance!”
A slight roll of his eyes, Evan does the smirking now, laughingly responds: “Sorry, Soupsie-man, nothing about covering torsos in the contract. Or even cocks… if that bothers you.”
And indeed there wasn’t, as Kal well knew. But what was put in the contract was a stipulation that no “green Kryptonite,” not even the faintest trace of it, be present during or after the duel. Over to one side, Boy satisfies that stipulation by removing the green-glowing necklace from around Jungle Slut’s neck and placing it in a thick, lead-lined container. The special Kryptonite sensor that Superman has packed along is handed to Boy, who places it next to the sealed container, with nary a danger beep emitted. Kal considers the instrument foolproof, and effective for picking up the scarcest traces of the green stuff within a radius of at least 200 yards. He nods his head approvingly, even as Tam-Rex warns, “Don’t get any lame-brain ideas, lunkhead. Boy can break that seal in a split second, and will, if he sees the slightest movement by you in the direction of your slutty friend over there. I expect you’ll abide by the rules of engagement.”
Kal nods his head. He is, above all, a man of his word; even though he thinks it at worst, a 50-50 proposition, that his supersonic speed could overcome Boy’s split second reaction time; and that he might just be able to snatch poor Tarzan up and get out of there before the seal can be broken.
But deep down he realizes it’s a risk he’s not going to take. He’s given his word; and, besides, he’s totally confident of a quick conquest, and thus an honorable freedom won for his friend. He doesn’t think of the other possibility: namely that Boy could break the seal while he’s celebrating his quick triumph over his boss, then move close to him with the deadly Kryptonite, and incapacitate him! He expects Tam-Rex, though odd-alien like himself (from the planet Tiburron) and his ilk, to abide strictly by the contract as well. He’s also agreed to keep the power of his x-ray vision and heat-thrusters under wraps. Tam-Rex was somewhat worried about this, as he knows it is one power he does not also possess. But he is confident that the big oaf will honor the agreement; and, truth be known, Kal has every intent of doing so. He doesn’t really think he’ll need it, nor the shed cape. He’s got plenty of other superpowered weapons: simple brute strength and more massive size, for instance, to get him by. Or so he believes; a teen-type muscle-god, no matter how built just can’t class-up with his older, mature persona. And years behind him of dealing with thugs of all sorts.
Even if the teen had been revealed to the Justice League as also having been unbeaten by any foe, himself. Why he’d confidently extended the challenge—to whittle him down and spank his royal ass.
Evan continues the pre-fight histrionics, melodramatically reminding the blue-clad Crusader of Justice, and the near-naked Warrior Champion, that this will be a battle to “verbal submission.” If one fighter passes out or is otherwise incapacitated, they must be revived and coherent enough to offer a verbal submission to their conqueror; or the fight will go until such submission can be obtained. It’s as simple as that. By mutual agreement, there will be no elbow/punches thrown or kicks aimed at the crotch regions, nor gouging of the eyes. Everything else is seemingly fair game. Kal and Tam-Rex both nod their assent to the rules as stipulated. Evan asks them to come forward and shake hands before retreating to their corners for the start of the fight.
Tam-Rex steps aggressively forward, clutching Superman’s right hand with his, moving close, too close for Kal’s comfort, coolly lifting one sculptured thigh and lightly brushing it across the front of Kal’s red shorts as he whispers in his ear, “You’re going down for me, Slut Boy!”
Kal shudders, and shivers again as Tam-Rex leans close, gives him a quick peck on the cheek before pulling away—the sensation of that hard-muscled thigh warm-laying against his manhood, however briefly, not to mention the quick kiss… caused a tell-tale rumble deep in his loins. Kal blinks, hard to regain his steel-clad concentration, then manly protests: “Not fair, he can’t do that!”
Evan merely shrugs, “He already has, sorry.” Then snidely, “Step back, my Lord—I mean Tam-Rex—and don’t do that again, okay?”
Tam-Rex mock-frowns, snickers, but steps back as directed. Kal realizes further protests will get nowhere, retreats to his corner of the village plaza, waiting for the opening signal, already using his legendary powers of concentration to quell the rumblings down below, sort of. When he gets to his area, he glances over at Tam-Rex across from him, who smiles sweetly, his stunning, muscular body even somehow more gloriously cut and sculpted than his own (unclothed)—positively “shimmering” before Kal’s dumbly staring eyes.
At the gong, the long awaited match begins, with both fighters approaching somewhat cautiously in a sign of mutual respect. Soon enough they get down to serious grappling. Despite Superman’s unworldly powers, not to mention the fact that he outweighs the Teen warrior by a good 40 pounds, he soon realizes he is in a real struggle, after gnarl-wrestling the blond-haired beauty down early on… only to be driven eight feet across the square to splat hard on his back when Tam-Rex drives both feet into his gut and moves to cover him. The two at times rolling over the ground in locked entanglement, or broken apart, on their feet, and circling each other in a strange crouching dance. Though he is little fazed physically by this early rebuff; as the titanic duel continues, with Tam-Rex tirelessly grappling with the blue-clad superhero, giving as good as he takes, the Man of Steel is getting worried, very worried. No one, much less a young “mortal” like Tam-Rex, has ever stood up to him, tested him so severely. It’s uncanny. What is his secret?
A sudden blast of fine dirt in his face, marring his vision, disarms him, as does the following swift knee to his lower belly. His head goes down, then back up, taking a hand at his eyes, to clear them, and lunging more safely aside. He hears the laugh.
He presses his attack with a renewed sense of urgency, but Tam-Rex uses skill and unusual speed to keep his opponent at bay. He seemingly will not allow himself to be caught and trap/hugged by Kal’s supposed superhuman strength. Superman is frustrated and angry and, worse yet, losing focus…. His super powers of concentration once again begin to waver. Increasingly, he seems unable to cope with the deadly twin combo of Tam-Rex’s incredibly alluring, near naked male body, and his amazingly youthful endurance and nonpareilled power. Some unknown Tiburrian quality the kid has? Is it his age, winding him?
A lightning strike foot to the side of his jaw nearly knocks him off his feet. For a second he sees only a flash of light, then a bar of darkness. Then daylight, again. He falters, regains. Realizing he has yet to land a solid blow on his opponent, has ever been evaded or thwarted. Which further unnerves him. Something akin to fear is scarily invading him. Impossible!
Indeed, the seemingly once tireless superhero is struggling, the frenzy of his earlier attacks waning. Tam-Rex senses he is slowing down, sees his moves are becoming “dullish,” not as crisp. Tam repeatedly escapes his lumbering advances before the alien can truly apply his accustomed superhuman force and power. Another foot to the other side of his head, unexpectedly reels the powerful alien. Dazed, he definitely wobbles.
Strangely tiring from the exertion, and alarmed by the now unmistakable, and seemingly unstoppable, growing hardness in his crotch (almost as if sapping him of his mighty strength), both sides of his head ringing dully, Superman backs up hoping to catch his breath and collect himself, almost panicked, as very odd human-like, vulnerability symptoms: welling arousal and weariness, continue to wash through and over him.
Tam-Rex ever notices the prodigious bulge, the raspy breathing in his faltering foe as he moves forward, smiling wickedly—stalking a befuddled Man of Steel, waiting for the moment to unleash the full arsenal of his savagely honed powers. Finally the moment arrives, as he backs his victim into a sort of corner, then forward strikes a line-drive into his gut, like a swift feline predator, who in surprise, that his thought-to-be-advantaged position was not as he’d planned! Tam-Rex then flips the mighty bulk of his foe over, using the force of the man’s own weight against him. Superman, flying head over heels, and slamming back first to the ground, lies stunned and gaping… disbelieving that this is happening to him; yet still his staggering male-bulge is throbbing.
Tam-Rex drops over him, applying a devastating scissors hold. His powerful thighs lock around his waist, and literally take his breath away. Ironically, the coiled legs of this youthful warrior god feel like titanium bands around the trembling mid-section of the tiring superhero they call the “Man of Steel.” At the same time, Tam takes a firm grip on the front of his uniform, and literally shake-bangs his head a half dozen times into the hard ground, bouncing him around like a discarded toy. To his utter dismay, he thrashes desperately but cannot break the hold. The jolts to his brain completely disorienting him. He appears drained, yet impossibly sporting a full blown hard-on, red trunks all protruded-out, his genitals about to burst loose, his resistance waning as Tam-Rex tirelessly applies the full power in his magnificent muscle-honed thighs… longly tapered, not overly bulked, but python-like coils of supernatural power. For the longest time, endless minutes it seems, the fateful struggle continues: Tam-Rex seeming to withdraw his more mature strength from him, even as Superman’s so usually tireless super-body continues to mysteriously reach betrayal mode. Nearly unable to breathe, expand his mighty torso for fresh air… in panicked desperation. His senses floundered, and ringing.
Amazingly, the so-called Man of Steel is reaching an encroaching exhaustion. Tam-Rex is now like a lion toying with his prey. Almost letting him escape his scissors hold around his waist, watching him begin to rise, he quickly smashes both fists at the same time like murderous rocks into each one of the failing MOS’s temples, whose cries are shocking and pitiful— nearly taking him out—then recaptures him in another brutal hold. Superman is soon captive in a vice-like full-nelson before he can get off his knees. He groans, then false sighs in relief as he is suddenly released from the hold. Tam-Rex watching disdainfully, rises back and waits, hands on hips, as the shamed superhero tries to crawl up and escape in weary confusion. I mean, a spectacle for the on-lookers is called for. The great Superman is obviously as if drunk, weak, even his eyes… as if wondering who or where he is. A double-fisted blow to the base of his skull flattens him. Face down. Gulping, he tries to rise, aware he has lost the battle. His hands desperately clench for dirt, air, trying to get away.
This time Tam dives onto him, they roll, and the blond-haired champion recaptures the melting Man of Steel with his incredibly strong and shapely man-killer gams in an excruciating neck-scissors. Tam-Rex’s magnificent thighs seem to devour his embattled foe beneath him, Kal’s once strong but useless hands clamping fervently into his corded thighs, trying to part their grip, as his urgent reddened face slowly disappears between those full, taut muscled wonders. The youth takes joy in seeing the palpable fear now flashing in the older Kal’s near glazed over eyes. Tam-Rex suddenly releases his crushing scissors hold, leaving his prey collapsed, flat on his back, gasping for air… his strained, impressively still-mounded briefs arching obscenely skyward, his alien “largeness” a cantaloupe-mass, his betraying arousal but barely contained.
Superman is utterly humiliated, near totally exhausted. He groans as he tries to sit forwards, struggles, finally props himself up shakily on both arms, staring dumbly out at the sea of other watching “strange” faces gleefully watching their king take him apart. His still keen hearing detects nary a beep from the Kryptonite sensor lying just 20 yards or so away. Indeed, the “foolproof” sensor hasn’t beeped at all throughout this, his most desperate, failing battle. He can’t figure it out; how anybody could reduce his never-before-defeated might to this, without the deadly green stuff? All hopes of an expected quick victory have long since disappeared. Thoughts of a miracle comeback are fading, as well. His hazed mind desperately clicks towards base survival instincts; with survival defined in both physical and career-entitled terms. He knows his body will recover soon enough, but wonders if he can survive a pronounced beating like this, God forbid the news of it ever getting out, and still continue with any true confidence or conviction as an acclaimed “Defender of Justice,” afterwards? His ass beaten by a teenager?!! He is so rattled, tired, and shockingly aroused—hopelessly “on the edge,”—all at once. Tam-Rex, as the young god predicted, is “Taking him down! Hard!” The incomprehensibility of it he cannot accept! Must not even consider it! But is….
Over on one side, his former friend, Tarzan, once himself a “king,” now Tam-Rex’s enfeebled Jungle Toy, is oblivious to it all as he kneels on all fours, his still trim and shapely glutteals near fully exposed in the air, while he stoops to suck one big toe of Tam-Rex’s taller, drop-dead gorgeous top lieutenant, the other stunning, but leaner blond, the one called “Boy.” Boy, idly finger-savoring his own notable crotch as he watches his tow-haired leader dominate the once invincible Superman. He swats the servile, whmpering Jungle Slut across his butt with a hard swish of his leather crop, snaps irritatingly down at the man he himself once revered. “Suck harder, fuck-slit!” Jungle Slut grunts, increases the urgency in his slavish toe-sucking, as commanded. Inexplicably he worships this near equal blond warrior almost as fervently as he does his adored Master, Tam-Rex. (Whose monumental cock is the envy of all, even if Boy’s is a good three inches less. And at one time had cored Tarzan silly…. As Tarzan had regally, regularly cored him with his only ten.)
Superman is still sitting numbly when Tam-Rex approaches from behind, his head rising to weakly resist, as the younger literally grasps his heaving shoulders, digs viciously down and into his trapezius muscles, debilitating his great arms, and mounts him, pushing the spent superhero down beneath him. Superman’s wan struggles are increasingly futile against the male majesty of his blond-haired tormentor. His huge arms rising to set himself free, are easily rebuffed and contained, twisted tightly up behind him. His once indomitable steel will all but broken; and his pleading, terrified, pitiful expression only adds to his own excitement—the shock of being dominated by a more powerful other; whose excitement it seems is akin to his own.
Then, the lithe blond twists and turns him over. He is helpless to resist as Tam slowly forces his shoulders down to the ground, both of his hands locked in the small of his back, useless, the teen savoring every moment… totally turned on by his matured-male feeble attempts to escape, one hard bar of a forearm crushing down murderously on his throat. Superman is truly vanquished now. He frantically tries to fight back. But Tam-Rex is the mightier one in control. Kal tries with all his power to push him off, but the once more enclosure of the “grapevine” around his lower ribs is more than he can handle. He hears Tam’s derisive laughing, voice taunting him, “Ohh, Big Mighty Daddy, about to get fucked by his Mightier, Just As Big Son?!!” —demanding he fight harder. But can only “get harder,” if that is even possible—his already full blown phallus swelling dangerously, about to explode. He whimpers, on the edge of his fading self control, excited nearly senseless… seemingly just seconds away from creaming all through his stretched to bursting red shorts. His dazed mind fruitlessly tells him he needs to get away from this “he-devil”—this monster from another world, the one with animal-golden eyes—as his inflamed, yet pinioned, so very muscled, straining, and manly body quivers… unavoidably responds to Tam’s radiant heat pressing down onto him. Magnificent buttocks over his male source.
Wants unreasonably with all his being, to absorb, be absorbed by him….
Tam-Rex is absolutely relentless and devastating, forcing the helpless superhero’s shoulders down, until they are firmly, undeniably and completely pinned to the ground. His youthful power has totally crushed him—this once so much older, seasoned, and more mature, stronger and more massive alien—so flaunted, and touted as “undefeatable,” overly ego-proud (and no doubt as semen self-sucking and cock-loving as he is himself!—easily assessed from the near-bursting size of him… and involuntarily revealed as such, due to his arousal at Tam’s own magnifcent near naked beauty and hungedness, shown sportedly on display); this now struck-down, narcissistic god beyond all earthly men, is undoubtedly his!! Just as surely as his proud youthful maleness, and sensually enticing charms have absolutely slain him… sexually, physically, mentally and emotionally. Idol of the world’s masculinity.
Superman can hardly breathe or think. He is not only “pinned,” but also completely humiliated. His once cord-oaken legs jerk feebly as Tam-Rex crushes in and holds the devastating pin for endless moments, savoring the mewl of his weak, mourning cries. And though he cannot see it, he is overwhelmed, feeling the sudden, impossible rupture of his seed publicly… his great body jerks, arch-spasms, though corralled and not free… and the watchers in the crowd laugh loudly at his dark tell-tale “stain,” now spreading rapidly across the whole front of his burgeoning red briefs and widening into the blue. (Of course, they can’t tell if he merely pissed his pants or shot himself perversely out of control. Mighty fucker no more!! What a Superman!!) His inability to hold back at his conquest—released in a powerful jolt, further depleting his male-glorious strengths, as his body spontaneously bolts, spasms, tremors, over and over. His defeat final. On more counts than one—.
With Jungle Slut now switched over to suckling his other foot, the young lieutenant, Boy, rudely remarks aloud to anyone close by: “Sheesh, these so-called “famed heroes” from the out-site world are all alike—total wimps, all of them. Even this so-called fantastic Superman! Look at that, queer as fuck, like all big dicks: ever getting off on getting whipped! Just like you did, “King Tarzan.” With only a little prodding. One finger up your ass.”
Tam-Rex suddenly releases his dominating pin hold and stands up, dragging the spent, humiliated Superman with him, by the back of his neck and shorts. Arms dangling, feet dragging. Spent. His captive blinks stupidly at him, the once invincible Man of Steel now facing incomprehensible and public conquest for the first time, and at the hands of a supposedly/surmised should have been weaker opponent, a mere mortal “human?” and an earth-like man at that; but what a man he is! This stunningly sexy and incredibly erotic man is also merely the most devastating fighting weapon, mortal or immortal, the touted Superman has ever faced.
As Tam-Rex drags him out to the center of the arena, Superman suddenly makes one last desperate attempt to fight back, mindlessly thinking that he can somehow recoup his once indomitable super strength. He jerks himself free, gaining his stance on his feet; whirling to come face to face. They lock wrists overhead in a final showdown. He strains with everything he has left, but Tam-Rex holds firm, indeed seems to be merely toying with him, casually holding him at bay, letting his doomed prey completely exhaust himself in the futile struggle.
“Oh, God! Oh, God, no!!” to himself. His larger than 22+ inch biceps and tris… quaver. Falter. The bulk of them monstrous and veined even through his uniform. The MOS pressuring in, facing off, worse than desperate. “How can this be?!” the hero gasps thinly, his arms beginning to shake and tremble. “I-I’m Superman—can’t be beaten!!” Terrifyingly, knowing he has been.
As his arms are slowly pressed downwards, and then inwards against his own thighs, fists still clenching, his brow pouring sweat. His eyes shot with pain and fear. And his damned cock, hardening once more like crazy. Practically nipple to nipple now against the impossible tight chest of the god-like, youthful Tam-Rex. An electric current as if flowing into and through their notable breast-knobs: an unearthly exchange of power and dominance—but it is Tam, taking the most from his. His brain short-circuiting in the process. Feeling his conquest. Near faint with disbelief.
Tam taking the very last of his power from him… through his nipples!! Dizzying him. His chest vibrating, breath heaving, giant teats afire.
“‘Can’t?’ But you are!” Tam sneers. “Super-man, my ass!” laughing in his face. “More like Super Wimp, it seems. And yes you are, have been beaten… and by an “innocent,” much younger, nineteen year-old boy, no less! More man, and as much cock, as you ever were!! Or will be, now. Hah, hah!“
“No, no—never!” barely able to speak.
Pulling in tighter, with another foul smirk, “‘Beaten?!’” Leaning into his ear. “You see, it was so simple. All your strength and power, “other-worldy.” But here, and stripped of that, you have no power!! All those prized “great” muscles, not strong enough to take on a more skilled, clever warrior like myself. Young or old. Wearing my beautiful, custom-made cock ring, which you so well-ogled, encircling my own assets, similar to yours, and lined with a similarly related sweet pink mineral, beneath my loin cloth… setting you ablaze inside. Jizz-taker that you are!”
Stupified, the MOS, struck to the pit of his soul. “But you—you couldn’t! You didn’t! The contract!!”
“Was concerning “green” Kryptonite, doofus! No mention of pink, or gold!”
In broken shock: “No, no! Yu-you cheated!!”
“Yes, my Puss… yes! And all mine, now!”
“NO! No-oohhHH!!” The stark horror of it.
“Yes, Pussy-Slut! Mine! Not even your own semen, yours anymore….”
His eyes wide, beyond stunned. Fear shattered all through him like shards of glass. Mind not able to accept, believe. This cannot be, cannot be, cannot be! Heart in his throat, tight mass in his chest, felt as if he were strangling. His annihilation now inevitable. His and Tarzan’s.
Over to one side, the lieutenant Boy rolls his clear blue eyes at the self-descriptive words, ‘younger boy,’ coming out of his king’s mouth. The striking blond aide chuckles to himself, “Yeah, right, ‘innocent’ my ass! That fucking cock was born with an attitude, and he ain’t never been innocent, much less a boy. Always been all He-Man, and then some.” As he should know. The torrid late night romps between Tam-Rex, the radiant 19 year-old king, and Boy, his beautiful 21 year-old top aide, was the talk of the village; all of it, the talk that is, carried on in thinly veiled secret conversations, of course. Although who was doing what to whom was nobody’s business.
For indeed, Boy and Tam-Rex had been carrying on a secret tryst for nearly two years now, an affair started when Boy was still ostensibly serving his then older king, Tarzan (and planning his downfall, once he’d been indoctrinated by the even greater blond youth, who had netted him in the jungle; and who had fucked him senseless; then each with the other… in turn: their youth a total aphrodisiac). And now, the enfeebled Jungle Slut, groveling at the lesser blond’s feet. Boy’s worshipful allegiance quite easily switched to the younger, stronger, larger endowed man.
(True, and strangely, Boy had once been considered Tarzan’s “son.” An adopted one; however, the sole survivor of a wiped out missionary’s family from Belgium, destroyed by the evil Wazuzi tribe… which Tarzan and his Jungle League had eventually managed to wipe out and subdue. At eleven, the youth had no more family, Tarzan took him in, trained and taught him many skills. He was enthralled with the Jungle Lord, even worshipped the great warrior. And at sixteen, his burgeoning sexuality had found him one night in a battered Tarzan’s bed, taking care of the king from a nasty broken vine-fall… and sucked him off, while the dazed Tarzan, no stranger to male/male sex had woozily, helplessly accepted. The boy’s surprisingly larger member he’d long uncomfortably noticed, reluctant to do much about it, also snaring him for further desires; which they then consummated wholeheartedly later…. Having then beome regularly Tarzan’s mostly bottom; and coring him sometimes as well, with his own sizeable gift… actually even bigger; but Tarzan never once would have admitted to how much he loved being taken by his “lesser boy,” couldn’t… and still remain indisputable king! Boy’s near foot-long scepter alone being more princely than his. Where it had now, with Tam-Rex, found a true home with a truer king; in size, powers, and skills. This Tarzan, like the others, once phenomenal in their own right… but not phenomenal enough. Ever to fall to the greater, ruling scepter. As happens with kings when displaced.)
Still terrified, knowing his doom is sealed, the brave Superman groans weakly, arms violently trembling as they try to merely press/hold on against the impenetrable might of the Warrior King. While Tam-Rex now starts to really pour it on, sensing the end is near. The former Man of Steel’s knees begin to tremble wildly and buckle under his young majestic force. And with a weary groan of utter despair, he begins to sink down; down past those fiery amber eyes which show no sign of mercy or pity, down past his sensuous smile which reveals total delight at his helplessness.
Who whispers now in a soft, erotic voice, “Nice try, but you never really had a chance, Wimpy Boy. Deceived by your own lust at first sight of me. My similar matching cock, my gold… crowning my semen. Which your guts churned for. Lowering the odds on the playing field; all that greater massed muscle which had to be contained, defused.”
He then laughs aloud as the collapsing Man of Steel sinks further. His descent into defeat continues, chiseled male face against Tam’s cobbled torso, past that incredible full crotch which truly can hardly be contained by his loincloth. Superman’s alternating reality and senses agog, shattered between fear and disordinate lust, imagining one as fine as his own, at last in his throat… serving him. Oh, God, no, no—his, his slave—??!! His spittle-caked lips brush across the tip of the huge leather clad crotch, catching a glint of the gold which has murdered him, still desperate, during his tortuously slow descent. Tam-Rex laughs huskily, then coos with promise. “Not now, Slut Boy. Nursing time will come later, if you’re a good little slave! Then, maybe you can do us both, yours and mine at the same time; as we both know, we’ve taken our own times past counting. Few to match us. Loving the thrust and gush of that hot man-full seed deep down into our bellies.”
His words an insane intoxication. Superman’s stiffened again swollen manhood, the endless-flowing head frantically pushing at the already wringing wet, clinging fabric of his stained briefs, thumps urgently against his muscled calf as his mouth slow brushes across and below Tam’s rock hard groin. Finally he is on his knees, head bowed shamefully before his youthful, more deceptive conqueror. Only now does Tam-Rex finally release his wrists, which actually has been supporting his unresistant, expended frame, letting the defeated superhero fall exhausted to the ground at his feet. A mass of slackness, completely out of fight, his submission a mere formality at this point. Soft moaning. Robbed of his will and might, acquiescing to his extermination.
Tam-Rex can do anything he wants with the vanquished Superman, and will. The hero suddenly aware again, as Tam strides around and over to him, where he lies face down. And feels the young king’s weight pile atop him. He soft-begs him, “No, no, please no!” but to little avail, Tam slides his legs down to encircle his waist again. He bucks desperately, albeit futilely. Tam-Rex, toying with the depowered superhero, uses bursts of steely strength from his magnificent muscled limbs randomly, laughing haughtily at his weak cries of torment each time his taut, rippling thighs bite into his blue and red clad torso, across the narrow part of his wondrously flared back, crunching in to take his breath away. Holding, releasing; holding, releasing.
He prods him, “Come on, fight me, “Super-Hero!” Give me some manly resistance! What a so-famous, but total princess you are!” Agonized within each sensuous squeeze of his killer thighs, Superman can hear Tam’s lion-like purring as he alternately tightens and loosens the vice-like grip around his waist. He shake-twists him like a rag-doll as the fagged-out Superman’s desperate writhing becomes ever less and less, his pleas almost nil. Very soon, he is no longer even struggling. His face is pale and sickly, his breaths coming in shallow, tortured gasps. Sensing his enfeebled plaything is on the verge of passing out or possibly worse, Tam finally releases his lethal body scissors. Rises, steps back a moment, thinking, then kicks him over onto his back, arms and legs akimbo, dust-marred face towards the sky. Grunts from the crowd, encourage him to finish him off. What a wuss!!