The Capture of Superman Part 9 (Final)
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Originally “The Capture of Superboy,” story by L.Cross.   

Modestly text-enhanced by Rick Henry, 05-2021,



Part Nine – Endgame


The next day Superman awakes as the blast door slams shut with a loud thud that echoes through the empty storage room far below the hangar floor above. Blooms of compressed air fill the room and dissipate quickly as the overhead lights flicker and dim to 25% illumination. Superman finds himself sprawled facedown on the dirty floor with his hands extended over his head and his legs wide apart.

Bart, the shackles and the Kryptonite are all gone. He shakes his head and rises off his chest and realizes he is still naked! This can’t be happening! This has to a nightmare that I’ll wake up from! Superman then suddenly remembers the events before he passed out yesterday morning. He recalls in chilling detail Bart’s visit and the cruel torment before he uncased the lethal Kryptonite.

Superman shakes his head again to clear his mind. Finally free of that damn steel collar and shackles! What a relief to be finally unrestrained. He then looks down his waist and realizes to his embarrassment that there is a wide black belt buckled tightly around his waist and he can feel a thick wire riding between his ass crack and a bullet shaped object inserted up his ass.

Superman’s face is crimson red as he rolls onto his side and looks down his chiseled chest past his pecs and six pack abs smudged with grime and spots the dried cum caked and crusted on his tool and ball sack.

“What the F_ _ _ _!” stammers Superman as he weakly rises to his knees. Ouch! My arm!  Superman then notices that there is slight slash on his forearm that is crusted over with dried blood. Instinctively Superman feels the top of his head. He sighs loudly as he feels the stubbled remains of his hair and realizes that his hair has been unevenly cropped short; he pulls and rubs the top of his head with both hands and finds that his distinctive split curl and the rest of his wavy locks have been sheared off!

“My hair has been cropped short! What has Bart done to me? What the F _ _ _ has been going on here; this weird belt buckled around my waist with a wire up my ass; my hair cut short; this gash in my arm…and… my…blood; the dried sperm all over me,” wonders a totally bewildered Man of Steel! The great loss of his semen, and the over-forced production and emission of it, has staggered him through and through.  He is worse than woozy, having trouble just breathing. 

Superman squints through his sweat soaked and surveys the room from his knees and determines it is indeed the same filthy room with the now familiar lead arch; the heavy blast door is closed and the room is dimly lit by the overhead lights above.

“I’ve got to find away out of here!”

He gathers his addled will and manages to rise slowly to his feet, but truly stumbles unsteadily toward the blast door, the only way out of the concrete tomb, to survey its strength. The heavy door is closed; it is made of thick concrete covered with steel plating.

Superman places one hand on the blast door to steady himself while he uses the other hand to again feel in disbelief the stubble that is all that remains of the hair on his head. He is a wretched sight; he has a film of grimy dirt and sweat covering his muscular body from head to toe. His hair has been cropped unevenly short and is soaked with sweat.

Superman places both hands on the blast door and looks upwards past the heavy iron tracks that hold the door in place to the ridged concrete ceiling high above. This place is a fortress! He sighs and remembers it all too well as he stands naked in front of the huge door, that he has been stripped of his superpowers; and his costume too.

“My powers are gone! I’m trapped … sealed… down here away from sunlight! Without sunlight my superpowers are gone forever! I’m screwed! I can’t believe that this has happened…. It, it happened so quickly… so decisively….” 

As Superman stands before the blast door pondering his hopeless situation, he is suddenly reminded of the belt buckled tightly around his waist. He angrily looks down at the wide black belt. Bart must have used that contraption to stimulate him somehow…  and he groans as he realizes it was for involuntary ejaculation!

Damn twisted kid! Superman quickly unbuckles the belt and pulls the wire riding between his ass cheeks and eases the metal probe out slowly, and winces and gasps when the large metal object pops out. Once removed, an enraged and red-faced Superman flings the belt and probe across the empty room meant to be his tomb.

“I’ve been an arrogant fool. Lead by the nose into a lethal trap; thoroughly trounced and disgraced by a nerdy punk kid.”

Superman faces the immovable door and hangs his head. He puts his hands over his freshly cropped hair and leans forward against the blast door for several minutes. Superman gloomily stands erect and turns away from the sealed door looks around the spacious but empty room.

It is easily 40 feet deep and 60 feet wide. The walls, high ceiling, and floor are made of thick, dull white concrete. Only one way out and that is blocked! Dumont really has me where he wants me!

As Superman surveys the room he notices the familiar lead box under the arch. The lead box – the Kryptonite fragments? There is a piece of white paper on top of the lead box with two boxes sitting on top of the paper acting as paperweights. Superman staggers slowly and unsteadily over to the lead arch and uses it for support. He looks at the control pad mounted on the wall under the lead arch. The screen is dark! Power has been cut to the control pad. I can’t even try and guess the code to raise the door!

He turns his attention back to the lead box and picks up the larger box and reads the label: VAC651 – Cock, 10 1/2″ long, 7” thick, flexibly realistic: self-satisfaction guaranteed. Clearly not amused, Superman retrieves the smaller box with his free hand and reads: “SPIKE – THE ULTIMATE ANAL LUBE.” The naked, heavily endowed, built muscle man furiously throws the boxes containing the dildo and anal lube across the room, and angrily grabs the paper from the top of the lead box.  Superman stands under the lead arch naked rubbing the remaining stubble of his hair as he reads: 


Dear Superman;

Its gives me great pleasure to imagine you standing naked in your prison deep below the hangar reading this note: weak, defenseless and completely powerless and unable to escape the trap you blundered into. I hate to rub it in, but I guess the best word for you now is defeated. Yeah, that’s it. DEFEATED. As you will recall, you actually surrendered to me. What a hoot that was.

I actually do regret being unable to say good bye in person … I do love to see and hear you grovel and beg, but I am subject to strict orders and short of time. I have to roll now as I’m invited to a celebration dinner with my uncle in Metropolis tonight and it’s a long drive back to the city. Care to venture a guess as to what we are celebrating?

Sadly, my work is done and you’re on your own now. Neither I nor anyone else will ever see you again, Superman. You have been completely stripped of your superpowers and will remain that way until exposed to sunlight … like that’s never going to happen locked away where you are! Sorry you didn’t get to suck my cock, but at least you’ll have lots of time, if you want it, to fantasize about my thick 5 inches. Yup, Superman, it was a man with only a stubby 5 inch dick who took you down. LOL!!

My uncle has everything he wants from you now, Superman: your costume, your hair, your blood, your sperm—and hey, big guy, you were superb on that issue…. I made you cum in four super-sessions, two hours each round—wow, that was tiring—and each time your loads were huge! Two full gallons worth, all together!!

Best of all, Uncle will soon have your “life-seeds” as a workable prize. Too bad there’s no-one but me to hear the story.

Me?… I’ve taken your pride, Superman!  I humbled you Superman! I’m the one who really did the trick. I’m the one who took you down; defeated, broke and humiliated you … I’m the one who made it possible so that you can die just like the rest of us…. and yeah, I’m the one who disfigured you…

I do apologize for the bad haircut I gave you; it was tough cutting your hair with only a sharpened fragment of Kryptonite. As for the gash on your left arm; what can I say? I’ll never be a doctor. Your body was still invulnerable to every scissor and syringe so I had to fashion Kryptonite into tools to cut your hair and obtain your blood. I wonder if you will have a scar? Or will you live long enough to find out? LOL!

The door to your tomb will never again move. I’ve pulled out all of its wiring, destroyed the movement mechanism and ruined the engine that drives it. I even buckled the tracks it run on. There is no way in or out now. I’ve also severed the power to the hangar and the batteries powering the lights in your tomb will eventually drain leaving you in the dark to die alone.

My uncle is not completely without mercy Superman. Within the lead container are the five fragments of Kryptonite. If you want to end it quickly merely pull the cover off the box and you’ll quickly pass out and expire most likely in a few days. If not feel free to ramble around that dark concrete tomb in the buff until you die naturally—that might take a few months, even years, maybe never—who can know? Dead or alive, your life is over, and this dark empty space is all that will be left to you. Though you can still suck yourself silly, long as you want…. Since that’s your thing. But, without food or water, don’t think that will last too long, either.

Regardless of your personal decision, the cement trucks will arrive in a few days to fill in the shaft sealing the substructure off from the surface forever. The contractor will also be going tear down the hangar, cover the rubble with a small mountain of back fill and plant a forest. Uncle’s even going to change the original construction plans to show the hangar and even this bunker in a different location on the property; and he’ll leave evidence there of the total destruction of the site. So there is no trail, no trace and no clues as to your where-abouts. Uncle owns this land and no-one will ever come here anyway, and no-one will find you, by design or accident….  Well, maybe in a million years or so some archaeologist will find your remains … I wonder if they’ll recognize you as Kryptonian, or will they just assume that you were human?  Not sure if the bones will crumble or not… just like the into-dust of your big muscles and cock.

Rest easy in the knowledge that my uncle is using the hair, blood and sperm I took from you to make copies of you Superman; clones to be more precise. So a part of you will live on, Superman, long after your carcass is dust. Thankfully though, they’ll be my uncle’s creatures and under his control. Neat huh? I can’t wait to have my very own Superman slave to boss around and humiliate on a daily basis.

Thanks for everything Superman, aka the Man of Steel; I really enjoyed every minute of our time together. Defeating, humiliating and killing you is and will always be the highlight of my life, and one that I will think of and savor every day. RIP.

Yours always,


P.S. I left you a couple gifts on top of this note; you’ll need something to do to pass the time down there. Enjoy! 




Superman stares, frozen, at the letter, even after he has reread it many times. Finally, he lets it fall to the floor. He remains standing, his eyes wide but staring vacantly. Then he drops to his knees, buries his head in his arms, his palms grasping the back of his head, and begins to sob uncontrollably, beyond despair and defeat.

He knows that he has no escape: that Dumont has forged his perfect assassination; that he is doomed, never again to feel his super powers flow through his body… doomed to a living death for however long his body will survive: neither a desirable option, and then to die alone, probably insane and demented, in the stark, empty darkness—this, his never imagined, nor could ever have been dreamed to be, truly inescapable tomb. While still able to breathe…. Or, until he couldn’t. An inconceivable horror beyond comprehension!

He, the fabled, once “greatest of all”… exceedingly, staggeringly desirable, and so very muscularly, beautifully built—ever proudly, and joyously, wondrously well-endowed, potently fruitful beyond belief—and the most invincible, unconquerable, “undefeatable,” and powerful of all men on the Earth… reduced to less than a worm… will by maggots be slowly eaten… in a deep, earthen pit, and has now weakly less than them… also become.

Unwittingly done-in by a smart-mouthed, puny teenager, who had deceived him—cleverly lured him to his doom by his very own hubris, ensnared him by it. Disbelieving such could ever happen… but it had. It was over. 

Hands behind his head, raised his chin, arms upward stretching… and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Until he was hoarse. Finally fell forwards shivering, in convulsions, and lay there.  Hours later, still trembling… he inexorably crawled across to the box, managed with great difficulty to slide off the leaden lid… the fatal green-glow unmistakable. 

With hardly a pause, one hand dropping to cradle the stolen from him, depleted treasure of his genitals—he threw himself across the lethal opening, as the lights waned … and he, too, in but moments, began to fade.



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