Characters within are properties of DC Comics. This is a work of fan-fiction for adult, mature readers.
Luthor’s New/Final Weapon
(Enhanced/expanded/adjusted by Rick Henry 06-2021; firstname.lastname@example.org.)
It was very simple: primitive really, Lex Luthor thought as he handled the object in his hand, weighing and spinning it in his palm. He then carefully redeposited it in its container. The great Superman truly did not have long now, did he…? The power-housed inhuman miracle fallen into his hands. He smiled as he heard a crash from the other room; his ploy had certainly worked, knowing that the massive Man of Steel had broken through his defenses and the lead-lined walls of Luthor’s newest lair. Small price to pay for the grand finale which was about to unfold. He could hear Superman making short work of his henchmen, the audible sounds of punches and grunting echoed off the cold, barren next-door walls. Luthor looked up as the hero entered the room. Every time Luthor saw Superman the sight took his breath away. It never became common place or less awe inspiring to see all that 6’5″, 280 lbs. of muscle make his entrance. The confident and graceful gait that Superman possessed, so masculine and fearless. Movie-star handsome, his large hands gripping the sides of his trim waist, his chest puffed up and out, stretching the “S” on his spandex suit to its full elasticity. His sinewy, marmoreal muscles, bulging through his skin-tight costume were perfectly sculpted, and the protrusion of his large alien nipples outstanding from them, breath-taking. But what was probably most impressive was the enormous bulge that hung between his powerful legs. The pendulous apple-bag that Superman lugged around in front of where his zipper was supposed to be, covered by a flimsy, silky thin pair of red briefs with loop holes in the waistband where he strapped in his yellow belt. It was obvious he wore a cup, not so much for protection but more for modesty; however, because his assets were so huge the bulge below his belt formed a large, protruding mound. The sight made Lex feel light in the head. (Such a shame he was going to destroy all that…. His time had arrived.) The thing that amazed Lex the most was that Superman seemed oblivious to the general effect his mamouth red bulge had on anyone. He admired Superman’s courage to display his beautiful body with such pride, and was perplexed that Superman showed no arrogance about it, but a mere nonchalance. He was not ashamed of his beauty and was not squeamish about his masculinity. As much as Lex admired these qualities in the Man of Steel, they created an innate rage within him. How come Superman was so perfect, and Lex wasn’t?! How could this hero be so kind, strong and confident, without being petty, arrogant and vapid? Superman was perfect in every way—and that perfection enraged Lex! He must dominate Superman, and prove himself the better and more powerful man. Finish his rule once and for all! And let him know while doing it, who had, and how simple it was…. “Where are the hostages, Lex? You know I can’t see through lead, so I’ll have to tear down this lair one wall at a time, unless you make it easier, and you just tell me now,” Superman said.
“They are safe, Superman. I’ve been expecting you. And I think the one that should be worried here is YOU!” Lex responded. A cocked eyebrow, quite confident.
“Lex, your evil traps are legendary, so I won’t take your threat as empty. What have you got planned for me this time?” Superman declared heroically. “Well, I’m glad you asked! I’ve been trying to figure out how to stop you for a long time, and everything I’ve tried you have been able to overcome.” “Yes, and I shall again. Don’t you see that your evil will never prevail?” Superman asked.
“I think I’ve figured it out this time, though.” Lex said as he laughed, and pulled a square lead box from his pocket hardly twice the size of a pack of cigarettes. Superman tried to see into the box with his x-ray vision, but was thwarted by the lead covering.
“Not so fast, Superman. You might not like what you see….” “What is that in your hand, Luthor?” Superman demanded. “Oh, this little thing?” Lex asked as he showed Superman the simple object. “This is the little weapon that killed the giant. Have you never read the Bible, Superman?” “I’m not interested in Bible study with you, Luthor. Now I’ll only ask one more time, where are the hostages?” Superman demanded as he puffed out his chest further. But when Lex opened the lead box, Superman’s eyes widened… instantly realizing the danger, the green glow emanating from it. “Where…?” Superman asked incredulous, coming to the realization that Lex had acquired some Kryptonite (something next to impossible to obtain)—the one thing on earth that could do him in; and it looked like a fairly good-sized rock. As Lex pulled it out of the box, he fitted it in his palm and admired it. Shaken already, the Man of Steel fell back a few steps. A certain swirl of doom swept through his guts. This was no toy! “It doesn’t matter where I got it, Superman. It is beautiful, isn’t it? Heavy, too.” Lex laughed as he looked over to Superman. He could see that the radiation from the rock was already affecting the Man of Steel even from across the room. Beads of sweat had appeared on his alien brow. “Luthor, you fiend!” Superman blurted out as he slowly backed up towards the doorway. His huge hand outstretched in front of him, plaintively… gestured Lex to back off. “Ah-ah, not so fast Superman!” Lex said as he quickly pushed a button on his console. The door behind Superman slid shut just as he reached it. His huge back bumped against it, confirming his confinement with some alarm.
“What the—!” Superman exclaimed. He turned towards the door and searched for a handle. A sense of urgency crawling up his spine. Knowing he could not in this state break through the steel. “Trapped! You’ve fallen right into my trap!” Lex blurted out with glee. “Tricked, you mean! You dastardly villain. Luthor, I should have known you were using the “hostage-routine” just to lure me here,” Superman said. He bravely turned to face Lex. “You are an adept pupil. Now, back to my history lesson, Super-stud,” Lex quickly countered. “Do you remember the story of David and Goliath?” Lex asked as he cast the gray lead box off to the side and admired the green piece of Kryptonite he held in his hand. “One little pebble…” about the size of miniature lime. “Oh, dear!” The glowing green hurt the big superhero’s eyes and he squinted as he replied, “What do you want, Luthor?” Knowing he now was the hostage. Or worse—. Could even feel his great strength waning, second by second. Had to get out of there… stall for time, figure a strategy! Ignoring Superman’s question, Luthor continued. “The small boy David beat the mighty, giant Goliath with one shot,” Lex said as he raised his hand, and then grasped up a Y-shaped object which had been lying atop of his desk all along. “A slingshot?” Superman replied, as he sharply realized the primitive weapon Lex was brandishing. “Really Lex, you have sunk to a new low,” he adjured, and began to slow-grope his way counter-clockwise along the lead wall of the room. Lex was aware of Superman’s movements and countered by moving, too. The enormous man in sheer spandex was quite an imposing sight, and his movements were intimidating even when he had been noticeably rattled, and no doubt weakened, as well. They circled each other. “Yes, a slingshot!” Lex declared. “One shot into the skull of the great Goliath, and “boom” all the lights out! Permanently!” Lex said, as he positioned the Kryptonite rock into the carriage of the slingshot, and pulled the elastic strings back taut. He aimed at Superman’s head. (Yes, he’d practiced for weeks, he was not going to miss.) “Wait! Hold it, Lex! You know I’m faster than a speeding bullet. You only get one shot, and you know I’ll stop it. You should’ve thought this through better,” Superman said as he moved defensively along the wall, forcing Lex to counter.
Lex was now by the doorway, and Superman was closer to the other button to open the door. His plan seemed to be working. The MOS actually seemed afraid. “The Kryptonite should already be weakening, slowing you down enough by now, Superman. I wonder whose speed is the more effective?” Lex mused—while he pulled the sling tighter with intent to release. “Don’t be so sure!” Superman warned as he put his huge hand in front of him, as if trying to cover his entire skull with it. He knew it would burn to catch or deflect it, but he seemed to have no choice. If Luthor released the Kryptonite from its cradle, any part of it striking him would be more than serious. Superman seized his chance and used his remaining speed to turn, lunge, reach for and push the button to the door. Lex slightly adjusted his aim simultaneously, and allowed the Kryptonite rock to fly free from its chamber. As the door of the room slid open, the rock flew through the air with blinding speed. Superman back-reached out to catch the deadly projectile and….
It never reached his hand. Superman had assumed Lex was aiming towards his skull, but the quick adjustment Lex had made in his aim, when Superman was busy reaching to open the door, proved his undoing. The sound of the impact was the first thing that registered to Lex. It sounded like a bat hitting a home run at a major league game. It sounded like a crack of lightning hitting a tree. And then a sound which Lex knew must be Superman’s protective cup shattering into a dozen pieces.
The unbelievable had happened—the destruction of his padded graphene-microlatticed cup: (only the weight of his own three-pound genitals any problem, balance-wise, when fast-moving), now their defense effectively overcome, with properties Kryptonite had never been known to have…. The funny thing was the silence afterwards. Lex stared at Superman, and Superman stared at Lex—his huge palm still outstretched before him, ready to catch the rock he was sure was intended for his head, his eyes registering shock and confusion. Lex gasped an intake of breath and waited for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was more like 10 seconds, then suddenly Superman’s eyes rolled up into his head and his lips released a deep, low-pitched sound. Almost as if in slow motion, the 6’5″ hero crumpled to his knees. The room shook from his fall. His head arced up and back, one hand as if protectively across his eyes, the other futilely rushing to save his invaded bulge, then he fell like a mighty tree to his side. It took a few seconds for it to sink in for Lex. But quickly, he realized that he had no need to hurry. Superman was in a benumbed fetal position on his side, tremoring slowly back and forth… gasping, disoriented and disarmed, emitting deep-rooted moans. Lex hadn’t been sure his plan would work, but apparently Superman’s manly assets were beyond an easy and perfect target. Now that he looked back on it, he was reassured he would have had a far easier time hitting Superman’s alien-large bulge with his slingshot, rather than the superhero’s head. After all, at the proper angle, it was too well-displayed in front of his body… an enormous, susceptible bull’s eye. (And he had practiced for weeks, getting ready.) Superman had thought Lex was aiming for his forehead, when he was really going for Superman’s other head. Lex wondered if he’d caught any of Superman’s cock in the impact as he walked around the downed superhero. He knew he’d scored into Superman’s balls because the big lug was still keening, his knees up to his chest and his red boots slightly shaking. Lex saw the Kryptonite rock lying on the floor a few feet from the whimpering Man of Steel and went to retrieve it. He laughed as he circled Superman’s prostrate body, waving it around in the air over him. “Poor Superman, those ponderous, sorry balls always in the way. I must have hit those big boys dead on, huh? Supes? Are you okay?” Lex asked as he bent, grabbed at Superman’ perfect cleft chin and squeezed it between his fingers, rubbed the wicked mineral through the sweat on his forehead, trying to make eye contact with the great hero. He could see tears coming out of Superman’s eyes, and his unfocused blue orbs were practically insensate and uncomprehending in his head. “Aww, man—I really hit the jackpot! When I heard your cup shatter, I knew it couldn’t be good for you,” Lex joked. “Goliath meeting his doom!” Letting him go, shrugged his shoulders. Stood up. “Okay then, I suppose I’ve proved my point. You’ve had your Bible lesson, big stud. Whenever you’re ready, you can get up and leave,” Lex sighed, seemingly content. He then grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and sat, watched Superman continue to slowly rock, nursing his violated manhood in a fetal position.
“Go on, now! But remember, I am always superior to you—and WILL be. Dominate you, any time I like…” Lex added as he sat back and enjoyed Superman’s pain. He rest-rolled the Kryptonite rock on his thigh, thoughtfully. After another five to seven excruciating minutes, Superman began to slowly recover. When he finally looked up at Lex, it was with more than chagrin, caution, and anger. Not to mention fear. Lex took the Kryptonite rock from off his knee and extended it towards the fallen hero. Superman grunted and turned away. He knew he couldn’t win this battle, but if he could get away, some part of his pride intact, he could return to win another day. He decided to turn the other cheek despite the painful blow that Lex had delivered to him. Which had been truly nearly fatal. He gritted his teeth, conceding Luthor had the upper hand. Superman slowly lifted his huge body up to all fours and began to sheepishly crawl out of the lead-lined room. Not yet able enough to get to his feet, he knew if he were to save his life, he had to get away NOW. And the open door was a merciful invitation, his only chance. No less in shame, he crawled desperately towards it. Lex watched amused from his chair. Superman’s cape was tossed over to the side as he crawled away from Lex. From this view, Lex could see Superman’s perfectly shaped, muscular ass stretching his red briefs. He could also see the hefty, desirable mound of flesh between Superman’s legs from behind. Something that had inspired many with lust, if not outright worship (not to mention the continuing wonder of his overall physique). Now that Superman’s protective-modesty cup had been shattered, Lex could even make out the definition of both testicles. He noted that the left hung much lower than the right, as usual with most men. But it was their size which was their glory. Envy of an army. Could probably have bred one, too! Wondering, whatever did he use them for—only his own narcissistic pleasure? Probably.As such “huge” hung men were invariably known to do…. The opportunity had been too great to pass. What a set this creature had. Scoring into them, big-time. Why not?
It had been mano-a-mano, and HE had proven to prevail! To the astonishment of both. Rendering the famed MOS utterly helpless, at long last—that paragon of “unconquerable” manly muscle….
Lex stood up, could not stop himself, and took a running start. He imagined Superman’s massive balls as the game winning football that he needed to kick between a set of paired field posts. He swung his leg far back, then followed through with a devastating kick; the top toe-point of his shoe made perfect contact between Superman’s enormous nuts. “GOAL!” Lex shouted in triumph.
Superman sudden-shrieked in shock far worse than before, howled like a wounded bear. Practically murdered on the spot—AGAIN!! Lightning bolts of anguish through his groin, great flashes of light behind his eyes.
The startled, completely decommissioned alien fell-rolled to his side and convulsed, flopped desperately much like a fish out of water. His hands frantically gripped at his nuts as if they had been snared by Jack Frost and he was trying to warm them. He roiled horrified on the floor, wanting to escape his own body, the pain he was experiencing. Big thighs thrashing tightly; his cries pitiful. For such a big man…wail-whimpered like a deflowered girl. Lex’s laugh was evil and humiliating, adding salt to an exposed wound. The legendary Kal-El was surprised by Luthor’s brutal and violent attack, and was truly in great pain. The most terrifying aspect of this encounter was Lex’s success! Twice Lex had viciously attacked Superman’s private parts, and twice he had succeeded with the greatest of ease. Both attacks had been sudden and unexpected, catching the muscular superhero off-guard, delivering him into unexpected chasms of abject pain, rendering him completely helpless at the feet of his arch-nemesis. For his tantamount survival, he had to figure a way out of this hellish situation—and quickly!! But the problem was the mind-boggling pain lodged in the vulnerable core of his being, lightning-jolts in the treasury of his testicles… erasing all control of his thoughts. His functionality impaired, inability to concentrate. Only the pain. Arrows struck fatally into his Achilles’ Heel. It wasn’t as if the Man of Steel had never been hit between the legs before. Many villains had surreptitiously and even overtly attempted a shot between his legs, here and there, over the years. The problem most of them didn’t realize was that his “Man of Steel” definition applied to every bit of his body, and if they were ever successful really getting a good blow to his avocado-sized jewels, he didn’t feel a thing. Sometimes, in the past, he would pretend to feel the blow so he could buy a certain villain time, in order to find out their true intentions. He was a fair actor and had astutely copied some stock reactions he had seen others perform. Only this time it was no play, no pretending. This drama was for real, and he was seeking no “award.” He had no script to play out with Luthor—this was more than a serious breach of all his defenses and abilities. He had been effectively depowered, brought down, and was moments away from conquest. Superman was nearly paralyzed in pain, in really deep trouble! If there were to be any mercy he knew, he would have to make it himself! He had adopted the cup to his signature suit in his twenties because of all the lewd and shocked looks he received from the public whenever he made speeches and attended community functions. The older Superman got, the strangely bigger his bulge got. Because of the sheer nature of his costume, he could also see that a discerning eye could tell whether he was cut or not, what side of the bed he slept on, how big his nipples were when erect, and whether he had shaved that morning or not. The cup seemed to alleviate some of those problems by creating an indefinable mound below his belt. With the cup on, it looked as if he had simply stuffed a major zucchini and two baseballs down his pants. Now in his fifties, with the looks of a thirty-year-old, Superman’s cock had grown to beyond 12 inches long with balls each double the size of plums. Although, still the “Man of Steel”, he had realized that his body had become more sensitive with age: especially the huge package between his thighs. The bigger it grew the more sensitive it had become. He treasured it dearly: being self-sexual, not daring to be with an earthling…. Enjoyed himself immensely alone, an adept self-taker—both orally and anally—though many may have thought it weird, his options being almost nil. And he was more than appreciative of his assets. The truest, major and only joy of his life. That which gave him the most pleasure… seeming now to be the very approaching instruments of his possible murder.
“Did you really think I was going to let you off that easily, Superman?” Lex’s voice honed-in like a foreboding beacon through his fog, forcing Superman back to his senses and into the containment of the lead-lined lair. “Your days… are done….”
Fear lancing into him: the possibilities, the reality of what had been happening. His heart in his throat. Panic filling him.
Then into his intercom: “Conner!” Lex called. Superman finally got to the point of being able to think about his situation, but when he attempted to get moving, his body quickly demanded he should still attend to his battered core. An involuntary moan escaped his lips as he curled into a fetal position for the third time that day. Without the Kryptonite threat, near as it still was, he might have a chance. But how to make that chance come true? Conner entered the room hesitantly. He was a large, bald, Irishman with a nose that looked like it had been broken more times than it had been set. Muscular and imposing in his black track suit he obsequiously stood before Luthor, obviously in his employ. Conner kept shifting his eyes back and forth between his boss and the huge bull lying on the floor, writhing, cupping his testicles. “He got you good, huh?’ Lex says, motioning to the bruise that still in its infancy was forming on Conner’s left eye. Conner shook his head affirmatively as Lex went to the button on the wall controlling the door, and pushed it. The door slid shut yet again. “Now’s your chance to repay him,” Lex said, as he pointed to Superman, still recovering on the floor. “I think I’d like to watch my own personal wrestling match.”
“But boss, that—that’s Superman!” Conner gasped as he realized what Lex was demanding. Though he quickly assessed the hunk on the floor looking more like a dumped sack of potatoes than a superhero. “I don’t care who he is. I want you to beat him. Do you understand me, Conner?” Lex said as he stood face to face with the henchman, and stood up on his toes to stare as closely into his eyes as possible. “You were a professional wrestler, and I want to see you put him through the motions. Do I make myself clear?” Lex finished as he grabbed the front of Conner’s shirt and bunched it into his fist.
“Uh, yeah. Okay, boss. Wh-whatever you say.” Conner stammered as he turned towards the prostrate superhero and cracked his knuckles. “Wait!” Lex pronounced. “Huh?” Conner froze “Strip,” Lex commanded. “Wha?” Conner asked.
“I said, ‘strip.’ Now!” Lex demanded, pointing to Conner’s track pants. “Go on….” Conner looked at his boss questioningly then slowly pulled his shirt off. His large, muscular, wrestler’s body and smooth, hairless, untanned epidermis released a husky, masculine scent as he slowly and pensively thumbed the waistband of his pants, untied it, and pulled the elastic outwards. “Off!” Lex commandingly laughed, his power intoxicating to him. Conner pulled his pants down and stepped out of them. He stood and immediately moved to remove his underwear the same way. “Stop!” Lex yelled. “Keep those on.” He said, gesturing to the blue bikini briefs that strapped Conner’s loins. “We don’t need the gay games, bit. Though HE might wish that’s all there were to it…. Once you take him.” Conner snapped the waistband of the bikini briefs back into place and turned towards his contender. Just as he turned, Superman perceived it was now or never—no waiting, no dawdling: he had to get out of there, away from Luthor and the Kryptonite, before it could be again close-used against him! A “gentlemanly preamble” to their confrontation was not in the cards. In a flash, he was up, rushing, and tackled the Irishman head on. BLAM, they went down.
Conner had never felt such strength before in his entire life. The impact took his breath away as he ended up on his back with the famous Superman on top of him. He was face to face with his childhood idol, and he couldn’t believe he was this close to him. Unfortunately, it was under these circumstances; and no doubt his boyish values had changed significantly since then. This incredibly handsome male visage nearly smashed into his own, above him, lips tightened firm and determined, blue eyes flashing.
“Fight, Conner! Fight!” Lex cheered from the background. All the while, waving the chunk of Kryptonite maliciously. Conner knew he didn’t stand a chance, but his fighting instincts kicked in and he pushed with all his might. He began to roll with the mighty Man of Steel. And was surprised to detect he was actually weaker than anticipated—that strange glowing rock Lex was bandying about seemed to be doing something to the big alien—finding he was not all that much of a fighter… noting the wane of his supposed superior strength, as they grappled, and with Luthor remaining close with the rock. Realizing at last what it might be. Soon he had the mighty hero in a debilitating half nelson, one of his huge arms powerless behind his back.
The MOS was more than distressed, his former great strength had evaporated; sweat covered his brow; even now at possibly a normal earthly man’s power for one of his size, the superior skills of the other were making things worse than difficult. A slight terror began deep in his gut—he must prevail, he must!! He was the “invincible” Superman, wasn’t he? No one had ever bested him in a fight, more skilled or otherwise.
His fear mounting. His humiliation eroding into him, this man he had fifteen minutes before nearly knocked into another universe—now by him, was having his face pressed to the floor, neck constrained, massive 22-inch arms, one of them locked behind his 60-inch chest, above his 34-inch waist, struggling like a high-schooler… scared and trembling. Not only in his mind, but his sinews failing.
Hearing: “Pussy Superman, Pussy Superman, having his ass wiped- out by a real pro! Wohoo!! Wohoo!! Big cock, big balls, big muscles—all for show!! End of the line. His Grand Finale. The “Undefeated,” Defeated! All for show, all for show!KILL HIM, CONNER!!”
Conner then saw his chance as the nearly defeated hero managed to toss him off at last, and they entangled again and again in varying holds and positions. A fist to the side of his face, a smash into his nose left the alien reeling. Even bleeding!! Conner could barely believe it. Pressed his advantage, crushed into the man’s cobble-stoned abs, watching him “OOOFFF!” the air out of him, doubling forwards, weakened, crumbling. And down again they went. On a third full body roll, he took his gamble swiveling on top of the blue-clad Superman. He was amazed as the superhero continued to struggle, but could tell his supposed famous “might” was rapidly depleting, tiring, breathing more than somewhat labored… and Conner was able to move his body 180 degrees to face the bigger man’s boots. Without thinking, he grabbed the red clad ankles and pulled tight as he came on top for the completion of the fourth roll. He knelt and yanked at the same time.
There was an unmistakable groan from the increasingly weaker, and growing fear-filled man beneath him. He was winning, and they both knew it. A dreadful urgency was coursing through the whole of Superman’s being. He must win, he must!! This was no game—unable to break the hold, reassert himself. No, no, this could not be happening…. It was difficult to understand exactly how Conner had gotten Superman into a Boston Crab, but the fact remained that he had. Maybe Superman had never wrestled before like this? Conner was amazed that he was so easily able to apply the hold to the fabled hero. Suddenly Conner was straddling the small of Superman’s back, with the hero’s famous red boots under his armpits. The MOS’ great arms in front of him desperately flexed, pawed and pounded; he tried to twist, roll, jerk free, the strain on his spine murderous. Conner didn’t let his mind wander as his muscles controlled, pulled. Feeling his conquest, stronger and stronger. Just minutes ago, the same wimp had nearly slugged him out in the other room. The tables had turned.
Finally, all Lex could see was Superman’s prodigious genitals on full display taunting him. Now that Superman’s cup was shattered, Lex could view both weighty testicles hanging in Superman’s red briefs, the scape, shape, thickness and length of Superman’s also impressive cock on display as it snaked up and to the right, ending at his proud mushroom crowned head. Lex smiled as he put the Kryptonite rock back into its slingshot cradle and took aim at the prominent bulge. He couldn’t miss if he tried. (Wondering truly what he does with all that, no kids, no mate… what a waste! Oh, well, time to cash in his chips.) Conner looked up and could see Luthor preparing to snap something in his direction. He looked down to where the object was heading and saw Superman’s huge red bulge on display under him with Superman’s legs pulled back, the ankles of his dyed leather boots nearly rubbing his ears, his spinal column arched into a painful near broken backbend. Superman was worse than surprised this lesser human was besting him. Panic and terror rising in his throat, barely able to breathe.
This match of a lifetime! He, the most powerful of all men in the universe, to be overtaken, downed, overcome by a mere small time criminal. Knowing the Kryptonite had effectively near-alone subdued him. Or too much. Suddenly he was on his stomach, his legs stretched, arms pinned, ankles pulled up towards his ears. His super-hearing could detect the nearing release of Luthor’s dangerous slingshot, but he had no idea where it was coming from, or where it was headed. Too late! As if he could have stopped—?!
Oh, Holy God!! Too late, far too late!!! As he screamed. Horribly.
His death, he knew, had found him. His heart lurched. Even his thoughts, cut off.
The lethal stone had pierced his own pair—again. His main power-source. Short-circuited him. An electric jolt from his scrotum directly into his brain. Of an instant, it was over. He went slack, effectively dark… and out. Vanquished completely.
It didn’t take much. Dragged out by his ankles, hands bound behind him, taken down by the freight elevator to the waiting van below. Gagged, the rock strapped to his chest. He never saw daylight again. Was kept in Luthor’s private holding cell just a few more days, an old warehouse on the outer edge of town. People, of course, wondered what had happened. The MOS gone, as if he’d never existed. With the help of a questionable doctor and an endoscope, Luthor had the green rock later shoved down his throat into his stomach. Watched daily as the mighty alien shuddered, convulsed, cried, moaned and wailed… electric blue eyes ever wide with pleading, for mercy…. Until he was still. Finally. An enormous chunk of useless muscle, sinews, and bone. Handsome head sagged listlessly atop his huge, softened pectorals. Great arms and legs untensed, notably slack. Spectacular genitals, alas—his own undoing… forever stilled. Not a twitch.
Saved his costume for future mounting.
Then, had him run through a wood chipper. Disposal was not a problem.