A CLOSE SHAVE
Superman appears in an insolated compound outside of Metropolis. It consists of a bunker-like concrete home surrounded by luxurious tennis courts, Olympic size pool, and lush gardens. He confronts the owner, a middle-aged nerdy type called Jason Close.He says he has been shown a disturbing e-mail sent to Clark Kent regarding some claims he made. The email said he had gained control of the Pentagon’s top-secret program, the Armageddon Project. It is a series of killer satellites blanketing the globe from high space that can emit powerful particle beams to earth.Close does not deny it, in fact boasts of his ability to target any spot on earth with precise geo-positioning coordinates. He says he is an ex-government employee specializing in computer control systems. His private specialty was hacking into such systems as an intellectual exercise. But when he found he could hijack the entire system he knew he had a powerful bargaining chip with Superman. He says he always had a talent for sneaking in back ways and getting the drop on people. In school he used to sneak into gyms when the best looking jocks were alone in the showers, get the drop on them from behind and bind them. Then he satisfied his real private penchant, shaving them smooth and often raping them afterwards. When he chanced to see Superman in action on television he knew he had to add him to his collection of hirsute studs denuded by him. He was rescuing many people from a burning building, and in order to get them out safely through the flames he was wrapping them protectively in his cape. With time running out he was forced to remove his shirt as well to carry multiple victims safely out at the same time. The sight of his rippling torso covered with dense, dark fur took Jason’s breath away. He had never really considered whether Superman might be hairy or smooth. Superman is disgusted by the turn the conversation is taking and calls Close’s bluff. Close shrugs his shoulders and asks Superman to do him a favor. It should be easy for a near god like him. Just walk on the water of his outsized pool, and stand in the center while he goes into the basement of his home for an instant. Superman does so, warily. No sooner does Close disappear into the bowels of the building’s fallout shelter, than Superman is enveloped in a searing blast of heat and flame. It chars the ground for a mile or more around. The water is completely evaporated in an instant, and Superman is left, shaken, flattened on the bottom of the cracked and charred concrete bowl of the pool bottom. Slowly he rises up, unhurt but shaken by the unexpected blast. “Convinced, Superman? Not only can I call down the Deathbolt anywhere, at any time, but even the Pentagon, which still believes it controls the system, is not aware one of their satellites even discharged a blast. All telemetry reads normal stasis. Moreover, unlike your heat vision, there is no visible beam or heat trail. Even with your super-senses you were not aware of anything incoming until you were struck down. And you were flattened, even if not seriously harmed. And that was low intensity”. Close motioned at the tennis court he had crossed coming back out from the house. His shoes had left imprints in the heat-softened tarmac. Even the bunker-like home had been razed above ground. He asks Superman to roll up his sleeve. He admires the thick but silky hair on his forearm, and wonders aloud that the searing heat of the beam did not singe off the fine hairs. “I understand you have to shave and trim your hair using your heat vision. Obviously it has powers beyond even the particle beam, which generates heat equal to a nuclear blast, but which nevertheless left it untouched. Well. enough of this scientific speculation. Here is the deal. It is quite simple. You play along with my little fetish, and I will reveal the location of my automated computer control center. Otherwise, even if you capture me, its pre-programmed schedule will begin blasting the earth at multiple locations. If you go into space to disable the satellites their own radar sensors will trigger the event that much sooner. Are we agreed?” After some thought Superman agrees. “Now, as to method. I could, of course simply have you burn off your own body hair with your heat vision. I could use special reflective mirrors such as are used in laser arrays to reach areas not directly in view, as I suppose you do already. But that takes the personal pleasure out of the equation, as well as the physical interaction I prefer. Fortunately, I have an elegant solution. I scrutinized the tape of that news video for hours, examining your hair pattern and how it beautifully enhanced your muscular definition. I especially zeroed in on the small patch of pubic hair I spied in computer enhancements of the midriff just above your beltline. And that’s when I spied it. Your costume is so well known most people think no more about it than they would a policeman or fireman’s uniform. But we know it was somehow fashioned from some fabric material that came with you from your home planet, and is as indestructible as you yourself are. But there was one item which was not fabric, but metal. Your golden belt buckle girding your loins. And from what I could tell in the computer enhancements, the inner edges are quite finely edged. Take off your belt, Superman!” he commands. Reluctantly, Superman does. “Now the rest of your clothes!” Again, after some delay, he does. Close orders him to lay down atop a raised marble platform. He takes massive steel chains and fetters and binds his arms and legs spread-eagled. “I know you could snap these in an instant, but it is the perception of control that is important, as in all S & M games.” Close reaches into satchel he has brought out with him from the bunker. He quickly uncapped vials of hot oils, lotions and creams of every description. He rubbed Superman’s body all over from head to toe. Slowly, erotically. Then he takes a gel foam and lathers every inch of Superman’s body, making no bones about erotically groping his most sensitive areas, especially his groin and ass. Superman protests but submits to the manhandling. Close seizes Superman by the left wrist, and begins on the same forearm he displayed earlier. Close begins scraping with the belt buckle, finding it makes an excellent razor. The thick ebony forest of hair fell away in great swipes of the golden, razor edged metal. Inch by square inch he removes all of Superman’s body hair, even the stubble on his handsome face. With a gallon jug of ice water he sluices away the lather and shorn hair from the shaved area. Never has Superman felt the thrill of icy liquid washing over his skin as on the newly bared flesh. He shuddered, deliciously. Then, against his protests, Jason even shaves off his eyebrows and all the hair on his head. Not satisfied, he then turns his attentions to his groin. Lathering and manipulating his dick, he manages to make Superman hard and erect. Then he strips off the last of his hair. All that remains is the trail going deep inside the cleft of his buttocks. He works his hand inside the splayed buns, and strips that last refuge clean as a whistle. “There, now your treasure chest is laid bare at last. Reminds me of how Prince Charming had to cut away all the thorns and brambles that had overgrown the castle gates while Sleeping Beauty slumbered in her enchanted sleep. Well, your Prince Charming has arrived, Action Ace, so get your little sleeping beauty ready to be awakened with one hell of a kiss. Now that you are smooth and stripped for action, it would be a shame to waste this magnificently shaven ass.” When Superman realizes he intended to not only denude him but deflower him, he refuses to allow it. But Close suddenly draws the belt buckle swiftly up to his throat. “This cut your hair like a scythe through dry wheat stalks. How much are you willing to bet it can cut even your invulnerable flesh ear-to-ear? I might not be able to deliver a fatal wound before you can break free of those restraints and subdue me. But, then again, what if all I did was cut you enough to draw blood? What suture could stitch that invulnerable skin together to close the wound, what medical procedure could staunch the flow of blood before you bled to death? Perhaps your heat vision could cauterize it. If you found the right mirror in time to reflect the rays up under your chin. And while you desperately attempt to save your own life, millions of others die as I unleash the full fury of the Armageddon program. Face it, Superman. You have already given up most of your pride and dignity. In for a penny, in for a pounding, as I always say. What’s your answer?” For long, tense moments Superman grimly pondered the situation. Then gulping deeply, he weakly acquiesced. “This will be sweet!” Close gloated. With one hand always at his throat, Close slowly begins working inside Superman with the other. When, with the Man of Steel’s cooperation, he slowly works the superhero open with his fingers, he readies his massive dick. Throwing himself atop the spread-eagled giant, he plunges in to the hilt. Superman bucks and rattles the chains violently, but does not exert his full strength. Close drives into him, his free hand roaming everywhere over the smooth, oiled body. He rams his hips against the massive round buttocks, Superman’s genitals swinging between his thighs and slapping against his rock-hard abdomen like a bell clapper. Close rode him hard for over an hour. Finally, Superman began to weaken and give in to the unyielding assault. His hips bucked back against the incoming blows, and swiveled slightly as Close withdrew. His breath came only in moans and whimpers and deep guttural sighs. His massive piece of meat thickened and hardened with excitement. His huge, clean-shaven balls swelled and darkened with the sudden rush of blood and pent-up seed. Close reached his climax, convulsing atop the gigantic nude mass of smooth muscle. He slammed into Superman’s ass like a freight train, disgorging load after load of hot jism deep inside the punished guts of the Man of Steel. Superman cried out in an unintelligible language, some primeval Kryptonian language dimly recalled from infancy. He thrashed wildly, shattering the massive steel fetters like they were daisy chains. He ground his groin against the rough marble slab beneath his body. His huge balls fractured the surface as they bounced against the surface of the slab. His steel-hard dick drove directly down into the solid stone like a chisel. He chipped and clove the sold stone like a pneumatic pile-driver. He raged and gnashed his teeth in that eerie alien tongue. He came magnificently, lathering the shattered rubble beneath him with great gouts of foaming cum. He slid and wallowed in the slippery mess as Close, still embedded deep inside his ass, continued to pound Superman until both slackened and collapsed, exhausted. They lay there for many moments, catching their respective breaths. Then, as Superman began to rise, Close pressed the buckle hard against his Adam’s apple. “Let’s see if it’s as good the second time!” he chortled. And before Superman could even consider it, he was inside him once more, riding him into an insane fury of mutual lust and debauchery. When they lay together again, panting for breath, Close at last signaled he’d pleasured himself enough. “For the moment, at least, Action Ace. I want to give you time to think about what just happened here. How quickly you gave in to everything I asked of you. How magnificently you responded, as well. You can run off and play the hero again, until I call you for more games. I’ll be watching to see when your hair grows back. I expect a full beard next time so we can play some more shaving games. Next time I shave both your face and your ass, and fuck each end afterwards.” Superman dizzily gathered his clothes and dressed. As he prepared to fly off Close reached into a sack he’d carried out from the bunker with him. Inside was a finely fashioned wig imitating Superman’s former hairstyle, complete with prominent spit curl. “This will fool everybody into thinking nothing untoward happened to you here today. Only you and I will know otherwise.” Superman, feeling extremely foolish but also somewhat grateful for Close’s thoughtful desire to shield him from ridicule, adjusted the wig on his bald, shaven head. With a final pat on his sore backside Close sent the humbled superhero back to Metropolis to lick his wounds. And perhaps to lick his lips over their next encounter….
End.
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