Testing Superman (updated illustrated version)
Author: Superman Fann
Enhanced, edited, and expanded by Rick Henry, 12-2021; firstname.lastname@example.org
This is the revised version by Rick Henry of this classic story writtenm originallly by Superman Fannn, Thanks Rick for sharing this version.
Major characters within are owned by D.C. Comics; this is a work of fan fiction. Though implausible in many respects, this is sexually explicit, m/m erotic material for mature readers only. Illustrations selected were those which basically matched the happenings within the story & not truly “exact,” but as close as possible to fit the text. Most used were given permission by the artists credited; but some unavailable factors were involved.
Superman landed gracefully next to the newly built dome at the US Army testing facility. He had been invited here to test out the army’s latest state of the art weaponry. He had previously been asked to do similar tasks on many other occasions, and felt it was part of his duty as an American citizen to comply. After all, he was “invulnerable,” and the results of these tests would be invaluable to the army. He approached the front door of the dome and it automatically opened. Upon entering, he was greeted by the two-star General, Matt Barnes. “Welcome, Superman,” who extended his hand to the 6’ 4”, 260 lbs. of skin-tight, blue-clad muscle… who with dark hair, and bright eyes, was unnervingly handsome.
“I’m happy to be of service, sir,” replied the Man of Steel.
As the door closed behind them, Superman saw an unusual, even larger, more muscular soldier than himself lower an intricate locking device on the door. He was a bit startled, and the hero wondered where he could have come from—or why the Army would be taking such precautions? With Superman here, there was little fear of intruders considering the secrecy of the project; and as far as keeping the mighty Man of Steel from leaving… a lock, no matter how large, could not keep him contained. The hulking hero shrugged it off, and continued with the General to the center area beneath the high-arced glass dome. It was mid-afternoon with a bright sun, but from above it gave off a hazy sort of amber light. The place was unusually quiet and empty; otherwise, hardly anyone was around.
“Superman,” Barnes began, “you know we’ve asked you to help us test some of our latest weapons before. But I just wanted to let you know before we start, that our newer weapons have come a long way since then.”
“I understand that, General,” replied the stalwart Superman. “But there still hasn’t been a weapon made that can truly hurt me. While some of your most powerful weapons in the past have caused some discomfort… nothing much more than that.” He smiled confidently, taking pride in the fact that he indeed was a super-human being.
“That’s very true,” continued the General, “but I felt it best to give you one more chance to reconsider. We have no desire to put you in danger.”
“I appreciate that, General, but I’m quite sure there’s nothing to worry about,” said Superman. Though his keen sense of hearing picked up the sound of a restrained chuckle coming from the bigger soldier who had locked the door.
Just then, another alarm-knock was heard. An outside scanner revealed it was late-comer Jimmy Olsen, who was there to provide coverage of the event. He was brightly open-faced, red-haired, with some light freckling; about 24 years old, 6 feet tall, 180 pounds. The soldier went through a repeat process and unlocked the mechanism on the door. As soon as Jimmy was inside, he locked it again. Superman smiled and waved to Jimmy who was at-the-ready with his reporter’s pad and camera.
“Well, now that everyone is here, and you’re willing to go forward Superman, we can continue,” stated the General. “First, we’d like to try some of our hand-held combat weapons on you, if you are up for it.”
Superman smiled in agreement. Four soldiers from the sidelines readied themselves on one knee and aimed what looked to be standard issue rifles at the massive hero.
“These may look like regular rifles, however they have been modified with armor piercing bullets that project at speeds we never thought possible before,” stated the General. “Are you ready, Superman?”
“Yes,” smiled the hero. “Fire when ready”.
Once again, the larger soldier stepped forward and in a deep voice barked, “Ready, Aim…Fire!”
Four armor piercing bullets hit Superman simultaneously square on his chest. As expected, the bullets bounced off the Man of Steel and the General looked stunned. Though the hero had noticeably rocked a little on his feet.
“Superman, I am truly impressed,” he said. “A single one of those bullets put one of our tanks out of commission just this morning; and you stood there and took four at one time!!”
The slightly shaken superhero raised his brow, waved a hand, and said, “General, I have to admit, I wouldn’t be happy if these weapons got into the hands of criminals. I did feel quite a sting from that barrage! Caught me a bit off-guard.”
The General appeared to be studying Superman’s chest, then gasped a bit. “Superman, there appears to be a slight tear in your costume from the bullets!”
Superman looked down at the mound of his pecs and noticed that there was a tear where one of the bullets had bounced off. A look of concern washed over the Man of Steel’s face.
“Superman, I thought the aura which your body projects would protect your suit against fire, tears, and things of that nature! In fact, it is common knowledge that this aura should make your costume just as invulnerable as your super skin!”
“Well, General, that’s what I’ve been told as well. This type of thing has never happened before, unless in the presence of Kryptonite… and I certainly didn’t feel any debilitating effects of that here; so it can’t be due to that. But I guess it’s possible your technology is catching up with me.” He thoroughly scanned his shirt, and surprisingly noticed that beneath the tear, there was a small but visible scratch. He fingered at it lightly. “Hmmn, this will heal in no time,” he thought. Then: “General, we can continue with the tests if you like.”
Jimmy, too, had observed this, feeling some concern. Surely nothing could harm his idol!
“Are you sure you want to, Superman?” the General asked.
“Certainly! Like I’ve said before, there is some rare unpleasantness to testing your weapons, but being “invulnerable” protects me against permanent damage. Once back in a good dose of strong sunlight, I’m practically good as new. And any minor pains I might experience is well worth the good that will come from of these tests.”
“Okay, Superman, if you are certain, we can continue. Our next weapons to test are intended to knock out the communications and technology of our enemies. They are electric in nature. We feel that they hold the same punch as a bolt of lightning.”
Superman smiled. “I’ve flown through many electrical storms in my lifetime and been struck by lightning many times, so fire when ready!”
A soldier, holding a gun that looked like it had stepped out of a Star Wars movie, aimed it at Superman. Once again, the hulking soldier barked, “Ready, Aim, Fire…!”
A bolt of what could only be described as intense lighting shot from the barrel of the weapon, and hit Superman right in the abs. Superman’s eyes jolted wide, rolled back in his head, and then he buckled forwards. He tensed every muscle in his body to fight off the pain, but his knees began to bend… and try as hard as he might to stay standing, it was becoming harder and harder. The shots of lightning kept coming! He soon dropped to his knees, clenching his arms and hands in front of him, attempting to desperately block the rays from doing any more damage. The pain was beyond horrible—what he was feeling.
“Stop, stop!” the faltering MOS finally cried out. Shocked. And worse than woozy. The General also called for the armed soldier to stop—but the soldier instead looked to the soldier who had barked the order to fire for his cue. The hulkier soldier grimly nodded, and the firing soldier took his finger from the trigger.
When the bolting stopped, the debilitated Superman simply fell limply flat forwards and onto his face. A shock to everyone. A few garbled groans were heard. Jimmy wanted to rush forward to help, but felt constrained. They all stared. However, in about 20 seconds, the MOS immediately began to recoup and slowly got to his feet. Looking startled and exhausted, trying to recover, shake the cobwebs out of his head… dazed. And actually chagrined.
“Superman, are you OK?” the General asked.
“I-I—I’ll be fine in a moment, sir. That’s one powerful weapon you have there!” He glanced over and noticed that Jimmy was carefully reviewing the pictures he’d taken of the episode. “Jimmy, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t print those pictures for the Daily Planet. If criminals knew of this weapon, and acquired it, they might could put me out of commission long enough to pull off some serious heists.”
Jimmy nodded in agreement and hastily deleted the pictures. He’d do nothing to ever bring harm or disrespect to his pal, Superman!
“That’s enough testing for the day,” the General stated.
Superman replied, as if to pridefully re-prove himself, “But General, I’m fine.” Even with the unnerving, intense throbbings still deep in his just assaulted abdominals, putting a bold, covering face on his distress… “Please continue.”
“But Superman, that small tear in your uniform has started to unravel more, and it’s apparent that that last test has taken quite a bit out of you.”
“It certainly was more painful than any electrical storm I’ve ever flown through, but the earth’s sun revives my energy source quickly; and this dome with its clear ceiling is certainly letting enough sunlight through.”
Superman then uncharacteristically peeled off the shirt of his costume—having practically NEVER been known to bare his torso to strangers (especially due to the unusual, startling projections of his alien nipples, a sight to give anyone pause, considering as well the boldly, wide-thick muscle of which they adorned)—looking at the hole that was created with concern; and quite honestly a little fear…. His hand moved to his enormous pec and felt the soreness of the now darkening bruise and the welted mark the earlier bullet had put on him. His mind whirling: Is it possible the weapons being produced today may hinder my Man of Steel’s mission to fight for truth and justice? Is it possible that as technology increases, these weapons could eventually harm or destroy me?—Look at my uniform!!
He tried to push these thoughts from his mind as he prepared for the next test. Yet, kind of ego-proudly, not redonning his shirt… narcissistically allowing the sculpted “super-ness” of his physique to remain visible. (True, he’d almost never allowed his bare torso to be so seen publicly before. The largeness of his nipples alone, so well compressed in his shirt, now released… enough to cause audible gasps from most who might see him—each double the size of hugely elongated, thick olives! Not to mention the rich-thrust of his powerful pecs, darkly covered with a fine raft of hair… which he was equally ego-privileged to show. Wondering if even the “huge soldier” might now feel somewhat lesser, indeed.) However, these were military men; his “unassailable invulnerability” had been called into question. He couldn’t let anyone dare think he might be weakening, otherwise. And felt compelled to strut a little.
But one who’d truly not missed a thing was the quiet Jimmy Olsen, eyes and mind agog, seeing such strange and incredible things unfolding before him. Especially the sight of the bare-breasted Superman, giving him an instant hard-on. Something he had to get pictures of for later enjoyment, (and did so secretively)! Superman hearing the click of the shutters pretended not to notice, albeit charmed and pleased his friend was so enthralled at his nudity. He’d have to talk to him about that, later….
“The next and final weapons test for today is a hand-launched missile. These missiles are filled with exploding titanium shrapnel, and an “after,” trigger-released toxic gas. The titanium shrapnel is designed to break free on impact and embed itself into the target,” explained the General.
“Well, shrapnel of any type has never been an issue, and toxic gas has absolutely no effect on me, so please go ahead,” urged Superman.
As before, the much larger soldier gave the command, “Ready, Aim, Fire…!” The missile shot towards Superman. The thoughts of the last two tests were still running through his mind. Perhaps out of caution or desperation, he found himself using his x-ray vision to first find the detonating fuse, and then a quick blast of heat vision to disable it. He wasn’t quite sure why he did this as it couldn’t possibly hurt him—but he was taking no chances, not quite feeling his regular self…. The missile harmlessly bounced off his chest and fell to the floor. “Must have been a defective device,” he said to the General.
As Superman turned aside, bending over to pick it up, he heard “Ready, Aim, Fire!” and before he knew what hit him, another missile found its mark in the mid-small of his back. The pain alone of the missile strike was enough to cause an unmistakable very load moan from the invulnerable hunk. Upon impact the titanium shrapnel exploded and shockingly some pieces managed to embed themselves into the Man of Steel’s impenetrable skin. Superman winced, even cried out in pain as he tried reaching behind him to pull the shrapnel from his fine-curved buttocks and lower lat region. He couldn’t help notice that the large soldier was smugly smiling from ear to ear, seeming to enjoy the sight of seeing the hero hurt. Superman grittingly sought to tough through the pain as he yanked the last piece of shrapnel from his back. Alarmed also his costume again had been shredded. But alas, the gas was time-released, and just then it began to escape.
Jimmy gasped, frightened. This was surely a dangerous situation!
Superman was truly infuriated by the response of the soldier. In order to show him his superiority, rather than just withstand the toxic gas, he decided to inhale it with his super lungs (as he had done so many other times to save Jimmy and Lois from certain peril). He began sucking the noxious gas into his lungs which could typically filter such toxins, making his exhale purified. But—something was different this time. Inexplicably, his throat and lungs began to severely burn from the toxicity. He continued to inhale it although the pain was getting worse. The General and soldiers watched in amazement. The large soldier’s smile seemed to disappear as the Man of Steel finished this Herculean feat. Superman held the toxins in, but could feel them trying to escape, and was himself weakening. Was it possible this new gas was resistant to the normal filtering power of his lungs? His great strength and ability wavering. Crumbling. Once more to his knees.
His eyes widened as he felt himself losing the ability to hold his breath. The failing superhero who could normally hold his breath almost indefinitely began expelling the toxic fumes back into the room. His own brain going crazy, and on the verge of blanking out completely. A small squad of masked soldiers in the wings, for just such an “in case” moment, hurried next to the failing superhero, and sucked up the expelled gas with several devices. Superman, after a few tense moments, breathing heavily, finally stood. But rather than his heroic stance, he was shaking, his mighty shoulders curved down. He had been defeated, stunned, and he knew it.
Almost stuttering, red-faced, “I’m, uh… sorry. I, I seem to have failed you, General.”
“You didn’t fail us, Superman. I’m amazed at the technology of our departments. They seem to have been able to come up with weapons to rival even those powers of yours! Your secret is safe with us, Superman.”
But the MOS looked even more dejected hearing this from the General.
The large soldier said, with a cloaked edge, “General, aren’t you going to ask our guest to try to break out of our locked facility?”
“I think we’ve tested Superman enough today, Captain,” answered the General.
Superman responded, “General, your weapons may have given me a run for my money, but there has never been a jail strong enough to hold me, and there will never be!” He, of course, had to rebolster his confidence. Reassert himself. Superman went over to the door-mechanism and began to assess the situation.
“That mechanism was designed by a scientist who is no longer with us. It is a three feet thick section of metal secured with locking devices made of the same material,” the General informed him. Superman appeared to be x-raying the door. He continued, paused, looking at the floor rubbing his eyes, and then tried again.
“What’s the matter Superman,” asked the General, “can’t you see through it?”
“No, I can’t General; it must be lead-lined.”
“I assure you, Superman, a door of that sort should not possibly contain lead.”
“I don’t understand it,” Superman said. “But I’m sorry to say that the money you spent on that mechanism will be lost in a moment.” He stepped back and leaning his neck forward, he fired an intense beam of heat vision at the mechanism of the door. For a full two minutes he focused as intense a stream as he could at the mechanism. It wouldn’t budge. He had NEVER had to continually use his heat vision for that amount of time before, usually a quick blast or two was all that was necessary. In fact, he had to stop—
the intensity of his efforts was making him quite dizzy, unusually light-headed. Trying to disguise how desperately he needed to catch his breath, regain his senses, he went over to examine the door only to find that there wasn’t even a nick in it.
The large soldier exclaimed, “Imagine that, developing a metal that can resist even the famous Superman!!”
“We’ll just see about that,” said Superman, rather pissed at the man’s arrogance… and hurled himself at full speed toward the door. He hit the door with powerful jolt—and shockingly bounced backwards, skid-landing on the floor nearly ten feet away. He felt as if he’d been KO’d with a sledgehammer. Totally grogged. Not to mention crimson-faced.
At this point, the hero was unexplainably exhausted, embarrassed, and quite honestly… feeling drained beyond normal. “General, I have to say that this has been quite a day for me. I, I’d appreciate it—if you and your men… keeping this “our little secret.” Fortunately for me, the door is the only part of this building made of that metal, so I could escape if I wanted to. But I should be on my way.”
“Yes, Superman, we know we couldn’t hold you if we wanted to,” answered the General. “Since it will take about three minutes to deactivate the lock, in the meantime we’ll slide a skylight panel open for you!”
Superman smiled and looked up, towards the opening of the panel. Grasping up his previously discarded shirt, holding it limply in his hands, awkwardly wanting to depart quickly before putting it on, he shyly began making a slow rise to the sky, and focused back to wave goodbye to the soldiers and Jimmy.
Unbeknownst to him, the large soldier pressed another button, and was cleverly re-closing the skylight. Just as the MOS had expected to exit, he hit it hard—cracking his head, bounced off of the unbreakable glass… tumbling back to earth, in a staggered, warp-like spin, disoriented, hitting the floor with a thud. Even Jimmy Olsen had his mouth hanging open, taking notes and pictures as inconspicuously as possible. Wanted to run to assist his somehow depowered friend; but held back again, waiting in wonderment.
“Guess it just hasn’t been my day,” the awed MOS said with a frayed smile, rising unsteadily to his feet. His head and senses worse than clouded. Clearly addled.
“I’m not sure what happened there, Superman, but shouldn’t you have just been able to smash through?” asked the General.
Superman agreed with a nod, and a confused look. The large soldier suddenly interjected and said, “The unlocking mechanism still has two minutes to go. Perhaps while she’s waiting, Miss Big-Tits could “demonstrate” breaking out of our new restraints?”
The nasty remark did not go unnoticed, but the miffed hero stonily refused to acknowledge it. Even the General, as if he wished to ignore it.
“Superman, you have every right to decline after the day you’ve had,” said the General. “You must be exhausted.”
“General Barnes, you and I both know you could never make me do anything I wouldn’t accept; but I’d be more than happy to break out of your restraints!” His response was the result of still feeling weirdly inadequate, and of a mystified failure—yet with a strong demand to reassert and re-prove himself. Surely, he wasn’t called “the Man of Steel” for nothing! Nor ‘Miss Big-Tits’ (of which he very crazily enjoyed, proudly and privately)—as some sort of public assault and disparagement on his unalterable masculinity!! That soldier needed to be put in his place! And NOW!!
The larger soldier brusquely took Superman’s right arm with a demeaning jerk, and put it into a titanium-looking cuff, attached at the end of a chain fastened into the wall. He manipulated Superman to his left and insolently put his left arm in a similar cuff. He closed the cuffs tightly giving them one more push. A queasy feeling washed through Superman…. What if these cuffs were made of the same material as the door? But for him, it should still be no problem; and he began to pull on the cuffs, though startlingly with no success. He turned his head and shot a beam of heat vision at the chain, and again no luck. With an urgent but still disguised panic, he even tried to float-rise, take flight to get out of them, and was easily pulled right back to earth. The chains were mounted into a wall that looked like the same material as the door. Hard and secure.
“I-uh, I guess you got me, again,” Superman conceded, more than sheepishly to the General… avoiding eye contact with the gloating monolith of the soldier who had contained him. “Please release me so I can get back to protecting Metropolis,” sounding as if an almost wimpish request. Flushing red, involuntarily. Thoroughly agitated and flustered… Jimmy could tell. (The most powerful man in the universe asking to be “released?!”)
The mighty Man of Steel was experiencing feelings like he’d never had before. Uncertain of his future with weaponry that could actually hurt him, mixed with the realized fear of his now vulnerability to them, gave him a sick feeling in his stomach! Injured by bullets, electricity, shrapnel and gas, combined with his inability to escape through the door, the skylight window, and now mere handcuffs!!—actually made him tremble slightly as he stood there… shirtless, with both hugely muscled arms extended outwards to his sides, and cuffed by unbreakable restraints. It was worse than demeaning. Never in his life!!
Yet still inherently proud, he narcissistically bounced his pecs boldly a few times—flexing them to feel the power he was sure was still there. Making a notable display that he was no weakling to all who could see… yet sharply aware he was confined, and an actual literal prisoner.
“Release those cuffs at once, soldier,” said the General to the muscular soldier.
The soldier smirked as he sauntered towards the Man of Steel with key in hand. As he passed the General, he however then turned quickly and jabbed a heretofore hidden hypodermic needle into his neck, and the General with a strangled yelp dropped to the floor. Dutiful “soldiers” from the sidelines, quickly appeared, and dragged the General’s form out of view.
Jimmy nearly jumped out of his skin, withdrawing himself as far as he could. What kind of betrayal was this?!
“What are you doing, Soldier?!” demanded the surprised, disabled Superman— knowing something unimaginable was about to unfold.
“You’re in no position to question anything, Super-wuss! And you can’t do anything about it, can you?” answered the hulking soldier, with acidic aplomb. “You see, Superman, I’ve been hired by Lex Luthor to assure that you will no longer meddle in his business. And for the money he’s given me, I’m going to make sure I don’t fail!”
“When I get free from these cuffs, you’ll be sorry you ever crossed me,” Superman said. “Much less the military!”
“And again, I say to you, “Queer-Nips,” you’re no longer in any position to make such threats,” reinforced the soldier. “Nor will be, from now on!”
Flaming red with insult and anger, Superman pulled with all of his inexplicably pared strength against his restraints, but they would not budge. He was determined to break free, but was not even bending the chains that held him. He felt even more vulnerable standing there shirtless, wearing only his yellow belt, lower blues, red tights and boots. Struck with a deep and mortalizing fear… his overly large nipples now notably erect and outstanding in the cold. This could not be!! As if involuntarily surging forth to suddenly come to his aid.
(For this was a very intrinsic part of his alien-secret capabilities, now horribly exposed: his manly large breasts, from which he had to nurse from daily to maintain his incredible super-strength! His ability to do so, NEVER to be restrained or curtailed from… any more than he dare not be kept from the savor of his own life-giving male seed—as much as he must also not be kept from absorbing the solar-generating powers of the sun into his system!! For, if bound, and he were soon removed to or kept in a confined darkness, it could spell his doom. Or, if restrained from allowing the flexibility of his body to enable him to partake of, and/or regenerate himself… it would also assure his extermination. He had a genuine right to be frightened! Bordering on pure terror. Not him! Earth’s Champion! Bound, immobilized, restrained?!)
And to have been ensnared so simply, made a captive in broad daylight, was another shocking jolt to his system.
“You’ll probably be surprised to find that those cuffs you’re wearing are not made of any indestructible metal, Superman,” the soldier went on. “They are simply heavy-duty chains that could normally be broken by you.”
“That’s impossible,” exclaimed Superman. “I can’t even budge them.”
“Here, I’ll show you,” sneered the cocky soldier. He took an extra length of the chain that hung down from the wall between his hands and began pulling it. His biceps bulged tight against his uniform shirt and the chain began to give way. In about 30 seconds, the muscleman was standing there holding two pieces of chain in his hand. Superman was stupefied. He had tried with all his might to muscle out of those chains to no avail. And he wasn’t feeling the normal sickness he would get when exposed to even low levels of Kryptonite.
“So, so—what have you done to me,” asked Superman. “If not Kryptonite?”
The soldier replied, “It’s not so much what we did to you, it’s what we didn’t let happen to you. You see, the same professor that designed the unbreakable locking mechanism on the door also created the glass that’s in this dome. You have been deprived of the yellow sun rays that recharge and give your body its superior powers and invulnerability.”
“You must be crazy,” replied the Man of Steel. “There are no yellow rays at nighttime, and I’ve never lost my powers then. In fact, my last test for the army was at night! And didn’t I just recently rise into the skylight?”
“That’s where you’re unclear, Superman. That special glass not only blocks out the yellow portion of the rays, but converts the light into red rays. We all know that when you are exposed to red rays, your powers gradually wane and are lost,” gloated the soldier. “In fact, we’ve learned something else recently, Superman. It appears that the power loss from this type of exposure is more permanent than that of regular Kryptonite (which can still kill you, quick enough.) Yet, you are still a powerful being with abilities that escape most of us; but gradually, once you’ve been here long enough to neutralize all your powers, and within a short space of time… they will be lost forever. Even if still alive.”
Jimmy, no less, was absorbing this all like a sponge, concerned for the safety of his friend. That someone this evil had dared corner and “capture” his hero was unthinkable. The thoughts also of capturing this on film was as discarded as his now forgotten camera.
“I don’t believe you, Soldier. So why not just stop this game—whatever is in these cuffs—let me go, and we’ll see who’s the strong one,” answered Superman.
“I could let you loose, Superman, yet I’m quite certain you couldn’t escape even if you tried. But I’m not willing to take that chance, right now. Though I am willing to bet that your heat vision is a thing of the past. Just like your Tinker Bell wafting from the air was. I saw how you concentrated that steady surge at the locked door. And when you focused a beam at these chains which you can’t break, it didn’t melt them, either!” he chuckled. “I was counting on you using up your dwindling reserves for the door, and it worked! The more you try, the weaker you get.”
“We’ll just see about that!” retorted Superman, as he focused on the soldier’s chest. But, Fzzzztt… and nothing!! Superman was shocked. The heat vision that was as much a part of his life and easily used as the act of breathing was gone!! He blinked a
few times and tried it again. Once again, nothing. The hulking soldier began to laugh as did all of his henchmen posing as soldiers.
“It appears you’ve scored another one…” said the discomfited Superman. More than alarmed.
Jimmy clenched his teeth and fists in frustration. This was too impossible! Not Superman, deprived of all his might and powers!!
“I win, period!” said the soldier. “Pussy-fuck!! All you’re good for now…. Wonder how much your fag “boys” will be missing you? No longer the Big Blue topper—soon just a wailing, wilted bottom!”
This too, shocked Jimmy. Never had there been such an allegation that Superman was gay! (Although he could wish it were true, ahem.) Maybe that’s why he’d had such a man-crush on him forever. And after seeing those huge naked pecs of his, had made him more than weak in the knees! (But sensing also the mighty Superman had been more than proud to strut his stuff, too! Could it be…? The epitome of masculinity—and he wanting to be in his arms. And in his bed.) But he, himself wasn’t gay, either. Had never indulged. Wondering if it were true—who had the MOS plundered regularly? Or was this all garbage and nonsense? Nasty talk, like criminals do. Though Jimmy realized his own being in the closet was forever painful, nonetheless. And whatever Superman did privately would no doubt always have been private anyway.
Then the soldier casually walked up to the Man of Steel, and cocked back his fist ready to fire a powerful shot into the hero’s face—when Jimmy Olson suddenly jumped onto his back. The captain simply shrugged, took the fist he had readied for Superman, held it straight up, and fired it into Jimmy’s head. Jimmy fell to the floor in a heap, dazed.
“You arrogant bastard!” Superman yelled at the soldier.
“And what’re you gonna do about it, Soupy-man?” the soldier chuckled. “Wimp Dick!”
Superman looked awkwardly to the floor. He felt acute shame, not being able, the might of his musculature contained… useless to help his pal.
“I’ve been waiting half my life to do this,” said the soldier, as he again cocked back his right fist, and blasted it into Superman, whose head went jerking to the side. The man who a few hours ago could catch bullets in his teeth without as much as a flinch was sent reeling from the punch. Never willing to back down, steeling himself for further abuse, Superman’s head turned right back with a look of fury. The soldier hit him with a left, and once again Superman’s head whipped to the side and came back, but more slowly.
“Perhaps I miscalculated how weak you should be right now,” said the soldier. “I thought two of punches from my huge guns would have knocked you out.” The soldier paused to strike a front double biceps pose, his arm muscles straining against the uniform. As he mounded even harder, Jimmy was amazed, and the startled Superman, could both see and hear the sound of ripping cloth as the sleeves of the uniform began to split and shred just from his flexing! Superman from the beginning had noticed he was a large man. But it was not until just now, he realized his depowered situation made him far more vulnerable than ever before, recognizing how big and developed the soldier actually was. He, in fact, made Superman look small—a packed Mr. Olympia, fifty pounds beyond his own honed, but very muscular, lesser physique—and his no doubt 23 ½” arms besting the crown jewels of the Man of Steel’s mighty 22’s. Un-nerving him, to say the least.
“Time for night-night, Superman,” the soldier sneered as he took his large hands and wrapped them around Superman’s throat. “If my fists won’t do it, this surely will!”
Superman grimaced defiantly one last moment, thinking he could outlast the man’s grip by holding his breath. However, as the strong hands closed, it wasn’t long until he felt himself actually going all out swirly, light-headed… brain-wavering helplessly, knowing what was happening, he began to squirm and tried valiantly to pull free from the clutches of the soldier. He attempted one more shot of heat vision, hoping that it had somehow came back, but to no avail. His senses failed, his vision blurred, and he faded into darkness. The man had successfully sealed off his carotids, vanquishing him completely.
He fell into an unalterable darkness. Every system curtailed. While he was out, both he and Jimmy were moved into another area, where he was re-chained in a similar place… as helpless as before. A definite cell.
To be continued…
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