Keep It Simple
Moderately edited and enhanced by Rick Henry, 02-2022
Some characters owned by D.C. Comics. This is fan fiction of an erotic nature, for mature readers only.
Chapter 5: Swing Batter Batter
The day of the grand opening finally came and everything had been ready two days prior. Luthor’s security detail knew to back off and give Lex some space so as to make the whole event a little more believable without several bodybuilders in tailored suits inches away from my target. David had wanted to take my place instead of risking everything not going as planned, and seeing me get in trouble. It was sweet that he was worried about how much I had to potentially lose if this didn’t go well. But I had been the one to make the wager with Mr. Luthor, so in the end I had to be the one to prove that I could do what I had claimed.
The street was crowded with people eager to see the new medical complex, and it didn’t hurt that Luthor had managed to practically make a festival out of the whole day. Food and oddity vendors lined the street leading up to the newly finished building. There were still scaffolds and odd construction equipment that had to be hastily pushed aside to make the complex accessible to the public for tours of the in-progress building. When Luthor put his mind to something he didn’t do anything half-assed. There was every manner of medical service imaginable made available in the Luthor Medical Campus. From an expansive children’s ward to a new ward for mental patients that even put Belle Reve to shame (especially with the recent uproar of dissent concerning Belle Reve’s controversial treatment methods and ineffective security). The crowd was pretty excited anticipating the grand ribbon cutting ceremony. Finally Luthor came to the podium set up on the wide marble staircase, and cleared his throat in the microphone.
I felt that too familiar hitch in my stomach when he stepped from the grand glass doors, the bright sun gleaming off of his head that was as smooth as the steps he stood on. He wore a soft black suit with a royal-rich shirt, a crimson and blue stripped tie. (Somewhat marking the colors of his soon to be shattered conquest.) The contrast against his skin made me gasp, my whole body feeling a shudder of lust as he smoothed the lapels of his jacket over his broad curved chest. I came to my senses, realizing that David was leaning over me giving me a concerned frown. I shook my head, “I’m fine, I’m okay. You just keep an eye out for Superman, in case he doesn’t go for his theatrical norm.”
Of course, Superman being the predictable showboat, opted for the grand entrance. Just as Lex finished his moving speech about the deplorable conditions that were fast becoming commonplace in Metropolis, Superman swooped in like a rocket above the hospital. Superman stopped his flight so suddenly he caused a gust to blow over the first several rows of the festive crowd. This caused his cape to unfurl and wave in the wind like a flag. I was surprised at the mixed enthusiasm of the crowd as Superman slowly floated down to stand next to Luthor at the podium. Most cheered and screamed emphatically. However, there was a discernable amount that ranged from giving half-hearted golf claps to looking downright annoyed that the spandex savior of mankind had even shown up.
I heard David gushing “Look at him! He’s even wearing his ceremonial costume, so damned hot!” I had learned through David’s borderline unhealthy obsession with Superman that the superhero actually had several different costumes with mostly subtle differences, for different occasions, in addition to the traditional one he normally wore to save the world. David thought it was great and practically ejaculated all over the pictures he’d found of the varied costumes. Heartfully intent on my purpose, I instead thought it just made him look like a huge queen. I mean honestly, a superhero with event-specific wardrobe changes? Even Batman wasn’t that gay, and he has a houseboy.
The ceremonial costume was one of the more noticeably different costumes in Superman’s repertoire. The cape was much longer, actually dragging the floor behind him when he walked and was thicker, like velvet. The blue and red of his costume were toned darker, and the famous red briefs were cut higher in the leg. It might have been from my viewpoint, but it also looked like the superhero’s usually prominent crotch was even more pronounced than usual. Superman shook Mr. Luthor’s hand, and in that moment, Mr. Luthor’s face melted like butter into a broad smile of welcome. I felt what appeared could only be called a meeting of kindred spirits. Spending my whole life in the corporate world, I could spot the “businessman’s smile” from across the globe; but Lex was good, looking like he couldn’t be happier to be greeted by Superman. Now that I think about it, knowing what was coming probably added some authenticity to that beaming smile.
David nudged me as Superman took his place at the microphone. “Ok, that’s you,” he needlessly whispered. I quickly drank a pouch of Athletech’s unreleased XN*Hance sport drink. The FDA was being all squeamish about some of the questionable ingredients that weren’t familiar. I didn’t see why they made such a stink about it; it was amazing, pumped you up, and made you feel like you could take on the world. I was aware of all of my muscle groups, could feel every stretch and flex in my body, and my stamina was multiplied exponentially. The best part was there was no crash when it wore off after a few hours. When I drank it before I worked out at the hotel gym, or went on my morning run, my performance showed amazing improvement. Nothing astronomical mind you, but it’s a great feeling when you can add those extra plates to the bench press. Or your balls suddenly tingle unexpectedly.
I felt the familiar tings in my fingertips as the sports drink started to work its way through my system. David kissed me hard enough to make me moan. David’s kiss made me discover another property of XN*Hance; it felt like every nerve in my body came alive when David kissed me, and I felt like even my chest hair was standing up by the time he let me go. David gave me another crooked baby face smile as I flipped my hood up and winked at him, before gripping the baseball bat and fixing an angry scowl on my face.
David had decided to add flash to this whole production, and covered the bat in chrome paint as the last touch to his masterpiece. I twisted my wrist for a final check as I approached the front of the crowd from the left. The top half of the bat split open and two panels rose up slightly letting a bright light shine through the cracks. The light faded between green and blue in a steady rhythm. Satisfied, I twitched my wrist again and the panels slid shut, concealing the light and resembling a regular, if shiny baseball bat once again.
I came to the staircase from around Luthor’s conspicuously parked limousine, the only car that had been permitted in the first parking lot of the complex. I raised my arm, pointed my chrome bat at the podium, and took a deep breath as Superman trailed off speaking, and noticed me standing there with my face in a twisted mask of rage.
“LUTHOR!” I took the first two steps, still holding the bat pointed up. I let my hand tremor a little for effect. “You owe a debt, Luthor! And no fancy hospital is gonna slime the way out of it for you!”
Superman took a step between me and Luthor, raising his hands in an attempted calming back-up gesture as I took two more steps up, now only three away from the large first landing leading to the hospital doors. I spit at Superman, wet-hitting the proud “S” shield.
“Fuck you! Luthor’s little faggot puppet! You stand up here with him, you’re just as bad! You know what he’s done? Do you know what he’s even doing now? While you stand there shaking his fucking hand?”
Superman kept trying to calm me down and came closer to the steps. I backed down a step as he spoke. “Trust me, I know better than most that Luthor will never be called a saint, but—.”
I saw Luthor standing behind Superman, his attempt at contempt as he looked down at me, broken by a smile for a brief second as I flew into a rage. “A saint? Called a fucking saint?!?” I tensed my leg and leapt up the wide stairs two at a time until I was on the platform. I saw Superman’s eyes widen for a second at my unexpected athleticism. He stepped to the side blocking my way to Luthor. “And you still protect him?”
Superman let out a weary sigh, “All citizens—.” He broke off as I gripped the bat to swing at him, looking at me with the eyes of someone who’s seen way too many stupid street thugs try the same thing.
As I swung the bat straight for Superman’s abs, he even had the gall to assume the hokey fists-on-hips pose for the news cameras. Pompous prick couldn’t help himself, I guess. I twitched my grip on the base of the bat, sliding the panels up seconds before I made contact. Superman’s open-eyed confusion in that split second he got to sudden-see the glowing lights in the bat was a priceless Kodak moment. The bat smacked Superman’s obliques with a sick thud.
Superman wheezed and crumpled to his knees immediately. I’ll admit the sight sent a powerful surge through my body, and I was happy David’s hoodie hit my thighs and hid the spontaneous erection I got seeing the superhero poster child on his knees clutching his side. I swung the bat again smacking Superman in his perfectly square right jaw making his head snap back. Superman rocked back and forwards, and I could see he was unsteady even on his knees. The crowd was silent watching their hero get ruined right on the marble steps to a hospital—the irony was fantastic. I heard some incredulous exclamations of, “That guy’s fucking up Superman!” I swung the bat again. This time smashing Superman’s left cheek and sending him groaning to all fours. Every time the bat connected with skin a green glowing residue was left behind only for a second before it faded.
There was also blood.
Superman struggled to stand with one hand holding his wrecked jaw. Trickles of red between his fingers. A look of true deep fear present in his eyes—as well as stunned disbelief. I grinned as he finally got both feet on the ground, before I swung the bat one-handed this time… dinging off his right temple, sending the stumbling superhero into a lopsided spin in an attempt to avoid stepping on his dragging cape. Some of the onlookers who had been less than enthusiastic about Superman’s arrival now found something to cheer about as I continued tormenting the punch drunk hero.
I then let my fencing skills come out, deciding to take a moment to show-off. If it was good enough for Superman, it was good enough for me. Maybe that’s the root of those extravagant supervillain schemes I’d so often scorned.
I held the bat like a rapier, and started jabbing Superman with the end of the bat, getting faster with every hit. Jabbing the bat into his shoulder, his chest, feeling a twitch in my groin every time he grunted, doubling over from a hard poke into his abs. The prominent bulge in Superman’s trunks was quite the distraction… swinging freely with every off-balanced step and lurch, as I guided him in circles with swings and jabs of my weapon. My cock throbbed as I kept smacking the bat into Superman—focusing on his head, which had him fading fast with every new hard strike against him, and every blunt jab into his forehead and nose, that kept his head rocking back and forth like a dashboard ornament. I finally grew bored of the one-sided beating, which had consisted of Superman’s desperate, stuttered tries to reason with me—interrupted by savage cracks and thumps, as I beat him with the bat… until it was really just him backing away from me in a circle, with his battered arms up, feebly trying to protect himself.
Finally, in what might be considered using the last shreds of his sense, his legs gathering for a desperate leap of escape—I nailed a homerun slam into his loaded basket. His muscular mass and screamed gargle, frozen of an instant. A collective “Oooooh” rose from the crowd close enough to see what was going on. Superman dropped like jello on the landing, his long cape off to the side fluttering on the stairs as he cradled his damaged bulge. Insensately moaning. I then spun the bat around and RAMMED the end of it into Superman’s temple, a dull spike pinning his head to the ground, and making spider web cracks show in the pavement underneath.
Superman’s voice, barely more than a sob. “Mercy, my—ohhh, God! Oh, why, please!! Why… are you… doing—?!” As if any answer could save him.
I grinned under my oversized hood out at the news cameras filming Superman getting his ass kicked on Luthor steps, before I looked down at the simpering superhero. “People make you out to be a lot tougher than you actually are. And I really hate undeserved hype!”
Superman squirmed, and I pounded the bat into his head again. “So, so this, this —just to show… you could, you can? With, with the Kryptonite…?” his crushed defeat all through him. Pain-drugged, near senseless.
I shrugged and ground the bat against Superman’s temple like a mortar and pestle “Yeah, I like to keep it simple.”
I slammed the bat one more time, spreading the spider web cracks, and leaned forward looking down at Superman’s eyes as they glazed and started to flutter. Good as dead in the water. Wimped, and powerless.
I replaced the bat pinning Superman’s head to the ground with my foot, as I leaned forward grabbing a fistful of his trunks and yanked them hard—wedging the red briefs into a thong splitting the super ass into two beautiful blue globes. I grabbed his cape, flipping it over his head, and dragged him with it like a leash showing off his wedged ass to all the crowd and cameras. I approached the podium and pointed my bat at Lex, still remembering my role.
“Don’t you fucking move!” I snarled, before turning to the microphone. “This is what happens when figures of trust and morality betray those they are supposed to serve and protect!” I swatted Superman’s curved ass with the bat, who gave a sharp wailed, “Uhhh-ahhhhHH!” wan and broken… mesmerized as the full round cheeks rippled well after my bat made contact, like a drop in a lake, seeming it would never stop. I smacked his right ass cheek then, getting the same sharp cry, and same tantalizing shudder throughout the meaty buttock.
I rotated the bat, letting the open panel scrub against Superman’s perineum and testicles, making the all but unconscious superhero weakly writhe and buck pathetically on the ground—his head held up by my grip on his miles of ceremonial cape. Coincidentally, it looked to the crowd as if Superman was actually humping his ass against my bat, and got a plethora of disgusted faces as Superman whored himself in front of nearly the entire city.
“You’ve really fucked us, Superman,” I said, as I continued to administer blinding pain against Superman’s ass and balls, while making him look like a horny slut who had just gotten his spandex clad ass kicked by a regular person. “Now I think it’s time this city started fucking you back.” And as I said ‘fuck you back,’ I let the bat lazily sling heavily into Superman’s balls, making him arch his ass up and man-shriek anew, muffled by the cape hanging over his face.
At this point, Luthor made a show of attempting to surprise me. I raised the bat, wheeling to face him, and he blanched back. “Don’t fucking test me!” I then cool-turned back to Superman and yanked him to his feet, my arms bulging with the strain of pulling up the hero’s massive, fumbling weight.
When he at last wobbly stood, Superman looked like a feather would knock him over, trying to focus, as if not knowing who or where he was. I decided a little overkill was necessary, and swung the bat as hard as I could at an upward angle like a golf club. My swing caught Superman square on the chin and his head snapped back as if from a vicious uppercut. His body, running purely on muscle memory, foundered back, his eyes showing white—the moment I had been waiting for happened. Superman staggered on his cape, tripping over the yards of fabric and he fell back, tumbling in a tangle of boots and tights and cape, heels over head down the marble steps… crashing at the bottom, his cape wrapped around his left arm and torso, his legs still propped up on the stairs sprawled wide, his ass tightly clenching his wedged trunks—out for the count.
I turned after watching Superman’s tumble from grace into complete and utter vanquishment, and suddenly whipped the bat at Luthor’s leg, barely nudging his kneecap (in truth). But Lex played his part beautifully, shouting in pain and faltering on the leg that I had just “hit.”
“Get in the fucking limo!” I growled at him, close enough for the microphone to catch my voice. I nudged Luthor with the bat as he hobbled down the stairs toward the limousine. I grabbed onto the inert Superman by the back of his shirt and bunched cape to drag him to the limo, as well. I jabbed Luthor again as he slid into the seat, and grabbed Superman by his hair and belt, yanking even more of his trunks up his perfect ass to toss his carcass unceremoniously onto the bench opposite Luthor. David had sneaked into the limo driver’s seat while everyone was struck watching the astounding beating, which had ended Superman’s career as an idolized, “invincible” alien. (And most likely his life, too.) As soon as I sat down next to Luthor and closed the door, he surprise kissed me deeper than he ever had in our infamous sessions of torturous post-meeting teasing.
David looked askance a moment in the rearview mirror, but finally shrugged, accepting it. Tightened his jaw, and drove on. Their collectively acquired treasure in the back, now impotent—soon to be thoroughly plundered.
Still on fire from the energy drink, I moaned aloud, muffled by Lex’s full lips claiming my own. He finally broke the kiss when I thought I was going to happily suffocate. He nuzzled my neck, licking my pulse, “That was so… so hot, for lack of a better term.” He chuckled, his voice low and heavy. I tossed the bat on Superman’s back, panels still open, letting the Kryptonite light slow-pulse over our prone prized bull. (Keeping him down, and ever out of the realm of even a faint recovery….) Luthor’s hand slid along my inner thigh as he let his lips graze over my neck. I sighed, slowly tilting my head, opening more of my neck to Luthor’s firm lips, every brush on my skin was like sparks going straight down my spine to my cock.
I started to unzip David’s oversized hoodie, but Luthor stopped me pulling my hand away. He unzipped the hoodie for me, humming against my skin as he kissed his way to my collarbone. He pushed the hoodie back over my shoulders until it trapped my arms behind me. I was now in a tank top and baggy sweat pants, having gone commando, the tent in my sweats painfully obvious.
Luthor kept massaging my inner thigh, ignoring my erection as he kissed down and breath-warmed over my nipples through the thin tank top. My body bucked and I moaned out again, my already sensitive nubs sent into overdrive. “You like that XN*Hance don’t you?” The lust in his voice was thick, weighted with everything he said. Luthor gently sucked at my nipple as I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I bucked again and whimpered, his teeth alternately soft tugging at my diamond tips. My own hands and mouth eager to get onto his own.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses on my lips, as he grabbed my turgid member through my sweatpants and gently squeezed. “Soon. Very soon….” He let go of my cock which throbbed angrily in its cotton cell. Superman’s head hung limply off the seat, bouncing with every bump in the road as David drove. Luthor toe-kicked at the de-manned Superman savagely in the head with a laugh, who made not a sound. Then put his arm around my shoulders, absently stroking my abs as we headed to Luthor Manor. My head curled into his chest.
Thx for the update !
This was one of my favorite all-time stories from the previous SupermanEroticStories site. So well thought out, so well and expressively written. I hardly had to do too much to it, just tweak it to a better perfection. Sure wish I could find more stories by this author. It was intelligent, erotic, and the mix was superb: taking down our hero in a very unusually “dethroning,” but super-stimulating way. I, for one, as a Superman fan, absolutely craved there might be a way for the MOS to recover. But it appears that it will not be, and our hero will alas be terminated — or abused into a mindless oblivion, until he is no longer able to think or breathe. “Conquest of the Mighty”… by the far, far lesser, though astutely more clever and unexpected persons and means.