“Make sure to capture that physique from all angles,” she instructed the man. “Especially when he swirls away that cape from the front. Our readers like to be viewing “the unearthly.” Though there are others, just as fine, we’ve heard….” adding that last snide bit, an acerbic touché—knowing indeed what the costume contained. “Few, though, as him, so publicly blatant about it!”

The MOS flushed unexpectedly. Making a note that perhaps it was time for him to figure out an alternative attire. He was a married man; considering he should discuss it with Lois. He frowned, piqued, but decided to be his regular cordial self.

“Well, nice to see you, Ms. Grant. But I can assure you that this is just a routine follow-up. No citizen in this fair city of ours should be the victim of any crime. Even Mr. Luthor.”

“So you vow not to come to blows? You two have a volatile history.”

“I’m sure he’ll be docile as a kitten,” the knowing Lex chided.

“I assure you and all of your loyal readers, Ms. Grant, that Lex is not the target of my “righteous indignation,” at the moment. He is the victim here, after all.”

Luthor was giddy as a school boy on the inside, still wearing his stoic expression to mask his glee as he nodded at one of his goons, who opened the door to his office… but casually wave-ushered the blonde bombshell, and her camera wielding sidekick aside, to a less private space down the hall.

The two foes walked into Lex’s domain—Superman instantly felt a wave of unexpected dizziness sweep over him, and macho-like coveringly ignored it, quickly seeking the sanctuary of a deep cordovan leather couch to ponder the odd strangeness, his legs suddenly weakening, trying to be attentive, and hear Luthor present his problem. Not realizing in a too soon coming terrified moment, “the problem” was shatteringly to be himself!

The faint Kryptonite aerosol released into the air on his arrival already taking him down. Or, at the least, mildly decommissioning him from too much capable activity.

—————————————-

Back at the safe house, the young men had laid aside the amulets, each of them containing the powdery green substance, which was to depower the MOS on his arrival, and relaxed. They were momentarily to do nothing, except tidy up the place, awaiting the fateful call their man was on his way to his containment. They indeed checked over the piercing equipment they were to use, and the ball-heavy padlocks soon to be inserted into the MOS overly huge tits—once they had him down and out. Dang, they must be weighing a good full pound apiece. If he didn’t have big nipples before, he sure would after wearing these clunkers a couple of months.

They tested them to make sure the locks worked. Wondering if he even might try to laser-vision them off, but didn’t think he could, too close to his chest, and thus sear through his own milker’s assets worse than bad. Knowing for sure, he’d have a hell of a time trying to conceal these freaky things dangling from his wide-muscled pecs, in or out of his costume … making him fully aware Luthor owned him, and held the keys to his release.

At last the call came, startling them. He should be there in twenty minutes. Thus, as instructed, they stripped down and slathered over each other as much of the powder as possible onto their well-muscled and largely endowed naked flesh up to their necks. But not their faces. Practically becoming more than aroused at their equal closenesses, but had to curb their desires. This was business, and had to be kept strictly as such; for the moment. They also had no idea the substance was actually lethal Kryptonite, just had been told it was some mineral that the alien had an adverse reaction to, could render him temporarily unable to use his great strength, and were blissfully unaware of the possible side effects.

All they knew was that it would get them forty grand each from Lex, and for the two of them facing huge financial debts, it was an offer too good to refuse. They could suck/fuck each other later… as usual. After they had raped and humiliated the MOS.

All filmed on the installed cameras, of course. Then bind him, hood him, lock off his nipples, and call for Lex’s goons to come and pick him up in a van. What was to happen afterwards they had no idea. But fucking the mighty Man of Steel was an idea beyond intoxicating. And these two young studs were going to do the long-dreamed-of, long-imagined impossible! Turning Mr. Fly and Mighty (the world’s unassailable Big Blue Boy Scout wonder), into the long-suspected, “suck and fuck hungry” chunk of cock-meat that he really was. And have him beg for it. For them to use him… pussy him down.

(For all the world to see recorded—should he give them any trouble after. I mean, good grief, hadn’t he already dressed the part for ages? Mature, grown men don’t fly around looking like that… almost nude, no detail of his body unnoticeable in his skin-tight, obviously egotistical display of himself! And had already proven how eager and no doubt willing he would be, from the mirrored foreplay they’d had with him in his own apartment!)

—————————————-

The mortal enemies walked into Luthor’s office side by side. Luthor taking a seat behind the thick oak desk. Superman eagerly seating himself in a rather uncomfortable sofa. He watched as Luthor opened a desk drawer, pulling free the manila envelope. The same one that contained the photos he had shown to Catherine. He tossed them down on the desk, and nodded at the hero. The hero looked puzzled, but reaching, took the envelope and opened it.

“What is this, Lex?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Reluctantly the Man of Steel tore open the envelope and dumped the contents onto the desk in front of him, before his face contorted into a look of surprised dismay. He knew what they revealed, after seeing only the first photo. Taken after he’d returned from a foiled suburban bank robbery, suffering two gunshot wounds in the process. It could have been the annoying, soon to be erased pain from his body’s healing that had clouded his judgement at the moment, he realized. Taking longer than planned to change, checking out the depth of the .357 Magnum’s penetrations he’d received, hitting right into his heart area. (Not being entirely immune from such assaults as most people thought. Sometimes stunning him, but rarely eliciting more than a day’s-gone bruise.)

“You’ve, you’ve had the Planet’s offices under surveillance?!” he nearly gasped—struck and undone. “How long?”

“Since my first week, had them installed on the night shift.”

“Please, Lex. My most valued secret! You’ve suspected—all along?”

“Bright boy, bright boy. And such “big pecs” you have, my dear! As we’ve all heard. All the better to flex them in the bathroom—the bedroom? And oh, under those phony glasses, once removed?”

“Then, you know….”

“Of course. And doubly confirmed.”

“Oh, please, Lex—no one must know! Can we not make a deal?”

“Perhaps. But soon to be “not so secret—” copies of those pics, along with those discs that were stolen.”

“Who else? Any suspects…?”

“While not the thief, Miss Grant knows. Has seen the pictures. And so much more… as we both know. Crowed about your Clarkie-boy’s assets to the heavens.”

“Oh, no! Dear God, mercy!!”

The panic was spreading throughout the champion’s mind and body. No, no!! Two vengeful miscreants, who now knew the secret he’d so valiantly guarded for decades. Evil had at last had found him out! He felt shame, embarrassment, and absolute fear for the first time in his life. Not a fear of death, but of being so rudely, and no less “nakedly” exposed. The cloak of the hidden righter-of-wrongs now stripped away from him: the whole world would know. He could only pray Lex (and the thieves) could be reasonably bargained with—his only remaining chance at secrecy. Or Clark Kent and Superman would be no more—certainly not as they were!

“What do you want, Lex?”

“I already have that, Superman. Your identity. But the recovery of those pictures and the discs are tantamount. Now, how far will you go to keep anyone else from knowing?”

“Great Scott, whatever it takes!”

“Excellent.”

“But I will find a way to be victorious.”

“Working for me…? Tsch, tsch. You may try, but you will fail.”

“What do you mean, ‘working’ for you?”

“Recovering my materials, first! Then, we’ll think of something. As your taskmaster, your notable “helps” to be utilized thereafter. Once my plans are in place, your assisting me in carrying them out. Every time you deviate from complying, another unwelcome entity “may learn” of your secret. Is that clear, Superman?”

“What about Cat?”

“Don’t worry—I pay her.”

“And others… you, you wouldn’t. Not if we have an agreement?”

“Depends on you. I can, and will. We both know it, Superman. You might as well banish all thoughts of salvation. Your reign as the mystery “Champion of the Planet” is over.”

The hero sat with the horrible truth of Luthor’s words for a moment. He knew Lex would not hesitate to follow through with his threats. He gazed helplessly at the cruel face in front of him now. The one gazing back into his broken eyes, that fluttered away from making contact. He was now effectively in someone else’s control. Or so it seemed. Though he knew he would sooner completely disappear, rather than do something evil or wrong under Luthor’s bidding.

“Look at me, Kryptonian.”

His eyes lifted and saw the face of a smug-pure malevolence staring back. The hero shuddered unconsciously, not knowing what more to expect… almost riveted within himself as Luthor stood, came over, reached down and roughly grabbed at the fasteners at his neck, which held the hero’s cape. “Look at me, Wimp-fuck!”

“You… disgust me, Luthor. If you think you can use me to do anything beyond what is right and good. Why would you even dare?”

“Because I can! And I don’t want to lack enjoying all the degrading things I have in store for you…. At least, not until I break you. Completely! And I will.”

“That will be the day I die!” the hero spat back bravely.

“Or hang up your cape? Maybe even loop it tight around your own neck—like this?!” Lex grabbing onto it firmly, pulling it very tight under his chin.

“Stop, right there!” the hero flushed, half rising, but found he shockingly couldn’t! As if his arms and legs had no real power at all. His hands went up to push his opponent away. Found they were rather “stupid,” failing.

“Stop what? For example?” and still holding him at his cape-neck up close, Lex smiled, swiftly drew back a hand, and let it crash-slap hard against the hero’s exposed face.

Startled, Superman’s head did jerk sharply aside—he felt that!—but only momentarily, and flashed back once more. Angered at such a paltry attempt to demean him—he, the great Man of Steel! But somehow cooled himself. More than shaken at his sudden weakness to do anything! Something was very wrong, here!

“Promises, promises,” Luthor cooed.

“What do you want from me, first,” the hero acquiesced, beginning to cave to the situation. Knowing he had to appease his enemy to protect himself, if only momentarily—until he could recoup. Something in the air?

“You must hurry, Superman. Those criminals stole a certain disc-drive from my office. Plus those pictures, and other confidential info. But I wisely had a tracking device attached to it. That’s your assignment.”

The hero tried to jumped forwards out of his seat, but Lex strongly grabbed him by the shoulders, inexplicably corralling him, easily pushing him back. To his still restrained astonishment.

“Soon. Not yet, not yet. Then you can use that horse-dick all you want. First, a little down time. Taking in more of that synthetic Kryptonite air, as you have been….”

And while confronting the piercing must-be truth of that, the hero collapsed wanly back into his chair. The paneled door to Lex’s office then swung open and in stepped Catherine Grant, opening her leather bag. She drew quickly close to him.

“Ahhh, huge muscle tits Clark, and bull-freak balls—we meet again!” with a defined and determined sneer. She leaned in, her endowed breasts seeming to fall almost onto and against his own, as if to give him a kiss.

But before he could adjust, or pull back from the why of that—in a sharp, impossible instant, he felt a needle shoot into his neck. He jerked hard, involuntarily. “Unnhhh… uuhhhh!” he cried out. The world spun gray-green uncontrollably. In a flash.

Oh, no, no, it can’t be—not me!!

He managed with one last burst of strength to stand, rise—and plunged face and chest first into the carpet, arms forwards. His mouth open and drooling, making strange sounds.

He was caught: a fish out of water, a bird out of air. Tremoring and helpless. In near convulsions. Powerless.

“Yu-you vindictive… bi-itch,” he slurred. “Wha…whas… in thaa-ats  stuufff…?

A glance to his side, and there she was—from an odd angle, or three or four of her legs, anyway—his alien mind instantly clouded… poisoning his senses, his overly large Herculean sinews, useless. She bent down, gave him another quickened jab.

“A real pussy after all, isn’t he?” she said. “A little aerosol, a shot of serum. Could have busted through Ft. Knox, stopped a locomotive, lifted a submarine. But overcome with just a few c.c.’s of this. Amazing!”

“Kryptonite does have its properties… real or synthetic.”

“Lu-Lu… Luth-orrr….?” the mass on the floor moaned, too dulled to plead.

“Relax, Superman. This was merely to let you know I have everything in control. Even you, from now on. This will give you a little rest, perhaps an hour to think things over. We’ll turn off the air circulator, and the dose will wear off in due time. Then, when you can, head up in my private elevator, and take off from the helipad. I’ll leave the tracking device by your side. It will let you know where they are. I doubt the thieves will get too far, then you can swoop in, round them up, and return the disc to me. Never forgetting I still have these photos here, if needed. Destroying the others won’t release you from our bargain.”

“Oh, oh, uhhhhh,.” the hero still softly groaned. Tried to crawl, move his hands, arms, legs, but couldn’t. Wriggled and shook worse than weakly.

“If I may?” Cat addressed her co-conspirator. “Turn him over. I want to spike his jizz factory for later….”

“Of course, my dear. But not too harshly.”

The both of them rolled him over onto his back. His Superman eyes fluttered, dulled out, and wondering; his arms sprawled overhead, thick legs kicked a bit apart. Cat went to stand over him confidently.

“This, Clark, is for not having the balls to tell me the real truth—you and that Lois bitch, getting it on under my nose! Ditching me for that pussy-shit!!”

And she raised one finely spiked heel, and drove it down hard and deep into his not to be missed, manly bulked pubis, fully on display as usual, now heavily resting on the floor… (perhaps cupped, she didn’t know and cared less)—right through and into him, whatever was there.

Superman screamed—acutely, horribly, pitifully—his stunned blue eyes, instantly saucer wide—could probably have been heard four floors away. As if mortally wounded. His body convulsed forwards, almost partially side-ways/upright of its own volition—hands feebly trying to reach, assuage the source of his anguish. But suddenly dropped back, torso and head crashed, mouth gashed open, was instantly short-circuited—out cold. He jerked a little, then was still.

“I didn’t kill him, did I?” Cat, suddenly concerned.

Whether she might have ripped a hole through that fire-hosed cock of his, or pierced inevitably into and through his testicles, was of little concern. Just to humble him was what she’d wanted; and painfully! Figuring, regardless of any damage, his alien recuperative powers would still be in operation… but one could never tell. Hopefully, he was just temporarily incapacitated. His mighty mass downed and powerless, weak where he lay. Too vulnerable of the moment to be dismissed. Why she’d struck as she had.

“Might have hurt him a bit, but can’t be killed. Unless you uploaded him with ten times more of that Kryptonite. That’s the fun part. Can be played with, eternally.”

“Then later… we can do this again?”

“If he’s disobedient—yes, of course.”

Luthor not through smirking, put his arm around her, to usher her out. They would have to wait nearby until the sensors told them he had come around, and was on his way to the safe-house. Then Luthor would make his call to the boys waiting.

“What he doesn’t know is that once he gets to the hideout, they will be prepared and waiting. I’ve promised them “free play” for all they want of him for the night. He will be face-sprayed with pink Kryptonite, which supposedly will send his libido to the rafters to get him started; fed “ecstasy” tablets… and having already been disabled by the local Kryptonite on their persons, he should be like a drunk virgin, eager to be plundered by her school’s very own favorite champion…. They will be filming the entirety of the events on already installed cameras: our so-great hero, basically willing and begging for his own corruption and downfall—all recorded for posterity, and my selective use later—if he should ever dare try to thwart me, or my operations again. Not sure if I can make him do anything publicly unethical, but I can keep him on a tight leash. Ever tethered, jerked into submission!”

“Sounds brilliant, Sir Lex.”

“As I am,” he smiled. “Now shall we… for a brief interlude, to seal our contract?” Leading her to his private suite.

“Sex in the middle of the day is rather intriguing,” she agreed. “Especially when waiting for the assured downfall of one’s enemies.” And leaned in for a tight embrace, his mouth really quite adept and delicious. While sparking her libido, remembering the lovely crushing of Clark’s balls. Something she had long dreamed of doing, since he had been such a rat, and his were inordinately large compared to the men she’d known. Served the deceptive freak right.

“Then,” Luthor said, “those boys, the really fine ones, alas… we enjoyed them, but they have to go. After their jobs are finished, they’ll have to be, too. Will save me some money. The ones who collect the remnants of our superhero —cameras, phony discs, and whatever, will take care of them. Silence must be kept. The fewer the better. No witnesses ever to come to his aid, should he think he could turn the tables.”

“They were quite something, nonetheless. Sorry to hear that.”

“Dime a dozen. Gyms full of them, for the right price. Always needing more and more money to food-stuff themselves, and fill up on roids. So in love with themselves, like our Superman here—cocksuckers everyone, you offer them a big enough one. As we have proof… caught in his own mirror, his own gym, going down on himself. Easy catch, after all. Such a noble, “righteous” Boy Scout, indeed. Their own cocks ever doing them in….”

To be continued…