Moderately edited and enhanced by Rick Henry, 04-2022.
After watching the horrifying tape once more, Lois tried to go to sleep. She tossed and turned in agonies of shame, and she hated to admit to herself, erotic exhilaration.
Next morning, Lois was so distraught, she called in sick to work. It was the first time the conscientious reporter had ever done so, unless deathly ill. She was wringing her hands in anxiety for Superman.
“Those terrible bitches have indeed discovered how to truly de-man, and probably even kill him!” Lois brooded in terror. “And with that Kryptonite, destroying him from within—they just may do so, if that wicked Luthor doesn’t accept their offer!! Who knows? In either case, Superman is on the verge of extinction. Not so indestructible, after all.”
More than upset. Still, the forbidden images from the tape flashed through her mind in an almost steady stream. What to do, what could be done? His huge mass of muscle: bound, helpless, fucked!
Mighty man reduced to nothing but a toy. (Or… a “serviceable” eunuch?)
Then it came to Lois. That huge factory-like room, that metal table! She’d seen them before. It was two years ago, when she covered the closing of the old auto assembly plant; there’d been a lot of layoffs. The end of an era.
Lois remembered it, because it was near Uncle Pete’s farm. Her bachelor uncle had left the small farm to Lois when he died. It was where Lois’s mother grew up. Most of the pasture land was sold off, but Lois kept the house and a few acres for sentimental reasons. Lois sometimes spent one or two weekends a year there, but usually got quickly bored without any news to chase.
“I should notify the police!” she thought. “Oh dear, God, no! Then the media will get hold of the story. What if that awful tape were leaked to the press or any parts of it shown on television? It would destroy Superman! He’d be a laughingstock—a pathetic victim. I can’t let that happen to him. Why are so many reporters such insensitive pigs?” Lois wondered without irony.
“What should I do? How can I handle something like this myself?” she wondered, feeling so inadequate. “I’ve always relied on Superman in situations like this. I can’t just leave him there, though; and I can’t let his degradation get out. It would be like castrating him!” she thought… with a strange, guilty little thrill. “I have to save him!”
Lois realized then, that even she, the woman who “loved” him, was beginning to feel slightly contemptuous of the mighty superhero. For all his staggeringly handsome muscle, other worldly cock, macho stance, and incredible “powers”—when so simply, finally disarmed—why he’d turned out to be a worse pussy than she was!! Cried like a little boy under pressure. Some kind of true faggot, while being raped! What would anyone else think? She could just hear all the forthcoming snickers and jokes. Her so manly boyfriend—the famed “Big Blue” alien superhero—was actually less than a grade-school, earthly Girl Scout, come down to it! “If any of this got out, everyone would think I was a real horse’s behind, carrying a torch for him all this time.” The “so-called great Superman,” proven to be an easily defeated wimpish-fairy, after all! Lois, biting her lips, chewed on that sudden realization. And not without some guilty embarrassment.
“But, I’ll do it, because I must!” Lois resolved. “After all, they’re just four teenage girls, even if they are nasty little bitches!”
Her mind made up, Lois dressed in jeans and sneakers and a windbreaker. Looking slim and sexy, she hurried to her powerful, little sports car. Lois raced out of town driving like a maniac. She drove to the farm first. It looked deserted and forlorn.
“Nobody’s been here in months.” Lois noted. She went inside, long enough to get and load Uncle Pete’s twelve-gauge pump gun Then she took the old pickup from the barn. She’d kept it, because it still came in handy for chores sometimes. “If anybody’d been following me, they won’t recognize this piece of junk!” Lois reasoned.
Lois drove the old truck rapidly and efficiently, ignoring the groans and rattles. She pulled up a short way from the derelict factory. She saw a large sedan parked outside.
“Good, they must still be here!” Lois thought. She grimly picked up the shotgun, carrying it cocked and ready. Its heft was comforting to the nervous young reporter. Her Uncle Pete had taught her how to use it when she was a teenager. She cradled the gun easily in her arms, as she crept stealthily to a small side door. Lois peeked through the dirty, cracked, window pane in the door. She saw all four girls scurrying around as though packing up to leave.
“Looks like I got here just in time,” Lois thought. Then she saw Superman. Shamefully naked, his great brawny body was loosely strung up by the wrists from an overhead hook. A mass of glorious, but decommissioned man-meat, no less. There was an open packing crate beside him, as though the girls were getting him ready for shipping, too.
“Thank God! He’s still alive,” Lois thought, then she noticed with a subconscious little twist of contempt, that he seemed to have been weeping, or still sporadically was. All the man of him as if gone: a hopeless, cowed wreck of whimpering malehood, begging over and over. His face wet and smeared.
“Girls, please. Oh, oh, please, don’t! Just let me go. Don’t, don’t… put me in that crate! I can’t bear it—confined like that! I, I’ll never tell what happened… please. I promise! Won’t come after you. Will—we, we can forget—please, this ever…. Don’t, oh, don’t—please, don’t sell me…! Take off this collar. I can get you a whole bag of raw diamonds….”
Lois couldn’t quite hear what Superman was saying but it looked like he was pleading desperately. Lois had rarely seen such a miserable, distraught look on any man’s face. “He looks like a whipped stray dog!” she thought with distaste. “Can’t he at least act like a man? Gee whiz! I’ve been in some bad situations myself, but I never whined like such a scared little puppy! What a cunt!”
Lois, smarting in disappointment at Superman’s spineless display of rabbitity, watched a while longer, feeling that awful treasonous wetness between her thighs again. “Oh, you filthy, disgusting bitch!” she told herself in disgust. “This is no time for that, now. Put a sock in it, girl!”
“We don’t need diamonds. We just need your ass off the grid, doofus! Permanently!” Growled the one she recognized from the tape as Maria, who now picked up one of the Kryptonite paddles and gleefully began to re-pummel the wilted Superman once more around the head, back, shoulders and chest… then his big arms, thighs, and still sore glutes. His whaled cries were loud enough for Lois to hear, now. When Maria had reduced the world-famous superhero into a total blithering submissiveness, still hearing him blubber for her to “please stop, oh, please, please stop…” she cut the rope holding him, and let Superman’s mighty body crumple into a pitiful demoralized heap on the floor. Maria put a notable ball gag into his gibbering mouth to shut him up. His eyes still gaping wide, frantic with worry—what was to come.
“She must be as disgusted at his whining as I am,” Lois couldn’t help thinking.
Maria rope tied Superman’s hands behind his back, Valerie did his ankles. Lupe and April then trussed his wrists to his ankles, and pulled tight, arcing him into a half-curved ball… his large genitals in front of him, still loose and heavily floppy, his big pecs thrust forwards. It took all four girls to manhandle the heavy bound crime-fighter into the squarish crate. But he soft-squealed and muffle-cried frantically, eyes wide with panic all the while—bucked weak and desperate, futilely. They fastened the lid.
“Well! It’s now, or never!” Lois told herself grimly. She took a deep breath, ignoring both the itching discomfort in her vagina, and the butterflies in her stomach. Armed and ready.
Lois kicked the door open and strode inside, suddenly icily calm. “All right, you filthy little bitches! Get your hands up, or I’ll splatter you all over that wall! This thing is loaded with buckshot, and your warped twats will never know what hit you!”
Caught off guard, and seeing Lois standing there like a black-haired angel of vengeance, the four teen sadists lost their bravado. They nervously lined up against the wall. Now what should she do with them? If Lois turned them over to the police they’d talk. Superman would be ruined. Lois hated to let them go, but what choice was there? The important thing was rescuing Superman!
“Pick up that crate!” Lois ordered, waving the shotgun menacingly. The girls quickly obeyed the wild-eyed woman without any questions or backtalk. She didn’t look quite sane!
“O.K. O.K.!” Maria wailed, her voice quavering. “Just be careful with that thing!” It was all, the four small girls could do to lift the crate containing Superman’s huge body. They staggered and stumbled and had to stop frequently to rest, but finally they got the heavy crate to Lois’s pickup.
“Get it up in the bed!” Lois commanded, with another wave of the gun. She was beginning to feel like a superheroine herself, queening it over the cringing girls. By the time the girls got the crate into the truck they were puffing and sweating in the chill morning air.
Once the crate was securely loaded, Lois marched the girls back to the factory building and made them pack up all the Kryptonite paddles, and that frightful dildo, as well as Superman’s soiled uniform into a burlap sack. “Can’t let them keep any of that Kryptonite at all! It’s too dangerous!” she told herself wisely.
“I want all the copies of that video tape, too!” Lois snarled. The girls meekly turned over the original and two copies. Lois put them in the sack, too.
“This better be all of them!” Lois snarled. “Because if a copy ever gets out, or if any one of you nasty little bitches “ever talks” about this to anyone, I promise I’ll hunt you down, and kill every one of you with my bare hands!” Lois was like a fierce tigress protecting her wounded mate, and she put the fear of God in them.
Lois then herded the four girls into an old broom closet and locked it. Breathing a sigh of relief, she picked up the sack and walked outside. As she passed the girl’s car, she let loose two blasts from the shotgun, shooting out two tires.
“Even if they get loose from that closet, they won’t be going anywhere soon in that car!” Lois muttered in satisfaction. She loped back to the pickup, feeling the adrenalin pumping through her body. “Wow, I feel great!” she told herself, puffing out her chest, so that her excited breasts poked proudly through the front of her thin windbreaker.
“Should I let Superman out now?” Lois wondered. “No. Somebody might see him like that. Its best to get him back to the farm, where he’ll be safe. I can take better care of him there until he recovers.”
Lois jumped into the cab of the pickup, and drove off. “Wow, this is some high!” She murmured. “This is really some switch; little me rescuing big, bold Superman! And I’ll never let him forget it, either!” she admitted to herself with a guilty thrill.
Back at the farm, Lois backed the truck up to the barn door. It was a tough job, but she managed to push the crate off the truck bed onto the barn floor. It dropped with a hard jolt and a notable thump. Wondering if the mighty MOS inside it might have been harmed by it. She then jumped back in the cab, pulled forward, braked the truck securely. She got the burlap sack with the Kryptonite implements and Superman’s uniform from the front seat, reluctant to leave them unguarded for a minute, and went back into the barn. Once in, she efficiently slammed the door shut, mulling what to do. “Certainly can’t let anybody see him like that, or me!”
There was a crowbar with some other tools on the barn wall, and Lois used it to break open the crate. In her eagerness, she broke the bindings and the sides fell to the plank floor, leaving Superman shivering and bare on the floor. The mighty superhero huddled there, still too weak and ravaged to move, his mighty chest rising and falling rapidly in dread. Lois glanced down at him, naked but for his sexy red boots, his big penis and balls sprawled limp and large and depleted across his muscular, man-hairy thighs—huge muscled arms, hands behind him, trussed up like a capon, about to be prepared for dinner. The previous “so wondrous Superman,” looking worn, dirty, stripe-welted… utterly beaten. Stupified, and actually pathetic.
For a moment, Lois almost laughed hysterically. “But he really looks awfully sexy like that, too!” Lois thought with a quiver in her loins.
The shamed superhero was on his side, facing away from her, and Lois saw his curved, desirable behind was still red and swollen. His body giving little quivers of further anticipated assaults. Some murmurs of fear or pain or discomfort elicited from him. The disabling slave collar around his neck dull-glowing with the deadly Kryptonite. She was wondering if it was enough to eventually kill him, or just to keep him subdued—his once titanic strengths severely contained? “That dog collar is kind of sexy, too!” Lois admitted with another twinge of delight.
When Superman was able to twist and look up, he saw Lois standing above him, instead of the terrifying teens. A look of pure relief passed over his ruggedly handsome face. The relief was near instantly replaced with acute embarrassment—she, the one, who had become his miraculous savior. Piercing him also with a sense of intrinsic shame. Superman’s eyes dropped; he couldn’t meet Lois’s gaze. She tenderly removed the ball gag from his mouth.
“Lois, don’t look at me like this, please!” Superman whimpered. “They, they managed to catch me off guard. I-I never thought—how they got the Kryptonite, I don’t know. Depowered me. You… you must know the rest.” Then, “Do, do you think you can pry this collar off my neck? Find something to cut the lock? Then, I can break free.” He was still rather almost begging, pleading in his cowed state. “It’s really hurting me. Has done quite a number. Weakened me badly. Please?“
And the idea of her closeness, and having her in his arms, to comfort with, maybe reassert himself as a man… somehow gripped deep within—he began to sprout a huge erection.
Lois just stood there. She was transfixed. She was breathing hard and she felt that heady feeling again; the one she’d gotten watching the tape. The incredible, mighty Man of Steel at her feet, bound and helpless… who had been reduced to a pliable, well-used, pathetic emasculated man-toy. And both he and Lois knew it had been done by the mere slips of a few teeny girls. And those girls and friends had raped the big muscle man silly. He knew she’d seen the videos.
The awareness filled Lois with such powerful feelings, they temporarily drove out all compassion for the man she thought she’d loved, and had now come to practically disdain for his recently displayed girlish weaknesses. Not such the touted hero after all! Only Olympian proud pumped muscles, overly big cock, and inflated ego—“for show.” No real substance to him! She resisted the overpowering urge to finger her throbbing pussy practically in his face. Deciding then, on the spot, how to proceed.
She found a sickle on the barn wall, and began to cut-saw through the ropes fastening his wrists to his ankles, but strangely left his wrists bound together, Then she cut through the ones binding his ankles, so he could move his legs and relax them a bit. He rolled to face her, his phallus more than ready, wondering why she had not freed his hands, or removed the collar.
“My, my wrists. My neck…” he mentioned plaintively. Waiting. Urgent to regain his strength.
“No. There’s a better way!” Lois low-whispered in throaty passion. She slipped out of her clothes. He watched her, mystified, mouth dropping open. As she straightened, standing in the dirty barn, naked, her shapely heavy breasts rose and fell with a forbidden excitement. Her nipples erecting hard as diamonds… tingling.
Trying to sit up, which he managed, his big dick flag-poled high as his pecs in front of him. He was staring, more than excited, still wondering and expecting her for some reason to straddle over him, maybe unfasten the collar while riding his horse… an act of mutual love, comfort and release. Taking the uncharacteristic role of her topping him, instead of him masculinely drilling into her beneath, but not as deep and completely as he wanted, as usual. After all, more than tables had momentarily turned. He’d never been this helpless under her before. Or anyone—until the past days’ events. Which had demoralized him to his core. And now not wanting to do anything but reassert himself as soon as possible. Regain his status. Take control. Exercise his balls!
“My neck, please,” he said. “Take that off, first. I need my strength. And my hands. Then we….”
But when she just stood there, a twisting churn of something different starting to rise within him, feeling some dismay… he gazed at her quizzically. She instead seemed to be looking down at him, almost gloating. There was a hardness in her eyes he’d never seen before. And his heart gave a startled, almost knowing lurch. An odd, perceptive, encroaching panic that seized him. A more intense something than he’d ever known.
“Na, no—noooh!” he blurted, suddenly scared. “Lois, Lois, what are you doing?” Superman cried in alarm, then started to frantically struggle to free his wrists. While ever watching in bewildered concern as Lois grabbed up the burlap sack, and with even more growing anxiety, when Lois smugly took the monstrous dildo out with a smile, gazed at it, and strapped it around herself.
“Great Scott, Lois! What are you doing? No, please! Get away! That’s Kryptonite! You, you know what that can do to me? Are you mad?” True alarm in his eyes. “Lois, oh, dear God!!” Rather afraid she was going to try to make him suck on it!! (For some warped, horrifying reason—.)
Instead, she gave him a Cheshire cat deceptive grin and bent over him, his jaw slagging open, trying frantically to somehow back off and scramble away… his mind and stomach swirling in disbelief. Watching her close in, her slim hands reaching out, her finely manicured fingers which unexpectedly grabbed onto each one of his thickly-long nipples, pulled on, and squeezed mercilessly. He gasped, electrified; torso arched hopelessly. Howled aloud, struck, as she twisted them Was worse than ensnared. Nothing she’d ever done before. But was undoing him completely. In equal jolts of ecstasy and pain.
“Oh, Lois! Lois, no!! Noo-ohhhhhh!! My, my big nipples!! My oh, so big nipples. Nooooh!!” a definite wailed cry. “Please, please, oh, please!” Almost girlishly, which both pissed and pleased her. And him, in ways, too.
Her fingernails then deep-digging into them, ravaging the sensitive, turgid rubbery shafts. Oh, how he struggled, writhed, shrieked, cried out. “Aaahh-yaagghhhhh!!” Gurgled, gasped, trembled. His shoulders, torso, huge pecs, and legs giving sharp, spasmodic jerks. His face, a ruptured treasure of startled, pain-filled surprise and raptured conquest. Her fingers working his huge teats, piercing into him with erotic peaks of pleasured lightning, as well as a swelling, unalterable fear. She was overcoming him, mastering—would erupt the last remanents of his seed, his male-strength from him—already cock-worn from his previous ordeals. Practically running on empty.
“You’re making me cum, making me cum, will make me—ohhhhh-ahhhhhhh!!” He geysered a massive volley of his juice in several ropes and spurts, and seemed as if suddenly beyond exhausted. Bolted and jerked spasmodically. Going very slack and limpish. Out of breath. Though he still moaned and sighed, and was urgent to be as far away from the Kryptonite tool she was wearing as much as possible. Why had she done this? Why? To play his tits like that? Hurt him so much, yet felt so good… so good. So heavenly good. His brain dulled and spinning.
What was she doing?! What was she doing?! Not Lois!! This was impossible!! She finally let go, his mouth drooling from both sides; him trying to recover his shot essences and astonishment. Eyes crazy wide, breathing labored, shocked. Nipples ablaze with pain and an unusual wetness.
His stimulated hormonal nectars streaming from them. Looking up at her, muttering almost incoherently. “Wha-why… what you… did. Wha-why….?” His chest spasming wet with his milk and his jizz. “Uh, ohhh. Uhhh… ohhhhh.” Slow rolling his head and neck from side to side.
“Oh, shut-up, you pussy-titted fag!” she muttered coldly. “Time to get your “widdle-boy’s” ass worked-out good—!! Permanently!” With more than a conqueror’s disdain. Her barbed tone ripping into him worse than before. When she then kicked at his legs, and reached down to grab his ankles—that shocking, man-destroying dildo bobbing from her pelvis like the end of the world, he suddenly knew—was jerked mentally alert. Superman’s panic went through the roof, beyond doubly renewed!! “Oh, Lois, Lois, Lois! No—you, you wouldn’t!! NOT TO ME!!!!” His soon squalled whimperings, astonished pleas, acerbically getting on Lois’s nerves as she moved him.
Somehow she managed to grasp his ankles, get his huge mass flip-turned over. Big, flat-bouldered and wide pecs down, fat nipples roughly squashed, handsome face sideways on the dirty floor… his washboard belly grinding into the wooden planks under him, hands still looped behind him, hips and genitals uncomfortably scrunched up beneath his weight. His fear escalating to heaven, cries of protest and mercy useless—she knelt purposely between his hairy legs, getting them spread apart as far as she could. The terror on his face growing, his pleadings insistent… seeing her grab up a nearby can of old motor oil, and pouring the contents over that hideous tool she had strapped onto her, and letting it wash down into his gluteal cleft. Knowing with pure horror he was but seconds away from what she was going to do.
“Imagine, finding out after all this time… you’re really only a huge muscled, fag-wimpy cunt! Once contained with Kryptonite, a Super-baby Fuck-twat, with big girly man-tits that craves to be plundered! I just wonder how many times you chewed on them, and stuck that monster rod up your own ass. Just like you tried doing to me…! Your own hole much, much deeper. And hungrier and useable.”
“N-no, no! Oh, Lois, LOIS, PLEASE!!!! Da, DON’T!! DON’T!! Oh, God—Lois, please! Do-don’t, don’t do this to me. That awful thing! You, you’ll kill me. Destroy me, inside. No more, no more, I can’t take anymore. DON’T!! DO THIS—NO, NO, NOOOOHHH!!!! NOT TO ME, NOT ME!! OHHHH, LOISSS!!!! AAAGGGG-UUHH–AAAAGGHHHHHHHHH!!!”
But she did. Entering him with a benign vengeance. His heart and breath almost stopped of an instant. “EEEEYYYYEEEEEEEEeeeeeee—OOOHH-uuuhh-oohhhhhhhhHHHHH!”
As if a slim road cone were being shoved up to his teeth; a bodybuilder’s arm to the shoulder hilt. The burning of the knobbed Kryptonite, not to mention the curse of the motor oil. His impalement now even more shocking than what the teen girls had done. His lady-love was going to fuck him to death. He, the great Superman, done in by a woman with a dildo. The irony, impossible!
“Oh, oh, oh!! The sun, the sun!! You must get me into the sun!! Or I’ll die, I’ll die!! You’re killing me, killing me. Oh, Lois, please… Lois!!” A horrible nightmare beyond comprehension.
He screamed and screamed and screamed as she cored him, in and out, and in and out, and in and out, and in and out. His great body scrabbling, arcing, trying to wriggle, twist, pull, turn, strive away. To no avail. Her powering thrusts over and through him beyond mind-bogglingly intoxicating (to her—a devastating ruination to him)…. Until he was utterly incoherent, babbling, drooling, writhing, convulsing, spasming, shaking. And unloading his semen in bucket-fulls, surprised beyond surprise he even had any left—until he passed out. In less than forty minutes. Had shot six loads in horrifying pain. The last three a bloody goop. No ecstasy to it. His prostate no doubt destroyed permanently. His male “powers” terminated. Unless freed from the Kryptonite, allowed to bask in the sun… he was finished. An eternal eunuch: still rich with sperm, but nevermore able to ejaculate anything.
Lois had been totally oblivious to his shrieking and mewling pleas, rising and falling in intensity with her ride of domination. The hulking Man of Steel had become a pure wreck of quivering jello. And his ass-chute no less than a true bloody after-mess, his cleft thoroughly violated—even pieces of some kind of destroyed inner flesh seeping out in little lumps and chunks. Fragments from his prostate, ruined. Big muscle man stripped, not a shred of machismo left.
When he was still, she at last took a breather. She too had come, three times… his panic and anguish her aphrodisiac. What a fucking male pussy he’d turned out to be! Having been downed by a phony stick of a dick and a few green pebbles! His gorgeous male glutes were still humped round, red-welted, and made more exciting by his conquest by her, a mere woman. And he, having been thoroughly reamed, frightened and terrified by the one he had fucked senseless countless times with his own unrelenting, prized horse cock… and her, having fucked him even more than senseless, with a far bigger one!! Him now the one fucked into an obtuse, probable oblivion, unless she might ever consider letting him go.
This strange, cruel streak she didn’t know she’d had. Surfacing, and taking over. She rather relished it. At last, she of all people “truly fucking the Mighty Superman!” Oh, well, if he wasn’t man enough to retain his crown—way it goes, surrendered into becoming his own ball-nutted wonder!! A few tiny green rocks, and five loopy females… had easily crushed his beyond unbelievable powers into nothing—simple as a fat beetle turned over on its back, legs wagging and kicking impotently. Kind of thrilling, actually. Her power now greater than his once had been, or anything attributed to him.
Later, Lois was dreamily thinking: “After I’ve completely screwed his inner male power-sources to nothing, no semen left, maybe I’ll make him lick my flower all afternoon, not just my clit, either. After all, the lessons those little tarts gave him, he ought to be getting really good at it. With that Kryptonite collar on his neck, I can keep him locked up out here at the farm, and do this to him, any time I want. Tonight, before bed, think I’m going to make him crawl up across my knees and spank his hard behind like a naughty, sissy little boy. Reinforce who’s in charge here. Let him know how much his huge-cocked, muscle man strutting was actually just “a fucking wimp-tard fake” in disguise—what a gas! Oh, God! To listen to him sniffle and beg, howl and whimper!! Might even cut his nuts out, if he keeps on. What’s he need them for, anyway? To prove he’s still some kind of a male “anything?” Without a prostate, or any juice. Just a really big dick. For show….
“And with no testosterone, he might make a really good she-boy, to help clean up this place. Who knows? That ought to ground him good. Earthbound like the rest of us…. Can flex all he wants. Only for himself. A certified super eunuch—to everyone and the world. No flying anywhere for him! Hook him up in some kind of harness, get some of these patch-fields plowed right. Maybe grow some corn, tomatoes, potatoes. Or tulips. That might be nice. Tulips. Will serve his fucked ass fine. Flower boy in a thong. Big hairy chest sweating and dirty. Let him stay in the sun long enough to get strong, but not “repair.” Just well-worked, and eager for his mommy’s pleasure at night. When she lets him…. Good idea—.
“No more fucking, or sucking himself or his big tits, either. Or even me. That rod and those muscles, really too much for any man to have or force on any woman. Sure didn’t use them much except to hurt with, or for his own private pleasure. Now it’s my turn. Break the horse, keep him corralled. On his knees. His big macho tongue. Long enough and thick enough, indeed.
“UHMMMMmmm! I love it!
“And if things don’t work out, I could always call Luthor. Why not? Retire early…. Wonder how much he’d offer?”