Superman, The Beginning of the End [Illustrated version.]
Original Author: Unknown.
Revised Author: Rick Henry (Edited, Expanded and Embellished Sept./Dec. 2022). [Illustrated version.]
(This story is fan fiction. Neither author owns the copyright to Superman or any characters in his universe and no infringement or offense is intended. Story contains themes of a homosexual nature; if you are not of legal age in your area or offended to view such content then please do not proceed. If you are, then carry on and we hope you enjoy.)
Part One: Luring Him In.
The stolen dark red car screeched to a halt inside the rundown warehouse. Two masked teenage boys jumped out. The smaller one hastily ran to the entrance and began closing the huge metal door, miffed that the automatic opener had worked, but the closing part hadn’t. They’d be in big trouble if any further foul-ups occurred! Especially further electricals. I mean heck, their plan was foolproof. The other taller male proceeded to switch on a set of above encircling lights from a nearby panel, illuminating the center floor of the warehouse where the maroon car rested. He flipped the switches several times to make sure they were in working order. And breathed a sigh of relief, looking around. Another rash of sporty vehicles were already neatly parked in slots along the darkened other sides of the dinghy building. But this was to be the biggest prize of all.
“How long you think we’re gonna have to wait?” asked the smaller of the two. He returned to the car pulling off his mask. Funny, with this COVID business, masking and unmasking was a normal chore, and a perfect cover. He had a medium-honed build, stood five-feet-nine inches at 170 lbs. of well-shaped muscle, very slim hipped, wearing a black tracksuit. He had unkempt blond hair and wore a dark sapphire stud in one of his ears.
“Not long. Should be able to follow our trail easy enough,” the older nineteen-er answered. He had already removed his mask and cap revealing a head of short cut, curly black hair. He was definitely the more developed of the two youths, standing six feet tall, well filled-out, with a significant muscular frame beneath his matching dark suit, sporting 18” arms. “Nobody takes the mayor’s son’s car without getting noticed pretty darn quick,” he smirked. “But might as well get ready for our guest. Get the boot of the car open, Kris—recheck our stuff. I’m gonna give the Boss a call.”
“No problem, Mike-o,” answered Kris. “What’re ya gonna tell him, kind of early?”
“That once he arrives, should have him boxed and ready in about four hours. By midnight, at least.”
Before Mike could completely answer his friend, the huge metal door of the warehouse was raised upwards with a deep rumbling sound, and there standing dead center lifting the steel was the famous, yet expected Superman. All six-feet-four of him: two hundred seventy pounds of packed, manly handsome muscle in a form-fitting blue, yellow and red Lycra costume… snug calf-high leather boots, a swirling red cape.
The figure, jaw-gaping and powerful, with his super-hearing, had caught most of what had been said. The last part rather mystifying. A Mr. Olympia in skin-tights, sans any trace of a belly: pectorals and mammae near obscenely bulging outwards from the overlayed fabric clinging to his brick-cobbled abs, and enough of a mounded male heft between his trunk-firm legs to weaken any man with pure envy. Not to mention a Hollywood smile of nonchalant confidence, beaming over the outrageous perfect density of his startlingly muscled shoulders, arms, and thighs… hips even narrow as Kris’s, looking almost top heavy, legs notable but desirably tapered, and crowned with a thick rush of dark wavy hair. Posturing his magnificence with ease and no little narcissism. From even 20 feet away, beyond confident. A waiting statue.
(‘Boxed and ready’—traced in his head like a stray tune. Whatever could that mean?)
“How about asking him to get you boys a lawyer,” said Superman calmly.
A brief pause, while all three took in the sight of each other.
Superman then moved, started slow-walking further into the warehouse towards the two young men ready to apprehend them. Not that he intended to rough handle them, they were way beneath his match and effort, only kids. His presence alone should be enough to cow them. Halfway in he paused once more, “Time to call it a night. Ready?”
The blue clad alien momentarily again letting them absorb his commanding stance. No less roll-flexed his curved heavy pecs for maximum effect (giant nipples protruding forwards even through his protectively tri-layered chest fabric); purposely thrusting his pelvis forth a bit… more than ego-masculinely loaded within his impressively mounded, well-cupped briefs. He did like an appreciative audience. Sensing their awe and admiration—for him the satisfying reaction from most. Aware also of their strained nervousness, overlaid with an odd bravado.
“So’s you can more wow-strut your “stuff” in public. In court?” Kris groused. “More circus-play than you get normally?”
Mike, with a Cheshire grin, “‘Lawyer?!’ No need, Superdud. We’re not going anywhere. At least not with you.” And shrugged. “Maybe you’re the one to be goin’ with us—?”
The Man of Steel cocked his head, not expecting quite that. Not from two kids.
“I’m afraid you are. You can’t go around stealing all these cars and expect to get away with it,” a nod of his head towards the scanned dozen other vehicles snugly parked on the sides in the dark interior. A bigger operation than he’d thought. Someone higher up must be backing these boys, he realized. It looked like a very honed, expensive endeavor.
“I’m afraid we can, and we will! Who’re you to stop us… Fag-man?” Mike teased.
The audacity of the youths rather piqued him, tightened his jaws. Superman, trying to fathom their abnormal behavior.
“Parts are pretty lucrative, if not the whole deal,” Mike countered. “But the Boss’s already prepared for your interference. So I suggest you don’t come any closer, or you’re gonna end up in a big world of hurt, Proud Tits. Rack like that, you’ll wish you’d stayed home milking them yourself—and sucking on that big dong you like to show—like you regularly do. Right?” And brazenly pulled a small electronic device from his pocket as a warning.
“Woo-woo!” added Kris, raising his eyes.
Taken aback, the MOS flushed bright red, and paused. How dare they insinuate?! No one had ever—! (Piercing into one of his deepest, most private secrets. Yet right and true as rain.) He straightened taller, quickly man-lifted his chin.
“Mouthy, are we? Look guys, it’ll be easier if you just come along willingly. It might go in your favor when the judge sentences you both.” Superman re-postured himself, hands on hips in his usual stance, gripping hard to control the situation.
“Can’t fool me, equipment like that. Never wasted, eh… Super-suck?! All of us “big” guys who can, do….” And Mike cup-gripped his own crotch enticingly.
The Man of Steel flushed red again, swallowed hard. Moving closer. Time to rein in this gig.
“Ever the skin-tight show-off, hey, Dude? Once mighty muscle and balls, big cock and tits,” Mike waved the device like a cellphone. “Before we take you down…. Empty them.”
“—Milk your ass good!” Kris added.
Their attitudes unconscionable. The object in the one’s hand no doubt some cheap taser they thought might could stun him, allow their escape. Yet pricked enough by their searing words, he found himself a tad on the defensive.
“That’ll be the day! Okay, boys, stop the dirty talk! Can’t help I’m built more than most. Showing myself saves a lot of hassle, actually. Gives criminals pause. Come on, no scuffle needed. No fighting—no hurts.”
“But you’re the one headed for hurt.”
“Right,” the hulking male gave a weary sigh. “Pack it in, guys. Hands behind your heads, over against the wall. Let’s go.”
He ease-moved towards them, striated thigh muscles rippling in his tights… was going to use the soft cuffs he carried in his belt, before calling in the cops on his catch. He had a direct GPS Police-Call Alerter attached to the side of his belt he always used. Effective for quick help, rounding up “do-badders” for capture. But before he could use it—
The two tyros backed off a little from the car, the hero closing in. “No way, Superman,” Kris taunted… some rope in his hands, slamming down the lid of the car trunk.
“You’re the one we’re ‘packing in’—” Mike smiled.
“Wha…” (Oh, if he’d only known then! What was planned. Could have with lightning speed wrested the object from the kid’s hand!) Caught in mid-thought, speech…
Distracted, Superman looked askance in his direction—too late. With a grin Mike waved, then pressed a button on the small electrical device. All the lights in the warehouse went out, plunging the building into a stark darkness. Sparse moments later several strong green spotlights flickered into life, and the car’s area and Superman were bathed in a glowing Kryptonite radiation.
Before the startled, duped MOS could register what had happened, his strong, mighty hands and arms raised instinctively within his cape to protect himself—“UUHH!! Unh-unnhhhhHH!! OH, NO, NO-hhhh!!” he reeled. Had been had! Electrified in pure shock, “the surprise beyond surprises” had overtaken him. Breath and heartbeats failing—sudden-struck, sharp and frozen in his huge chest, he gasped. “UnHh, UnHh, UnHhhh!!” stricken and paralyzed. Clutched at the center of his broad pecs, his tightening abs—caved forwards.
(As executed, the lure, of course, to be effective had had to be cleverly planned long in advance: costing its owner no less than a tidy sum and painstaking work to acquire enough of the green element [difficult to find under any circumstances], and reduce it to a powder that could then be electronically compressed and transmitted through space by light… into a lethal dosage and force enough to do the job. Leading the unsuspecting prey almost willingly into the trap laid for him, from which there could be no escape. Innocuous and disarming no less… that for all his touted muscle and other-earthly powers, he was now to become far weaker than the two youths about to hold him captive, the former might of his sinews reduced to such as wimped spaghetti and nearly useless….)
The superhero’s powerful body was instantly wracked with pain. He staggered, gave further startled cries, wobbled noticeably on his feet in obvious distress. Could feel his great strength being sapped from him, an overwhelming nausea rising within. Caught completely off-guard, never imagining—not by the hands of these kids!! They couldn’t!! He felt as though his entire world was collapsing. Senses scattered in disarray, foundering. Thighs and knees weakening. Superman’s mind churned, thinking urgently how to escape. But before his will could affect his body, he found himself drop-stunned to his knees, breathing heavily, struggling to stay focused. His cape tangled around him, falling forwards, one hand outspread to keep his torso and face from hitting the floor, the other pawing at the sharp piercing knot in his chest and guts. His massive body leaden-weighted, debilitated, panting. Could hardly hold up his head. Or breathe.
The shock of it all seared through him like a thousand X-rays.
“Well, Superman—still going to take us in?” mocked Mike.
“Think we’ve taken you!” Kris cooed.
He and Mike closed in towards the stricken hero. They laughed at the form of the de-powered, “fearless” Superman on his hands and knees, chin practically on the floor… in his oh, so-famous, skin-tight, every-muscle-meant-to-be-shown blue and red costume. The lighter weight Kris walked around behind Superman and grabbed at Superman’s red cape, whose eyes widened in unalterable, failing resistant surprise. He jerk-tugged backwards pulling Superman into an upright position on his knees, kneeing him into his back; the overly muscled man’s big arms floundering for some recourse of desperate defense, his arced massive pectorals about to pop through the yellow and red “S” on his front. To them laughable in his attempt. Kris’s ego soaring at his control—the cowed Superman groaned wanly as he was jerked back, cape tightened sharply around his throat, pawing futilely. And before the hero could do anything, though he tried desperately to breathe, rise… Kris doubled-wrapped the symbol of his invulnerable pride and fame around his startled face and head so he couldn’t see, jerking it tighter. Disabling him further. And wanting to cry out for help, his proud machismo preventing him; the subdued once mighty man merely groaned unintelligibly, vainly trying to free himself from his ensnarement.
Kris then reached under Superman’s arms, who was frantically trying to use his legs, and helped lift the staggered hero to his feet. However, he then quickly from behind slipped him into a full nelson, forcing his head submissively forwards with an ease not thought possible. And was yet able to arch him back. Mike was standing in front of them though Superman could not see him. Then, without warning he delivered a swift hard punch into the ridged tenure of Superman’s flexed abdomen. The unexpected blow caused Superman to huff out, affirming his now departed invulnerability. Several more punches in quick succession were rammed hard into him, his surprised howls muffled by the cape wrapped around his head. Each one seriously “Uhh-ffffing” him. His muscular body absorbing the blows only to a point, until obviously his structure began to weaken.
To Mike’s delight, he kept easily pounding the “great Superman” silly. His fists hitting the steely abdominal walls over and over until he sensed them softening, unable to effectively protect their vulnerable interior… his man sagging as he struck, the invincible hero sounding more and more incoherent with true pain. “Please, please… no more! Ohhh-unnhhh!! You, you got me, got me! No more, please, ohhhh….” Having the time of his life, his ego stoked high and working up a true sweat, being able to make this superiorly built and matured man-muscle hunk whimper and groan like a whipped dog, Mike finally figured he’d better stop… before rupturing his spleen or liver, or something worse. Though Kris was having to struggle to keep the titan upright, whose legs strong as they were, were no longer helping to keep him in position. The grit beaten out of him, and in shock. His big arms floppy and slack.
“Still got a good hold?” Mike questioned his pal, who nodded. And stopped punching.
Kris, at the heaving hero’s ear, “Boss’s gonna be happy when we deliver you to him, Superman. He definitely has plans. But first, he promised we get to have some fun, too! And my, my… what big goodies you have. Always so shamelessly revealed, and about ready to pop out of that suit. Even if trying to hide them in a good-sized cup, and flexible pec shield. Just makes them more noticeable, really—.”
“Unhh-unhhh. No, oh! Nohh…!” Superman mumbled in protest, shaking his still covered head. “Don’t, please. Let… let me go. I’m, I’m… Superman! The Kryptonite—”
“Pussied you out. Completely!” Mike affirmed.
“Tough shit, Soupsy!” Kris added. “Now we get to see. What’s real, what’s fake. What you got packed in there. Dish towels, or real meat.”
“No, noooh. Taking advantage…. So weak,” his mind a mess. “Please. Not right….”
“Cock-a-woozy-woo…. Now we get to do.”
Mike drew closer, and slow-rubbed his spread hands over the hapless hero’s prolific chest. Noting how soon the big man’s torso started arching upwards, taking deeper breaths… trying to fend him off—or was he relishing his touch? Surely possible. If it were true as rumored or some surmised, the famed alien never having been known to have been with an earthling—and no one had ever confessed—and the way he dressed… that he was just possibly a very adept, secretly sole-functioning, narcissistic self-taker!? (After all, Mike himself had known that pleasure since his early teens, as most hung men do… straight or gay.)
Then, carefully pausing over those soon more prominently, huge swelling nipples (not to be missed, even from beneath his protective shield, doubly larger than monster olives), he caressed at them teasingly for more than a few moments… watching how Superman’s pecs seem to expand and thrust further forwards, the nipple shafts elongating more and more as they filled, how he involuntarily began to make soft, mellowy sighs and sounds. “Oh, oh, oh! Ooo-ohhhh!!” very clearly, unmistakably. Mike then gave them a sudden, swiftly harsh, grip-holding firm squeeze. The MOS gasped audibly louder, arched more sharply—both in shocked surprise, pain, and obvious pleasure. Kris again had a hard time holding him. The alien’s cape still draggling around him.
Superman’s waned physical strengths apparent, and his mind, his thinking more than in confused disbelief at his situation, his will and abilities impaired by the overhead green continuous radiation, and now his innate hyper-sexuality being primed and risen to the fore… was fallen into no condition to defend himself. Was instead becoming more and more acquiescent to whatever might occur.
Mike chuckled knowingly, and allowed his hand to further drop downwards, savoring the ridges of the alien’s cobbled abs, his lower pelvic fortress, and going lower until he was invading, slipping past the flexible cupped guard of the alien’s main treasury inside his red briefs… fondling over and claiming Superman’s already stimulated, beyond largely pronounced jewels. The young man awed at what his hands had found, how his captive reacted.
The alien’s body tightened, his lost “Ohhhhing’s” keenly renewed. Mike’s hands massaged at his packed gelatinous, full tangerine-sized balls. Gloating and amazed—knowing he had him. The glorious, famed, hugely muscled and endowed Man of Steel, pliable as a girl… whimpering in his hands, in his total control. The alien’s erection growing long and hard, as well as Mike’s own getting bigger.
“Dude, this fucking Superman’s throwing us a huge natural boner!” exclaimed Mike. “Just work his nipples, gets girly as hell. Imagine! Balls like a bull, cock big as a horse. No doubt flexible, too… must be doing himself silly daily. Never heard of him being with anybody, have you? Those huge tits, rod, and seed-makers…. Must get drunk as a loon on his own juice. Right, Fag-sucker?” Light-gripping his glans, he slow rubbed the MOS’s already prolific flow across it.
The churlish rebuke struck deep, pierced into his core. Demoralized, and depowered, still stunned from the Kryptonite scrambling his brain and comprehension, his great body no longer at his disposal, these boys that had impossibly imprisoned him and reduced his extraordinary might to whispers and shreds, almost nothing—Superman was barely able to think. Quivered helplessly. Could only moan, “Ohh, unnnh! Ohhh, please. Nohhhh! Boys, no. No, boys… please.”
“Ewww, what kind of sick-o would do that?” snorted Kris (what Mike had said), dreaming he could. Finally worn out, with a relaxing heave he let go, and their captured, bagged and weak Superman slipped from his grasp.
“Flexible ones, stupid. If you got it and can. I would for one—and do,” smirked Mike. “Don’t you?”
“Sometimes; still not that easy, not big as you. If I could regular, yeah,” Kris agreed. “Why not? No more lonely Saturday nights.”
“Except when you’re not with me…” Mike rolled his eyes playfully.
The no less startled MOS, disappointed at no more being stimulated, and no less defensively embarrassed by his feelings, yet equally worried, was now haplessly sprawled chest down on the dirty floor. His head was going in warps from yes to no to must get out of here now, to how and what might happen next? To truly this could not be happening—not to him, rendered helpless, being beaten and felt up by two teenage boys! And getting a hard-on, wanting more?! He, the most incredible man in the Universe: wings clipped, oversized nipples and horse-cock undeniably seeping wet… in yet still nauseous pain, and being continually sensically and strength-drained by the horror of “the green.” No, no, this could not be happening!!
Superman able to hear, fearing what they might yet have in mind, began to try to move and get up. He must escape, he must!! But both of his teen captors started kicking at his body and yelling obscenities at him. Then each of them grabbed one of Superman’s arms and hoisted him to his feet. With some difficulty, due to his mass, they dragged him to the car and pushed him face down against the car’s smooth hood. Each took a small length of surprisingly thin rope and tied the great Superman by his wrists to the car’s wing mirrors.
“Good and tight,” Mike instructed. “Knowing he’s going to buck and squeal.”
“No, no—you can’t do this! NO!!” Supes’s heart in his throat, his manhood and all he was suddenly on the line! In disbelief still at his pared strength, that these puny youths or their ropes could hold him—the sparked realization hit of what was soon to be happening, but couldn’t see.
“Well, Fagboy, you must want it pretty bad. And ALL the time, to have followed us here—or go anywhere in public displaying yourself like a cheap whore—forever wearing those sissy tights and red queer boots. So who are we to disappoint the “Mighty Superman?””
Mike teasing, reached under Superman to undo the buckle of his yellow belt, who in dread was beginning to struggle, tried pulling away. When the clasp came free, he yanked the blue tights and red briefs down to just below Superman’s knees effectively binding his legs from kicking at them. Observing his hard, beautiful glutes with a long cool whistle. And a smart two slaps. “Will you look at that! Like smooth, carved white stone—even smaller and tighter than yours, Kris. Imagine! And on such a built stud! Back and lats, wide as a barn.”
“No, stop! No—don’t!!” Superman’s panic about to make him sicker than he already was. Knowing his fate. Not him, the incredible and mighty MOS!! About to be plundered and raped by two teenage boys?! He, the quintessential “Man among Men!!” Impossible!!
Mike’s demeaning, relentless. “So how many times you make yourself available for bodybuilders on the sly after late workouts—or just petty criminals with big dicks… who if they service you, you promise not to turn them in? Hunh? Favors given, favors received? Is that how you’ve played it, Super Shit? Or you’re just the goody, celibate Boy Scout, only pleasuring his poor old lonely self? Scared to death he might get caught… certainly not with some other less famous muscle-cock in his mouth, or up his ass?! Can’t fool me—equipment like yours, not put out there just for “display,” never use it?! Right? Right?! Right, Superfag!! Probably dick-sticking your own self like a maniac. Why settle for less, you have so much to give…? Take.”
“Unh, unhh. No, no!” Mike’s hands already plying at his cheeks, spreading him, rubbing. Fingers softly at his hole. “Ohhhhh, ohhhhhhh,” the MOS thought he would faint. Anticipating.
And Mike knew from experience, he had hit the jackpot of what he never thought possible: coring Big Blue!! Who with, had he not been disabled, this could never otherwise have occurred. But Mike was going to rub it in. To conquer-fuck the impossible Superman was to be the coup of a lifetime! Whatever the truth: this alien’s hot bubble ass was his. And he absolutely knew big muscle wanted it…. The way this puffed, so ultra-mature hero had cooed at being touched, fondled, almost submissive, regardless of the depowering Kryptonite, not like some fear-resistant virgin—but a man hungrier than hell to be taken, maybe for the first time… and made into some fine/strong young cock’s manly bitch. Whom he could feel trembling beneath him, was going to oblige.
“No, no. Never… not like that! Not who I am,” mumbled the quavering MOS. “I’m decent, upright. Even if… if I am more than built, overly endowed. Have always been. Never played. Don’t… don’t do anything bad! Please, we’ll regret. Let me go, I’ll—I promise, we can forget this ever happened. Please, not to me; nothing nasty, mean. Unmasculine…! Ca-can—keep it quiet.”
Superman groaned in protest, but his voice was still muffled by his cape, couldn’t see but perceived something ominous was going to occur. And then he felt the hand of Mike once again reach under him between his legs, so wonderfully over his tennis-sized hefty balls and more than earth-worldly cock, which he had and did treasure and enjoyed endlessly alone. Manually and orally! He shuddered in apprehension, a mysterious desperation. Equally craved to know those appreciative, pleasuring hands on him, as much as he was desperate to be free and his own man again.
Superman more urgently squirmed and tried to break free, but when he felt Mike’s grasp over his cock, unable to enclose it all (thick as a 16 oz. drink can, no less twice as long), and give it a few ownering grip-squeezes, to ensure it remained hard, he sensed an enveloping acquiescence, wanting his touch. But then growled in unexpected surprise and discomfort as Mike roughly pull-tugged his largeness straight down, trapping it between his sinewy thick thighs, bulge-tender testicles, and the car’s metallic hood. Then Mike finally ripped off his cape, tossed it aside, letting his head and sight free… so he could maybe swivel his head to see the body about to plunder him… or Mike could later curl his hand under his chin, force his head back if he wanted to. Stepping back, he proceeded to shuck off his clothes. Proud of the cock he had that was going to ravage the cowed MOS, and wanted him to see it.
Superman’s mind was askew. He just couldn’t quite process what was happening, and how quickly things had turned around. One fourth as much willing, as half afraid, another quarter in pure panic. And his other half truly confused. He knew what was coming but couldn’t do anything about it. And he, the world’s most famous, powerful man on the planet… was about to be raped!! Used like a slum-cheap whore, lancing his ego and pride to the core. Mike was going to fuck him. As was probably the other kid, too. His disbelief rupturing his spirit and sanity.
“Here’s a little gift for you, Superman,” Mike whispered in his ear, then burst out laughing. “Not as fine as yours, which I don’t doubt you’ve shoved up your ass times past counting—and who wouldn’t, possessing such a bachelor’s prized schlong? But here’s maybe a little something to soothe your nerves… bring you down to our earthly realm?”
And Mike, having shucked out of his tracksuit, revealing his finely muscled near-adult body and staggeringly proud ten-and-a-half-inch cock, with nicely egg-shaped balls, seen only for a few clear moments, before he moved in and behind the apprehensive male tied to the car’s hood—without any further warning laid his prize strongly firm and secure along and against the rifted split cleft of the MOS’s buttocks. It was warm and thick, and he slow-rubbed it lengthwise in and along the curved line of Superman’s exposed ass, parting his cheeks, and let it ride lower and deeper and lower, ready for entering.
Superman jerked and tried to reject it, but he was already primed, brain-addled, physically overcome, very weak, while Mike, abundantly flow-lubricated… was at the gate. And though the alien had often taken his own outrageous fourteen inches carefully, Mike’s brash maleness pushed into him harder than Superman could have imagined. It was hurting him terribly, and kept pushing at his sanctum to get inside, while he could not help both wanting and resisting him—but surely not at being treated this way, unlike the true special hero he was. But oh, heavenly God, when Mike’s arms also slipped in close up and around his mound-hairy chest, finding his loaded nipples thick and long in front, and began sweet playing them, it was the release-opening trigger it took. Moments later, Superman’s resistance was no more but a truly welcoming “Please, please, please…” and willingly gave way. Mike, truly fist-milking over his big teats from behind, as he boldly rammed all of his man-boy’s thickness and length into the defeated superhero… a powerful thrust to the hilt, with a deafening cry of “YEESSSSSSSSSSS!!”
While Superman screamed, unmanly—the sudden painful intrusion, disbelieving this could ever be happening. Not him! Never—not to him!!
And, and… loving every treasured male inch invading him, like he’d never known before.
But while the MOS had initially cried aloud, it didn’t take long until he was more than easily adjusted—having regularly taken his own rod, so much larger—and was receiving the younger man’s joyously in soon moments of pure bliss. His muscular legs jerking, buttocks spreading further to accommodate being taken… with no shame, tights being worked more down to his ankles. Murmuring and babbling, “Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike…” Because he was in the rapture of a never before experience: his inner source core and loaded man-breasts being roughly pleasured at the same time, the milk/nectar from his adeptly worked teats soaking the whole front of his costume profusely… and the unexpected rupture of his semen in near continuous, successive flowing rivers. Climax after climax after climax after climax. He lost consciousness after his sixth body-shaking expulsion. Sorrowfully wasted on the car’s hood, running profusely all down and along his hirsute quivering legs.
To be continued…