Superman, The Beginning of the End [Illustrated version.] Part 2
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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 Two: Gelding The Stallion.

While he was out, they decided to strip him completely, tone down the green lights, which was even making them a little woozy… hosed him off and refastened his bonds. (They had been warned not to keep him under too long.  Twenty, thirty minutes at most, then go down to half power.  It could be dangerous for all concerned. A stratagem that hadn’t been tried before.)

“About the best fuck of my life. And who would’ve thought it’d ever be Superman?!”

Super-Fucked now, you mean. By the time we’re done with him. I’m next,” Kris said.

“Ahhh, you’re too little. Don’t think he’d feel it half as much, or cause him to shoot near the same.”

“The hell, you say!” Kris snapped. “You sure like it well enough.”

“That’s different, us being similar size. Mine two inches longer, and you near thick as me. But him, having his own monster all the time, and mine closer to his than just any. Well, tell you what… you can throat him deep, while I hump his ass all over again. Thick as you are, might even make him gag. Give him a different thrill, for sure. Doubled down. Then we can switch.”

“But I am gonna have that ass, you just wait.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, after my next go, then you. And he can be swallowing mine, while you’re doing him.”

(Courtesy of mphillips12000, Deviant Art, 2022. The mighty MOS finally stripped, and released from the confinement of his flexible protective pec-shield, massive breasts revealed—richly covered with a thick mat of crisp dark hair, much to Mike’s and Kris’s astonishment. Knowing he was indeed more than “loaded...” overly pectorally/genitally endowed, and fruitful beyond expectation.)

“Okay. Looks like “Tits Galore” is coming around again. What a fucking fag—a man with udders that big! Lex’ll probably have them removed, just for the hell of it. Nut him, too. You think?” Kris wondered.

“Who knows? The Boss is a very thorough man. Might even have those cock-nips split, and pierced with ball-weights on each side. Giving him four! Or keep him collared in his basement for monthly treats for his men…? Maybe even load him up with estrogen to make him a real Dairy Queen—cut off his dick, give him a cunt-slit? Whatever, it’ll be cool.”

“Shame, all that wasted muscle. Huge tits, and no dick. Interesting.”

“Kind of like Mr. Olympias, I guess. Only they get bellies when off the juice. Wonder if their dicks and balls grow back, too?”

“Doubt it. Here, help me get this dog chain around his neck, before he starts barking.”

Groggily coming around, having heard the majority of all of this, the mighty Superman was feeling worse than puny and faint all over again. His nerves churned up in his stomach, his big chest filled with pure fear, and his mind near shattered with incomprehensible disbelief. He was the world’s greatest hero, now perhaps about to be wickedly dismantled for all time, at last extinguished! Made into some criminals’ laughing-stock toy-thing, some sexually warped and abused clown for their sick pleasures?!  His ego and pride could not take it. Yet it had only been boys, boys, mere boys… who had reduced him to nothing?! But, of course, without the Kryptonite this could not have been possible. Their Boss must be one determined foe!

Mike and Kris then throttled the MOS with his new necklace, a cold, sturdy steel choke-chain one might put on a Rottweiler, able to be loosened or tightened at will. With his hands now simply fastened behind him—the cuffs he had planned to use on them, they had used on him!  Too weak to even break that simple steel… bound, he’d never be able to get the collar off, no matter how much he shook his head. And already ineffectual as piss, he couldn’t give them much trouble of any sort. Would have to follow orders or be choked into submission. With the Kryptonian lights now dimmed, his strength was more stabilized… able to get to his feet and walk on his own. It gave him some measure of hope, the lethality of the green radiation diminished. But he still wobbled, and his brain rambled, worse than hazed. How could he fight back, free himself?

But surely with his wondrous assets he could get out of this, save himself. Even if partially restored. Or get them to see reason, manipulate them into letting him go. Or somehow get further out and away from these murderous lights that had ensnared him. Get them to turn them off—? Convince them somehow it was necessary? Ten minutes could restore his strength to at least the powerful man he was in the natural, which would be enough to outmaneuver his captors and even capture them. He didn’t have all that muscle for nothing.

They rousted him, got him headed towards the car again, admiring the chiseled cut of his still narcissistic physique (somewhat wilted under their control), the gigantic swing of his genitals, and the partially depleted droop of his proud milked-out pectorals, soft nipples pendulously near two-thirds the size of hot dogs. Led by the small chain of his collar, he acquiesced without qualm. At the car again when told to stand still, “Be a good boy,” he did so obediently. Only this time, in even more surprise, he was whirled around facing forward and pushed down backwards against the vehicle’s cold metal hood once more. Knowing he was going to be abused again, but how?

“Unlock him, then we need get his wrists re-tied to those mirrors,” Mike demanded. To Superman he said, “Spread those guns wide, Macho Cunt. Miles to go before you sleep—.”

Kris complied, but wondered aloud, “Damn, but you’d think this hunk’d be able to rip himself loose by now? Still looks strong as an ox. Fucking biceps he’s got!”

“All pussy-fake. Shot too much of his jizz. Still fizzed out. Lex said that’d probably happen. Under these lights, and the drain on his power sources. Could probably fuck him all night, not even use the K that long. Wouldn’t be able to make it across the room on his own, once depleted.”

So it was Lex Luthor behind all this! A glimmer of hope, knowing what he was dealing with. Superman hastily tried to form a strategy. “Boys, please! The, the K—too much of it… will kill me. Too much, plus the loss, my… my milks, seed. My strength. Will do me in. Too quick—faster than you think. Not what your boss… wants, has planned, is it? Would ruin his fun.”

“… and you’re telling us how to do you in? Come on, we’re not stupid.”

“The-the lights. Turn them off. Already, too weak to fight you. I’m fading. Fading faster than what’s… expected. Give me a breather. Do what you will. The lights…. Only, is the only way to save me.”

The truth of it an actual reality which could come to pass. The alien’s fear heightened.

“Sure. Will do. For further fucking. And then… thanks for the warning. Two dicks better than one. You’re gonna love this, Fuck-duck,” smirking like crazy, Mike turned to his pal. “While I amp up the lights a little more… now help me get his damn legs worked apart. Loop around his ankles, get them fastened up over his shoulders and wide-tied hard onto the door handles. Then you get out of that tracksuit, and climb up near his head.”

Superman’s heart sank. It hadn’t worked. His wrists fastened tight once more. His legs now being spread, roughly man-handled upwards. NO, NO—! NO!! Oh, Ra, help me! Oh, Ra!!

(David’s artwork once more. Superman vainly trying to protest, prevent his further abuse... being forced back again onto the car hood; face up, with his arms and legs now to become bound into place above his shoulders.)

To say the MOS’s eyes were not wild wide, and his panic rising higher would be to put it mildly. He was going to be reamed again. This time in a position to be cored deeper than before. And while his hyper-sexuality having previously been triggered by Mike’s former assault, his senses dulled in the acceptance of how he had enjoyed his unexpected never-thought-possible submission, he partially half relished the idea. At the same time, his rational mind was also in a total shocked protest—him, a beyond superbly desirable mass of muscle and incomparable manhood, a great hero and indisputable champion—with a set of genitals and pec-rack that could have staggered an army, thighs and arms, skills and abilities beyond earthly powers—who had now become a simple two teens’ plaything?! It was entirely incomprehensible! Not only the thought, but the reality also at work within… un-manning him. He was suddenly become almost boyishly emotional, feeling his eyes starting to fill and flutter with less than manly tears.

“Oh, no, no. Not this. Please, please, boys. Don’t,” his machismo crumbling in his helplessness, as his legs were lifted, pulled high, his pelvis arched more forwards, and ankles securely fastened beyond and above his shoulders, somewhat near his already stretched out arms and wrists. It’s a good thing he was naturally so adept and flexible, or it could have been worse than painful. But once tied, he never expected the next event.

“Tits like that, we might as well milk the cow,” Mike announced. “Since it’s been surmised they just might, among other things, be what gives you your great and mighty strength—at home and alone? Besides the sun…. Feeding your still growing, very needy big-boy baby mouth? Think I could use some of that myself, to ensure my own increases. Right, self-sucker… own-milk-drinking fag? Need to take some for myself for later.”

“What else would you be doing with those “things?”” Kris agreed. “Limber as a Chinese acrobat, I’m sure. Not there just for decoration.”

And with that, on each side of him, between his widespread thighs, and leaning in against his monumentally very soon to be hard phallus, lodged up between the deep cleft of his own pecs, thermal suction bottles in hand, they both began to pull-take the rich juice from his sensitive mammillae. Such a thing he had never experienced before, and he wailed and writhed, moaned and cried out—beyond shock and pleasure… and came four times in the process, as they each filled two pint bottles from him.

Oh, how he moaned and struggled, mewled and wept. “My nipples, oh, my huge tits… my big milk, my strength… taking me, draining me!! Oh, no—na-not my milk! MY MILK!! No, no, please—stop, stop! Stop, please, you’re killing me!! DEPLETING—my, my powers, my strengths—!! MY RE-GENESIS!!  My SEED…!! Mercy—oh, mercy! Please!” As if with each burst from his core, he was being hammer struck in the forehead, knife pierced into his brain, further dazed and expended. And was near to passing out again, overly desperate, yet futilely struggling in his bonds. Practically choking on his tears, and his semen drenched face and torso… which they giggled at each time they saw him buck and spurt voluminously into the vacant air. Of course, never letting him take his own seed into his mouth, which he well could have in that position… it might have thus re-strengthened him far too much (as suspected/surmised, true as it was) for them to handle… letting it fly and gush and dribble wastefully wherever it would. Exhausting him beyond exhaustion.

This, too, demoralized him terribly: to waste the alien, powerful self-enriching, potent fount of his essences, and pare down his innate strength and senses ever so much farther, was for him beyond what could be imagined. At this rate, the volume of his losses, from both his nourishing-laden breasts and testicles might actually be enough to kill him—and under the Kryptonite radiation truly hasten the process. He had more than reason to fear, his possible extinction at hand. Mind-staggered at the shock to his system and the realities sapping his life forces.

Somehow, he must be able to stop this, stop this, stop this…. Escape from these immature, mission-centered kids, inadvertently destroying him. Or get released from being within their power to do so.

This time they took a short break, and popped a few beers, listening to their captive groan and moan in an unmistakable stupor of depletion. They had milked him good, and knew it. As he did also, in a mortal, near mindless encroaching terror. What more could they do? After all, wasn’t this only a prelude for the enemy to whom he would be “delivered?” How? And for what?

“Best climb up on that hood, now. Get ready, while I take him again,” Mike ordered Kris.  

Superman’s heart and guts lurched. It wasn’t over. His genitals were heavily limp and slung long and low between the curved arc of his pubis, his body bowed, legs and arms still fastened up and away hopelessly useless… wondering if he were the slightest bit able to endure more. He had tried desperately to ingest some of his thickly white jizz, but his spurts had been missing his mouth and the most of what he needed, his tongue only able to savor small dabs and chunks of it, lap at a few splatters, not near enough to re-charge him. His big teats sore and hurting, worse than near empty. But what Mike had said re-stirred something of further concern within.

The woozied remembrance of his fine cock, what it had done inside him… even if near wonderful as before… could maybe finally finish him. After all, having lost so much of his life-making/strength-giving juices, and being kept away from the sun—his chances of recovery were slim to none. Perhaps sealed worse under the K-radiation if it was kept on. How, oh how, could he get them to shut it off? Under his breath he prayed urgently to Ra—could his once home-God hear him, did he exist… or had he too been destroyed in the shattering of the planet Krypton?

He’d already lost so much of his seed and source essences now, he couldn’t have fought off the two of them, young and unskilled as they were, even if he’d have tried—his natural strength at such an ebb, his larger muscles slowing him down, his own mass restricting him; younger, quicker, and more determined, they could easily subdue him… not to mention the continuation of the glowing green lethality of the lights from above. His mind frantically tried to find a grip, a way to turn his situation around, but was coming up with zeroes by the jillions. He was at their mercy. Would they be kind, some reasonable way to reach them?

But then miracle of miracles, he heard Mike say, “We’d best turn off those lights. I think he’s about had it, as it is. If what he said is true, we could be in deep trouble. Can always turn them back on if he gets restless.”

“Sure sport, have at it.” And then mysteriously, Kris having climbed up on the hood, for some reason, seemed to be fastening his trim corded thighs around his head, while below Mike was once more now climbed up on the bumper, his thick cock glans pushing in at his hole.

The MOS muttered, moaned. “Oh, please, no more. Ca-can’t….”

But there was to be no reprieve. Kris strangely pulling up on his chin, neck-arching him back. The older youth below prying at his chute.

With scarcely an intake of air, Mike was then thrusting more easily into him—and his mouth was suddenly forced open and choked full with the insertion of Kris’s unexpected eight and a half inches deep into his throat! He gurgled, gagged, bucked… made the strangest of sounds, almost not able to breathe… and wonder of wonders, while being cored, and Mike was sucking then down over the huge crown of his glans, he unconsciously, hungrily began savoring-in Kris as far as he could take him. Urgent, that the serum of his youthful semen might somehow help to recharge his own losses, as well as Mike depositing his load inside him. He was even able to adeptly suckle in the fullness of the younger man’s balls, who howled and cooed, while being rapturously devoured. All three of them stiff as telephone poles. And with rising peaks of urgency to cum…. No playing around. Each filling each with their glorious jizz.

“Yes-sir, we do know what it’s like Super-fag! We do suck our own, and you now have that pleasure, as well,” Kris crooned in his face, pumping his rod swift, hard and mercilessly into him. “Only this is fun-er. Much fun-er, indeed. Slurping up our cum now like your own… if only you could yours! Ha, ha!!”

Then switching, Mike’s splooge deep within him, Kris’s juices in his throat, Superman’s jizz in Mike’s… the boys traded places.  Had even each popped a blue pill to ensure they wouldn’t falter.  Not feeling Kris below the way he’d felt Mike, yet about to choke on the much, much bigger one thrusting down his throat now and into his esophagus (though he had oft taken his own even further), and Kris complaining the MOS was too fucking shaft-large to get his mouth around… started sucking on his nipples instead…. More gurgling and gagging, moaning and crying, jerking and bucking and sighing, they all three came again. Only this time their captive victim was shaking and spasming more violently, his powerful legs as if trying to straighten out and rip loose, torso and arms as if electrified—making worse than desperate sounds, convulsing and tense-tightening all over. Finally, his thick corded neck jerked stiffly back, spine arching, stunned-blue eyes rolled, and the great Superman was out cold—went massively slack and limp, still tied, making not a sound. Except for a few wheezing, involuntary gurgles in his throat as if drowning on Mike’s semen.

Then nothing.

To be continued…

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