Superman, The Beginning of the End [Illustrated version.] Part 3
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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 Three: A Parting Gift.

After observing him for a few confused minutes, minds racing, the bow-curled bulk of him in a stilled, quiet lump on the hood—in panic, Mike had the ropes cut, the overhead green completely cut off. The inert mass of the big muscled alien unravelling, he slid off the car onto the ground in a senseless, slag-like heap. Had they killed him?

Luthor no doubt would be killing them, if that happened!

Difficult as it was to maneuver the huge titan, they got him stretched out, naked and slack. He seemed not even to be breathing. Mike started CPR.

“But he looked damn sure like he liked this shit!” Kris mumbled.

“A true Super-fag, indeed. Cum-hungry cunt! Never thought he’d take to sucking so much dick like that. No resistance. But you never know. Maybe the lights were too strong?”

Mike, after about ten or so minutes tired of the CPR, and finally stood back. They both looked down on the lifeless mound of muscle at their feet, wondering what to do next. Monster pectorals sagged, udders hanging long and soft, massive cock loosely slung across his oak-thick thighs still dripping wet, his bull balls heavy on the ground between them (though his sac was a bit more wrinkled and less massed than before), incredible arms mighty and relaxed, head turned aside as if asleep, mouth open and adrool.  

“Handsome, astounding fucker, no less. Even if dead,” mumbled Kris.

“Maybe if we get him in the box, they’ll figure he died on the way over. Too much green, worn out losing so much juice. No sun, no air, maybe?” Mike, urgent for a solution.

“Worth a shot, I guess,” Kris agreed.

So they grabbed him by the wrists and pulled, began to drag his body over towards the crate hidden in the shadows which had already been prepared, was just waiting for its planned cargo. Who could fault them if something went wrong? After all, shooting a few loads of his jizz couldn’t have hurt anything. And they’d had permission to play him anyway they wanted as an extra bonus. But that radiation—that must have been what did it! Who could tell how little or how much would do him in? Or for how long he could last exposed under it? (Those things, of course, had never been determined, no one having ever had the opportunity to test his resistance to the max).

Or they were toast….

But oddly enough each were feeling strange and strong as hell. “He’s a load, I know, but man he feels really not that heavy at all,” Mike kind of amazed.

Then Kris had the bright idea, “Hey, you know, us having taken his jizz… as he obviously does himself, maybe that’s what gives him so much power? Feeling a little light-headed, aren’t you? Me, too. But strong as a horse.”

“Think you might be right, never expected that. Since we didn’t let him take any of his own. But am sure those pec-milkers are also pretty potent, why I wanted to save some. Men don’t usually give milk, unless it’s for a really weird or abnormal reason. Others have sort of thought the same: him ever “alien alone,” just doing himself most likely. Feeding from his own to self-regenerate and restore. Almost feel like I could press him overhead, all that beef—throw him over my shoulder. Feel really infused, though.”

And to prove his point, he got himself solo under the form of the mighty, packed-limp, hefty-sack of muscle, heaved him up with not as much struggle as expected, and indeed had him draped over his shoulders, no help from Kris. The greatly muscled alien’s huge arms and legs dangling relaxed and freely, head and neck a-wobble, his thickly-long, prized genitals soft and useless slung between his thick carved thighs, miraculous trophies of his now confirmed conquest.

“Wow, what the fuck! Imagine, under that green radiation, the “other-worldly Superman” gets done-in by his own proud juices, emptying his regenerating sperm factories and cow tits.   Giving up too much of himself! Must have drained his sun-primed inner batteries to a frazzle. Dumb freak… actually killing himself!

“Can’t blame us,” Kris was quick to agree. “But Luthor’ll still be pissed.”

“Didn’t he say we could fuck over him any way we wanted, as a bonus? Providing he could be K-tased-out and downed as planned—or we would have been toast!! Long as he wasn’t marked or marred!?” And Mike bounced his inert prize up and down a little, just to prove how strong he’d become (not a wimp to begin with). “Who would have thought?!”

“Ironic. Superman losing his life, spurting it from his own jizz-makers! Cool.”

“Super, but closeted. “Fairy Cock” finally released. Flying closer to earth than ever before,” Mike beamed. “And we grounded him permanently!”

“All that mature muscle done-in by my half-sized seventeen-year-old dick, and your near twenty-year-old rod. Hungrily gagging on both of them!”

“Anybody force his mouth open…?”

“Who—me?” snorted Kris.

“Let’s hang it up. Getting close to midnight. Lex’ll have the truck here soon enough. Don’t want to be caught with a dead alien.”

Getting things in position, they were in the process of lowering him back down to the floor, about to lift his bulk into the wide, long wooden crate packed with thick chunks of polystyrene, and drop him to his ignoble end… when Superman unexpectedly started to stir back into consciousness.

“Mmm-mmmmhh. Mmmmnnn,” his ropey legs began to straighten, his powerful arms to move, his head to turn and swivel, big chest fill with great gulps of air. “Wha… wha… happened?” As if he had not a clue who or where he was, that he was even Superman, or had been sucking and been fucked by these attractive, nude young men relentlessly for the past two plus hours. His eyes blinking, mouth and lips quivering, gnarled hands to his forehead. A hellishly handsome, yet no less stunned titan of muscled glory: large genitals, rippling abdominals, and monster nipples on full display, struggling to move, awaken, gain a grip on his whereabouts. Making dull sounds and shivers. The cement floor beneath him cold, dirty, gritty.

“Uh, oh,” Kris moaned. “The green, turn on the green!”

“It’s in my clothes, by the car.”

“Fuck! Then get those chains. Still must be weak as hell—! And we’re the strong, now.”

(David, Man of Steel artwork. Thoroughly downed, exhausted, depleted and depowered, the hapless once mighty MOS stirs back into consciousness, somewhat involuntarily aroused, about to be enwrapped and bound in chains to keep him from struggling more—preparing him for his final, further abuse at the hands of his teen captors. Brain-stunned and body-weak, to be “milked” more than udderly helpless... for fateful delivery to his nemesis Lex Luthor.)

Mike hastily dove for the loops of chain they had already stored along one of the side walls. Long-linked ropes of new steel no thicker than tire chains, which had been cut in varying lengths in preparation for the final binding of the Man of Steel… if necessary, but not expected to be, once hopelessly contained. To be secured powerless, fucked-out and exhausted, trussed for delivery to Lex Luthor, most likely unable to even speak or cry for help. Or if so, not able to be heard from within his wooden container in the back of the truck which would carry him to his fate.

“Wha-what… what are you doing? No—why? To me. What is this…?” the hapless MOS brought quickly alert, but with a harrowing fear suddenly renewed all through him.  More than aware his famed sinews were now weak as grass—felt himself being rolled, shifted, and assiduously wrapped in the cold metal of the chains being fastened around him, his huge arms pressed down lengthwise along his torso and hips, looped around his waist, then his ankles and knees. Small padlocks being clicked into place at each section. All the while wriggling futilely, hands clawing and desperate to be free, his strength worse than pared, chains from which he once could have broken loose by just taking a deep breath, flexing his incredible muscularity against them: but could not. He was Superman!!

In the forefront of his mind. Only to be squelched insidiously.

(David, the Man of Steel. In pure terror, begging: “No, not the chains--not tha-that box!! Noooooo! Please!! MERCY!! Nooooohhhhh!!!!” To no avail, as they wrapped him securely. Proceeded to nurse from his huge breasts, while he pleaded with them to let him go. Could get them anything they wanted. “Anything, anything!! Ten times what Luthor—unnhhh-ohhhhhhh!!!!” “Oh, shut up, Fag-tits!!”)

“You’re no longer Superman, Fag-sucker!” Mike informed him. As if to rip out the thought from inside him. Impress him with his fall from power and status. “Just an eager cocksucker, who loves to be fucked. And will be, more times than that dazzled-down brain can count. Won’t even know your name soon enough.”

“Na-no! No!” 

Adding in for spite, “You love cock, always have. Especially big one’s like your own. Not many around, but the lesser one’s will do nicely, I’m sure.  Unless Lex lets you keep yours, which is doubtful. Then you’ll be worse than normal…. Actually just a big muscle cunt now, like those shriveled peanut, nutless Olympia fags, can’t get enough of real cock after a show—heard about them.  Flexing their stuff, but desperate to be with real men who have some meat between their legs instead of tire-stems from all those steroids they could never grow cocks with, no matter how much they jack, stretch or pump. Wishing they could suck themselves off like you, or once could. And you no more… maybe?”

Kris further railing his fate. “End of the road, alien-fuck. Shot so much of your shit, probably won’t even need Kryptonite to keep you down, long as they keep you in the dark, out of the sun. But that jizz sure was powerful stuff, I still feel it. How long can you last without it? Once those balls are removed, trophy-glassed in jars. Kept out of the sun, no alien dick to swallow?”

Kris’s tirade more than alarming, hitting nails directly into his soul. His worst fears edging reality, having been reduced to far less than a large, overly muscled man’s ability to function. These kids had him. Had trapped him—led him into a nightmare of extermination. No escape.

He, the most gloried, powerful, invincible known being in the universe, now to be literally destroyed. And had been snared so very simply… in but the blink of any eye. His own eye, which had failed to detect the danger he had willingly walked into without a thought. Two teens stealing cars—who had instead stolen his life, and all he was.  Utterly mind-boggling!

His options fewer than few, if he was to get out of this.

Suddenly, he begged out a last hope. “Please, boys. The, the milk you took from my pecs. Allow me, let me have some, what you saved. Just a swallow or two… or I, I might not make it. So, so worn now. Gives me… my strength, even just a little. Necessary. Might help me, survive better. So tired… my milk, need; need my milk…. Or I, so weak. Lost… too much—.”

Mike for a few seconds had to reason that out. Then nodded to Kris to get one of the thermoses they had chucked aside.

“Just one swallow, that’s all…” he had to test it out. Couldn’t have Luthor find a dead Superman in his coffin, nor allow him more than a brief swallow, which might just be enough for him to break out of his chains and attack them. He had no idea, but didn’t want to lose the big dude he had so successfully taken down and depowered. Nor be overcome by a re-strengthened one!

Gratefully the conquered MOS gulped desperately at the thermos Mike held to his lips. If he could take three or four full swallows, he knew he would be able to break free, now that the lights were no longer debilitating him. His own juice would quicken his recovery, even if it might take five or so minutes for his system to process its potency, his forever strength-giving nectar.

But seeing how very desperately he tried to ingest more than he was supposedly rationed, Mike jerked the bottle away, saying sharply: “Oh, no you don’t! None of that, “Cow-boy”! We know how powerful that stuff is, no chance letting you get your own serum back again. No way!”

Although his eyes were instantly more brightened they could see, and he was stir-flexing at his bonds again, while the ripples of his two-swallows intake had blessedly recharged through him in a meager flash… Mike’s curtailing his true salvation made the MOS’s heart skip a beat, throttling his so urgent ploy at escape. Truly frightened, and more in terror than before, he knew without their help, he would never be able to regain or be restored. Only they could save him.

His mind frantic for a solution. Chained and helpless, his distress mounting. 

Above him, kneeling now, how they stared down in an almost lecherous fashion. The handsome pair’s ownering presence reinforcing their mastery over him. Mike having set the thermos aside, palm-warming his own genitals with one of his hands, licking his lips. Kris making soft “Umh-um-umhs” under his breath.

“My God, what a set of tits you have. And so loaded, leaking wet,” Mike crowed.

“Among other things…” Kris agreed. “Too bad. The very “powers” that did you in.”

“Oh, no. Please,” sensing the final crushing-in of his world, what they were going to do.

“Dang. Just can’t let those babies go to waste. Not yet, not while you’re still kicking. Thought we’d lost you.” Mike swooped in, indicating Kris closer.

Superman’s eyes widened frantically, laying bound on the cold floor, strained more at the steel links fastened around him, curtailing his freedom. Oh, my God, oh, my God. Please, no!! His hands curled in useless claws at his side.  His areolae tightening, nipples trill-surging. The knot between his thighs sparked, perineum filling.

“Boys, boys, no…. Not that! Nooohh, oh, don’t, please! Not that!!”

Unable to help himself, and quivering in simple, natural anticipation… they dually lowered their heads towards the outrageous protrusions from his chest.  Already their hands caress-cupping under his massive pectorals to lift them to their mouths, his nipples growing full and hard, his spectacular cock once more swelling like crazy at their nearness, testicles churning.  Bracing himself, torso tensing, knowing he was about to be suckled and savored. Trying desperately to keep control of his senses. His own breasts his truest Achilles’ heel.

Stammering, and almost incoherent, feeling their warm hands, sensing their soft lips about to engage him, thrills already quavering throughout his great body, undoing the ironclad grip of his will, most of what he was struggling to say… Superman valiantly offered his last plea.  Yet they seemed only interested in teasing him, their holding out his now throbbing udders for their inspection, and coyly taking a few enticing licks over their silky-fleshed fullness, the so tender, wet-seeping ends of them, even more sensitive than the glans of his fully risen flow-running cock.

“Ba-boys, please. I-I can get you anything you want. You, you’ve got me down, now. But if you let me go, let me restore. Loose me, let me rest in the sun a few hours. I, I can get you double, triple—ten times what Lex is paying you! I promise. Ten times more than Lex. Will never turn you in—”

“How so, Nipple Pig?” Mike cooed.

“Think we’d believe that?” Kris licking his lips. “Horse Prick?”

“We, we can… we’ll forget this ever was, ever happened. Any of it. Our secret. You’ll be far richer than you dreamed. I can get you sacks of uncut, natural gems, diamonds. Gold nuggets. Stop, don’t!  Just let me go. Ten times… Luthor.  Please, spare. Save—!

But their urgent hard licks and tiny nips on the caps of his glans-like erect nipples while he was speaking were tending to unnerve him. Made him stutter. His mind unravel. His paired young sausages they were about to devour.  Working him with flicks and flips, light twists and pulls.

 “Be-because—I, I’m Superman! My word is my bond. Don’t, ohhhhhhh... do this. Let good, and justice… prevail. Save me, from what Lex has planned. Will kill me. He will, can… with the Kryptonite. Ohhhhhh!  Is, is that what you want—is right? Is good? How much good I’ve done, people of earth. Can continue. Ahhhhhhh! Uhhh! Only you, ma-men… can help me. Please! Oh, oh, ohhh!!  I’m begging you.”

His colossal muscular body, writhing, turning, arching, jolting. In undue distress, beyond ecstasy. “Wi-will never harm you, keep you safe. Will even, can even… promise you—allow us… enjoy, engage our sexuality—once a month. For sure. No Kryptonite. Just “regular,” earth-like pleasures. Give my-myself, oohhhh-unnhhh!! to you. Would you like that? Once back in my full strength.  Ooh-ahhhh, ah-ahhhh… joy you never imagined. As you… have, have so much pleasured me. Oh, please, please… let me go. Help me. Only you—uhhh! Uhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhh!!

Unable to endure their tormenting play. Knew he was about to pop his tight-withdrawing testes again.

“Oh, shut up, Fag-tits!” Mike spat. “We’ve got you, and Luthor’s gonna pay us good. Just want some more of that super-juice you have, before we turn you over…. Really stimulating stuff!”

“No, le-let me go. I can he-help you.  Let you have your fill, once a month—.”

“No wonder you sucked yourself nutsy. Couldn’t do without. Made you overly strong; could tell just from the little we tasted. Ruined your mind, though. So stuck on yourself, prancing around in that skinny circus gear showing off… queer as fuck, whether you realized it or not… nobody else existed. Probably had the hots for Batman, or Thor, only they like women. And the Bat is also bi, yet Batsy over his boy, Robin… heard to have a heroic rod pleaser of his own. Big as mine.”

“No, no, please—mercy. I was always clean. Decent.”

“Ten mil apiece. You top that?”

“Ten times that, what I, I can acquire. No problem.”

“Yeah, we know your truths. And your secrets. As someone once said, if able and blessed, one can self-suck all day and night long, and still be a righteous fool. Not out doing the neighborhood. Hard restriction to live by, was that your choice? Missed a lot of good times, then.”

“I-I’ve always been… an honorable guy. After those confused teen years.”

“Well, la-de-da. And you just said you’d be willing to suck us off, and us fuck you… once a month, we keep our mouths shut?!” scoffed Kris. “Some honor in that, hey?!  Still crave having those udds played like any big breasted bitch. Who sucks her own tits, too. Seen them all over the internet. And you no different, only behind closed doors, maybe. Mouth-milking yourself like no one expected….”

“Please, me-men! Whatever you want. Uuhh-ahhhh…! OHH-uhhhhh!!  UU-UHHHHH!!”

Catching him in mid-sentence, cutting him off.  In renewed anguish and overtaken ecstasy—Superman jolted by surprise (though not really, expecting it). Mike finally swallowed the whole of one his three-plus inchers and sucked hard—scraping his young teeth along the swole length of the rubbery desirable shaft, pouring out its primed sweet nectar almost instantly… a coursing rush into the youth’s savoring mouth. Then further, with his teeth going down deep, behind and beyond the diameter of the man’s two-plus-inch wide areolae, clamped under and into them. Superman beneath him mewl-gabbling. The Herculean alien trembling helplessly in his hoped to be released from chains. Realizing he wouldn’t be. Tremoring even more. While Kris dipped in to possess his other load-mounded, eager breast teat. Doing the same to him as Mike. The joy of their mouths ravaging him went all through his total being: and deep into his core fountainer, his monumental cock quavering hopelessly. Each of them with one of their hands also on him, jacking… while they sucked. Ready to ingest his loads.

“Ohhh, my nipples! My glorious tits, my huge tits! Taking… my, my milk, no!! Please. My milks, my milk… last hope of… my, my man-strength…. Na-na-noooohhhh!! Ohh, Mike, Mike. Michael,” in a no less than surrendered acquiescence. “Kris, Kris…! So wonderful, so wonderful. Ka-ka-cumming me. Cumming me. Cuuuhhh-mmiing meeeee…!!!!”

Pulling back for a moment, seeing the frightened, yet hopelessly enraptured, incredibly built man beneath him, how his lips moved, pleading, eyes desperate for a hold on reality, some sort of rescue… “Sorry, Cow-tits,” Mike soothed somewhat sadly. “You’re feeding us good, taking from you what was once your greatest secret strength-giving source… now ours. Us little vampires, taking the mighty Superman down, down, down. Straight to hell…. Or to heaven, sooner than you planned.”

He paused a few seconds more, to let the doomed man absorb it all.

“Poor baby, all that muscle. Just so you know—we uh, can’t take you up on your offer, nice as it is. You see, Tit-fag, Luthor has very long arms. A world-wide network. No place we could go, hide, he couldn’t reach us. Not enough money to do that. Not even your own 14-inch cock could save us, though a nice ride around the moon, maybe. You couldn’t be around 24-7 for rescue. He’d get us eventually. And then you again, no doubt. So many guys willing to pounce on your ass. Maybe even with Kryptonite condoms, you get restless for a strange-mouth blow job, or a donkey-dick fuck. That righteous shit is all talk. You just proved to us once again… suck your tits, you’re a done deal. In whoever’s hands. This time it’s ours. And you… are a done deal.

No. No more, please. Spare—” Superman worse than fearful.  He’d lost!  They wouldn’t.  Practically yammering nonsense. They had screwed his psyche, his ass, his mouth… were dismantling the remainders of his strength, his wondrous body.

Done-in by two teenagers. The shock beyond conceivable. Burbling, gasping, tremoring.

“Now give me those obscene fucking man-tits. We have about a half hour left before Lex’s guys get here. Should be unconscious again by then. Kris and I sucking those queer udders dry. At least you’ll leave us… happy. Smile on your face, jizz shot all over your belly and pecs. Drying to a nice crust, what we don’t lap up.”

The MOS lapsing into a razed stupor of “Unh, unh, unh, uhhhhh. Ohhhhh. Uhnnnhhh.” Over and over. While they milked him, suckled his strength away… even choosing again to catch the rupture of his still fruitful semen—as he in his unbreakable bonds helplessly spurted the waning bounty of his resources from the core of his being, no less than three more times, no less craving to swallow his own… as a final reprieve, escape. Which might be possible. If they’d only allowed him to tuck his head, help hold him in place. Futilely begging: “Please. Please, please. Let me…?

“Tsch, tsch, tsch, Fag-suck. No way. And no more for you. Ever….” Mike chortled. “Those days are done.”

“Left to us,” Kris added, “we’d have already cut them off—and those vacuous baby-makers! Shoved them down your throat. Choked you with your own balls!  Superman… who needs a Superman? Always fucking up our world, monitoring our ways. Putting guys like us in jail for just having fun. You really are a do-gooding, useless fuck. Left to me, I’d have removed your damn head, too. Donated it to the Smithsonian. Proof of an actual self-sucking, warped-flying, Samson-ite, bucket-cumming, diary-titted, alien-strange, bonafide E.T! Let them gape at that. And your circus-fag costume. A disgrace to normal cocksuckers everywhere. Especially us masculine ones.”

“Uhhmm, uhhh. Uuhhh-mmm-ohhhh,” Superman weaving his head in a worse than hazed, overly expended exhaustion.

“Had your fill?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, more than enough. Actually hate milk, you want to know—” Kris smirked.


“But his damn salty-sweet, like peaches and almonds. Mostly clear, barely white.”

“Fucker’s loaded, isn’t he? More jizz than I ever thought possible.”

“Belly-ache?” Kris asked.

“No. Belly full. Think my cock and my arms have already grown another inch. Why maybe he couldn’t share with another. Too dangerous. A competitor might eventually outclass him.”

“You wish!”

“Don’t tell me, I know. Within a week, bet you. Can already “feel” him in me.”

“—Feel good, too. I should, two inches…!?”

“Might,” Mike shrugged.

“Better pack him in.”

“Yeah, right. You’re right. Truck’ll be here any minute.”

“Help me drag, lift him…” Kris prodded.

“Least he’s alive.”

“Till Luthor says no….”

They managed to get him up easy enough, Mike under his shoulders, Kris at his feet. The supine, ruined, no longer MOS not only racked with weariness, but a sharply increased horror. To be put in a box, carted away to his most feared enemy… who had already nearly had him finished off—at the hands of two much lesser built teens?!

What they had said, ‘Boxed and ready’ as if aeons ago. In his very own ears. Impossible. Now a shocking reality. Frantic in his chains.

 “Oh, God, no, no! Don’t do this. Please, please don’t!! Don’t!”

“Sorry, Wimp-fuck. Not cocked-enough now, are you?” Mike still holding onto him. “Could stop a train, toss a tank, halt a jet—‘once upon a time’? But couldn’t even stop, wrestle away from two boys fucking the shit out of you. Cause actually you wanted it, wanted it, wanted it—didn’t you?! Hey? And were happy the Kryptonite let it happen….”

“No. No!” face etched white.

Mike nodded, and they dropped him in.

“Kris, Mike… mercy, please!  You, you!  No, please! Anything, anything...!!

Looking up at them. His crinkled blue eyes true-blinded with tears, harrowingly beyond scared.  Such emotion as he’d never known before. To be locked, confined in a box, a small, dark enclosed space… oddly enough, for the invulnerable Man of Steel, a ghastly nightmare he could not imagine having to endure. Like being buried alive in an old horror movie. His body jerking and twisting, urgent with the last of his sapped strength to be free. Keening desperately.

“Ahh, wait a minute. I’ve had enough,” and Kris sped off, back towards the car. He returned in a few moments, a wad of red cloth in his hands.

“Boys, men—please! I’m Superman. Help me. I can—”

Cutting him off. “Oh, shut up, ass-hole. You can—no more suck your own tits, your own cock, your own balls. Nothing. Nor even fuck yourself anymore. Super-Tits, you’re done!! Don’t want to hear another word!”

And with that, Kris jammed the bunched up red cloth into the trembling hero’s mouth, silencing him. His pleading eyes worse than wide: gurgling, gagging with strange noises, near choking. “Had enough of your yammer. Chew on your own crotch a while.”

“His own briefs?” Mike questioned.

“His own briefs!” Kris confirmed


“Come on. More to go.” And Kris moved over to pick a small sack nearby. Mike followed, and each had one. Standing over the wild-eyed, vanquished alien, they opened the sacks and let the bubbly plastic chunks pour out over him, until he was covered in a rush of thrashing white.

His moans underneath the sea of foam were pitiful. Still trying to buck and kick, speak and howl. His breathing more than compromised, sight curtailed except for a haze of light. Till Mike finally went over, gathered the rest of his costume, cape and boots, and tucked them in atop him.

“Oh, yeah, Tit-Fuck. A parting gift.” And from an obscure shelf on the side, Mike opened a small lead box, and dropped the Kryptonite green stone, no bigger than a chunk of coal, onto the struggling mass under him. The desperate groans clearly intensified, a froth of foamy Styrofoam seeking to erupt, the mass beneath trying to jerk itself out of the confined danger. To no avail.

With raised eyebrows, they nonchalantly grabbed up the wooden slat lid, and nailed it into place over their victim. Whose gurgles and poundings, thumpings and thrusts roiled hauntingly for but a few minutes longer… then gradually subsided into an eerie, failed quiet.

If he was dead, they didn’t know. Assuming he’d lost consciousness once more. Oh, well, they’d done it. Their job successfully complete.

Once the truck arrived shortly after, they helped load the crate into its interior. With high fives all around, the driver and his helper sped off into the night. Assuring Mike and Kris that their bank accounts would be duly fattened, once the former hero was secured in his cell in one of the caverns below the vast structure of Lex Corp. on the other side of town.

Within his wooden confinement, the MOS was no longer trussed in a rattly, tremoring fear, just merely bound in quietness. Blessedly gone from knowing what was happening into a fitful, dark and dreary sleep. Being taken to the next step of his journey. An eventual further silence from which there would be no hope, no escape, no return.

His handsome head and neck slack, mighty musculature contained, his overworked tits loose and floppy, oversized genitals limp and unsecured… each bump in the road the truck hit, turns made, brakes applied.

Dreamt he was drowning in quicksand. Could not find a way to get out.

The End   

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