Instead of their coming here for the testing and expressing of his most glorious strengths, Superman had now been reduced to displaying his most vulnerable and susceptible weaknesses…. Right where Jimmy had suddenly decided he wanted him.
Superman, with Jimmy in his arms, was still completely naked as his costume had been destroyed by the super soldier. Almost immediately upon taking off, he began to grow hard. At first, he thought it was just the stimulation of the air as he flew with no costume, but he soon realized that he was almost hornier than he had ever been in his life. The increased weight and size of his genitals, the thrust of his nipples, making him almost intoxicated. He tried to will the hard-on to go away but it was no use. Jimmy noticed, but pretended not to. Superman knew that he couldn’t fly back to Metropolis this way for fear someone would see him in this condition. “Need to make a detour,” he murmured. “Reconfigure a few things.”
Jimmy hurried back to Superman with the keys. He helped Superman struggle back to his feet, and Jimmy was able to unlock the handcuffs. Superman winced as he rubbed his once invulnerable wrists. Even the simple task of pulling up his tights took effort for the one-time strongest man in the world. Jimmy turned to once again crawl through the hole in the bars that were broken by the quick frozen Kryptonian cum. Superman tried following, but soon discovered that the hole created was not big enough for him to get his huge muscular frame through. He instinctively grabbed hold of the bars and his biceps bulged as he attempted to bend them further apart. His massive pecs heaved but still nothing. The bars wouldn’t budge. He instinctively attempted heat vision. A mistake. “Agghhhhhhhhh,” he howled as he covered his eyes with his hands. Not only was there no heat vision left, but his attempt to use it shot jabbing pain through his head. When the pain subsided, he removed his hands to discover his vision was blurred.
Darkness turned to light as the once undefeatable Man of Steel came to. He shook his head to clear the haze after being choked out by the massive soldier. Sagged to his knees, he hung by his wrists from the restraints he was unable to break. His arm joints felt near to being torn, having taken the heft of his weight. Somehow, he got back onto his feet and looked around. In addition to the restraints on his wrists, he and Jimmy were also inside a portable jail cell. Jimmy was curled into a protective huddle, relatively motionless on the floor a few feet away. Shivering, but awake.
Superman landed gracefully next to the newly built dome at the US Army testing facility. He had been invited here to test out the army’s latest state of the art weaponry. He had previously been asked to do similar tasks on many other occasions, and felt it was part of his duty as an American citizen to comply. After all, he was “invulnerable,” and the results of these tests would be invaluable to the army. He approached the front door of the dome and it automatically opened. Upon entering, he was greeted by the two-star General, Matt Barnes. “Welcome, Superman,” who extended his hand to the 6’ 4”, 260 lbs. of skin-tight, blue-clad muscle… who with dark hair, and bright eyes, was unnervingly handsome.
Jake turns, and cry-shouts, “WHAT THE FUCK…??!!”
Bill cuttingly adds, “I’m afraid Ryan has betrayed you… just like he did young Dick Grayson, aka Robin, over there.”
A scene repeats itself on the remote jungle airstrip of San Miguel. A C-130 bearing a captured young hero arrives to be delivered and payment collected. This time no chains are needed to bind the captive superhero – for his young mind is magically enslaved and the body now follows blindly. Thus a stupefied Spiderman, unmasked, striped of his anonymity, steps down out of the plane’s cargo bay.
Dar’s muscles flex and ripple as he sprints down the narrow island path to Moro’s jungle abode. Tao did not return, and the sun will soon set. His rugged brow and square jaw is set with effort as he quickly yet cautiously makes his way toward the domain of Moro, a strange old island witchdoctor.
It is midnight in Manhattan. A tower clock in the distance begins chiming the hour above the din of the sprawling city far below. Peter Parker, aka Spider-man, hides in the shadows unnoticed. The moon is full and the illumination gives the superhero an unobstructed view of the vacant rooftop of One New York Plaza.
The Hunter and company have departed for NYC to capture Spider-man, who is destined to become the 6th unwilling member of Bill’s Martin’s twisted, pervertedly abused menagerie of captive heroes, which he keeps on his private island of San Miguel. Bill ends a call and tosses his cell onto the wrought-iron table under the shade of the large, white cotton tarp which provides shade from the blazing tropical sun. His chair creaks under his prodigious weight as the old man leans back and gazes out into his brig’s sun-drenched punishment yard.
It is early afternoon on the Caribbean island of San Miguel; the contractor who can acquire rare merchandise, be it a precious stone or gem – even famous crime fighters, known simply as the “Hunter” has arrived on the secluded island. The Hunter has delivered his latest two acquisitions to Bill Martin the eccentric billionaire with a perverted and twisted taste for young men of notability.
The hunter sighs in relief that the Dark Knight is down, completely helpless—ready to be unmasked and restrained! He wipes his brow with the sleeve of his jacket and then tosses the whip’s handle casually to the floor. He approaches Batman stepping on Superman’s crimson cape and stands over him. Batman is face down on the metal deck with his black scalloped gloved hands clenching his throat.
It’s half past 11 PM by the clock on the nightstand. Ryan is clothed back in his jeans and t-shirt, and has just finished his whopper and rubbery fries… “birthday dinner,” courtesy of his friend Dick. He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin and looks over at Dick sleeping peacefully in his restraints.
It’s Ryan’s birthday. It is almost 9PM, and Ryan is in Room 10 at the Shooting Star Motel waiting for Dick. On the table is a package that arrived yesterday at Ryan’s PO Box.
Naturally the smug prick keeps me waiting again, thinks Ryan, as he scans the evening paper with Robin’s picture on the front page. Robin! Now there’s a guy I’d like to get in the sack with! I’ll wager he’s not near as big a dick as that swaggering prick, Dick Smith. Smith! And I was not even worth the effort to come up with a better alias! Well, Smith is my cash cow, now!
It is about 8AM. “Vince… wake him… Dick Grayson is leaving,” alerts Shawn with a nudge. Vince and Shawn are parked in a white Escalade backed into a parking space across the parking lot from Room 10 at the Shooting Star Motel. Vince wakes and rubs his eyes as Shawn sips his coffee and watches a tall young man exit the motel room and swagger towards a yellow Honda CBR600 backed up to the room’s door.
It is nearly midnight; Police Commissioner Gordon is anxiously pacing the roof of Gotham City’s Police Headquarters with a narrow FedEx box under his arm. The din rising from the large city below seems to add to the commissioner’s anxiety. He checks his watch again; it has been nearly an hour since he illuminated the large rooftop lantern that is projecting the Bat Signal high against the cloudy night sky of Gotham City.
“I heard enough of your sick, twisted, perverted fantasies, Martin! Have it your way, “replies Superman as he angrily steps away from Martin and faces Bomba’s cell; he grabs the black iron bars and prepares to rip the barred door off its iron frame.
“Wait, Superman… please, no more damage. It’s hard to get a repairman out here, and it’ll take ages to get the brig’s entrance replaced,” begs the old fat man with feigned sincerity.
“He is a mighty and very powerful warrior called Superman,” explains Bill to the old witch doctor. “He has the ability to fly and has tremendous strength and other powers; he is invulnerable to every known weapon. And Superman is coming here to turn me over to the authorities. Supermen will destroy my home, turning it to ashes. He can burn objects with a mere look from his eyes!”
It is near sunset and Bomba has arrived in the vicinity of the jungle airstrip. He moves stealthily towards the edge of the airstrip and pushes the dense jungle brush aside. He quickly spots a solitary C-130 aircraft parked on the old abandoned jungle airstrip.
The C-130 passes very low and slowly over the old jungle air field piloted by the ship’s copilot Jake, as the hunter and the pilot stand on either side of the large open rear cargo bay door assessing the condition of the old airstrip. Each of the men is wearing headsets plugged into a communications’ panel allowing conversation between the hunter, the pilot, and copilot.
