As suddenly as the whipping had started, it ceased. SuperiorMan dry-heaved, his breath came in great sobs from having taken such a beating. The vibrations within his sanctum continued as he prayed that his nightmare would end. Oh, if he could only erect again—come! End this rising torture, and blow his failed, but latent strength outward—find peace, release! Inside, he begged for mercy, escape. To be who he had always been, once more. Mighty, invincible. Not a cringing puppy.
Beside him on the bed, he felt a hand petting his hair, stroking his face. The almost loving softness of his captor’s hand confused him. Could his tormentor have come to care for him, care to no longer hurt him? The hero could not stop himself from weeping, his entire body as if it had been dipped in cruel acid, on fire to the bone. “Please, please… no more.” he whimpered futilely. “Make me cum, make me cum… make me… cum.”
SuperiorMan then felt something being put into his mouth, hard, unyielding, and realized that he was being ball-gagged. Thrashing, overly frantic to escape, he was again manhandled like a useless doll, soon unable to speak. His body tensed as he felt the young man’s weight easing off the bed. The silence returned.
The quiet was short lived as the whipping began again. Different parts of his body felt the renewed pain of being further assaulted, yet it seemed to blend with the ever consistent pleasure of the juddering thing in his ass. Still, SuperiorMan attempted to scream, but the gag muffled any noise he tried to make. The hero could feel the wetness of his tears as he roiled on the bed trying his best to avoid the methodical, smarting slashes onto his body. Why, why, why?!
And then, strangely, it were as if he was being lifted, the mattress removed, and his whole body was being turned. He knew it was so, when he felt the newer, fresher stinging lashes on his back—and then, oh, God!! the truncheoning began again! His lats, his delts, his traps, were being demolished, his rhomboids, obliques, erectors, but he couldn’t scream. His ribs, all of them must be broken, or breaking. He sobbed, but could make no sound. He shook, he spasmed. Nauseated. It was unrelenting agony.
The beating seemed to last forever, not a single part of his body was spared from the whump of the soft clubs, the sharp weltings of the whip. His beautiful physique, he imagined, must be a mass of shredded flesh, his throat raw from his attempts to scream. His great cock had also been pulled on, trashed, abused, weighted and jerked on so much, it seemed to be on the verge of ripping loose from his groin, so laden it was from being stretched to its max. And then horrifically, it had been coaxed back into raging hardness once more, as impossible things began to be used/inserted sharply against, on/into, and through his nipples. He was going to die; the boy was going to tear them off! He got harder and harder. The needle-like surgical towel clips the youth had fastened into them, horror and joy. If he could have screamed, they would have heard him all the way to up-town Manhattan!
At last, it stopped. SuperiorMan barely noticed the silence as his body convulsed and heaved from sobbing so hard. Lowered, turned right side up again, once more the mattress under him, he lay in a wad of incomparable mush of what had been, used to be, his renowned, indestructible, muscular body—now a complete raging torment, every nerve screaming and on razored edge. Those horrible towel clips still fastened into his thumb-sized nipples….
The first contact he felt was the gag being taken out of his mouth. His jaw hurt from biting down so hard on it during his beating. He was stupefied almost beyond comprehension.
“Tell me, son. What happens to your great powers if I let you cum?” his captor asked.
He couldn’t believe he was hearing what he had heard. He limply roll-tossed his head. Could not think to speak. Weren’t his powers already gone? Or he could never have allowed this.
“Tell me! And if I think you are lying, I can play you some more.” The command was insistent. “That was just a sample. To remind you who owns you.”
“No, no, no, no…” he whispered hoarsely.
“Maybe—crush those big, useless balls.” A deep pause. “No more coming then, for sure. Since apparently, you don’t like to use them. Garden-shear them off?”
The bound hero’s heart jolt-skipped several beats. The shock of what yet could happen.
“Oh, m-mercy!! No—no!!” SuperiorMan cried out. The thought of more punishment, the fear of losing his testicles had finished him. He gabbled on.
“I, I only know… that my, my powers… will be curtailed, for a certain amount of time. I don’t know how long… hours, m-maybe days. If, I survive…. If you drain too much from me, I will die.” It was as simple as he could make it. The truth, horrifying in its reality. The young man was going to un-man him. He knew it.
He had revealed his secret.
Though he oddly still begged desperately within himself to fountain his semen to the sky. Almost did, spontaneously, when the towel clips were tugged on lightly, then removed from his ever-swelling now larger nipples, which throbbed and throbbed as if being devoured by hot irons, and bleeding raggedly.
The after-quiet which followed scared SuperiorMan more than the beatings. Was his captor satisfied with his answer? He prayed there would be no more pummeling. The hero did not think he could take any more pain. Even as an alien being, his strength had been taxed to its limits. His impossible musculature and physique, for which he had never had to go to a gym, to gain or maintain, had been a natural genetic wonderment to all, even to himself. Yet now gone, stolen from him, by a much lesser being… the fatality of his own inner frailties, murdering him.
He felt his captor climbing onto the bed and straddling atop his chest, feeling the fine, honed muscles of the young man’s naked thighs, slipped down along the sides of his throbbing rib cage, wondering what was in store for him next. SuperiorMan waited in anxious anticipation, bated dread. He felt something strange rub against his lips. Warm and thick, and blunt and soft, rounded and wet. The smell. He knew what it was.
“Open up, boy. It’s time for repayment!” his captor said harshly.
SuperiorMan opened his mouth, felt the young man’s member sliding into, past his lips. Strong fingers then wrapping around to the back of his head, through his dark locks, forcing his head to bob up and down on the hard flesh of his captor. The taste of his first other cock thrilled him as his mouth was being fucked. He could taste the tangy sweetness of precum trickling into his throat, his lips wrapped around the wondrous cock that had invaded him. And the boy was huge, barely able to get his mouth around him… the shaft being sunk deep into his throat, nearly choking him. (No, not as huge as himself, but the youth’s nine and a half by six and a half inches was more than most men can handle; though he had taken his own at times, but rarely.)
Still feeling the pain from the whipping, the on-going pleasure of the dildo in his ass, SuperiorMan got used to having the boy’s prized meat pistoning into and out of his mouth. He felt like a whore being used… though still, his subservience gave him a startling satiety he’d never really known. Sucking a true cock at last, something he’d dreamed of… being deep-throated by a “mightier” (albeit lesser) conqueror. A rod worthy of respect.
When the penis was withdrawn from his mouth, the hero felt a pang of disappointment. He wanted to suck and suck on his captor’s thickness more and more. He hoped that before he was set free, he would be able to suck the boy’s cock again, wanted to take the youth’s strong juices into him. Then, SuperiorMan felt hands on his buttocks again as the vibrations stopped and the object was taken out of him. With the major source of his pleasure taken away, the resurgent pains of his body nearly overwhelmed him. The balance between pain and pleasure had shifted; there was now only the agony of the pain. He had no idea how he could endure it. He needed a soothing drug, something not even his own indestructible nature could counter-balance.
Then his ankles were untied. His feet raised, his thighs; and then they were bound again, over his head… ankles to wrists. He was being trussed like an animal, ready for slaughter. Not able to see, he was again ripped with panic. What was the kid going to do? Castrate him, sever his balls—? No, No, NO!!! Oh, NOOHHH!!!!
But it didn’t last long, his fear subsided… because he felt something suddenly familiar, very bold and warm, and long and hard, being thrust up and into his anal canal. This startling invasion made the former vibrating object seem quite insignificant, compared to this newer pain rawly introduced into his body. He couldn’t help but know what it was. It was the crowning glory of his captor’s young man-cock ravaging him. SuperiorMan cried out as he felt his violator’s hips thrusting against his sore ass, his monster shaft claiming him, the youth’s testicles amazingly heavy, slapping at his cheeks. It was shocking—more—better than he had ever hoped or dreamed. He gasped in willing surrender, wanting more, more. Oh, wonder, wonder!!
He bellowed. Almost fainted.
And so it was… in a matter of hours, the most powerful man in the universe had gone from a mighty, invincible superhero, to being a dociled sex slave, stripped of his great powers and used for the sole pleasure of his captor: a younger man, ten years less than he, weighing a good 100 lbs. lighter—woefully unskilled in the arts of war or combat—with a cock not nearly as mighty as his own, yet giving him the greatest fuck of his manly life. Enraptured and enslaved out of his mind. He would never be the same.
The constant pounding against his prostate, the filling of his virgin hero’s chute to the max of fullness he could never have imagined, sent striking, impossible waves of ecstasy throughout SuperiorMan’s weakened body. His groans of pain transformed to moans of pleasure from being fucked by the young man who had captured him. The joy he had felt before paled, compared to being helplessly fucked by a single, determined male he could otherwise have taken down with a flick of his finger. This ultimate surrender brought the ultimate pleasure of being used with and against his will, sexually. His brain was smoked to a crisp. All he wanted was more of this youth, and to be royally fucked. Brainless.
SuperiorMan’s croons filled the room as he tried to engage his ass closer, up and against the pumping of his captor’s hips. There was no denying the hero absolutely loved being fucked. He tried to break his bonds, not to escape, but to be able to enfold, touch his owner’s body, as ecstasy filled his entire mind and soul. His hands yearned to stroke, hold, caress the boy close to him in a searing embrace, letting him know how deeply, joyously he had been ravaged. Was he in his right mind? This boy was his nemesis, his fatal attraction. His annihilator! No, no?! Yes!!
The moans of his topping-captor also grew louder and the thrusting quickened as the superhero was used more fiercely, forcefully. SuperiorMan then knew a staggering, thrilling shock when he felt the boy’s fevered mouth ride over and onto his cock glans, his hand also grasping around as much of the hero’s shaft as he could. Good God, he was being sucked, and jacked, and fucked all at the same time! He knew he was going to die when he came. The young man was jerking him off in cadence with fucking his ass, his mouth hungrily encasing his burgeoning glans. The triple pleasure of his cock being stroked and sucked, joining with the pleasure of his being fucked… sent SuperiorMan straight to heaven. He felt a building crescendo in his balls, as they began to withdraw, ready to unload, that caused him to scream with their nearly ruptured, painful pleasure. The building kept going and going until it reached its peak, leading to the lethal eruption of his massive cock. The hero felt his cum not only being rapidly taken by the mouth of his master, but the erupting power of it so great, it could not be contained by the swallower, and jettisoned out further, in great blots and globs, up across his chest and his belly, even onto his face, his loins pumping and pumping, his semen spurting from an uncontrolled, sporadic hydrant. His eyes rolling back into his head, practically fainting.
While in the same paired seconds later, at the height of his spurting, in the richness of his orgasming, he heard his captor cry out, and with a powerful thrust, buried his wondrous, youthful sword to the hilt, bursting deep inside the hero’s ass. The force of the young man’s seed hitting his alien core staggered SuperiorMan, and he unloaded more massive volleys, one right after the other. Two, three, four—!! It completely took his breath away, and he fell out, unconscious.
But it was only a few moments…. Finally, he stirred back awake, groggy, yet paralyzed. Still tied, of course, unable to move a muscle. The both of them mated against each other’s nakednesses, exhausted. The reek of their essences thick in the air.
As the effect of their climaxes faded, SuperiorMan felt his expended cock finally begin to soften, but the depowering of his orgasms prevented his strength from returning. They both lay there basking in the glow of a great sexual numbing process, oblivious to the ways of the world. The youth’s body adhered to his, as if his semen had glued them together. Could it be? Would the boy release him… and then perhaps in time, they could ravage each other as true lovers? The idea appealed to him—surely not as rough as this had been, but the youth knew his weaknesses, could make his body sing, and he wanted to do the same to him. Yet the matter of his hammered body re-inflamed him with intense pain, almost not able to be endured.
“Please,” he said softly into the young man’s ear. “Let me go.”
Eventually, his captor stirred. SuperiorMan felt him slowly withdraw, get up, heard him moving around the room. He could not imagine what the young man might have in store for him next. Surely, enough was enough. He had been beaten to a pulp. He was in severe agony. He yearned for his conqueror to show some compassion, some care. Hadn’t he given him his all? Still, he was the imprisoned. This could not be his mortal fate! They had both blown epic loads, been pleasured beyond imagining. Could it repeat? But first, he had to repair. Must!
Light re-shocked his eyes as the blindfold was taken from his face. Blinking in the sudden light of the candles in the room, SuperiorMan watched his captor carefully release him from his bondage. Still weak and completely helpless from his sexual adventures, his body lay in a battered mass on the bed, arms and legs loosely by his sides. Not even strength enough to rub at his eyes, though he made a feeble attempt, and to arrange his massive genitals comfortably between his sculptured thighs… now rapidly turning black and blue, too painful to touch almost. How would he even be able to walk? His shoulders were so stunned, it was agony to lift his arms, they were near hopelessly useless. He took a deep breath, swallowed painfully. The hero knew he had to obey his captor to avoid further punishment. He would play his role until his powers were restored, and then make his escape. But—that could be days. Weeks!! No, please, impossible!! This could not be! Yet, he had shot enough semen to sink a battleship. Or so he thought. Not knowing… it was already far too late. He was no longer master of himself. Nor would be again.
The young man ordered him to get off the bed and the hero struggled to get on his feet. He first fell to his knees, strengthless; but the boy assisted him, firm arms under his, he rose unsteadily, and in a stupor. His body screamed from the beatings and the wax drippings, and his battered legs felt like loose jelly from their having been smashed, whipped, and then further more depleted by his powerful orgasms. His unrelenting captor led him over, pushed him back against the X-posts, and strapped him in securely with the leather restraints.
SuperiorMan wanted, yearned, tried to break free, but he was weak as a kitten. His captor kissed his lips gently… told him to get some rest. Then, he watched as the young man went, climbed back into his bed, and fell fast asleep. Sleep did not come to him for a long while, despite being more than exhausted from his first bondage experience, his incredible body nearly shattered, and throbbing with such pain he could barely breathe, much less think; and remembering the wonder of his epic orgasms, almost causing him to stiffen again. But his fears, his worry, his discomfort, sapped what was left of his ability to ponder anything. Surely he would be set free, attended to, taken care of, be enabled to heal…. When sleep did find him, he was out like a doused flare, dreaming of more experiences like the ones he’d just had. His brain had no rest. Reliving it, over and over, in slow motion. In both incredible pain, and wondrous joy. All the while, still tied upright against the torturous X-rack. Arms and legs contained loosely, waist-anchored, neck weak, head sagged.
The youth keep him there, bound for seven days. Occasionally loosed him, but not often. Spoon fed him when appropriate, thrusting pain pills, sleeping pills, energy pills, protein drinks into him by the hours. Even hosed him off to keep his body clean. Jerked him off several times, just to keep him well-weakened and docile. Even re-fucked him several more times, leaving him further and further exhausted, but in an ecstatic bliss. Although it was then he realized he was never going to be set free. His soul despaired. His body had betrayed him; he could never regain his strength if he was to be constantly milked of his semen. His mind was so psyche-shattered, he did not know how to cry anymore. He began to cave-in, interiorly. His will, his ego fractured.
Finally, when the young man determined he was able to walk, a private van was called for. SuperiorMan was once more dressed, blindfolded, arms tied behind his back… the leather collar again refastened to his neck, and he was led out: a blanket over his head, covering his bonds and his identifying costume. He was being taken where he had no idea. All he wanted to do was die—what had happened to him. No longer who he used to be, and despaired of ever being able to so be again. Unless… maybe he was being taken to the doctor’s ? Isn’t that what the youth had said? Of course, he’d had to wait until he could walk! The doctor would help him, give him some powerful steroids, reinfuse his strength, make him whole again. That had to be it! Even an alien being possessed of super-normal powers, if damaged, needed all the help he could get. The young blond was going to save him after all.
He felt a surge of warmth within him—wanted to wrap the youth his arms. Give him a true, full, and mighty manly kiss. Show him how a man could feel towards someone who cared so much for him… and what they had shared together. Tell him how much the joy he had been given had meant to him, in spite of all the pain, the merciless beating, the subjugation of all he had known and been through, and had tried to hide. Now, he had a true friend who would care for him, perhaps share with again—knew him for who he truly was, and accepted him wholeheartedly. His pulse raced. Happiness began to steal through him. He was saved!
No matter, his bound body rolling around in the greasy back-bed of the truck, staining his uniform. It hummed along, tossing him from side to side. Oh, he was going to be free at last. Restored! Become SuperiorMan all over again. The boy cared for him. He really did—.
* * *
Doctor Tentacle listened to the story in amazement as he watched the reddened face of his nemesis. He thought he could actually see SuperiorMan’s mound often re-surge again from the remembered excitement, listening to the previous week’s events being retold. He dotingly looked at the young man who had now made history, exploited SuperiorMan’s weakness to his own complete destruction—and given him the key for world domination.
“You will be paid royally for your services,” the villain said happily. “In fact, I would like to hire you onto my team as SuperiorMan’s personal handler. The pay is quite good, and you will get to train our little hero for his new life of servitude.”
The young man grinned back at the evil genius. “Sounds like a dream job to me!” He said with an outrageous wink. “Hey, manly-stud—Superior-Fag ?” He glanced over at the crestfallen hero, who was now more shocked than he thought possible.
Doctor Tentacle turned to his bodyguard. “Take our hero and his handler to level three, near laboratory C. I have quite a few experiments planned for our “former” SuperiorMan. Not the least which will be the continued milking of his male-source, his semen. His, more potent than the others.”
SuperiorMan’s jaw dropped, barely able to comprehend. He knew his life was over.
The doctor watched satisfied as the young man, to whom the superhero was leashed, forced the stricken-eyed hero to his feet, and out of his office, led by the burly guard. Today was a great day, and he looked forward to some later alone time with his newest acquisition. After all, SuperiorMan was only one of several others tucked safely away in their cells, awaiting his final judgments. Batman, Robin, Aquaman, Lion Boy, Spinner, The Flash. They had all been so easy. And the world was still wondering where they’d disappeared to. Four, he had already castrated; wondering what to do with them. The Bat might make a good mate for his latest conquest—having now been turned into an insatiable cock-hound, sure to keep SuperiorMan subdued.
Batman, naturally, as he’d suspected, had been drilling Robin for years, and been drilled in return; only Robin’s virile-drilling abilities had been severely curtailed. Though Robin was still a good gymnast, martial arts perfected… he could be used to train others. Even if his young cock-happy days were over. It just made good sense. Under his influence, and the drugs, none of them were worth much. Aquaman, still weeping daily, over his finely-ten, limp-heavy cock, and newly empty ball sac. No longer potent, nor able to service his harem, yet of great interest to explore how he could thrive and function underwater…. But for the Bat, the best endowed of the bunch, he had ramped up the benumbed, un-cowled superhero into wanting it, wanting it, wanting it— so much so, the man was about to strangle on his own 10 ½ by 7 ½ inches, if the doctor didn’t soon provide him some relief. A perfect controller for SuperiorMan, who was far greater hung, but equally needy. The two of them would both be milked; and for different reasons. Their cloned replacements would make a magnificent, incredible, controllable army. All same gender lovers, ever feeding off of each other: reinforcing their strengths, mending their weaknesses—and no worries ever over family nonsense and such. His for the ruling.)
Doctor Tentacle chuckled to himself, musing over a cold cup of coffee. It was his world now, no stopping, no restraints. He turned his attention to an article on cold nuclear fusion: how could he use it?
As they confidently led him down the hall, certainly no one to question or stop them… SuperiorMan’s heart lurched in dread, in panic. He was doomed. He knew they would never free him. Who would even find him? He had vanished. He was theirs now. He had relinquished all his powers, all his strength, to a simple, handsome youth—that first brush, the first kiss that had killed him, turned him into a helpless slave to his own hidden desires… overpowering all his mind, reason, will and senses. The unlocked pleasures too intense, drowning him. He was doomed. He knew it.
Only, if someone ever truly loved him, would take control… could he be set free? Restored? It was possible! Because surely they would not. Never would. No, he was their toy, now. He had lost everything. Even his own will. Soon, all of his semen, too. Effectively castrated for life. Did anyone anywhere realize what had happened to him? Where he was? Perhaps only Batman could be a last hope. But no one had seen him the past two months. An incredible mystery. Superheroes don’t just disappear!
But, now… hadn’t he?
Tears streamed down his face as he was led to his cubicle. A square, windowless cell, with only a cot, a toilet, a wash basin. Not even a shower. A small mirror over the sink. When he was loosed from his bonds, the door slammed shut. The parting words: “Have a nice evening. We’ll be back, stud-fuck. When we feel like it…. Maybe .”
The bemused grin of his leering blond conqueror, seared into his brain.
He went to the mirror, gazed into his haunted eyes. Bent his head. Crumbled. And wept. Again and again. Almost silently. “Someone, please help me….” Into the vacant air.
(Rick Henry/Richard McHenry—author of the m/m erotic-romantic fantasy novel, CHRONICLES OF THE MIGHTY AND THE FALLEN, with a GOT ambiance.)