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Superman Unwittingly Meets Mr. D
Chapter Two - “What huge tits you have, Mr. Klein!”
On his return, several days more delayed than he’d planned (D., having kept moving their rendezvous date further and further pushed forwards), he finally parked his car nearly breathless. Big chest already heaving with anxiety, and admittedly more than eager to see him. Having, he thought, carefully prepared for their meeting. What would happen, really? He hadn’t felt like this in ages.
Again, D. closed in on him on the porch. Didn’t even get inside the door. Hardly said “Hi,” when D. unexpectedly grasped him by the shoulders, spun him sideways, pushed him hard back and against the sides of the building… slid open the front of his jacket, hands already at his pecs, and probing. Clark gasped. D. had found him, his hands firm against his massive pectoral development, urgent to explore, Clark still a bit off-balanced being held back into and against the log siding.
“Well, holy damn? What have you got there, Clark? Long, hard tubes over your nipples? Afraid I’ll bite them?” with a grin.
Having felt the resistant, yet flexibly firm tubes Clark had affixed to each of his breast-tips earlier, protruding five inches down from under the already outrageously prowed front of his medium-thick, form hugging, cable-knit sweater. And actually looking quite ridiculous, once the front of his jacket had been shoved aside. An obvious “something” extra there beyond the already abnormal size of his upper torso. Notwithstanding, also, the hard, notable outward curve from below Clark’s pubis in his loose workout pants. Which D. rubbed over with further amusement (no less impressed with its size: the bounty it must contain, nearly comparable to his own still cloaked in his trousers). He patted it fondly. Smiling.
“Ready for me?”
“I, uh… well, must be prepared. All the time. Wear protectors. You know, sensitive as I am. Not to be immodest—.”
“Why? If public speaking, you’d be in deep trouble, wearing an outfit like that.”
“In-in, other shirts. Compress them down. They-uh, are quite flexible.”
“Tits, maybe. Not your cock.”
“Well, I, I have other safeguards for that. Other thongs. Strap it to my thigh, sometimes. Like you?”
“Sometimes . Yes,” D. agreed.
Still leaning up close to him, hands pressed onto his huge pecs, arousing him no less, the intrepid D. continued. “Tell you what, my man. Remove those nip-protectors now , I don’t have to see what you’ve got—or go home. Date over. And all subsequent ones thereafter….”
Clark swallowed hard. Locked eyes with him. Could tell D. meant what he said. Didn’t want to lose him. Straightened himself nobly… then reaching shyly under his sweater with both hands, made a slight grimace with his mouth, and tugged hard. Clenching his teeth. The suction-held, hard silicone protectors came loose with a discernible pop. Clark swallowed once more, took a deep intake of breath. Leaned back. Dropping his arms to his sides, the suckers he managed to slip into his jacket pockets. He swallowed again, his pecs not quite tenting as before, but no less letting his tits surge forth loosely proud, egoistically. Parted his lips. And before he could speak, felt a slight grazing down over his front, over the top of his released, sagged nipples… gave out a startled moan… and by the third same light stroking, down and over and along their tops, felt them filling, extending (like his also uncomfortably contained cock).
“Ohhh, ohhhh. Unnhhh, unnnhhhh ,” unable to quell his groans.
Unprepared, and without time to hardly catch his breath, nor even thinking to mention his big boys were thinly/lightly banded as well, didn’t think it would matter, the Man of Steel was becoming Man of Putty in mere seconds. Tingling chills swept through him all the way from the backs of his ears to the core of his groin. Tried to hold onto his equilibrium, failing big-time.
D., using only the curved, fist-curled backs of his fingers, each hard mound of his digits sending wondrous thrills through the confined lengths of Clark’s still overly sensitive, cloth-covered nipples. The span of them falling well below the curve of his pecs and down onto the arch of his rib cage. A definite, calculated, cadenced stroking, with moderate pauses in between. Over and over, and over and over. Ordinarily, they would not be that quickened by a few mere brushes against them, having become quite toughened and more than well-worked on his own. But this was bizarrely different. Not to mention their greater sensitivity, due to their enlarged suctioned swollenness of moments ago suddenly released. So just being teased along the top sides of them, and down their now heightened, quite long extended and stimulated lengths, also being firmly force-pressured into the skin of his diaphragm… a stopping pause, then another stroke, Clark was beyond ripe for the playing. The intoxication of it racing his heart. His prostate being equally struck deep, quivering. Nipples and cock beginning to flow.
“Ohhhhhh, ohh-ohhhhhhh!!” rushing out of him.
All the while, Clark near moan-choking with uncontrolled natural sounds, ecstatically near paralyzed by D.’s incessant, continued slow and measured stroking against and over his sweater covered giant teats. Which felt even that much larger than before, thrill-abrading them deeper and deeper into his core. Down and over, pausing. Down and over. Pausing. Down and over. Pausing. Down and over. Pausing. Until he gasped loudly, stiffened upright, both pecs spasming, his twin-turgid mammillae orgasming together, spurting out their nectars under his wool sweater, his abundant heated seed equally erupting into his cup—“Unh, unh, unhhh, unnhhhhh!!!!” a guttural, hopeless wail.
Then, the bigger man shivered, shuddered, and went slack backwards against the side of the walls of the porch. D. held onto him, having almost come himself, seeing, feeling, hearing the climactic tremors of his prey. Well-pleased at how he had pleasured him, and knew it had caught him by surprise having been so lull-eased into his conquest, and all so simply. (Even surprising Clark, who’d never had his tits played so wondrously, adeptly.)
As with all or any of his triple orgasms, Superman was quite instantly going to be rather decommissioned for more than several minutes. The burst of his potent powers from him too much like a lightning strike, short-circuiting his entire being. And strangely, harrowingly, susceptible to being murdered on the spot by the wrong hands. Why he was ever careful with whom he dared allow any sort of intimacy. And almost never allowed any of his orgasmic eruptions to be wasted away. It would be more than fatal for him to not be able to recycle himself over any semi-extended period of time. Which, of course, D. couldn’t possibly know, or use against him. So Clark was assuredly safe to have permitted this rare lapse of otherwise forbidden release. And could relax comfortably. Breath-heaving deeply.
Yet ever cautious, and on guard.
With the hint of a barely perceived smirk, D. care-guided his companion inside, got him settled onto the brown seven-foot leather couch he had, let the guy stretch out to catch his breath. Comical to him, so many of these massive muscle guys after unloading their juice seemed to wimpy-fade like girls… at least for a few minutes—this one not much different than the previous bigger one, except this one sure had some powerful tits, which also spasmed and cut loose; unlike any he’d known before. His guest’s more than obvious weak point, which could be very cleverly exploited further, having experienced it the first time with him the other week. (That other guy? Sure, no doubt much the same—though he hadn’t gone quite that far yet with this one; imagining, that to start sucking his tits, he’d easily go as ballistic as the other had while putting up a pseudo-front resistance… and in less than 30 seconds would fall, that staggering hulk of him, moaning, completely surrendered, pussied-out in no time. Groaning for every inch D. had to offer. Even if he couldn’t take it all…had kept trying— those last few times, until the very end….)
“Doing okay, kid?” D. joshed. “Have some of this.” Handed the slightly older man a half-filled snifter he’d already prepared beforehand. Kind of knowing how he was going to play this, have things unfold. Clark looking up with an impish smile, half reclining on his side, accepted the brandy, chugged it all in one huge go. Held out his glass for more. D. complied. Knowing.
Clark seemed unseasonably wanting more. Which he super-well did, as if trying to inoculate himself. Chugged it all down again. And somewhat straightened himself out more to relax, his back though this time towards the open side of the couch, waiting for another dose of the warming liquor to penetrate his gullet. His glass to be refilled. Hugging a velour pillow to cushion his head. Wanting D. to hold him. And sighed deeply inward, when D. handed him his next drink, and as if reading his mind, settled himself down along and beside him, curling in against his back and shoulders. Whispered, kissing at the side and back of his neck. Wondering how many drinks it might take before the demure Clark would become more pliably receptive. Didn’t want to be overbearing….
“Nice day,” he said.
Clark side-sipped at his cognac, smiled. Wet his lips. “Yes…” Turned his head.
D.’s mouth over his before he knew it. Dropped his glass. D’s arms tightening around him, pressing his body into his back. Clark could feel his mentor had a huge erection, which both alarmed and excited him near instantly. Sighed, tried to pull back, D. as if sucking the very air out of him, their breaths soon in a mutual exchange… a surprising, never letting go of… D. savoring his tongue, his lips, his cheeks his saliva, his chin, his neck, and he his… oh, my God! Superman’s cock also quick to strive within his uncomfortable cup, begging for release, his balls roiling, great teats again extending, swelling forwards.
“Uhm, uhhmm, uhhhmmm!” The both of them, mutually.
D., pressing more insistently into his back, the whole length of his body; their bodies joining. The brandy already soothing the so much more muscular Clark, easing his inhibitions. D.’s very fine hardness against him. And then in some distress, Clark felt D. easing out of his trousers… could tell his member was still down-curved, but barely contained, the lower quarter in his thong… D. then beginning to slip Clark out of his pants, could feel his hands caressing at the bared, hard cheeks of his glutes. “Oh, no, no,” he tried to mutter. D.s mouth forever over his, as he tried to turn him away, only D. was turning him in and down, more and more his face into the leathery cushions of the couch, already wet with their spilled drinks.
Clark tried to raise his head, D. catching him in a half-nelson, one hand under his throat, securing him in his grip. Not what he’d expected at all. Ever! NOT HIM!! Superman, being controlled and contained by such a much lesser man?! And knowing it was happening!
“No, no!” he blurted.
D.’s hand left his throat. Was down now at the base of his ass, struggling to shove aside Clark’s cup, which he managed to do, Clark’s enormous testicles at last drooping out exposed, though not his cock… still sopping wet from his earlier discharge, which seemed to phase D. not at all. Could feel D. releasing himself from his own thong—and oh, the incredible length and thickness of D.’s touted, heated manhood (definitely greater than Clark’s own) that was suddenly against, onto, and more than furrowed halfway up his incredibly muscle-sculpted back.
“No, no—not this way! Not like this!” Clark cried out. Struggling to free himself, the mighty Superman he was, yet oddly weak, as if his powers had departed from him. His strength, though by drink and recently seed-expelled compromise—could still have snapped this D. in half like a twig with one hand. BUT… didn’t want to. Accepted his control.
“Been wanting this, first moment you heard about me. Me, too, saw you,” D. soft whispered at his ear. “Time we both received what we’ve played for, yes?”
“Oh, please, no. Not this way, not this way…” Clark begged. In the subdued position of conquest. Knowing he had been had, was going to be raped. He, the stronger, more than incredible, invincible Superman, about to be cored by a so much weaker, “earthly” cock—one much larger than his own cherished wonder (hardly imaginable)! And he was—allowing it?!
Inexplicably, relinquishing his powers: desiring to be in abject submission to D.!
“Have no fear, I will be gentle—” D. cooed, wryly. Then, fully laying himself atop his conquered muscle man (much like the other he had serviced some time ago, who though strong as an ox, had compliantly obeyed his every command, pliable and docile as a lamb, once artfully secured, and he the much lesser built and skilled, in charge…), carefully parted Clark’s buttocks with some chagrin, feeling how hard and tight with resistance they were clenched, laying his member fully lengthwise between and within his so desirable, quavering cleft… not seeking to penetrate him, but allowing the glory of his wonderment to go forth, over and above the narrow dip and curve of his man’s small waist, beyond the ridges of his glute’s curvature, up the channeled center of his man’s wide, spine-rippling lats… his own sizeable balls dropped to rest heavily mated atop Clark’s larger ones. Content to rest himself there.
In position then, to Clark’s somewhat feigned, unexpected surprise, futile protests of “Oh, no, no, no…” his lips and breath hot against the back and sides of his captive’s wan, struggling thick neck, “It’s time,” he said. “It’s more than time.”
And his hands slid invasively beneath Clark’s top, arms warm against his heated skin, pushing Clark’s sweater high, while slipping his hands forwards, frontwards under Clark’s arms… and in moments, both to his surprise at their largeness, and Clark’s rigid, stiffening gasps and wan attempts to writhe away… his hands found, encircled, and down over-fisted lightly onto Clark’s huge teats. The shafts to crowns of them even beyond what his hands could contain. And pulled slowly downwards, captively, firmly squeezing.
Clark’s shocked, “Ahh-unhh, ahh-unhh — Uh-Unhh-AaaaHHH’s,” back arching violently, more than audible, and desperate. His huge tits grasped firmly from behind, and begun to be milked out ever so deftly, slowly… D.’s incredible cock, hot and warm, long and thick against his naked back, oozing out a rich flow of his Cowper’s serum, his hips grinding in, and his heavy testicles banging erotically into Clark’s own bigger boys below. Yet not seeking to enter him, though it was surely anticipated. And truly wanted… Superman thought he would faint. Would die of ecstasy. Trembled, tremored, shook, shivered, moaned, cried out—D.’s wondrous cock now frotting between his glutes, his Cowper’s pouring over his back, and slickening, making his movements more and more intense. Clark’s worked tits now also pouring out his juices all over the place, and his confined still cupped cock rivering his own Cowper’s in abundance. It didn’t even take but a shade over ten minutes. With a near shriek, D., himself was erupting torrents of his seed over Clark’s muscled back, the bunched mounds of his shoulder blades and traps, which triggered Clark’s addle-pounded testicles to withdraw and blast forth almost simultaneously. Both of them howled, cried joyously, vocally.
The incredible, orgasmic contractions in both of his breasts, the jettisoned, almost painful spurting of his milks from his well-worked, though banded nipples, the climactic rush from his prostate and cock overwhelming him. The mighty Man of Steel in mid-cry shuddered all over, stiffened, and fell out cold.
D. was dazed, but still contained. Superman gone. A limp mass of muscle, drooling and dribbling, unconscious. Still jerk-tremoring, his powerful depleted body in stasis. D., considering “what the hell?” as if they had truly fucked each other? Semi-expecting really what had happened. A wussy “Clark,” for sure.
Already planning for next time.
Ahhh, these so over-built muscle men! So screwed by their own egos—and assets , when they had them! One would never believe—actually, how fucking easy they were to take down. Cleaning up, thinking it over. Did not completely undress his paramour, letting him wallow in his still loaded cup, pulled up his thong and straps back into place, though. Though he yearned to view what he was soon going to enjoy. But refrained. Discipline, discipline, discipline! How he had gotten this far. Which would carry him further. There were others…. A list full.
And while tempted, he couldn’t resist to push up Clark’s sweater-top to gaze at his unable-to-be-believed chest, and gaped with astonishment—the realm of his nip-breasted treasury.
(The mighty “Clark Klein’s” exposed chest: great teats banded to retain their swole
largenesses and help contain them from too much free-leakage from his recently
suctioned-out nipples, at last bared—yet unhindered by their forceful, orgasmic
expulsions—D., nevertheless amazed at the wealth of male breast-flesh his client
possessed, having savored their appendages joyously in disbelief with his own hands
minutes earlier. Courtesy mphillips12000, Deviant Art. )
Gazing raptly at his Mr. Klein’s beyond normal assets, which he’d just merely “only handled”… (and would soon to be nursing from, he knew)—with uncanny resolve, D. managed to also judiciously refrain from further scoping out the reputed treasures cloistered beneath Clark’s groin (as had been insinuated but never broadcasted), assured they would be exceptional. Just sort of sponged him off with some warm water, cloths, and a towel. Having also snapped a few pictures for his files to affirm his acquisition. Then re-covered him. Would let the built sonofabitch change clothes again on his own as before. Let him rest, lay there awhile. Recoup as necessary.
So important to build trust. Confidence. Not spook him.
Lull him right into it. Like the others….