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Superman Unwittingly Meets Mr. D
Chapter Four - “Pump Me Up, Scotty!”
It took D. several shocked moments to absorb what had happened.
No fool, he began CPR instantly on the superior form of his collapsed muscle man, who for all practical purposes was dead as a door nail—never planning on this at all—pressing frantically on his incredible chest, mouth-breathing urgently into him. It would never do to have a client brought to death at his hands. Calling EMTs, the police, or the coroner, out of the question. Any autopsy would show he had a very bruised jaw and throat, and a stomach full of his sperm. Which would indicate murder … coerced, acquiescent, willing, or accidental. Nothing he could afford. Or his life would be ruined. And he, with a cock like his, locked up in jail with a passel of true perverts?! The idea was more than beyond conceivable! He would be raped into oblivion. And by a brigade of mere six to seven inchers, if he was lucky. Some eights and tens possible, but not many.
“You, you… killed me…. ” Clark murmured in disbelief, coming around.
“You killed yourself. Wanting too much.”
“But… you held me down. Wouldn’t let go.”
“Strong as you are, not possible.”
“—Bu, but you saved me. Brought me back.”
“I did, didn’t I?!”
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you. ” Still trying to comprehend how D. had actually killed him. He, the invincible Superman! If D. had not brought him back—
“You’re welcome. My best client. Only one’s ever taken me all the way, was able.”
“Though it was nearly too much. Even for one such as me, a real—” (started to say Superman , but caught himself).
“A real superman! ” D. finished for him off-handedly.
“I, I… do… have some strange qualities.” Trying to cover for himself. “Odd.”
“So I perceived.”
Flushing red, he then struggled to sit up. Took some deep breaths. Rubbed at his neck and wrists. How could this be? Still trying to wrap his head around it. Finding his cuffs had been unlocked, collar and chains removed. Teats very sore.
“Need to get you cleaned up,” helping him to his feet. Led him to the shower, gave him some towels; supplied him with one his own thongs; gave him a fresh set of all-black sweats barely able to contain his mass. “Left over from that other guy,” he smiled. “Doesn’t need them anymore.”
It was determined rather than spend the weekend as planned, he’d better be going. He honestly was worn out as hell, all of his resources compromised. His insides feeling raw and more than well-used, his throat, esophagus. Needed to recoup from his near miss experience. Something he hadn’t encountered before. D. agreed. Some other time.
At the door: “Our next appointment, Mr. Klein, best if you come incognito. Case a similar thing occurs, not turn out as well. Can’t afford any traces, you having been here, or me involved in “strange accidents.””
“Oh, I understand, completely.”
“Don’t drive. Tell no one. Maybe come by rail, get a cab from the station. Capiche?”
“That’d be around Christmas. I’m taking the week off…. Maybe we could spend it together?”
“Now there’s an idea. Treat for both of us. Though I don’t usually get that intimate with clients. Day or two. I’ll think about it, let you know.”
“Gee, that’d be swell, D. Really swell,” Clark gushed. “Holidays can get really lonely.”
Superman’s very large penis and long/thick nipples getting hard thinking about it. Their soon time to be together again.
“I know. I’ve had a few empty ones, myself.” (Poor fucker, he mused… and your last. )
* * *
Again, D. called, left a message Christmas was off. Was making other plans. What’s worse, he’d left it on Clark’s phone at the Planet. In a near strangling panic, disappointment, Clark hastily phoned him back. The only response he got was a terse there was an international client from Dubai, who was booking him for $30,000 for the three days over Christmas. Friday through Sunday. Could not pass up such an offer. And you know, Clark, Arabs are known to be quite well-hung, too. Sorry….
He thought about it for two days, and couldn’t bear the idea of another holiday alone—or to be without D. too long between breaks seeing him. Grinding his teeth, pooling his resources, (and knowing they could be replenished with little problem), he forced himself and rashly made his offer. Tried not to sound desperate, only psychologically he was. Had crossed the bridge, burning it behind him.
“D…. really need to see you, Christmas . Miss being with you, so much. Since this’s such a special occasion, I’m offering the same. Nearly breaking me. Thirty thousand for just two days, one night. Let me know.”
Another three days before he heard a peep. Another message left overnight: “24th thru the 25th then, accepted. Cash. Remember, incognito. No earlier than 11a.m. Delete.” It came in the day before his vacation started. He almost swooned when he got it.
Well, well, D. mused. Complete success. Trust more than established. Insatiable hunger, sealing the trap. Easier than I expected. Merry Christmas, muscle cunt…!! Santa will deliver!
* * *
Simplest way was to fly, no cape/costume needed. Only a toothbrush, comb, bundle of bills in his belt, extra thong, basic cup and guards as usual under his track suit. First, surveying the area aerially, he was puzzled by the small earth-scooper, and several trenches, the modest mounds of earth behind one of the outer buildings. December not the best month for digging, the ground too hard—must have been a project started earlier. And that equipment is expensive, even to rent, much less hang around idle. And yeah, to complete the guise, he’d donned a North Face parka. Bulky to navigate with, but a necessary ploy. Finishing off with a timed return to the train station in town so his arrival by cab would be legitimate, ticket booked back for early the 26th.
Once in, D. greeted him with a telling kiss, arms fast around him; but a bit tough, considering his breadth and thickness in the parka. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered softly. Clark couldn’t help but tremor all through himself, knowing what would soon be forthcoming. Had waited a whole three weeks. Ohhhhh, skin to skin…. “And, the money—?”
“You, too….”
Then a tad piqued. Little bag he had, slipped it from his waist belt, their eyes meeting, acknowledging his payment. Put it on the side table by the door as usual, began to shed his jacket, looking around. Very soft seasonal music was thoughtfully playing in the background, no vocals, D. taking his coat. Then, almost had to laugh, chuckled a bit, espying the tree. A fat, little bushy one on a nearby coffee table no more than three feet high, all green, adorned with half a dozen red balls, and silver wisps of tinsel, no angel, no star.
“Especially for you,” D. nodded towards it, headed for preparing their drinks. “Martel, right?”
“Right,” Superman said. Taking in the warm crackle of the fire logs, enjoying their flicker. Out of the blue, asking, “How come you have the earth-digger out back, building something?” (Aware instantly of his mistake; would mean he’d been spying around the place. Someway. But how? On foot? )
Startled, D. turned. How could he know that? Or’ve even seen it? But covered himself.
“Was planning on putting up a greenhouse, but got too cold, too soon. Wanted to put down a few underground water tanks. Would like to lay in some vegetables, even flowers. Spruce up the place,” frowning. Making sure he laced three times the normal amount of horse tranquilizer into Clark’s drink. Just to be sure…. Last time he’d only used two. Had worked pretty good. Considering who he was dealing with—.
Swift to lure him in, get him to drink faster, urging him on, clinking glasses in quick succession. “Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Happy Hanukkah—all that. Not much on the religious stuff, though. Hey, Clark,” clink, clink. “Glad to see you. Take off that shirt. Those shoes, pants….”
“Yeah, yeah… sure.” Already feeling strange, indeed. His breath quickening. For D. Anything for D. Slipped off his top, slid down his pants. Falling out, his humongous nipples unshyly bared, ego-strutting them… feeling them grow hard in the cooler air, their corrugations filling out silky smooth, pushing their largenesses out there; (his heavy thong, also filling). Ohhhhh, he felt so mellow. So eager . So aroused, knowing he was “wanted,” too.
But oddly also seemed woozy and so soon! trying to stand steady on his feet. Focusing on D. now, who’d also removed most of his clothes, only in his thong: glory to God, what a man! That thing he carried cresting the top of his knees! And Clark hardly lesser.
With D. no less focusing on him ! All that muscle: so small-waisted, with such huge pectorals and widespread prominent tits. (Though firmly packed, they must be a full twelve inches across from areolae to areolae; most men only ten.)) Their eyes engaged, D. melting closer. Truly hungering for him. Tease-feathering at the ends of his dual-breasted projections with his fingers, seemingly hard as granite... yet the quivering thrill of them eliciting deep moans from his captive guest. And then D.’s mouth, wholly sucking in on one of his nipples, a mouthful, no less. Clark caught fast, wilting, crying out: “OHHH, ohhhh!! OHHHH!!” D. moving to the other one, more than two-thirds a hot dog’s fullness. “OHHHHHH!! U-AHH!! OHHHHHH!! ” the MOS instantly his. Then D., grasping a deep hold on both sides of his quite pliable, wide-huge pecs, wrestling them together, leaned in, both of his nipples crushed together at the same time, scraping their crowns with the nails of his forefingers hard as he could. Clark near literally shrieked, in failing instant submission, with both pain and ecstasy. D., relenting, then swallowed them both of them into his mouth.
How could that hurt, how could that hurt?! Oh, no, no—it didn’t! It didn’t!! Felt so wonderful, so goodly wonderful, so wonderful! Weaving crazily, drunken on his feet, his head in the stratosphere. “OHHHH-ohh-hhhhhhh!! ” his savored twin conduits, their milks beginning to pour into D.’s mouth, and his cock about to rip through his thong. Tried to loosen it, but D. wouldn’t let him to put theirs together. Just continued nurse-sucking his tits till he nearly fell backwards. But D. managed to steady him, though not being as tall. Looked closely into his quite blue eyes, how they had kind of dulled, seeing he was already “out of it”—comprehension and all. Knew it was time. Sly as a fox.
“Need to go in the other room,” he soothed. “Have something special in there for you. You’ll like this. Really like this.”
“Li… like what? What do you want, of me, D.? Dee... my, my only friend….” So buzzed after only four big slugs of his cognac, he barely knew where he was, who with. So much craving for his titanic tits to be savaged, his oversized cock to be joined with D.’s.
“That’s it, Clark. Your only friend. For sure. Will take so good care of you. Come along.” Carefully guiding him into a small back room Clark had never seen before, dimly lit, but fairly okay. An odd contraption or two, an upright, rectangular steel frame he could see. A couple of horizontal bars across the front it. He easily allowed D. to push him forwards up against it… fasten his wrists in leather cuffs to each side of him, then hoist them over his head, secured to the frame; his fucking so huge arms really slack and heavy, a bit of a struggle. Then a thick leather strap and chain was fastened from behind around his waist to the front of the frame, could barely wriggle his hips; and with his feet slightly spread, ankles below were alternately confined. Then another strap went firmly around the back of his neck and was fastened to the small horizontal bars in front of him, which were across his forehead and under his chin. Something like going for an eye exam. His hands and wrists, neck and waist, head and hips, and ankles deftly secured.
Wha, what was D. doing? Doing to him? But it must be okay. D. was his only friend. His only friend. It must be okay. D. wouldn’t hurt him. Would save him. Save him… save….
“Now, your special treat. Will make you juice like crazy, increase your loads.”
“Oh, ga-good. Will make me cum. Make me cum. Lots, lots, lots… more? ” Superman stammered. “Want you, have much as… you can take.” Definitely reeling, nearly grogged beyond his senses.
“Got to fix this—get it on you.” Then from below and behind, smoothly jerking down Clark’s thong, the glories of the Man of Steel falling out thick and long and heavy, his prized avocado sized testicles and challenging big cock free at last. D. proceeded to fasten a firmly-soft, bag-like container snugly over the base of Clark’s balls, air tubes attached to them, which when activated, would begin to slowly, easily pull and compress, and massage his gonads at spaced, controlled intervals, four seconds apart. When he pressed the start button, his man stiffened, “Ahhhh-ed,” arched, and then relaxed, discovering it was not painful, but quite pleasant, and just hung there, his eyes having first gone wide, then crinkled down smoother… and began sigh-moaning, emitting such sounds of pleasure, D. himself could wish it were he being worked on.
(Actually, a device he’d created on his own, and used often, knowing how effective it was. But had never used for the planned hours and hours he was intending for the hapless Clark to be subjected to—oh, dear! Oh, dear, oh, dear… my dear Mr. Klein! he nonchalantly smirked to himself. Going to juice you out, indeed! All those astoundingly potent “serums” of yours. Production pushed into overdrive—from deep inside. Increasing and yet depleting your so wondrous, incredible resources, equally at the same time. May never be able to walk straight again! And wait till I begin to unload from those gigantic breasts of yours, too—damned fag- milker! Tsch, tsch! Poor baby!)
Oh, it was such a wonderful massaging, the likes of which Superman did not believe possible. Ever continually taking him to the edge and holding him there, never taking him over it. A miracle of miracles, which nevertheless caused his Cowper’s to begin to flow thickly from his semi-hard penis, and fine, protrusive streams of wet from his gargantuan tits in a still relaxed state. Making such sounds of subdued, blissful pleasure, D. was almost jealous. (And knew he would have to manage it so he, too, could try it out later… his own cock rivering his sweet clear nectar into his mouth, his scrotum being so pleasured. Then, bursting white. No problem at all.)
Only he was not done. Just getting started.
“Hey, Clark. More to come,” he smiled. “Had to orders these special, so they’d fit. Measured you, while you were passed out last time.”
Clark, unable to move his head (his arms, legs, or anything), watched and wondered with contained curiosity, surely this would be good, too. D. was his friend. His so wonderful friend.
| (Prepared for his attachment-fittings, the hapless Clark, carefully lured into his harness and secured; no longer able to move, nipples banded so they would stay more swole—our so built and endowed Superman now contained, unable to escape even had he wanted to: the debilitating horse tranquilizers and cognac in his system, effectively clouding his mind, compromising his will and strength, craving only to please and be pleased by his master… readying him for a plunder he never dreamed or expected. Courtesy mphillips12000, Deviant Art . |
But the MOS then suddenly more than gasped, eyes gone beyond wild, almost instantly sober, as D. flipped the switch on the quiet motor (and practically unseen from the angle of his head, having first astutely smooth-talked him into once more having his colossal teats banded, so they would be more prominent and accessible)—slipped onto him from the front, simultaneously, a shiny steel pair of six inch long, very thick cylinders over his captive sausage-teats, which began very methodically and rhythmically to suction his alien milk from them. Again, in easy four second intervals. Sporadically, effectively. Not hurtful, but easy and slow.
Pulling them out firm and long, holding, squeezing… then letting them go.
“Unhh, unhhh, unhhh-Ohhhh! ” he gabbled. Absorbing the unexpected wonder of it. But as the pressure of the suctions gradually increased, as it was designed to, he became more than alarmed. The pouring forth of his so rich nectars from his astounding nipples near paralyzing him with ecstasy… as much as terrifying him.
The stunned shock: the realization of his breasts’ captivity, almost unhinging him.
“No, no, na-not that!” he keened. “My tits, my milk!! No, no, nohhh!! Dee… please, no, oh, not that!! You, you’ll kill me! Weaken me, too much!” More desperate than he’d ever been. But couldn’t move, free himself. Couldn’t jerk his head or neck free, pull his torso back or loose. In stupefaction already at the failure of his might, disbelief at his waned powerlessness, he was on the verge of whining like a little boy. Pleading desperately for release. For he knew the working of his so huge nipples, drawing his great strengthening milks from them, and causing him to ejaculate overly much would definitely bring him near to extinction as Superman—especially if his seed was also being constantly stimulated to erupt from him, his other major power source—as well as being kept from the sun! And indeed, if kept bound and unable to recycle himself for any protracted length of time... he could be doomed!!
But as “Clark,” how could he protest that? Reveal his identity?! Or worse—that as the incredible Superman, let it be known that he had been had?! And by one so much the lesser!
Then, in a staggering further reality, saw more—in pure disbelief, as his friend D. then pulled out a massive, clear silicone tube he’d kept out of sight, with further tubings attached, flipped another switch from the side somewhere, and slipped the cylinder over his now erect, flowing cock… which was beginning to also draw forth from the abundant bounty of his inherent resources from deep inside him. In but minutes causing him to orgasm and climax helplessly. Shuddering, shaking, spasming, arching, his man-breasts unloading his powers, in no less than well-regulated massive jolts of ecstasy, along with the outpouring rushed surges of his life-giving semen—a tripled wonderment, each at the same time.
The ensnared, unconquerable, and almighty Superman beyond helpless: the dithered, befuddled, overly muscled Clark, caught—being rendered powerless and knowing it. Slowly failing and slipping into a near catatonic state. He cried, he wailed, he struggled; he keened, moaning, begging… the continuance, over and over and over, in unbelievable cycles of pumping and resting, pumping and resting, spewing and spewing… over and over and over. From six to eight minutes between orgasms. Then dully watching, after about four rounds, hardly any longer aware his milks and seed were being collected in containers each time he climaxed. Slipping into an on-going semi-stasis, Hardly aware anymore of anything—his continual near and actual orgasms having disengaged himself from any ordinary reality and function, turning him into a glazed, vacant-eyed automaton of orgasming, massive muscle, quivering, jerking, and vaguely still trying, as well as involuntarily, to extricate himself but couldn’t. His strength gone. Mind faded-out. Until he was a drooling, useless bound form of Herculean unconsciousness, hanging by his fasteners, limp and inert, barely breathing. Four hours more than sufficient to have finished the job. The ceaseless depletion of his own life-giving potent serums having undone him.
The incredible, magnificent Superman forlornly pec-sagged, scrotally shrunk, and pumped-out; the demure, significantly overly-cocked Clark, dribbling heavily flaccid, tit-drooped, and blot-minded.
What to do next? The plan continuing.
But so much of what had occurred and had yet to unfold had been taken care of earlier. Gradually, stealthily. The both of them , having been brought into an induced sort of hypnosis by their own lusts. Why the so muscular Clark, the great Man of Steel, couldn’t break out his bonds beforehand: he had bound himself—didn’t want to!! [Aided also by the slyly given doses of tranquillizers. Having worked in lesser amounts much the same as on that dunder-headed, muscle-egoist, Bruce Wayne.] A few well-planted suggestions to the outstandingly, super-honed Clark, or the teasing of the undressed flexing-showoff, rather larger Wayne—was he really as powerful as he looked? Couldn’t even break out of a simple pair of steel cuffs?! I bet. Then, once snared, getting him to admit it. All that muscle, Superman, who could have burst like a locomotive through an impregnable as if paper mâché vault… when instead maybe he really was a truly hungry, submissive cunt ? And that heftier Bruce, no less, for all his wealth and skills, going cock-mad for anything more substantial than his…. Each of them secretly just begging to be taken, manhandled by a real cocksman? Superman, more so, craving to know what that might be like. Why he’d answered the ad. Going mano-a-mano. Enticed further on learning of one so much bigger beyond his, once he got there. Must, must have it! Know it, see it, touch it, hold it, suck it, feel it, receive it inside him! Greater than the so wonderful largeness of his own that he'd forever definitely experienced. And now, one even better?! — At any price!!
Amazed, D. surveyed his work. Having effectively depowered (by mere wit and thoughtful guessing, how he might… once he’d seen that ego-packed tee his prey had presented, revealing his truest weak points), corralled, and thus vanquished the impossible Superman—knowing who he was all along. How he’d led him in like a lamb to the slaughter, completely deceived by his own hungering, inherent lusts. Using his own might, desires, and body against him. Didn’t have long now. But had promised him the night. Always kept his word. Left him still quietly bound, while he sealed and wrapped up the quarts, one and a third from each of those mighty breasts of his he’d gleaned, and the nearly full gallon and a quarter of his seed he’d had pumped from his more than magnificent cock and balls, juiced out and stolen. Carefully stored them away in climate-controlled refrigerators. Was sure they’d fetch a miraculous price. But naturally had had to practically de-nut the guy, first: drain and curtail his unearthly abilities.
Couldn’t help but wonder if he still had his laser vision, ability to hold or blast his breath. Probably not. And wondered if he could still jack him off, nurse from his pecs anymore. Give him a few last pleasures before bringing all this to a close. Kind’a liked the guy, though… rather endearing, so built, so cocked and nip-breasted. So beyond loaded. A bonafide miracle.
But not quite like the other, who had definitely proven the more macho. Until the end. And had been sweetly played into submission in only two goes, too. First just jacking, sucking each other off (if for him only partially) ; then finally practically fucking the guy dumb, who vowed he would take all of him soon enough… and was able to also get him cuffed and on his knees by only the second time around—teasing him more and more each time, if he was a good boy, to let him suck it more and more, trying to take it all, couldn’t, but wouldn’t stop trying. Playing him along, his way more than D.s much bigger, broader chest and shoulders, denser arms and thighs, not insubstantial cock and tits, really pleasing….
Until it was time to cool it. Had received his orders, confirmed who he was. Almost enamored of him, how manly handsome he was, built, obviously quite smart, and oh, how he loved getting D.’s juice all over him, rubbed deep into his nipples and pecs and abs, and sweet-savoringly licking his fingers dry after; then fucking D. three times a night with his lesser dick, while partially sucking him, too, much as he could—satisfying D. immensely every time. He’d been the only over-nighter D. had ever allowed. (Plus the prior two four-hour day sessions, before the final “surprising” last one.) Sadly knowing, the more he got used to the guy, the more he craved to have him visit. Till he sadly had to bring it to a wrap. Had even covetly removed and secretly kept his thick gold B.W. engraved ring after, as a memento.
His plot, the most recent one out there. This new one to be beside his, already dug... (albeit with a few yet necessary adjustments).