The Telemachus Story Archive

Superman, And Protectors of the First Order
Part 3 - Chapters 5 and 6
By Rick Henry

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Chapter 5

While the Man of Steel slept soundly, Glenn was listening to the conversation that had been recorded in the hero's apartment between Lois and Clark. He had been assigned to quietly bug the apartment, and was responsible for monitoring the feed. (But of what he had shockingly learned, he surely was not going to share “completely” with the Order! Some he could astutely withhold for his own thinking-ahead purposes…. A bonanza he never expected.) Clark Kent was his pledge and his responsibility. As he listened back to the conversation, he was saddened to hear what the two spoke of... in what they thought was confidence. The hero, however, had unwittingly put the life of his greatest friend/confidante in danger. As well as his own.

Glenn listened intently to the conversations, mulling over the implications. What a coup this was!! Depressing as well as elating, as well as agitated to do “something bindingly unique.” Imagine—SUPERMAN now irrevocably “tied” in his clutches. It was nothing short of astounding! A sexually-confused, immensely powerful, drug-susceptible, human-alien… ripe for the taking. Brought into his own ultimate captivity. With no escape!

So, riding a high of contemplation and twisted thinking, he went out and picked up a handful of party kids to absorb his troubles with. Formulate some new lethal strategy. They hit all of the Metropolis hotspots, and finally after all the bars closed, Glenn decided it was time to pay Clark a visit. He left the sexy young things waiting in the limo downstairs, and headed for Clark's apartment alone. With a potent idea.

He was going to fuck-over the man, silly. And very possibly close the noose.


The sound sleep the MOS had hoped for escaped him. He was rousted out of bed by a loud pounding on his front door. The hero staggered around, and noted through the eyehole, it was that damned Glenn knocking furiously on his door. Superman angrily grabbed the door and tugged it open not worried he was fully naked. Glenn practically fell into the apartment startled by the quickness of the opening door.

“Hey Clark, is that a “super-sausage” hanging loose there, or are you really so eager to see me, you just had to show it to me? You teasy, sweet boy, you!”

The hero had been having dreams all night about what had transpired at the club and his encounter in the dark. It had left him sporting an obvious sort of lengthened thickness, almost normal, but on the verge of more. His cock began to withdraw at the sight of Glenn. He grabbed an afghan from off the couch, fastening it around his waist.

“Why are you here, Glenn?” more than irritated.

Glenn smiled, and leaned up and whispered into the nearly naked hero's left ear, the hero catching a whiff of his booze-soaked breath. His own, not really that clear, either. The combination making him a little queasy.

“I came to take you out on the town. We’re going to find some “strange” tonight.”

Superman was not in the mood for such shenanigans. This evening had been the first night he had gotten to bed at a decent hour, and Glenn Thompson of all people would not be the one to ruin it.

“Glenn, I appreciate the offer but I have an important day tomorrow, after last night I am all partied out.”

“I figured you might say that. Which is why I invited some friends along. They’re downstairs waiting in the limo.”

“Damnit, Glenn,” the hero groaned, while Glenn produced a cell phone and sent a text to the group he had gathered below. There were half a dozen in his party, all of them looking for a good time. Superman gave a disgusted look towards Glenn, but Glenn didn't care. He had heard everything that Lois and Clark had talked about that afternoon. As the one who had introduced and put Clark up for nomination, he was responsible for keeping track of him. But now, oho , did he have some secrets to use!! Clark as his prey was his for the taking… (without a clue what was about to transpire).

“I really can't believe this is happening.”

“It's okay, Clark,” he shushed him. “I promise you’ll have fun. We’ve got the goodies, too. Just like you like. Now, go get dressed, and get ready to party.”

The Man of Steel disappeared briefly into his room. He slipped sourly into a pair of pajamas and reluctantly took a half dose of the power-inhibitor, waiting for it to have its effect. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool, riled as he was, and exert his agitation or pitch a royal fit. He knew he should have thrown Glenn out with one toss. The wisest course, by far. But the intrigue of maybe, at last, reaching that “unearthly” high again, tripped him. Because his deepest fatal flaw, not quite fully realized yet… was that when once he got sexually stimulated, he was lost to all control over himself: his mind or his body—will or strength—overwhelmed by the heated craving in his loins. Which unfortunately was soon to be his complete undoing: his own annihilation from within.

By the time he returned, the party had arrived. There were four party girls, three brunettes and a blonde, and a couple of guys sporting short, brownish dark Caesar cuts—whether they were with the girls or each other, he really couldn’t tell. They were in good shape, and young, all of them. The girls dressed in short skirts and halter tops, and the guys much like Glenn, casual in either dark jackets, or sweaters.

“Clark these are my friends: Amber, Jayden, Lila, Sophie; Adam, and Paul.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The girls each gave Clark a kiss on the cheek, and a friendly hug, while the boys each shared a firm handshake with Superman... admirably impressed with his huge arms.

“Well, I have a wonderful idea. Let's do some coke, and play a little Spin The Bottle.”

“Which means?” Clark coyly asked.

“If it points to you, the spinner and you meet in the middle…. Simple.”

Clark frowned. “And do what?”

“What nature tells you, man!” Paul hooted.

Glenn produced a small bag of a few grams of the potent white powder. The Man of Steel still could not believe the depravity of his friend. The six "friends" clapped and whooped with delight. They all found themselves a comfortable place to sit: two of the girls on the floor in front of the coffee table, the two boys at opposite ends… the other girls joined Glenn on the couch, and the Man of Steel took a seat at the bar.

“I think I may sit this round out,” he said.

He listened as Glenn began cutting up lines on the coffee table with his credit card. The young partiers began doing their best impressions of Hoover vacuums with the trails. While Glenn snorted some of it off in what appeared to be a shovel-shaped spoon. Not to be deterred by Clark’s attitude, he carried the bag over to the bar and placed a bump before his friend.

“Come on now, Clark, this stuff will make you into a regular sex machine.”

The Man of Steel resisted the tempting offer, but Glenn was not in a mood to listen to his insolence. Instead, he forcefully pressed the spoon up to the hero's nostrils, and ordered him to inhale. The Man of Steel could see the insistent look on his face, and with his powers reduced, the hero knew Glenn was still the far weaker, but if the others got involved and jumped him, he was unsure what the outcome of such a tangle would be. He cautiously inhaled the white powder; he shook his head; more was presented… his alien nature super-acutely, instantly feeling the buzz; and did another line. And fatally… another.

The Man of Steel was over-instantly energized, and began dancing his butt on his stool—one of the girls had produced an I-Pod, and was playing some heavy dance music. The Man of Steel bent forwards a bit dazed, leaned over to Glenn, who offered him more of the cocaine which he willingly snorted. His streak of bad decisions, now continuing unabated in a heady de-powering swirl. Glenn reached over behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of booze. Poured the drinks, passed them around. The girls cheered, and the boys hollered. Some danced. The music kept playing; everyone was clearly having a good time.

“Gather around children, time for some Spin The Bottle. Since our host has been so kind as to let us use his abode, it’s only fair that he goes first.

The group formed a circle on the carpet in the middle of the living room. The Man of Steel was hesitant, but the group all seemed very insistent that he take the first spin. The hero gave up his protests, and gave the bottle a mighty spin. It landed on Adam. The boy invited the hero over with a wag of his finger, and Superman crawled across the room and the two had a meeting of the mouths. Everyone cheered as both of them got carried away with the kiss. Superman knew he should have been above such behavior, but the previous night had made him feel so good; it struck him in a torrent, now—hmmmn? what an innocent pleasure! Such a kiss, boy to man, male to male? No problem.

Next, it was Adam's turn, and when his spin was over the bottle aimed squarely at Clark! Kent smiled as this time Adam came crawling over to him , and the two of them began to kiss once again—this time their kiss stronger, lingering, and the Man of Steel could feel his cock stiffening. Adam broke the kiss, but gave a tough tug on the hero's lip, his hand notably rubbing Clark's rod-ed groin, and smirked when the hero grunted with dissatisfaction at the kiss’s end.

“Okay, my turn, boys. You can’t have it all.”

Glenn gave the bottle a quick spin and it ended up landing on Amber. Glenn and Amber met in the circle’s middle and began kissing one another passionately; hazed, the hero found himself wishing he was on the receiving end of the young girl's lips. Amber took her turn next and it landed on Adam, and the two of them crawled to the center of the circle and met. They looked so beautiful and passionate kissing one another with unbridled glee, a pang of jealousy stirring in the Man of Steel as his mind reeled. Next it was Lila's turn, and the same passionate necking took place between her and Jayden. But a shade different.

Lila so easily pulled up her top, allowed Jayden to kiss at her nipples, sighing. Then Jayden's turn fell on Paul, and the two of them greeted each other in the familiar way, Paul teasing under her halter, until she was bare, too. On Paul's first spin it landed on Adam, and the two young bucks met in the middle and gave themselves over to the moment. Sophie, already ready, top jerked off, and long breasts swaying, was the last to spin, and hers landed on Paul, who dove in immediately, mouth instantly to her breasts. It was the hero's turn after them, and the two beautiful young things ended their steamy kiss. His spin landed on Paul, and the hero was invited over and crawled to meet the young stud's lips, who insisted he first open his pajama top. Staggered at the size of Clark’s massive pecs, he howled, and latched onto each his huge nipples with a decided relish—the MOS paralyzed in his tracks. Then finally, mouth kissing one another, Paul still pulling on his big nipples with his fingers, Clark getting overheated as hell—and then without warning, Adam crawled up behind the Man of Steel and began sucking on the side of his neck.

Clark's moaning was markedly intoxicating, beyond control. The play on his chest making him worse than weak and feeble.

The hero reached back, pulling off his shirt for Adam to lave at his heaving pecs, as he and Paul continued to kiss madly and deeply. In the next second, the girls vanished and Glenn rose up to his feet. He unzipped his pants and let his cock, all eight and a half meaty inches slap against his thigh. Adam spotted this first, and removed his lips from the hero's neck and crawled to Glenn's feet. Superman and Paul continued their passionate kissing, Paul milking at his near to coming nipples, the MOS moaning like crazy, while Glenn was being jerked off by Adam. (The four girls in their own tangle, adoring each other’s breasts.) When their kiss finally broke, the Man of Steel was in awe of what was happening to his friend.

“Does the faggot want some?” Glenn teased. “The great-muscled, big-hung Kent?”

The insult struck, but bounced away—the buzzed hero's mind reeling. His nipples near ready to burst, swollen and throbbing. Like his cock.

He couldn't look away, it was so striking. Glenn's cock wasn't as enormous as his own, but it looked so good being played with by Adam. The hero near hypnotized crawled over to the edge of the couch, Adam shyly smiled pulling back, and the woozied Man of Steel kissed the bulb-rich head of Glenn's cock on his knees. Adam winked knowingly, and left the hero to it. He then stood up and removed his pants as well. Paul, joined them. And all three of them stood domineeringly above and beside the mind-gone, dick-crazed hero. The young men began leisurely jerking off, while Superman kissed, bathed, and adored Glenn's cock with his hot mouth, and eager tongue. The hero couldn't stop it from happening—fragments of his mind horrified, but his body unable to stop. Love, love, love, this … percolating all through him. Hard as a rock. His nipples starting to slightly free-flow, his own glans rivering.

“That's it, Clark, baby, suck on it, just like the faggot you are! You have really gotten good. Practice makes perfect huh, sissy boy? Looks like you’ve quite a weapon of your own you’ve been hiding? Can see it poking, really wettening those pj’s.”

Mmm-mmmm-umnnn,” moaned the hero, his mouth working fully over Glenn’s.

The boys lost it at that, and the Man of Steel felt the splashes of their semen hitting him all over his face, his chin, cheeks, forehead, nose, an ear, his black hair. Superman could only nod his agreement, as Glenn began pumping his hips more forcefully into his captive’s super-mouth. He grunted, and continued to swallow and suck on the meaty member. The boys laughed, and began stripping the hero of his thin pajamas, until he was left obscenely naked. He continued blowing Glenn, groan-ohhhing , and moaning as the boys then also began variously licking and milking at his sensitive nipples. Amazed at how his breast nectar squirted from them in little spurts. His giant cock in front of him like a ship’s mast. Forever strangely untouched. Throbbing.

Gone, and nearly out of his mind.

Indeed, they were all floored and fascinated at the size of Clark’s huge, dripping rod. More than envious, but somehow weren’t touching it. So strange, thought Clark—so hard, and wanting to be stroked, sucked, played with. Only his mind was more glued to wanting, taking theirs, servicing them. Could he, all of them?

They then began lightly fondling over and around the dazed hero’s shaft, getting him more than worked up, just as they had been instructed to do by Glenn in the limousine. He was purring like a tiger aloud, almost on the edge of his orgasm, when the boys stopped and rose to their feet once more, and began stroking their own again: one a seven, the other a seven and a half-incher… proud youthful soldiers.

“Oh, Clark, you’re a terrible host. You need be giving these boys a hand.”

Not wanting to disappoint Glenn, he reached up, and began stroking Adam and Paul one handed, over both of them, never losing Glenn from his mouth. The boys laughed at the actions of this beautiful big hung, overly muscled cocksucking man. Surely a depraved idiot.

“Thanks, Queenie Clark!” Paul urged.

“Yeah, thanks… fag-fairy muscle !” Adam sighed

Clark then in a flash, felt suddenly so pathetic—the reality ! Reduced to a cock-sucking, dick-milking homo! A true shock. If the boys and Glenn only knew just who he really was, it would ruin him! Eternally!! But why think of that now?! Oh, how he was loving this!! Higher than the tallest building—and into the stratosphere!! Yet, the thought of his being exposed was beyond horrifying: the sudden-quenched superhero—as he continued to stroke and suck. Hopelessly. No way to save himself.

“Does your family know you love sucking cock, Clark? What would your Mama think if she could see you now?” Glenn teased.

The thought was disgusting, but the hero kept right on stroking and blowing. Glenn was grunting as he fucked Superman's dick holster. One of the hero’s hands was now urgently working on his own cock, and the boys on theirs, while guiding Superman's other over and onto them, too. It was a beautifully perverted picture. The boy's again let go first, spraying the hero with their paltry white loads. Looking at the Man of Steel on his knees, his face splattered with two loads each from the boys, set Glenn off…. His cock began to erupt, and Superman removed the cock in his mouth in time to let the load splay across his magnificent chest and big swollen nipples. And then, removing his hands from jacking himself, rubbed their warm male juices across and into his sensitive nubs, sighing rapturously. Even milked himself unashamedly in front of them; put his mouth to his own nipples, one at a time, to drink from them. Briefly. But caught himself before going too far. The boys laughed, and started once more stroking their still coked-up cocks, as Glenn collapsed onto the couch.

“Damn, no wonder he's so muscle-queer,” snorted Adam.

“Able to suck his own, top and rock,” Paul dissed. “Faggot city, for sure!”

The hero, pierced to his core. The unkind rebukes, flushed. Only—

“Clean me off, bitch,” came the harsh demand.

The four girls nearby in a whirl all their own; mouths on mouths and tits, fingers deep inside each other. As if no one else were there. Clark saw, but was unfazed, not his focus at all.

Put back in place—like a cum-hungry whore, the Man of Steel crawled over between Glenn's legs and began cleaning him off like a cat lapping milk. Home again . Glenn laughed at the sight of this “betrayer of The Order,” this renowned impossible Superman, reduced to a semen-sucking fag! He’d always known Clark was a bit pathetic, and strikingly so because of his size—but had never had any idea how pathetic he truly was, until now. The incredible mind-fucked Superman on his knees, pussy weak, and cock starved—one and the same person!! It was so rich he could have died, or shot another load! The hero, who was wearing the boys' double cumloads, and a healthy volume-shot of Glenn's jizz... still hadn't sunk to his lowest, he was sure.

And he was determined, indeed, to take the warped MOS down, where he'd never been before.

When Glenn was satisfied he’d been cleansed free enough, he let the still dazed hero crawl back to Adam and Paul.

“Suck a couple of real men, Clark Kunt,” Adam cooed.

“Yeah, both of us, Pole-man!” Paul added.

Glenn started quietly again stroking his own cock, to get it ready for more use. Superman did as instructed. He crawled over to Adam, who playfully slapped his cum-marred face with his modest man meat, starting to harden again. The hero took it, and Paul joined in, the two young men cock-slapping the hero, who made no effort to prevent the attack, seeming to enjoy it. Finally, Adam shoved his cock inside Superman's mouth hole and started hammering away deep as he could go. Paul laughed watching the muscle hunk gobble and suckle on the cock as if it might cure cancer.

“Fuck, no wonder he’s so fine at this,” Glenn snorted. “Must be on his own daily—only too big, can’t deep throat it like ours. Sure tell he loves cock, though! Super-mouth!!

A staggering implication, almost bared him to the bone. It hit a twist inside, to hear Glenn say such. Had to ignore it. Must. Must. Must. Not true.

The hero's mind was reeling, waves of in and out, as he realized how perverted he was actually being. Had become. He was weak, he knew that now. Totally contained, lost. He felt shame and ecstasy, yet willfully continued to suck hungrily on Adam's cock. He realized no one but he had led himself down this path. Yet so ached for release. He wanted to be given full permission to cum, or to be cum upon…. Anything to earn another salty man-seed reward. Suddenly, Adam's hips spasmed and he shot into the back of Superman's throat with a nice hot dose of yum. Superman swallowed as much as he could, and then released the cock from his mouth, to catch a good breath, which was replaced by Paul's turgid, larger member. Paul started face fucking the hero with abandon, choking him viciously while he did so. Superman grunted and struggled, but was unable to free himself. Paul had both of his hands around his head and ears, determined as if to strangle him. Though the hero could well take bigger and thicker, as he had the other night, no problem… Paul’s determination however, bordered on the ruthless, and a hint of fear crept deep into the Man of Steel.

If the boy held him too long and hard, he really might pass out. No. No. Oh, no!! There were dark splotches beginning to form, overtake him. His senses… fading.

Glenn smiled and rose, seeing his own proud cock back at full mast. He climbed in behind the dick-choking hero, and began spanking him hard, slow slaps on the ass. Superman gurgled, tried to yell, but couldn't. Paul released his choke hold, and began slapping him again with paint brush cock-chops, before replacing his thing back into the hero's mouth. Superman muffle-yelped as Glenn continued to spank his ass. Methodically, rhythmically.

Suddenly he felt a few of Glenn's rough fingers press into him. His never before touched male-sacred hole. Alarm bells and sirens went off in stupendous, silent, panic-filled waves. Only his own cock had bridged that fortress, rarely ; but it had. But no one, nothing, no one—.

Feel that , Clark? I’m going to milk-ram your prostate. And Paul is going to choke you out, while he fucks your throat.”

Glenn began using his fingers inside of the hero, until he was three fingers in and three knuckles deep. Superman grunted with terror, and a strangely accented desire… his mouth filled with Paul's cock, his cleft with Glenn’s fingers rip-thrusting into his practically virgin ass.

Paul's hands gripped behind the hero's neck roughly, and his bold boy-cock slammed into the back of his throat, holding… as he did what Glenn had threatened. The hero could feel himself stiffening more and more near to crescendo, as this new sensation drove him wild…. And while he did fear “death” actually, as Paul continued to choke and violently force his cock into his mouth, smashing his nose against his young firm pubis, cutting off his ability to breathe, he almost welcomed it. This would end his nightmare, at last . Yet, instinctively he moaned and started struggling, truly afraid, while his cum-peak was rising—with his manly strength alone, he should be able to best this boy, but found he couldn’t—was helpless, failing !! Dear God, he was going to die! They were killing him! Vanquishing the invincible Superman! Nu-no, no-no,nohhh! Was beginning to see explosions of stars. Terrified. The face-fucking, prostate-milking became faster, rougher, the hero could feel his balls withdrawing, and he knew yes he would lose either his consciousness, or his load, whether first, or both, or together…?!

And his life?!

“That's it, Clark Kunt. Take me, queer-bitch!” Paul howled, hands tight still on the back of his neck. Stars exploding.

Suddenly, his geyser erupted—the hero's hips and groin wildly convulsing—Paul letting go at the same time, while also filling his throat and face with his millennial youthful cum. The hero collapsed, a mass of limp muscle, sexually defeated (and not for the last time), onto his living room carpet, with his rupturing seed still pulsing in a steady stream out of his fire hose cock, and Paul’s jizz drooling out of his gasping for air mouth. Out cold. Sprawled and helpless.

Not one to allow such a sterling opportunity to pass, Glenn orchestrated the show.

For posterity, the girls gathered in, took some pictures… in case blackmailing this hunky fucker became a later necessity. They posed him slack and unconscious, yet as if voraciously sucking the boy's dicks, getting tea bagged by Glenn, himself, while jerking on his own huge cock with both hands, or seeming to, and staged his coming and coming again… even managed to press his face down into his own thick pecs, as if outlandishly nursing on one of his own olive-sized nipples; and others, of the boys and Glenn practically atop him, penises on penises, and with one of the girls while making it on him, too. Even could manage the bending of the hero nearly in half, with his cock in his own mouth rather easily, though very thickly soft, yet showing him notably adept as he must be. Camera angles very cleverly arranged.

After an entire series of film had been taken, the room emptied out. The music fading, the noise, the laughing. The group only knowing they had been there to intimidate some “nasty” once-friend of Glenn's, who needed to be given his comeuppance. The girls twittering as they left. Aware they had just destroyed the reputation of some “outstanding” muscle hunk, who thought he was God, or something. And needed to be properly fucked over: narcissistically horse-cocked, or not. A thousand dollars for each had filled the bill for a great night, no less.

When Clark finally came to, he was flat on his back, arms and legs akimbo, and it was because Glenn was jacking him off, his moans and struggles rather listless while he lay there, hazed and wrecked in his head. Allowing the once more pleasure to override all his senses, and this virile fine man who was working him, made him honestly so yearn to shoot again. Please him, and be pleased. But oh, fuck, Glenn didn't stop. Put something to his nose again, to re-heighten him. Sucked his nipples, and made him cum again. And again….

And again .

A haze of time and memory.

For sure he was near death's door. Had no idea of his name, where he was. A fire in his balls from having unloaded so much. Still hardly able to breathe. Even his nipples… as if drained and raped raw. Could hardly make a fist, rub at his eyes. Actually hurting all over.

Never in his life having been so fucked. His alien core practically shattered. Glenn the only one who could save him….

Finally, he remembered something… knew the gang was gone, but had no idea who or when or how. The Man of Steel had shot his strength beyond recovery three forced times more, and was as solid as overcooked spaghetti. His whole body and sex depleted.

Most definitely the two were alone at last—had been—just the fagged-out Superman and Glenn. Glenn tried to pick the hero up in his arms, not an easy feat, impossible… but somehow managed to coerce and prod him unsteadily onto his feet, and half dragged and half carried him into the bedroom. A real comedic ordeal, slipping, stumbling, sliding.

And heaving him down onto the bed, still in his arms, gently, “Next time, I will fuck you like the bitch you are, Clark,” he promise-whispered. “I know you’d like that. Conquered from inside—right, my love?”

Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm...” was all the dicked-out MOS could do.

Without barely a nod, the hero faded off into a ceaseless slumber, Glenn crawling into bed next to him, and holding him like lovers do. For the hero, things could only get worse. But Glenn’s unexpectantly fine and strong arms around him…. were wonderful, sheltering. Owner-ing. Even if having nearly destroyed him. It was nearly dawn.

Another man had never held him so close before. He was in heaven.

Vacantly, his last thought: thank, good —would be Saturday, no excuse calls needed.

Was gone.

Chapter 6

Ten a.m. arrived and the Man of Steel finally recovered from the sex-crazed frenzy of the night before. His striking baby blues popped open and were met with the last sight he ever expected to see—electrified to find himself naked in bed, lying next to Glenn Thompson, his own arms draped under and over his sexy hips. Stifling a deep groan of recoil and self-loathing, he rolled awkwardly off his bed, and crashed down onto the hardwood floor. He shuffled into the attached bath, and gazed at his pitiful visage. There were streaks and spots of dried cum on his face, in his hair, eyebrows, ears; some, too, had hardened on his chest, belly, and cock.

As he continued to stare at the face he hardly recognized, last night's events all came flooding back—horrified by his wanton recollections. He remembered first taking the cocaine, which was not only against his normally rigid moral code, but also was highly illegal. Then came the “frenzy” that overtook him as he had played Spin The Bottle. His mind getting lost in lust as he passionately kissed each of the boys, and they returned his kisses with vigor. Even also… how they had assaulted his pecs and nipples!! Then he wretched a little, thinking how easily Glenn had been able to entice him. He tried to black it out, but all he could see in his mind's eye was Glenn standing there naked and inviting. It stirred him once more in his loins. He remembered being used as a canvas for the boys to use their penis paint brushes, to give the hero a messy, embarrassing cum facial. He remembered using his tongue and mouth to clean off the remnants of Glenn's sticky load from his body. He remembered being face-fucked and choked, and milked from inside his body. He remembered all of it, including passing out from the intense pleasure.

When the events of the evening finished playing within his mind, all he could see was himself now standing in front of the full torso vanity mirror, his hand easy-working himself into another frenzy. He continued to stroke as if on a propelled automatic, furiously, until his cherished cock tremored and trembled… a huge load of his super cum shot into the sink. He then felt awash with a frightened guilt—such a pervert! His lush power-seed running down the drain, and shame spreading throughout his body. The worst part was that his perversion was no longer just affecting his Clark Kent persona, but had slipped into his Superman persona as well.

And the man who had done him in was still in his bed.

Disgusted and full of despair, he retired to the shower and quickly washed the filth from the past night’s debauchery off. Wonderful minutes of a cleansing, warm reprieve. The water felt so good cascading down on his nude muscled flesh. His eyes were closed, and he was soaping up his magnificent hirsute body when he heard the bathroom door open. Through the steamed glass, he saw Glenn stride confidently towards the shower. As if by sheer force of will, he tried to prevent, power his focus—deter him away from what he knew would happen next. The shower door was jerked open. With a large grin, a full-ready erection, the man greeted him and stepped in… it was a fairly large cubicle. Of course, Glenn had other perverted plans for the Man of Steel.

“Good morning, stud-suck.”

In a display of masculine dominance, Glenn's hand swatted the hero hard on the ass, and before the hero had the chance to retaliate to the embarrassing attack, Glenn reached up, latched onto, and began tweaking the Man of Steel's notable nipples, with his rough, manly hands.

“Oh, my God! …Gah-oodd!” the pliant Clark soft-moaned, head falling back, pecs out-thrust, arcing, rising, swept into captivity. Arms near limp at his sides—cock easily thickening at the moment. Glenn’s fingernails light-stroking, digging into his nipple shafts, harnessing him. He then easily maneuvered the MOS into turning around, his face into, kissing on and against the back of his neck, his arms around him to his front… fingernails once more soft-roll teasing the hero’s huge-pected, ensnared nipples from behind.

Totally powerless, the hero super-heated beyond redemption or escape.

Caught completely off guard, instantly conquered once more. The hero breath-sighed with unalterable pleasure, weakly unable to blow his cover now, to fight off the man who had started the hero down this debauched, sexually charged path. Glenn knelt behind the hero and began kissing his notably muscled ass cheeks as Superman moaned with delight. He knew that he shouldn't be allowing this—his moral fiber should steel him against such erotic attacks! But, he was effectively overwhelmed. His breast-nipples love-crazed, and his ache-stiff erection had vanquished him. His alien hyper-sexuality beyond control.

Glenn continued to kiss the glorious, tight-muscled ass of the hero more than lovingly. The slick, oddly smooth and hairless, yet striated, bubbled gluteals of his captive were an impossible dream of manly beauty. Glenn had actually never been with a man before the other night, but the idea and neared reality of topping what he thought was the pathetic, but massively muscled Clark Kent… was just too golden an opportunity to pass up. Not to mention, knowing now his victim was NOT at all pathetic, nor in the slightest bit wimpy—but the world’s most indomitable, famous Superman, unparalleled of all men in the universe!! The one NO ONE could conquer. A masculine, hard-pile of subdued, muscle-whimpering, submissive pussy, unable to resist him.

And he had him in his complete control!! Heady, to say the least.

His hands from beneath began gently molesting the hero's heavy plum-dangling balls and spear-shaft sized cock, while his tongue found the hero's puckered rosebud. A truly new experience for the both of them, and finding he liked it more than he could have imagined. The musky smell, the corrugated flesh ring. He licked at and tongued it, and continued to fondle the hero's risen eleven plus-inch hammer of Roa up from behind him. The hero's body gearing into strange and enthralled, welcoming movements, delighted groans and sighs becoming both stronger, and resistently shallower, Glenn smiled. Loving the fact that this had all been so mind-blowingly easy! That Clark/Superman, himself, by his own now corralled weaknesses… had made this so simple for him. Was his prisoner.

It would only be better, when he would tell the expectantly shocked, made irrevocably helpless, soon-to-be completely depowered Man of Steel… the truth about having bugged his apartment—and that he had heard “everything” Clark had said to Lois. All recorded, too! The perfect tool to use against him should he ever try to turn against The Order—or even dare to think of resisting Glenn in anyway, at any time (for whatever desire, reason, or task Glenn might have in mind). He was as good as de-nutted, castrated, and enslaved. Now and forever. Not counting all the damning film evidence accrued against him.

Glenn removed his lips and rose his feet, whispered into the Man of Steel's ear. Again, reaching around, to soft-caress over his mighty chest, those turgid, boldly erect nipples: soothing and firm, and strongly milking them, driving Clark nearly crazy.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“N-nooo. Please, Glenn. Na—not that! I’m-I’m a MAN!”

The hero was ego-resisting with what little restraint he had left. Glenn smiled and grabbed a handful of the soap and suds and began working it into the crack of Superman's ass. He nibbled on the hero's ear and neck, and with a free hand reached around and grabbed the alien’s obviously still eager, erect cock, nearly high as his sternum. Superman gave out an unqualified sigh of pleasure, when then Glenn began rubbing his captive’s very own salivating glans-head into the hero’s own nipples—and reached over, shutting off the water to save from washing away his lubricant abundance. Savoring the copious slickness.

Unhhh-ohhhhhh. Unnnhhhhh. Glenn, Glenn….”

“Your words say one thing... bitch. But your about-to-burst cock gives you away. Just admit it, what you want, Clark. It’s not so tough. You’re not the only guy like you. Lots of others feel the same way. That you’ve always wanted to be a pussied, muscle-boy faggot. That this is your role in life, to be a man-sucking, submissive fag. Another man’s pleasure-slut. To serve, take from, to please….”

He nibbled voraciously on the hero’s neck, slow assaulting his still more than hardened nipples, and began stroking the alien cock as Superman tried valiantly to prevent him from doing so, groaning… soft hand-capping over his wrists, but not determinedly enough to force his possessing hands away—while the real battle was being fought and lost within. And to the rear, Glenn, then removing one hand, to go back behind him again… the first two rough knuckles of his middle finger finding an unresistant entrance into the anus of Superman… who purred with acquiescence, no longer shocked that he had been able to be penetrated. After all, Glenn had done this before. And he relaxed a bit for his further entry. When finally three of Glenn’s fingers were entirely buried inside him and rooting around, the hero whimpered softly. “Ohhhh! Uhhh, uuu-ohhhhhh!”

“Feels good doesn't it, baby?”

The hero’s breath was coming deep and heavy, his huge pecs rising, expanding, head lolling back towards him. One of Glenn’s arms around his waist, a firm hand on his big penis, just holding him. The MOS moaned and whimpered at the strong male fingers dancing inside him, who was then along and with Glenn’s other hand, slow-stroking his own self now, clearly giving up the battle. Glenn, of course, was not going to allow his humbling to be so easy.

To reinforce his unequivocal mastery, he needed to make the “great Superman” beg for it. Drive him to the edge of ecstasy, before roughly taking what no one else had ever had. As it would forever be then rooted into his mind and psyche, that it was he who had literally begged a much lesser, Earthman to fuck him… relinquishing ownership of himself to a far weaker other. Surrendering the very core of his masculinity to a much stronger-willed, more dominant one, even if less muscled and smaller cocked.

An Earthling now who had vanquished the once superior, but soon ever subservient, alien from another planet, with powers beyond reckoning… into a truly helpless and conquered fuck-mate.

He knew somehow from the way he had man-handled him the night before, and even now, it had surely been what Clark had always wanted: had preternaturally sensed it from that very first night. Though not being queer himself—although what attractive, fit man hasn’t occasionally wondered what it might be like, admittedly to “open” or try this forbidden fruit at some presentable, convenient time: a paired camping trip, nude swimming alone in a forested lake? Something about this big muscled, but soft-natured Kent, had made him want to have him so bad, his head rang with the idea, from even the beginning of ever having known him….

A strange twist, that. His disarming almost shy smile from a movie star intriguing face, warm blue eyes… maybe the idea of completely dominating such a big and possibly “suspected,” fallible muscle-pussy was a very unique challenge—something new for his repertoire of escapades to add to. Never knowing then how muscled Clark really was, and certainly never so hugely endowed. Thinking he was probably tire-stemmed like so many bodybuilders are, making them rather endearingly vulnerable to being plundered. But had noted the reporter was built more than normal. So the thought of manly overpowering him—and finding now that he also had an other-worldly cock, a truly envious weapon… would make plowing him that much sweeter. “Bigger” man, totally fallen—. His lesser own, without doubt, the more kingly scepter. (Having dethroned "the mighty Emperor," made him his slave.)

Unn-uuhhh ... oh, yes. Feels so, so... oh, good .” Superman losing himself to his arousal, like never before. Surrendering his proud, macho masculinity, as if it never existed.

“Excellent. Now tell me what you want, Clarkie-boy. Beg me for it. And I may, may just give you… what you’ve really, really craved for. For so, so very long….”

“I-I want your cock, Glenn; please! Need you. To use it, in me ! I-I’ve always wanted to be taken by… by such a strong, fine man. Who—I, I-I’ve wanted to be a real man’s receiver for . Fuck me; oh, please. I yearn to be your, your su-submissive man-bitch.”

Out of his head. Not even knowing the words that gushed forth, his heat so intense.

The hero was on the verge of orgasm as Glenn continued to plunder his ass, and he continued to jack himself helplessly, lasciviously. He began grinding back on the finger, and Glenn smiled, but had not reached his end game. He withdrew the finger and grabbed the hero by the throat so fast, that he spun him around like a top against the tiles. When his body came to a stop, he forced the startled man before him down onto his knees, holding the back of his neck.

“Beg me properly. Submissive fairies don't beg from their feet, they beg on their knees.”

“Oh, please. Y-yes, Glenn…” Clark stuttered.

Glenn smacked him hard across the face. A powering rebuke. “Clasp your hands together, like you’re praying!”

The bewildered hero did as he was told, clasping his hands tightly, and looking up meekly towards Glenn, who was standing above him wearing a mocking smile, his man-cock wet and bold-hard, the once warm water that had cascaded down over them before, making his firm, very nicely muscled body slick and desirably beautiful.

“Please… G-Glenn! Fuck me! Take me!!”

Glenn unleashed another hellacious slap onto the Man of Steel's face; and the hero rocked by being in such a position in the first place wailed out a less than manly cry. He knew that his secret as Superman was all that remained of his dignity, and he could not risk exposing that! Feeling worse than suddenly humiliated, tears welled in his eyes: as if he were a naughty boy, for having just begged another man to put his cock up and into him (offering himself like a woman!) .

But he was trapped, his libido so sparked, his inability to exert himself as the Superman he was—being in a sort of mortal danger, if that should happen. Well, if it meant being submissive, humbled, reduced to a weak man engaging in homosexual sex, then so be it. He tried to reason with himself that this was the only way—that no, no, never any part of him actually enjoyed it! But, of course, that was a self-delusional lie… and the only fragile thing keeping the hero from losing his grip on his sanity. But the wonder of his throbbing rock-hard cock definitely betrayed him.

And oh, how he loved his proud man-joy, had he not sucked it, and sucked it, and sucked it many times? Even now desired his own hugeness inside him, to be fucked senseless by it…. (Had he not also done it to himself, more than several times? While he milked sensuously on and all over his big nipples, mouth and fingers, till he came. Is why the idea of Glenn actually taking him was not really so bad; it was just—well, it was just embarrassing, what he'd done to himself, if anyone ever found out… and no man had ever attempted such, nor would he have dared allowed them! But inside him, his core was crazed with true want, to be given to, and torqued free. Glenn had ridged him to the very edge, having primed his breasts, his testicles, his phallus, hands caressing his musculature, kissing him, holding him. How he hopelessly yearned for the Earthman’s male-flared glans to rupture his prostate.) Adore him…. Oh, if it could only be!

“Kiss my feet, faggot.”

The hero meekly and humbly did as instructed, kissing the man's feet. The hero again feeling an undeniable rush of humiliation hitting him, reddening all over. He kissed each toe separately, and the tops and soles and ankles of Glenn's rough masculine feet.

“That's good, Clarkie-boy. Now, again… beg me to fuck you.”

With hands held up in prayer, his face barely off the ground eyes pleading up, defeated to extinction, towards the man who would be his first lover, Superman began uttering the words that Glenn craved to hear.

“I, I want your man-cock. Inside me. Fa-fuck me , Glenn. I-I have always wanted to be a worthy, str8 man’s faggot. Fuck me, please… as a man. I ne-need you—want to be yours .”

“I thought you’d never ask, Queer Kent.”

He reached down and picked Superman up by a handful of his hair. Then spinning him around, bent him forwards at the waist, and roughly pressed his head against the shower wall. The hero was on the verge of cumming at this point, his cock already so stoked, leaking his super-powered Cowper’s flow. Glenn grabbed him by the hips, and levelled his male rod at the hero's ass crack.

“Open your hole for me, man-slut.”

The hero did so calmly, not wanting to earn another abusive slap. With both of his accepting hands he parted his ass cheeks, giving Glenn easy access to his rear. Glenn chortled aloud and spit on his right hand, though not really necessary, his own flow a constant stream of slick, and rubbed the end of himself into the hero's puckered starfish. He then reached around for the hero's cock and grabbed a sizeable rich pool of his own rivering pre-cum, their flows now co-joining… and massaged the Man of Steel’s own juice into the hero’s ass, as well. As soon as he finished, he thrust forward and his helmeted head proudly prodded against the closed MOS’s anal orifice. He leaned forward more and more, and the sphincter spread slowly; and oddly almost easily; yet for some reason, Glenn was surprisingly gentle with the hero. Didn’t want to hurt him, just “tame” him, before claiming complete ownership!

The orifice quickly took more and more, as his cock went in like a diamond drill bit through warm tight concrete. His eight and a half-incher by six and a half, incredibly thick and male. Superman, not one to feel pain, but did feel Glenn stretching him beyond anything he’d quite recently known, wincing (though having taken his own much larger self on occasion when rather flaccid, and then hardening more and more once inside himself). But that was then, and this was now, and very, very different—nonetheless initially pained, and enraptured truly at the same time. He purr-groaned, hard and soft, whimpering and mewling at intervals.

“How does it feel, super” faggot?”

The humiliating moniker stung the hero, still trying to reason within himself, accepting the unwarranted… yet somehow not unwanted insults. It thrilled him as much as it repulsed him. But Glenn’s cock… oh, my God, so wonderful, wonderful!! Yes, yes, he needed to do this, or risk giving up his greatest secret. Outing himself as Superman?! Fighting back was not an option. And yet, why was this man taking such glee in humiliating him, calling him embarrassing names, robbing him of his (other than self-robbed before), never known by an earth-cock virginity? Not exactly treasuring him, for the magnificent man and hero he was—but rather abusively, making him into nothing more than a common homosexual, (who was unfailingly giving-in so easily to these strangest, almost base, animalistic desires, which he’d never thought could be? Not quite fully yet accepting them.) While yet willingly allowing himself to be ram-cored to his vulnerable center... and so much wanting it to be. And be taken.

“So, so… good. So strong. Aayya-uunhhhh... ke-keep going . Deeper. More !!” A dithering idiot.

Glenn smiled and slowly began to more strongly piston himself in and out of the hero's welcoming, cock-filled man-cunt. He would drag it out slow and then hammer himself back in, the head slamming against the hero's prostate, making him howl with an ever mixture of pleasure and pain. Glenn was encouraged by the yowls, it egged him on, and he picked up his ferocity. He began bucking wildly into the Man of Steel's never before so-used asshole. Superman was taking it all, his face pressed awkwardly against his folded arms, cushioned against the wall, his grunts mixed with the ones of an equal satisfaction of the man drilling him. Superman, acting a wee bit like nothing more than a welcoming male vagina for Glenn's bold, veiny cock. Glenn began hand-slapping the hero's backside playfully as if riding him like a rodeo bronco. Superman found himself joyously back-thrusting onto the strong, conquering dick reaming him. Glenn claiming him—owner's hands dug into his shoulders.

“That's it, Queen Kent. Grind on my cock, harbor it like a good, hungry bitch.”

Superman moaned with innate pleasure for having earned his top man’s approval. He was so lost in a swirl of lust he didn't realize how truly wanton and lascivious he was being. Glenn laughed, and began to reach forward and grabbed the hero around the neck. He pulled his face back, side-twisting him away from the wall in a smooth, quick jerk, and kissed hard on the hero's mouth and throat. Superman reached back and let his hungry fingers dance through Glenn's wet thick hair, caressing his cheek. “Hmmmmmmm-nnnn.”

“Oh, Queenie-boy, you are nothing but a fully certified faggot. I bet Mama Kent would be soooo proud.” Riding him deftly, swiftly. The man in them both reaching eruption. Twined bodies, stiffening, arching, low-howling. “AhhhHHHH-uuhhhhhh-aaaHHHHHH!!”

Each of them lost it at the same time, essence of the hero's cock shot hard against the wall of the shower, escaping as if it had been expelled from a geyser. Glenn's rod forcefully propelling all of his seed inside his plowed hero's self-used sissy hole, and dizzying him, gasping… he staggered backwards losing his balance. The hero reached back, and saved him from a nasty fall, almost cracking his head, pulling him in, and Glenn smiled, and kissed the hero hard. The turning superhero unable to keep himself from gathering him close into his arms.

Adoring the one who had de-cherried him.

“Damn, Clark, what fun we’re going to have, baby. You are one superb fuck!”

Supes reached for the shower knobs once more, to get them cleaned off.

They kissed again, letting the fine warm water cascade down upon them. They stayed that way for a more than a few minutes, holding, bonding under the pelting-down shower streams. Superman trying to clear his head, but losing it… to his master. Mouths bridging together for long, long moments. When the kiss ended, Clark leisurely sponged Glenn’s trim, athletic body clean… Glenn doing the same for him, until finally the water wanted to gradually taper to cool. And they had to disengage.

Almost some kind of strange love working its way through, into, and between them. Each of them glowing and happy… and mutually, truly a little more than confused….


The rest of the gone part of the morning the two spent in each other's company, while they prepared mentally for the day ahead. While Clark was in his room dressing, trying to get a handle on what he had submitted to, Glenn put his rather extensive culinary skills to use in the kitchen.

He made them a hearty brunch of scrambled eggs, onions/cheese, toast, cantaloupe wedges, and bacon, coffee and orange juice. They were pleasant with one another throughout the meal, gone was the forced power-play dynamic, and Clark felt at ease. It felt as natural as it had been when he used to make breakfast for Lois in the mornings after innocent evenings spent together. He was no longer “Queenie Kent,” the two of them once again relative male peers.

After the meal, Glenn left the hero alone saying he had to pick some things up before heading home. Superman was as strangely reluctant, and as equally relieved to see him go. He finally then knew he had to make the decision it was time for him to change his human base of operations. He no longer felt all that protected or “heroic” in his apartment's confines. He had been ignobly transformed from the “All-Masculine Super-Hero” into Queen Kunt , his premises invaded by a debauched band of millennials who might return at any unexpected time for more—and the worst of it all, was that despite waking up at full strength, he had still allowed himself to be given over to the eroding sexual hunger that Glenn had sparked within him—excusing too easily, as a big part, the lame reason of introducing him to The Order and his necessity to stay there.

Much as his sexual nature, disturbingly triggered, wanted to embrace the opposite—his Superman mentality knew he had to find a way out to curtail further disintegration. This was getting far too serious.

He left the apartment and decided it would be best to take the train into town. It would allow himself to formulate a plan. He felt as though The Order was intruding into every aspect of his life at his current address, and was certain that if he didn't retreat to a new place, they would soon discover his most precious secret. How dare Glenn—that he had even invaded his apartment and privacy, so coolly and simply!! He felt caught in a vise grip of more than threatening proportions, almost soon set to destroy him. The entire twenty-five-minute ride from his building to the Daily Planet was spent hatching a plan of escape to a new location.

Yet, he couldn’t get the feel of Glenn’s body and smell, breath and cock, out of his mind.

He, Superman, had been fucked-down and over by another male!! One far weaker, lesser built, and much lesser hung. And thoroughly!! He was struggling desperately to dismiss it, forget it. But how could he?? (And all the other impossible things he had done lately— caught on camera, at that!!) This was a nightmare beyond comprehension. Was he crazy? Rocking with the train’s movement, he caught himself oddly clenching his ass cheeks… rhythmically kegeling his perineum unconsciously. Getting hard all over again. A slight sweat broke out under his collar, a warm flush all over. He yearned for Glenn's thickness in his mouth. Up his….

Then, getting there, and realizing it was Saturday, his office closed, the befuddled hero felt even worse, far more foolish than before. He grabbed a paper, rented a car, and scanned the high-rise apartment listings desperately. There was no time to waste.


While the hero was figuring some way of escape from The Order's too encroaching clutch, Glenn was later being summoned to the Four Pines Golf & Country club. He was set to give a briefing to high-ranking members of The Order, about how the newest pledge was doing.

Initially, The Order had been hesitant about taking on Clark Kent as a new member. The only possible advantage they saw was his whispered about connection to Superman. Rumor had it that Clark and Superman were old friends, that Superman first revealed himself to Clark back in Smallville when they were both teenagers. Though Superman was now said to live in a secret chamber made entirely of ice in the Arctic, and from there he watched over the world as its one great protector. But since Clark was at first consideration such an unfavorable entity, he hardly seemed worth it. Connection, or no.

And surely it would not do to have Superman meddling should something with Clark go awry. That would be catastrophic. Only they might also learn how to keep him at bay? Or, use “his friend Clark” as an effective weapon against him. Possibilities did present themselves.

Of course, since Clark was one of the few men to well survive the initial evening’s drug-fuelled orgy, and when the taut, stern, best hung of their group, Brother Elias (the man who had first spotted the hero's “potential,” and had been the first to seed on the hero, and decided to endorse him—if only for another glorious suck)… some minds were changed. His body was beyond amazing for someone who projected such a nervous wimped-out energy almost constantly. One look at him in the toga, his incredible muscles on display, and even more so when his body was fully exposed, had been more than a several hard-ons' inducer. Not to mention his being horse-hung (and with such abnormally big tits… of which whom many had unmanly wanted to chew on, but somehow hadn't dared to discuss). They felt they could mold him into this season's Champion of the Metropolis Chapter of the Protectors of the First Order; and further thrust him towards more competitions with champions of other Chapters around the globe. A very pretty piece of merchandise, if they could only get him to exhibit some more macho demeanor. At least in the ring. And, if he didn’t work out… well, they could always have him de-balled, and shipped off surreptitiously to Arabia or Oman. Disappeared, like several unworkable others, who had so far met such a fate the past few years. Mr. Olympia types, or other small trophy winners from around the world; but none so well hung as this one. Their testicles still well-preserved (in defeated Champion jars) in one or other of The Orders’ vaults, along with their handsome bios. Still serving rather ignoble tenures of service, elsewhere….

Glenn arrived and was greeted by real estate mogul Edmund Blair, forty-five with a short carrot top, and a handsome face which he'd had peeled on occasion, to remove any boyish freckles, but left the rest of his toned-gym freckled flesh alone.

“Number 7990, how are you this morning?”

“Very well, 8011,” Glenn concurred.

“Excellent. You just made it for tee off. Our great leader is already on the course, and so is Brother Elias. We are all eagerly looking forward to your report. Of course, it can wait until after the round. I am sure it will be worth it.”

They exchanged pleasant smiles and walked out of the widely marble-floored, mahogany-walled, clubhouse. They were greeted at the rear exit by a pair of young men dressed in the traditional white slacks and shimmery blue and gold dress shirts, who would be their caddies for the round. They had their clubs waiting for them, and they made their way towards the first tee. Glenn wanted to lodge his initial report, but this was how things were done, slowly; the wants of one member were never to supersede the rules of the club. The smell of the fresh cut greens was bracing, though it being mid autumn. The news was good, but it could wait.

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