The Telemachus Story Archive

Superman, And Protectors of the First Order
Part 4 - Chapter 7
By Rick Henry

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Chapter 7

After the enjoyable round of golf concluded, all the men shooting under par rounds, the foursome retired to the seclusion of the West Wing of the clubhouse—the more private member's only section for Order Elites. The hardwood floors and mahogany walls there gave the inner chamber a snug, earthy ambiance, which mixed beautifully with the smoke from their cigars.

The great leader was a man in his early seventies, with a full head of dyed brown hair and piercing green eyes, and whose double-chinned, weathery tan face was usually pushed up into a scowl. His name was Allister Arbuckle and he was a war profiteer, who came from already notable money. He was sitting at the front of the room in front of the crackling fire place. He smoked a Cuban cigar, and drank brandy from a snifter.

Marcel Rand and Brother Elias was seated next to him. Rand was in his late fifties and his money and wealth also came from weapons. He sold illegal arms to the highest and usually most destructive bidder. He loved knowing that he was responsible for arming so many of the world's most blood thirsty cults. He was a tall fellow, and stout, with greying temples, and the rest of his hair combed over his head’s crown. He smoked a pipe, and drank a healthy glass of fifty-year-old scotch.

Elias, to the contrary, fit and trim, was into pharmaceuticals: considered “Big Pharma,” as it were. Dealing with the medical community and rarified clinics was his specialty, ever with the proper kickbacks, and enticements for doctors to indulge in. It was he who had taken a special interest in the muscled reporter; with whom he was more than pleased to have enjoyed. A non-smoker, he prided himself on making very good choices of partners. Married to a former Miss Georgia, with two sons; and having one, he also had a penchant for large cock. With Kent as his latest, who still had his senses ringing with delight. Not to mention, best of the cocksuckers he’d ever known. (Astounding for such a novice: no doubt from adept practicing on his own.)

Blair occupied the smallest seat and looked the least regal in his chair, he smoked Benson & Hedges cigarettes and drank four fingers of bourbon over ice. Edmund had earned his money turning project apartments into lavish condo's, kicking the poor out of the homes, and selling them to affluent hipsters that loved gentrifying poorer neighborhoods.

“So, I assume 8079's transition is going smoothly?” Allister inquired.

“Yes, O Great Leader. It is going very smoothly.”

“I understand some surveillance of his property has begun. Was this step necessary, so soon? Is there some issue that we should be made aware of?” Elias asked, a bit piqued, and almost jealous; wanting to see more of this muscle hung-hunk for himself—why should Glenn have the privilege? He was definitely going to see about that.

Glenn had no concrete reason for commencing surveillance on Kent's property other than a purely personal one… to keep a regulated eye on him. (Even to see if Superman might show up as an inquisitive visitor.) Of course, the members of the upper council had no care for Glenn's “personal” reasons, other than its normal protocol for someone getting closer and closer to their happenings. Still, the Kent character as a sort of “champion” would entail sharper monitoring, nonetheless. (But for the present, to veil his already gleaned knowledge of who the hell Clark Kent truly was, he made the choice to lie.)

“I have reason to believe that number 8079 possibly plans to infiltrate The Order— gathering sensitive information, in an attempt to bring us down. His penchant for ever being the “digging” reporter I’ve reconsidered—and now think him to be more potentially harmful than of use to our wished-for advantage.”

“Ahhhh…” was murmured by several.

The assembled Elders exchanged contemplative glances, but the Great Leader could only speak to a definite, not merely surmised accusation. Elias, who’d already dicked-with the reporter hunk twice, said nothing… reluctant, but wondering. Remembering, what a shame it would be to ever dispose of such a fine “cock-fuck,” the finest he’d ever had.

(Hopefully considering then he might intervene, before Clark may be gelded—have him abducted, and kept for his own at his cloistered retreat in the mountains—something he’d done once before with a young Mr. Universe contender, whom he’d allowed to keep his balls… but after several overt attempts of escape from his celled-complex, had had to strangle him. Got him drugged, high and woozy during their last sexual tryst—so there’d be no more conflicts—after a mutually explosive 69-ing, dulled-out, and favorably relaxed… got atop him, remembering the sudden terror in his eyes, the thin cord of the venetian blinds unexpectantly jerked tight around his neck, as he weakly struggled, disbelieving, and stunned beneath him. And snuffed him, the man being extraordinarily far too strong to deal with otherwise. Later, and with great difficulty, got his mass stuffed into a steel drum; filled it with sulphuric acid, and dissolved him. Sealed it. The drum taken to the city dump; later, holes punched into it so it would drain out, and left. No traces. No problem. But he did miss the younger's, once trusting face (flattered by the older man’s attention… finely honed body, much larger member), and his gorgeous musculature. A nice eight-incher who was adept at using it, when sweet talked and high. Though ever resistant at his captivity, even if given a fine gym to work out in. Alas, too often rebellious and independent to have been kept for very long. Always a problem, those loaded with testosterone.)

But he was not about to reveal anything construed to be overtly “emotional.” He liked them really big, and really docile. And when aroused, Clark filled that bill perfectly! So Elias remained quiet. What Glenn was accusing was grave, yet without proof, the elders knew there was no way to quite condemn this Kent. Spying was clearly the correct course of action, to gain evidence. Especially if he was a “champion” contender; and that, merely for their own amusement. Yet if he failed in that enterprise, he was up for dismissal.

“You have yet to gather any proof of this?”

“Of course not, sir. If I had, the treacherous fool would be here at your feet. Your prize to do with as you see fit.”

The older men smiled at the thought. The hugely muscled one they knew as Clark Kent, broken and sniveling at their feet. (Though how he had gotten himself so well-built, being such a frumpy, lackluster figure, was an on-going mystery; not seeming the type at all.) The fun they would have with him. Anally plundering him… their subdued, ever face-fucked whore; bathing him in their putrid piss; making him their whimpering house pet. His unfortunate fate… IF he were to be mysteriously “removed” from the world he once knew, to serve The Order in his captivity; until either his pumped muscles withered, or they tired of using him. Then, “snuffed” quietly—or, if still in good shape, shipped off to an eastern sultan, nutted, and used as a lobotomized harem guardian.

Eight others previously had met such an inglorious end; two promising black NFL linebackers, and three old school Mr. Olympias (with pathetic, steroided cocks only the size of tire stems, and shriveled [but surprisingly once, but now no more], very potent balls, hardly a pair of raisins); a couple of assorted others. If the allegations were true, that could be Kent’s path sooner than later, the great leader mused, if he also failed to impress in next month's battle of the champions. “Defeated muscle” would have little utility or standing, anymore. Had to be disposed of in some fashion, if suspected of knowing far too much of their inner workings as it were.

“Excellent. We are so glad to hear that. Continue your surveillance. If you notice anything severely suspect, bring it to our attention immediately. We will decide how best to proceed. And in the upcoming battle, should it be necessary, he could be beaten to death unwittingly—by his opponent’s lead-lined gloves no titan could withstand, when used effectively against him. Muscle or no, the brain can only take so much pounding before slipping into a well-induced oblivion. We shall see, work out the best strategy. Of course, if he’s merely a simple cock-hound rather out of control, coming out of his former virginity, we can take care of that, too… leading him to enjoy it further.”

“Of course, O Great Leader. Your bidding is my one true purpose. You, Masters of my destiny, and the destiny of all men who come before you. Let it be known that this is the way of the truth.”

Glenn finished his practiced platitudes to those whom many thought were the people behind “all” earthly things, at least on American soil. He did so, having then dropped before them, and from his knees… a sudden ploy that popped into his mind… stripped off his clothes, allowing his own toned and naked flesh to be viewed for their pleasure. Proud of his sizable cock as it were, though Elias indeed exceeded them all. The other men smiled and removed their clothing eagerly. Not all of them outrightly homosexual, but most, too, who played in both realms. Not averse to having their dicks sucked, even if they did not wish to reciprocate. Glenn had offered himself up simply, though it was not expected or required, for the pleasure of his betters, and his betters graciously accepted. Ingratiating him to them even more. Quelling any thoughts of anything untoward.

When before this, his sudden embrace of homo-sex with Clark and the street boys the other night, he’d never considered himself into that sort of nonsense. But, nevertheless, with women, Glenn was already a used-to kind of debauched idiot, anyway. Though now with his undercurrent mind-working ploy—the famed Superman so much under his personal control, he really could reach for the sky! So unexpectedly offering his body was small potatoes, in a plan to please the hierarchy of the group. And rise higher?

For was he not surreptitiously planning to one day go further and further, maybe usurp the whole lot of them?! If he could ever acquire some substantial wealth to do so…. Till then, he enjoyed the song as an orchestral prelude to a greater symphony. The select men spent the next few hours enjoying the pleasures of each other's bodies. Glenn still ruing they weren’t like his Superman’s… (whom he’d definitely taken and acquired a taste for, his so wonderfully tight ass, and his monster cock). But some of their homo-methods could well be used, learned, for the further controlling and vanquishing of his “fucked-down, muscled-alien,” for sure. Discovering quite rapidly, he was also acquiring a rather keen taste for male cum, as well. Far better than any woman’s he'd remembered.


The hero of earth had a fairly uneventful afternoon and fruitless hours spent looking at apartments, none of which struck his fancy. He returned the car, retook the Metro back, trying to take his mind off the real estate disappointment, and off of his earlier morning sexual escapades… and decided he owed it to himself to spend the latter part of the evening fighting crime. The Man of Steel was so harriedly pre-occupied with so many conflictory thoughts—and that very morning, so lost to a passion he could no longer deny—he almost felt like flying like a thunderbolt into a mountainside, and maybe destroy himself. He wondered if even that could be accomplished. His view of himself was becoming swiftly and forever altered by his strange new needs, desires, and “lifestyle.” How to curb it?

He had willingly allowed himself to be taken, not only as a normal man (or even as a much superior one, who had somehow been “robbed” of his incredible powers)… but had also allowed Glenn to “unwittingly” fuck the unassailable, invincible Superman!! Or so he thought; not knowing Glenn knew exactly who he was! (Which would truly have shocked him—if not outrightly terrified him!)

This, he could no longer simply shrug it off as the longings of a weak, inadequate Clark Kent persona (big-muscled, and forever hungering for his own cock, every time he saw his magnificent nakedness in a mirror), and being repressed under the guise of his self-altered, “supposed to be” timid ego. The rattled Superman, himself, having now been made the bitch of another man!! What was worse, to the Man of Steel's unusually impenetrable psyche... was that he relished it. The actual domination! Someone who had boldly wanted, was able, and had taken his greatly wondrous physique: muscles, nipples, cock, and ass as their very own! For their pleasure… and his! The drugs, in actuality, not really to blame, but the trigger—just merely releasing all that had been forever hidden inside him… craving, brewing, bursting to come out.

He spent the evening mulling his sorrows. He decided it was time again to don the cape, the red boots, yellow belt, and blue spandex. The world needed their hero. To them he was still no different—had no idea what he had done with Glenn earlier. He was still their proud, capable, invincible, and noble hero. These naive (though soon-to-be, in the impending shocking-future), unrealistic thoughts… brought a smile to his chiseled face, as he patrolled the night sky.

Suddenly he heard a sound of disturbance thanks to his super-powered sense of hearing. It seemed to be coming from one of the seedier areas of the city, and the hero felt that there wasn't a moment to lose. He resurged his powers, and like a shot he was at the source of distress.

A puny fellow dressed in a costume similar to the Man of Steel's was being cornered in an alley by a group of four thugs. The poor doh-doh had come across the thugs breaking into Metropolis Mutual Trust, and foolishly decided to put a stop to their crime.

“Halt, you low-life thugs. The real Superman is here, now!”

There were four of them advancing on the skinny twerp, who in Superman's absence of late had taken to fighting crime as a lark on his own. Tonight was his first bumbling attempted night on patrol, after a few weeks of martial arts training. It was clear even to the hero, that his path was not a wise one. The doofus was thus being backed into a corner, while the larger one of the thugs whirled around, deciding to take his chances with the true Big-Blue Boy Scout. He was a hulk of a man, bulging muscles, his face obscured by a black balaclava which obscured his face as well as matching the rest of his outfit. He dropped two of his money bags, and got into a crouch, his fists ready.

He swung at the hero and connected. Superman absorbed it like a cotton ball, and then retaliated upon the second blow. He grabbed the man by both wrists and tossed him into a brick wall of the alleyway, where he crashed with a thud, decommissioned, his head entertaining stars.

The skinny twerp's face lit up and he swung out at his three remaining attackers, emboldened by his hero's feat of strength. Superman was advancing on the others from behind and made short work of two of them, slamming their balaclava covered heads together, and they fell like rocks. The third man ran away leaving the two “heroes” to exchange pleasantries.

“Well, I appreciate your help good citizen, but I think I have it from here.”

“Oh, Superman, it was great the way you handled those bullies.”

“Well, I am the city's protector. It comes with great responsibility.”

“Yeah, it does. No one had seen you lately Superman, so I wasn't sure if you were even around.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but I can take over the job quite well. Be safe. And be careful. It takes more than a “costume” to do what I do. Don’t be foolish, and try any more of this nonsense. Stay home, for your own good.”

Without another chiding word to the embarrassed twerp, he sent out a call from the device in his belt to the local police to gather up the subdued villains, then the Man of Steel shot towards the heavens. He scanned the city using his remarkable powers of flight before deciding it was time to retire for the evening. His night, however, was far from over.


The hero arrived at the balcony of his apartment and sensed immediately that he was not alone. He was so certain it was Glenn coming back for seconds on his beautiful body, he didn't bother using his x-ray vision. Fearing he might be spotted, he quickly used his super speed to land on his balcony, peel off the costume, and enter his apartment. He hurried at the sound of pacing footsteps to discard the costume in its secret home, (the back of his closet behind a false wall). The sounds of the footsteps grew closer. Still distressed, he hastened to find a respectable covering to conceal his stunning body, almost successfully grabbing for a light robe, which he hoped would keep Glenn distracted, and cloaked from his other identity. But, the face he saw was not the face of his top, and the last one he expected to see.

Standing before him was Bruce Wayne, Gotham's most eligible bachelor, wearing a look of concern on his face, which vanished into a look of wild surprise upon seeing his friend's fantastic muscled flesh completely exposed. Knocked silly, almost.

“I-I’m sorry I came here unannounced, Kal-El.” Bruce said, his eyes trying to allow the hero some relief, immediately focusing on the floor. Startled too at the largely desirable size of his friend’s never before seen manly, wondrous hungedness. His hugely over olive-sized nipples. (Could almost have been looking at his own fantastic physique in a mirror at home; only this one was surely beyond superior, both top and lower decks, and on the extra assets side of each! So beautifully also hair-patterned as his own, as well.)

Superman noticed the embarrassed look on the face of his friend, and he simply gave up concealing himself. He got the distinct feeling Bruce's embarrassment had more to do with the fact he did want to see the hero that way… and so Superman obliged willingly.

Just shagged the robe a shade partially over one shoulder, loose hands at his hips.

“Nothing wrong with two friends visiting one another, Bruce. Actually, I’m glad to see you. It’s been a while.” But he did slowly, finally, slip into the robe to cover himself better.

“Yes, since that night, I-I gave you those power-suppressing drugs. Kind of worried me. What's it been, three, four months?”

The Man of Steel could not recall the exact date, but he was not in the mood for a lecture. He deeply respected his brother in Justice, but he was the one who was the most powerful being on the planet; he didn't need to be reprimanded, let alone by Bruce.

“If you say so.”

“I noticed you have a rather healthy supply of it stashed in your medicine cabinet.”

“Not only uninvited, but “snooping,” too? Not exactly what friends do, is it?” The irritation showed, naturally. Not that he had anything to hide, but it was still galling.

“Well, you did give me the keys, and free access if needed, some time ago. I didn’t think it would be out of place to check, to see if you were truly okay. I care, Kal. I’ve been more than worried what might happen; you’ve been rather off the radar lately. Needed to make sure you were alright.”

“Yes. Well, I anticipated some problem might arise, regarding that. Which is why I had them analyzed, and had more made myself.”

“I see. I can't say I’m surprised. Though not my business, but of definite concern. Can I also ask, was it all that wise? I hope it’s been worth it.”

“You are not now, nor have you have ever been my protector, Bruce. I have everything under control.”

“I’m sure you think you do. However, I have heard stories of a new member of that Order you are investigating. Six feet four inches tall, an overly-muscled body—stupidly hidden under ill-fitting suits—black hair, handsome, wears glasses, likes to take them off… to get on his knees, when properly “stimulated?””

“Really!! And who was your source? What else have you heard?”

“I think you need to stop whatever game you’re playing, Superman. I worry you might be getting into this way too deep. On the verge of blowing your cover, and your reputation, both . As well as your “person.””

Superman laughed at the concern. He knew Bruce would think he was not wisely doing the right thing, but the Dark Knight was merely making him angry, chastising his method. Superman had been handling himself his entire life, against worse threats than a secret society. He was perceiving Bruce's concern might rather be coming from a place of possible jealousy?

“Save your worry for Little Robin. I’m fine. And far fucking “bigger” than he is, as you so obviously, and appreciatively have seen, now—.” A challenging look, not received well.

“I haven't just heard about you becoming a member of the secret society, Kal. I’ve heard stories about a man matching Clark Kent's very description frequenting porn theaters. Buying pornography in large quantities. That a man matching that description had been seen behind the great green doors of “Kink Club,” though usually keeping most of his clothes on, over in Remington, more than often— asking to be punished and made to beg for forgiveness, after indulging… in his lust-filled ways?!”

Superman remembered a recent night of his humiliation at the hands of Mistress Gwyneth at the Club. Under the influence of those “power-suppressor” drugs, he had been spanked, whipped, had his luscious big nipples electrocuted through his shirt, and his heavily sacked balls joyously flogged wearing only a jock strap. And this very same Clark Kent… sniveling and begging her for mercy, before the night was over. Also, wailing he knew he was depraved, must please be forgiven for his behavior. Even crying, “Please, nobody. Don’t tell.”

His face beeted red, embarrassed, and angry at being so blatantly confronted.

“Yes, Bruce, I remember. Are you jealous?” he tried to parry.

“I’m sorry it has to come to this, Kal-El, but you must know there is no other way.” Bruce tightened his lips, swallowed briskly. “Me, breaking in like this. To confirm this nonsense. You need to be reigned in. You’re apparently getting out of control, your mind—are you sure you’re well? Those suppressors, messing you up? You’re becoming quite a danger. Need to be brought down, talked into focus.”

Bruce eyes flashed with determination, and reached up almost as if to grab hold of the Man of Steel… but instead of hitting him, he simply pressed his cupped palm flat into the hero's shoulder. The whine and quiver of the ingenious “Super-Depowering, Kryptonite-Enhanced-Suppressor” shattered all over and through the robed hero's muscled might and mind—a staggering, whacking taser—and it instantly brought the hero back to earth. The device, a secret thing he had given his friend long ago, “just in case” something more than strange might be happening, and he might need to be “controlled” in some fashion. A drastic, never-thought-of thing expected to be used against him.

With a sense of betrayal, Superman knew immediately what his friend had done! In alarm, as he felt his powers flood away, the move stunned the hero, and he shrank backwards into a wall for support. Before he then had a chance to launch a counter, defensive ploy of his own, Bruce struck him again with it, this time hard-centered in the chest. Superman went to a knee. Bruce punched the hero strong in the face, not once but twice, flooring him. His senses going worse than askew…. Superman tried his best to recover and rise, but Bruce was straddling him before he could.

Desperate, angry, humiliated, the hero finally managed to corral his great innate strength, rolled over and up, was able to overwhelm Batman's own. He wrestle-tossed Bruce Wayne around and across the room, out of the living room and into his bedroom, where they still tousling, bed-edge clipping behind his knees, was able to buckle the Dark Knight down, where he was then crashed onto the bed. Superman followed, and pressed his advantage. Throwing himself upon him, holding back his equally big muscled arms, though it was a struggle, so well-matched they were (and rather as normal men, now), pinned his adversary tightly. Huge chests heaving against each other, practically jaw to jaw. Suddenly aware of their bodies’ closenesses, he looked down between his muscled thighs, to find his robe was wide open—and ripping it off, he purposely deep-pressed himself over and upon the still dressed man beneath him, who keenly saw his glorious male member at full mast. There was then was an emphatic grunt of something, between surprise and acceptance, which emitted from his captive.

Without question, he uncharacteristically grabbed one of Batman's wrists and forcefully placed the hand of his greatest ally, friend/enemy onto his throbbing erection.

“Is this what you really want? Why you damn tasered me?! Took me down, so you could have your way with what your hungry eyes saw? I saw your mouth drop open, certainly nothing your bed-boy Robin has—nor never quite suspected I had. Instantly wanted?? Hey, “Big Bat” is that it? Aching for my bigger, “Super-cock,” to share with? Suck, like the Bat-slut you really are! Sly-hidden away inside, just like I was—wanting me ? I know you’ve been dicking that protégé of yours forever. And him, you. But my “much more” man-meat made you as helpless with desire as I’m finding I am—dealing with NEW things, suddenly released—running around now, looking for solace in dark places?!!” Angry, burning, and weakening… the man under him.

Sighing, Clark easing up on his tensions. “Not the way I wanted it to be, but what are my choices?” The pain in him, obvious.

Bruce did not struggle to remove his hand. Instead, cherishing with a firm grip, the wonder-cock in his hand. Eyes softening. Caving in, because the opportunity had definitely arrived.

“Kal, oh, God! Kal! Yu-you know…. Knew all along?”

“You, and boy Robin? Yeah! So, you must like cock, too. Like me. But philanthropist Wayne, dating women for a cover.”

A raw silence.

Bruce reluctantly removed his hand, and was able to push the once proudly heterosexual, slackening Man of Steel off of him to his side. And laying next to him, then… the nude, overly muscled, cock-erect, magnificent body of his heated friend near and against him—without pause, answered with an undeniable, hot hungry kiss… stilling the Man of Steel’s terse mouth with his lips. Arms of each went desperate up and around. Superman, who had paused only momentarily, grasped him intensely hard with a groan, and mutually returned Bruce's affection. Moaning as if he had just crossed a desert and fallen into an oasis of safety, at last. At forever last .

Soon the tight-fitting pants, shoes, socks, black turtleneck, and ample thong Bruce had arrived dressed in… were tossed carelessly on the floor. The two sexy muscled heroes plunged together, passionately making out with one another uncontrollably. Hands searing, soothing, roamed over hard, male-developed flesh, their equally magnificent physiques, as years of pent-up sexual frustration were finally given release…. Superman was the first to break the kiss. He began roughly fondling Bruce's ten-inch erection. Wayne “ohhhed” and grunted with sexual joy, as Supes also tweaked his beautifully swollen, acorn-sized nipples with his fingertips and lips, then sucked them in between his teeth. The Bat was more than his captive. Helpless. In love, and in lust.

“I-I finally realized, after my own “release”—somehow, under-currently—always suspected, that you, too, have longed to be with me, Bruce. As much as I realize now, I’ve always wanted to be with you. A strong, muscled man like myself, or yourself. Way more than your current love-boy, Robin. Yes, nicely hung—but still less than either of us. What we both want! Have to share, give.”

“Oh, Kal, yes! Yes .” Bruce Wayne, completely undone. “Have ached for you, for years . Oh, please. Stroke, suck, tease my cock. Take me. Make it hard for you, your joy. My joy. Ours.... Mine. Yours!

Superman smiled and began stroking him more roughly, and finding his own cock even more expanding, as Wayne's malehood was raging full mast in his hands. He felt a drop of precum slide across his thumb, which Superman licked off, prodded with his fingers. Bruce moaned and bit his lower lip. Superman grinned and leaned in and gave Wayne's throat a vampire's kiss; Bruce, then harrowing at his nipples, began milking him crazy, but finally released them, sensing if he kept on, his lover would blow… and let his hands and fingertips now drag along Superman's muscled back. Mouth at his ears. “Kal, Kal, Kal....”

Superman cried out in lust, and Bruce sank further into the bed… his lips sought for, found, cherished the glans of Superman's larger, pulsing cock, an overflowing stream of pure clear nectar. The hero moaned, and Bruce took the head into his mouth. Inches at a time, and slowly, until he was finally balls' deep, his manly, proud face touching the Man of Steel’s pubic ridge with his nose, while Superman's balls crashed against the Dark Knight's chin. A feat never having been done to him before, the wonder of the Bat’s ability to totally deep-throat his alien member, with no gag reflex… feeling his great glans’ sensitive rim, caressed within Bruce’s encompassing working-on-him esophagus. How wonderful, how glorious, how fantastic!!

(Amazed that any other could do this; as he well knew he was able to take him, too).

Superman now recharged, raging to return the favor; with his wonder-abilities, flexibilities… (he alone could probably take a horse even into his stomach, if desired, or necessary). His mind so stoked with such a “shared/mutual” sudden-sexual freedom, anything was possible now…. Having such a prize as the famed Batman in his arms, at his will. And he knew as his manly nature asserted itself, he would… absolutely, needed/wanted, had to fuck him.

Batman continued sucking with vigor, and Superman released laving his friend’s cock, and began encouragingly playing with his thick, jet black hair… treasuring at his ears, his cheeks. He fucked the handsome face of his friend, who loved every degrading second of being so used, moaning his approval as earth’s greatest hero topped into him. Superman then collapsed and rolled more onto his side, turned towards his feet, and twisting decided to return the favor. His mouth hungrily sucked on Batman's hair-free, AAA egg-sized balls, while his hands were put to work, stroking the finely strong, wreathed shaft. His mouth copied Bruce's quickly, and soon Gotham's savior and Metropolis's protector, formed an unearthly sixty-nine (unexpectedly: not ever thought possible, nor hardly believable, balls-deep into each other’s throats), completely engulfing each other’s astounding phalluses, while writhing on the enormous king-sized bed. Both men wanting desperately to draw from and earn the other’s delicious, essence-laden loads. Their mouths sucked their dual-delicious man-meats with perverse vigor, using their mouths and tongues and inner throat muscles to savor their stallion-like organs. “Mmmm-mmnnnning,” incessantly.

Batman was the first to let out a defeated grunt as he lost his battle from withholding his now fulfilled joy, as well as his heavily creamed juices inside Superman's mouth.

While the Man of Steel soon also then erupted his own torrent of jism, nearly drowning the Dark Knight. Both heroes moaning, swallowed as much of their rich, steamed deliciousness as they could before removing their members from their mouths, cuddling close. And mouth to mouth, exchanged the rupture of each other’s seeds back and forth into their own mouths, loving healthy doses of their own cum mingled and mixed, still pooled between adored lips, and drinking of their man-juices together. Gasping in wonderment, exhausted ecstasy. Deep purring like drunken jungle wild cats.

“Ooh, God, you suck such amazing cock! A true “Super-man.” And with what you have!”

“Your own skills, pretty damn other-wordly, too, Bruce! Can’t believe you took all of me.”

“Maybe next time, I can get the balls in, too. But might not be possible—three times thicker than your cock. Like you did mine, though. Or just them…. I was amazed.”

And suddenly emboldened, as the Superman he felt he was again—in true conquest of the only other man on the planet he not only respected, but was in awe of, whom he had sexually vanquished—determined now to complete the job.

“That's not all I do, though. Amazingly.”

Superman scooped Bruce up in his arms and carried him off the bed (a huge mass of muscle, even a bit more than his fabled own; Bruce actually heavier, thicker; Superman more leanly, tightly defined), easily holding him up and out in front of him, in a loose but firm bear hug. Batman was taken off guard, their big pecs and nipples grinding into each other, and suddenly he could feel Superman's long, virile hard and throbbing phallus tickling up and down the crack of his vulnerable, elevated rear end. Suddenly, the head was urgently, gently at Batman's back door, and in the next breath, the flowing crown was stretching him wide.

While the alien levitated them several inches off the floor. In a pure cloud of weightlessness.

“Ahhh-OOHHH. UNNuuuHHHH!!”

Batman grunted, startled, no less in tensed surprise, and no little pain, as the Man of Steel strove to enter him… holding him fast with just one arm, then grabbed onto his again rigid-ready cock between them, and played it wondrously with his other hand. Bruce had never been so masculinely topped; (yes, he'd taken Robin's, but Robin's was a boy's, in comparison); if anyone was going to do it, surely Superman deserved the honor. He sighed in rapture, revealed he was more than willing as he tucked his belly, his legs rising around his master's tight waist. Steeling himself for what was coming. Finally vanquished by another—another hugely muscled and notably endowed stallion, who was beyond his equal, and yet in ways as vulnerable as he was, somehow just as hard, and equally sweetly softer….

His powerful thighs grasped onto the hero's hips, consenting, helpless to resist, and let Superman have him. The Man of Steel was on cloud nine, sexually manhandling the Dark Knight. And with a rush of true emotion, knew he was truly loving him, with all his being. Both men were drenched in sweat, the cock of the Bat’s closest ally going in and out of him in rapturous, gentle, long and slow thrusts, each time his eyes rolling over white at the force and sheer strength of Superman's eleven-plus-inch conquering shaft. The pain quickly diminishing, the flow of the alien’s lubricant making it quite easy, as he welcomed every incredible, never before known inch, or anything the slightest bit like it. Face to face, mouths adhered, in complete, surrendering submission, and male-strong infusion. Filling him to the gates of heaven unheard of. Sighing, purring, out of his mind.

Wings clipped, macho facade forsaken. Knew at last, he was completely in love….

Superman in a stupor kissed Bruce's neck, and Batman lost his grip on Superman's hips from the overwhelming pleasure and his torso banked forward. Hardly missing a stroke, Superman fucked him down then, lowering him, onto and over the cold, hardwood of his bedroom floor, his hands easy fondling Bruce's cum-slick cock. Face to face, coring, and sucking on him adeptly, as he did so. The great Batman flat on his back, adoring him.

“I-I’m… going to cum,” Kal breathed. “Must be careful….”

“Oh yeah, Super-boy—my man, come for me!”

“No, not yet. Are you… sure?”

“Oh, please, love. Cum! Give your Bruce-cunt, your load. From your very own “bat.” Incredible. Bat for Bat, into Bat. I want you so bad!!”

“Beg me, Bruce, beg for my Super-jizz.”

“Oh, please! Please, Kal… want you, shoot inside me.”

“You want me—my seed, don't you, Bruce?!”

“Oh, yes. I al-always have. Breed, free me. First time I saw, wanted you—to, to conquer me, make me surrender. Be plundered, man to man. A dream, forever.”

“Me… too, Bruce. Me, too. And for you, in me….”

With Batman's admission now floating in the forbidden “ether,” Superman fully lost his conflict against any sense of his queerness. He shot his load into Batman's battered man-chute, slamming into his prostate scorching and hard—and sending the Bat’s thick cock erupting with another primed, male-mating fount, a rich, acridly-sweet mass into the MOS’s mouth at the same time. Each of them gurgling, and purring, and convulsing uncontrollably. The Man of Steel deep inside his core, and the Bat in his throat, too. Superman sunk down flat from his knees atop him, and let the healthy amount of his own power-depleting seed leak out of his friend’s manhole, as the left-over surges from Bruce’s member continued spewing down around and upon them, and from his mouth, exchanging again with the Bat his own seed, pooled from within his mouth into his owner’s, which they savored fervently. Tonguing, swallowing. Breathing like worn stallions. The intensity rammed through their brains, light-headed as two semen-shot and now weakened, powerful fairies.

They quickly lulled-out in each other’s arms, both heroes drained, overcome… defeated psychologically and sexually, by their own accepted, finally fulfilled lustful longings. Their inner strength sources and essences, now compromised more than they could ever have realized.

Having reached Paradise at last, they were about to enter Hell.

Unfortunately, for both heroes, their so yearned-for love, finally found—destroyed, before it could be sealed, or become. The “ether” was not the only one listening… seeing, recording.

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