The Telemachus Story Archive

Superman, And Protectors of the First Order
Part 5 - Chapter 8
By Rick Henry

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Chapter 8

Four hours had expired since the two heroes finally gave in to their long-imprisoned, passionate longings, and collapsed, depleted of their normal strengths, yet more defeated by the sex and their inherent desires. Their psyches permanently re-altered and aligned to their true natures. This something so wonderful… would never again be hidden, especially not between them. Nor cease to be explored and treasured. They were laying in each other's naked muscled arms snuggling, Batman the more receptive, submissive spoon, Superman's head nestled comfortably along the back crux of Batman's manly thicker neck.

In pure peace. Yet nothing lasts forever. Without warning, something warm and wet spraying in his face was what woke the once great Man of Tomorrow from his dick-drunk stupor. His first thought was that it was a refreshing bath from a still swirling dream, but when his eyes opened he saw the unfortunate cause of the wetness. A steady stream of straw-yellow piss was being expelled from the sexy flaccid penis of the impossible Glenn Thompson.

He was standing there proud and defiant. Superman jerk-jumped aside startled, as Bruce Wayne was stirring to life, and a torrent of Glenn's putrid piss continued its spray over his also handsome visage. His eyes bolted open. And there was Superman next to him looking more alarmed than Bruce had ever seen him before. The shock frozen onto Superman's face struck jolts into his own heart. He curled himself away from the stream of wetness, and Glen continued urinating on the now piss-soaked floor, a contemptuous smile curling his lips. He shook his member casually and relaxed himself. Before re-tucking himself into his trousers.

“Well, if it isn't Bat-bitch, and Super-fag.”

Batman wanted to explode. Not only was he surely recognizable as Bruce Wayne, but this disgusting, semi-naked lout knew his secret identity, as well!! How could he? He had never been quite so rattled in his entire life. He thought of considering how to escape, but that seemed worse than a fool's errand. After all, with this scumbag knowing his, and his love-partner’s secret identity, what good could much of anything do?

“How does he know who we are?” he demanded, gazing at Clark, full of concern and worry, which his friend and recent lover could clearly see. The still addled superhero tried to mouth an apology, but that was a vacuous effort as well. Bruce suddenly saw the mighty Superman he once knew looking shockingly defeated, and on the complete verge of failure—even tears. Like a whipped schoolboy.

“Why are you asking Super-suck? He can’t save you,” Glenn snipped.

“Oh, God-damn! Who the hell are you?” Batman rising to his full naked power. “Think you can threaten me, you low life! You’re as good as dead!!”

He gripped the startled Glenn by the throat, thrust him back against the wall, and began to squeeze. Bruce had no compunction about getting rid of this petty bastard, even if it meant to exterminate him on the spot—to preserve both his and the Man of Steel’s identity. Never doing what the “Boy Scout” Superman might do ordinarily! But this was worse than a threat to their whole existence!! Some petty-ass criminal, finding he and Kal in an obviously naked tryst, as well as knowing who they were!!?? — It was more than impossible to be tolerated!!

“Go ahead, kill me,” croaked Glenn. Oddly non-plussed, even if hardly able to speak. “It’s all being recorded—you, yourself, the murderer—good as dead. The cameras, best witnesses in court there could ever be. Even now being fed into six different outlets, for viewing by dozens more. Eh… Brucie/Batsy- Boy?!”

“Bruce, I swear. I didn’t know—didn’t suspect the whole place was rigged. Think he must have recorded Lois and I the other night, in the living room—but this, in here, I didn’t know!”

The now ashen Bruce looked about to have a stroke, the reality of it too shocking to absorb. Or do anything about. They were each this fucker's prisoners, now.

It was Bruce’s turn to look worse than pale. He released Glenn, dumbfounded. Also in shock. “How can this be! Tell me, Clark, it isn’t so?!!”

Glenn continued, rubbing at his throat. “Imagine the headlines: The International Inquirer; The New York Always-Right News Rag : “Superman and Batman, Confirmed! Big-Dicked, Insatiable Cocksuckers—Each For The Other!! Pictures Inside. Video Stills. Taped Voice Transcripts! Extra, Extra! Puke All About It!’”

Bruce felt worse than light-headed, woozy. Superman’s guts, too, all ripped inside.

“I-I guess he’s got us. Has us… by the balls,” the once Man of Steel stammered. Knowing there was not a thing that could be done. He was truly Glenn’s slave now, who had also corralled the great Batman into his clutches as a duplicate victim. They were both screwed, hopelessly.

Not knowing that Glenn’s comments had been all “bluff and bluster.” Glenn only had one feed for the camera, and it was his, and his only. Good thinking, old boy, he congratulated himself. I’ve snared the two most powerful men on the planet, and they are pussied into nothing by their own cocks. And fucked permanently into my own hands.

“Look, what do you want, asshole? I’ve got more than enough to pay—to keep this quiet.”

Bruce Wayne’s mind was calculating for a stall: a temporary ploy till he could recoup his resources and strike back—free them from this idiocy. Blackmail he could deal with, and overturn eventually. Just play along….

“Oh, I know that, Mr. Wayne. And you are going to use that wealth of yours. You’re going to buy yourself a place into our secret, exclusive Order’s Gotham/Metropolis' Chapter. They’ve long wanted you to join their ranks, to plunder you silly. You've wisely always refused. Of course, now you are about to have a change of heart. A simple fucking-over is about long overdue.”

“You sonofabitch! What makes you think I’d do that—it will ruin me.”

The surprise, hatred, and disgusted rage, mixed with fear on Batman's face made for a delicious view. Coupled with the bewildered, anguish-filled face of the Man of Steel, was just too great to ignore. It was turning him on, making Glenn’s cock grow beautifully erect. (Something called “power?”)

“Well, either you join them, or I will expose you. Out you as a flagrant, flaming queer. And not only that—but as the once-famed, but now wing-clipped-to-Earth Batman, as well. I don't think the world would much appreciate your true natures: not only “who” you truly are, but also learning their two most wondrous, macho-heroes of all time were actually cock-sucking male sluts—amorously entangled like a pair of gushy pythons in each other’s arms—out of their minds, slobbering up each other’s jizz like dying-of-thirst travelers, coming in from a parched desert. A real shocker. Especially to that dear, lovely Miss Grace Dubois?”

Bruce’s mind reeled. Not his very cared for, beautiful, dependable Grace!! The woman who had come to love Bruce as of late. They were setting the society pages ablaze, being photographed all over town. The papers and gossip peddlers all wanting to know if she would finally be the one to cure Bruce of his bachelor ways. A film actress of no small renown, and her father a famous Supreme Court judge. (But to her, of course, his Robin—his re-invented, younger housemate “ward,” Dick Grayson—was also an “unknown pleasure,” never quite explained.)

Batman scanned the smug villain’s stony face, unable to find an ounce of compassion, or empathy. Just macho resolve. He exuded nothing but steely confidence and power. The hero turned back and could see from the pale-strained face of Superman, this was not some empty threat.

“Please, she doesn't deserve that. How much?”

“We could start with a million.”

“You faggot!”

"You’re right, she deserves better! Considering what an undercover Queer you really are, Bat-bitch. Have always been. Only consider now, that this ‘fag’… is your Master!! (Though I also play both sides, like you.) But, I’m the one in control. And have your Superman’s fucked-ass sewed-up tight!! So not mine , but YOUR queerness will be world news. Along with slut Super-girl here, Queen Kent, no less. Unless...?

“Okay, okay. Yes, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am. Now tell me, Bat-bitch, what are you going to do the first thing after going back to Gotham?”

“I, uh, I’m going to make plans to join The Protectors of the First Order. I will pay whatever price they ask.”

“Even if it's everything you have?”

“Surely, it couldn’t be ‘everything.’ Then, what would you have? Or be left for negotiation ?” Agreeing for the moment, till he could get a handle on this. Maybe even strangle the sonofabitch. (Incorporate Alfred’s and Robin’s unfailing help.)

“Excellent! Yes, you’re right about that! Further ‘negotiations’ seem to fit.”

Batman began hurrying around the piss-soaked floor, gathering up, in search of his clothes. Glenn simply smiled, and walked over to him.

“What may I ask, are you doing?”

“Getting my clothes!”

“I didn't give you… permission… to leave. No. We’re just getting started. I want a little encore of last night's events.”

“Look, are you nuts? That was just a “one-time” thing. An unusual occurrence. I do love Grace. I have work to do at home.” Somehow, he would have to get out of there, overcome this threat of blackmail. He wasn’t some fucking criminal’s pushover.

Disappointed and frustrated by Batman's obvious denial, the vile miscreant grew angry. Glenn unexpectedly pushed him back into the wall, and smacked Batman across the face. The Dark Knight was stupe-stunned, how dare this idiot?!! Glenn struck him again, and again, quickly… Bruce, out of character, almost paralyzed stared in macho shock. Until finally Superman staggered out from his cowering inertia, springing to life, to defend his friend, using his glorious, chiseled naked body to shield Batman from the blows.

Not that Batman’s body was any less staggering to behold in his nudity. The two undressed well-hung and fantastically muscled men… a gasping sight to anyone. Their hairy pecs, big arms, strong legs, glorious glutes.

Of course, Glenn was ready for any such a display of bravery from his previous pussied heroes. Upon arriving at Clark's apartment, the two titans in a grogged, sucked-out blissful sleep... he had rummaged through the place until he found the source of Superman's “weakening serum” behind a false wall in the closet by the doorway. After finding the serum as well as a costume, Glenn felt confident, unstoppable really…. He’d laid the costume out on the couch. and an amulet of the serum, a full dose. With this task complete, he’d strolled into the bedroom, feeling secure enough to awaken the two “homo-heroes” in such a degrading and demeaning way.

Glenn relinquished his assault of Batman, and darted out to the living room, where his clothes concealed the instrument of Superman's doom. Superman foolishly checked first to bolster and consult with his friend instead of giving pursuit. The previous night’s serum had worn off and his powers were at full prep. When Superman found Glenn, he was face to face with a confident villain, wielding a terrible advantage. He had the serum in the amulet, and he was holding up one of Superman's costumes.

“To think, all this time,” he gloated, “the newest member of The Order was none other than invincible Superman! But, I’ve known for weeks… Ass-man .”

Superman was frozen in place. He’d thought he had been ever so careful. That there was no possible way his secret could ever have been discovered. But now clearly known to him, Glenn had been recording and taping every secret touch and word the two heroes had shared. Superman's hubris, and arrogance had once again led him down a dangerous path. Too sharply he also remembered the damning photos that had been taken: a Kryptonite axe over his head!! Realizing no more was he any way the master of his present fate. Superman then finally knew true fear, and it sent his blood running cold, a lancing shiver up his spine. With his strength at full throttle, he could easily overcome, kill this usurper. Why didn’t he—save them all? (Though he lamely remembered: one or two cameras in the bedroom, being fed into six or more feeds?!!) But, alas, it was not in his nature. Though Bruce might….

And who else had access to the photographs that would out him? Or the tapes?

Except Glenn had the unexpected extra weapon; he had pierced Superman’s sexual-psyche—and thus the man-alien to his core. His former control re-exerting.

“I have some questions for you, Super-fag. You will answer me honestly, and without delay. Do I make myself understood?!” Resuming his position of total power.

The nude figure before him, suddenly as if mesmerized, acquiesced. It was his own fear actually that had stunned him into paralysis, from thinking clearly; Glenn now verbally cowing him.

“Yes, I understand.”

“Was I your first?”

“Yes. And no. That orgy at the estate—.”

“Beyond that.”

“Then, yes.”

“Was I better than Batman?”

“Yes. And no…. He, he’s much bigger. Better built. And we have…”

“A love relationship? Oh, kiss it, fag-bottom! Me coring you, got you higher than any drug you’ve ever had. Or cock. Mine, the only one who’s had balls enough to take you. And in the shower, after… something special? No Bat-boy, there . You, loving me, instead. And me, you….”

He watched, tightening the noose. Superman’s lips moved, but couldn’t seem to speak.

“Sure, seeing yourself in the mirror all the time, I can understand that. Bruce kind of a match for what you’ve always ached for. But, it was my cock that put you on your knees. Took your cherry. That you wanted, I know…. Even now. Isn’t it, cocksucker? Want it again—your stiffening rod telling me it’s so. Remembering—right, muscle-fag! In your mouth, sucking. Up your ass, fucking. My words, telling you how “good” you are. The only narcotic you really need. A strong, str8 man—so urgent to please him?”

Glenn had by now slipped off his pants and shirt completely. His cock once more in a near-chubbed display. His fingers at the thick base, moving it lightly back and forth.

Superman swallowed, dazed. “Yes. Yes, I do. Want… yours. Need your control.”

Lost-looking at the weapon that had depowered him, brought him to his knees, Glenn’s super-succulent, long eight and a half inches of man-flesh, six and a half inches thick around, steeling his own erection.

The hero couldn't believe the words having fallen from his lips. Glenn was smirking, and began caressing his prized meaty cock, practically wagging it at him, teasing the poor mammoth faggot.

Superman just stared at it, his own cock swelling to full mast, as if hypnotized out of pure nowhere. No question, aroused; mind-gone. Superman wanted Glenn—couldn't resist him. Glenn had shown him the truest side of himself, and he felt there was no going back. Superman so desperately for years had wanted to be what was expected, the proud virtuous heterosexual hero. But again, staring at that beautiful throbbing erection, the one that had claimed him, the hero could not deny he longed for it. Glenn had turned him. He ached to suck him again.

“Are you looking at me like that, because you love me?”

The hero looked over, his face aswirl with loss and compliance, a myriad of his own conflicted feelings. “Yes.”

“Then drop to your knees, Super-fuck. Show me.”

Glenn, to be sure, unloaded the power-suppressing serum all over his cock, which glistened obscenely—both of them knowing as he did, if the hero took him, he was going to be power-reduced to much less, substantially. No hope of sudden resistance, or escape. Or turning the tables, and subduing him. No rescue for Bruce Wayne, who moments ago he truly could have saved, had Glenn not carefully ensnared him with simple words… just seconds ago.

Batman was listening to everything being said between the two, regaining a slight modicum of composure. Pangs of jealousy fired in him as he listened, feeling as if he were eavesdropping on a conversation between a married couple. As the truth was spoken, a humbled and distraught Bruce emerged from the bathroom, a damp washcloth wiping the piss-mess from his face, and stood at the precipice of the doorway.

My God, this can’t be happening, his mind quavered. Not to me, not to my friend; the mighty men we are. Were ?

An alchemy of an unnatural impossibility cloaking over them. Seeping into them. They had been had!

He watched the man he had always hiddenly and deeply loved, knee-crawling towards Glenn in an act of undignified submission. Glenn smiled amusedly. his eyes spotting the sad, defeated pathetic Bruce Wayne, who watched as the Man of Steel settled at Glenn's feet, raised up on his knees, his head stopping at crotch level, and opened his mouth for his next serum dose. The dose that would spell his doom. Glenn upended the remainder of the vial into his mouth, his cock already glistening with the most of it. When he drank the last delicious drop, the Man of Steel did what came as natural as breathing to him now. He began laving and kissing the cock of the man who owned him. Sucking eagerly, desirably. His acquiescent surrender allowing Glenn to become the most powerful man in The Order. And his undeniable forever ruler.

Glenn gazed down as Superman began bathing his cock, with his skilled pink tongue, and moist lips. Superman had been turned from a proud hero into a completely cock-crazed degenerate. It was a glorious sight for Glenn… the once most dignified and noble champion of earth, on his knees, and treating his cock like a tantamount possession. Who could swallow him whole like no other, including both of his sportsman’s hefty balls.

The Dark Knight had heard everything from his spot at the door, where before he had been so easily “befuddled” by Glenn. Had allowed Superman to intervene, go after him to defend his honor. And now, who was it but the same who had done so, the one now being subjugated willingly, (or against his will?). It no longer mattered. Batman gathered his clothes to leave, his face still red, smarting from being slapped like a wimp, demoralized. The singeing blackmail ploy killing him. He seemed trapped.

Superman was thoroughly lost to his lust, even Batman could see it, and as terrifying as the proposition was, that Superman had been turned from a noble crime fighter into a sword-swallowing sissy… the Dark Knight couldn't help but admit, it was also a boner-inducing view, observing his very nude, very muscled, very erect friend and lover in a vacuous heat. He could feel his own cock stiffening to full mast.

He crazily wanted to join, to surrender, as Superman before him, to this new controlling villain. For Glenn was clearly now “the most powerful man alive” in reality, reinforced by and thanks to, his position as Superman's total conqueror. He’d already gotten the Dark Knight to admit surrender… a scurrilous sort of defeat. And Bruce knew, with his power-hold, that probably becoming the man's lover was not a much further fall. Rather now expected it. The guy was not un-handsome, nicely, thickly hung, and was holding all the cards. And Bruce was, for all practical purposes already completely ruined, yes? Financially; as a man; as a hero; a person… who achingly wanted his big-cocked, muscled alien, his accepted “truly beloved,” never out of his arms or sight—forever! No matter what. What would he have to do to keep him, share him?

Yet, some weakness/resilience (?) in his mind still clung to the fact, why not? If he appeased this lunatic, perhaps he might gain a foothold somehow and manage to extricate both he and his super-lover from further destruction? There had to be a way!

Could either one of them be saved anymore; their life-juices already shared deeply in each other’s mouths, bellies, hearts, fingers? Souls? How much he loved him, his captured MOS—wanted!! He couldn’t bear it. His beloved’s, and his own seeming defeat, both at once and together.

Without asking permission for fear of acknowledging/furthering his own degradation, Bruce Wayne moved into the room and dull-walked towards the groaning mass of homosexuality that the two others had become. Glenn spotted him nearing, and his eyes lit up. It was intoxicating enough turning Superman, but he had clearly supernaturally been able to overthrow and obtain some sway over Bat-bitch as well… who quietly knelt down beside his conquered friend, put an arm around his shoulders, offering himself. He chalked it up to the fact that Bruce most likely was following in accepted defeat, after his friend’s lead; but he couldn't be bothered to complain. Instead, he took Bruce Wayne roughly by the back of his head and their faces became one. Bruce moaned with the conquest.

As they kissed passionately and deeply, Superman continued to deep-suck on Glenn's cock. Superman began squeezing on Glenn's toned butt cheeks, welcoming his manhood with each long, full thrust into his mouth. The Man of Steel was going balls-complete, the velvety mushroom head of Glenn's cock slamming hard into the back of Superman's throat in strong paced thrusts. Superman took each invading joust like a proud sword-swallowing champion. Glenn was feeling the orgasm building in his nuts, he pulled out and used his meat-sword to further humiliate Superman by repeatedly striking him with his throbbing manhood. The Bruce kiss broke, leaving Batman with a rakish pout on his darkly handsome face. Then quickly, Glenn already prepared, reached for some poppers, held them strongly up and against the slightly struggling Wayne, who accepted them, allowing domination.

“Now, it is your turn, Bat-fuck. The honor of sucking my eight and a half-inch cock, thick as a can of hairspray. Think you can handle it?”

(Not knowing of course, Bruce had previously already totally swallowed Clark’s monster, three inches longer and larger, and with but little trouble.)

Not needing to be told twice, Batman quickly readjusted his position and took over for the Throat-fag of Steel. Superman crawled to the side rather dejected, as he watched Bruce take over and onto his master’s suckling. Glenn laughed at his pathetic stud, and reached out for Superman waving him over. In awe, that the Bat was as adept at taking him as deeply as the cowarded Man of Steel had done—he was definitely going to make it much better than this!!

“You need to eat my ass, Super Bitch.” Glenn was now standing, having risen from the couch, rocking, cock and balls deep in Bruce’s mouth, who was purring like a lion.

The disgusting demand sounded like a chosen invitation to the once-hero's ears, and he scurried along the floor on his knees to comply. Glenn pulled his ass cheeks apart exposing his hair-lined, perfect puckered third eye. Superman began licking and sucking on the rosebud degrading himself even further. Glenn wished he’d brought a camera crew to film the festivities. It could be shown at The Order’s parties, and the cowed superhero would be ruined anew every night. His life transformed from a “protector of peace and justice” into a perpetual nightmare.

(Of course, for the MOS to now be considered as The Order’s “champion,” that would be curtailed. Not having become the expected one they’d hoped. But aha, Glenn’s quick mind conceived—yes!! He would have them pitted together: Superman vs. Batman. To slug and fuck each other out, a weekly entertainment for all. The both of them drugged out of their minds, huge muscles and cocks glistening, fighting, battering each other... and then to watch the two of them 69ing like crazy!! Should be quite a show. Maybe? He’d have to think it through. Or… just keep them “celled” somehow somewhere, for his own use? Privately?)

For now, Glenn had the two most proud, famed, and masculine heroes the world had ever known… transformed into dick-crazed queers. They were each licking and loving on both of his erogenous zones, and the idea combined with the knowledge that this was actually happening, and not just some perverted fantasy, was mind-blowingly quite an intense event. Superman began fingering his asshole, while Batman bathed his whole cock with superior relish and verve. He could feel a body-rattling climax rising, rocking him from inside his loins. He needed to compose himself. He didn't want the heroes to catch him in the throes of an orgasmic bliss, and suddenly dare try and gain the upper hand while he was weak. He determinedly managed to slither free of their perverted hungry mouths, and walked unsteadily over to the bar. The amazing, dejected looks on both their macho mugs was priceless, like a favorite toy had been taken from them.

“That is quite enough, Bat-bitch, and Super-fag. Now, I want you both to fuck each other as you did last night. You have always been super friends… no harm in furthering your friendship now, is there?”

“It was… a moment of pure weakness,” offered Batman meekly. In defense, “Not something we’ve done before.” Hoping still to turn this around, salvage something.

“But finally gave in to. And indulged?”

“It, it just… happened,” Superman said meekly.

“Well, I don't doubt that you want to believe that, “super-boys.” However, since you clearly enjoy such weakness, why not a repeat performance? After all, it’s really only a matter of time, until the rest of the world finds out about your clandestine secret. Unless you follow orders…. I have the power to ruin you both, what I recorded last night. Do as I say, maybe we can keep it nicely to ourselves. Or, for only just a very select few?”

He spoke nothing but the unquestionable truth, and both heroes knew it. He was pouring drinks, and watching eagerly for the pair of “bent” heroes to give in to their perverted ways. But weren’t his own as perverted? Laugh of the century. He’d always indulged in his, but previously only heterosexually. However, these two macho-virgins were still psyche-fragile, and jumpy, rather still in basic shock. Dealing with their obvious newly released, enthralling love of big male muscle and cock.

“Why are you doing this, you bastard?” Batman lashed out, suddenly bold. It was almost the last shred of fight he had left. Cursing himself for his weaknesses now apparent. Nearly frustrated out of his mind; also ashamed at his just having sucked Glenn like a true faggot—and not asserting himself like the staunchly skilled, built, and powerful crime fighter he was. (Or, had been….)

Glenn loved that, in spite of everything, Bruce still was not completely defeated yet. The two muscled titans had drawn near each other, and strangely had enjoined. Like the dearest of friends. The Bat, then suddenly being embraced, relinquished his reserves, cradle-stunned in Superman's arms, and astonishingly broke into unmanly sobs. To Glenn, it was a truly gratifying sight. The Bat’s mind still so barricaded—Superman had been much easier to break, he thought to himself. He had accepted things much easier than Bat-suck. (Even if Bruce, having been known to be manly macho-dicking Robin regularly, with him most always the top: a simple convenience, the muscled teen in his bed, and still dating women on the side, sucking and fucking his young, nicely endowed protégé with simple abandon, the youth reciprocating [but rarely going so far as to be able to assert himself as a penetrator]—his masculinity never in question, not even to himself. Until now! And now, horrifyingly to be made public?! Suddenly Bruce inside, falling apart like a skyscraper of centuries old, dried out bricks. Tough as he always was in all instances; impossible as it now seemed, his also duplicit “inner” core was failing into complete ruble.)

A real coup de grace: these two impenetrable Prometheans, simply destroyed by their own sexual cravings from within, and the duplicity of forever playing themselves as two separate and unequal personalities of opposite natures and demeanors; their inner civil wars that had at last defeated them. Ever pretending one thing, living out another. A balancing act that appeared to have unhinged them effectively, both at the same time. Oh, this was more than rich!

Of course, Glenn was sure that after this evening, he would have them both in the same place, conquered by their new realities. After all, if Superman was willing, he was convinced that Batman would collapse, too. Since the both of them had already admitted their urges for each other (albeit more emotional than previously ever suspected). And unleashed them. All he had to do now was reseal, reinforce their inevitable bonding. Damning them both to emotional/sexual destruction. And the Bat had already been simply self-subdued, an eager puppy taking his cock without an eyeblink. Glenn wondering, if his was as fine or finer than Robin’s. Which might could be the key to a total lockdown of the unassailable Dark Knight, ensnaring him deeper, further, unwittingly….

These thoughts danced around in his head as he prepared a trio of beverages for them, very slowly, methodically. Ruminating at the amazing turn of events, planning more.

“Look, Bat-bitch, I know it’s hard to accept. Having at last been bested by a so-called “small-time” villain (moved suddenly now into the major ranks). But that you allowed your perverted, lustful longings for the Big Blue and very Sissy-scout here, to cloud your judgment so thoroughly... that you have stooped so low!! Endangering everything, for one cock-hard enticed moment of bliss. And even more so now, to have willfully down-throated “that very same villain’s” cock, with the barest invitation… no pressure at all. Oh, dear,” and he grinned. “Incredibly sweet.” Going on with a nonchalant shrug.

“I think I’ll have to learn to make semen-laced ice cubes, to enhance your drinks. Wouldn’t that be cool: “Kent-Wayne/Super-Bat Jizz,” into, and along with the finest of Scotch? Yum! Or, “considering,” as something nice to suck on in the off-time, no liquor needed. Keep your libidos high as kites.”

Glenn then glanced over at the alien, and his tear-streaked friend. “Hmmm. Now, look at him! Tsch, tsch. Having to accept his cock-sucking place. Fagged-out, but free at last.”

Then, with a finale of understated reality, adding: “Knowing what we do, and to keep things in working order—I know an enormous amount of willing people able to assist—it could be that young Dick Grayson could be shot in the back of the head by a deranged, but fleeing idiot in Chemistry class; that that blundering Alfred could be wiped out at a snarled traffic intersection; or Miss Grace and father have a private plane accident on the way to Aspen. The possibilities are endless, when well-connected….”

The threat as clear and true as sun or moon.

Batman leaned into his friend, shaking unsteadily, soft-groaning, “No, no, no...” in ego-cracked disbelief, his empire and world having been confirmedly crumbled into nothing. Which, had no one else known anything, he and Superman could have been lovers to their heart’s content! Bruce still the great Batman, and Clark the invincible Superman. Now, they had been dethroned. Made captive by their full-admitted desire for each other—ruined eternally—and would no doubt be separated anyway.

Superman, in his glorious nakedness, cradled his last night’s lover gently in his arms. His gorgeous manly features looked perfectly content and calm. His mind had clearly accepted his debased enslavement, his body and life's fate. He tried telling his equally movie-star handsome Bruce, by the way he held him, it would all be okay, it would all settle down, smooth out, be alright. But the vanquished Batman wept openly.

“We belong to Glenn now, Bruce. We are his. I won't let him harm you, he just wants us to love each other, and do what we have always wanted to. Always known we should be doing. But, we are not unassailable champions of justice any longer. No need to continue in disguise. The world will carry on without us.”

The sobs ragged rougher, but Superman's determination and compassion matched it. He surrounded the Dark Knight in his loving warmth, and after ten minutes or so Batman had succumbed to the truth which Superman had. They were now Glenn's and The Order’s instruments, for whatever sick purpose… but at least they had each other. For the moment, anyway. And for the moment, unless their lives were truly terminated, it was enough for the brain/psyche-rattled, indelibly collapsed Dark Knight.

Grinning ear to ear like a wolf, Glenn walked around the bar, carrying a pair of tumblers of booze. He had already doctored them with some high-grade molly, which would have his two prey all over each other, whether they knew it or not, in a matter of minutes, and to be sure that their boners remained rock hard, two little blue pills each. Glenn would have preferred that both titanically built and hung men would be willing to eagerly debase each other again, as he knew they would if they could have done so privately; but here, and very publicly for his pleasure, it was another story… so if he had to stoop to such measures then so be it, to fit the rest of his plans.

The already mind-duped heroes took the drinks prepared for them, without giving it a second thought. Glenn smiled at their acquiescence: each nude, deftly big-hung, large balled, exquisitely, notably nippled, and overly-sized, muscled heroes, fastened together arm in comforting arm, lifted the glass to each other’s lips, inexorably sealing their fates. Batman, he knew, after his financial empire had been drained and depleted, would be neutered, and sold to the highest bidding Sheik somewhere in the Middle East—fetching maybe a good twenty million alone for his stunning physique, which would have to be forcibly maintained, his strikingly handsome face, and former but now deflowered “notoriety,” considered a true coup of a prize for his new owner. But Superman, he planned to keep around, his own fuck slave; and powered up and down, or in and out, for whatever job or errand The Order might require him to accomplish. Or, to direct and have him accomplish tasks for himself : his personal, very own strong man! A most charming idea, superseding all others.

Of course, Glenn wanted the moment to last. “I propose a toast. To friends becoming friends. Lovers—all around.”

“Cheers,” swallowed the Man of Steel, arms interlinked with Bruce’s.

“"I’ll-I’ll… drink to that, too,” offered Batman, his spirits down, but weakly buoyed by the gentleness of his close-hearted friend. The eroticism he knew he would soon again share with him.

With a hearty swallow, the drinks disappeared into their mouths and warmed their broken egos. Their contents emptied, the heroes let the glasses fall carelessly to the floor. Superman always the aggressor was the first to feel the sense of euphoria from the drug, and it filled his body with a warming glow. His eyes grew wide and big, a huge grin consuming his face… he grabbed Bruce by the back of the head, and pulled him close. Their faces pressed together, their hungry tongues found each other.

Glenn watched from behind the bar at the scene unfolding. Both of the heroes quickly surrendering any hint of private modesty. It was plain to see that they both had accepted their new sexuality. They were instantly slammed up close, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, quickly length-rubbing their turgid erections together as their hands roved and caressed down each other backs, over their muscle-bursting arms. Their joyous frotting enflamed their prodigious cocks, and Glenn marveled at the sight. He found himself mindlessly stroking his own throbbing member, jealously much smaller… but gloating that he was their acknowledged Master, nonetheless. (Bigger may be better, but not always the ruling scepter! So he was proving.)

He continued to stroke himself, not caring if he was overwhelmed by his own pleasure and gave in to it. He wasn't sure exactly how long the power-suppressor would last on the Man of Steel, but he knew what these glorious little helpers were doing to him now. And he had already brought him to his knees more than once, mentally and physically with decidedly little help. As well, as overwhelming him psychically. Superman was his pet now, to be used however he saw fit. It was quite a power, Glenn thought to himself, as he sank into the couch and started slow, double-handing himself with proud abandon.

Batman was finally laying back on the floor, submitting to the dry humping of the most powerful being on earth rutting with him. Their sizeable cocks were grinding against one another, and their mouths seemed glued together, torqued by their lust. And their love. The view was intoxicating, especially for Glenn. The two famed heroes “debasing” themselves, clearly and obviously. Hands tenderly and roughly exploring, savoring….

(But how do you call two men in love, making love, a debasement? It actually piqued his jealousy. No matter how much he had Superman in his control, he knew the difference, and could see it, between Superman’s submission, telling him he loved him… and the way these two muscle gods were savoring the treasured masses of each other. Oh, well. Let them. He could afford to be generous. It would be only “temporary,” he knew.)

And if only the world could see them now, he thought, as he jacked his hammer joyously, his mind racing, lost completely to a new reality. (This could be a video, priceless to be viewed for ages. Sealing any attempt at their protests or escape from him or The Order! Their love actually murdering their reputations and respect for history and all time. How sweet!) This wonderful new reality…. No rescue for Bruce Wayne, who moments ago might could truly have been saved—in which now both the indestructible Superman and glorified Batman were to be his own personal fuck toys.

“Oh, Kal, Kal! Need you so, want you… inside me, again. To become one. Mated,” the now Queer Knight purred. Bold, all cautions gone. Completely surrendered.

Superman gradually approached, rubbed and slipped his huge dick along and into the cleft of his lover… river-flowing wet as he was, not wanting to hurt his man. Wanted to be easy, careful... nudged his glans partially in, again waiting for his friend to accept, relax more and more. Certain he could kill him if he thrust too soon, the shock of it. Though having taken him before, in a different more accommodating position for him, caution was still wise. Bruce moaned in eager approval. His true lover and confidant about to possess him, as he had so often taken Robin… loved the boy dearly. But this was man to man, and man in man… and Bruce was trying to brace himself for the supreme moment of his life: the man he loved, huge hung, and plundering him deeper and fuller than he could ever have imagined. Already having near strangled on him in his throat, his body craved this more complete fulfillment dearly. As he had received him once before yes… but this twice now even to be more heavenly.

Again, the Bat growled his approval, feeling the largeness of his lover’s bat beginning to go in further, and further. Oh, God, it hurt so much. He had to gasp, beg him to stop, catch his breath, until he was more and more able. Kal proceeded slower, gently… but his own anxiety, and the power of the drugs were overriding his senses, until finally, after being but halfway, he plunged in to the hilt. It was more than a jolt.

Bruce stiffened, convulsed, and screamed. Almost fainted. Superman held onto him, tight, didn’t move, just rested inside him. Finally, the Bat’s eyes came back in focus, and with a strained smile, kissed him like crazy, and said, “Go ahead, big man, take me. I’m yours. But easy, now. Easy. Forever.”

Glenn’s cock, however, erupted, watching Superman core his beloved, angry and excited, all together. His cum shot, fountained, and spurt for decades of seconds. But he was far from sated. His jealousy and anger rising, as well as his continued heat, watching these two superb muscle studs pounding and roiling together, hearing their moans and grunts, cries and whispers. He saw Superman’s hips go from quiet and slow to a more steady, yet cherishing rhythm and thrust between the muscular raised thighs of the Dark Knight. How their mouths seemed so glued together, fingers and arms tightly entangled. Lost in each other. Damn them!!

Glenn licked his paws clean of his own seed, relaxed, and watched in awe several minutes. Almost thunderstruck at how these two monoliths were truly loving each other; so palpable he could almost taste it. Well, he couldn’t let this get too out of hand now, could he? Had to teach them who was who, what was what.

With still moistened hands, he slowly re-jerked his cock back to complete rigidity, aided by the pharmaceutical friends he had ingested earlier. He rose to his feet and walked over to the obvious love-crazed heroes, still under the influence of the drugs and their own emotions. He, with an almost supernatural strength, grabbed each by their hands and wrists, and somehow crazily slid, pulled and dragged, and tugged them (heavy as they were, almost assisting him too, in their torqued frenzy, hardly noticing how), his own dick still oar-masted and strong… in some fashion into the master bedroom. Both heroes yet locked together—the plundering of Batman continuing, as if both heroes were mentally unconscious of anything but themselves. Hardly Glenn's presence.

They were swirling in a pool of unrestrained bliss, both of them unleashing upon each other the physical manifestation of their deep-seated longings they’d always had. Clark fucking and sucking Bruce at the same time, Bruce then alternately tongue-fucking Clark, and also ravaging his huge-pected nipples in between. Gone. Sighs and cries unimaginable. They could later perhaps tell themselves whatever lies they needed to, and indeed the little “helpers” had made it so much more than easy to indulge… but the captivated heroes functioned as if they had no trace of ever having been drugged. Their heated sex overruling every shred of common sense or true awareness. Their love aflame.

He left them at the foot of the enormous king-sized bed, demanding they turn themselves, so that the Bat was now on his knees, torso and face down upon the bed, Superman behind him also on his knees, hands digging into his shoulders… mindlessly complying without resistance, and in a pure stupor. Glenn resumed stroking, and treating his own body like an amusement park, while the Fag of Steel continued to sexually dominate the groaning fucked Batman. Supes was acting out a perverted push-up, Batman bent over, his neck and head twisted back now trying once more to engage his reamer’s mouth. Glenn was about to lose another load of his own cum, but he stopped at the edge, and gave himself a moment to compose himself. He moved from beside the bed, dropped down, and crawled up behind Superman. He then began spanking the hero, slow and hard on his muscly carved glutes, in deft, spaced-out measured swats.

“That's it, Superman, fuck the big, macho Fag-Cunt Batman stupid.”

Which was actually happening, no prodding needed.

Superman moaned, quivered, and grunted his approval, as Glenn continued to paddle-play his glorious muscled cheeks with his hand, as his eleven-plus by seven-incher kept deep-coring Batman's cave, his mushroom crowned head pound-sliding rapturously over and against, along Bruce’s prostate. Eyes rolled and gasping under him.

“If the world could see you two fag-sluts, now! I don't think they’d believe you're so special. Just a couple of cock-crazed, narcissistic muscle-queers. So wonderful—what you two huge, nut-sacked fairies have become! Hollyweird couldn’t do it better.”

The words were meant to sting—and the barbs did hurt. In and out of true awareness, tears again formed, streamed down Bruce’s screwed face, but it was hard to tell whether it was because of or in between his accepted conquest, degradation, pain-hungry fucking, man-humiliation, or from his stratospheric, unalterable ecstasy. “Ahh, ahh, ahhing,” or “Oooo-oo-ooing” like a maniac. Superman maintained a bit braver stance as his mind tried to rebel but couldn’t, urgent to find refutable words, but unable. Of course, he, too, was rather out of it; neither of them stopped. Neither hero would cry “NO!” or plead rape. Superman continued hammering his friend’s love-hole with the precision of an automatic piston… not just in and out, but swirling amorously in every direction as well.

Glenn, supercharged, could no longer remain idly by—determined it was his turn to double-crown his kingly rule. He climbed up behind the glistening, sweat-rippling sheath of Superman’s back, and grasped him firmly around the throat. He jerked his head back in a controlling twist, until his lips were at Superman's ear.

“Keep banging your pussy Bat-bitch, until I cum inside your own sissy ass-cunt, Super-fag—understood?”

And like a light switch, the dominate MOS was once more the subdued Clark Kunt. His love-making moved from rapture to submission. His mind coerced to a lesser notch.


“Yes, what!!??”

“Ye-yes. Yes, uh,uh… M-master Glenn.”

“Good, now tell me you love me, my once famous Superman. Truly me, and me only. And tell that Bat-bitch, he’s just a pity fuck!”

Glenn then thrust, roughly rammed, and slammed his formidable can-sized cock into his cowed Superman's man-hole. Superman actually yelped aloud at the immediate shock, sudden discomfort, and felt Glenn pull back hard on his beautiful mane of black hair. Gasping desperately, his still tender chute was being irrevocably, violated again. And not gently! He wailed in agony and protest, great tears filling his eyes… his cock still lodged within his true lover. His love unable to be completed, owned now by this other.

“Say it, Super-fag!! SAY IT!!”

“I-I love you most, Glenn. My Master. Ba, B-Bruce, yu-you’re just… a pity fuck.”

Undeniably now aware, the rhythm of tenure of their love-making having altered, the deep passion evaporated into something frightfully more mechanical, Bruce shuddered.

His Batman's pride, pierced senseless, a lance to his heart, was again in mortal anguish, and cried out. “No—no, Kal! It’s me, you love… truly love! Tell me.”

“TELL him! Or I’ll geld you both! No more of this cum-sharing, shit!” Glenn growled.

Superman caved. “Bruce, you’re just, just a pity fuck. A useable—"

“Convenient, cocksucking—hero-fucked—big cock loving, easy to be had whore. Like you.”

“Like me…. An easy, muscle-screw. Glenn said,” Clark mumbled.

“No, Kal, no! Is… why, I-I gave myself to you. Allowed. Like no other. My, my manhood. My self, my person. For you, only you, because I love….”

“Only another sissy, well-mounted cunt!!” Glenn interrupted. Still pounding away into the MOS, whose impressive rod was lodged deep into Bruce still, but not much moving.

“I, I do love you, Bruce,” tears streaming, “with all my heart—but Glenn—”

“Loves me, too, and is going to fuck you both nuts. No sweat!”

“No, no, please. This can’t be,” Bruce croaked.

“Keep moving, Queer Clark. Drill the fucker, while I take you BOTH, at the same time!!”

“Uhh, uhhh... unnnnhhh! Ahhhh-hhh,” Superman wailing, Glenn ramming him hard, himself deep and full into the writhing Bat—who was twisting, trying to wrench free, but was hopelessly impaled on the alien’s love spear. And still loving it. His man inside him, regardless. His heart fulfilled, yet beyond broken now. Whimpering. Both of them crying, in pain and demoralized, boyishly . Yet being ravished senseless. Enthralled. This all—beyond way too much. Utterly incomprehensible.

A petty criminal had managed to fuck them both. And was the winner. And with a dozen low-life others who could view what they had done before? No way to hide, excuse, or refute it! Incredible. Bruce, considering he was as good as dead, reasoned… he would have to kill himself. This was unbearable. No more Batman.

While the commanding Glenn enjoyed the wailing, conquered once mighty Wayne, pleading and weeping like a twink for reassurance… he began further raging his rod in and out of Superman, who was also sobbing, realizing for him too, how far he had irrevocably fallen. Was no more; the all of him extinguished, forced to deny his true love—realizing the threat of even his beloved Bruce would likely be taken from him—that their basic only solace and anchor through this whole ordeal had been “their each for each” of each other. And without which, Superman thought he truly might die after all. Not knowing how that could be accomplished. Except his Clark persona couldn’t take it. Nor his Kryptonian soul.

The three of them forming a crude three-backed beast, with Glenn doggy-style screwing the Man of Steel into a fogged sort of never-land, riding the two super-men both at once, totally victorious!! The titans beneath him, pussied as puny altar boys, quailing, groaning, tearing… in the blasted throes of their couplings and drug-screwed minds, unable to truly understand much of anything. Except their mounting rage to cum and cum and cum. Hearts and spirits wounded, minds ripped, bodies clinging to each other.

Glenn tugged hard on Superman's hair and continued his very rough, spaced-spanking of the hero's muscled ass cheeks, the flat of his hand whaling like some perverted jockey. Glenn could tell Superman was still not used to being topped, and it made his anal vanquishment into him that much hotter. He cherished the idea that he was going to be the only male on the planet to have ever filled this alien’s heroic asshole with human man-conquered seed. Batman may have been fucked by Superman with his “bat of steel,” but Batman he knew had never yet had the honor of topping the Cock of Steel, to return the favor, which he ached to do, to prove how much he loved him. Mate with….

“You really love this don't you, Super-fuck?”

His mind no longer real nor there. Truly sleep-depleted, drugged-out, psyched-over: “Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, Master…. Only you.” Panting like a worn steam engine, being ridden mercilessly, while he fucked Bruce.

The admission was no longer shocking, but somehow warpedly thrilling. And knowing now, canyon deep inside him, that he, the magnificent Superman, was unquestionably homosexual was something that was powerful beyond words! Glenn, who before that other night was just a pawn in the inner workings of The Order, and had completely mastered and made earth's greatest hero into a pathetic man-bitched, cunt-boy queer. Knowing this, Clark accepted too, from now on, he would always crave to suck Earth-cock, and be topped over and over. Used, mastered, and abused.

“What do you love? Who?

“I-I love... you. And when you fuck my, my faggot asshole.”

“What are you, Superman?”

“I’m... a, a gay. A queer.”

“Shout it, Super-slut! Over and over! Until you feel my earth-jizz breed inside your pathetic other-worldly ass.”

Glenn was close to having an ultimate, devastating orgasm—his cock swelling, balls contracting and throbbing, Cowper’s flowing, like never before in his life. And oh, how he loved that he had so battered and de-manned Superman's self-worth and esteem, so much and completely, the wracked hero hopelessly ensnared, admitting these insults.

And Batman also was no less his achievement. He’d have to work him further, too.

“I’m queer! I am queer! I am a faggot—a gay, cock-loving queer! I love to be fucked. To suck men. A muscle-cunt queer! I’m a-a true, true queer!!” Clark continued to howl.

He prolonged wailing out his admissions as they continued their grinding and humping. Glenn in Superman, and Superman in Batman. Their triple cocks’ volcanoes rising to eruption. Both men lost count of how many times exactly, but the orgasms that then rocked the three of them simultaneously was beyond electric. Each man felt his loins expand, withdraw, contract, and expel in unison. Glenn nearly tore two handfuls of Superman's mane out by the roots, as he was bucked off only half-shot into him, his male shaft shooting cum carelessly into the air as he staggered backward a few feet, grabbing himself as his cock continued to spray wildly.

Superman's cock having also erupted within, and still geysering, slid out of Batman, high as a mast to his lower pecs, and burst into his own face, covering his chiseled features with a mass of thick white, and grabbed hold of and onto his superpowered tool, continuing to spew itself onto the floor, and in draining exhaustion collapsed face down into his own life-juices there. While the Dark Knight had, out of his mind slipped from off the bedside to the floor, his own spunk spasming unhanded, spontaneously, and mumbling incoherently, near drowning in a stunned pool of his own secret sauce. Not only had the drugs knocked them out of orbit, but their razed psyches were also as much shot, and had triggered gigantic productions of semen never before so expended. The fountains of their life-forces rupturing uncontrollably. In essence, killing the two macho heroes on the spot—forever, from what they had once been. Glenn, the well-faring conqueror.

Breathing deeply, torsos belabored, they slowly drifted… mind-worn, and faded off.

The lust conquered trio remained in the room, unconscious, blissfully zapped, drenched thoroughly in their own sweat, tears, and sighs, lasciviously bathed… falling into deep barely audible groans, immersed in their own released sexual liquids. Glenn admitted later, it was a wonderful sight. Ruing he’d not had the entire sequences filmed, just in case. But already these fucked-out titans were his, to do with as he pleased. As long as he could keep them depowered, never able to think clearly, continually cowed, nor use their natural might to ever consider rebelling... keep them hypnotically entranced with one another, and himself—losing all consideration of their former status, glory, and worlds, as if vanished into a distant, subconscious fantasy. He’d won.

With such startling success, he believed with ownership of these two, he could now ascend much higher, using their employ to take him much, much further. The skills and powers of both of these men, in perfect containment and under his mastery…. could ultimately lead him into full control: take over The Order, itself! Why not? Why should it be in the hands of just rich, youth-gone and health-fading old men, depraved as loons, and evil to their cores? Surely, he was better than that. Had already proven how smart he was, how capable… of reining-in, ensnaring, and bringing to heel the two mightiest men in the universe: his now obedient, abject, completely subdued slaves.

And just for the hell of it, sometime later, after leisurely scouring the internet, he put in an order for some very thick, pliable but appropriate leather collars, and a few sets of chains. His men would have to be notably contained, constantly reminded, reinforcing his control over their subservience. Not to mention, binding them with custom-made genital cages, releasing them only if and when, for his personal pleasure. Surely, curtailing their cravings: never allowing them to indulge with themselves or each other in any fashion, anymore…. unless “rarely” granted. (Like… maybe for some tasks well done: “Good boys. Yes, very good boys, indeed.”) In the meantime, taking them each as he pleased. Intended to make them beg. After all, two such exceedingly virile men, forced to be celibate until he gave the okay, shouldn’t be too difficult to manage. He was the boss. And protector of his very own First Order. His boys kept under total control, knowing how much they ached to be with each other, the anguish in their eyes. Well, they were his. Order had to be maintained. “Superman” and “Batman” were no more. All his. Vanquished as if they’d never been… would never be again.

All he had to do now was get rid of that Robin; then, fix that bumbling butler, Alfred, with a car crash or something. The Order had many helpers to draw from, he knew. That Lois Lane, since she was the only one else who knew Clark’s true identity? Would be on the prowl not accepting a simple disappearance. Probably a robbery gone wrong, should fix things. Rub her out, too. As well as that kid, Jimmy Olsen.

Things were really looking up. With Wayne subdued, he would slowly bleed his wealth; and those monthly matches between the two muscle studs would keep the Elders entertained for quite sometime. Until he could get the “altered” Superman to do his bidding, and wipe them out, one by one. Powered up when he wanted him up, powered down when he wanted him down. And fucked out of his mind, continuously. All he had to do was get the dumb alien with a hard-on, and he was completely beyond his own self-control, and in Glenn’s. Regardless of super-suppressers or not: Superman… now ruled by his sexuality, so easily contained, and imprisoned by it. Keeping Batman down with him. As long as he could keep them both emotionally disengaged, egos crushed, should be a piece of cake.

Who would have thought?! Way it goes. This was going to be one hell of a ride!

Glenn’s mind was a whirly-gig of possibilities. Ruminating, both sadly and prolifically. Would have to find the right place, an out of the way warehouse to set up things.

He suppressed a yawn, struggled up to fix some well-deserved coffee. The two fucked-out masses of muscle lay on the floor, inert beneath him. Deep breathing, dreamily unconscious. Arms in arms (albeit futilely). He prodded at their thighs with his foot. Neither one of them stirred much. Though the MOS reached unconsciously for the hard form of his Bruce, drew him in more tightly. Superman still had a definite hard-on. Their closeness seeming to trigger the oblivious Batman into a swelling match of his own. They were near face to face; their sacked balls in a paired marriage. What a set of manly meats. Packaged and secure. Glenn grinned, rubbed his stomach. Started the coffee. Checked his watch. So much to do.

His… forever, now. All —so easy for the taking.

Finally, when roused, he allowed the still stunned Bat to shower, slip back into his clothes and depart. Watched with a true twinge of jealousy, how the fucker actually kissed Clark so hard and long and deep, as if in a never-to-return desperate goodbye. Wayne had much to do, prepare to join the order, make his first withdrawal of a million dollars to Glenn’s account, get things in order. Glenn was planning to give him a private and monsterly single-fucking reception on his return, one he’d never forget. Cow the big muscled bastard permanently, right through the floor. Tame that shapely-haired, bubble-assed, much bigger ten-incher, macho ego-prince… blubbering-stupid. And knew of a shop that sold 18-inch dildos to do it with. Damn right!

Just him and the pristine Dark Knight, bound and (with the help of his friend ), begging to be cored. And cored. And cored. And then: screaming, “Stop, please stop, please—ohhhhh—na, noohhhh, noohhhhhh!!!!! ” Right up and through and into his lungs till he shut up. Or got whacked silly, and fell out, quiet.

Might be fun.

Except… three days later, he found he definitely had to switch plans, think harder. The broadcast medias were absolutely scorched with the news: Bruce Wayne had taken a dose of cyanide!! His empire was no more. The papers and televisions full of it. Everything left to Dick Grayson and Alfred.

Oh, shit. What a mess. Well, he still had the Fag of Steel to play with.

It wasn't over, yet. Though the Man of Steel was a bit of a senseless automaton with depression. He'd eventually come around. All was not lost. Just ride him a few times, re-spark his libido. And it was actually easier than he thought. Within two weeks, Clark never wanted to be out of his sight, begged him every night to stay….

Finding he liked it. Wanted to. Had never been happier in his life. And getting drilled by Superman, too—was the new ultimate. Things were going to be just fine, just fine. For both of them. After all, he'd worry about taking over the Order later. His pal, Super-Cock/Wondrous-Tits/Insatiable-Ass , had first had to be properly trained.