A scene repeats itself on the remote jungle airstrip of San Miguel. A C-130 bearing a captured young hero arrives to be delivered and payment collected. This time no chains are needed to bind the captive superhero – for his young mind is magically enslaved and the body now follows blindly. Thus a stupefied Spiderman, re-masked, yet striped of his spurious identity, steps down out of the plane’s cargo bay. Another young man in a security guard’s uniform, nightstick and holstered pistol, guides a young man in bright tight red and blue webbed spandex firmly by the upper arm. Accordingly, Ryan Blake leads Spiderman away from the C-130 transport towards the edge of the tarmac surrounded by a lush jungle as power is cut to the four big turbo prop engines; subsequently the engines begin to ramp down rapidly in response.
Jake, the red-headed young co-pilot, dressed in a tight nylon jumpsuit, Buffalo Bill’s ball cap and black combat style boots scurries about the sides of the big plane chocking the wheels and performing other docking procedures. The Hunter dressed in his traditional brown fedora hat, khaki pants and faux-leather jacket and artifact bag emerges from the plane and trots after Ryan and Spiderman.
He reaches the pair and asks, “Where’s the old fat man?”
Ryan shouts above the diminishing engine noise, “I don’t know… I probably should just deliver Spiderman to the island’s brig instead of wasting time waiting for him to show up,” replies Ryan hopefully.
“Okay, it’s a short jaunt through the jungle to the brig; hurry back – I’m not spending any more time than I have to on this island,” replies the Hunter as the engines go silent and the din of the surrounding jungle filters back onto the airstrip.
“How about Jake showing me the way… never have been to the brig,” fibs Ryan as Jake the co-pilot joins them.
The Hunter frowns and then looks at his watch, “Okay. Jake, show Ryan the way to the island’s brig; we’ll prepare for departure. And keep your distance from that old wacko… he’s had his eye on you for a long time, Jake.”
Jake swallows hard; his young face turns a crimson color at the disgusting visual that enters his mind, but soldiers up and says, “Sure, boss.”
“Ryan, you guys keep your wits about you in the brig… I don’t trust that old man.”
“Oh, I got Jake’s back. I’ll take good care of him,” promises Ryan as he slaps the holstered pistol attached to his security guard’s gun belt.
Ten minutes later Ryan Blake leads a fully costumed and masked Spiderman by the arm at a brisk pace past the plantation brig’s newly refurbished black iron doors. The tall ornate wrought iron doors are flung wide open expecting guests. A slender peasant dressed in white cotton pants and shirt sweeping the brig’s entrance backs nervously away as the strange trio of Gringos enter. The din of the surrounding jungle diminishes as the group steps onto the dank stone corridor separating a long row of small cells with sturdy black iron bar doors baring nameplates.
Ryan proudly leads, purposely manhandling a spellbound Spiderman roughly by one arm, followed by Jake who is visibly more than ever uncomfortable within the surroundings. The trio consisting of a security guard, hapless superhero, and reluctant co-pilot make their way swiftly down the brig’s wide stone corridor towards a potbellied old man standing midway. The old fat pervert is dressed in his usual garish Hawaiian shirt, straw hat, fruit-stained white pants and dirty loafers. He waits expectantly in front of two open cell doors for his new acquisition.
“Ah… Red … Ryan… come in. Sorry I could not meet the plane, today,” invites Bill.
Jake cringes at the unsolicited nickname the pervert assigned to him (yet other of his friends have normally used), as Ryan stops before Bill. He roughly pushes and centers a dazed Spiderman into a stationary standing position before the Island Boss, announcing grandly, “I present to you your newly purchased property: Spiderman - fresh from the Big Apple!”
Bill licks his lips as he appraises the tall strapping masked superhero dressed in a skintight red and blue webbed spandex costume. Bill looks intently at Spiderman’s young buff body clearly outlined within the body-hugging bright spandex.
Bill has no buyer’s remorse. The old deviant studies the finely built young superhero intently. First, the bright webbed mask that provides anonymity to the wearer, then the black spider emblem emblazoned across the athletic chest, then the slight bulge in the spandex between his legs and finally the costume’s matching webbed boots.
Jake looks nervously around at the brig’s cells; all have name plates. Jake swallows hard as he reads a few names on the empty cell doors not yet occupied: Green Lantern, Flash, Flex, Captain America and… Pig Boy of San Miguel ? (This is all getting out of hand, he considers— all of these wo ndrously skilled and mighty men, to be rendered hopelessly captive by this fucking-weird, obese old man?! It defies comprehension!) The last name, Pig Boy , is particularly odd thinks Jake, as he looks away and towards the end of the island brig’s corridor past old fat Bill to where he knows the once so mighty and magnificent Superman was somehow lured in, beguiled, unwittingly caught/ensnared, and rendered completely powerless—still unable to be believed—made almost instantly, permanently helpless, robbed of his alien, incredible strength, other-earthly abilities, even his potent virility and maleness—was swiftly bound, masked, then effectively gooned-out… now kept caged under lock and key! With similar fates apparently awaiting the rest of those name-plated here, pending their capture. Something so wrong about this, Jake shivers. Something must be done! Needs to talk to his pilot friend, for sure!
Jake’s train of thought is broken when suddenly Ryan reaches up from behind and grabs a fistful of the top of Spiderman’s spandex mask and roughly unmasks Spiderman. Ryan immediately presents the mask to Bill like the key to a new luxury car as he makes the introduction, “Peter Parker of the Daily Bugle.” Bill in returns accepts the mask like the token deed to a great city and then crumples it with disdain in his pudgy hand, remarking, “Another reporter! Like our hapless, once so deceptively pure, bashful Clark Kent. Nonetheless, another dream comes true… the “sticky/slidey” elusive Spiderman… standing in my brig! What a treat!”
Bill observes the unmasked young man’s attractive but boyish face. The removal of the mask reveals that indeed Spiderman is spellbound in a deep trance -- his young mind erased of its freewill. His blue eyes dull and glazed over -- a telltale sign of the powers of Moro’s spinning rings that Ryan used to ensnare the unsuspecting hero. And will yet use on others.
Bill remarks, “Why, there’s just a boy under that mask… wonderful!” Bill smiles, snaps his fat fingers several times before Peter’s out of focused blue eyes, but Spiderman remains fast in a deep trance. Satisfied, Bill waddles backward a step or two to test his ownership, “Take off that ridiculous costume, Parker.”
Ryan still standing behind boldly unzips the webbed red and blue spandex suit down to the small of Parker’s back. Robotically Spiderman twists his upper torso peeling the colorful webbed spandex from his broad shoulders. The black spider emblem peels away from his strapping chest as he fishes his well-shaped arms from the costume’s gloved spandex sleeves. Parker automatically slides the tight spandex with fine black webbing down to his athletic waist and then leans forward shedding the webbed bright tight spandex from his upper thighs. In-turn he pulls each foot from each of the costume’s matching webbed boot and then sheds the colorful webbed costume altogether. Clad only the costume’s skimpy well-mounded jock, Parker robotically tosses his bright costume to the floor and straightens up as if to ego-display his buff body to his new owner.
Bill excitedly shoves the colorful mask into the back pocket of his fruit-stained white pants and then uses his free fat hand to fiercely tear and rip the skimpy jock from Parker’s athletic waist. Parker sways, genitals swinging nicely in place as the jock is torn away from his hips but maintains his balance, uttering no protest, as the old fat pervert strips him completely naked. Bill’s eyes lock on Parker’s man-jewels as he tosses the torn red jock to the brig’s floor. Immediately the old man uses the wooden whip handle to prod and probe the assets hanging between the young man’s legs. Spiderman remains completely spellbound, his expression blank, as the old man rolls each of Spiderman’s slung, sizable balls over and over with the whip’s wooden handle. A pair of unhusked walnuts, indeed. Much like the captive Robin’s. And Bomba’s. (None of his “guests,” insubstantial. Superman’s beyond sizeable… Batman’s, notable.)
“Fiend, he’s only a kid!” protests a male’s voice from an adjacent cell.
Bill stops his molestation, but continues to stare at Parker’s boys, saying, “I believe you both know Batman,” chuckles Bill, and looks towards his other guest, as he gestures to the cell with his bullwhip where the protest originated. “Not as bountiful as yours, or Klown Tit’s , but equally as reined-in and powerless! Sweet danglers, no less.”
“Never freely given. Only robbed from and coerced!”
“And while his a bit less than your own well-dicked Robin’s—even if on the slimmer side—eh, Batsy? Think I don’t know how the two of you “comfort” each other nights… even between the bars…?! (And never used to at home?)” Jolting Bruce’s comprehension sharply. “Nothing goes on in these cells I don’t know about. But I’ve let it slide, momentarily…” Bill affirms. “May have to do something about that soon, though.”
Stunned and truly fearful, Bruce suddenly stammers wanly: “Please, Bill, da-don’t—. No!” And drops to his knees.
“Once I get you strapped down in bed, myself… we’ll see. First, after I give you something to soothe your nerves. Next week, for sure.”
All of the men eye each other silently. Considering how well, while not hooded, the famous Bat has been cowed and is as much a controlled wuss as the practically destroyed alien, Superman. (Who actually has not been bedded by his nefarious owner, nor wants to do so, oddly enough. While having the most astounding body of all, the hideous Klown’s headgear makes him grossly repellant for any thoughts of close sexual congress, even to Bill. Who prefers to see the once MOS’s magnificence more publicly humiliated and abused in the punishment yard by others.)
Jake and Ryan both look towards the cell’s previously un-regarded occupant. Ryan laughs as Jake instinctively whispers aloud the cell’s name plate: BATMAN, to himself. Then Jake gasps as he finds the proud Batman willingly kneeling in his small cell in submission to the Island’s Boss! Practically begging. Yes, the once feared Dark Knight, stunningly well-built, is gloriously naked, down on both knees, his powerful legs spread wide apart and his bare strapping chest is outstretched forward with his muscular arms extended straight out over his head, palms down. Knowing he will soon be drugged, forced to be compliantly bedded—urgent to spare his paramour from the same fate which could be looming ahead.
Batman, once feared by the underworld of Gotham City, now in a position of utter submission to the island’s master who has purchased him and his ward, Robin! Like a lowly slave worshipping a mighty pharaoh, Batman is suddenly in obeisance, with a plea of supplication and homage to the old pervert standing outside his locked cell. Terrified Bill will remove Robin to another cell, curtailing their nightly trysts. (The only comfort either one have left to maintain their sanity.) Batman’s powerful v-shaped bare back, muscular arms and legs are crisscrossed with both faded and bright red welts… a testament to Bill’s cruelty and liberal use of his trademark bullwhip as they must serve him at the wheel.
“Don’t hurt him, please, sir! Take it out on me….” Batman’s handsome face is obscured, pressed against the stone floor of his cell, awaiting Martin’s reprieve.
“Then curb your tongue, or I may have it cut out,” Bill warns.
“Yes, master. As you will.” The reply is weak and tremulous. And knowingly fearful.
Robin can vaguely be seen in the adjacent cell, gripping the bars, practically petrified with concern. And concerned, indeed, that he and Bruce’s secretive love-making has been brought to light… and may be ended or worse! Truly lovers at last, and indelibly so—bonded beyond bonding, their situation having adhered them together, sealing their hearts and desires as never before could have.
Jake can’t help but wonder, how can this be? Is there no possible escape, rescue, for such as these mighty men, once more than renowned—now trashed out, much like the captive Superman further away... undeniably broken, driven almost mindless—beyond invulnerable anymore. A true tragedy! Something so wrong about this. He wonders, at last, how can he do something to stop this nightmare, this desecration and destruction of good men, now under the control of pure evil?! Realizing he himself has been part of all this. A shock, no less. Along with his friend, the dauntless Hunter.
Bill chides, “Without the anonymity of a mask, or the concealment of shadows and darkness, his utility belt with fancy gadgets, and armored bat suit, Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, is but a wimped-down ordinary man! If Gotham City could see their Dark Knight now—groveling on his knees naked, with his impressive cock and balls freewheeling and floppy between his legs!”
Jake grimaces at the humiliating remarks the obese old man hurls at Batman. Bill glares hatefully down at Batman with distain at the thought of Batman still possessing even a sliver of his former spirit and backbone. He’d thought he had long ago whipped all the Dark Knight’s strength of character away! He commands imperiously while shaking his coiled whip, “Insolent dog! Milk yourself, or I’ll horsewhip your precious ward Robin within an inch of his life before your very eyes! Pump me out a load, now!! ”
Batman stirs a bit… swallows hard and his big hands clench into big fists and pounds the stone floor hard simultaneously—one time. Seconds later his bared, prominent hirsute chest rises from the floor; he sullenly sinks back on his haunches, and stares angrily at Ryan and Bill. In return, Ryan smirks and blows a kiss to the powerfully built man he was so instrumental in capturing. Bruce is seized with repressed anger at Ryan also, but stifles it, as the unnoticed Boy Wonder shrinks back deep into the corner of his own cell next door, holding his mouth closed, to stay out of the fray.
Ryan takes a step forward and boldly shouts tapping his nightstick menacingly, “You heard your master… OBEY!” Bruce’s face turns beet red with humiliation (this “boy” giving orders to him?!), but he slowly unclenches his right fist. Batman swallows hard and then lowers his eyes downcast to the stone floor. He sighs heavily and then cuffs his cherished cock in his big hand. Unseen tears well up in his eyes as he obeys and starts stroking his limp-heavy meat into life for the pleasure of his ownering masters!
Ryan laughs smugly aloud as Batman starts to stroke his finely proud cock for all to see. Finally taking both of his hands to do so, his not hidden largeness evident. Jake sighs uncomfortably at the debauchery that is transpiring, and looks awkwardly towards the brig’s floor, proposing: “Come on Ryan…we delivered Spiderman. The Hunter wants wheels up ASAP,” reminds Jake.
“Hold on, dude… I want to see Batman shoot…” insists Ryan.
Bill cuts across Ryan and gestures to the cell adjacent to Batman’s. “I believe you both are acquainted with Robin, the impressive, young, stud-muffin once known as the “Boy Wonder” around town in Gotham City?”
Jake is silent and continues to look at the floor as Ryan smiles and greets his old boyfriend flippantly, “Hey Dickie-Do. What’s up, dude?” His callousness is worse than shocking; how he could have done what he did to his once bedmate... turned himself into such an instrument of destruction for both significant males of the Dynamic Duo—and all done so much easier than grease on a hot skillet. How fast his dark side had emerged, taken him over!
Robin is naked, too—unmasked, his also handsome face revealed. Stoney with hatred for the devious Ryan still, but well-cloaked, he is now balled-up in a near fetal position, cringing in frustration in one of the corners of his cell. Robin looks almost shell-shocked. His once bright blue eyes are dulled and devoid of any happiness. His youthful but quite honed arms with significant biceps, chest and muscular legs are covered in a fine shine of sweat. Beads of perspiration mar his attractive face and his short-cropped hair is matted down damply.
“Spoiled little rich brat,” sneers Bill as moves and brushes the bars of Robin’s cell with his coiled whip. “Agile and accomplished gymnast, not such a big shot anymore, are you muscle- fuck. No mask to hide behind, hey, boy ?”
Robin’s body tremors with chagrin in response but he does not answer his master; he only stares at the stone blocks of his cell wall, wearing a blank-hardened expression.
“Bah… sniveling brat,” shouts Bill at Robin, before he turns away from Robin and levels his gaze back towards Batman’s cell beside Robin’s. Bill continues his rant towards the others as Batman duly strokes his stiffened sizeable male rod. “Thanks to Robin’s sexual orientation, it was easy to bring down our once closeted big-bad Batman! As I imagined, Brucey-Woosey is now very protective of his fetching, quite well-built young male ward… “Boy Wonderful,” who services him regularly now—and he him! Thus, as you can see, I can force Batman to do most anything, anything… I want. As he has, and I will continue to do! Each for each.”
Bill kicks the discarded torn red jock he ripped from Parker’s waist through the iron bars of Batman’s cell saying, “Use this “hero’s” jock to clean your mess up when you’re done… and then jam the soiled jock all the way into your big mouth. That should keep you quiet for the time being. Or else…. ” And snaps his whip in Robin’s direction.
Batman’s body shakes, grimacing with barely controlled, pent-up anger, but he remains silent and continues to diligently, double-handedly stroke his fully masterful cock. (One he actually had craved to spear Robin with eventually, hardly admitting such to himself, not sure of Robin’s true nature until too late.) And now urgent to spare his young paramour any cruelty or punishment whatsoever at his own expense. Especially since they have truly become intimate.
But having dealt with Batman’s pointless protest, Bill turns from Batman feigning disappointment. “Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted… ah yes,” remembers Bill, as he returns to fondling Parker with the handle of his whip. “You’ll feel the sting of my bullwhip soon too, Spider Boy…the price you pay here for parading around in tight bright spandex, flaunting your “capabilities,”” promises the old fat man.
Jake shifts restlessly from boot to boot as Bill leers at Parker’s nicely also bared muscly chest, abs, and arms intently. Then Bill begins rubbing the whips handle the length of Spiderman’s cock several times until it twitches and stirs slightly. “Yes… a fine piece of virgin muscle meat,” whispers Bill hotly, beginning to use the handle of his coiled bullwhip to trace the outline of Parker’s defined six pack abs, amply curved pectoral muscles, hard-dotted by a pair of eraser-fine nipples, before proceeding to the twin biceps. “But, this young morsel will have to keep until later. I have another iron in the fire to attend to.”
With that said, Bill finishes his cursory inspection of Spiderman and decides to put his new boy away; he toddles behind Parker, breathing hard at the exertion, his gross pot belly jiggling. The old fat man rubs and then cups his fat hand around Parker’s firm bare buttocks several times testing each cheek’s solidness. Then Bill uses the handle of his bullwhip to prod Parker in the small of his bare back, signaling the spellbound superhero to enter his cell adjacent to Robin’s. Bill drags the whip’s wooded handle playfully between Peter Parker’s moving taut butt cheeks several times as the young man walks slowly, probing the divide. “It looks like Spiderman won’t give me much trouble,” chuckles Bill as he withdraws the whip handle and slams the cell door shut exclaiming, “I’ll have to fetch your mask, later.” Never saying what it might be. “Cheers to Moro, and his effective island magic!”
Then he waddles around in place. “Pedro! Andale – Arriba… take this garish red and blue spider costume along with the boots and mask to the storage room with the others,” demands Bill. “The young man will have no need for that spandex junk anymore.”
“Si Senor,” answers a young man in broken English as he drops his broom. A tanned, slender young man in white pants, shirt and sandals scurries about picking up Spiderman’s bright red and blue costume-suit, webbed boots... and in an instant is quickly gone.
Bill smiles as he eyes up Parker through the iron bars of his cell. Like a book in its proper position on a shelf, Parker stands prime-naked in his imprisonment. His good-looker’s head is slumped forward on his chest, and his toned muscular arms still ripe with spider-strength hang harmlessly at his sides. Parker is a “10.” A seven-plus soft cock and two beefy balls, set above a set of long sturdy legs that rise to a shapely athletic chest, with perfectly proportioned muscles… the young man delightfully handsome, too! Bill adjusts his stiffening hard-on below/under his gross potbelly as he contemplates the fate of young Spiderman, now that he is part of his erotic menagerie of subjugated superheroes. Though the nearby Jake is even as much or more alluring in true reality, standing less than a stone’s throw away. Bill grins at the looming prospect.
“Spiderman-Peter is incredibly strong… his tensile strength intact… goodlooking, too… but his young mind is erased of freewill and spirit—what a pliable combination!”
“Let’s go,” urges the unsettled Jake, “we need to be going,” he says to Ryan. Having seen enough of the brig’s debauchery, and is on edge.
“Ah, Red… I’d almost forgotten—well … not really,” announces Bill.
Suddenly Bill’s attention turns unwelcomely towards Jake! Red or Jake is a “10,” too. Actually an 11. He’s part of the Hunter’s crew. Jake is in his mid-twenties and has short-cropped red hair, green eyes, and a fair complexion. He’s over 6 feet tall and has a notable, markedly athletic frame beneath the light blue nylon flight suit he wears. And appears to also be substantially equipped. He’s got a boyish face mixed with strong Irish good looks, and sports a Buffalo Bill’s ball cap. (Part of his adopted, “manly” costume one could suppose... as necessary as a 14-inch cock on any man. Truth be told, thinks Bill. Like spandex on heroes, or the whopping, ultra-extra appendages on Superman? Overly endowed. Who needs that much anyway, except for their own narcissistic pleasuring? And from whom he has cleverly curtailed Superman’s former insatiable/indulgent but “needful” use thereof. Practically neutering him.)
Jake looks around uncomfortably at the enslaved crime fighters, then answers with a tinge of annoyance, “The name is Jake.”
“Not anymore..!” Bill blurts. “Ryan, it’s time we get started with young Red’s transition… into the Pig Boy of San Miguel ,” decides Bill, with the aplomb of a lightning bolt.
Ryan, having prepared for the betrayal, moving behind the worse than suddenly startled Jake, draws the revolver from his gun belt and drives it into the small of Jake’s back, apologizing: “Sorry, dude… but I am going to need your flight suit.”
Jake twist-turns, and cries out, “WHAT THE FUCK…??!!”
Bill cuttingly adds, “I’m afraid Ryan has betrayed you… just like he did young Dick Grayson, aka Robin, over there.”
Bill sneers, “As for the Hunter… I’m cutting him out, as well. With my astute young Ryan, and Moro’s island magic, I don’t need the Hunter anymore to bring me superheroes. I will round them all up and corral them without his assistance. Were he better built, better looking, might even have found a cell for him, too. Otherwise, he’s rather extraneous.”
Ryan brandishes the gun in a threatening manner, forcing the shocked Jake backwards into the very conveniently, near-standing open cell with the inscription: PIG BOY OF SAN MIGUEL . Once within the cell, Ryan menacing orders, “Strip!”
Jake instinctively turns 180 and continues to back away from Ryan until he is up against the back wall of the cell. Against the wall his hands raise automatically, shell-shocked. Jake’s eyes grow wide in disbelief, as he spots several items strewn on the cell’s stone floor. “WTF,” he again gasps, as he more clearly spots a bright red ball gag with leather straps, a sewn leather hood with the physical features of a leering pig’s head. Next to the hood is large black butt plug with a long curly pig tail attached to its outward end!
Bill chuckles, “Welcoming gifts just for you, Red! Ryan will be off to dispose of the Hunter, after he’s settled you into your new role on the island. I will spare your pilot buddy, Jack—but only if you willingly cooperate. In turn, the pilot will cooperate knowing I have you as my… guest .”
“Please… don’t kill…” begs Jake.
“Hunter? Ah, no matter. But there’s nothing to fear as long as you cooperate, Red. Besides, I need a pilot to fly Ryan here and there to collect more heroes. However, I fear the Hunter’s duplicit services, though previously adequate, are no longer required,” replies Bill. “Besides, he knows too much should he decide to flip the other way.”
Jake swallows hard and apprehensively eyes the nasty “toys-for-(depraved)- boys” on the cell’s floor, and then casts a wary glance at the once mighty Batman, still obediently stroking his conquered man’s cock on his knees for Bill’s amusement. Then Jake casts a forlorn glance towards Robin, a once truly also and effectively skilled “wonder,” now cowering naked in the corner of his small cell. The gravity of the situation washes over Jake. Hits him in his guts like a tsunami of pure terror and helplessness. If the Dynamic Duo, Tarzan, Spiderman, and the incredible Superman were no match for Island Boss Bill…. what chance does he have?! He is rapidly getting light-headed and acid-gutted. Weak with despair. His life impossibly over!
Ryan waves the gun, “Decide, Jake… your pride, or your pilot buddy’s life. I’m not Robin’s naive “boy-favor of the quarter” anymore, either, dude. I’ve used Moro’s Island Magic. Powerful stuff, too! Has, you might say, turned me, into… well, to a darker shade. And I like it! I’ve decided to do whatever has to be done to get ahead—sell you out. Even kill if I have to!”
Jake eyes the pistol, scramble-brained, and fatally decides. Fearing for his friend’s life—after all, if Hunter is disposable—and himself—(yet if Jack is let go, and free... couldn’t he also report what’s been going on to the authorities, and later come back with “help?!”). He acquiescently, still stunned (wouldn’t a bullet in the brain not be better than this?) , falters. Being the larger man, shouldn’t he dare tackle Ryan—make a run for it?! But cowed still in a near paralytic shock, disbelief of what’s happening, he dully lowers his hands, and begins to numbly unzip his nylon jumpsuit. His fine wide shoulders, shapely-honed chest slowly emerge. He proudly wears nothing beneath the tight jumpsuit except his snug, male-enhancing dark blue briefs. In seconds, Jake has the jumpsuit pooled below his trim waist and around his combat boots. From the brig’s corridor, Bill licks his lips at the male beauty he covets, as Jake displays his—nearly naked before him. The young co-pilot’s skin is unblemished alabaster, though rashly, beautifully freckled, with a light dusting of rusty hair… and with a perceived very finely mounded package of maleness at his pubis, all-over more perfectly, leanly sculpted than Spiderman… no less resembling an unparalleled, shades more bulky than Michelangelo’s David!
Ryan seems unimpressed and urges, “Get on with it!” Ever disgruntled to view anyone too much finer than himself (as those confined within are)….
Jake nervously scrambles to sit on the cell’s stone floor clad only in his skimpy blue briefs, and hurriedly undoes the thick laces of his hefty black flight boots. He shucks off each leather boot and then pulls the nylon jumpsuit along with his socks off his ankles. Finished Jake, hesitantly rises wearing only his near-shear, well-filled briefs and silly ball cap; then stands sheepishly before the old fat man and Ryan, who still a threat brandishes his pistol, waiting for events to unfold. His brain still numbed at what is happening. The cell door has now been firmly shut, enclosing them together. Bill outside in the brig’s corridor just watching.
“Lose the underpants, Red,” chuckles Bill as he motions with the coiled whip for Jake to finish unwrapping the candy. Jake sighs and his expression is painful. He swallows hard and then nervously slips his big thumbs under the tight elastic band of his undergear. Seconds later, the blue briefs are down, pooled around his ankles and then wadded next on the cell’s floor. Bill exhales a sigh of approval as he eyes the red-haired young man with finely groomed, strikingly colorful pubic hair, surrounding a set of finely big balls set longly below an equally well-endowed but uncut cock... all no less begging to be suckled, jacked, plundered, fondled, revered.
Truly even as fine or more than Robin’s: a bonanza he hadn’t expected. The pervert gasps with excitement—he sure knows how to choose them!!—and his own (diminished in comparison), much lesser wrinkled member stiffens in anticipation as he orders: “Ryan, do the honors!”
Ryan smiles, temporarily handing off the gun to Martin, lest Jake make a bolt or move to escape, which behind the closed cell doors in not the slightest bit likely. He retrieves a pair of handcuffs from his security guard’s gun belt. Ryan boldly manhandles Jake spinning the nudely vulnerable, still disbelieving young man around to face the stone wall. He jerks the co-pilot’s unexpectedly much bigger arms roughly around and behind his waist. In turn, Ryan uses the handcuffs to secure Jake’s wrists together behind his broad back, who is and has been surprisingly compliant. But now in absorbed shock, suddenly realizes he is indeed a captive! (Should at all costs have made a run for it! But now—far too late!! The snare has been closed and sealed.) Ryan brushes the ball cap casually from Jake’s head with one hand, before swiftly retrieving the red ball gag from the floor. Then he spins Jake around and orders, “Open it!”
Tears of pure incomprehension, this can’t be happening! well-up in the built, young man’s green eyes as he obeys and opens his mouth, lower lip quivering, to receive the degrading ball gag. Ryan inserts the ball deep into Jake’s mouth wedging it between his upper and lower bright white teeth. Then Ryan moves behind to buckle the straps tightly together behind Jake’s neck. The horror unfolding for Jake is beyond believable!
Ryan retrieves the pig hood from the floor and stands before a worse than now terrified Jake, purposely examining the humiliating hood. (Oh, my God, my God—I should have fought, made a break for it—while the cell door was still open! But paralyzed with the initial shock, he hadn’t!! Oh, no, no, nooooo!! ) Ryan inspects the hood carefully examining the heavy stitching, leather straps and buckles, the roundly flat snout-nose, and big floppy pig ears, while Jake stare-watches in horrified apprehension. Unable to escape, he is as powerless as the mighty, de-manned Superman only cells away… truly hopelessly conquered. Ryan finally finishes his cursory inspection and says coolly, “Down on your knees… Piggy Boy.”
The humiliating transition is interrupted when Batman completes his assignment. In the cell across the corridor, Batman grunts loudly on his knees several times as he finally shoots his load. Jake instinctively exercises his big jaw trying to get acclimated to the invasive ball gag as he looks across the corridor through bars. There Batman is obediently wiping his dick clean with Spiderman’s red jockstrap. Both Ryan and Bill watch in awe as the debased mighty Batman stuffs the soiled red jock deep into his own mouth. Jake swallows hard; this is impossible!! —while Bill imperially signals Batman with his coiled whip to lower himself back into his position of submission. With the distasteful soiled jock stuffed in his mouth, Batman spreads his legs once more, and lowers his chest forward. His muscled big arms extend over his head and Batman begins to silently feign worship of his undisputed master yet again, forehead to the floor. If he doesn’t, he knows Robin will be forced to service the putrid Bill as punishment for at least an hour.
Ryan turns and glares at Jake. Instinctively, Jake closes his green eyes and slowly falls to his bare knees before Ryan. There trembling, he rolls and shifts his shoulders, uselessly desperate, futilely tests the steel handcuffs that hold his chiseled big arms together behind his broad back. Ryan smiles as he moves to stand behind the kneeling man. There he spreads the narrow base and then slips the leather hood over Jake’s head, who has begun to muffledly wail and moan in protest. Bill watches intently. Jake’s cries darkly stifled, almost no longer heard. Ryan secures the hood in place over Jake’s head and then buckles the pig hood’s leather retaining collar tightly around Jake’s strong neck. Then Ryan diligently cinches up and ties off the hood’s network of leather lacings, ensuring the hood is held tightly in place like a second skin over Jake’s handsome face.
Inside the hood, tears are coursing uncontrollably down the confined man’s face, still disbelieving the nightmare which has engulfed him. For all his strength, how he, too, could have been cowed into this like a piece of wimped-shit?! Captive to a depraved pervert. Like the intrepid Batman, the agile, muscular Tarzan, the invincible Superman! Into this. This, this??!! —his mind unable to grasp it. Weeping uncontrollably. His cries worse than choked and garbled. Suddenly aware exactly how much of a shock it must have been for the great alien Superman—of an instant, stripped of his incredible strength and otherworldly powers… (the most incredible known being of the universe), impossibly bound and hooded—made a helpless captive—deprived of most of his sensory perceptions. No wonder he went nuts! Was broken almost immediately. Jake also, sure he, too, would lose his mind…. Scant moments before in freedom and sunshine. The next, caught in a darkly servile silence: hopelessly bound—his whole life and body robbed from him.
Satisfied, Ryan circles the kneeling co-pilot, observing the degrading hood. The hood is made of medium-light red leather to similarly, but couldn’t ever match Jake’s crisp, russet-bright pubic hairs. The horrifying pig hood only has two small holes in the round flat snout of the nose-piece to allow for air, and but minimal eye-slits for sight. A pair of big, pointed floppy ears hangs from the top of the sewn leather hood, and rest above dull green button-eyes that are stitched in place. Ryan stops and then stands over Jake, before pulling his night stick from the belt of his security guard uniform. Then he shouts loud enough to be heard within the hood, “Grunt for me, Piggy Boy!”
Bill snickers approval of Ryan’s proactive command from the brig’s hallway, as Jake hesitates remaining silent on his knees. Ryan kneels, unholstering his nightstick; Ryan begins to lightly massage and then prod Jake’s twin weighty balls and ample cock with the end of his polished nightstick, to forewarn Jake what disobedience will bring! Startled, and swept with a near paralyzing fear, Jake begins to slow-shake his head... continually grunting and snorting loudly through the ball gag and the hood’s snout like a barnyard pig. It could have been comical, had it not been for the actual evil of it all—a handsome, beautifully built young man’s life and body, now being destroyed. Not to mention his mind, emotions, spirit, and total existence. For what?!
Ryan rises to his feet, re-holstering his club, and laughs with delight as he watches Jake. The hood’s pointed ears flop wildly as Jake grunts and snorts loudly. In time, the damnable Ryan Blake is satisfied and shouts, though barely heard, and hard-fist taps on Jake’s masked head guiding his attention.
“Enough…spread them and lean forward. Head down! Ass up!!” Jake stops snorting and obeys Ryan; he spreads his bare athletic legs wide apart and bows his sculpted fine chest forward between his upper thighs, raising his hips, head down as instructed, not thinking why. Ryan then grabs the handcuff’s chain for leverage and pulls up—spits profusely on the business end of the butt plug, before cruelly driving the rubber-stiff shaft deep into Jake’s exposed ass! Jake truly squeals loudly in pure shock and pain, grunt-gurgles loudly several times through the ball gag, as Ryan roughly forces and then positions the pig plug with the curly pig’s tail... six inches deep into Jake’s virginal ass. Who is now whimpering in true grief, shattered and broken, his mind beyond understanding or acceptance. How can he possibly endure this?!
Batman sighs loudly, the still honed man of him, shaking his head in utter disgust, but dares not verbally protest any further. Robin stares continually in the opposite direction, thankful the pervert’s attentions are directed towards the newcomer. Ryan finishes the invasive insertion of the butt plug, and orders loudly, “Get-up… Pig Boy of San Miguel! ”
Jake scrambles awkwardly to his feet encumbered by the heavy leather hood and the heavy-duty handcuffs, and the discomfiting object in his rear. He shifts his wobbly weight from bare foot to bare foot trying to acclimate himself to the painfully invasive plug, the near eyeless hood and ball gag. His inescapable captivity. A sledge-hammer beating into all of his senses.
“Ryan… off to the plane, and stick to the plan… I’ll take charge of young Red from here on,” orders Bill. Opening the cell door he allows Ryan his way out.
“Take care, dude,” says Ryan flippantly as he departs with Jake’s flight suit, boots and ball cap, stuffed into a cloth sack. A surprise package for the Hunter. Seconds later, Ryan leaves as if the gust of a departing wind.
Bill moves and stands in the open doorway, appraising the forbidden fruit he has picked. The young man the Hunter deemed forbidden. “Your friend the Hunter will soon find out that it is me, not him, who rules this island. I will take whatever I want… including you, Red,” boasts the old pervert. “And him, too!” with a knowing snort. Though his words cannot really be heard.
Bill’s dream has finally come true. He has made his coveted, young strapping Red into a naked pig boy. The hood is perfect… the nearly right shade of light Red, the snout and ears…obscuring the handsome features of Jake’s young face!
The Island Boss lets his bullwhip uncoil! Young Jake stands petrified, unable to move—near blind, bound and helpless before the old deviant that the Hunter had warned him about so many times. Like a slave in an ancient market, Jake can only wait as his fate unfolds. It comes swiftly; without warning, Bill’s slender leather whip flies and strikes! The leather cord wraps tightly around Jake’s strong neck several times becoming a makeshift collar and leash. Bill immediately pulls hard on the makeshift leash to reel his young muscle stud in! “Come along, pig boy… time for you to wallow in the mud pit for me and taste the kiss of my bullwhip. Yes… mud, and the lash, is what you’ll get, young Jake,” shouts the old fat man! “I intend to make you squirm naked in the mud, boy, and then let you dry out in the sunshine!”
The tall, buff young copilot is utterly helpless, stupefied no less, still unable even to utter a plea or protest through the rubber ball wedged between his teeth! He stumbles awkwardly and clumsily in his darkness, nearly falling over, but somehow remains up on his bare feet. Pulled and dragged by the whip wrapped around his neck, young Jake instinctively follows along staggering, near blind and bound behind his new master barefooted. The wicked butt plug’s pig-tail wags uncomfortably and lively between Jake’s supple twin buttocks as the young man has no choice, albeit klutzily, to follow along at the degrading tugs of the makeshift leash. Together, the odd pair makes their way down the old brig’s stone corridor separating the cells that will soon be brimming with fresh, both young and older, superhero captives, with such names as the Flash, Green Lantern, Captain America, Lightning Lad... Thor, Aquaman? ... the list of candidates is long! As Bill ponders in deep thought... his current destination the punishment area outside—more accurately the long dormant, newly prepared pig pen which awaits his latest prized trophy: the wonderfully subdued “Red”—Pig Boy of his heart’s desire. Jake’s heart and mind crumbling….
“Oh, God, no—oh, God, no—oh, God, no!! This cannot be happening!! Couldn’t! In a million years!!!!” Distraught with an uncontrollable, unaccepting disbelief. Even as it must have happened to the wondrous Superman, vanquished in mere seconds. Jake’s psyche shattering into jagged pieces…. Entering a nightmare he didn’t believe possible or could exist. Every part of his brain screaming: NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOHHHH!! Silently, frantically. Futilely. Stumbling forwards.
***************
Minutes later, seeing Ryan’s straggling approach, the Hunter impatiently waiting—Jack, the pilot, in adjusting readiness up front in the cockpit... the Hunter nimbly climbs aboard. “About time, you guys,” the Hunter exclaims, dragging his gear with him. “Took you long enough.” Deciding to settle in the rear compartment, rather than the forward navigator’s slot. Then fastening himself securely into his harness and seat, seeing Ryan is alone, looks around with some foreboding. “Where’s Jake?” tensing. In sudden alarm.
Ryan, sighing nonchalantly, drops the cloth bag at his feet… cocks his head. The Hunter piles into it, his eyes concerned and narrowing. “No, no—he didn’t !” Raises his head. A severe frown on his forehead. The discarded, empty blue jump suit tight in his hands.
“He did,” a short pause. “We did! ” pistol in hand, smiling. Unmistakable surprise etched wide on the Hunter’s face. Hardly time for his lips to partially open. A swift bullet between his eyes.
The pop, of course, not able to be disguised. The hunter’s firm, athletic body gone instantly slack and back, lifeless in his straps. His arms drooped loosely from his sides, Jake’s blue flight suit sliding from his fingers. Both to easily be jettisoned later into the welcoming sea.
Moving to the cockpit, gun in hand as he enters... Jack looks up, startled. “You must have heard— the Hunter is no longer with us. Or Jake,” Ryan informs. “And you have a choice. Fly us out of here, and keep working for Island Bill. Or be buried on San Miguel.”
While there wasn’t much choice, and only one man left to run the show, Jack numbly accedes. Swallows hard. In a daze, mind swirling, he rotely checks through his flight list.
Twelve minutes later, the lumbering C-130 wobbles down the runway... lifts noisily into the sky.
END OF BOOK FIVE.
While Cross’s story did not end this way, with a bit of alteration, I gave this very long adventure an open-ended conclusion—(not wishing to go through another forty/sixty pages of what could or couldn’t happen). So I abruptly dispatched the Hunter (not in the original story), and to whom his nefariously collected fees would go is uncertain: after all, he did seem to have a shred of conscience regarding his deeds. And left the fate of all the rest in the hands of the pilot, Jack. It would now be up to him to notify the authorities, or continue to work for Island Bill. Let the reader decide on his own. Sadly though, “if” any or all of the heroes were rescued, I believe Superman is the only one who would not survive mentally: his trauma too sudden and severe, considering the wonder he was. The rest, however, have a greater chance of recovery—but who knows? Following here with the last notation on the planned story by Cross… although anything or info about him is not available. He seems to have disappeared quite some time ago. A fine writer who will be missed, his stories scattered elsewhere.
Cross’s addendum. So ends Book 5. Book 6 will deal with Ryan’s fortuitous capture of Green Lantern, who has impetuously traveled to San Miguel on a solo rescue attempt. Ryan will thus assume Alan Scott’s identity and alter ego, seizing the ring of power and the superhero’s costume. Ryan deals with the spared Scott in the same manner as Louis XIV did upon discovering he had a twin brother…. Coming soon – Book 6 – tentatively titled “Green Lantern – He is Nothing without his Ring!”
(Alas, an incomplete story – never finished. Original author vanished.)