Several hours later, Batman is outside a hangar at Gotham City IAP responding to a signal from Dick’s utility belt. The call was not a distress call – only a signal to rendezvous as soon as possible. Batman has followed Dick’s signal, and now enters the hangar to find a C-130 transport plane docked within the structure. The hangar is dark except for dim safety lighting along the hangar’s high walls. The rear cargo door to the transport is retracted open. Batman notes the interior of the aircraft is dimly lit as well.
Batman remains guardedly in the shadows watching for a sign from Robin. Odd, no sign of Dick! Batman’s costume is predominantly black incorporating the imagery of a bat in order to frighten criminals. His long black cape is scallop-hemmed, rising to a masked cowl covering most of his face featuring a pair of bat-like ears. An engraved silhouette of a winged bat is emblazoned across the rubberized armor of his chest. Batman wears his ever-present dull gold utility belt, black gloves with three scallops that protrude from the sides, and black boots.
I’ll check out the transport. Silently Batman glides through the shadows of the hangar and reaches the rear of the transport. From the shadows he peers into the cargo bay. Batman then makes out the familiar figure of Robin standing in the forward area of the shadowy cargo bay. Robin is standing with his back turned towards Batman griping a red cape in his gloved fist. A figure next to Robin lies face down sprawled on the floor of the aircraft. The man is dressed in tan khaki pants, brown leather jacket—a long whip and a brown safari hat lies next to him within reach.
Satisfied Robin has the matter in hand, Batman comes out into the open and jumps up into the aircraft cargo bay. The soft rustle of Batman’s cape is followed by the sound of his heavy polished boots hitting the metal decking of the aircraft’s bay. Dick does not turn around. Batman stands upright and calls, “Robin?” Robin does not turn around, but motions Batman forward to him with his green gloved arm. As Batman approaches, Robin turns. His short black cape flutters behind him as he moves, and he extends both hands in front of his head spreading out the red cape to show Batman.
The cape is crimson red with a yellow “S” symbol. “Superman’s cape!” gasps Batman excitedly as he hurries closer. The red cape Robin holds up for Batman’s inspection obscures his face. “Where did you find this? Is this man involved in Superman’s disappearance?” asks Batman. Concerned, Batman grabs the cape from Robin’s hands and inspects it thoroughly, ignoring his partner for the moment. Robin is silent.
“Robin, I asked...” Batman stops in mid-sentence, he looks up and realizes the blond boy standing before him dressed as Robin is NOT Robin!! The figure is so near the same height and build, but obscured in the dim light, seen closer, he clearly is not Dick Grayson! And with a look of hesitant fear, the decoy-youth dressed in Robin’s costume boldly steps forth and swiftly sprays Batman squarely in his frown-darkened face with an aerosol mixture of mace and a powerful sleeping gas! A cloud of yellowish mist discharges loudly from the small aerosol can, and envelopes Batman’s cowl. The boy drops the aerosol and then scurries away, his black cape billowing behind him. The Dark Knight reels in stunned surprise, quickly letting go of the phony crimson cape. The cape rustles softly and falls to the floor as Batman painfully howls, raising his black gloved hands to his affected eyes. His large biceps flex impressively within his well-shaped bodysuit as Batman frantically rubs his gloved fists into his burning eyes, gasping urgently for a clear breath. The scallops on the edges of his black cape and gloves dance wildly as he spins—coughing, gagging, and convulsing from the sting of the mace and the inhalation of the lethal sleeping gas. He begins to whirl blindly, twisting and turning in small circles, must see!! Betrayed! He desperately rubs his eyes, and his boots pound loudly on the metal floor. In response, the scalloped edges of his black cape and black gloves whip around wildly as he twists and turns madly, gradually slowing more and more. Must… escape!!
The hunter rises off the metal floor and takes up his whip and puts on his hat. He slowly approaches Batman knowing he is not much of a threat anymore. The young man masquerading as Robin remains at a safe distance, watching in fascination as Batman reels in pain from the mace and begins to move unsteadily and more clumsily as the sleeping gas takes effect. Batman’s heavy boots continue to pound on the metal floor reverberating through the empty cargo bay staggering until he falls hard to his knees. Batman grits his white teeth and doubles over onto his knees, his clenched fists at the sides of his black cowl, trying urgently to shake off the sudden heavy onset of sleepiness.
The hunter picks-up a heavy black steel chain, attached to a thick steel collar, and heavy-duty wrist and ankle manacles, lying off to the side of the bay. With the whip in one hand and the chains in the other, the hunter drags the chain nosily across the metal floor. He shakes the chains intentionally to alert Batman of his approach. He brandishes them menacingly as he continues to slowly approach Batman. Batman coughs and gags as he looks up from his knees, trying to see through his damaged, blood-shot swollen eyes. His face contorts in pain as he tries to rouse himself to his feet, to challenge the man intent on putting him in collar and chains. Batman more than aware feels as if he is about to pass out. He valiantly tries to shake the heavy, descendant drowsiness away. He unclenches his fists and moves his hands clumsily towards a compartment of his utility belt. But the drugged gas has slowed the Bat’s reflexes considerably. Panicked, the hero knows it is too late—.
The hunter drops the chains and in an instant the whip lashes through the air and wraps tightly around Batman’s neck. The hunter pulls hard. Batman’s knees shift, and then extend forward as the hunter drags Batman down hard onto his chest. He drags the drugged man, struggling futilely across the metal floor towards him… like an unruly dog on a leash. The hunter keeps the whip taut around Batman’s neck cutting off his air, the diminished blood supply to his brain. Batman instinctively uses both hands, frantic to loosen the whip wrapped tightly around his throat and neck so he can breathe. The hunter keeps the whip secure so that Batman must continue to struggle to free his neck, now unable to use his hands to reach his utility belt and the universal antidote. The hunter yanks with both hands on the whip and pulls the masked crime fighter onto his stomach, kicking and squirming wildly across the cargo bay. Batman’s heavy boots scuff, scrape and bang loudly on the metal decking as he continues to wield his legs, desperate to free himself from the bullwhip garroting his neck. Suddenly Batman slows, stops kicking and struggling as the sleeping gas takes its final effect. The strangling whip also doing its job. He is overcome: his more than strong body relaxes, the tension of his struggles failed… and limply lies face down motionless on the metal floor of the aircraft. Gone— both forward thrust hands uselessly frozen, still gripped around the braided leather of the hunter’s lash.
The hunter sighs in relief—the Dark Knight is down and out, completely helpless, no need for further worry… ready to be restrained and unmasked! He wipes his brow with the sleeve of his jacket and then tosses the whip’s handle casually to the floor. He approaches Batman stepping on the discarded Superman’s cape and stands over him. Batman is face down on the metal deck with his black scalloped gloved hands clenching his throat. Batman’s head is craned to one side and a trickle of drool runs from his mouth. His long black cape with scalloped edges is draped over his inert powerful body exposing only his calve high black boots. The hunter nudges the famed Batman’s shoulder several times jarring his head encased in a black cowl with the token pointed ears. Batman does not stir – the potent sleeping gas keeping the Dark Knight ensnared, unconscious in the ownering grip of his capturer. As the hunter tries to “tentatively” arouse Batman, the one masquerading as Robin cautiously approaches. The imposter is excited as Robin’s black cape settles in behind him, “Wow – what a show!”
“Yes, he’s a fighter... but his days as a free man are over,” replies the hunter. “All over. Strip those stupid, pointed ears off of our Batman, Ryan.”
“What?” asks Ryan, incredulous. “Me—unmask Batman?”
“Who else? Yes... don’t you want to see who you’ve reeled in? Caught, and helped finish? Another one for your scrapbook.” smirks the hunter.
The still masked boy hesitates, and then shrugs his shoulders. He pushes his cape aside and kneels down and grunts at the exertion as he rolls the big, heavily muscled man off his stomach and onto his back. Batman logs over onto his black cape followed by his substantially gloved arms. The scallops dance and then remain motionless as Batman’s arms come to a wan sprawl, resting at his sides. Ryan gazes in awe and wonder at the powerful body of the cowled man in the molded black bodysuit. His heavily muscled chest, arms and legs are clearly defined in the snug, adhering garb he is wearing. Almost as great a prize as if he were the astonishing Superman, Ryan thinks. The youth seems mesmerized as he continues to gaze at the “out of it” Batman, from his powerful, curve-mounded chest down to his manly, moderately trim waist, the length of his well-developed thighs, to his polished boots, which are scuffed and scraped from his engagement with the tough grated metal decking of the transport, futilely trying to escape.
“Wake up, Ryan—but take the utility belt off him, first,” chides the hunter. “Though I’ll wager it’s not the first guy’s belt you’ve ever unbuckled.”
“What can I say,” agrees Ryan. “But I was never a wild sleep-around—not all that many!” and snaps back to the matter at hand. Ryan peels off his own Robin’s black mask and tosses it onto the aircraft’s metal deck. Ryan then reaches under the utility belt and fumbles with the dull yellow belt to find the belt’s release. He unbuckles the belt and pulls the utility belt from around Batman’s waist, and offers it up to the hunter. The hunter takes the belt and slings it over his shoulder and says, “Now, unmask Batman!”
The caped young man thinks for a few seconds and then rises. Ryan then swings his leg over Batman and plants one black boot between Batman’s arm and chest on either side straddling the downed hero. Ryan moves his cape to one side and then sits on Batman’s powerful chest. He loosens and then removes the whip wrapped around his neck. He tosses the whip aside and rolls Batman’s head from side to side with his green gloved hands, to determine how the cowl comes off; eventually he reaches down and spreads the base of the rubber cowl under Batman’s chin and slowly pushes the hood back off the unconscious man as the hunter looks on approvingly. Ryan pushes the cowl back further and slides it off over Batman’s head completely, removing the famed Dark Knight’s disguise. Ryan then stands and looks down at the unmasked crime fighter. The face the mask hid is that of a very handsome, mature man – 42 plus years of age or so - with dark wavy hair that is sweat-soaked and disheveled. His blood-shot swollen eyes are closed and his head is to one side, a trickle of drool running from his open mouth.
“What I guessed, was right… Bruce Wayne! Once I knew Dick was Robin, it only made sense that Mr. Wayne was Batman,” says Ryan proudly.
“Nice work, Sherlock. Now, drag those chains over here and put Batman into them,” orders the hunter as he produces a cell from his inside jacket pocket.
“Put Batman in chains?!” asks the gaping Ryan as the hunter opens his phone and dials.
“Do I have to repeat everything—no, not you Shawn! Ryan, roll Batman over. Collar him, then chain his wrists and ankles together behind his back! Mercy! Get with it, kid!” orders the hunter with frustration. Time is ticking. Or we may need another dose of that shit to keep this fucker out... until I can inject him.”
Then into his cell: “Yes, Shawn… it worked like a charm. Batman blundered right into it. Caught by his own props. One effective whiff in his face, never knew what hit him…. Great work, you guys, great idea! Worked fine.” compliments the hunter, watching Ryan lock the cold steel band around Batman’s strong neck. “Call Jack and tell him were leaving by high noon; so get back here with Robin a.s.a.p. There is one more order of business to attend to, before we leave Gotham City,” orders the hunter as he closes the phone.
The rattling noise of moving chains cease as Ryan finishes securing Batman in the hunter’s metallic bonds. Not overly heavy, but more than enough to give any circus strong man double pause trying to break them. The chain then attached to the steel collar locked tight around Batman’s neck runs partially down his back... to which is also fastened his manacled wrists, and the bent knees of his ankles. Will keep him tame as a bull ready for slaughter. Finished, Ryan rolls the big man over onto his side – the steel chains rattle loudly on the metal floor of the aircraft as Batman is rolled. Ryan rises and stands over the unmasked crime fighter, and further sheds Robin’s cape and then pulls off the green scalloped gloves, tossing both to the metal deck, ready for bagging.
Ryan stares down at the so famous crime fighter feared by the criminal element of Gotham City in fascination. The brilliantly clever, and knowingly intrepid Dark Knight – defeated and unmasked! Who would have guessed just a puff or two of gas, and the greatly muscled, indubitably skilled mighty hero... could be laid-out, pussied down and quiet at his feet. Will no t rise again. Only Superman could break those chains! (And astonishingly—as he soon heard—he’s unable anymore! Downed and defeated, himself!!)
The hunter who had taken the utility belt from Ryan, shifts the belt across his shoulders, standing next to the fallen Batman. “You did great tonight, kid… I could not have accomplished this without you. I mean it,” concedes the hunter.
The hunter looks over at the strapping boy partially dressed in Robin’s dark green and dark red costume. “I could use a young man like you… we have a gig coming up in NYC. Interested?”
“Me?! I was scared shitless when Batman came aboard,” admits Ryan as he shifts his weight from side to side, thinking . “I, I don’t know if…” explains Ryan as he stares down at the defeated Dark Knight, big as he is, still in his famous costume, the winged silhouette of a bat emblazoned on it; chest and cape well-marked. His brain already churning, warping parts of his mind.
And he, Ryan, had done it!! Took down Batman!! What a rush!!!!
“Being scared is no big deal in this business… only a fool is not scared. Over-confidence , not fear, leads to failure, kid! No doubt what fucked the mighty Superman, his own bravado. In case, you didn’t know—we got him, too! Actually easier than these two, almost. Some months ago.”
Ryan, unaware Superman had met his doom as well, gaped. Though having heard he’d rather inexplicably vanished from his duties. His jaw dropped, wide-eyed, eager to hear of it.
“Yep, the once “invincible” alien. Our Boss lured him in, too... thought he had it all under control—until PPFFFFFFT! And gone! Down like a ton of fucking bricks. In mere seconds! Still doesn’t know what hit him. Last I heard... weeps like a baby every night, now,” Hunter grins.
“Whaa…?” Ryan in pure wonderment.
“But you’ll hear about it, later. Anyway, you’re good . You were resourceful enough to exploit Dick’s arrogance, and devise a plan that enabled you to turn Robin over to us. Masquerading as Robin to trap the Big Bat took balls, kid! And, on a selfish note, I do at times require someone with a sexual orientation such as you possess in my work,” explains the hunter, and confidently
rolling him over further puts his boot squarely on Batman’s bat insignia, haughtily engraved in the molded chest piece of his costume—no less symbolically declaring victory over the subdued Dark Knight.
“To keep him more in control,” the hunter brandishes a fair-sized ball gag. Indicates Ryan should further add to Wayne’s predicament. “Don’t let them communicate; short circuits them every time.” Ryan swiftly complies, gagging the unconscious Bruce. Looks down at his handiwork, then steps back. Wants some air.
Then Ryan laughs as he starts to undo the buttons of Robin’s dark red tunic, easing his tensions. “Batman doesn’t look so intimidating, now—chained, unmasked, with your boot on his chest! What happens to these birds, anyway?” asks Ryan.
“Somebody contracted me to capture Batman and Robin. Now I deliver the pair, and collect my money,” explains the hunter. “Let’s just say Batman and Robin—well… are in for a hell of a life-style change. Like our other wing-clipped, ‘so great’ Fairy Blue was.”
“Really -- Superman was gay?! ” Ryan, disbelieving.
“Not publicly. But surmised to be on his own—considering his equipment; apparently quite self-adept, and no doubt insatiably so. Why he was so easy to play. So over-cocked and confident, thinking he was unassailable, invincible.… No one could compare. Or dare! ”
Absorbing the possibilities. “Well, Dick Smith… rather Grayson, won’t be so fucking arrogant from now on – stripped of his costume and crime fighter status,” hoots Ryan as he walks to the other side of Batman opposite the hunter. Robin’s red tunic that he wears is unbuttoned exposing his own muscly chest and six pack abs. He places Robin’s black boot on Batman’s chest, too—alongside the hunter’s.
“Sure, count me in. I’ll go to work for you. Pay must be good...?”
“Beyond sterling. We’ll discuss it later. So good, when Shawn and Vince return, I’m taking them to Wayne Manor. This hangar is private, so your first assignment is to baby sit Batman and Robin while we’re gone. I have another set of chains for Robin. Keep them both gagged and heavily sedated,” explains the hunter. “They’re very resourceful, and will try to escape— especially Batman. Keep them drugged, you keep them down. Simple!”
“Will do… I’ll keep the boys asleep. Wayne Manor, why?” asks Ryan.
“I’m going to use pictures of my two captives here to persuade that snooty butler to give us a tour of the Batcave. I believe Batman keeps files on his rivals, as well as his foes. My employer is interested in acquiring other young men – currently one that goes by the handle of Spiderman,” briefs the hunter.
“Spiderman, he’s way cool,” adds Ryan as he removes his boot from Batman’s chest and peels off Robin’s dark tunic.
“Well, maybe you’ll get a chance to meet Spiderman, Ryan,” offers the hunter.
“Wow… but the Batcave must have an alarm, or something,” reminds Ryan as he tosses his discarded garments to the aircraft’s deck.
“Oh… I have a feeling that these utility belts I took from Batman and Robin’s waists are the electronic keys to the Batcave. I believe these two belts will give me unfettered access to all parts of the Batcave, and the secrets locked away there. I want to know what Batman knows about Spiderman, and all the other do-good fighters,” says the hunter.
And, once more, proudly grinds his boot into Batman’s defeated, pec-heavy chest. With an earned arrogance, equally confident, yet slightly demure… considering what lies ahead.
The hunter sighs loudly. “Looks like that old deviant down in San Miguel will get the Dynamic Duo to add to his collection of heroes,” he thinks to himself. “If I wrap this up quickly and get the pair to San Miguel before year’s end, I get an early delivery fee. I wonder what the old pervert has in store for Batman and Robin. Apparently, he’s infatuated with Robin. I’ve seen what he’s done to Tarzan and Bomba in his little plantation brig—and now hear he's done far worse to his most recent prisoner: greatest prize of all.
That old slob may be ugly, vile and demented, but he sure did bring down the “biggest of the big,” Superman! A feat no one else could manage or bring to pass, not even Lex Luthor! I can believe the old man now when he brags that he alone manipulated Superman, had the hero psyched out almost from the start—toyed with him like a cat with a drunk mouse; lured him in, caught him off-guard, netted by his own narcissistic arrogance, played him right down to his knees—of course, using Moro’s Island magic! (Such powerful stuff not even distance could hinder it!) Simply, swiftly, stripped the huge muscle hunk of his alien superpowers—then cruelly bound, cowed, and captured him… had him helpless, reeling and overwhelmed—wimped out, and literally crushed his sizable balls big time! Causing him to lose his mind, I hear. Said since he couldn’t really kill him (which would have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble), he could keep him in a world of hurt.
Who’d have thought that gross, waddling creep could so effectively bring down and overpower such as that magnificent, overly-muscled and endowed, wondrous Man of Steel?! Martin says he actually made Superman crawl on a leash into his cell... that he keeps the fucked alien completely naked, with his head tightly encased in a rubber clown’s hood, imprisoned in a dank stone cell! Powerless, keen-groaning, and vanquished—practically deaf, blind, and speechless. His superpowers erased, escape and rescue impossible... in totally, hopeless isolation! The once touted, “unconquerable” of all men… in overwhelming defeat!
No doubt, having happened so quickly and dramatically, Superman’s ego was not the slightest prepared for a setback of any kind… much less for such a sudden turn of his complete and devastating conquest—followed by such undreamed of abuse and torturous punishment. In mere moments, he had been transformed from the most powerful and god-like being in the Universe into a weak, cowering and sensory-deprived creature!! Whimpering in endless shock. Hardly a wonder that the great Man of Steel broke almost immediately... within hours, most likely, much less days of waking in horror to a perpetual nightmare as Bill said. Those first three days of total isolation, no food or water, had been indeed maddening, finding himself in a frantic-filled shock, bouncing off the walls and bars of his cell just as Martin had predicted. The words of the prophecy repeated in his head, over and over, as his panic, disbelief, and despair mounted. Even with his incredibly musculature, unable to free himself… his once great strength sapped useless.
“You’ll have plenty of time to contemplate the error of your arrogance, when you wake up and discover your head is encased in that thick rubber hood. You’ll stumble around your small cell dumbly, near blind, bouncing off the stone walls and iron bars, only able to breathe… deprived of most all sensory perception, you’ll find you'll sleep a lot too, SUPER-man .”
So it was, by the time Martin returned, the rest was simple in the hands of an expert like the demented tycoon. Superman soon demonstrated that he was indeed vanquished, hopelessly defeated… beaten and completely submissive, by stripping and surrendering his costume to his new master without a thought or sound. Revealing the miracle of his naked body, now fully seen from his shoulders and below and almost never viewed by any other, his huge man-breasts and genitals flopping out, loose and unpretentiously—an astonishment Martin could barely grasp existed. Yet standing still proud and straight, though docilely impotent, no threat whatsoever to anyone.
“And later, when I finally dismantled his ingrained, inherent pride, he did cave-in a bit more wanly. Now he's just a simpering, servile, nude and dog-like idiot, who'll never fully again see the light of day, or experience but partial moments of pleasure except to please me, his new master—a far cry from being the world's greatest and most magnificent superhero, something he will never be again,” Martin had recounted.
Martin, as the hunter continued to relay to Ryan… takes huge delight in having overpowered, and continuing to torment and whip the former Man of Steel. The greater Superman's suffering and degradation, the greater Martin's turn-on. Superman, at first, sank into a chasm of complete despair and hopelessness, a highly vulnerable state out of which Martin pulled him violently, effectively and ruthlessly. Without any means of communication, nor allowing for cries of mercy, the former unconquerable Superman was whip-trained by Martin to be obedient, respectful and compliant. He then leash-guided the former superhero to the parameters of his new environment, where and how to eat, drink, piss, sleep and defecate. And then coerced him into the skills necessary to complete the chores and feats the former hero was doomed to repeat continually. Totally isolated from others, and isolated even in his own environment, Superman now needs and looks forward to Martin's company, despite the constant abuse which is now his lot in life. So far broken has he become, he is now even eager for Martin's companionship and his approval, craves Martin's presence and garbledly “purrs” when he is infrequently praised by a pat on his confined head or given a caressing slap on his bare, still sculpted ass. (Bill ever in wonderment how the alien’s physique retains its inherent beauty and symmetry, though having lost some notable weight, regardless of his abuse… and has determined it must yet be from the sun’s radiation, which he is forced to absorb for hours daily during his tasks.)
But going further, to exact his revenge (as promised) for Superman’s ignoble desecration of his brig’s entrance gate, which cost him quite a bundle to have a crew to come out and repair from the mainland, (although under great secrecy much later)… he’d decided on a finely perverse and cruel punishment. Particularly since the alien’s truly treasured and greatest pleasure points had been so starkly, unequivocally revealed by the unmasking of his complete nudity.
After the first week and a half of his captivity, the unclothed alien (somewhat cognizant) was finally relieved to be roughly led out, stumblingly along, and bound upright into the bright sunlight (which he was but barely able to perceive)… then, arms and legs widespread between two sturdy whipping posts in the courtyard. Vestiges of his mind, hungrily welcoming the intense warmth of the sun on his bared skin (a modicum of near vanished hope), sparking the thought of perhaps renewing something of his great losses once more from within?!
But such was not to be. Deceptively, Martin initially stroked his whip handle over the bound Superman’s massive chest, the braided leather immediately causing the startled alien’s nipples to become provoked as before, and extending to astonishing proportions. (No doubt, the MOS remembering hazily the rich sweetness he once could draw from them… but alas no more! )Superman, vaguely expecting some former joy of his to again be resurrected, having almost forgotten such to be possible… but was however quickly short-circuited. For Bill then made sure his captive’s hands were next able to be forcefully rubbed over the broken bars and hinges of the gate he himself had destroyed, to refresh the fading remnants of his mind, so he might have an inkling of what and why “whatever” was to happen. (Since he could nevermore be “told” anything about anything….) Yet his prisoner quickly perceiving something dire, his heart lurched.
Island Boss Bill then, with little preamble, took two sets of sturdy vice-grips and had them fastened to the now overly-erect, once so treasured of Superman’s enormous three-plus inch long/thick nipples—who suddenly arch-moaned, and writhed in unexpected, painful shock. Then with the help of two burly assistants—rather than slicing them off— to cause the most forever discomfort, instead … had the MOS’s monster appendages pulled out hard and quick, dually at the same time—and viciously pierced through, one inch behind their fleshy, bulb-teated heads, with a pair of sharply thick awls!! It was the only time in all of his captivity that Martin ever heard Superman scream aloud (even through his ball gag!) The hugely muscled hunk instantly shrieked, torso-arced wildly, and fainted away in seconds. His mass hung limply between his restraints in ever soft-keening moans, while his nipples were then fitted with two-pound, shiny steel rings each, and left in place. His so big tits now more than heavily drooped, streaming wetly, profusely. As well as his giant dick.
Not finished, Martin then proceeded (the alien still spasming, while mercifully unconscious), and had his men do much the same with the alien’s impressive, 12 ½ -inch flaccid great penis, with a reverse Prince Albert inserted through his glans-head, weighing also two full pounds… stretching him down even longer, and assured of his never fully, boldly erecting again as before. As well, additionally having the neck of his scrotum snared and adorned with a stack of two sets of matching rings, four steely pounds worth (probably as much of a heft more than he was already carrying), which Superman would have to learn to walk and function with the rest of his days.
It took four of Bill’s men to carry the collapsed, marred alien back to his cell… where he was left in tossing, wailing isolation for another five days, until finally fed, and medically attended to, to make sure no infection had begun. Healing faster than expected, yet nonetheless irreparably “crippled”… taking another month for him to adjust to what had been done to him. Bill patiently awaiting the results, and minimally exercising him to allow the stunned creature to properly acclimate himself to his “extras.” Walking, indeed, difficult. A rather staggering gait he had to get used to. And the way in which he would be pushing the wheel. (Or might need to adjust for other “delights,” to which Bill might have him subjected.)
Martin thus now truly his master and his teacher, and his whole world revolving around his captor and what he can do to please him. Martin treats him like a dog, as though he has only the intelligence of a mere pet, and without senses, continually functioning at a very basic level; this becoming no less than the facts of life for the former superhero. Martin having managed to kill the supreme Superman’s will, resistance, and hope, and done it so effectively, the former Man of Steel is now entirely and submissively his creature. What was once considered impossible, accomplished: Superman’s complete vanquishment (and no doubt irrevocable).
“I wonder what difference Robin's presence will make to this dramatic mix?” pondered the hunter to Ryan. “The world will soon run out of heroes, if Bill Martin continues to prevail. There aren’t going to be many notables left after bringing down Batman and Robin. There is “our” young guy in NY City they call Spiderman. Next on the pervert’s list! Well, we shall see. The sooner the better; and the richer I’ll be.”
Ryan’s ego inflated at the prospects, the power he would be wielding as part of it. While the hunter’s concern for his delivered or future victims was almost miniscule, anymore. After all, if they were “weak enough” to fall—their problem, not his. Once such so-called “heroes…” now endless laughs. Then he could bag it out of here, safe and secure.
C’est la vie.
Fate goes to the most clever , not always the more skilled, swiftest, or the strong.... And often quite unexpectedly, the hunter mused. But, he must, himself—not forget to be vigilant!!