Copyright 2010 by the author
thobyandover@y7mail.com
The story is taking a convoluted path. In the previous episode, the discipline of the sidekicks was found to be wanting, and now they face their various punishments. Oh for a good healthy dose of superhero action and a properly constructed crime-plot with evil mastermind CAPTAIN VON HECKLE making a plan of genius! Not to be, it is feared, for Captain Von Heckle and the superheroes seem intent on providing their audience with a sordid series of low-grade, titillating vignettes designed for those with certain unsavoury enthusiasms! The Costumed Superheroes are dealing with concerns of a domestic nature and the villainous Captain is banging his whip and demanding the simplest of plot-elements – the capture of a sidekick so his antique Taiwanese dancing-rack can be tested. Well, read on if you must...
COSTUMED SUPERHEROES #5!!!
An icy chill nipped at the bare skin of the KID BUCK. His little nipples pouted and turned into hard stones. In the dark, he blew his long, dangling, lollipop fringe from his mouth and wiggled his knees for warmth. An uncomfortable, up-curving erection strained for attention at his belly as he thought of the epic indiscretion of the drunken night out with TEEN RANGER and SPARKY, and the battered beer-cans left rolling on the floor of the VEHICLE INTRUDER.
He stood naked in his yellow, winged boots facing the wall of a tiny cell – sixteen inches by sixteen inches – in the toy prison in the basement headquarters of the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES. One arm was bent up over and down behind his head, baring a deep pit, and the other bent upwards and behind from below, handcuffed at his shoulder blades.
NOCTURNAL INTRUDER's anger had been controlled, ominous, and palpable. Two weeks grounding,' – under punishment – had been the Intruder's judgement. The grounding' would be hell, and had begun in short order with the sidekick being dispatched immediately to fetch the long, black-leather buggy-whip. Then to the electric machine-hoist in the underground garage.
Upside-down and with his ankles spread wide, the bare-butted sidekick had filled the concrete cellars and corridors with noise. A young man's energetic shouting and hooting had ricocheted through the chambers, mixed with the shocking cracks of the whip as its bending, flying tail had broken the sound-barrier. Everyone had heard.
TEEN RANGER shuddered with a tingling mixture of horror and excitement four rooms away as he scrubbed tiles with a worn toothbrush under the angry eye of TITAN MAN. SPARKY had uttered little `ulps,' sucking in sharply as he heard the echoing cracking and yowling, writing a thousand times; "I must not come home drunk after having fallen asleep in the back of the VEHICLE INTRUDER and pissed in my shiny green latex hot-pants with lace-up crotch."
***** Dear reader, it is a sombre occasion. The sidekicks have worked themselves into an unenviable situation of trouble! Everyone is angry, and the COSTUMED SUPERHEROES are dealing with an unpleasant set of circumstances. The reader will not disagree that the sidekicks are in need of a hard degree of punishment – for NOCTURNAL INTRUDER, TITAN MAN et. al. have finally run out of patience, and rigid discipline is a requirement for the efficient crime-fighter! But it is difficult not to feel some sympathy. Poor TEEN RANGER has spent the day cleaning with his toothbrush. No breaks. SPARKY has been hard at work at his lines at a school-desk. And KID BUCK? With his hot-fired backside bearing twenty sharp cuts, the Kid was ordered to the dank little lower-level prison where we find him at this moment – handcuffed and confined. Read on! *****
The superhero Kid Buck stood in the dark on a cold, hard floor. There was nothing else except the close walls of the underground dungeon. So small was the cell, in fact, that his upward elbow could touch the unyielding surface of the ceiling. The compartment was about one-and-a-half foot square, without room to crouch, bend, or sit. In the pitch blackness, his fingertips – fluttering behind him near his shoulder-blades where his wrists were locked – found the rusty iron of the door. At the same time, his nose, forehead, or penis was able to feel the slimy cement of the cell's back wall, depending on which of the few postures available the young superhero chose to adopt. With some bumping and scraping, he manoeuvred and rotated to face the door. Through narrow chinks around the iron gate's perimeter, there was some light, but it soon extinguished. He was alone – locked up in the low basement of Superhero Headquarters.
"Prisoner of the NOCTURNAL INTRUDER!" the Kid thought to himself. "This is supposed to be the fate of crooks we catch! I always wondered what it would be like... It sounds like a movie. On one of the DVDs Teen Ranger and I rent from Adult Emporium World. It could be all about how Nocturnal Intruder catches a porn-star and keeps him locked up in a prison cell. Who would play me? Strype Hoser? No. I don't like him as much as Jonathan Thumpdong because Jonathan Thumpding was in Firemen's Blaze where he went up in a cherry-picker to rescue those dorm-boys and I've never been up in a cherry-picker but actually Jonathan Thumpdong doesn't have as big a cock as Strype Hoser so obviously Strype Hoser should play me and wouldn't it be good if Teen Ranger could be in it too and Nocturnal Intruder could put us both in the same cage..."
The confined Kid wriggled in the handcuffs and arched his back to ease his double-bent arms behind him – one up, one down. He wondered how much time had passed, and guessed maybe a minute. How long would he be here? All night! He hadn't thought about this when he'd gone out nightclubbing with Teen Ranger and Sparky. That had been some night! He remembered lip-locking with some cowboy on the dance-floor of Whiz-Bang, and scrabbling on the tiled floor of the bathroom while the guy grunted in his ear from behind. Then, Teen Ranger had found him and said "we gotta go! Sparky's spewed-up on the pool-table!"
Now, in the dark cell, Kid Buck listened to the sound of his own breathing. His cock lurched suddenly, and stiffened. He felt the torpedo-styled flesh-head of it kiss his navel, and the cool air brushed its thrusting underside and the ripening skin of his scrotum. He squeezed, and felt his balls draw upwards.
Time passed. A dribble of fluid ran down the swollen underside of his shaft – a tantalizing trail of warmth – and trickled into the hair of his ballsack. After an indeterminate period, there was another, and the painfully throbbing head-spout seeped the oily stuff, drip after agonizing drip. The distressed sidekick longed to stroke his creaking, begging shaft, but restrained uncomfortably with the handcuffs, he found whatever solace he could in pitiful, puppy-like whimpers which were amplified somewhat in the compact cell.
A second seemed like a minute and a minute seemed an hour. His tragically neglected member lubricated itself with its liquid bubbling from its reaching head and slicked its shank in futile anticipation. It streamed to the bottom of his sack and dripped to his inner thighs where it itched and trickled down his legs in an excruciating marking of time.
He felt a roach crawling on his leg. The insect, drawn possibly by the warmth and taste of his cock-fluid, meandered its way up. It found its way into the cleft of his butt-crack where he crushed it with a swift clench and a loud pop.
He could push his aching member against the steel of the door, but the metal was cold and rough. He twisted, wrenching his arms and banging his head on the door with a thump. He moved this way and that. He lifted a leg, striking his knee against the wall of his enclosure. After every frustrating contortion allowed to him by his confines, he cried out in genuine, pitched distress, and his cock continued to leak and throb.
Sparky curled-up in his cot in Superhero Headquarters. Surely he was the most miserable and unhappy sidekick in seven superhero universes! His hand was sore from grasping the HB pencil. "From now on," Sparky vowed. "I'll be the best and most choicest superhero ever! See if I don't!"
Teen Ranger crawled off to bed at 2:30am after having cleaned every commode in Headquarter to a high shine. "Tomorrow you'll polish every leather article in the entire Costumed Superheroes inventory!" Titan Man had said, gravely. "Starting at six!" "Yikes!" thought the Teen as he nuzzled the pillow. "Guess we better take it a bit easier next time we go out clubbing! I've never seen Titan Man so mad!... Oh...! Golly...! I've just time for a wank before I go to sleep!" In the next moment he was snoring, dreaming a strange dream of an angry Titan Man with a flexing, swishing riding-crop, and a young, purple-suited sidekick tied spreadeagled between iron-rail posts.
A droop-eyed Kid Buck was shocked fully awake by the ear-splitting crash of the iron cell-door as it slammed open against the concrete wall. In the next moment he was hit by an ice-cold jet from a fire-hose.
"YEEOOOOW...!!!"
"TO THE LINE, PUNK-BOY! MOVE! FULL-ATTENTION! COCK ERECT! MOVE IT!!!" The Intruder yelled as he clanged the slide-bolts. Kid Buck leapt. His muscles sprang as he jumped, lively and quick. He got his toes onto the painted line in seconds flat and was immediately at attention posture – but his arms were still folded behind and cuffed, one over, the other under. The tedium and deadliness of the sleepless night in the jail-slot was suddenly forgotten.
"GET THAT FUCKING COCK UP, BOY! FULL-ATTENTION, I SAID!!!"
No problem. The striving, bending male-meat surged and thrusted despite the cold hosing. The Intruder's voice assumed an icy gravity.
"You'll shape up as a sidekick, boy! You're grounded now. You're under orders at every waking moment! One whisker out of line, and there'll be another horsewhippin'!"
The Kid felt keenly the hot cuts across his backside. The first slash had stung the breath out of him and its incisive, loud crack had radiated to his being. The second had caught him while the intensity of the first was still rising and had blinded him with white light. The third... it had flashed like sudden strike of lightning... and then blended with the fourth. There had been sixteen more...
***** Dear reader, as Kid Buck considers his unfortunate situation and savours the possibility of further additions to the stripes already on his quivering rump – and Nocturnal Intruder sternly lectures him on this prospect, let us now proceed to see what SPARKY is doing! For he is on an early morning errand! *****
SPARKY raced up the street from Sylvester Swinburne's Sheertown Steam and Bath (home of the Costumed Superheroes Headquarters) in his tight green hot-pants and PVC lace-up vest.
"Yoinks!" he thought. "I must collect the Superheroes' bread and milk and papers from the corner shop!"
As he zipped along the pavement, Nocturnal Intruder's VEHICLE INTRUDER came grumbling by, heading into Sheertown.
"Early for a patrol," Sparky thought. "The Intruder usually does his crook-catching after dark."
The slap of superhero boots followed behind, and there, sprinting on the road behind the Jaguar XJS came Kid Buck, his bare torso and legs gleaming with a glaze of sweat, his cape flailing at full stretch, and his small Speedo hoisted firmly into a whip-striped ass. Sparky marvelled at the fast moving Buck, the flowing muscle and the sheer speed. The Kid's eyes were narrowed in tight concentration and he blew concerted, timed breaths from his cheeks as he flew past, eager... no... intent on staying right behind the black Jaguar.
"Yoinks!" said Sparky. His fingertips crackled with the electronic zaps of his unique super-power.
As the Vehicle Intruder surged on its gas and picked up speed and the striding young superhero followed obediently on foot, another vehicle pulled-up. Sparky noticed the white van as the Vehicle Intruder and Kid Buck receded along the Parkway.
"Hello. What's this?" the electrically-super-powered sidekick wondered.
"Hey, kid!" said the prawn-faced, tobacco-chewing fellow from the passenger window. "You're one o' them super-heroes, ain't ya?"
"That's right mister." Sparky had been warned often enough by ELECTRO MAN about crooks in black vans. Well, this was a white van, but still. Perhaps these were crooks in disguise! Sparky pursed his lips with wary suspicion.
"Yeah. We could tell by the super-hero getup," the wizened man said. "You shore are a purty little feller!"
"Offer him some sweets!" said the van's driver.
CAPTAIN VON HECKLE had sent out his men in small teams. "Get me a sidekick!" he had thundered! "Any sidekick! I don't care which! But there'll be a huge bonus for the men who bring me TEEN RANGER or KID BUCK! Do you hear!? You slovenly pack of incompetent cretins!!!" Whack went Captain Von Heckle's riding-crop on the table!
Whipper Daly and Trusty Joe had cruised the Parkway. "This is where we'll hook our undersized fish!" said Whipper. "The superheroes are always seen hangin' around these parts!"
"You might call them undersized!" Trusty Joe said. "That KID BUCK is a strapping big lad. I don't know how we'll catch that punk! Have you seen the muscles on him?"
"I have a special plan," Whipper said. "If we meet up with any sidekick!"
"Hey! Look over there!" said Trusty Joe. "Pull over, Whipper! It's one of the Superheroes on the sidewalk!"
"Which one?"
"The one in green hot-pants!"
"Which one is that?"
"How the fuck should I know!?"
***** Dear reader, the earliest ancestors of the creatures known as `Costumed Superheroes' were designed, in some way, to be instructive to youngsters. They formed a moral universe in which Good was good and Evil was bad, and in any universe young people should not get into vans driven by sinister-looking men chewing tobacco! In this community spirit and in keeping with the Comix Code of Conduct, drawn up by the good men and women of the Gay Erotic Decency Board for Cock-Thrusting, Butt-Busting Literature, The superhero-sidekick SPARKY will not climb into the afore-described white-van. Instead, he will exercise a very sensible course of action and gather intelligence on the suspicious vehicle and its occupants. The reader will breath a sigh of relief! *****
"You shore look like a fine young super-hero, kid," Trusty Joe said through his spittle-soaked gob of tobacco. "Why not climb in the back o' this here ve-heecle and ol' Whipper an' me here`ll give yer a tasty suck of our cocks!?"
"I'm not so sure, mister. I'm busy!"
"Them's a nice tight little pair o' pants yer wearin' super-kid! Are yer sure yer won't strip `em off an' show ol' Whipper here an' me yer cute little butt? In the back o' this here van?"
"I've got important superhero business to attend to, mister. Another time, perhaps."
"Well can yer tell us where we might find Kid Buck then? The blue an' yeller one. Kid Buck's got a snappy little ass an' he was featured in the papers the other day. A man has a hankerin' for some tight, accommodatin' ass!"
"He went up the Parkway. Just now. That way," Sparky said, indicating with his super-tingling finger.
TEEN RANGER vigorously brushed a black leather codpiece with a rag, shining its hard, bulbous surface. Piled on the floor nearby lay a heap of similar leather articles.
"Damn!" he said. "Didn't Kid Buck make a noise yesterday when he was whipped!? Did you hear him squeak, Titan Man? Huh?"
"You have a fair amount of work to do, boy," said the blue-suited Titan. "If I were you, I'd concentrate on that, and not on the whip-cracking discipline of your fellow sidekick!"
The teen-aged Ranger licked his lips and quickly adjusted his purple Speedo. "Say, Titan Man," he said. "I counted twenty cuts! And KB was hanging upside-down from the hydraulic engine-hoist! I'm going to ask him what it was like! Getting thrashed with a buggy-whip on the backside while hanging from his ankles in the garage! Oh boy! I bet it hurt, I bet!"
"You won't get a chance to ask Kid Buck anything!" the Titan informed his hard-working sidekick sternly. "He's attending Century City Council Chambers with Nocturnal Intruder for important meetings with Mayor Vilkinsword! And after that, he's still grounded for two weeks! No video games! No nightclubs...!"
"And he spent the night in one of the underground jail-slots!" the excited young sidekick interjected. "Being grounded by Nocturnal Intruder must be a lot of fun! I've always wanted to spend the night locked-up down there! Hey, Titan Man! How come you never put me in the secret jail? I've been just as bad as Kid Buck! How come I don't get to be locked-up in the secret, underground jail?"
Titan Man squared his manly jaw and narrowed his eyes under his rubber hood. "Watch it, boy! Quit jabbering and get on with your work!... And adjust your Speedo!"
"Ulp..." said the Ranger as he hooked an adroit thumb into his stretchy nylon waistband and hoisted the electric-purple fabric into the hard-muscled contours of its wearer. "On Wikipedia it said that Kid Buck is the most respected sidekick in the Costumed Superheroes Club of Century City and it said heaps more and it said that he's a fiercely disciplined' crime-fighter and for me it just said that I'm the purple-costumed callow' one and what does `callow' mean? And how come Wikipedia doesn't make sure all the writing on there is correct and how come it doesn't say anything more about me except my purple costume and...?"
Titan Man banged a mighty fist onto the table where he was working. "Teen Ranger!!! I'm trying to update the Costumed Superheroes website! Now will you please shut-up before you find yourself locked in irons in the underground jail you're so interested in!"
"Oh golly!" Teen Ranger said as he attacked the leather codpiece with the polishing rag and renewed energy.
The teen-aged super-spunk stuck his tongue between his teeth, determined to perform his superhero chores to his upmost. But his electric-purple Speedo was causing him some discomfort. Again, he slipped his thumb into the tight garment and made certain adjustments. The velvety nylon slid across the bulging, swelling surface of his sensitive flesh as he thought of the distinct possibility of being clapped in confinement by Titan Man in the Costumed Superheroes' underground prison.
He groaned as his stiff member cranked and strained against stretched fabric. His balls lurched, and his hand went to his crotch as he felt a warm, oncoming rush.
"What the...?" Titan Man said as he glanced toward his whimpering sidekick. His brow creased with anger as he saw for himself the cause of the Teen Ranger's discomfort. The small purple Speedo with white lightning stripes filled with thick jelly and overflowed to the concrete floor with glistening pearls of cream. Two pleading eyes turned toward the fuming Titan as the young sidekick unloaded his tensions in the spouting streams of his white-liquid manhood.
"Right! That does it!" Titan Man snapped. "Strip!"
***** At this juncture, the reader will feel some small degree of irritation, for the purple-suited Teen Ranger has led his audience down this path before, and his cock has an unfortunate habit of erupting at inconvenient moments, but such is the life of a healthy lad at the height of his sexual dynamism. Observe then, as the streamlined youth strips off his brief purple suit! In swift obedience, his cape is unattached from the silver-soldered chain about his neck. His tight t-shirt is whisked away – slipped over soft skin and rippling muscle – and scrunched into a ball, its versatile fabric no longer gripping the efficient V-shaped torso of the whip-waisted sidekick. Next, the basketball shoes and socks are torn away. Fast. For Teen Ranger can sense the impatience of the glaring Titan Man, and enticing thoughts of the secret underground Superheroes' prison still linger. Lastly, a quick wiggle of the hips and a hooked thumb sees the sodden Speedo removed. It snaps from the tightly-muscled bum and is thrown hither, soaked and laden with gooey spunk. The superhero is uncostumed! Naked and quivering, Teen Ranger awaits further discipline! *****
Titan Man snapped his fingers. "You sidekicks have been mollycoddled quite enough! Nocturnal Intruder has placed Kid Buck under hard punishment! Now it's your turn, Teen Ranger! Your antics are at an end! For you, the carousel is over!"
Teen Ranger's hands played unconsciously with his upstanding cock. Still firmly rigid and slick with recently expended come, it twanged this way and that. The Ranger's belly fluttered as he gaped, slack-jawed, at the mighty figure of the angry Titan Man.
"AND STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR COCK!!!" the T-Man roared.
"... B... But Titan Man..."
"ENOUGH!!! GET DOWNSTAIRS TO THE SECRET UNDERGROUND PRISON!!! NOW!!!"
As the naked sidekick fled smartly to the manhole and ladder which led underground, he thought to himself; "luckily, the only adventures of the Costumed Superheroes depicted in comic-book form will be our crook-catching capers! And not the private goings-on in the underground headquarters!"
Kid Buck sprinted with the Parkway traffic. The VEHICLE INTRUDER had vroomed ahead, carrying the Nocturnal One to his appointment with Mayor Vilkinsword and leaving the barely costumed boy-superhero hurrying behind. His cape snapped and fluttered behind and his shiny, winged boots thumped on the road. He ran swiftly, and his long blue-and-yellow hair streamed and bounced in time with his pace. He felt his tiny blue Speedo draw up into his rear crack where it formed a knotted cord, sucked tightly between his hard-muscled rump-cheeks.
"Hey, Kid Buck! Can I have your autograph!?" came a cry from a laughing gaggle of schoolboys running beside him on the sidewalk. They were soon left behind.
"Hey! There's Kid Buck!" yelled a shaven-headed man wearing knee-length shorts, loafers, and a pastel golf-shirt, with his partner who was wearing chisel-toed leather shoes, denim jeans and white collared shirt with black vest, carrying their shopping consisting of two French loaves, boutique coffee-beans and various fashionable vegetables. "Hey, Kid Buck! Caught any crooks lately?"
"I cut him out of the paper the other day," said the other one to his partner. "And stuck the pictures on our stainless-steel Smeg refrigerator with the doggy magnets. But of course you already know that. But shit! Here he is in the flesh! Look at that ass, will you! Narrower than the span of my hand!"
Their voices receded.
A white van drew up alongside the speeding, fleet-footed superhero. "We've lucked out!" said Trusty Joe. "Here's our mark! Kid Buck himself!" The evil faced villain rested his elbow on the window sill and leered through his black gob of chewing tobacco.
"Yeah, great," said Whipper Daly. "Whaddeyer suppose we do? Ask him back fer a snort o' coke and a turn on Captain Von Heckle's antique Taiwanese dancing rack? How'll we get the punk inter the van? Lollies an' sweets ain't gonna work wi' dis one, genius!"
"Why, it's der super-spunk Kid Buck!" said Joe from the window, grinning a horrid yellow grin of rotten teeth and black, tobacco-stained saliva. "Hey, Whipper! Check out da muscles on dis kid's ass an' thighs! Ain't Century City a lucky burg to have such a fine super-hero pro-tectin' it from all manner er' crooks an' baddies!? Whaddeyer say Whipper? Ain't dat a picher of a super-hero? Runnin' fast to catch some criminal, I espect!"
Kid Buck blew hard through his mouth. He had not the time or breath to interact with these course removalists in their van! He ran toward City Hall.
"Hey, Whipper!" Trusty Joe said again, grinning and leering.
"Why don't you just shut the fuck up!?" said Whipper. "Talkin's one thing but we've got ter figger some way o' catchin' that runnin' colt! Look et how fast it moves!"
Trusty Joe turned to his partner in evil-doing and gave a wicked look and a vile laugh. "Hee hee hee hee!" he giggled. "I got just the instru-ment! Looky here! It's full-charged"
Whipper Daly glanced down, and his thick, ugly lips spread in a disgusting smile. The silver and black tazer-gun glinted ominously in Joe's pudgy, sausage-like fingers.
"What've you been up to, dude?" said college-jock Cody Swingcock to his fellow college-jock Mathew Crack.
"Well, this morning," said Mathew. "The alarm-clock woke me up with its buzz. The first thing I thought was oh great, no classes today.' I went to the bathroom with a boner. My 8" cock was a rigid pole. I made a lazy inspection of my 5'11" swimmer's bod' in the mirror. I am really in great shape and my blonde pubes set off my shapely balls. My swim-training with Coach Evans has really given me a bod' that the girls admire when I'm by the pool. So I thought to myself; why don't I phone my pal Cody – that's you – and ask him what he's up to today? Maybe we can swing by the Parkway and check out the hot guys – I mean girls – and get a coffee.' So then I phoned you up and you said; `yeah. We college-jocks have no classes today and me – with my 5'10" wrestler's bod' and 10" cock – and you – with your 5'11" swimmer's bod' and 8" cock – could hang-out and shoot the shit about Coach Evans and think about our respective hot bods and the possibility of thrusting our pulsating cockshafts into our waiting asses.'"
"Yeah. That's what I thought too," said Cody.
"But you did think it," Mathew said. "You already told me about it."
"That's what I said. That was you talking just now."
"Yes. But I was telling you what you said to me. On the phone."
"But I already said all that to you."
"Yes. That's right. And I was repeating it back to you."
"Hey, look! Here comes a superhero!"
From their pavement coffee-shop table, the college-jocks eagerly viewed the swift-moving Kid Buck as he approached.
"It's the Kid Buck one!" said Cody. "He's got a 10" cock and tight Speedos! So hot!"
Trusty Joe aimed the tazer-gun from the van window and pulled the trigger. The small electronic dart, trailed by a coiled, invisible wire, shot out to its target. There was the sound of a zzzt as the dart punctured the skin of a firmly muscled rump-cheek, and Kid Buck felt a brief, agonizing jolt as his body collapsed.
"Did you see what I saw?" said Cody to Mathew. "It looked like Kid Buck collapsed in the road and those guys in the white van very quickly pulled over and bundled him into the back! Kid Buck seemed unconscious and one guy picked him up by his cape and the other guy reached down and gripped the superhero's Speedo and lifted him, making his Speedo wrench into his butt-crack!"
"Yes, I saw it," Mathew said. "But at the same time I was thinking about how Coach Evans once pulled my Speedo into my tight butt-crack whilst I was at swim-training and how my butt looked so hot and tight. And Coach Evans said so. And all the other guys on the swim team commented on how my Speedo was pulled up like that, into my butt. Fuck! I'd love to be a superhero and wear a Speedo all the time!"
"I learnt about this in Psychological class," said Cody. "At CCU, from Professor Edel Gold. He said that the superhero/sidekick relationship was a warm enveloping psychological enticement, replacing the ideal father/son bond lost during childhood and forever sought thereafter in life-situations. Professor Gold said that any college-jock was welcome to explore this field of study in his office, with Professor Gold as personal mentor, but not nerds, only jocks with tight, firmly rippled asses and preferably with smooth pecs and nipples like quarters. But I wasn't listening because I was making out with Sam in the back row of the lecture theatre – that's Sam from the CCU gymnastics team. No! I mean Sally. Sally from the Ballet squad."
"All the same," said the other college-jock. "I think I'll make a note of that white van's licence-plate. You never know when a Century City Superhero might be kidnapped and captured by a gang of crooks!"
***** Dear reader, at this juncture you will be wondering what on earth two college-jocks can possibly contribute to the well thought-out storyline. Wonder no longer. It is nothing. Excepting whereupon one college-jock has obtained the licence-plate number of the white van where Kid Buck has been captured. Remember this. For it is very possible that the author will remember also, and use this information in the story's happy conclusion. But right now, Kid Buck is unconscious in the back of a baddie's van, zapped with a Tazer, and Teen Ranger is clapped into an iron yoke in the basement of Superhero Headquarters. Titan Man has run out of patience with his errant sidekick and the Ranger – with his wrists locked – cannot stroke his heaving cock! Read on! *****
The muscular teen-aged typhoon groaned and writhed in his iron constraints. "Ohhh!" he moaned. "I thought this would be fun!"
His straining member thrust to his belly and begged for attention. "Titan Man!" he wailed. "My cock's hard again! And I'm uncomfortable"
"I don't know what you're complaining about," Titan Man said sternly as he jingled the keys to the padlocks. "You always said you wanted to be locked up in that thing! You'll just have to remain here with a hard cock until you learn to settle down!"
"Titan Maaaaaaan! Let me out of this thing!"
The tightly tressed teen-aged typhoon struggled and wiggled. His ankles were parted wide, fettered to the lower iron bar which, with the uprights and the horizontal top-piece, formed a square. He rattled the bits and pieces, his neck and wrists locked in place to the frame.
"Well, this is kind of horny," he said. "But only for a few minutes."
"You'll be here for more than a few minutes, boy! I need a good long break from your ridiculous outbursts! I should have followed Nocturnal Intruder's example and started using this equipment a long time ago!"
"You'll come back in half an hour, right?" said the stringently secured sidekick.
"We'll see."
"By then I'll have learnt my lesson, right? Oh golly! This is horny all right! I can hardly move!"
With a final jingle of the keys, Titan Man departed from the gloomy, underground room.
"How about you let one of my arms out?" the rigidly restrained Ranger shouted. "Titan Man? I want to have a wank!"
"Hey! Titan Man! My nose is itchy! Hey...!"
***** At this juncture it may be prudent for the reader to withdraw, leaving the Teen Ranger to his chastisement, worrying about his itching nose and his painfully throbbing member. Now, Sylvester Swinburne. Remember him? The proprietor of Sheertown Steam and Bath, and the only person outside the Costumed Superheroes Club of Century City to know the whereabouts of the secret headquarters – underneath his famous establishment. What is he up to? Read on! *****
"Tsk! It's a long time since I've been down here," Mr. Swinburne muttered, making his way along the dark corridor. "It certainly needs sweeping. Now, I think there's a cleaning-gear room along here somewhere. I'm sure the superheroes will appreciate my tidying-up. In here perhaps. Gads! It's dark!"
"... Hello... What's this? Why, young Mr. Teen Ranger! What are you doing here?"
"...Erm... Hello Mr. Swinburne..."
"Why, that's the old iron manacled pillory I purchased when Grimme Prison had a cleaning-out sale. Thought the superheroes could use it. And I see they have."
"... Erm, I'm just testing it out, Mr. Swinburne..."
"Well, you certainly seem excited to be doing so, young Mr. Ranger, If I may say. Makes one wonder where the young Mr. Teen Ranger may have misplaced his costume."
"Oh... er... I think I just forgot to put it on this morning. Thanks for reminding me, Mr. Swinburne..."
"...Ah yes... Seeing your naked, lithe young body stretched to the extremities of that device reminds me of old Governor Hardebarr of Grimme Prison. In the good-old days, he would select an inmate from the Punkers' Dun every Sunday, to be pilloried like that at Flush Market Square. The Governor and I used to get along quite well at the Codger Club, you know. Cigars in the smoking-machine while we viewed the latest stereoscopes. He showed me quite a few stereoscopic images he'd taken of his pilloried delinquents. Well-conditioned young colts, every one of them, from Governor Hardebarr's rock-smashing regime. Many of them exhibited a healthy forwardness, as you do now, Mr. Teen Ranger. Quite a thing to see on a stereoscope! Fully naked they were, of course, as you are, and twisting and sweating in that penal device while the throngs threw rotten fruit and vegetables! Those were the good-old days!"
"Oh, golly!"
"Haven't laid eyes on it for quite a while. Workmanship's a bit rough, but it's sturdy enough. Has to be, to hold onto a stout younker such as yourself, eh, Mr. Teen Ranger? They knew how to make things in those days. Nowadays, I understand they fasten the punkers with plastic cable-ties in the punishment block. Ptchou! Soft! That's what they are! How's a glue-sniffing, graffiti-tagging delinquent to learn his lesson unless he's fucked with a greased tow-ball, splayed out in public and spray-painted with his own aerosol cans? Governor Hardebarr knew how to treat the anti-social fuckers! There was far less crime in those days you know, Mr. Ranger. Thanks to people like Governor Hardebarr. Yes. Old George was a jolly nice fellow..."
"Um, Mr. Swinburne... what about the punkers in the penile device, in stereo?"
"... And he knew how throw a horsewhip. You should have heard them yelp and yowl, Mr. Ranger, when Hardebarr's lash caught them smartly on the behind! Crack!!!"
"Gosh!"
"Tied to the prison flogging post they were. And you know something, Mr. Teen Ranger? Sometimes the end of the leather tail would curl around and catch them on the balls! Ha! Yes indeed! Governor Hardebarr was an expert in a lost art! Some officials used to like to crack the tail right up between the cheeks and flick the howling punk's butt-hole! How'd you like that, young Mr. Teen Ranger?"
"Yow!"
"Yes. That old iron pillory you're in has taught many a lad a valuable lesson! I hope you haven't lost the keys."
"No. Titan Man's minding them."
"Good. When I think back to the good-old days and how George Hardebarr and I used to share tales of bondage and discipline in the Codger Club, it makes me wish he were still here, still governing Grimme Prison, and still fastening some well-muscled street punk into that iron for an arse-fucking and a spray of rotten tomatoes!"
"Me too, Mr. Swinburne! Maybe Titan Man will give me an arse-fucking with a tow-ball!"
"Maybe he will."
"It's just so uncomfortable!"
"Meant to be, young Mr. Ranger. If you broke a window or ripped the top off a gas-candle, or stole a shepherd's pie, and Governor Hardebarr got hold of you, you'd be nailed up like that all Sunday, in the middle of Flush Market Square! And that was your day off! The rest of the week would be spent rock-smashing in the Grimme Prison Compound!"
"Brrr!"
"And that's not all! Governor Hardebarr kept a locker full of army-navy discipline harnesses, with scrotum-cuffs and rear-fitting compliance batons..."
***** Dear reader, at this juncture it may be prudent to leave off from Mr. Swinburne and his interesting tales. He has Teen Ranger's rapt attention, and fascinating though the prattlesome gent's accounts may be, we must remember that Kid Buck has been captured by Captain Von Heckle's hold-up men, and in the next episode, all the Costumed Superheroes' attentions will be focussed on that quarter! Until then, think of Teen Ranger, locked upright in the iron yoke from Grimme Prison! And here's one final epilogue! *****
"Shit! That old Mr. Swinburne can sure talk!" Teen Ranger thought to himself after the white-haired gentleman had left. "But it was interesting hearing about the army-navy discipline harnesses with scrotum-locks and rear-fitting insertion batons! I had no idea the history of Grimme Prison was so interesting! Hey! Someone's coming! I hope it's Titan Man to let me out!"
"Teen Ranger! What are you doing here?" said Sparky.
"Well, not much, obviously!"
"You're locked up in that old iron pillory thing!"
"Yes, I am aware of that!"
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Pull me off! Quick! I'm dying to blow!"
"Oh... yeah... sure..." Sparky's fingertips sizzled suddenly with his electrical power. He approached the writhing form of the naked, manacled superhero and reached out with his tingling hand.
"Hey!!! Yeow!!! Oh boy!!!" the confined Teen Ranger yapped as his inflated member was filled with a surge of exquisite, vibrating power.
"Hooo boy!!! That's fantastic!!! Don't stop, whatever you do!!!"
"I'm not doing anything!"
"Just touch it!!! Touch it again!!! Damn!!!"
There was a crackle in the air and small blue sparks flitted from Sparky's fingers.
"AAAHHH!!! AAAHHH!!!..."
SPLAT
"Ohhhhhhhhhh!!!..."
"Yoinks, Teen Ranger! You just splurted up to the roof! How are you going to clean it up? We've been in enough trouble already!"
"Sparks," the Ranger panted. "How come you don't wank yourself twenty-four hours a day?!"
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