I noticed it just a second too late. It must have been a microscopic speck. But I could feel it. Kryptonite.
I was having breakfast with my brand new sidekick, Gad. He sought me out after a battle one day and begged to join me. I refused and flew away. I don’t take sidekicks anymore. But battle after battle, he kept showing up and asking. He was insistent, and I liked that. But one look tells you he is not fighting material. He bleached and dyed his hair in chunks of red, blue, and gold, and he’s got a few nose and eyebrow piercings that tell me he doesn’t take things seriously. He’s got some lean muscle— maybe he swims or runs— but he lacks strength. I ask him what his specialty is— karate, wrestling, MMA? “Mechanical engineering!” he proudly replies. I stare at this college punk in disbelief. How will he ever fight crime with equations? “...and also Tai Chi!” What!? You mean the slow walking thing for old people? I roll my eyes and start to fly away when I realize his engineering skills could be useful at home. “Can you fix complex machinery?” His eyes beamed as reassured me of his excellent skills and years of experience with advanced machines, modern robots, “anything on the cutting edge of modern technology.” “Well, that sounds great! I think you would be the perfect person to take a look at my broken coffee machine.” He made a feeble attempt at suppressing an eyeroll, graciously thanked me, and came over the next day.
Over the weeks he actually proved useful, not just fixing, but also improving my equipment. Not that I needed any of it for battle, but I have to spy on my enemies somehow. One day, after a battle, I returned home and looked for Gad. I searched around and was startled by a voice behind me: “Hey Superman...” I turned around and saw... me... or was it me? I recognized the tight blue lycra suit, which clings tightly around my body, snuggling every muscle. Even today, I can still feel how with even subtle movements of my body, or while fighting, the lycra rubs and groans against my skin. Or how the lycra compresses my body to be tight and firm in Earth’s pathetically weak gravity. But I saw something else... something I hadn’t seen in a long time... those bright red briefs.
I used to wear them long ago. They looked great with my red boots and cape. Those briefs were the focal point of the image of masculinity and strength I projected. They sculpted my meaty manhood into a smooth, plump bulge, on display for all to see. They showed the world that yes, I am a SuperMAN. And unlike Earth men, my balls were not a point of weakness. Many villains tried to bust me. But I am the Man of Steel, they are too weak to hurt me. I am clearly more of a man than they are. But over the years, Earth’s conservative culture began to chip away. I could tell my humble parents quietly didn’t approve. Others would often bring up my red briefs in conversation, making things awkward. And I noticed that other superheroes worked to hide their bulges. Eventually I caved and decided to drop the red briefs. That was years ago. I had almost forgotten about them. But now, here they were... in front of me. Oh, they looked so great, even better than my memory. How they restrain my package by squeezing my balls just right. I remember the intense feeling of running my fingers over my briefs, how the texture of the tight and shiny fabric transmitted my fingertips to my scrotum. Yes, I remember these feelings, as I am looking at this bright red, plump bulge in front of me, and just as I—
“Superman! Um... Helloooo...?” Huh? It’s... it’s Gad? “I see you like my outfit”, he said with a cheeky smirk. “S-sorry, Gad, I—“ “No. My name is not Gad anymore. I am now Superboy, your sidekick.” Wait— What!? My sidekick!? He’s weak! He doesn’t have superpowers. How can I take him to battle? He would be destroyed. I’d have to rescue him every time. No way I could ever rely on this scrappy punk. He still hasn’t even gotten around to fixing the coffee machine! “Better you stay at home and do what you do best.” He looked at me with utter heartbreak.
So the following weeks were pretty much the same, except that Superboy went about his tasks in his super suit with bright red briefs. Fine by me. Every time I saw him come around, I found myself glancing at his jewels. And, embarrassingly, I only later realized I got semi hard when looking at Superboy’s package. Now I need to be clear. I am not gay. Many men have thrust themselves upon me, and I have never felt attraction for them. But Superboy is different, perhaps because he somehow is a version of me. A scrawny, nerdy, rainbow-headed hipster version of me, but it is me nonetheless. But I must admit, he is well endowed! His cock is about average length, but has proper girth. His balls are that of a champion. His manhood fills the briefs to the brim, leaving a somewhat floppy basket that tastefully balances smoothness and detail. Meanwhile for me, I always felt Earth tailors had difficulty with my generous manhood. My bulges always felt a little bit too restrained in comparison. That makes for a tight and super smooth bulge, and this has its appeal, especially in movies for prude Earthlings. But I can see that Superboy enjoys more freedom in his fabric, which shows off more details of his manhood. I admire the audacity he has to showcase his finely clad bulge.
I asked him over breakfast about his choice to bring back the red briefs. His face lit up as he told me how, years ago, he saw me in an old movie wearing those red briefs. He wondered why I chose them, so he searched around online for men’s fashion on Krypton. That was not easy. After exhaustively looking through increasingly distant planets, he found a long-lost archive of images of men’s fashion from Krypton. He pulled out his phone and showed me images of all kinds of Kryptonian men. They all wore spandex suits. And they all showed off their bulges! “There was a sophisticated culture around showing off that you were a man. Look, here was the prime minister!” This was a man much stronger than me. And his enormous sky blue bulge prominently protruded from an elegant outfit of lycra and other fabrics. Just as I start to think about how I’ve been suppressing my Kryptonian, bulge-displaying heritage all these years, I realized that with the spoonful of cereal I just ate I swallowed a speck of Kryptonite.
Ok. Panic. Wait. Breathe. Ok. First, it’s not enough to kill me. All right. But how much is it? I could barely sense it at first, but now it’s inside me. This isn’t good. I feel dizzy. “We are in trouble.” I murmur. As a I start to slip away, henchmen break through the windows and kidnap us.
I awake to find myself in an arena. Again. I see my sidekick tied to a frame with his arms and legs spread out, exposing his vulnerable bulge. Again. And surprise, who else is standing next to him, again, but Lex Luther. This time he is wearing an all-white spandex body suit that has no chance of concealing his hard-on. Lex has been the reason why I don’t have sidekicks. The moment he finds out, he has us abducted, and devises some sadistic game of torture that ends up destroying my sidekick’s balls. I remember my first sidekick, Blue Lightning, who got his balls zapped and smashed with Thor’s hammer. Or The Crusher— he was a very strong human, I had high hopes for him— but Lex used a mortar and pestle to pound and grind his balls to a pathetic pulp. Or poor Sky Sailor, who could actually fly (sorta), but was no match for Lex’s steel boots. I remember kicks #47 and #51, which were each punctuated by a distinct popping sound and the extraordinarily agonized wail of a man who was losing his manhood. I never met any of my former sidekicks after they suffered their emasculating hazing ritual with Lex. I imagine they are ruined. Human men are so weak.
I look at Superboy futilely struggling to escape his restraints. This time is different. Lex doesn’t have some random sidekick wannabe up there. That’s me up there! He is going to attack me! He is going to hurt my long-lost red bulge. I can’t let him get away with this. I rush at him and find myself knocked back by a shield. “Oh ho ho, Superman.” You know attacking me is against the rules of our game. Penalty: ten hits.” A tennis ball cannon emerges from the ground underneath Superboy. Its barrel is pointed straight at Superboy’s package. “BOOM—GAAAAAAAHHH!... BOOM—RRRGGGHHHHHHH!... BOOM—AAAAAOOOOOUUUGGGGHHHHH!...” Every muscle in his face and body are working hard against his restraints. But despite all his struggling, his bright red target remains in the crossfire. Watching Superboy suffer like this makes me feel sympathy for the first time for an Earth man’s suffering. I wonder what the pain must feel like... pain in the very part of a man’s body that is supposed to define strength.
“Ok Superman. Be prepared to fight my army of robots.” I roll my eyes. Villains try robots from time to time. They might work against other superheroes, but I always crush them like a soda can. “And remember, for every robot you destroy, I will launch 20 tennis balls at your pathetic doppelgänger.” As the robots emerge, I realize there is no way Superboy is going to withstand hundreds of tennis balls. I take one last look at him. At his tense body and and flinching face. At his beautiful bright red bulge. This is goodbye, Superboy. I face the robots and start walking toward them, surveying the different ones. And then it hits me.
I remember Krypton. I remember it now clearly even though I was a baby. The planet was going unstable and about to explode. Before my parents placed me in the rocket, all around us men were screaming, holding their balls. My father— oh, my own father!— wearing a black bodysuit with a bright red stripe running down the center and accentuating his bulge. The look on his face... agony and strength... Why were his balls and everyone else‘s balls in pain? Did it have to do with the planet? Were Krypton’s men connected to the health of their planet? That connection. That pain. I am starting to feel it. Wait, I am? My balls? They are hurting? How?
I snap out of it. Yes, it hit me. An impact. A comet strike? My balls? Ohgod no no my balls they hurt. Wait is that really pain? ow... owowOWOWOWOWOW I’m not supposed to feel that much pain down there! That’s my manhood! They can’t! They—OOOOOOWWWWWWWW!! My balls squish, squirm, and squeeze around my suit, while wobbling, vibrating, and aching. The crushing pain of the impact gives way to waves of aches that wash across my body and focus on my strained abdomen. My ears are ringing, the outside world is tuned out, all I know is this pain. I observe myself slowly collapsing on the ground. I clutch my tender crotch and massage it with a whimper. I now understand the warm relief a hand can lend. I now understand the weakness that comes with the strength of men. I now understand ballpain.
“....aaahahahahaahaaa.... Oh this is even better. I finally got you, Superballs! After... decades? These robots are powered by neopyrrhium, an element that existed on Krypton and is extremely hard to find. That robot used neopyrrhium to crash a steel ball into the Man of Steel faster than the speed of light. You could have never noticed! Oh yes, my robots are stronger and faster than you. And finally I will crush you and your pathetic balls.”
With a burning ache in my groin, and my sore abs, I grit my teeth and jump into the air. I’m Superman. I’m not going to let Lex get away with this. But in an instant I get lassoed by a cowboy robot and he yanks me back to the ground. My arms are tied up, and I thrash my legs about. The robot, wearing steel toed cowboy boots, grabs my ankles and gaspedals me. I squirm and groan. I can’t grab my balls for relief. He stops, and then produces a jackhammer, which he mashes into my crotch and turns on full blast. Each pound of the jackhammer digs into my tender orbs, causing a sharp, stabbing pain that makes me afraid that my balls will be split in half.
But I eventually use my heat vision to break my arms free and yank the robot’s legs out causing it to fall. I quickly zoom away, but I find myself tangled yet again. This time it‘s some octopus robot. My arms and legs are completely ensnared. Then another tentacle slurps onto my bulge, and begins sucking and vibrating! Ohhhhh I have never felt anything like this before, it actually feels good, especially after the busts I suffered. More at ease, I think of Superboy, and his bright red bulge. Superboy. Oh right, Superboy! I can’t stay here like this, I need to save him! I try to struggle to break free. I work hard to pull my bulge out of the tentacle. Every time I pull away, my balls groan at the extra suction caused. The harder I try the more they ache. Eventually I free my balls with a “plop!” and slip my limbs out of the tentacles. I zoom away as fast possible.
I check my package. Huh, my balls are easily 2-3x the size. And a quick flick test told me they are a lot more than just 2-3x more sensitive. And my cock was swollen and pointing straight up, exposing my balls further. This is bad. Have I met my match? I can’t think about this, because a group of five karate robots rushes toward me. I surprise them by zooming to the one that is straying further away from the pack. I use all my strength to take it out, and it cracks and hisses as it flails uselessly about before collapsing. “Good job, Superman. Finally, one robot down.” And then “BOOM—AAUUUGGGHHHHHHH!” I turn briefly to see Superboy screaming and squirming, but I can’t lose focus. One hit from these robots and I am down. I start attacking the rest, but I can only really keep up with them. It takes a lot of awareness to keep track of these four robots surrounding and attacking me. But I constantly lose focus due to the throbbing pain in my tender balls, and to the series of screams coming from Superboy. On hit #18, Superboy lets out a whimper after a scream. Oh no, is he really hurt? Should I— oh wait no, don’t lose focus— and with that, one robot lands a solid uppercut to my balls. Yeeeooowwwww! I feel that fist connect with my potato-sized balls, which are then firmly clamped to my pelvis and transmit the impact which launches me in the air and toward another robot. Before I get the chance to react, this robot nut-punts me back into the air toward another one. They take turns playing hacky sack with my balls this way. After an agonizing eternity, they stop and I curl up on the ground. Three robots then pin me down, and the fourth one uses my sack as a punching bag. Punch after lunch, I start to fade out, overcome by the pain. I see Lex has won. I should surre—
“Enough!” Lex stops the robots. “Seems like you’re too weak to destroy your sidekick. Here why don’t I give him back to you. That way you can both be crushed side-by-side.” He said this while stroking his raging salmon. I was mortified. If these robots introduced me to pain, I can’t imagine how an Earth man would respond. Superboy is going to be completely pulverized. He is doomed. Lex unties Superboy and tosses him into the arena. He collapses on the ground as a heap of flesh and lycra and pain. I can see his hands massaging his battered bulge and can hear his soft groans. Lex starts the robots again, and my robot resumes pounding on me. My eyes are on Superboy. He gets up. One of the robots approaches him. Looks like a boxing robot. This robot is probably almost as strong as me. Just one low blow to Superboy’s bright red briefs will spell the end.
The robot wastes no time in launching the first strike. And the robot... misses? And misses again? Um, was this robot defective? I focus to slow down my perception of time. I see Superboy calmly slipping past the robot’s attacks. It’s very subtle, it looks like he isn’t doing anything at all. After letting the robot try to attack a few times, he leaps into the air with a front flip over the robot. This is a marvelous sight, seeing him launch himself in the air in slo-mo, his scissor legs showing off his bright red bulge as it arcs over. While in mid-air, he quickly thrusts his arm into an opening in the back of the robot’s neck and pulls out some wires. The robot sizzles and seizes, toppling to the ground. I had no idea Superboy was capable of this. It was beautiful spectacle. My robot starts punching more frequently, and I lose my slo-mo focus. Through clenched teeth and screaming testes, I see how the cowboy robot sneaks up behind Superboy. He tosses his lasso, and again it looks like he misses while Superboy just stands there. It takes a few tries before I observe the cowboy robot getting tossed over Superboy onto the ground. Did he grab the lasso and yank on it at just the right time? Superboy jumps on the fallen robot, and again seems to find the right spot to pull out wires and cause fireworks. He continues to make light work of many of the other robots. As the pile of scrap metal grows, I can see the increasingly confused and panicked look on Lex’s face. Eventually my karate robots let go of me and head toward Superboy, apparently in a desperate change of command.
I am relieved at the break I get from all this pummeling. I stay quiet and nurse my throbbing balls while watching in slo-mo Superboy battle all these robots. He is like fluid, ever aware of the motion around him and finding the minimal amount of effort needed to slip by. He also clearly understands robots, and knows after a few seconds of observation where the weak spot is. “So is that your Tai Chi?”, I ask in awe. “You tell me, I thought Tai Chi was for old people”, he retorts with his trademark smirk. His particularly crowning moment was somersaulting off the head of the final karate robot after pulling out wires from its navel. I have never seen anything so graceful, him sailing in the air with elegance and determination and again his bulge in full display. I spied him starting to look at me. I could see the corners of his mouth turn up to form a grin. And then I felt something familiar. With a wave of panic I turned on super-slo-mo. This time I could see it.
Superboy frozen in the air. A flash of light. A steel ball appears, races fast, crashes into Superboy’s danglers. When the cannon robot nailed me, I remember feeling the dull kthunk of a direct impact. But this ball seems to have aimed too low because after crashing into Superboy’s balls, the steel ball sails straight through his legs. Good thing Superboy wears such a loose bulge. A direct hit would have spelled doom. I could see Superboy’s bits flailing about in response to the grazing impact. The wave of tension spreads from between his legs. His muscles seize. His grin starts to slowly transform to a grimace. I need to rescue him.
I zip into the air, scoop him up, and fly him to the opposite side of the arena to buy us time. He wails and shrivels up on the floor, clutching his manhood. “They’re coming. Get back on your feet or we are both toast. You have five seconds.” I turn around to shield him and face the oncoming robots. I see the cannon robot approaching me and brace myself. KTHLUNK—GGGYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH Oh dear god it hurts way more than the first time owowowowowo—KTHLUNK—YYYYYOOOOWWWWWWWWWGGGHHHHHRRRRR I clench my teeth and tense every muscle in my body. KTHLUNK-URRRRRRRRGGH I clench my fists by my chest to fight the urge to cradle my aching nuts and collapse on the floor. KTHLUNK-GGGGGGHHHHHHH I have to keep this robot distracted can’t hit Superboy. KTHLUNK-GGYYRRRGGHHH Superboy yeah he’s up great he’s disabling the—KTHLUNK—AAAHH!—DDDRRRGGHHHGGGHHH disabling the other robots?? gotta stand it endure keep distracting the—KTHLUNK—GYAAAUUGGGGHHHHHHHHRRRRRGGHHHH no way I can do this yes I— KTHLUNK—YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH gotta protect gotta protect gotta—KTHLUNKTHLUNKTHLUNK—YYYEEEOOOWWWWUUGGHHHAAAAAUUUUGGHHHHHHH—what three times in a row I can’t even—KTHLUNKTHLUNKTHLUNK—EEEYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH—this is too much this pain it’s—KTHLUNKTHLUNKTHLUNKTHLUNKTHLUNK...
I’m there again. I can feel their collective pain. Since ancient Kryptonian history, men have been busting each other. Though eras and trends varied, some norms were inviolable. It was considered gentlemanly to dress in a way that accentuates your bulge and leaves it vulnerable, in order to be considerate of other gentlemen who would bust you. Mutual busting was a ritual that allowed even mildly acquainted gentlemen to bond. Different social situations called for different busting protocols. Non-consensual, or non-mutual busting was inconsiderate and taboo. However, in the generations leading up to Krypton’s demise, some villains wore cups and started attacking men without reciprocity. Eventually an army of men formed, which also wore “protection” and eventually stopped the villains. However, feeling the thrill of liberal busting freed from conservative norms proved addictive, and they eventually became the next wave of ballbusting villains. The world was soon engulfed in a panicked busting frenzy. Norms slowly broke down, and gentlemen started to bust indiscriminately. Hysterical busting mobs roamed about. That’s when the first global kryptonquake hit. Mysteriously, all men felt an aching rumble in their balls. The quakes returned, getting stronger, and causing more and more damage. I can feel it in my balls, too, now, the agony of billions of men consumed by the fire of an exploding planet, and the fire of their own tortured orbs.
...spark pop flash hiss... what is ugghhh is that? Superboy! Standing triumphantly on the malfunctioning wreck that was the cannon robot. Oh what a relief! I look around at the robot corpses littered about, at the heap of around one hundred metal balls all dented with the imprint of my own balls, at Lex who clearly blew a massive load. “You may have won this round, but my new army of robots are going to destroy your balls!” And with an evil cackle he hops into an escape pod and vanishes. Superboy hops off and walks to me. “Aren‘t you glad I saved you?”, he says with that smirk again. “You? I was the one who saved you. Besides—“ and I say this with a smirk of my own and a backhand to his balls “I wish you had taken out the cannon robot first.” He screams and laughs as he doubles over a bit. “But you were having such a good time, I didn’t want to interrupt.” His cheeky comment causes my blood to boil and just as I think about slapping that grin off his face, I notice he is looking at the massive erection that is straining my tight lycra suit. I’ve honestly never seen it so thick and meaty.
“Shall we go home, sidekick?” He nods, wraps his arms around my back and his legs around mine. Our balls are rubbing against each other, and our hard cocks are throbbing through our lycra side by-side. We fly off into the sky. Once in the air he suddenly grabs our balls and starts rolling all four of them around. I let out a groan and wobble in the air a bit. And there is his goddamn smirk, his smug, know-it-all, condescending... and charming smirk. He continues to massage us both, applying gentle pressure which combines the relief of a gentle hand with the bittersweet ache of our battered gonads. All it took for him was to hold my throbbing cock for just a moment before I came all over my supersuit. I returned the favor. We embrace and float for a moment, staring off into the sky around us.
We arrive home and sprawl on the couch, each gently holding his balls in hand. “You know, your balls are still too weak. That cannon robot would have made purée out of your plums. I need to toughen them up if you want to fight alongside me. I can’t always come to your rescue when a villain finds your bright red bulge an easy target. First thing tomorrow, we are going to spar, and your balls are going to suffer.” I realize Superboy is looking at my rising boner as I say this. “Well I need to toughen your balls too, Mr. Super.” “Hah! Right. That’s impossible. You’re human, you can’t make a dent in the Man of Steel.” He stifles a laugh and looks me straight in the eye with a peculiarly devilish smirk. And I notice it’s his turn to show off some blue steel. He takes off one of his glossy red boots, and pours out shiny red orbs into his hand. “Guess what these are.” “Your childhood marble collection?” “You wish. No, this is neopyrrhium. When I was taking down those robots, I also nabbed their neopyrrhium cores. I can use these to build far better robots than Lex’s pathetic jerk-offs. If his robots brought you down, mine are going to make you cry like a Superbaby.” My jaw drops, the blood drains from my face, and all I can say is a stuttering mess because I keep recalling today’s painful events. The prospect of even worse pain terrifies me. I tremble a little. My balls cringe. I hold them for comfort and reassurance. Is this what men are supposed to go through? This feeling of being so vulnerable? Being exposed to constant, world-ending pain? How can you be strong when your masculinity makes you weak? And why am I more aroused by all this pain than anything else? Am I gay? I look Superboy in the eyes; at his bright red, bulging briefs; at his throbbing cock, which he started to stroke; at his devilish, punk-ass smirk. I lean into him and say “Look, you can build all the robots you want, but before you do, you need to finally fix that goddamn coffee machine” while backhanding him hard in the nuts. He bursts out laughing, groaning, crying, and coughing all at once. Our eyes find each others’, our hands find each others’ stiffies, and we get to work all over again.
2087
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