Secret of the Super-Physique!
|Superman is known throughout the universe not only as a defender of freedom and justice, but also for his amazing cut bodybuilder physique. On the television nightly news, his biceps curl into peaked boulders as he catches space shuttles like foul balls, his basketball shoulders shrugging as he carries skyscrapers on his back. A Superman poster is commonly placed along hardcore gymnasiums, and many bodybuilders use images of him while training for inspiration. Though the Man of Tomorrow would never use his powers or physique for personal gain, there is little doubt he would place first in any bodybuilding competition. Though Superman had mass that would dwarf even heavyweights like Ron Coleman and Jay Cutler, he possessed striations visible beneath his tanned skin, with an astonishing level of definition, and symmetry almost down to the atom.
For charity, Superman often performed “Flex Evenings,” where oiled up until his bronze body glistened (and using nearly an entire can of gel; such was the requirement for every inch of his super-physique) he entered dressed in only his red shorts and yellow belt. The audience usually squealed and writhed in their seats when he clutched his buttocks, creating dimples visible even through his skintight fabric that curved around their bubble shaped ass. Superman’s muscles made sounds that could be heard throughout the stadium if he flexed particularly hard. This sound was a twitch like a snapping a taut metal cable, or plucking a very deep rubber band. The Prince of Power performed tricks including placing a steel ball bearing on his loose arm (holding it still using Super-Balance) and then flexing his bicep muscle, the force of which flung the ball into orbit.
The crowning highlight of these shows were his pec-tricks. Superman would often place a line of junkyard chain links deep in the line of separation between his pectorals, which was so extraordinarily developed, he could place between them his fingers, all the way up to the palm. With the chains in, the Last Son of Krypton would flex, and when he removed them, the metal links would be flattened like roadkill, the thickness of a cigarette carton wrapper. After this, Superman caused his pecs to twitch, bouncing up and down, the friction of his two invulnerable muscles rubbing against one another created a shower of sparks like a steel mill worker on a metal plate. If he kept up the pec-flex motion, the Man of Tomorrow could kick up a hurricane force wind, and as it was, it was sufficient to knock the hats of many audience members off.
These posing sessions always bugged the jealous Lois Lane, but all the same she never missed a single one. Lois suspected the playful supercad put on these displays just to get her goat, and while Superman would never admit it, she was not wrong. He loved it when she showed up to these events pouting grouchily, only when he started flexing his super-bod, to have her stare unblinkingly until drool formed at the edge of her mouth and she made cooing noises like a doe, her pupils dilating until they were the size of dimes.
Lex Luthor never attended or interrupted these charity muscle exhibitions. When someone gave a crack of praise about Superman’s bulging body, he whipped out his gun that melts human flesh and blasted them to hell.
But just HOW DID the Monarch of Might come upon his thick, sexy Super-Physique?
It could not have been through exercise. What COULD give Superman a workout? If your Bench Press is measured in scientific notation, what could give Superman a pump? And furthermore, why is it that Superman had both Super-Strength and Super-Muscles, while other Kryptonians (Supergirl, the Phantom Zone criminals) had only Super-Strength?
The Man of Steel got his first clue he was in for some muscle growth when as a young Superboy, he journeyed to the year 2965, on request of his allies, the Legion of Super-Heroes, to cut the ribbon on a new 200-foot Superman statue they were building on Venus.
When the curtain was sliced and the statue of liberty sized colossus revealed, Superboy’s jaw hit the floor. Would he REALLY look that monument-worthy massive in only a few years? His torso tapered to a curve at his narrow waist, along which his washboarded waist bulged through his costume. He flew in circles around the monument, his eyes drinking in the sight of the statue’s inflated bull calves, resting on his stone pec, walking around his powerful barrel neck.
“Great Zackthorn! You mean this is. . .me? As a man? And what a man, too! Gosh! You guys have to tell me when this happens. Wow, it’s got to feel great to be so built. I’d make that Steve Reeves matinee idol Lana likes look like a bean pole.” Superboy said.
The Legionaires looked at each other warily. Superboy knew what that look meant. As much as the Boy Blockbuster loved his future buddies, there was always something rather dickish in the fact that they knew his entire life’s story and wouldn’t tell him anything.
“Superboy my friend, I’m afraid we cannot share that information as it might change history. You know that.” Invisible Kid said, adjusting his stylish headband.
“Great Pleiades, you’re killing me here, Invisible Kid. It’s not like I can use weight gain powder or anything – I use a million times the calories in an entire jar just now when we were diverting the comet. C’mon, just a little hint, huh?”
Predictably, the Legionaires’ trap stayed shut, and they moved on to other topics. But Superboy daydreamed about growing powerful, articulate muscles for a while after the occurrence. While he was handsome as a movie star with his intense blue eyes, Superboy’s body was awkward: he was slim to the point where his knees seem to bulge out on his scarecrow skinny legs, and while he was healthy, his pancake shaped, almost concave chest did not stretch out his ‘S’ shield. Truth be told, he looked like he was poured into his costume, and the fit was like that of a very loose sweater. Obviously his build worked for Clark Kent, but would it really be so wrong of him as Superman to want his S to be squeezed and pushed out by full pecs?
It was years and years later when Superman finally got big bulges on his super-suit.
It all began when Lex Luthor, taking bounding leaps inside his pogo-car, came upon a small patch in Smallville. He placed in front of his eyes his monocle. “What in the name of nefariousness. . . !” he said.
What he stared at was a stallion, fully twelve feet tall at the shoulder. It was as thick as the most powerful draft Clydesdales in the world, with a pair of horse pecs that bulged, and haunches atop his legs that were thicker than the remainer of its’ body. When Luthor heard of this giant horse, he came at once to see it; it raised his curiosity, because he was not responsible for it, which was usually the case for monstrous mutants.
Luthor stopped the bounding of his pogo-car, the doors hissing to let him step out, slowly, without making any sudden moves. The giant horse ignored Luthor, as it continued its casual grazing; with its’ muscles, it had no reason to be afraid of anything. Luthor noticed it especially ate from a patch of colored grass. It was green, but somehow different from the green from other grass, in the same way one can tell whether something is lit by natural sunlight or by fluorescent lights. He set foot on the patch of grass nearly absentmindedly.
Suddenly there was a charge through Luthor’s body the instant he set foot in the patch. He felt the sleeves of his mechanic suit began to tighten. Bulges and lumps moved swelled and moved as if something were crawling beneath his skin, but soon they migrated to different areas, and he felt the cuffs of his mechanic’s suit tighten until he felt their bands dig into his skin. He looked down and saw his pant legs, which previously went straight down, now curved over the swell of his gradually increasing thighs and calves, which bulged behind him. His shoulders were now visible in his suit, and he could see the gradual line of separation developing between his pecs. Luthor then he grasped the zipper and slid it down all the way. He saw forming together a washboarded waist, which the Master of Menace slid his hand over, his fingers telling him of the straight bumps and ridges that were formed over his chiseled abs. Luthor took his foot off the circuit, and judging by the jolt, it was as if a circuit was broken.
The wheels and cogs began to turn in Luthor’s warped brain. “Merciful Mussolini! Why, this strange plot of grass must be the source of that steroided stallion’s superior shape. If it affected me and the horse, I’d bet all the money I steal for the next year it would work on a glory-hogging rat like Superboy – eh, I mean Superman! Hmmm! Lure him to this spot, and let him soak up the muscle-building rays, until at last he pops like a Super-Zit! Bwa-hahahahahaha!” Luthor laughed and rubbed his hands together cravenly.
Meanwhile, in a classroom at Metropolis University, Clark Kent was sported an erection that so solidified his granite pecker that he could hardly see straight. Shifting his legs in his tented pants, the cold air only drew a spurt out into his red superman clothes he wore underneath. He hoped the Krypton-Fabric would not show stains. Clark would never use his X-Ray Vision to violate other people’s privacy, but if Lana Lang didn’t want people looking at her, she shouldn’t have worn thong underwear under her skirt, pulled taut as a bowstring by her peaches and cream complexioned, girl next door country fried heavy ass. Superman bit his lip. It took every ounce of his Super-Strong Will to prevent him from blowing his load, which would have been like machine gun fire into the entire room. The last time he did this was back in Smallville High School, and the entire floor was filled up to the knees with ultra-concentrated, fire-extinguisher foam consistency Super-Seed.
“For godsakes, Lana, how long does it take to find something in a drawer, anyway?” He shouted.
Lana turned around and giggled. “Golly, Clark, you oughta lay off Poppy’s butterscotch malt shakes. Sugar isn’t your friend.” She looked him up and down and grinned. “Anyway, if you know what’s good for you, my boyfriend, Superman, better not catch you getting the vapors my way. If he spotted your cute little flagpole raised, he’d probably tan your backside!”
Because Superman is invulnerable, he therefore cannot blush. Clark looked down and noticed he was sporting a raging stiff chub. In fact, when this tense moment was interrupted by a giant roaring gelatinous cube bursting through the wall, it was something of a relief.
“GRAAAAAAUGH!” The monstrous, semi-transparent four story cube roared deafeningly, as it extended a pseudopod as quick as a whip in flight from its’ jelly body that enveloped Lana’s entire waist.
“Oh, how icky! My dress is ruined, you gelatinous groper! SUPERMAN, HELP!” Lana screamed.
Clark Kent’s glasses were left on his desk. Within moments, Superboy came roaring in like a comet.
“Hold perfectly still, Lana.” The temperature in the room was raised as Superman’s eyes glowed a brilliant red, as a pair of lances sliced the pseudopod off. Superman directed his eye-blasts toward the giant cube itself, which blasted through it like a bullet through butter. In time, however, each of the halves of the cube bunched together, forming a smaller cube.
“Kings of Kornan!” Superman shouted, as he flew up, his Telescopic Vision brought a sight that was even less heartening than the gelatinous cube monster: namely, dozens of gelatinous cube monsters all over the city of Metropolis, devouring buildings like fat children at an all-chocolate buffet table. “No point in using force – I would only cause these machines to double and quadruple. Perhaps by using Super-Smartness I can overcome them. Hmmm - they seem to be moving in a concentrated pattern, which indicates they are probably controlled by some outside means, as these cubes have no obvious brains or nervous system.” Superman squinted. “Hmmm, my Microscopic Vision shows their gelatin bodies are composed of aluminum, a microwave reflecting element. Yes, that’s it!”
Luthor adjusted the knobs at his headband, which translated thoughts into microwave beams to control his gelatinous cubes. He hummed lackadaisically – he was never quite so happy as he was when he was killing people. Lex’s reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Luthor, I’m impressed. Despite all your sinister plots, you’re still able to spend two hours a day with a personal trainer.” The voice sprang right from behind Luthor, with Superman’s rail-thin arms over his unpronounced chest. Despite his unimposing physique, Superman was an impressive figure. “Unfortunately, all your recent bodybuilding hasn’t done a thing for your brains. Controlling your monster cubes with microwave emission? Microwaves that I can see with my Spectrum-Vision, and can track to their source.”
Lex raised his biceps upward, which peaked, as he smiled evily. “Gee, thanks, Supes. Maybe after I destroy you, I’ll quit science for good and become a Chippendale’s dancer. Hey, you like the Constitution, right, Superman? What about my Constitutional Right to bear Ray Guns?” Luthor whipped out from his belt a blaster pistol, tipped at the end with a polished Kryptonite Lens. The green bolts rang forth as they blew into Superman, his limbs torn from their sockets and scattered as if Superman was wearing a vest of dynamite. The limbs sparked with electricity, and his face was melted to reveal the metal skeleton beneath. It began to dawn on Lex that he had just been had.
“A Superman Decoy Robot!” Luthor cried.
“Right again, Luthor!” A hand reached forth behind Luthor and crushed the ray gun, the metal of which oozed like play-doh beneath his fingers. As fast as a snapping cobra, Superman’s hand was at Luthor’s waist. “I sent him in first when my X-Ray Vision spotted your Kryptonite Laser. And it’ll take a lot more bodybuilding than you’ve done to break out of my grip. Spill it, Luthor! Where’s the autodestruct command for the gelatinous cubes?”
“Why Superman, what are you talking about?” Lex Luthor grinned like a hyena.
Using Chinese pressure point tricks, Superman tapped a spot at Luthor’s neck that created intense, but harmless pain. “Don’t try my patience, Luthor. A deranged paranoid like you is too obsessed with the idea his monsters might turn against him, so obviously you’d put in a contingency plan in case they ever would. Where is it?”
Luthor pointed with his finger to a spot beneath the ground, covered by oddly colored grass. “Gack! It’s…huh…over there.” The Master of Menace gasped for breath.
Superman strode close to the grass, as he hoisted the destruct device out. It was made of cardboard. Now it was his turn to be had. Suddenly a pair of lights emerged from the ground projecting flashing colored lights resembling balls seen at discos, and Superman noticed to his shock that he could not move.
“Surprise! It’s not possible to have a battle of wits with an unarmed man, you overrated heel! The fact is, I knew you’d trace the path here. I expected it! That’s my Paralysis Beam, tainted with Red Solar Rays. Notice the grass you’re at, Superman? It’s somehow been treated, affecting muscle growth. You’re just going to stand there like a log while this thing swells and swells you up, until finally, you pop like a grape. I’m going to watch every minute of this. Great Genghis, this is my most supreme triumph!”
Superman’s eyes were frozen still. But if he could see himself from the outside he would see that it was as if his muscles were flaccid sacks that were filling with helium, inflating beneath his suit and rounding with size. His shoulders began to acquire light shadows on their undersides, and finally became full-fledged diamond shapes. His shoulders soon were widening out his torso, as his v-shape developed, his laterals expanding out from his narrow waist. His arms first went to ropy, thickening and plumpening as his biceps expanded, with first a small ball visible on the surface, ending with a pulsing full melon. His forearms thickened simultaneously, on either side of his socket joint the muscle fattening out until the arm formed almost a pyramid, thicker at the elbow than at the wrist. His neck expanded to bull-like proportions, and was raised upward by a pair of triangular trapezius muscles that expanded on either side. In response to this, the Monarch of Might’s chin began to widen, assuming a far manlier width.
Superman’s back resembled an anatomy chart, each back muscle forming a layer of valleys and caverns, the high peak of each back muscle was an inch higher than the depth. His pecs were the most dramatic growth. They plopped out like slabs of concrete, his nipples beneath his costume becoming smaller as the pecs increased in size. They were swelling out to the point where the collar of Superman’s supersuit was plunged further and further down, until the tops of his pecs were visible. The costume was now practically skintight, but it dug further and further into the separation line between his pectorals, which was beginning to become a trench. Superman’s legs thickened like a grasshopper’s, to the point where his knee appeared sunken thanks to the rising of teardrop shaped muscles on his thighs, which were beginning to become around as wide as a person’s body. Behind his leg below the knees, his calf was fattening out as if someone had stuffed a rolled up sock behind each of them. His calves were rapidly becoming the size of his former waist, his arms also approaching that distinction as well, most of the size given by the tricep on the underside, which now appeared to be fully flexed as if his arm was straight, despite the fact his arm was actually bent.
Superman felt his bright red trunks, which previously were like briefs, begin to climb up the surface of his body, and small wonder why. His gluteus maximus was filling out behind him into bouncy, round shape, almost as if he had stuffed a pair of bowling balls behind his trunks. The front of his pants was stuffed, as his legs widened to accommodate a more pleasant girth between them, a thickening full meat, and a pair of testicles that swelled to the size of oranges each.
Superman would have marveled had he seen the dimensions his body was taking, but his mind was occupied on escaping. He thought frantically with a brain that clicked like a supercomputer. “My body can’t move . . . but I’m breathing, which means my autonomic systems – breathing, heartbeat, must still be clocking. Further, I’m not totally locked. In order to accommodate the dimensions of my growing body, my arms no longer just hang by my sides, and are starting to turn in at an angle, as my biceps dig into my widening laterals. Now, if I can guide the movements of my arms in the growth, I might be able to hit the side button on my yellow belt, which activates my Yellow Belt Buckle’s photon charge.” Superman’s body widened further as he waited. His finger touched his side – only to feel the rock hard surface of his thigh.
“No! No! It’s too low! Only an inch down and I would hit it. Only one inch and I’d be out of this. Wait, the Paralysis Ray doesn’t stop autonomic systems, like heartbeat. Great Krypton, there is one way I can pull my briefs an inch further down. . .” Heat began to form on Superman’s forehead as he thought of the sexiest things he could possibly imagine.
The Queen of the Tailed People, who slid her prehensile tail inside of Superman’s thighs and massaged his package beneath the dinner table of the royal dining room. The day he made love to Lori Lemaris, his mermaid girlfriend, eight or nine times in an evening on the beach, the seawater licking their feet, her fragile body glistening in the moonlight, the way she whimpered and panted when he ground it into her, and the way she wrapped her fishtail tightly around his legs. The day in Smallville he finally made love to Lana, rolling in the hay of her parent’s farm, and she, with surprising freakiness, made him lick her naked body with whipped cream. That one battle in the Kaelium Galaxy when he was sealed in with Mongul the Space-Tyrant’s harem, their teeth-gnashingly-good training in all the galaxy’s forms of pleasure, their transparent gossamer gowns clinging to their nubile blue bodies . . .
“Oh, how I would have waited an eternity for this moment, Superman!” Superman mentally cringed. If there was anything that could possibly harsh his boner, it was the mental picture of bald Lex Luthor. Sexy physique or no, Luthor looked like a penis with a face on it.
Then a few images came into mind of the realization of his growing new muscular body. Thoughts of Lana Lang kissing his swollen bicep, her tongue sliding across his washboarded waist. Her nails clutching his pectoral surface, scratching playfully with a frenzy of lust. How tight she would feel with his super-endowed cock moving so quick it appears she worries she might be split in half by it, so hard it is actually visible from the outside when in her. It was working! He felt the blood trickle into his super-shlong, it’s mushroom tip fatten and lengthen. He concentrated on more elaborate images of muscle worship. He imagined Lori Lemaris’s tiny little hands applying a coat of glistening oil to every nook and cranny of his powerhouse frame, giggling with glee as she finds she cannot wrap her arm around the wide swelling of his chest. Superman thought of wrestling with Wonder Woman in the Justice League Satellite, their muscular bodies straining with a layer of sweat upon them as he feels his hot breath on her neck, she knocked him aside only by a well placed, distracting squeeze of his ass.
Closer. . . closer. His fattening erection pulled his underwear down little by little. Until at last, his fingers, as lifeless as a jellyfish’s tentacles, hit the button. There was a brilliant flash of light as the photon charge struck the Paralyzo-Beam projector, the titanium shattering like glass. All at once, Superman felt the weight of gravity upon himself. He could move! He hurtled himself from the plot of strange grass as quick as a launched tank shell. Each slam of his new feet against the ground made the earth shake and his feet sink up to the knee.
“NO! No! No!” Lex Luthor was crestfallen. If he has to return to prison, if anybody asks, Superman was rescued by Krypto the Super-Dog. “Uh. . .Superman, maybe you might want to calm down a little, you know, if you want to keep on fighting tonight.”
“Not happening, Luthor. Justice is the greatest aphrodisiac of all.” Superman twitched and flexed his biceps, which rose and peaked on his arm, he felt it shift and move, rising like ground pork. He could hear the vast quantities of his muscle fibers pling.
Luthor reached into his belt, and procured a tiny geltab pill and a water dropper. Hurling the pill to the ground, he placed a few droplets of water upon it. In moments, the pill expanded into a monstrous green creature covered entirely in fur and with enormous tusks, and a single cyclopean eye. “Well, I guess you need a cold shower then, eh? Meet Blinky – just add water! He’s artificial life I designed as my getaway plan, as strong as you. Ta ta, Superjerk!” Luthor burst into a run. Before Superman could intercept him, Blinky charged, his single eye firing a beam that singed Superman’s shoulder.
The monster’s enormous paws grappled Superman, as she held him at bay with his unbuckling arms. “Luthor, you made a big mistake. You see, this monster was designed to be as strong as I *was.* Not, thanks to you, I’ve gotten a little better about that.” Superman halted the shoving of the monster, as he grasped the creature beneath the armpits and hurled him upwards into the atmosphere at the speed of a space shuttle. Blinky did not get to leave orbit. He was a short-lived kind of life that in a few minutes, melted away into the primordial ooze he was created from.
Superman made a call with Super-Ventriloquism for his Superman Robots Ajax and Gilgamesh to search the area for signs of Luthor. The Czar of Crime himself could not be seen, but they found a deep cavern below the earth, hollowed out.
“Master, I believe Luthor escaped through some means of earth drilling device underground. This could explain why we could not find him in time.” Ajax stated mechanically.
Superman nodded. He was concerned about Luthor, but he had other things on his mind right now.
Gilgamesh approached the patch of grass. “Master, I was wondering – why did you grow muscles when exposed to this patch of ground?”
Superman glanced again. “Luthor didn’t know why it would, but that made perfect sense. As he has only human senses, he could not be expected to see it.”
Gilgamesh nodded. “What, sir?”
“Well, as you know, Gilgamesh, there are multiple types of Kryptonite. Green Kryptonite is deadly to me, Red Kryptonite causes temporary unpredictable transformations, Gold Kryptonite destroys my powers forever, Blue Kryptonite is effective only against Bizarros, and White Kryptonite causes plant growth. But I have suspected that it may be possible that there may be another type of Kryptonite, one that was altered after the destruction of Krypton, phased into the ultra-violet portion of the spectrum. Ultraviolet, or Invisible Kryptonite. The power it demonstrates is clearly muscle growth.” Superman nods. “Quickly, gather up all the Invisible Kryptonite you can, I’ll study it later at the Fortress of Solitude.”
The Superman Robots nodded and got to work. Superman realized that he would have to upgrade the appearance of his Superman Robots in order to serve as effective decoys. Possibly with plastic moulds sprayed along his own physique.
As Luthor’s gelatinous cubes were mindless and not truly evil, once the Master of Menace’s control array was smashed, Superman placed the cubes inside the Fortress of Solitude’s Interplanetary Zoo, right next to the woolly Krelaxian Fangor Beast and the Floating Giant Eye. The Superman Robots would regularly pour in stacks of garbage for them to devour. The twelve foot giant horse grown by the invisible kryptonite was placed in the same cell with the Atlantean Seahorse and the Unicorn for equine company.
That evening, Superman flew by stores at superspeed, paying for cases of hot body oil, cans of whipped cream, caramel, and oysters by the case. He was going to ask Lana Lang out to the Fortress of Solitude for dinner that evening and breakfast the next morning. He wanted her to be the first to enjoy his super-physique (apart from himself, that is).
Maybe he could invite Clark Kent over, and they could have a three-way.
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