Achilles Heel

WARNING: Very dark fic, d/s, rape / coerced sex, blackmail, sex toys; Luthor a misogynist and repressed homosexual

SUMMARY: Lex Luthor makes Nightwing/Dick Greyson an offer he cant refuse. And Nightwing discovers something about himself.

Feedback welcome, even adverse reactions, just no flames. Email feedback to starluckasia@yahoo.com.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: An amalgam of bit parts of the comics and Smallville. The Luthor in this A/U is the red-headed bearded man in his late 30s. He is not yet the president of the US, nor he will ever be. But he is the powerful tycoon behind LexCorp and still the same brains behind the take-over of Gotham in No Mans Land. Patterned after the TV show Smallville, it is hinted that the young Luthor and the young Superman/Clark Kent were very close friends during their youth and the scar of that parting may have never healed.

THANKS TO MY BETAS: Mel and Dark Jester

DISCLAIMER: Lex Luthor and Nightwing/Dick Greyson are the property of DC COMICS. I didnt make any money out of this.

I am Alexander Jerome Luthor.

The most powerful man of Metropolis, soon the lord of Gotham City. Within a few seasons, the undisputed master of this planet.

Like most conquerors, I have my Achilles heel. And like them, I fear its discovery.

The Justice League and that big Boy Scout would probably regard me with some trepidation if they find out. The other so-called super-villains on Earth would undoubtedly find some way to exploit it. Which is why I have always taken great pains to conceal it, suffer the fulfillment of that hunger for years, if necessary, or assuage it through some other means.

Fortunately, my brain is much more powerful and is in control of my bodily appetites.

Until I made his re-acquaintance, bringing me to despair.

Until I learned his secret, which brought me glorious jubilation and no small amount of grim satisfaction.

How long will you remain out there? I call out to the evening beyond the windowsill of my palatial fortress. You cant stay out forever.

The masked youth clad in blue-black spandex glides in gracefully after 30 seconds. I sit back in my armchair and regard the young hero appraisingly. The fingers holding the red glass of wine tingle briefly in anticipation. I had looked forward to this meeting the whole day, and I lick my lips in hunger.

Nightwing moves a few paces towards me, his mask held firmly in place. His brows are knotted together, the exquisitely chiseled face frozen in anger. He throws the black and white photographs on my table. What do you want?

What do I want? I leer at him mockingly, enjoying his inner torment. Surely that fine mind honed by the greatest detective in the world should have guessed by now. I have great wealth and power. Intellect and information, I do not lack. So you can safely eliminate all that, `Dick. My tongue slurs on the same.

Nightwing starts, just a little, then he snaps back in place, holding himself in composure. If its access to the Batcave or any other information that he has, I will not betray the Batman, he says firmly.

Such nobility, I drawled, toying with him still. Surely it is misplaced. All I need do is send the negatives to every newspaper and TV station in Gotham and Metropolis and all hell will break loose. Your mentor dear Bruce will be besieged in all fronts. Wayne Manor itself might be razed to the ground in just a few minutes, thanks to those loony escapes from Arkham

What do you want? his gloved fists pound on frustration on my desk. My eyes rest for a few seconds on his shoulder blade that now ripples its muscles, echoing his anger.

Relax, Dick, I continue to let him seethe. If that were truly my intention, I would have released the secret identities of the whole Bat clan to every clown and penguin and cat in this city. But regardless of what your sainted Superman tells you, I *am* an honorable man. This affair is between you and me. It will not involve Wayne or that snot-nosed Tim Drake in any way. I paused a little for effect. You alone will pay my price.

His shoulders relax a little, and a small breath escapes his lips. Relief now covers his face. For a moment, I feel something akin to jealousy, though I know I had no right to be. He would not count the cost or the pain that he would suffer if it meant protecting his father and his brother.

Nightwing still does not speak. He just looks at me from his hooded eyes, waiting.

I remember very well those blue eyes beneath that mask. As azure as the skies that Superman flies, as clear as the limitless horizon, and yet infinitely more innocent. They enthralled me the first time they locked with my own.

My limousine was speeding down the cursed highways of that godforsaken dust ball called Bludhaven. In my haste to reach my meeting at Central City, I ordered the driver to risk taking a route through the dank dark alleys. After all, there was nothing that the weaponry in my vehicle that could not demolish, or no force that its shielding could not protect me from.

True enough, barely two minutes into the jungle, five hoods from each side of the alley surrounded my limo. Barbarians they were, carrying nothing but the most primitive of short-range weaponry and a few knives. Obviously, they meant to rob the nave, fragile millionaire they thought sheltered by the limo. They did not count on Lex Luthor. Yawning, I reached for the remote control in my pocket to fire off a few rounds of ammunition.

It happened so fast it took even a jaded observer like myself, a perpetual student of that curse known as the superhero, by surprise. One young man leaped into the fray to send them scurrying. No gunshots fired. All it took was a blur of motion to hit one goon down, knock down another, and what appeared to be the iron lid of a garbage can fly off in an amazingly boomerang formation to send the guys crashing to the ground.

When the smoke cleared, I went down from my limousine to deliver my obligatory, condescending congratulations to another despised superhero in spandex.

What greeted me was a very young officer of the Bludhaven Police Force who could not have been more than 26 years old. Three of the monkeys had already ran. He was putting the cuff links on the two sprawled unconscious on the floor. I felt my respect rise. This was no costumed do-gooder spreading his alien-sprung nobility on my kind. He fought honestly and valiantly in battle with his brain and brawn, without the sanctuary of a super power. This was an honest-to-God human. The kind meant to rule this Earth. Like me.

Obviously, he recognized me from my photos, and I could tell my presence in this city disconcerted him. Its one of those rare moments that I curse my reputation. He, too, looked vaguely familiar. I immediately noticed his wavy dark hair, his classic features, the square jaw that softened just a little. His eyes sparkled their joyous blue. He smelled of musk and masculinity. And for the first time in decades, at the sight of this young man in white and blue, I felt the heat that only rose with the presence of the Man of Steel.

Mr. Luthor, he said politely. This isnt the road map I would recommend. The tone was courteous, but it sprung with the lightness of youth.

I will bear that in mind. Thank you, Officer

But he was already moving away to meet two other officers approaching to pick up his prisoners . Inexplicably, I wanted to hold him for a few minutes longer. Perhaps there is some way I can thank you.

No, its okay, he grinned almost shyly. The impact of that charm hit me across the chest. Just doing my job.

But you must tell me your name, I called after him, almost uncharacteristically. Its only fair that I know the name of the policeman who rescued me.

He stopped then. Something in my words must have reached him. Grayson, he tilted his head. Officer Grayson of the Bludhaven Police Force.

Later on, as Id go through the events in my mind, I realized that perhaps it was simply the acknowledgement of his other identity, apart from the mask, that caused him to linger. Nightwing wanted a life apart from the mask. My respect for the boy continued to increase.

As I drove away, I told myself that Id want that boy on my side. Preserve and protect him from the corruption oh so common in Bludhaven and set him on the right path. Under my wing, in Metropolis or Gotham, Id empower him to demolish crime and work for the good of humanity without permitting any of the glory to those vain metahumans. Officer Grayson would be my answer to Superman and his flying smug colleagues.

A few hours on my computer that night slapped the truth in my face. Richard John Grayson needed no rescuing. This son of my other opponent, Bruce Wayne, could write his own ticket any time. His financial independence could easily let him create his own philanthropic organization or one-man army. However, he chose to dig his fingers deep into the dirt and rise through the ranks. He would not let his money or power do the work for him. And unlike his adopted father, he was no brainless playboy. No useless parasite that wasted his time on vagrant women.

According to my spies, the lad was the proverbial white knight. This college drop-out and mediocre athlete seemed to be always at the right time and at the right place. At the age of 13, with merely a few judo tricks, he stalled the robbers in a mom and pop diner while waiting for the police to arrive. At the age of 15, he beat off five drunk delinquents about to assault a high school sweetheart. In college, almost single-handedly put out the break-out of a damaging fire in the lab. There were other similar stories sprinkled over time, little nuggets of nobility that nobody paid attention to, but connected to a greater whole.

Richard Greyson had a purpose he was much better than his father. I gnashed my teeth at Waynes enormous stupidity. How could he have neglected this boy? Not train him to manage that magnificent fortune and unbreakable spirit? Obviously, that playboy had no real idea of the jewel he had in his hands.

And was it only yesterday when Richard put to a halt the race attacks of those bigoted mongrels in the Bludhaven Police Force against a homosexual colleague?

What are you, his boyfriend? one of them had blustered.

The lad thought for a moment, then stared directly, challengingly back at the monkey. What if I am?

Oh, Richard, you have no idea how much I do want to find out.

It was at that moment that I decided I will have Greyson, whatever the price. He would be the son I never had. The trusted general who would never desert me in battle. My cherished partner in my bed to comfort and ravish.

How then to tempt him? To woo him to join me in my cause? To persuade him that this world belonged under the leadership of dedicated humans willing to pay the effort and the price?

He must also have other admirers pursuing him at every corner. How then to entice him that the ultimate aphrodisiac lay not in shapely weak curves, but in a mans ability to shape the world? That his handsomeness was best served not in the flattery of the feminine guile, but in willing, tender surrender to the power of men?

As Alexander consorted with Hephaestion, as Achilles ravaged Patroclus, so will I teach and enamor young Greyson.

Bruce Wayne would no doubt raise hell once he finds out. Let him rot there.

I wanted to find out more about this handsome stud. In a few months time, his women became an open book to me. So was his love for music and his failure at college. Every dish he ordered and every book he bought was catalogued for future use.

But something was still lacking. Nothing in Dick Greysons life indicated the underlying motivation why he chose he path he did. Furthermore, there were gaps. An extended leave of absence in Europe that leaves no traces. Weeks, months, when he simply seemed to have vanish from the face of the earth.

His consorting with superheroes also became disappointingly apparent. The discovery of his thankfully aborted marriage to that wench from Tamaran twisted my insides. His weekly visits to the amazon Troia, after she lost her child, fortunately proved to be platonic. Had this association with the Titans rubbed off on him? No, I shook my head. The white knight had been born long before that.

It was also difficult for my able spies to track down his activities every night after his day patrol in Bludhaven. Somehow, every evening, he just disappeared. There were no clues as to whether he returned to Wayne Manor, spent the time in strip bars, shacked up with a lady, or simply played pool.

I hated mysteries. I finally sent my Searchers to track down his every move. These micro-nanobots could pass for harmless flies that buzz at your table or hover over your bed as you sleep. That night, they clung literally on the wall of his apartment, recording the sounds of his singing in the shower.

As he emerged in a tight white undershirt tucked underneath the dark pants that formed his sculpted legs, my bots also photographed in exquisite detail the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles on his flanks. My breath caught at the live shots of his slightly hairy chest, exposed neck, considerable groin. I can still remember the sweat in my palms as I watched him comb his wet hair, whistling in amusement. Obviously, this new jealous streak inside me was saying, he was out to wine and dine and bed another brainless female.

Then, to my amazement, he opened a closet and put on a very familiar spandex suit colored in blue and black.

The implications were staggering. If Richard Greyson was the costumed character Nightwing, the trusted ally of the Dark Knight, then it was highly probable that Batman and Bruce Wayne were one! My secret files on that insane avenger had already uncovered the fact that there were three Robins the third and present is obviously a 15-year old student, and his predecessor had been brutally murdered by the Joker years ago. As for the *his* predecessor, the first Robin in the green shorts and the elfin shoes should have long outgrown his costume. But he had vanished mysteriously over the years, without a trace.

Vanished or re-invented himself?

A thousand plans began to form in my mind at my discovery. With this knowledge, I would immediately be deprived of my most deadly foes, one in the crime scene, another in the war of industries. Take Batman out, and the Justice League would be reduced to their most vulnerable positions. Gotham and Metropolis were for my taking. It was a moment that I had long dreamed of.

But to use that advantage would also mean incurring the eternal enmity of this marvelous young lad. I could not bear the thought of those sparkling blue eyes turning to me in unforgiving hatred.

As I said, I had an Achilles heel.

Nightwing looks at me now with that same anger. Righteous, indignant anger - but not hatred. He can still be won over.

I put the glass, rise slowly and move towards him. I will not ask you to betray your ideals, Richard---may I call you Richard? I dont really wait for the answer. What I do wish that he would hear is the sincerity in my voice. I would not compel him to do something that would injure that noble heart and soul beyond measure and repair.

So what do you want? his voice is softer now, if still confused and guarded.

My eyes never leave his as my hands reach towards the lining gracing his shoulders. Nightwing instinctively steps back. Hold still, I command. Then I grasp the spandex cloth which composes the blue stripes of his costume and slowly tear it down across his chest. The blue stripes are ripped slowly, leaving a V-shaped opening across his chest, exposing in a diagonal line his bare bosom and copper nipples.

I stare at those nubs heatedly. They are magnificent, as I suspected. Without thought, I cup his bosom with both hands and began to massage them.

What the fuck---? he curses and throws my hands away, beating an exit to the window.

Richard, my voice thunders. Leave this room now and the Batman as you know him is no more.

He freezes in mid-stride, an eloquently tortured statue in the middle of my carpeted library. I draw near him, approaching his heaving back, hearing his heavy breathing. My hands go around him and across his chest, massaging his bosom again, claiming him with my every touch.

Stop it, he says through gritted teeth. I dont want this.

You will in time, I tell myself. But I hold back my words, for right now he only needs to learn who his true master is. As my fingers rub feathery touches on his pectorals, my lips brush across his nape. The heat from my groin now slowly crawls over my body. It *has* been a long time, I mused, that I had been with someone.

Is this a power game, Luthor? his pained voice cracks through my consciousness. Pay back for the Batman and Bruce Wayne? Through his son?

I whirl him around to face me, my fingernails cutting deep into his partly naked shoulders. I will not nor will ever lie to you, Richard. This has never been about your father.

Then why---?

Oh, my young man, is it really ignorance on your part that you have no idea of the hold you have on us? The spell that you have woven on Barbara Gordon, the Huntress, Starfire, that lecherous Tad, and countless others men and women? Are you totally unaware of it, or is it simply because you refuse to know?

Then let me educate you, my young hunk wonder. I rip off his kevlar, baring his upper body totally. He blushes through the mask and his arms quickly cover his nakedness. I catch his hands away, forcing them to recline at his side. You ARE beautiful, I emphasize each syllable slowly.

Richard Greyson is manhood in perfection. His muscled pectorals, topped by dime-wide nipples, flow into a slender stomach and a shapely formed abdomen. The body glistens with sweat and hums in energy. It is the body of a warrior, a soldier, a prince.

A growl erupts from my throat as I reach for him.

But Richard leaps from my grasp. In one swift acrobatic maneuver, he rises to the air, somersaults on top of me, and lands on the top of my mahogany table three feet away.

The hero is certainly far faster, stronger, and wilier than I. But I am better prepared. For hours after I had issued my invitation for a meeting, I had considered his every move, studied every advantage in my room, converted even the most innocuous piece of wood into a potential weapon.

I rush to the desk and push the hidden security button at the side, a fail-safe device meant to buy me time in case of an attack. An electric charge sparks across the surface, rocking the desk. My pencil-holders, glass of wine, and memo pads roll off to the ground. The motion catches Nightwing by surprise, causing him to lose his balance for a moment.

But it is enough. He crashes on a seating position at the edge of my desk, facing me, his butt impacting the hard wood. My arms immediately seize him, pulling him toward me. One hand jerks his hair to force him to look up into my eyes, and the other rips off the remaining kevlar dangling from his waist.

Richard still stares at me defiantly, his booted feet tensed and ready to run, his knuckles clinging to the edge of my desk. The young face is still lined in courage. But the barely discernible quiver in his luscious mouth betrays him; we both know the tide has turned. I sense fear in my prey.

Pressing my body closer to him, I part his legs with my knee and push my hard groin against his, letting him feel its power. His masked eyes widen a little, but still he makes no sound. Ah, Richard, it would be a joy to tame you. My unrestrained hands now travel his upper body, freely exploring his well-built chest, playing with the few strands of hair at their middle. He shivers slightly, the only reaction he permits me.

My hands encircle his back, as my tongue follows the path of my hands. Licking and biting from the hollow of his throne to the middle of his chest then finally to his left nipple. His body shivers again as I tongue the areole, bathing it with my saliva, grazing it with my teeth. Then my mouth opens to take the hardening nipple all the way in, sucking and swallowing the entire pectoral muscle surrounding it.

Uhhh

I glance up sharply, and there is no disguising the parted lips and the glazed look in his eyes. He drops his eyes, unable to meet my own, but he knows he has betrayed himself. I rise up to pull his head back to look at me again, and this time my fingers are not gentle as they pinch his bathed nipple. I tug and work at it for minutes, marveling at its sensitivity, driving home to my captive the truth of his own need.

A truth further reinforced as my other hand cups his groin that has slowly hardened.

A sound escapes him, a mixture of denial, defiance and fear. I ignore it to continue teasing his nipple and the bulge between his legs. I take my sweet time, letting his own bodily reactions speak for me. Those few minutes are too much for young Greyson; as I finger the spandex more intimately to search for his cock, he jerks his head away.

His bared neck is tempting, but I want more. It is Richard Grayson that has captivated me, not the shadow of the bat. I give his nipple a rest to tear the mask away. His eyes shut tight as I turn his face back to me. My lips play with them a little. I kiss each closed eyelid, that sharp nose, the rim of his ear.

Then I force my mouth into his. He moans in protest, and my tongue slips into his opened lips. I kiss him thoroughly, tasting his insides, biting his lower lip. At first, his mouth is stiff, hard, unyielding. But another jerk at his crotch causes him to shudder again, and as I plunge my mouth again into his, his soft lips finally surrender.

Ah, RichardI yearn for that same open-ness in your body. I seize his shoulders and push him farther back onto the table, letting his open legs rest at its edges. As our kiss deepens, somehow, someway, in a flurry of seconds, I remove his boots and socks. It takes a few moments before I roll the rest of his lower uniform away.

As his trousers finally slid on the floor, I stop my ministrations for a while and survey my conquest. Nightwing is gone. Seated about halfway through my table is young Richard Greyson, clutching the edges of the desk, his neck thrown back, his body glistening in sweat, naked except for that black cloth between his legs. His nudity shivers, both at my penetrating scrutiny and the chill of the air.

Time to remove that last obstacle and cover his cold body with my very hot one.

I should not have underestimated him. As I tug at his briefs, Richard kicks my arms and turns around, still crouching on my table, to flee. It is futile. I grab at his pectorals and slam him against me, my chest pressing against his back, my heated groin poking at his buttocks. This position stops him mid-flight. His upper body is strained towards the table, one leg resting awkwardly on top of it, the other standing, almost entangled beside my own.

His helplessness only serves to excite me. My teeth bite his neck and his back in attack. He heaves and twists, but my arms hold him in place. They slide down to yank his briefs off, and Richards torso, trapped underneath the rough edges of the wood, is further sandwiched vulnerably between my lecherous hands. One plays with his erect penis, the other probes his anal opening.

Luthor Had I not known him better, I would have sworn my name came out in a sob.

Clear the table, Richard, I snarl. One hand tugs at his balls, anothers finger parting his pucker hole.

No

Clear the table! I roar, basking in my power over him. Not giving him any choice, I squeeze his cock and twirl the finger inside his anus.

My remaining books and paper fly a room away as his muscled arms strike out against the items in my desk. I then hoist him on the now smooth surface and in one rough motion, turn him around to lie prone on my desk, facing me.

That magnificent chest is now sweaty and heaving, its nipples pointed in their hardness. His stiff cock is leaking with pre-cum, begging for my taste. But the sight of Richard Greyson, totally naked and vulnerable and subordinate, fills me with another kind of hunger. I hastily remove my black coat, crumple it, and shove it under his smooth buttocks, and I lift his hips up at the same time.

His mouth drops as I climb over him, releasing my eager cock from my trousers. As he tries to rise again, my hands slam on his chest to push him prone. You cant fight this. You want this, I whisper fiercely.

His body fairly melts in my arms as I kiss him roughly. His body jerks as my fingers prepare the entrance of my sex into his body. And as he moans and pants and whimpers beneath me, I realize---he has not done this before.

The knowledge that should have made me gentle only fuels my passion. Barely has my pre-cum softened his opening, that I press my cock into it. His fair lips screams at the invasion, and his hands involuntarily lock against my back, scratching through my white silk shirt. But I remove them to hold them firmly on top of his head. It makes him look even more submissive.

And that is all that he can be as I drive myself harder into his body. That cocky, bright face is now drenched in sweat, eyes shut tight, lips biting themselves to keep from screaming. Somehow, I remember his cock and tug at it, pulling, jerking it of. This time, he cannot stop the moans that leave his lips.

I ride him as long as I can. My balls slap against his, and the table rocks beneath us. He is tight, very tight, and my cock weeps with profuse joy as it establishes its hold in his inner domain. Once or twice, I lower my lips to bite at his neck, and he shudders anew.

We both came together, his semen shooting across my shirt, and my seed flooding his insides. I had luxuriated in power before, I thought, but nothing as erotic and exhilarating as this. Truly, nothing can equal the collapse of kingdoms or the cowering figure of Superman before green metal---but the unspeakable ecstasy of bending this beautiful man to my sexual prowess comes a very close second.

Not surprisingly, Richard is limp and tired after the act. I do not hear a single protest as I first claim his mouth in a long, thorough kiss, and then make a bite mark at the upper right side of his throat. On the other hand, I find myself rejuvenated, as if I am at the brink of a new land to conquer, and I stay lodged in his body for a long time, refusing to relinquish the sensation of our joining.

Sleep, Richard, I whisper softly, gently into his ear. There will be time enough to ponder the ramifications of this evening. More precious hours for the cleansing of your body thoroughly bathed in our semen. And time itself will stand still as I lift you upstairs to my inner chambers where we shall not be disturbed.

Rest well, my young Greyson, I stroke his hair. Regain your strength. You will be needing it long before the sunrise.

*********

Uncountable hours---or was it days?---later, wrapped in my robe, drinking my coffee, I watch him leave the shower room.

Modesty, Richard, after what weve been through? My voice betrays my disappointment at the drab robe he uncovered somewhere and put on.

He reaches for his costume snappishly, but not looking at me. I cant go out on patrol like his, he indicates the ripped spandex.

And my gifts? I press on, ignoring the brusqueness in his tone.

Nightwing shrugs his shoulders, mumble something, and starts to put on his socks.

Richard, I say in that steel voice that has caused even a Superman to pause, If you are not wearing them, I will put them on you. Right now.

He bristles at my tone, and that fierce pride flashes. We have a bargain to keep. Now pardon me, but I have a city to take care of.

Really. The boy has to be taught his place. I storm to him, undo the knot of his robe and throw it over his shoulders to pool at his naked feet.

He is an honorable lad, after all. I smile at my prize, though Richards face is again already swelling red in embarrassment.

He shouldnt, really. The garment Ive made him heightens and accentuates his best features. Mentally, I congratulate myself on my new design and wonder whether it can be marketed on larger scale for immense profit.

But right now, my gifts have been created solely for Richard, and solely for my eyes.

The new, satin black undershirt stretches tight to cup only his pectorals, tapering off at their muscles, leaving his stomach naked. The thin straps crossing his broad shoulders lead to the zipper, acting like a collar, at the middle of his pectoral muscles. Unlike the regular undershirt that leaves a mans chest air to breathe, my special creation strains and suffocates the muscles of his chest, stinging his nipples into perpetual hardness.

Only a brief touch of my fingernail on his left nipple, and Richard utters a moan. Stop it, he pleads. The satin is no ordinary cloth. It bristles with an electronic impulse that is activated by the slightest touch. This energy charge pinches the nubs and sends out charges to the most sensitive spots in his chest.

I disregard his plea. My finger merely twirls the flesh around his nipple, but the sensation causes my hero to shudder. As he steps back, my other hand caresses his brief-clad buttocks. Richard suppresses a gasp as I reach between his cheeks. The soft metal underneath his briefs tapes across his hole. Probing it delicately makes him jump, just a little.

Youll get used to it, I assure him. Think of it as another utility belt.

The thin rope-like piece of silvery, flexible metal, light as a feather but impenetrable as steel, wraps around his torso; a branch tapering off at the small of his back curves into a small cone that fits snugly into his anal hole, sealing it.

Your belt is a little oily, like you, he shoots back.

Actually, he is more accurate than he knows. That belt, designed solely by me in my own labs, is actually a mini-computer that Eros and De Sade would have given their hormones for. Its programming specifies that only my fingers, identified by their prints, can unlock and remove it. No other man or woman can; not even Richard. The only exception is the daily or occasional call of nature. The belt around the torso is cued to recognize the urgency of his digestive needs; at the slightest indication, the cone unlocks itself, falls off--and as soon as Richard has finished, flushes his anal canal with soap and water, and seals it again.

Richards revealing reply, meant to irritate, only excites me even more. My hand clutches the insides of his ass. His briefs ARE wet - with the oil that the cone secretes. Nothing copious, but the smooth liquid is cleaning and softening his anal muscles.

Greyson may not have figured it out yet, but the device is not just a high-tech butt-plug to discourage the trespassing of future suitors. It keeps his ass continually lubricated and thus prepared for my taking.

Richard Greyson, Nightwing, is mine. Always mine. Only mine.

The very thought sends a fresh arousal to my cock, and I press my hardening groin against his.

He immediately crouches away, as he senses my renewed desire. Oh, man, havent you had enough?

Im afraid I will never have enough of you, my hand strokes his bare thigh, Do not underestimate your charms, Richard.

His Adams apple bobs deliciously as realization sinks in of my long-term intentions. I tug at the strap of his left undershirt, dragging it slowly down his lower arm to near his elbow, exposing with calculated measure his bare shoulder and the enticing opening rim of his left nipple. As I start to do the same with the other strap in a slow strip-tease of his bosom, he grimaces. My lips pluck soft kisses on the delicious flesh above both his nipples, just barely above the cloth, and he winces again.

My cock throbs at his discomfort. Doubtless my way of gradually unrobing him reminds him of the innumerable times he had done the same to his female conquests. But, oh, Richard, you do yourself a disservice even by comparing yourself to them. You are more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen---and you must be unwrapped like a trophy.

How long are you determined to protect your mentors secret, Richard? I move in for the kill, and pinch his pointed nipples over the undershirt. The electric charges flare out to caress his pectorals, and Richard almost falls to the floor in ecstasy and pain.

I catch him and crush him to me, my arms enveloping his back. His nipples sting again, causing him to squirm, as my chest collides with his. Hungrily, my teeth begin to graze his jaw, as I push him to the floor.

My hunger overtakes my brain, reducing me to an animal. It does not matter that I had taken him four times. I want to claim him again, brand him with my seed.

I open my robe as I climb on top of him. My legs are knocking his open, and I reach for his briefs.

Luthor, he manages to cry out as I drag them down to his knees. This cant go on. Youre not in control.

How can I not be? I gaze for a moment at his beguilingly helpless face, his now fearful eyes, his heaving body and its naked arms and legs lying spread-eagled before me. The shivers of his flesh belie his protests. His beauty is intoxicating, leaving me insatiable. In merciless answer, my mouth covers his in a bruising kiss, silencing all his pleas.

Yes, I am Lex Luthor, the conqueror of this planet.

Greyson cries out as I unzip his undershirt, pushing it aside. His strained bulging pectorals leap out to the harsh caresses of my eager, groping fingers.

Yes, my mind dictates my actions, never giving in to sensation or emotion.

My tongue forces entry into his mouth as my fingers unlock his chastity belt. His opening is thoroughly lubricated, almost ready for my penetration.

As my hand parts his anal muscles, Nightwing bucks beneath me and screams out in submission.

It is sheer bliss and music to my ears.

Enough reason for me to cast aside my self-control.

Especially now that Dick Greyson is pliant to my touch and subordinate to my desires.

I begin to plow into him, burying myself into his beautiful body. My lips lick all over his face, my hands roaming over every inch of his physique.

In the olden days, kings would humiliate their opponents by capturing their daughters and marrying them or confining them to their harems. It is a blow few recover from. As I claim my trophy, the thought occurs to me that what may be sufficient to demolish Bruce Wayne and Batman once and for all is a simple knowledge of the truth:

I am Lex Luthor.

Dick Greyson Nightwing is my Achilles heel.

But until his dying day, for his own protection, my opponent will never know. After all, it is for the best.

Undoubtedly, his son - my prisoner prince and future consort now mumbling incoherent sounds of reluctant ecstasy as I milk his manhood and flood his insides with my seed - will agree with me.

THE END?