KING REX -- Chapter 3: Captain Thunder
“Go ahead… SAY your magic word…”
KING REX – CHAPTER 3: CAPTAIN THUNDER by absman420
It was going remarkably well. Bringing the superheroes into the fold was not just erotically stimulating, but practical, too. With Superion as his knight, and Night Owl as his man-at-arms, Rex was protected from just about every threat. Not that he anticipated much resistance – happily, the superheroes themselves provided most of that, and only for a while – but a wise King never let his guard down.
It turned out Night Owl was billionaire-playboy Brad Payton, owner/chair of Payton Industries, who was more than happy to underwrite King Rex, and establish financial security for his new Sovereign Master. Hell, he eveez OFFERED. Rex was so pleased, he allowed Night Owl possession and lordship over his protégé, Wonder Boy. The two of them were in Windy City right now, fighting crime, and establishing a secondary base for Rex. Although Payton tried to keep it quiet, Rex had learned about Payton’s secret renovations of the old Windy City Cathedral. Fitting. Good taste.
Superion was his best spy. Admittedly, Rex wasn’t certain he’d totally converted Night Owl – Night Owl had sort of a reputation in that area – so for the first few weeks, he regularly sent Superion to keep an eye on Payton and his boy. Superion’s reports more than convinced him that Night Owl was loyal.
Superion himself was a treasure throve, not just because of his blind devotion and attentive worship, but also his wealth of information about superheroes, and his contacts in government. Everyone trusted Superion – he joked about being thought of as a big boy scout – “Though the scouts probably wouldn’t take me, now,” he’d laugh – soon, with the help of Superion, everyone would trust Rex, too.
There had been several times when Rex had required transport from one place to another. In the preferred method, Superion would hold him from behind, lifting Rex from the armpits, and fly His Gigantic Majesty wherever he needed to go. Ever aware of Superion’s hands, Rex would sometimes pretend he was alone, flying under his own power, soaring over the beauty of Megalopolis with his arms spread and his chest out.
He was superior to Superion in almost every way except that. Rex’s powers kept him rooted to the earth, a side effect of mass-inducement. He was grateful for his size, he loved his powers, but he fantasized about flying. Imagine how majestic.
Superion also granted him access to the Justice Club Database. The first time he logged on from Rex’s Macintosh, Rex commented on how quickly and easily they’d gotten in. “What kind of security is that?”
“Believe me, Your Majesty,” Superion chuckled, as his fingers moved so fast, they blurred, “the series of codes I go through are not only long, but also timed. I have mere seconds to type complex lines of code. No one – no computer, even – can duplicate my rhythms. There, we’re in!”
From this database, Rex learned everything he needed to know about Superion’s Justice Club counterparts. Very little information in Night Owl’s file, not surprising – not that it mattered now, Rex supposed. He was intrigued by the Purple Power – well, the new Purple Power. Apparently, this young upstart had just won the right to wear the Ring, and he was taking the local press by storm – risky saves in a sleek, new costume – developing a much more press-friendly reputation than his predecessor. Pretty boy, Rex thought, checking out the flowing blonde locks. And pretty boys were always fun to re-educate. Rex idly wondered if the Purple Power would still have the iron-will necessary to work the Ring after he became Rex’s subject – maybe he’d just have to give it to Rex.
The other younger member of the Justice Club was the new Speedster, and though he was listed as twenty-three, he didn’t look a day over eighteen. Like Wonder Boy, Speedster had spent his youth as a side-kick – though in those days he was called “Kid Speedster” – “Humiliating,” Rex thought, scrolling through the text and jpeg photos. The original Speedster had died about five years ago, roughly, in some big crisis that took the attention of almost every hero and heroine in the universe. He’d sacrificed himself to stop the plans of the Anti-Guardian, and now his side-kick had inherited the mantle.
The young Speedster was a wisp of a thing, even with his highly developed runner’s legs. Superion was of the opinion that the young man was already gay, noting that the kid never had a girlfriend and wore a thong under his bodysuit. Rex thought the kid had a nice ass. He nearly became Rex’s next choice.
Until Rex saw Captain Thunder, a new hero working out on the west coast. Thunder was a part-time member of the Justice Club, and only seemed to go on missions when Superion wasn’t around – when they needed a powerhouse. His powers were nearly those of Superion, anyway. Super-strength, flight, invulnerability – that lot. He didn’t have Superion’s vision powers, and seemed vulnerable to gasses, as well, but those were really the only significant differences. For all practical purposes, they were interchangeable.
His uniqueness lay in the way he received his powers. The Planet’s Most-Powerful Protector – The Mighty Captain Thunder – was in truth barely more than a boy. Geeky teen-aged Timmy Thompson, who, in times of dire need, shouted a magic word, and was transformed via mystic lightning into the big Captain.
Thunder had allowed the Justice Club to film the transformation, stored here in the database as an mpeg file. Rex accessed it, impatiently waited the twenty seconds it took his G4 dual-quad Mac to download the two-gig file, then hit “PLAY” eagerly.
Good picture, very clear – should be at that file’s size – outdoors, looked like the patio of the Justice Club, sunny and bright, with the fountains and front steps visible. Center frame was the young Timmy Thompson, awkward and uncomfortable in a yellow long-sleeved t-shirt – Thunder’s lightning-bolt logo silk-screened on the front – and blue jeans. Rex could tell that the kid would eventually be handsome, when he was finished growing, but right now was clearly stuck in a gawky, ugly-duckling phase. Even his dark hair was too shaggy.
There was no sound with the file, but Timmy Thompson leaned his head back and shouted something to the heavens. Almost immediately, something answered back. A real bolt of lightning this time, white-hot from the sunny sky, as thick as a tree, struck young Timmy Thompson in the upper chest. A flash of light. The boy was enveloped in power – his aura electric – lifted slightly off the ground.
Then, Captain Thunder appeared, standing in Timmy Thompson’s place as the lightning dissipated, leaving question of whether they were two different people. But as he stood there in his one piece yellow bodysuit, his golden-metal lightning shield somehow attached and molded to his mighty chest. Over a waist-length white cape with gold edging, held around his neck by a braid of golden rope, Rex could see the similarities in facial structure between Timmy Thompson and the super-hero Captain. Captain Thunder looked like Timmy Thompson’s father, almost. Timmy Thompson’s well-hung father.
He watched the mpeg twice more at normal speed, impressed with the Captain’s physique, then watched it a few times at half. The slower it went, the more details became evident. Right before the flash that filled the screen for the briefest of moments, when Timmy Thompson was lifted off the ground, Rex could see the boy’s muscles start to swell, the beginning of growth.
Then – poof! – there was Captain Thunder, who could also be seen growing, finishing. The Captain – almost as big as Superion – would grow, pump up, as it were, absorb the last erg of lightning, and then stand there parade-ready, primed and masculine, steaming with energy. Captain Thunder – Timmy Thompson perfected. The mystic lightning somehow made Timmy Thompson the ultimate version of himself. And the way he flaunted his heavy genitals proved he knew it, too.
Rex watched the clip many times. It entertained him for weeks. He beat off watching it once or twice – one memorable time with Superion before him in service. He loved watching the boy’s muscles swell as the transformation began. He loved the thought of expansive muscle-growth coming from the sky instead of the earth, where he got it now.
Finally, he knew what to do. He pulled Superion off his cock and said, “Bring me the boy, Superion. Timmy Thompson. I’m ready for him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Superion, kissing Rex’s cockhead one last time before standing, and adjusting his trunks.
As Superion flew toward the skylight, unmindful of the unfulfilled erection evident in his briefs, Rex added, “And don’t let him speak his magic word. I want Timmy Thompson, not Captain Thunder.”
Superion smiled. “Then you will have the boy, Your Majesty,” he said, and flew off into the night. Timmy Thompson shouldn’t be that hard to find. After traveling the great expanse of the American west for three years with his uncle – living in their RV and honing his powers – Timmy Thompson had settled in West Coast City, ready to graduate high school and become an adult.
Rex watched the clip one more time. There was the briefest of moments between Timmy Thompson uttering his magic word and the strike of the lightning, proving that the power came from somewhere else, not from within. That could be exploited.
And one thing Rex knew, it was how to exploit power. He found himself eager for Superion’s return. If all went according to plan, Rex would more than own Captain Thunder.
It was sooner than expected. That he flew all the way across country and back before Rex had finished signing off was more than impressive. At least it proved the depth of Superion’s loyalty. Fat Tony rang into the room, his flawless abs exposed and flexed above his servant-class white thong. “Superion is back,” he said, looking at Rex’s feet. “He awaits Your Majesty in the Throne Room with – as he says – Your Majesty’s prize.”
“Excellent,” Rex said, standing up. As he passed by the bowing Fat Tony, he brushed the man’s head with his hand, giving Fat Tony the slightest course of pleasure. Fat Tony swooned.
As Rex walked to the Throne Room, Fat Tony – and his hard-on – following behind, Rex adjusted his crown.
When His Majesty entered the Throne Room, the full-throated voices of the servants rang out – “Hail, King Rex!” – in a chorus of baritone harmony. Rex found himself puffing up a bit, as he always did when he was being worshipped. The energy was irresistible.
Superion stood on the dais, awaiting him. He held the boy in his arms, Timmy Thompson, the kid from the video, now in the flesh. Timmy Thompson, gagged and bound, struggled uselessly in Superion’s mighty grip. When he saw Rex, he stopped. His eyes widened, running up and down the mass of Rex – as so many others had done so many times in the past – taking in the size of his enemy, then Timmy Thompson tried to stare him down. Acting tough in his circumstance showed great courage. Weak men never became heroes, Rex thought. That’s for sure.
And strong men were so much more fun to break.
Rex didn’t even bother with the throne. He approached the boy directly.“Hello, young master Thompson,” he said. “I am His Majesty, King Rex the First. You will soon be my loyal subject, as Superion there is.”
Superion rubbed his growing cock against Timmy Thompson’s captive ass – that seemed to be a favorite bit of his, Rex idly noted – and said, “I worship His Majesty. So will you.”
Poor Timmy Thompson tried to speak, but gagged as he was, it was a useless endeavor. “Release him,” Rex commanded Superion, who obeyed instantly. The kid stood, his hands bound behind his back, his gag in place, with his legs spread – a stance of defiance – not the meek, mild pose that Rex expected from a guy with Timmy Thompson’s gawky build.
“I know how you get your powers,” Rex said, hands on his hips, right below the gold band of his belt, hands resting on his purple spandex shorts. “Let me show you what you get with mine.”
Rex raised his hand, and released the first wave. The boy took a step back, steadying himself, then shook his head. As he did, his muscles grew. The awkward teen’s frame began to fill out beneath his loose clothes, in the same shirt as the vid-clip. Instead of awkward, he suddenly looked athletic. Not a bodybuilder, nowhere near the size of Superion, or even Fat Tony, but Timmy Thompson now had the body of a triple-letter man, his shoulders round and thick, his pecs evident in mass beneath his tee.
Timmy Thompson gasped around his gag, suppressed a smile, his growing erection evident in his tightening pants, but still kept his confident stance. He actually looked more natural in it, now.
Rex closed the gap between them, looking down on the boy, intimidating him. The boy had defiance still in his eye. Excellent. This was the hit that mattered, anyway.
Timmy Thompson swooned with the next wave, weakening in the knees, but the growing musculature and strength of his legs kept him standing. His jeans tore in the thigh, in the inner seams, as the muscle grew out of them.
His arms had been growing, too. In size and strength. With little effort, Timmy Thompson’s new guns snapped the rope that had bound him. Now he was getting to be the size of a bodybuilder – his shirt barely held on. Rex gave him another small jolt, just to hear the shirt tear.
He was even more pleased to see the boy’s hard-on held tight by his whities, while his pants fell away. Rex was so close to winning.
With his now free hands, Timmy Thompson reached for his gag, flexing his big arms along the way. “Go ahead, boy,” said Rex, his voice low, inches from Timmy Thompson’s face. “Say your magic word.”
The gag was nothing to a guy of Timmy Thompson’s strength, tearing away easily. The boy looked Rex in the eye and shouted the word that Rex had never heard, the magic word. He tilted his head back and shouted just as Rex hit him with another wave of power.
In the instant before the lightning struck, time slowed down. Timmy Thompson had grabbed his own cock – unable to resist – now fully aroused and growing itself. He’d never greeted the lightning this way – erect – and his last rational thought was a curious wondering about the effect.
In the instant before the lightning struck, in Timmy Thompson’s moment of distraction, Rex struck, shoving Timmy Thompson off the dais and stepping into his place, hitting Timmy Thompson with a continual wave of pleasure and gravity.
Rex heard an explosion in the ceiling and looked up quickly enough to see the lightning bolt course down into him, hitting him squarely in the mass of his chest. Rex felt the heat and burning of electrical power, surrounding him, penetrating him. He felt himself lifted off the ground.
The moment was brief, but the effects continued forever. He felt his already unbelievable physique grow again, as it swelled with the power of the mystic lightning. His muscles pumped beyond pump. The lightning was his blood. The power. The blinding power.
He absorbed the lightning, every erg of energy it offered. A white flash across his vision. He evolved. He maximized. He became.
He flexed himself, for his power seemed to peak when he flexed, and roared, a deep, primal scream. And then the lightning was gone, and the power was within him.
Rex panted, trying to get his breathing under control – the energy he felt now was crack on caffeine – and looked at himself in the mirrors along the sides of the cathedral. Lit from above, he looked so much bigger. For as thick as he’d been before, as heavy as his muscle used to be, it was nothing compared to his size now. There weren’t words to describe him. His musculature was unreal, almost too big. The pictures on the web given breath and life. Heat and moisture. His mammoth chest, the tiny, impossible waist, the gargantuan thighs, the horse-cock and melon-balls. The potency.
He still wore his purple spandex shorts, banded at the waist and thigh with gold, miraculously – magically – containing him, his boots, his wrist bands, his crown, but now, brandished across his bare chest was the lightning symbol of the mighty Captain Thunder. He didn’t know how the metal shield was staying attached to him, but it moved with his muscles and changed shape as he flexed or stretched, like a metal tattoo. And with the mounds of his chest exposed, his laden nipples on either side, it looked as though it was meant to be there – the power had found its proper home.
He also wore the over-the-shoulder waist-length cape, held on by a piece of golden rope. Around his thick neck, his heavy traps, it gave an even greater impression of royalty – Rex, never much on capes, decided to keep it.
He was filled with power. The power of light. Rex had been a creature of earth. His power came from below, after all – it grounded him. Weight. Gravity. Density. Now here he was with the power of the sky flowing through him, the electric river of light that coursed through the heavens. The power that he was a part of, and that he now contained. And tried to control.
He could remain earth-bound no longer. The power rose to the level of his will and he lifted off the ground. Rex could fly! Ecstasy! A dream fulfilled! A wish granted! The energy that coursed through him granted him the power of flight. Rex smiled, surveying the room below him.
Superion was still on his knees at the base of the dais, looking up, gasping in disbelief, a look of joy across his face. There was Fat Tony, by the throne, also shocked, his erection battling his thong.
And there in the corner was Timmy Thompson, slammed against the wall so hard that he’d actually broken through into the brick. Once Rex saw the boy, he understood the boy’s fate. When the lightning hit, Rex had been dosing Timmy Thompson heavy with the power. The lightning magnified everything about Rex, including his inherent super powers, so the boy must have been slammed with a wave of Rex’s power stronger than any other man had ever been given. And the effect was painfully obvious.
Timmy Thompson was now ponderously over-muscled, thicker than the thickest powerlifter, heavier than the heaviest lineman, bigger than he ever was as Captain Thunder. Not pretty muscle, like a bodybuilder, but the muscle of burden, the bulky mass of a worker. Timmy Thompson was so big, he could barely move. And unlike when he was Captain Thunder, he still maintained his boyish face, his teenaged blemishes. Not that he seemed to care.
The boy’s eyes were blank, and he giggled with a stupid grin, drooling from the corner of his mouth. Mixed with the muscle wave, Rex had also hit him with pleasure, magnified too by the lightning. Timmy Thompson did nothing now but smile inanely and play with his ponderous erection. Rex flew down to the boy and floated as if standing about three feet off the ground. Timmy Thompson looked up at him and giggled wetly, saliva, and savagely stroked his insatiable cock.
Timmy Thompson’s mind was gone. In its place was this fleshy creature of pleasure, unable to think of anything but its own satisfaction. He wouldn’t be calling out anymore magic words – Rex had inadvertently seen to that – still, it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. “Tony!” Rex called over his shoulder.
Fat Tony ran to His Majesty, descending the stairs of the dais in leaps. He fell to his knees before Rex, next to Timmy Thompson. “Yes, Your Majesty?” he begged, eager to serve, his abs flexing from his exertion.
Rex indicated the boy, the great wall of muscle-flesh. “This is Timmy Thompson,” he said, surprised by the new bass resonance in his voice. “Make sure he always has his mouth full.”
Fat Tony nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He stood immediately and turned toward the boy, his package almost in the boy’s face. Timmy Thompson smiled hungrily and reached out, grabbing the waistband of Fat Tony’s thong, ripping it off easily. Desperately, grunting in anticipation – which seemed to be his only mode of speech now – he took Fat Tony’s cock in his mouth, sucking it to hardness, beating his own meat with his free hand.
Rex turned his attention away, back to Superion, who still knelt on the dais, looking at Rex and smiling slightly, his own growing dick evident in his trunks. Rex laughed – a rich, round bass chuckle – and flew through the open skylight into the Megalopolis night sky.
He flew almost straight up, rising above the level of the buildings, until the vast city of Megalopolis was directly below him, the whole island in view. Reveling in his power, his cock hardened beneath his spandex shorts. Somehow, they stretched to accommodate it. He was the ultimate man, greater now than even Superion. He was the Thunder King.
Rex pulled out his gigantic cock and beat off there, floating above the city. In his fantasy, he was fucking it. He looked down over his massively muscled chest with its lightning-bolt shield and watched himself stroke. Look at his arms! He was the most powerful man in the world!
When he shot, he sprayed the city with his cum, slowly spinning to face each direction, letting the city taste all of his spunk. Most didn’t make it to the ground, but the lucky few who were hit gained significant amounts of muscle and energy almost instantaneously, and found themselves seeking masculine attention almost immediately. Searching, however blindly, for a King.
Superion flew up from the city below him, one small blotch of Rex’s cum on his cheek, a smile on his face. He stopped about four feet below Rex’s level, facing him but looking slightly up. “His Majesty,” said Superion with awe in his voice, “is the King of Thunder.”
Rex smiled. “Let’s fly.”
Down through the buildings, dodging skyscrapers, speeding through the man-made canyons of steel and light, they toured the city, zipping around spires and avoiding buttresses. Superion taught him to fly, and his love for the ability showed. Rex, for once in his life not rooted to the ground, truly felt like a god. THIS was power!
He took the lead, shooting past Superion and angling up. Up past the towers, the skyscrapers, the clouds, until the moon lit them and the layer of clouds below them. They swooped and swirled and danced like birds. And there, miles above the city and the world, they mated in the air. Rex did a loop, coming down above and behind Superion, and took him with only the sky to lie against.
They flew together, Rex inside Superion’s ass, steering Superion as Superion had once steered Rex, their arms extended to their sides, Rex almost pressing against Superion’s wide back. They fucked in the clouds. They fucked against the tip of the Chryslon Building. They fucked on the top of Lady Liberty’s head, Superion’s gigantic body accepting submission as Rex proved his superiority in the soft glow of Liberty’s mighty torch.
Word spread through the kingdom quickly, as if often the case, that His Majesty, King Rex of Thunder took for his mate and partner, Lord Superion – together they would rule – together, they’d bring a new age. Quickly, a new throne was made, a new crown was found. Let the joyous news be spread! Hail Rex, King of Thunder! Hail Superion, Lord of Power!
Now, with the electric power of Thunder within him and Superion at his side, he was unstoppable.
So he thought.