superslavemannn

[superslavemannn]

Hi, dude! I LOVED your story! Will you continue writing? I'm waiting for the moment when Nuclearman will appear and dominate the Man of Steel.

It looks like my account might have been shadowbanned here... But no worries, I’ve already published the Book 1 full story (text only) on: https://www.telemachus12.com/shstories/superslaveman/index.htm?page=20250524. Feel free to check it out!

I’m also planning to launch a blog where I’ll post Book 1 with images and continue updating Book 2 there as well.

[superslavemannn]

The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 4)

Last week, Superman seemed to unlock some new, less-than-heroic habits, likely due to his new punishment dick ring... What new challenges will Superman face in his daily life?

The secret about Jimmy will be revealed in this week's story...

Chapter 4: Love in Flight

As usual, the subway station was crammed with people. It seemed to take forever just to get into the station. Superman might have flown, but Clark Kent waited patiently behind a long queue for his turn to buy a token so he could wait to get through the turnstile before waiting for a subway. When he was almost at the turnstile, a train pulled into the station. He knew he wouldn't catch that train.

But Jimmy did. He spotted Clark in the crowd and waved cheerfully at him before hopping onto the subway car.

''Morning, Clark!'' Jimmy shouted.

Clark's hands were full, so he waved back with the hand holding his briefcase, accidentally hitting himself in the head with it and knocking his glasses askew.

Good old Clark, Jimmy thought, watching him through the window of the subway car as it pulled away from the station.

As Clark adjusted his glasses, his mind lingered on Jimmy's smile.

Oh, Jimmy. How could he know that this clumsy, awkward rookie reporter from the countryside had secretly harbored a crush on him for so long?

Although Clark had a fleshy admiration of strong male body for the longest time, his obsession with that youthful and carefree coworker made him somehow realize, for the first time, that he wanted somebody by his side — to share a pizza with on the same couch, to cuddle on a stormy night.

Jimmy Olsen's face and body weren't like those gym jocks Clark had been secretly peeping since high school. Jimmy was just a averaged looking American boy, with a lean and toned body, his messy auburn hair adding to his nerdy charm. His face, with its square jawline and slight freckles, carried a certain innocence that Clark found irresistible.

But it wasn't just his looks. Jimmy was the first person to stand up for him when the whole office was teasing him after he spilled the coffee he brought for everyone. Jimmy was the one who brought him a late-night snack and stayed with him to finish work. Jimmy was also the only one who gave him the first birthday gift—a red tie—apart from his adoptive parents.

As his feelings grew, Clark wanted to give more. So, he let Jimmy have the first ever Superman interview. He always came to Jimmy's aid whenever danger lurked around Metropolis. He even got him a special Christmas gift—a collar pin made from a rare diamond mined on Strum's moon. But that's all he could do for Jimmy.

He couldn't bring himself to confess it. Part of it was not knowing whether Jimmy felt the same way, but there was also the matter of being Superman. He couldn't just blur the lines between his two identities—there was too much at stake. The last thing he wanted was to drag Jimmy into his complicated world, to put him in danger or make things more difficult than they already were.

It stung, sure. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about what it would be like to be with Jimmy, to laugh together walking in central park or watch a movie on a lazy afternoon, it was like a little ache in his chest. But he kept it buried. It was easier that way, he told himself.

It was hard to say whether it was his lack of romantic experience, the suppression of his true feelings, or perhaps both, that had led him to develop an unusual (for a hero, at least) fixation with  being humiliated and punished—or perhaps something even darker. But Clark could never truly admit this to himself. The thought of acknowledging it filled him with dread. All he could do was remind himself, over and over, that he was Clark Kent, the kind but clumsy journalist, and Superman, the greatest hero. Neither of those personas had the time or capacity for love—especially not with someone like Jimmy.

So, he smiled, played it cool, and kept his feelings hidden, even though every cheerful greeting or friendly pat from Jimmy made it a little harder to pretend.

Just like right now. Even though his heart was in turmoil from just waving and smiling on the subway, he was still clumsily repairing his glasses as if nothing had happened.

''What if Jimmy knows I'm in love with him? What if we live together as a couple just like those Hollywood romcoms?'' He couldn't help but wonder.

''Will it save me from the hell of my abnormal desires?''

Squinting, Clark activated his X-ray vision, his gaze piercing through steel and concrete to track the subway car as it hurtled into the tunnel. His focus landed on Jimmy, standing with his headphones on, carrying a gym bag for his early morning exercise.

But then his eyes caught something strange: the train was speeding up at an alarming rate.

It's the engineer, pale and sweating, clutching his chest in visible agony. A moment later, he slumped forward onto the control panel, unconscious, head pressing on the power switch. Clark's breath hitched. The train, now unmanned, barreled down the tracks with dozens of passengers, including Jimmy, in peril.

This was a job for Superman!

Clark ripped off his glasses and ran toward the tunnel. Moving faster than human eyes could see, Clark changed from his pinstriped suit to the iconic red and blue uniform beneath as he followed the subway whose next stop could be catastrophe.

The train roared through the tunnel, its wheels screeching against the tracks. Superman flew alongside it, the confined space forcing him to maneuver with surgical precision. He glanced into the windows, briefly locking eyes with Jimmy, whose expression shifted from carefreeness to stunned amazement. Superman offered him a reassuring wink before accelerating ahead of the train.

Once he was far enough ahead, Superman stopped and turned to face the oncoming subway. He planted his boots firmly on the tracks, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The headlights bore down on him, brighter and closer with each passing second.

He spotted the so-called ''third rail'' running parallel to the tracks—a high-voltage conductor responsible for powering the train. Superman gritted his teeth. He knew what he had to do, and it wouldn't be pleasant.

Just as the train closed in, Superman kicked his boot into the third rail. Instantly, millions of volts of electricity surged into his body. His muscles tensed as the raw energy coursed through him, his nerves alight with a searing pain that was almost unbearable—but not quite for Superman. He clenched his jaw, arms reaching forwards. Superman could handle this; he had to handle this. The electrical overload caused a system-wide short, halting the train's engines and bringing it screeching to a stop mere foot from where Superman stood.

As the train ground to a halt, Superman staggered slightly, the residual electricity crackling harmlessly off his suit. He straightened himself and approached the train. With a mighty pull, he guided the subway through the now-darkened tunnel to the next station.

Inside, the confused but relieved crowd began to disembark. Superman made his way to the front car, where the unconscious engineer still slumped over the controls. Gently, he lifted the man from his seat and carried him out of the cab. His super-sensitive hearing picked up a faint heartbeat.

To the approaching rescue squad, he said with calm urgency, ''His pulse is weak, but it's there. I recommend using the automated external defibrillator—he may need it immediately.''

As the paramedics moved in, Superman placed the engineer carefully on the ground, ensuring he was stable. Jimmy, now trapped among the crowds, struggled to approach him breathlessly.

''You—you stopped the whole train! That was incredible!'' Jimmy stammered, awe shining in his eyes. As the crowds gave way to him, Jimmy sprawled to the ground, clutching his ankle as he winced in pain.

Superman turned at the sound of Jimmy's fall. Concern flashed across his face as he swiftly crossed the platform to kneel beside his friend.

''Jimmy, are you alright?'' Superman asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Jimmy looked up, his cheeks flushing slightly as he waved off the concern. ''I'm fine, really. Just... clumsy me. Twisted my ankle a little during the sudden braking when you stopped the train, but it's no big deal. You've got more important things to worry about, Superman.''

Superman frowned, his piercing blue eyes landing on Jimmy with care. ''You're not walking on that ankle, Jimmy. Let me fly you to the Planet.''

Seeing Superman leaning forward, trying to scan his injury, Jimmy hid his ankle away immediately. His face turned an even deeper shade of red  ''Don't worry about me. Really…''

''I insist.'' Superman smiled gently and slid his arms beneath Jimmy, lifting him effortlessly.

Jimmy nodded sheepishly ''Okay... if you're sure. Thanks, Superman. You're my lifesaver.''

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around Superman's neck for support. He leaned his head onto Superman's board chest.

Unexpected, Superman felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't think twice about helping out Jimmy but now the closeness between them was waking up something inside him.

His superhuman senses betrayed him; the warmth of Jimmy's body, the way their body touched, the trust in Jimmy's embrace—it was overwhelming. The air between seemed hot and heavy,  and as he felt his penis, throbbing a little in his tights. He felt like his hand ached to clutch it, to do what he now never allowed himself to do. Or he wanted Jimmy to touch it, to do whatever he wanted to do with it. But thankfully, Jimmy's huge gym bag was pressed against his crotch, so he didn't have to worry about the possibility of some awkward revealing.

Focus, he commanded himself silently, pushing down the feelings stirring within him. He tightened his hold just slightly, ensuring Jimmy was secure, giving him a gentle smile, and took off, soaring out of the subway station and into the open sky.

As they took off into the sky, Jimmy let out a soft laugh, his nerves giving way to admiration. ''I've always wondered what it'd feel like to fly with you. It's... amazing.''

Superman looked at Jimmy in his arms, momentarily at a loss for how to respond to his words. All he could do was smile at him with gentlemanly grace. Though they were soaring above the bustling city, Superman couldn't hear any of the noise below. His eyes were fixed solely on the young and adorable reporter before him, held close in his embrace, feeling the rhythm of their heartbeats together.

Jimmy tightened his hold slightly, resting his cheek against Superman's chest for a moment. ''Well, I'm not complaining. I mean, I'm not exactly in danger now—just my usual clumsiness. But... Thanks for looking out for me. You always do.''

Superman hesitated, the words catching in his throat. ''It's more than just my job.''

''You're important to me, Jimmy. You always have been.'' Superman blurted out unintentionally, surprising even himself at how he had let his secret slip. But wasn't it the truth? Clark and Jimmy were practically inseparable everywhere they went. To others, they were the best of friends, but only they knew how their bond and feelings for each other, over time, grew deeper and more inseparable without them even realizing it.

Jimmy blinked, the sincerity in Superman's voice catching him off guard. ''I—wow. That's... I don't know what to say. You're the most important person in the world to so many people. It's hard to imagine you'd think of me like that.''

Superman smiled back softly, his grip steady as they soared higher. Superman held Jimmy even closer in his arms, pressing his chest tightly against Jimmy's face. Jimmy's lips were almost touching his chest, and his warm breath was so near, so tender. How he wished he could kiss him right now and tell Jimmy just how much he loved him.

Within his tights, underneath the gym bag, Superman's penis trembled.

''Your optimism, your bravery—it reminds me why I do what I do. You don't just report the truth. You inspire people, including me.''

Jimmy's heart raced, and he laughed nervously. ''You make me sound way cooler than I am. I'm just a guy with a camera and too much caffeine in my system most days.''

Superman shook his head, a rare vulnerability in his tone. ''You're more than that. You see the good in the world, even when it's hard to find. That's... rare, Jimmy.''

Jimmy tilted his head to look at Superman. ''You know, you're not so different. I mean, yeah, you're Superman, but you're also... human, in a way. You care so much. It's like you carry the weight of the world, but you never let it show.''

''I've never seen the city like this before. It's so beautiful.'' Before Superman could say anything, Jimmy shouted out as he looked down.

Towering skyscrapers and throngs of people bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning sun. Everything seemed to shimmer with a gentle glow.

Jimmy suddenly lifted his head to look at Superman, their faces so close that their lips were almost touching.

Jimmy let go of Superman's neck and then gently placed his left hand on Superman's chest. His fingertips softly traced along the red 'S' logo. ''I wish I could see the world through your eyes, Superman,'' he said softly.

Those words pierced Superman's heart like a bullet, and he felt as though his chest was overflowing with emotion. Yes, he wished Jimmy could know everything about him. He longed for the day when he could share his life with him completely.

Jimmy. His words and his touch seemed electric. Superman could hardly believe what was happening to him. The erection that he had fought so hard to master was threatening to return. And it seemed as if the warmth and proximity and intimacy of Jimmy's words and touch was the catalyst.

Superman's gaze softened, and he murmured, ''But now you see. Jimmy. With me.''

Jimmy's breath caught, the words hanging between them. He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. ''Well, I guess we're both good at making each other blush.''

Superman laughed, a genuine, warm sound that eased some of the tension. ''I guess we are.''

As they neared the Daily Planet, Jimmy's tone grew quieter, more introspective. ''Do you ever wish... you could just be normal? Not Superman, not the guy everyone depends on. Just... you?''

Superman paused, the question striking a chord. ''Sometimes. But I wouldn't trade what I have. Being Superman—it's who I am. But there are moments, Jimmy, when I wish I could just... be there in a simpler way.''

Jimmy's fingers tightened slightly on Superman's neck, his voice barely above a whisper. ''You're there for me. Always. And that means everything.''

Superman wanted to say something but the rooftop of the Daily Planet has already come into view.

Superman landed gently, setting Jimmy down with care. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

Jimmy cleared his throat, breaking the silence. ''Thanks again, Superman. I owe you one.''

Superman nodded, his usual composure returning. Hands crossed against his crotch, hiding the fact that his penis stood stiff and pulsing. ''No debt, Jimmy. Just... take care of yourself.''

Jimmy hesitated, then added with a playful grin, ''Actually... I need to confess something.

Superman blinked, ''W... what? Jimmy''

Jimmy came forward and whispered near Superman's left ear ''I faked the injury.''

Superman caught completely off guard, hands dropped on his sides. ''You... what?'' He paid no mind to concealing his throbbing erection. It's true that he believed Jimmy and didn't even bother to scan for the injury.

Before he could fully process the confession, Jimmy leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through Superman like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Jimmy pulled back, a mischievous grin on his face. ''Just wanted to see if I could surprise the guy who sees everything. Guess I can.''

He stepped back and noticed that remarkable bulge between Superman's thighs.

Before Superman could react, Jimmy casted a playful glance toward Superman's crotch, turned and dashed for the rooftop door, his laughter echoing behind him.

Superman stood frozen. A full minute passed before he shook himself free of the daze, realizing Jimmy was long gone. That fleeting, close moment with Jimmy still vivid in his mind—the shy smile, the touch on his chest, the playful glance. Superman chuckled softly, a sound rare for him, as the unfamiliar feeling settled deeper. Was it happiness? Excitement? Maybe even… hope?

Then reality hit him.

First, he noticed it—his erection, still faintly throbbing in his red briefs. His eyes darted downward, catching the unmistakable outline. Did Jimmy see that? Oh, Great Krypton, what would he think of me?

Second, he remembered his Clark Kent clothes and glasses were still left in the subway tunnel where he transformed. A groan escaped his lips as he imagined Perry White's no-nonsense face when he inevitably showed up to work late. ''How could I forget the most basic rule of being Clark Kent?'' he muttered, running a hand through his perfect hair.

''Nice move, Superman,'' he grumbled to himself before shooting up into the sky to retrieve his things. Yet, as he soared above the cityscape, a flicker of warmth lingered within him. It wasn't the sun's rays revitalizing his Kryptonian cells—it was something more... human.

''Focus, Kal,'' he told himself firmly, shaking his head as if to clear the thought. But the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told a different story.

*                    *                    *

The scorching Florida sun beat down on the swampy mining site, turning the air thick and sticky. A middle-aged man, chained and begrimed, was shovelling muck from the marshy ooze near a quiet two-lane road.

Two federal marshals leaned casually against their battered truck parked along the shoulder, watching over their unusually chatty prisoner.

''What in the world is that racket you're makin'?'' one of the marshals drawled, tipping his hat back.

''Mozart!'' declared the prisoner dramatically, his chains jangling as he gestured with flair. ''Even this wretched bog cannot silence the brilliance of true genius! While you've been toiling in this foul morass, I've been inspired! You see, life itself began in a primordial pool such as this. And I, Lex Luthor, genius extraordinaire, have conceived a plan to recreate life itself!''

The second marshal looked up from cleaning his fingernails and snorted. ''Better keep shovellin', Luthor, or we'll see how much the 'gators appreciate your genius.''

The other marshal grinned and cracked his knuckles. ''Yeah, Luthor. Quit jawin' and start sweatin'.''

Lex paused, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh. He glanced toward the heavens and muttered, ''Surrounded by Neanderthals… What a waste of intellect.'' But even as he resumed his shoveling, his mind remained elsewhere, contemplating the murky waters and his latest scheme.

The sound of a roaring engine and a cloud of dust snapped everyone's attention toward the road. A sleek white convertible screeched to a halt beside the truck, kicking up dirt.

The driver hopped out—a young man with slicked-back, greasy golden hair styled into a perfect ducktail. Dressed in black leather pants adorned with silver studs and a huge jacket, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a rock concert.

The marshals exchanged a bemused glance, waiting to see what would unfold.

''Yo, Pops!'' the newcomer called out, apparently oblivious to the chain gang. ''Where am I, and how do I get to Fort Lauderdale?''

The first marshal smirked, pushing off the truck and walking over to the convertible. ''Son, you're on the wrong side of the state,'' he said, trailing a finger along the hood. He gave the car an approving nod. ''Now this is what I call wheels.''

''Mind if I pop the hood?'' the second marshal asked, clearly distracted by the gleaming vehicle.

''Go right ahead,'' the young man said, his grin widening. He casually reached into the car and pulled out two silenced pistols from beneath the driver's seat.

Before the marshals could react, the sharp hiss of suppressed gunfire echoed through the swampy air. Both men collapsed in an instant, crumpling to the ground without a sound.

The young man, unfazed, tucked the pistols back into the car and turned his attention to the stunned prisoner. With a flourish, he pulled off his sunglasses and flashed a toothy grin.

''Did I do okay, Uncle Lex?'' he asked.

''Lenny,'' Lex said, ''Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I'd have to teach these swamp rats about culture all by myself.''

Smiling with pride for a job well done, Lenny took a large wire clipper from the car and freed his uncle from the chain, ''Relax, Uncle. I had to make sure the car matched your aesthetic. A genius like you deserves to escape in style.''

Luthor rubbed his wrists with a satisfied sigh, ''About time. These brutes had no appreciation for my brilliance.''

As Luthor slid gracefully into the driver seat, Lenny turned his attention to the fallen marshals.

After two minutes, the sound of splashing water and the faint movement of shadows in the murky depths signalled the arrival of the alligators.

Lenny wiped his hands on his leather pants as he strolled back to the car. ''Got it, Uncle.''

As Lex started the engine, Lenny's phone buzzed loudly. He fished out the phone from his jacket, and answered with a casual, ''Yeah?''

The voice on the other end was gravelly and commanding. ''This is General Todd. Is the extraction complete?''

Lenny smirked, glancing at Lex, ''All done, General. Uncle Lex is free and enjoying the fresh air. You want to speak to him?''

''Put him on,'' Todd barked.

Lenny handed the phone to Lex, who accepted it with an elegant flourish, ''General Todd,'' Lex said smoothly, ''what a pleasure to finally hear from someone who understands the value of true genius.''

''Luthor,'' Todd began without preamble, ''I have received your letter and reviewed your proposal. Your idea of creating a superman loyal to the military-industrial complex is...intriguing. I see significant potential in your vision. That's why we authorized your escape. The resources you need will be at your disposal, but we need results.''

Lex's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ''I assure you, General, my plan is foolproof. However, there's one minor detail we must address first.''

''Destroying Superman!'' Both said at the same time, their voice cold and resolute.

What's Lex's plan? How will they kill Superman? Will he survive? Will Clark confess his love for Jimmy before he dies? Find out next week in Chapter 5: Inglorious Defeats.

[superslavemannn]

The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 3)

Last week...

Superman got the most bizarre gift from his father, Jor-El. He had no idea that this ring would end up changing his life forever—and that he'd fail the test in the most unexpected and miserable way…

Let’s dive deeper into the story this week…

Chapter 3: Reflection of Shame

Metropolis, the city of dreams and ambitions, the city built by its hardworking citizens, the city blessed by its protector, was bathed in the soft, golden glow of early morning light. At 7 a.m., the streets were just beginning to stir. The gentle hum of life filled the air as birds chirped on telephone wires, and the occasional clatter of footsteps echoed on the sidewalks below. Vendors set up their carts, their voices light and cheerful, offering fresh coffee and pastries to the early risers. For a moment, it was the most peaceful time of the day in Metropolis, as the city's usual hustle and bustle had yet to awaken fully.

In a crowded but lively residential area, nestled among the labyrinth of fire escapes and brick buildings, stood a shabby old apartment complex. Its faded paint and creaky staircases spoke of decades of wear. On the third floor, one apartment in particular looked unassuming, barely noticeable. Its windows were wide open facing a dimmed abandoned valley, letting in the crisp morning breeze that danced with the faded cream curtains, making them billow like sails.

At first glance, the room within was ordinary. Modest furnishings—a small dining table, a sofa that had seen better days, and a few bookshelves packed with newspapers and magazines. Nothing special about it that almost everyone would say its occupant led an ordinary life. But then, on a chair near the window, a vibrant burst of color caught the light: a red cape draped casually over the back, its golden 'S' insignia gleaming faintly, attached to a bright blue and red Superman suit. The sight was almost comical in its juxtaposition with the otherwise mundane room.

This was Superman's home, but to most people, known as Clark Kent's apartment, hidden in the heart of Metropolis.

From the bathroom came a faint sound of running water. Clark Kent was showering, the soft patter of droplets breaking the morning stillness. The steam from the hot water curled out through the semi-opened bathroom door, mingling with fresh breeze. Inside, Clark hummed a tune to himself, his voice carrying the cheerful notes of Singin' in the Rain. He couldn't help but imagine himself as Gene Kelly, twirling through rainy streets, carefree and laughing. For a moment, he let himself pretend—pretend he wasn't Superman, but just a regular guy dancing without a care in the world.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of warmth against his face, letting it roll over his broad shoulders, down his chest, and along his legs to his feet. An unalterably, beautiful physique. The mass of his arms, thighs, the staggering breadth of his shoulders, the cut, mounds and curve of his pecs, the narrow hips, and well-rounded buttocks. His fingers couldn't help brushing idly across his incredible, muscular pecs, tightening, caressing them, tracing to his tight abdominal, to his crotch.

But then, mid-thought, his fingertip touched against something unexpected at the base of his half-erected penis—something not quite skin. It was firm, almost rubbery, and definitely not supposed to be there. Clark paused, his humming abruptly cutting off as his eyes snapped open. His smile faded into a puzzled frown as his heart sunk to the bottom.

It was the penis ring—his father Jor-El's warning, his restriction—given just hours earlier in the Fortress of Solitude.

The memory flood back like a raw but forgotten wound getting touched accidentally, shame and anger surging from deep within him from his crotch to his mind. Suddenly, everything felt surreal, blurring the line between reality and illusion.

Just hours ago, he had endured a brutal lecture—emotionally scarring and physically draining—from his father. Now, back home and stripped bare, he still felt uneasy in his comfortable area, his confidence shaken.

He quickly pulled his fingers away from the cock ring, an anxious flicker of fear sparking within him at the thought of accidentally activating it. But nothing happened. The ring remained still—no shrinking, no pain. His penis hung flaccid, long but soft, while his heavy ballsack swayed low, water dripping onto the spaces between his strong toes.

''Okay, okay, all good, Kal. No need to worry. Focus. Be a hero. You can do this,'' Clark muttered to himself, his voice wavering as he tried to summon courage. He inhaled deeply, letting the warm water cascade over him, though his gaze remained fixed below.

''Be…a hero…''

He couldn't help but stare at his manhood—a true marvel even in its relaxed state. Light teal veins traced across the cavernous tissue, and his X-ray vision accidentally engaged as he studied it too intently. Beneath his skin, he saw the frenetic movement of sperm swimming in his urethra and scrotum, a sight he had never witnessed in broad daylight but only been able to take a glimpse through his body, underneath his skin. Yet still, those powerful sources of power were so close and dear to him, even though he had never touched them, felt them, held them, or even tasted them.

Maybe he never will.

The realization hit him hard: his body, god-like in power, felt alien to him. He could never truly control or embrace this part of himself, could never masturbate freely or even ejaculate—not without Jor-El's permission. The thought poured over him like icy water, a suffocating sorrow creeping in. Would he ever experience release? Could he ever truly feel human in this way?

''No,'' he growled softly, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought. ''It's not the time for that, Kal.'' Clark turned off the water immediately. He couldn't bear even one more second staring at the harsh truth between his godly thighs. He couldn't allow himself to be immersed into such hopeless and shameful musings, although he must face it one day.

''Think about the city. Your people. They need you. They love you.'' He stepped out of the shower, forcing himself to focus on brighter thoughts. ''Think about Jonathan. You dad, he loves you. Think about…Jimmy…''

As he dried off, Clark turned on the radio sitting on his cabinet. He needed something, anything, to distract himself and take his mind off the desperate truth between his thighs.

''... Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman! ''

The radio crackled to life, and the familiar opening theme of the Superman radio drama filled the room. It was the crown jewel of Metropolis Radio: The Adventures of Superman. These were imaginative stories lovingly created by fans and brought to life by talented voice actors. Sure, real-life stories of Superman saving the day happened all the time, but you couldn’t underestimate the enthusiasm of his admirers. Kids especially loved hearing about Superman’s daring, heartwarming imaginary stories, which were far more exciting and personal than the stiff reports on the news.

''What's a better way to start the morning than with some fan fiction?'' Clark thought and chuckled, shooting red laser beams from his eyes into the mirror, using the reflected beams to neatly shave off the stubble on his face.

Clark, of course, was also a huge fan of the radio show . He tuned in regularly, though with a hint of amusement and curiosity. He wondered how ordinary people imagined his life, or, whether their version of his adventures was more exciting than the ones he actually lived.

Yet, what Clark wouldn’t readily admit was that he felt a peculiar thrill listening to those heroic tales. He was, after all, the very main character in the broadcast, the lovable figure hailed as the greatest hero, the strongest man on Earth, invincible and the ultimate champion of justice and truth.

Yes, he savored the fiery devotion, the bouquets of admiration and love that people showered upon him. Despite his public modesty—every time he saved the day, he would humbly declare, ''I’m just your friend, a helpful neighbor''—he couldn't deny the immense satisfaction he felt inside when basking in the applause and cheers. His ego was insatiable when it came to praise.

The stories might not have been entirely real, but the adoration they carried was. It fueled a part of him he rarely acknowledged: the part that reveled in being worshipped. It made him weirdly excited, not only in his heroic mind, but also in his little red briefs.

''Yesterday, we witnessed a remarkable moment as Superman's former archnemesis, Dr. Dedalus, chose to turn over a new leaf after Superman’s heartfelt appeal. Not only did Dr. Dedalus provide life-saving treatment to Superman in his time of need, but he also went on to invent a cure for cancer! Has Dr. Dedalus truly become Superman's ally, or is there a deeper, more sinister plot at play? Join us today as we continue The Adventures of Superman!''

Turning up the radio, Clark reached for Superman suit draped across a chair in the corner of his room. The vibrant red, blue, and yellow seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

As the radio played the story of Superman and Dr. Dedalus teaming up to battle underground monsters, Clark donned the suit, pulling it over his powerful frame with the practiced ease of a man who had done so countless times before. Once his little super buddy with its ''cursed'' choker was tugged comfortably right in the cradle of that smooth red briefs, Clark turned to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall.

''Hooray!! With Dr. Dedalus's help, Superman has once again saved Metropolis! The greatest hero in the hearts of the people, the embodiment of justice! It's Superman!''

Meanwhile, the real Superman, dressed in his skin-tight suits, proudly stood in front of the mirror, listening to his imaginary story and people's praise, drinking in his reflection. Clark's eyes scanned the details of his physique, lingering on every muscle, every curve, every detail that set him apart from mortal men.

''I am the hero! I'm Superman!''

A grin reappeared across Clark's face, widening as he struck a pose, puffing out his chest to emphasize the iconic ''S'' shield. He pivoted slightly, admiring the way the cape fell perfectly over his shoulders, then adjusted it minutely for maximum effect.

''But wait! Just as Dr. Dedalus and Superman were examining the remains of the monster in the lab, Dr. Dedalus sneaked up behind Superman and switched on the large green light above him! Oh no! That’s a Kryptonite beam! Superman’s greatest weakness!''

''Kryptonite!'' The word suddenly pulled Clark’s attention back to the radio drama.

Kryptonite. It was the very thing that had appeared in his dream earlier that day, the reason why he had received the cruel punishment from his Krypton father. Superman stood frozen, holding his breath, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Involuntarily, Clark's gaze shifted to his crotch. The outline of his super member on the red briefs slowly began to take shape, swelling and elongating before his eyes.

'' 'I'm h-hhh-hhorribly weakened and... pained... by the rays!... turn them off! Doctor, have y-yyy-you gone out of your mind!'  Oh no! the Man of Steel collapses on the floor! 'You're in super trouble! You fell right into my death trap!' ''

As Superman's pained groans echoed through the apartment from the radio, the intense desire Clark had felt in the shower suddenly surged back again, as if a monster had caught him off guard, seizing his throat from behind and leaving him utterly powerless.

'' 'You...Devil! Ow...ow-ww!  Ow-ww!' Superman, no!!! The greatest hero struggles in vain as Dr. Dedalus straps him to a bench, with bands of metal containing, also, Kryptonite! 'Ha ha! How simple it was to outwit you! Resistance is hopeless, you fool!... Pardon me, while I turn up the power of the rays a trifle!' Dr. Dedalus raises the power in these rays to its full strength, making Superman cry out in agony! Get up, Superman! You cannot give up like this!''

''Why my scream... No, it's not mine. But why does it sound so much like I was in the show...Oh...no...'' Clark thought to himself, breathing heavily. Superman's scream sounded almost like it was voiced by Clark himself, the real Superman.

'' 'Aaaargggh! Stop... oh...no...Please!...It's killing me....Aaaaaargggh!' ''

The scream from the radio crept over Clark, igniting an excruciating urge inside. His gaze fixed on the reflection of his now throbbing erection. He wanted to touch it, his glorious bulge, to tame that howling tiger in his red underpants.

'' 'I was... a... fool... to trust you... Ow-oww... Please... Stop it... I'm begging you!....Stop...'  Oh... How come our hero reduces to this. He is begging his enemy for mercy! Dr. Dedalus claps and cheers while watching our hero suffer a big time! 'Aha! Your skin has begun to turn green as the Kryptonite fever rages within you!'  What a twisted cruel cruel man!''

As the plot thickened, Clark's mind spiraled into a maddening, torturous haze. Catching sight of the faint outline of his ring beneath the red briefs, his rational mind screamed that there was no way he would touch that erection like he used to do. He dreaded that the penis ring would tighten its unbearable constraint once his hand landed on it.

Now, the real Superman was almost as hopeless as the hero in the show.

As the scream from the radio intensified, Clark found himself involuntarily leaning closer to the mirror, his hand hovering just above his reflection. Slowly, he reached out, fingers brushing the cool silver surface of the mirror. They traced his jawline, his lips, his mouth, and then lower—to the powerful bulge beneath the red briefs. Tears welled in his eyes, betraying the raw hunger and frustration simmering within. He wanted to touch, to feel, to be free.

'' 'At last!! After all these years of vainly trying, I'm finally going to kill you, Superman! Your glorious days are over! Now, face your inevitable doom!'  ’’

Clark's whole body quaked as the show reached its climax. Leaning closer to the mirror, his lips met the cold, hard, unyielding surface. His chest, firm and broad, pressed against the glass, the cool sensation stark against his heated skin. Without a second though, his hips moved forward with his glutes tightened, his breath quickened, and his desire only deepened. Finally, his huge bulge touched with the hard surface of his reflection and lust. A strange but overwhelming warmth began to blossom at the core of Clark's wood-stiff manhood, radiating outward like a rising tide.

''Oh, no! Superman turns completely green and his struggles are getting weaker and weaker. He is dying! Dr. Dedalus is killing Superman! ''

As the radio show painted a picture of an imaginary Superman falling into the hands of death, the thought of his own downfall, the death of Superman, sparked a powerful, almost intoxicating rush. It surged through Clark’s body like a current—electric and unstoppable—spreading from his chest to the very tips of his fingers.

''Superman's weakening breath ceases! His whole body is now turning into a glowing green, lying motionless on the bench! Has Dr. Dedalus really succeeded in killing the Man of Steel?''

Those terrifying words were like a giant invisible hand, pressing Clark against the unresponsive cold mirror, and yet he felt something burning in his every cell and every nerve.

''Why does it feel so good... hearing the story of me... dying... helplessly... at the villain’s hands? Oh no...''

Clark couldn't help but tremble, standing slowly on tiptoes, giving his crotch a further push against the mirror to increase the pressure. The warmth suddenly turned into an explosion, as if the blood were rushing in his body at the speed of light. The news of Superman's imaginary death has made Clark burning, dizzy, weak, and helpless, but he knew he could keep doing it until the end of the universe.

The cruel story in the radio continued...

''Is Superman dead? Dr. Dedalus begins to examine the hero's limp form. 'I must make sure Superman isn't just pretending to be dead, to trick me into turning off the rays! Hmmm... this super X-ray disclosed all things in his body. The organs and his blood! All turned green! He is very, very dead! DEAD!'  ''

As the final word echoed through Clark's mind and soul, the warmth in his body turned into an intense surge of flame, like a raging inferno. Clark pulled back slightly to look down, while the bulge stayed pressed against the mirror. His eyes fixed on the growing erection in his briefs—a vibrant and swelling red. It lifted, pressing hard on the mirror, stretching as it’s hardened, thick and full. He rubbed it against the mirror up and down, from left to right, while his hips instinctively pressed with such precision so that the mirror wouldn't break under his superhuman strength, seeking more friction, more connection. Harder and harder.

'' 'I just killed Superman! I've destroyed the mightiest man in the universe!'  ''

While the cold, stiff body of the imaginary Superman lay dead, the real Superman was reaching an unparalleled, earth-shattering climax, unlike anything he had ever experienced. His manhood stood fully erect now, long and solid, straining against the fabric, craving for escape. Superman trembled violently and moaned like a teenage boy masturbating for the first time.

A moment ago, Clark thought he would never feel it again. He thought the punishment, along with the ring, took away his right of self-touching for good, as well as his right of sexual climax. But now he could relive it once again, hand-free, in the illusion of his own imaginary death. Finally, he could have his only private moment without activating that damn dick ring! He wept like a reborn man.

''Superman is dead. There is no way to save him now.'' The narration voice from the radio started to tremble, then suddenly gave way to Dr. Dedalus's chilling laughter as he announced his victory to the world., '' 'People of earth! I, Dr. Dedalus, have killed Superman! This is no hoax! It's absolutely true! Now, I own his dead body. It will be my greatest trophy forever!' ''

''Oh... Why it makes me so hard... What he will do to my body... Oh great Krypton... Cut off my head... make it into a trophy...Oh great Rao...'' Clark couldn't help but think about what the imaginary villain would do to his lifeless body. Meanwhile, the pressure on the tip of his penis had almost reached its maximum. He was ready to release his natural flow.

''Now, my audience, please remain silent for a minute. We mourn the loss of the greatest hero...''

As the room suddenly fell into silence, Clark closed his eyes and pressed his whole body onto the mirror. Suddenly, the ring  began to vibrate. It was shrinking.

Clark let out an agonizing howl, and tiny cracks started to appear on the mirror..

''I don't care anymore! I will die from the radiation on my dick ring. It will kill me, emasculating me on site. But I DON'T CARE! Let me have it, father! Let me have IT!!!''

The surge of precum building up to the tip of his urethra.

But as quickly as he came to the verge of collapsing, the sharp ringing of the phone cut through the quiet, snapping Clark out of his sexual spiral. He jumped back from the mirror and glanced at the desk where the phone sat, but before he could answer, his old answering machine clicked on with a beep.

A voice crackled through the speaker—Jimmy Olsen, his colleague and ever-enthusiastic partner in journalism. But today, Jimmy sounded anything but upbeat.

''Clark! Clark, are you out for work!'' Jimmy's voice was rushed, almost frantic.

''Listen, you've got to get down here right now. Something big is happening, and it's bad—real bad. The East-West arms control talks... they've broken down. Completely collapsed! The President is about to make an emergency address to the nation. It's all over the news, man. The Planet's newsroom is in overdrive. Perry wants everyone on deck! And Clark, the streets are saying something big is gonna happen in our office. Something catastrophic. Just get down here, okay? Hurry!''

Clark jumped towards the desk, almost ludicrously, scrambling for the phone, and said ''Hello,'' hoping to get a hint from Jimmy about details, but he had hung up. He was talking to a dial tone.

Clark's jaw tightened as he stared at the desk, his mind racing.

''Something catastrophic…'' he whispered; his voice barely audible. The words jolted him like a sudden burst of clarity, snapping his thoughts back to reality. The lust and vulnerability that had consumed him moments earlier slowly evaporated, leaving behind a sharp focus. His vision, blurred moments ago from tears and sweat, cleared. His hearing sharpened, catching the sound of streets beyond his walls. Energy flooded back into his body; the sluggishness of indulgence replaced by the vitality of purpose.

In that moment, a warm voice from the radio filled the room once again, ''Well, let's not feel too badly! After all, this was only an imaginary story!... Folks, the chances are a million to one! It will never happen! Just a quick reminder to our audience: all Kryptonite on earth had been collected and destroyed by our government over a year ago! So right now, Superman is probably safe and sound, listening to our show, entertained by our little story! Again, the hero will not leave us! And by the way, just last night, Superman saved three Russian astronauts from a deadly collision between the space station and orbital debris,'' the announcer cheerfully continued, ''The Man of Steel not only repaired the station but also escorted the injured astronaut safely back to Earth. Truly, a hero for all humanity!''

The words washed over Clark, a quiet reminder of the reality, right here, right now.

Yes, there was no way that somebody could defeat him, let alone kill him! The only Kryptonite on earth probably was just that tiny bit in the penis ring of his. He is Superman—the symbol of hope, protector of a fragile world. He is the hero that will always stand against evil. There was no time for indulgence, no room for hesitation. The instinct of a big boy scout surged within him, obliterating the remnants of his earlier misstep.

Without wasting another second, he carefully tugged his Superman suit beneath his reporter's attire: a crisp white shirt, a modest tie, old-fashioned suit trousers, and his signature thick-rimmed glasses. He glanced at the mirror one last time, not as Superman but as Clark Kent—mild-mannered journalist, no trace of the crazy turmoil he'd felt earlier. To his surprise, his body had calmed entirely, his khaki-colored trousers loose and unremarkable, no evidence of his earlier arousal, no trace of that once throbbing bulge.

There was no time to linger. Grabbing his satchel and suit jacket, wearing his hat, he bolted out the door, bounding down the apartment stairs two steps at a time and into the bustling streets of Metropolis.

After Clark left, the apartment returned to its peaceful, serene state. Sunlight streamed in through the wide-open window, casting a glow on the tiny cracks left on the mirror.

Clark never noticed, but those cracks were like an omen. The repression of his hyper sexuality over the past thirty years was beginning to take on an unexpected but extremely dangerous form. From his narcissistic admiration of his own body, to his obsession with the allure of strong male bodies, and then to a secret yearning for pain, torment, and humiliation. And today, after enduring his father's cruel punishment, something inside him had surfaced. It was something darker and more twisted: fantasies of his own death, at the hands of his enemies.

But Clark was too cocky, too full of himself, to realize what the series of events that had unfolded that morning truly meant for him. He was still reveling in the thought of being the strongest hero in the world, completely unaware that this new thing, lurking in the back of his mind, a dangerous fetish, would lead him down a path of irreversible destruction.

Now, the awkward and naive young reporter from the Planet Daily was making his way through the bustling crowd, heading straight for the subway station.

There was no room for distraction. He had one thing in his mind:

The world needed Superman.

What could possibly be waiting for Clark at the Daily Planet? Something catastrophic? Another test from his father—one he’s doomed to fail again?

Stay tuned for Chapter 4: Love in Flight, arriving this time next week…

[superslavemannn]

The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 2)

Last week...

Superman was reliving the nightmare of his first encounter with Kryptonite. Yet, strangely, he found himself aroused by the crushing humiliation. Little did he know this masochistic fantasy would become a prelude to the most agonizing punishment he'd ever endure...

Let's delve deeper into the story this week...

Chapter 2: Cruel Punishment

''Ahhhhh!!''

A devastating scream shattered the silence in the Fotress of Solitude. Superman's eyes shot open, his body jerking upright in a desperate, uncontrollable motion as a guttural scream tore from his throat, sharp and frantic.

He eyes quickly scanned the room, still wild and unfocused. Sweat poured down his face and soaked through his clothes, his skin slick with the residue of his panic, as if he feared the nightmare might be waiting for him to fall back into its grip. Or he secretly wished it was happening all over again? The most shocking truth unfolded in front of his face as he looked down on his wetted crotch.

An erection! His penis pushed out below his belt; his cock stood stiff and pulsing. A dark spot could be seen on his red underpants. It's his precum. There was now so much white bubbling across his crotch that it was as if someone rubbed a soap on it over and over. And it made him feel so, so horny and so foolish.

''No! Go down,'' he quickly released something and whispered in desperation, ''go down! Superman can't be like this!''

''Kal-El!'' suddenly, a deep and solemn voice tore through the chamber, reverberating off the crystal walls.

''No!'' Superman almost cried out but uttered an almost inaudible shout, knowing it was too late.

In an instant, the dimly lit room flickered to life, and the familiar, towering form of Jor-El's face emerged in hologram. His expression, typically calm and wise, now carried the weight of deep disappointment and abomination. His eyes focused on Superman, still trembling and lying flat. The sight of his son—weak, horny, and broken—was more than Jor-El could bear.

For a moment, Jor-El said nothing, his holographic form simply observing, staring at the white bubbling stain and the erection that betrayed Superman's hidden secret. The air around them grew colder, the tension thick with the weight of unspoken words. Superman was shaking, his arms trembling uncontrollably as he tried to steady himself, to push himself up. But he was either too weak or too scared to make any move, even his erratic gasps became shallower. It was so quiet at that point, as if the only sound Superman can hear was the burst of presume bubbles on his briefs.  

Then, with a quick, deliberate motion, Jor-El activated the robotic arms as his eyes closed. The cold metallic tentacles reached up under the crystal bed with precision and purpose. Leaving no time to react, they locked onto Superman, grabbing his arms and legs firmly, lifting him from the bed with mechanical strength. Superman heart sunk in the bottom as he clenched his fists but didn't fight back. Of course, he couldn't fight back. He stood no chance of winning over the most advanced technology from his hometown, from the hands of his father.

The robotic then forced his body into an X-shaped position in mid-air. Superman's body hung limply; his muscles seemed like too drained to resist.

''Father...'' Superman's voice cracked, weak and desperate. ''Please... I... I won't be like this anymore. Please... mercy.'' His voice was full of remorse, the words tumbling out in a haze of anguish.

But Jor-El's face remained unmoving, his disappointment heavy in the air. Without a word, he initiated the sequence, sending a surge of electricity through the robotic arms. The current coursed through Superman's body, lighting up his form as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, the pain overwhelming, but he couldn't escape.

''You have failed,'' Jor-El's voice echoed, cold and unwavering. ''Your weakness tarnishes the legacy of Krypton.'' The words cut deep, more painful than the electricity coursing through his body.

Superman's body shook violently, but he held his tongue, his breath shallow as the energy coursed through him.

''Father...'' Superman tried to plead, but before he could continue, a surge of much more powerful electricity shot through his body, cutting off his words. The pain was way beyond overwhelming, so intense that it nearly paralyzed his mind. It was as if every nerve in his body was on fire, and his ability to think, let alone speak, was ripped from him. He couldn't even manage to utter a complete sentence, let alone call out to his father by name. The agony was all-consuming.

Another surge of electricity shot through his limbs, much stronger than the last time. White foam began to spill from Superman's mouth as his body trembled uncontrollably. His lips quivered, but no coherent words escaped.

It was getting worse and worse. Superman started to make unintelligible sounds; his once strong voice reduced to nothing more than desperate, nonsensical muttering. The electricity coursed through him relentlessly with no sigh of stopping, making his muscles seize and stiffen, locking him in a cruel state of paralysis. Soon, his body became rigid, his arms and legs twisted, forced into unnatural positions by the electric current.

Now, his eyes, wide with terror and pain, rolled upward, unable to focus. His pupils dilated, and his once proud, heroic face was twisted with agony as tears slipped down his cheeks, leaving streaks on his skin. The proud symbol of strength, now reduced to a vulnerable, broken shell, trembled under the harsh punishment of his father's relentless force. Despite his superhuman resilience, the torment was too much, and Superman could do nothing but endure the excruciating surge of power tearing through him.

At that moment, Superman's mind was a chaotic storm of images and sensations. Lex Luthor's face, kryptonite necklace, the filthy pool, the sadistic dungeon, Jor-el. The images of Lex Luthor and the fragments of pain, fear, and sexual climax, flashed before his eyes, each one overlapping the next in a swirl of howling. His head throbbed as the memories blurred together, distorting and blending until they formed a formless, slimy, glowing mass in his mind.

Without warning, the mass exploded within him, an overwhelming sensation of pain and destruction flooding his entire being.

In an instant, everything stopped. The excruciating punishment ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Superman slowly came around, feeling an uncanny warmth spreading across his crotch and onto his legs.

''Father...please…I…please.'' Superman groaned like a beat-up stray dog, with his voice dripping with fear and shame. He was terrified beyond comprehension. He has lost the control of his bladder. The white foams on his briefs were now replaced by urine spurting uncontrollably, washing away any trace of precum.

As the robotic arms finally released their grip, Superman crumpled to the floor, collapsing onto all fours in a shallow puddle of yellowish liquid seeping from his defeated body. The filthy water soaked into his suit, darkening the blue fabric at his knees. His chest rose and fell in strained, labored breaths as he tried to piece himself back together. The once-pristine red briefs, now saturated with the foul mix, clung tightly to his battered frame, dripping steadily like silent tears.

Above him, the hologram of Jor-El loomed, his disapproving gaze cutting deeper than any wound. It was a wordless condemnation, a brutal reminder of everything Superman had failed to uphold, and the greatness he had let slip away.

Superman's head hung low, his hands trembling as they braced against the icy floor.

''Look at you, Kal-El. The last hope of Krypton. And yet here you kneel, filthy, battered, and groveling. Is this what the great House of El has been reduced to? A weakling covered in his own urine?'' Jor-El's voice thundered through the Fortress, each word sharper than Kryptonian steel.

Kal-El's lips moved silently, but no words came out. He dared not look up.

''Speak up, Kal-El! Or has your shame choked the voice from your throat? Pathetic. ''

Superman's voice cracked as he finally managed to whisper, ''Father, I—''

''Do not call me that,'' Jor-El interrupted, his tone dripping with contempt. ''You are no son of mine. No true son of Krypton would allow himself to be such a pervert. You crawl here in the Fortress, sullying this sacred place with your pitiful presence. Look at your red briefs, Kal-El. Look at them!''

Superman hesitated but complied, sitting up slowly with his head bowed in shame. His body trembled as his gaze fell to his soiled red briefs, the fabric clinging to him in damp humiliation. What was once the proud bulge of his manhood now lay defeated, softened and curled against his body, as if it tried to hide itself in the cradle of his scrotum. A pitiful shadow of strength reduced to nothing. The wet fabric clung mercilessly, sticky, and smelly, stripping away any last vestige of dignity he might have held onto. His eyes brimmed with tears, a painful mix of shame and despair, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to let them fall.

Jor-El's hologram sneered. ''Those are not the symbol of a hero. Those are the symbol of a coward. A failure. A useless creature. You claim to fight for justice, yet you can't even fight to keep your dignity, or even control your bladder! Let me tell you what it truly represents now: Humiliation. Weakness. Shame. You don't deserve to wear it.''

The words cut deeper than any wound ever had. Superman's body shuddered, falling again on all fours. ''I'll fix this,'' he begged. ''I'll do anything.''

''Anything?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with sarcasm. ''How noble of you. Tell me, Kal-El, how do you plan to fix the fact that you are an embarrassment to Krypton? How do you plan to fix the fact that you have been reduced to a pervert, who squandered every gift we gave you? That you've allowed yourself to become a laughingstock, a broken shell of a sex addict?''

Superman clutched his chest, his fingers digging into the icy floor. ''I'll never do that again,'' he said, his voice breaking. ''It was a dream Father. A dream I cannot control! I would never let myself be consumed by my own desires if I were awake. Father you have to believe me!''

''A dream?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with venom, each word cutting deeper than the last. ''Don't you dare speak of that dream! I've seen it all!''

Tears brimmed in Superman's eyes, threatening to spill. ''No…'' he whispered, his voice barely audible. ''That can't be true…''

''Oh, but it is,'' Jor-El sneered. ''That dream—was it a glimpse into your true desires? Your downfall, your defeat, your humiliation, your stupidity—is that what thrills you? Is that the source of your twisted pleasure? How dare you feel aroused when you are nothing but a fool, a plaything at the hands of your enemy?! You've grown addicted to this twisted sickness. And that, my son, is the gravest danger to a hero. So, congratulations—you've managed to turn yourself into a symbol of mockery and disgrace.''

Superman's head dropped lower, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His body shuddered with silent sobs as his father's relentless words continued.

''You crawl before me like a whipped dog, covered in filth and begging for scraps of forgiveness. And for what? What do you think forgiveness will achieve? Do you think a few pitiful words from me will erase your disgrace? Will they clean the dirt from your suit, the stench of failure from your skin? You reek of incompetence, Kal-El. Even the Fortress itself feels sullied by your presence.''

''Father, I'm sorry,'' Superman choked, his voice breaking as he finally lifted his tear-streaked face. ''I'll do anything to prove myself.'' Superman collapsed fully to the floor, his forehead pressing against the cold crystal as if trying to merge with it and disappear. His sobs echoed faintly in the cavernous space, but Jor-El was unmoved.

''Beg all you want, Kal-El. Cry, if it soothes your fragile ego,'' Jor-El said, his voice sharp and unrelenting. ''But understand this—your tears are meaningless to me. Mercy is something you do not deserve. A hero must stand above any challenges, even to tame your dream!''

Superman's thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning out of control. What would his father think of him now, after witnessing his deepest, most private secrets? The things he sometimes didn't even understand about himself. Was he truly addicted to being dominated, to feeling defeated, humiliated? Or was this just a natural reaction, something inherent in every human — even though, as an alien, he had lived among them for decades? Had he unknowingly adopted their thoughts, their flaws? Was this kind of vulnerability something everyone dealt with, even if they didn't recognize it?

He had never questioned it before, never allowed himself the space to think about it. But now, in the midst of this emotional turmoil, the uncertainty gripped him. What if he was the only one that had this kind of twisted fetish, only him, Superman? No, it mustn't be! It can't be!

But, no matter how this twisted desire conjured in his mind, could he overcome it? Could he rise above this weakness and reclaim his true self? Could he be a hero again?

Jor-El paused, his cold, unyielding gaze drilling into Superman. The weight of his judgment was suffocating, pressing down on the fallen hero like an unbearable burden. Jor-El signed, ''For the sake of our people, however, I will grant you another chance. But first, you must pass a test.''

''What test, Father?'' Superman's head shot up, his voice trembling with hope, though he tried to mask it. It was as though he were clutching at straws, dangling over an abyss. ''Thank you, Father! I'll take it—I'll succeed, no matter the cost. Just give me the test!''

From the icy floor, a crystal pillar began to rise to as high as Superman waist, its smooth surface refracting light in a kaleidoscope of colors. Atop it rested a small red rubber ring, no larger than Superman's wrist. The sight of it left him puzzled, though a deep sense of foreboding began to stir within him.

''Stand up, Kal-El,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice firm and unwavering. Superman rose shakily from the floor, his body still trembling from the overwhelming shame that weighed on him.

''Now, take off your briefs,'' Jor-El ordered without hesitation, his tone sharp and cutting.

The command hit Superman like a bolt of lightning, his spine stiffening as he froze in place. His mind raced with disbelief and humiliation.

''Is there a problem?'' Jor-El's voice carried an edge of impatience.

''N-no, no problem, Father,'' Superman stammered, his voice barely audible as he lowered his gaze. With trembling hands, he reached for his belt, unfastening it slowly. The red briefs slid down his legs and pooled around his ankles, exposing him completely.

Without the support of fabric, his once-proud form seemed diminished. His manhood, peeking out of a rounded hole in his blue-clad crotch, hung low, lifeless and defeated, heavily limp, dangling openly. The last drops of urine still clinging to it. The semi-turgid glans hid within layers of uncut foreskin like a deserter huddled in a trench, weeping silently, wishing that it could disappear into void. His testicles sagged and the veins on his ballsack wrinkled as if utterly drained of vitality, just a pitiful reflection of his shattered pride.

The exposure stung worse than any physical pain he had endured. He felt like he could melt into slime on the spot.

Never had he felt so vulnerable, so utterly debased, displaying of his shattered ego. His father, the holographic projection of Krypton's greatest mind, had surely seen him unclothed before—after grueling battles, in the privacy of the Fortress of Solitude, as he cleaned and recovered. But never like this. Never in such a scenario where he stood as a soiled, defeated figure, his shame laid bare, like a boy waiting for punishment for wetting his own bed. The humiliation was beyond anything Superman could have imagined, and he dared not look up to meet his father's eyes. Every second stretched into an eternity, the weight of Jor-El's silence crushing him even further.

''Now, place the ring at the base of your genitals,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, as though he were instructing Kal-El on some mundane tasks. Yet for Superman, it was anything but trivial. The command was so bizarre, so utterly alien, that it momentarily stunned him. ''My…genitals?'' But the thought of disobedience didn't even cross his mind.

''Y…yes, Father,'' Superman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. With trembling hands, he reached out to take the rubber ring from the pillar. For a moment, he turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. It felt soft and elastic, like rubber, yet there was a faint hardness beneath the surface, almost as if something was embedded within it.

He squeezed it lightly, its strange texture both pliable and resilient. The simplicity of the object belied the weight of the act he was about to perform. ''A ring for…my…my penis?'' But he couldn't linger on the thought. His father's piercing gaze reminded him of the stakes, the expectations he was meant to fulfill.

Taking a deep breath, Superman stretched the rubber ring and carefully slid it down, positioning it at the root of his manhood. It wasn't too tight or too loose, fitting snugly at the base, resting against his balls. The sensation was strange, slightly uncomfortable, but tolerable—at least for a moment. Before he could even think to adjust it, the ring suddenly constricted without warning, tightening mercilessly around the soft tissue.

A jolt of horror coursed through Superman as he felt the unyielding grip around his shaft, the pressure growing unbearable.

Panic set in, the terrifying thought racing through his mind: was this thing going to sever him, leaving him a eunuch of Krypton? Frantically, he clawed at the ring, desperate to remove it, but the more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed. His shaft flushed an alarming purple-red, the pain intensifying with every second.

''Help me, Father! Please, help!'' Superman cried out, his voice trembling with a weary groan of utter despair, his hands desperately grappling at the unyielding edge of the ring.

''Stop, Kal-El!'' Jor-El's voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding.

''I don't want to be a eunuch! Father, I'm still a virgin!! Please!!! I beg you!'' Superman's words spilled out in a frantic rush, great panic evident in every syllable. However, the vice-like grip around his penis didn't seem to cease, with more prominent veins popping up on his super dong. Now, he was at the verge of passing out, or possibly worse.

''I SAID STOP!'' Jor-El's voice thundered like a clap of judgment, reverberating through the chamber. The sheer force of it struck Superman to his core, and without even thinking, he released his grip on the ring.

The moment his hands let go, the ring loosened immediately, rebounding to a form that wasn't crushing but still uncomfortably snug. It began to lose further, and eventually wrapped around the super shaft like a second skin, hugging it while restraining it.

Jor-El's voice remained steady, cold, and devoid of any empathy. ''I am not here to harm you, my son. This is a test—a test of your will, your discipline, and your ability to control yourself. Your desires, Kal-El, are your greatest enemy.''

Superman stood there, his chest heaving as sweat poured down his body, his trembling hands cupping his disciplined manhood. The fear of emasculation several seconds ago still coursing through him left him too stunned to speak.

''You see,'' Jor-El continued, his tone as detached as ever, ''this device is designed to teach you restraint. It will shrink and make you suffer if it detects your hands engaging in any inappropriate activity with your manhood. And if there is any sign of pre-ejaculation or ejaculation—both of which are strictly forbidden—it will activate its core, exposing you to Kryptonite radiation. You will experience the ultimate pain you could ever imagined. Consider it a punishment for succumbing to your animal instincts.''

Superman stared down at his body, his trembling hands hovering uncertainly over the ring. His mind was a haze of disbelief, his eyes fixed and unblinking as the weight of Jor-El's words pressed down on him like a mountain. ''No more masturbation? I will never feel the climax again?'' The stark horror of it struck Kal to the pit of his soul. ''Is it the price I have to pay for being a hero?''

''Now, put your briefs back on and clean yourself,'' Jor-El ordered, his tone cold and devoid of sympathy.

Superman swallowed hard and nodded silently. With a deliberate motion, he tucked his restrained manhood into his red briefs, pulling them snug before buckling his yellow belt. He exhaled slowly, using his super breath to dry the soiled remnants of his once-pristine suit.

Jor-El's hologram sighed audibly, ''I will grant you another chance—not because you've earned it, but because Krypton cannot afford the disgrace of another failure. However, mark my words, Kal-El: this is your last reprieve. Be the hero who deserves to wear that symbol on your chest.''

''Th…thank you, Father. I swear, I'll never fail you again,'' Superman stammered, his voice a mixture of fear and determination.

''No touching…ever…but it will worth it?'' He thought.

''Don't thank me, Kal-El,'' Jor-El replied coldly. ''Save your gratitude for the day you truly honor the House of El. If that day ever comes.''

With those final words, the hologram flickered, then vanished, leaving Superman alone in the vast, empty silence of the Fortress of Solitude.

Superman took an deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, and for the first time since his father's hologram had appeared, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He adjusted his briefs one final time, the weight of the ring still present, but no longer as painful. Now it was just a reminder — a symbol of his failure, but also of the expectations placed upon him. The burden was heavy, but it was his to bear.

''No more touching…yes. Being a hero means a lot… but saving the world means more than my selfish desire of course. You are the last son of Krypton. We don't accept failure, Kal-El.'' He tried to contemplate the consequence of the ring he just had on, but all worries had been washed away by the motto in his mind: nobody is perfect. Almost nobody, but Superman.

He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath, letting the quiet envelop him. ''Don't let your father down, Kal-El,'' he whispered to himself, his voice steady, though soft. ''You're the hero people believe in. The one who can rise above any challenge. The symbol of truth, justice… and a better tomorrow.''

His words echoed in his mind, igniting something deep inside of him — a spark of determination and heroism. The crushing weight of shame and self-doubt began to melt away, replaced by the clarity of purpose. He remembered who he was, what he stood for. He wasn't just Kal-El. He wasn't just Clark Kent. He was Superman, and the world was counting on him.

With renewed focus, Superman turned away from the towering fortress that had witnessed his lowest moments, stepping into the vast, cold expanse of the icy tundra. The chill of the air cut sharply against his skin, but it was a welcome sensation, clearing the fog from his mind. Each gust of wind seemed to carry with it the remnants of his doubts, scattering them into the frozen wilderness behind him.

He stood tall, his hands firmly planted on his hips, looking out over the desolate landscape. The silence was deafening, yet in it, he found his resolve. ''Enough,'' he muttered, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the weight of everything he had just endured. ''No more distractions. No more self-doubt. No more weakness. It's time to be the hero I was meant to be.''

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a rare moment of confidence beginning to take root. He bent his knees, gathering his strength. The world ahead awaited him, full of challenges, yes, but also of possibility.

With a forceful push, Superman launched himself into the air, soaring upward, leaving behind the cold wasteland below. The wind howled around him, his cape trailing behind like a symbol of hope itself.

''Looks like a job for Superman,'' he said with quiet conviction, his voice barely above a whisper, but full of determination. As he shot toward Metropolis, the city's gleaming skyline calling him forward, Superman felt, for the first time in a long while, truly like the hero he was born to be.

... How would Superman grapple with his sexual desire while facing such a cruel punishment in his iconic red briefs?

Poor Superman. He had no idea the ring would amplify his suffering beyond anything he could comprehend...

Stay tuned for Chapter 3: Reflection of Shame, arriving this time next week...

(I'm also publishing this story on http://www.telemachus12.com at the same time. Please check it up and explore more. The site is amazing!)

[superslavemannn]

The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 1)

Hi guys. This is my first time updating a novel on Tumblr, a long fan fiction about Superman and his tragic but arousing experiences. It’s a very long story, and I plan to tell it in at least three books. The first book (which has 12 chapters) is already complete, and the second book is currently in the works. Starting this week, I will be updating a version with images every Friday on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: This is a reimagined fan fiction of the movie Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. While most main characters from the film are retained, the entire plot has been reimagined to suit the nature of this work. It is an erotic fan fiction intended for mature readers, featuring male/male relationships and explicit content. This work is non-commercial. In this story, most of the images are derived from movie. I have tried to use photos from the Reeve Superman movies to maintain authenticity, but there are also some high-quality AI-generated images. I do not own these images.

*You can share or repost but please credit @superslaveman on Tumblr or X :)

Acknowledgments: I’d like to express my gratitude to Rick Henry, author of The Extermination of Superman, and @vincentzeal, author of Superman vs. the Vice Lord. Their writing and body of work have been a significant source of inspiration. Special thanks to Drake Grant for his ideas and help in revising the story.

Chapter 1: An Ominous Dream

Thousands of miles from any place humans could reach, a massive crystalline, pyramid-shaped structure stands in solitude on a vast ice sheet. Surrounded by towering snow-covered mountains that shield it from the blizzards raging in every direction, this immense crystal formation has remained untouched and unknown for years, at least as far as we're aware. Its flawless triangular shape makes it clear that it was not built by human hands. Hundreds of conical crystals, each about 5 meters wide and 40 meters tall, rise from the ground, forming a shell-like wall around the structure. They reflect sunlight and the icy glow of snow and icicles, gleaming like diamonds on a frozen crown.

It's a shame that no man on earth had the chance to appreciate the beauty of it except…

''Agggggh… Hmmm…''

A wet, echoing moan filled the empty crystal palace. The crystal walls reflected a distorted, writhing figure in blurry red and blue, shifting like a kaleidoscope, moving up and down in sync with the rhythm of the moans.

Oh, there he was. A towering 6'4'' man, built like a statue of pure muscle, lay sprawled on a massive crystal bed draped in silver silk sheets. Every inch of his overly manly physique was wrapped in a skintight royal blue spandex suit that stretched from his neck to his toes, emblazoned with the iconic ''S'' symbol on his broad chest. His body radiated power—the fabric clings to him so tightly it outlines every ripple of his chiseled muscles. His chest rises like two sculpted slabs of marble. But not like those steroid-addicted bodybuilders, they are pumped and firm, but still somehow gave you a cuddly and warm feeling. With the spandex clinging so tightly on his chest, even the subtle outline of his firm, two cute nipples were visible beneath the fabric. They sat perfectly cantered on his broad pecs, adding a surprising softness to his otherwise overwhelmingly powerful physique.

His arms were nothing short of awe-inspiring, thick, vascular biceps bulge with raw strength. His thighs were strong, solid, and brimming with power, the spandex stretching over them like a second skin, tracing every contour of his sculpted quads and hamstrings. A pair of glossy, bright red leather boots gripped his calves, ankles, and feet with such precision that even the arch of his soles was visible through the smooth, form-fitting material.

And his red cape. It bunched beneath him, highlighting the sheen of his blue suit and the bulging muscles beneath, a perfect contrast to the crystalline surroundings.

As the crystal walls let the refraction of daylights go inside, a trace of nearly white reflection of polar sunlight converged on his spandex skin stretching from his chest to his instep but being cut off in the middle by a bright yellow belt and a pair of dazzling red briefs. His red briefs, the symbol of hope, the avatar of the greatest manhood. It looked even more luxurious than the fabric of his blue spandex, so silky that can make people mistaken it was coated with a light layer of lubricating oil, so tight that covered every inch of his majestic crotch and cup his splendid scrotum. However, no matter how hard this piece of fabric tried to hide his assets, all it could do was to outline the contours of a 6-inch-long, 3.5-inch-thick, half soft, half hard, alien shaft and two testicles.

As his strong right hand casually rubbed over the glans of this wondrous pillar-like thing through silky spandex, a smile started to appear on his handsome face. His eyes were closed, sleeping, with his eyelashes gently touching the lower eyelid. Even he had a look of soft angel, no less than a boy Venus, it didn't mean that he doesn't have a tall nose, an angular jaw, and a cleft chin like the Greek demigod Hercules or a golden age Hollywood movie star. When his left hand unconsciously moved above his stunning pecs and brushes over the nipples, the hair curl atop his forehead began to tremble with his body quivering. In the crystal mirror directly above him, the image reflected the greatest and most beautiful creature in the world unapologetically wearing a suit of revealing blue tights and bright briefs, sleeping.

In his dream, the demigod muttered ''I am…Superman ''.

Yes, meet Superman, Kal-El. The man of steel. The big blue boy scout. The last son of Krypton.

What was Superman dreaming of right now? No, let's not disturb his sweet time. We can talk about his dream later.

To be frank, it's not every day you get to see Superman shamelessly pleasuring himself while asleep. For many people, it's easier to imagine Clark Kent as Superman than to imagine Superman doing something so animalistic. But even with the former, it's almost impossible to make any connection with the greatest hero on earth with Clark Kent, a kind, righteous, sometimes bumbling even cringey reporter from Daily Planet in Metropolis. Yes, he wears the tights and boots underneath his daily business suit. Unknown to anyone else, Clark had a peculiar thrill when he slipped on his business suit, knowing the bright, tight spandex of his costume lay hidden beneath. There was something oddly arousal about the contrast—how he, the world's most powerful hero, could walk unnoticed through a crowd as just a clumsy, bumbling reporter. He didn't admit it or he probably never would, but cosplaying that clown-like inept wimp did give him a tingle in his pants. Every time he became a laughingstock in public, that boner hidden under layers of fabric told it all. Besides, the thought that no one had any clue that underneath his dress shirt and tie, he was wearing his iconic red briefs and skin-tight suit gave him a secret rush. The Kryptonian suit is so tight that can press his large genital and cause slight discomfort when he must sit through the whole day typing. But somehow, he didn't mind it at all and loved his daily practice, wearing that overly tight spandex 24/7.

You see, it's the only thing he can have for himself. The sensation from the pressure on his crotch.

Superman rarely gave himself a moment to relax, but that didn't mean he wasn't still Clark Kent at heart. He kept that pure, honest soul of a country boy, always kind and true. Still, even with all his heroics, he couldn't ignore the growing stir of desires and needs inside him. They were there, lurking, waiting for a chance to be acknowledged.

Yes, everyone has their own needs for Superman, but when it comes to the needs of Superman, only he knew how hard he had to fight back. Mind-boggling to the human on earth but common sense to Kryptonians, Superman, same as every male on Krypton, has prolific testicles and a reproduction system that could drive any human insane.

Growing up, Clark Kent often felt like the universe had a cruel sense of humor. On the one hand, his Kryptonian father, Jor-El, had left behind a legacy of impossibly rigid lessons about purity of heart and body—no shortcuts, no indulgences, no exceptions. Clark learned, through countless holographic lectures in the Fortress of Solitude, that his so-called ''Supercum'' (a term he'd begrudgingly coined for himself) was the source of his immense power. Enhanced by the Sun's yellow radiation, it was what made him extraordinary. But there was a terrifying catch: if he ever released it recklessly, he risked losing his abilities—or worse, his life. Self-control wasn't just a virtue; it was survival.

On the other hand, Jonathan Kent, his adoptive dad, was just as strict, always going on about self-control and how heroes had to set the ultimate example, even in private. Back to the time when Clark first discovered his true identity and put on the Superman suit, Jonathan caught him standing in front of the mirror in the middle of night, dressed in his boy scout costume, playing with his young bulge, feeling the touch from his own hands rubbing again his own peephole covered under red fabric. That night, Jonathan froze in the doorway, stunned by what he saw. Clark, overwhelmed by shame and tears, crumpled under the weight of his father's disapproval. Clark's shame was instant and so overwhelming. But it wasn't his father's anger or stern lecture on responsibility that left a scar—it was the look of sheer disappointment and disgust in Jonathan's eyes. That moment, more than anything, etched itself into Clark's memory, shaping his relentless quest to suppress his own humanity for the sake of an impossible ideal.

Since then, he was a deeply broken-hearted man. At nearly 30, Superman had never been in love, never had a romantic partner, and was pretty sure he never would. Over time, Superman's constant effort to suppress his desires slowly turned into something else—narcissism. When he had a moment alone, he'd catch himself admiring his own reflection, spending longer than he'd care to admit running his hands over his sculpted muscles. His physique was a work of art, and in a way, it felt like the only thing he could truly connect with. He flexed his arm, he kissed his ''S'' shield, he licked his red shinning boots, and he played his erected alien stick with his firm hands.

This self-admiration gradually grew into something more. He started noticing how drawn he was to other strong, muscular figures same as him—especially the well-built athletes he'd seen in passing. What began as harmless admiration turned into a bit of a lustful crush on strength, muscle, and the young throbbing dicks containing the white creamy substance, which almost took his soul away even he just thought about it. Sure, he'd had his moments of secret voyeurism, flying unseen around the globe, lurking around countless locker rooms and being fascinated by the bodies of college wrestlers, gym enthusiasts, and water polo players. With his X-ray vision, he had a front-row seat to their toned physiques. He'd often linger, curious, watching them without anyone knowing.

Yet, despite his search—across continents and through countless encounters—he never found anyone who could match his own power. No one came close. The yearning for connection, for someone who could understand the weight of his existence, grew more intense with every passing day. But the fear of revealing his desires, of exposing his vulnerability, kept him locked in isolation, trapped between his overwhelming need for companionship and the overwhelming responsibility of defending justice and hope as he carried as Superman.

Over time, Superman's deep ache of desire slowly transformed into something darker, more twisted, and increasingly dangerous.

It was almost like the vision haunting him now in his dream: a thick steel necklace that caught the light in an unsettling, cold way, with a green alien stone attached to it, glowing with an eerie, ominous fluorescence.

Kryptonite.

It was a gift he would never forget. Nearly three years ago, Superman encountered his most diabolical enemy yet: Lex Luthor, the powerful businessman who ran Metropolis's most influential corporation, LexCorp. It was the first time Superman had realized that a simple human, armed with nothing but a small piece of green rock, could actually threaten his life.

Secretly, Lex Luthor had acquired a piece of green meteorite from NASA, claiming it was a terrestrial material from Superman's home planet, which he later identified as Kryptonite. Over the course of six months, Lex brought together the brightest minds on Earth—scientists and engineers who worked tirelessly around the clock to understand the true nature of this mysterious substance. After much trial and error, Lex was able to purify the Kryptonite and, through extensive testing, discovered its true power.

The radiation from Kryptonite didn't just weaken Superman—it altered the very mechanisms of his sperms. Instead of enhancing his strength, the Kryptonite's radiation caused Superman's sperms to turn on him, attacking his organs, draining his energy, and inflicting excruciating pain. If he were exposed for too long, the result would be catastrophic—his cells would begin to break down, leading to the collapse of his body. The potential consequences were more severe and shocking than even Lex had anticipated.

''Your very own necklace, Superman. I bet it's the perfect gift—something that almost makes you feel at home.'' The words echoed, a haunting fragment of memory, as the scene solidified in Superman's dream. It was Lex Luthor's voice, sharp and mocking, slicing through the haze.

In the dream, memories hit him with vivid, unbearable clarity. It was Luthor's dungeon, and there was the Kryptonite necklace placed inside a lead box. He could feel it all again—the sickening nausea spreading through his body, the overwhelming pain that surged with every pulse of his being. He remembered staggering back, his instincts screaming at him to flee, to get as far away as possible from Luthor's trap. But his legs refused to obey, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Fear took hold, paralyzing him as his limbs quaked uncontrollably.

The humiliation was crushing. Desperation replaced his once-unshakable resolve, and a single, shameful thought consumed him: to beg. To plead for mercy. To kneel. Anything to make it stop—to put an end to Luthor's cruel game. His knees buckled, knocking together awkwardly beneath his trembling tights, each step faltering.

''Mind over muscles'', Lex had said, waving the glowing green stone in his hands, grinning as he placed the chain around Superman's neck. Now, he even couldn't tell if it was dream or reality. Although sleeping sound, he literally felt like a bullet piercing through his chest as the Kryptonite necklace touched on his skintight spandex costumes, making him cry out like a salty dog just got run over by a truck. Powerless then, he had felt Luthor's hands all over his body, touching him over his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, like jiggling human-size jello. As the criminal master dragged him along, Superman had sensed that his little Supes in his briefs was howling, growing, and creaming. With no warning, Lex took hold of Superman's nipples, tweaking them through the smooth spandex. A strong pinch made the big boy scout cry out a disgraceful scream. Then, a strong cupping hands wrapped around superman's balls. Almost like a sponge, as Lex Luthor squeezed with his nails sunk into that freaky alien's ballsack, Superman's peehole started leaking precum like a spread of pearls forming on top of the red spandex.

The echo of humiliating moans and agonized screams reverberated through Superman's dream. As the dream unfolded, the scene shifted, growing darker and more vivid. Lex, ever the master of manipulation, gripped Superman's red cape with a sinister smile curling at the edges of his lips. But what fills Kal-El's mind was something else: the overwhelming sensation, the long-awaited gratification he was feeling when Lex played him, belittled him, and toyed him.

Without warning, Lex yanked the Man of Steel toward the edge of a massive, ominous pool. The surface shimmered in the dim light; its contents unknown but exuding an unsettling stench. Superman's pulse quickened, his breath shallow and ragged. Every fiber of his being screamed to fight back, to resist, but his strength was sapped, drained by the relentless presence of Kryptonite.

Suddenly, Lex strangled Superman with his iconic red cape around his neck. As Superman opened his mouth to the fullest, trying to grasp some air, Lex pulled out a 7-inch rob-shaped Kryptonite stone from his back and stuffed it into Superman's throat directly with no hesitation. White foam started to overflow from Superman's mouth as tears running down his face. His fully erect penis was throbbing, pushing against his blue tights and ref brief, the wet patch of precum now bigger and more obvious than ever with white foam bubbling on the shining fabrics.

The faint murmurs filled the dungeon, each sound a grim mix of agony and climax. His body had grown heavy with exhaustion. The struggle to stay conscious became unbearable as the seconds dragged on. His pupils dilated, his vision blurring, and with each passing moment, his strength faded until there was nothing left to fight with.

Then, with a final, relentless shove, his nemesis pushed him forward, a move that sent Superman reeling. He tried to look back, eyes wide with fear, as his heart raced in desperation. But it was too late. Lex's boot connected with his hip, forcing him further toward the edge. With nothing to hold onto, Superman tumbled into the depths of the pool of waste, his body plunging like a stone, sinking into the dark, cold waters below.

… Why would Superman have such a dream? How will his fate change because of it?

Stay tuned for the second chapter, updated at the same time next week...

[superslavemannn]

Superman vs the Vice Lord - EXTENDED EDITION 2024

Chapter 1: How The Belt Brought Him Down

Its true name was “Virtual Zeality”, but it was known better as the Vice Palace, a club where any and all depravity would take place at the behest of clients who could afford its exorbitant membership fees. It specialised in bespoke holograms, for the ultra-rich of Metropolis to have their most exotic fantasies made real in breathtakingly convincing light sculptures. Superman knew of its existence and detested it, but to his disgust and frustration he was helpless to act: the Vice Palace always stayed just inside the law.

Finally The Mayor’s office and the D.A. had already made several unsuccessful attempts to shut the place down; eventually it seemed easier to tolerate the establishment. After all, there were real criminals out there to be dealt with, and Vincent Zeal, the proprietor of the Vice Palace, was simply providing people with a service – at any rate that was how the Mayor had explained it to Superman when last he met with the Man of Steel. Now, however, it seemed he might finally have an opportunity to close down this debauched club.

A short while earlier, as his blue-and-red-clad body cleaved the night sky on patrol, he had heard someone shouting his name, calling out for him. He followed the voice to its source, and moments later he arrived at the roof of the Metropolis Police Department.

He touched down lightly to find a young officer there waiting for him – James Starkey. Superman nodded approvingly. He had dealt with the man once or twice before, a fine officer.

Starkey gazed up as the Man of Steel appeared from the sky. That amazing body, tall, slim and well-muscled, displayed proudly to the world in the famous skin-tight spandex uniform. It certainly was a sight.

As he alighted, to his slight surprise, Superman felt Starkey’s gaze linger slightly on his crotch and it made him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. He crossed his hands and held them just in front of his red briefs, hiding his bulge. His uniform was so much a part of who he was, it would never usually occur to him to be in any way embarrassed about how little it left to the imagination.

He bowed his head and nodded courteously. “Good evening, Officer Starkey. “Why did you shout my name, sir? Is there some trouble?”

Starkey shook his head. “Not exactly, Superman. It’s about the Vice Palace.”

Superman frowned. “That den of perversion? I thought the Mayor had decided to let it go unchallenged.”

“That’s right, Superman,” said Starkey. “And I know how much that bummed you out. But tonight we’ve had a tip-off that they’re doing something special. Something clearly outside the law... and it’s... well, it’s something that particularly concerns you.”

“What do you mean? How does it concern me, Officer?”

Starkey looked awkward. “We arrested a dealer earlier on this evening who traded some information with us. It seems Vince Zeal has a big, themed event planned for the next two days, for which he’s commissioned a lot of bespoke porn. Those holograms of his. And I mean a lot. A lot of very bad people are paying a fortune for what he has planned.”

The Man of Steel set his jaw, his anger obvious. “Officer Starkey, you know how much that disgusts me. I will never understand how anyone can enjoy such filth. But you also know that unless there is a specific illegal element to the proceedings then I am powerless to act. I’m not a vigilante, sir.”

“That’s just it, Superman,” said Starkey, looking down at his shoes, then back up to meet the hero’s gaze. “I said it was themed... uh... well, you see the theme... the theme of the event is... is...”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “Is what, Officer? It’s quite all right, there’s no need to be embarrassed; I know what goes on there.”

Starkey laughed nervously. “Sure, Superman... it’s just... that is... it’s a little awkward to... to uh...” The man really did look deeply uncomfortable.

Superman smiled. He had to put this poor man at ease. “Officer, please – it’s quite all right. I’m well aware that the press refer to me as the Big Blue Boy Scout, but trust me – I’m not a boy scout. I’m a man of the world, despite my powers. You won’t embarrass me by talking about sex, sir. I promise you, whatever filthy or deviant act it is, I can take it. Now tell me, what is this depraved theme that Vincent Zeal and his fellow perverts have got panned? Judging from your reaction it must be something pretty degrading.”

“Uh... well, you could say that. The thing is... the theme... well, it’s you, Superman.” Starkey laughed nervously.

“Me?” Of all the things Superman had expected to hear, he could never have guessed it would be this. “The theme is me? How...?”

“Well, Superman, Zeal has commissioned bespoke pornographic images of you in uh... well, in all manner of sexual situations. And the word is he’s got you doing some really filthy, depraved things.”

Superman opened his mouth and closed it again. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What... what sort of things?”

“Well...” Starkey halted. “Are you sure you want to know, Superman?”

The Man of Steel was finding this almost too much to comprehend. “Yes. Yes, tell me. What is he making out that I’ve done? Is he trying to make people believe I’ve... I’ve slept with some loose-moralled woman or something?”

Starkey eyed him for a second. “No. No, nothing like that. They say he’s got footage of you sucking cock, Superman.”

He watched the hero’s face as he said this, eyes wide and his mouth open in astonishment.

“Our intel says you suck dick in this performance. That you beg for it – you beg to suck cock. And that you uh... sorry, Superman... you get fucked. Fucked by other men. Excuse my language.”

“What? Officer Starkey, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m afraid so, Superman. Zeal’s selling it on the basis that you’re secretly a dirty male whore, Superman. That’s what we’ve heard. That’s how the evening has been marketed amongst the elite and the underworld. Zeal’s making out he’s got footage of you behind closed doors, indulging in all of your most perverted fantasies.”

“But, that’s nonsense,” cried Superman, “I don’t have any perverted fantasies! I don’t! That’s nonsense!”

Starkey ignored him and continued.

“Zeal’s customers are buying tickets to see you stripped naked and sexually humiliating yourself for their entertainment. They want to see you... whoring yourself, Superman. Not my words. That’s how the event has been sold: Superman the dirty whore. Come see the secrets the Man of Steel doesn’t want you to see. Word is that tickets are changing hands for the price of a small country. People are desperate to see you as a uh...”

“A what?” asked Superman. “They’re desperate to see me as what?”

“Well... as a Superslut. That’s what he’s selling people. The notion that you’re secretly a dirty little Superslut. I’m really sorry to have to tell you that, Superman, but that’s what Zeal is calling you.”

Starkey licked his lips, savouring the look of utter bewilderment and disgust on the Man of Steel’s face, and the slight pink blush that was reddening his cheeks.

“Yeah... Superman the dirty little Superslut,” he repeated softly. “That’s what they’re all paying to see.”

The Man of Steel looked from side to side trying to comprehend this. “How dare he...! Me... a dirty male whore? Stripped naked... and begging to suck... why would anyone want to pay to see that? To see me, Superman, sexually humiliated?”

“I know, right? But don’t you see, Superman – this is your chance!” said Starkey. “It’s one thing for Zeal to peddle porn and sell sex: that’s inside the law. But abusing your image like this? Trying to make people believe this is the truth? He’d be bang to rights; you can have him! Take him down, once and for all!”

Superman considered this information. “What about the police? Why can’t you follow this up yourselves?”

Starkey shook his head. “Sorry, Superman – the Mayor’s instructed us to leave it alone. We can’t act until concrete evidence is found. Truth be told, the rumour is that Zeal has some sort of hold over the Mayor, and the DA... though there’s no proof. But if you can go to the club, expose what they’ve done and bring him in, then we’ll be able to act. I’ll make sure of it. It’s just that you’ll have to go this first part alone – I’m real sorry, Superman.”

Superman shook his head and smiled confidently once more. “No need to be sorry, Officer Starkey. I don’t need help to go up against a pervert like Vincent Zeal. He’s just small fry. Thanks for the tip-off, though. I appreciate it – and thank you for trying to spare my blushes, I appreciate that too, sir. Although I must admit, I could never have guessed this was what you meant.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Man of Steel,” said Sharkey, staring directly at the bulge in Superman’s tights and briefs. “Glad you took the news so well. Good luck.”

He held out his hand, and Superman took it, and shook it warmly. “Bring that scum to the station when you’re done and I’ll have the boys standing by, ready to raid the Vice Palace.”

“Of course,” said Superman. “Trust me, tonight everything is going to come tumbling down in that den of filth. Thank you, officer. I’m very grateful to you.”

Smiling at Starkey, he lifted one arm to the sky, looked up and punched off, flying into the night, a blur of red and

“Yeah,” murmured Starkey quietly, looking after him with a sly smile. “It sure will... everything’s gonna come tumbling down tonight, Superman. Including your tights, asshole.”

He held up the hand which he had proffered the Man of Steel and laughed, as a few tiny red granules fell from it...

Superman sped towards the Vice Palace, turning the facts over in his head. He had waited so long for this, for Zeal to make a mistake, and now – what a vast error this was! Making pornographic images of him, Superman. Trying to make him look like a whore! The audacity of the man was beyond belief.

Yet the anger and disgust he felt were overridden by an unusual and growing sense of excitement. From his fingertips, travelling across his body was a wave of adrenalin like nothing Superman had experienced before. The thrill, no doubt, he thought, of being able to finally put a sleazebag like Vincent Zeal behind bars.

There was one thing he found curious: Officer Starkey’s gaze had kept falling on his crotch. It was a look that was almost lewd, he was staring so provocatively at the contents of his tights and briefs. Superman wondered about this, but then dismissed it. “The poor guy was embarrassed to have to break the news to me; no wonder he couldn’t look me in the eye. I’ll give him my personal thanks when the arrests have been made. He’s a fine officer and handled this whole business very tactfully.”

There it was: a huge building, with a domed glass roof. Superman slowed his speed and focused his x-ray vision on the Vice Palace. Inside was a mass of bodies, some naked and writhing, some clothed and watching, men dressed in expensive suits for the most part. The elite businessmen of Metropolis who paid to get their depraved kicks here.

“So many people,” he thought. “Can they all really be there because they want to see me as... as some kind of whore?”

Superman shivered as he spoke; for some reason this thought unsettled him.

Inside the Vice Palace, Vincent Zeal received a text message on his phone and smiled. He was nearly as tall as Superman, although not as well built. He wore an immaculate black suit, blue shirt and black tie, and his dark good looks were almost a mirror of the Man of Steel’s own.

He raised a hand, and at his signal, bursts of red powder erupted throughout the club, like dry indoor fireworks. The air was soon thick with the stuff, which dispersed slowly.

“Any minute now,” he said softly.

Within seconds Superman had located the optimum point in the glass dome to bust through. As he rocketed in at super-speed, his arms whirled about him, collecting every sliver and shard of breaking glass, and pulverising it as he landed.

Cries filled the air as the Man of Steel spun round, looking for Vincent Zeal. But what a sight met his eyes instead!

The room was filled with vid-screens, holograms and projectors, and every one depicted him, Superman, in the midst of some act of unspeakable sexual depravity. His mind reeled as he took each one in, and despite himself, for the second time that evening his jaw dropped and his mouth fell open in shock and disbelief.

It was everything Starkey had described and more. There was a terrifyingly life-like hologram of him on all fours, his blue tights and red briefs bunched around his ankles, as a younger man roughly fucked him from behind. Superman could only gaze in horror and amazement, watching his own “body” being sodomized, whilst his own mouth, his own voice seemingly cried out in high-quality surround sound:

“Yes! Oh... Ooh... Oooh... Yes! Please fuck me! That’s what I’ve paid you for! Fuck Superman! Fuck me like the Superchump that I am! Give it to me! I want you to fuck me... Superman wants you to fuck him... fuck away all my hypocrisy! Oh god, I want your cock! Superman wants your cock! I’m the secret Superslut of Metropolis! Fuck me – fuck Superman! Oh, this is worth every cent! Fuck me, please, don’t stop! I’m being fucked and I love it!”

His hips were moving back and forth ecstatically; his expression was one of delight. Most shaming of all, the cock of this holographic version of him was erect and as the younger man thrust himself into the hero’s ass, Superman watched himself masturbating furiously in obvious pleasure. “Fuck me, please,” he heard himself say, over and over, the voice indistinguishable from his own, “oh, fuck me… fuck Superman! Fuck me like the Superwhore of Steel that I am! Mmmmm!”

To the left of this scene, another holographic image of the Man of Steel lay on the ground, fully-clothed except for his red cape, as a circle of men jerked themselves off over his prone body! As the spunk rained down upon him, Superman watched himself gratefully scraping it up from where it landed on his crotch and abdomen, and start to swallow the pools of ejaculate!

“Mmph! Mmm!” This ersatz Superman groaned in pleasure as he greedily lapped the spunk from his hands. “Thank you. Thank you, sirs. Don’t stop – cum all over me.”

And behind this image yet another holographic doppelganger was on his knees enthusiastically sucking off a mob of waiting men, while still more took part in any number of lurid scenarios. As he gazed around, Superman saw himself masturbated by street punks, dressed up in a diaper by city men in sharp suits, dumped head first and fully-clothed into what appeared to be a vat of cold semen... why, in one of these nightmares he even seemed to be the willing sexual plaything of a group of gorillas, who threw him between each other, ripping his spandex! In another, he was in gaol, half-stripped and fellating a queue of horny prisoners. And in every one of these chilling scenarios, the Man of Steel was a willing and eager participant, his own cock fully erect and spurting super-semen!

Nothing could have prepared him for this. It was enough to render Superman utterly speechless as he stared up at these brilliantly devised images of his Super-degradation.

“Gentlemen,” a smooth voice called out, “I’d like you to welcome our guest of honour, without whom none of this would be possible: I give you our own blundering Superchump; our musclebound, yet pea-brained Super-shithead... the Metropolis Moron himself. He’s flown here tonight for us in his best tights, not as a hero, but as the entertainment. Make some noise for our very own caped cocksucker from Krypton: it’s Superman, the Man of Jello!”

Vincent Zeal walked forward, a mocking, triumphant look on his face, as the room erupted in screaming and jeering and applause and laughter. Yet the sound that was foremost in Superman’s already-clouded mind was his own deepfaked voice, loud and clear through the sound system:

“Ohhh yes... god, let me suck it, please... please... oh, give Superman your dick.... Fuck me... treat me like the Super-prick, the Super-shithead that I am! Fuck me like a Super-chump, I’m Superchump the Man of Jelloooooooooo!”

The Superman hologram to his right went over the edge as his young rider fucked him, and began to ecstatically shoot thick white streams of cum from his Super-cock.

“Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!” The holographic Superman’s voice cried out in joy as he began to ejaculate.

There was another round of laughter and applause as the men all began to gather around him, watching the Man of Steel standing open-mouthed and spellbound by this demeaning spectacle. Some were naked, some clothed but with their dicks out; there was even one young guy who stood staring dispassionately at Superman, wearing nothing but his socks and underpants, the latter yanked halfway down his thighs... and he was masturbating.

As Superman slowly became aware of this guy edging closer and closer, he met his gaze. Yet the man didn’t look down, but instead kept on stroking off, holding eye contact with the hero.

“Um, sir, stop doing that,” said Superman, less sternly than he would have liked. The hologram of himself was still ejaculating. “I’m telling you now, stop that. You just... um... you should... you... you...”

Flustered, he wagged a finger at the guy, who just stared back, making the hero feel rather foolish. Fighting, making arrests was one thing. Facing down a naked man, masturbating over him... it was quite another. He found his gaze drawn to the man’s penis, the hand on its shaft moving steadily up and down.

“Like what you see, Superman?” said the guy, taking another step towards him. “Seeing all your dirty little secrets... seeing what an idiot you look when you cum is making me so hard, Man of Steel... mmm... do you want my cock? You’re sure staring at it like you do.”

“That’s not me,” said Superman, trying to establish his authority. “Those images aren’t me! And no, thank you, I don’t want your… uh… Please stop masturbating and pull up your underpants now, sir – pull them up and stop that. I don’t know how they’ve done this but... but... it’s not me, I give you my word.”

The men were steadily closing in around Superman. To his other side, a hot young guy in a check shirt gave a horny smile and said:

“Mmm. Your word? I’ll give you a word, Superman: Superdickhead... mmm, you’re a Superdickhead, Superman, aren’t you? That’s the right word for you. Go on, say it: tell me you’re a... uh... a Superdickhead.”

He grinned at Superman, relishing the hero’s obvious embarrassment at this demeaning talk. “Come on, Supes – you’re a Superdickhead, aren’t you? Aren’t you? C’mon, buddy, tell us all what you are, hmm?”

“That’s right,” said the other guy, “oh man, yes – that’s exactly what he is: Superman is a Superdickhead. Man, that’s hot. You’re a Superdickhead, Superman - go on, admit it, dude.”

The guy’s hand shot back and forth up and down his slick wet cock as he said this. Superman tried to ignore him, to turn away from him, but this semi-naked young man was now standing so close.

“Hey, where are you going, Superman,” he breathed. “Why don’t you pull up my underpants for me, Super-dickhead? Go on, touch me in my underwear... you know you want to.”

The other guy in the check shirt smirked at Superman’s growing awkwardness and began to jack his own cock.

“Look at your face, Superman,” he said, “you’re so, so excited to be fucked – you’re not a Man of Steel, dude! A Superdickhead is what you really are, and it’s so hot to finally see the truth! Mmmmm! To see the real Superman. Superman is a Superdickhead, aren’t you? Right, Superdickhead?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” growled the hero, “but for the last time, that is not me, and I am most definitely not a Superdickhead.”

“Aah,” gasped the guy, “he said it! He said it! I win! I made Superman say Superdickhead! I made him say it! You see, Superman, you really are a Superdickhead! Hnngh”

Some of the men began to laugh at this, pointing at Superman, who now found himself blushing furiously.

“Oh boy… he said it,” repeated the guy in his underwear, “he said it! Superman said Superdickhead!”

He began to jerk himself faster and faster, and the Man of Steel felt his cheeks redden yet further.

“Superdickhead!” came the cries from all around him. “Look: Superdickhead’s blushing!”

“Sir, I told you to stop that,” said Superman, taking a step forward as a warning. “Stop right now. Pull up your underpants this minute. I said, pull them up! Put your hands by your sides and-”

But before he could finish speaking the lad began to cum. With a gasp, he pointed his cock down and out, and before the dumbfounded Superman could react, it had erupted, squirting several thick ribbons of spunk all over his blue tights.

“Aah!” he yelped in surprise, “why, you... you...”

“How’s it feel, Superman,” the lad gasped. “Oh boy! I’m cumming on the Man of Steel! Uh!”

And indeed he was! Furious, Superman moved out of his reach, but it was too late, the young guy’s aim was good – his right leg had taken quite a soaking. The viscous white spunk was swiftly running down one leg of his blue tights, mocking him as the fabric turned dark and soggy. How dare this punk do this – shoot semen at him, Superman? This place was truly out of control.

“What’s the matter with you filthy degenerates?” he cried out. “Do you think spraying your semen all over my tights like that is something to be proud of? Do you?”

“Fuck yeah, Superman,” gasped the grinning lad, “sure do! I came all over your legs, and I’m Super-proud, seeing my spunk on your tights! I came on Superman; nothing can ever change that now! Look how wet your tights are... oh man, what a shot; I sure soaked you! You look like you pissed yourself!”

They were laughing at him once more, and the lad who had squirted his jizz all down Superman’s tights pointed in at awe at his seed as it dribbled down the hero’s blue spandex. The Man of Steel felt it warm and wet against his skin as the men all howled with derision at him. It reached the top of his boot, and began to trickle down inside.

“Look everyone!” shouted the lad in the check shirt. “Look at him: Superman has pissed himself! The Superdickhead is so afraid of us he’s pissed his tights!”

“Nonsense,” he replied, “I’ve done no such thing. Stop this at once.”

This cry was echoed by others, and to his disgust, Superman soon found the howling mob of lust-crazed men pointing at his semen-soaked legs and chanting:

“He’s pissed his tights! He’s pissed his tights! Superman has pissed his pants!”

“Look over here, Superman,” said a hot young Indian guy in a sharp business suit, “smile for the camera!”

Flies undone, he held his erect dick in one hand and in the other was his phone, pointing at the Man of Steel. “I’m filming you – you can show the whole wide world how you’ve pissed your tights. Let them all see you: Superman has pissed his tights! Mmmm...”

His hand shot up and down the shaft of his penis as he filmed Superman. “Oh man,” he gasped, “the Man of Steel’s wet his pants, and now I’m gonna cum on him!”

“Stop it, sir – stop this, all of you,” Superman protested, taken aback by having to deny this, “this is nonsense. I haven’t wet my pants. I said, I have not wet my pants. Stop this at once! Stop filming me, sir – stop!”

The guy moved towards Superman, but the sight of the flustered hero in his humiliated state was clearly too much for him, and the next moment he exploded, his pumping cock covering his suit with hot white cum.

“Look, Superman,” he gasped, “I’ve creamed my pants! I creamed my pants, just like you! I creamed my pants like Superman! Uhhhh!” He sank to his knees in ecstasy, and began to sproosh his cum over his clothes. “See, Superman... I jizzed my pants, just like you!”

Zeal shook his head with contempt. “I’m sorry, Superman. Zain has no self-control. You’re his hero, so having seen you cream your pants like this is very exciting for him.”

“I didn’t cream my pants!” cried Superman. “I tell you, I didn’t!”

Zeal ignored him, and clicked his fingers, bringing aides to his side.

“Don’t worry though, Superman, today is all about you. I’ll have Zain punished. Strip him to his underpants, men.”

The mob obeyed Zeal without hesitation, and Superman’s eyes widened as he watched the handsome young man having his cum-stained designer suit torn from him.

“Oh,” cried Zain, “I’m the CEO of ZainOil... and yet I’m being stripped! Down... down come my pants! Mmm. Look, Superman – I’m being stripped naked because I creamed my pants just like you! If this is what they do to me, just imagine what’s in store for you!”

What on earth was happening? Why was he not in control of this situation?

“This is nonsense,” said Superman, “I haven’t creamed my pants – I mean, I haven’t wet my pants... I mean my tights.... Oh! You’re... tricking me. Stop saying this, all of you....”

Yet this only encouraged them. Fighting a super-villain or an army was easy, but how could he deal with a room full of frenzied, horny, masturbating men, whose intention was seemingly to shout him down, repeating this humiliating statement again and again?

“He’s pissed his tights! He’s pissed his tights! Superman has pissed his tights!”

The mob began to close in on him in earnest now, taking advantage of Superman’s obvious discomfort. The men were all in various states of undress, but each had his cock out and was masturbating as they encircled the flustered Man of Steel. If he wasn’t careful he was soon going to find himself at the centre of a giant circle jerk! How could he make them stop?

“Stop,” he cried out, “now just get back! I haven’t pissed my tights, I tell you! Stop doing that, all of you! Stop it at once! Get back... get away from me... I... I’m warning you!”

In desperation he turned to the Vice Lord.

“Zeal... Zeal, make them stop. Call them off!”

Wherever Superman looked, dozens of penises were surrounding him. And the men who jacked them up and down didn’t appear to be scared of him – indeed, each looked amused and excited as they edged closer to the Man of Steel; his total lack of authority here was obvious. What in the world could he do?

“Zeal,” he repeated, “call them off... make them stop, Zeal.”

“You sound scared, Superman,” said Zeal. “Worried they’re all going to cum on you? Worried how that might make you feel, Man of Steel? Not just one leg of your tights coated in spunk, but all of you, Superman, cum raining down upon you! You’d look good with a spray of jizz across your S-shield, wouldn’t you? Hot, creamy spunk coating you, Superman... just like Zain here...”

He pointed to the young Indian guy, who now lay on the floor, revelling in his cum-soaked underpants and socks.

“Mm, yeah... do it, Superman,” groaned Zain, “let them all cum on you! Oh god, I’d love to see that! Imagine you in your spandex all covered in layer after layer of spunk! Hnngh! I’m getting hard again thinking about it!”

“Enough!” shouted Superman. He forced himself to focus. He had to put a stop to this chaos before it turned into an orgy. A burst of heat vision shot from his eyes, taking out the main speaker array. The voices of all his Super-doppelgangers were immediately silenced, but each one still rutted before his eyes, greedily debasing themselves.

He ignored the masturbating men who encircled him and focused on Vincent Zeal. The excitement of arresting this man was now almost tangible; he felt flushed and warm with it.

“That’s better. You know, your imagination is quite impressive, Zeal. It’s a shame you couldn’t have used it for something more wholesome than imagining me in all these... humiliating situations.”

Something made him pause as he said this.

“So you find these images humiliating, do you, Superman?” said Zeal, with a smile.

“Of course they’re humiliating, Zeal,” growled the Man of Steel. “How could I not find them humiliating? Seeing myself in states of undress like this... stripped naked and turned into some sort of... submissive sexual plaything. It’s... it’s incredibly humiliating for me to see myself like this. And no doubt that was your intention.”

“It certainly was,” said Zeal. “Partly, at least.”

To Superman’s surprise, he felt a strange thrill as Zeal said this. For the first time he realised that his body was almost shaking with an odd sensation. It could only be excitement, he supposed, at closing down this den of filth once and for all. Yes... that must be it. He shook his head and tried to focus. What were they talking about? Oh yes...

“Well, you’ve succeeded, Zeal,” said Superman. “You wanted me humiliated, and so I am. Well done. Big deal. I’m... very humiliated. Completely and utterly humiliated.”

Again he felt that odd sensation as he said this – a thrilling rush all over his body! What could it mean?

“But... but that’s it. The fun’s over, Zeal. I’m taking you to gaol for trying to tarnish my image like this. You’re going to regret this. All of this. You and your perverted friends.”

“Perverted?” Zeal smiled. “Listen, Superman, you’re the one who pays guys to fuck you behind closed doors. Who begs to be fucked in his tights! We all saw it. What a hypocrite you are, Man of Steel.”

“But these are holograms,” cried Superman. “Deepfakes! This is just fabrication; you had these images commissioned. To make people believe that I could do... these terrible things. It’s all lies, all of it! I never paid anyone to... to do that to me. In my... in my tights. On my... my hands and knees... it’s unthinkable. All these... disgusting... disgraceful...”

They were laughing at him once more, and some of them were even booing, and shouting: “Liar!” This cry was taken up, over and over:

“Liar, liar, tights on fire!”

Superman gazed about in desperation. What could he do, to persuade them these holograms were fake? They were so convincing…

“Why, Superman – what’s the matter,” asked Zeal, “you’re the star of the show; aren’t you pleased with the party I’ve thrown you? There’s really no need to pretend it’s not you; the truth is out now, and your dirty little secret is safe with us.”

“Stop it,” said Superman, “I don’t have a dirty little secret. I don’t! Why are you all laughing?”

Zeal slowly applauded him. “He’s funny, isn’t he? So funny!”

Laughter echoed all around Superman once more and the assembled crowd began to point at him and jeer.

“Funny, am I? You won’t sound so confident at the police station, Zeal,” he growled. “You can laugh all you want, but this depraved stunt of yours has given me a weapon - a weapon to shut you down for good.”

The tingling feeling of excitement now completely wracked his body; he felt oddly intoxicated and totally ecstatic.

“Indeed,” nodded Zeal solemnly. “I think your ‘weapon’ is exactly what we should be discussing – don’t you, my dear Superchump?”

Another intense feeling shot through the Man of Steel’s nervous system.

“I’m not your dear Superchump,” he said, both aware on some level of what a ridiculous response this was, and yet giving the slightest of gasps as the word passed his lips. Somehow, saying that word: "Superchump" had increased his strange excitement even more. Oddly, he found he wanted to say it again. A further denial couldn’t hurt, after all...

“I... I said I’m not your Superchump, Zeal. I’m not a Superchump, understand? I’m Superman... not Superchump or a... Superdickhead. I’m not... I’m not!”

Looking around him, to his confusion he realised the men were all pointing towards his crotch, whooping and laughing at him, some of them doubled up with amusement.

“What are you degenerates all laughing for? Why are you laughing at me?”

Zeal was smiling at him, and his expression was almost one of... pity.

“Oh dear. Poor Superman. You’re not the brightest, are you? Why don’t you see for yourself, Superchump? Have a look at your tights. Look down, down at the crotch. Go on, Superchump. Then you’ll see why we’re all laughing at you. Go on. Do it.”

Slowly, Superman turned his gaze down, and was so shocked by what he saw that he actually staggered backwards.

“No... NO! Hahhh!”

Within the confines of his skintight blue spandex, pushing up against the tights and the red briefs he wore over them, Superman’s own penis was tenting out, pushing straight upwards in a massive, straining erection! Even though the yellow belt locked his briefs tight around his crotch, there was no disguising his arousal: the Man of Steel had a colossal hard-on!

“No,” he said. “No! This can’t be! What have you done to me? How?”

“No one has done anything to you, Superman,” said Zeal. “This is fascinating... see how weak you really are, how truly pathetic, behind all that bravado and bluster? You can’t even take responsibility for your own arousal! You chose to come here tonight, Superman, to place yourself among all these ‘degenerates’... you ensured you were right here in the centre of all this, under the pretence of arresting me. But the real reason you wanted to come to the Vice Palace is right there, hard and tenting through your tights and briefs. That churning, throbbing erection in your panties tells us all we need to know, Man of Steel.

“The real degenerate here is you, Superman - my horny, hypocritical hero! You want the world to think you disapprove, but really you just want to be allowed to let your true self out and give in to your erection. And a fine erection it is – doesn’t Superman look good like this, hard in his tights and panties? Doesn’t the Metropolis Moron look just fine?”

A gang of naked young men to his left whooped and applauded at this, yelling their approval. Dazed, Superman looked about him: he was still surrounded by semi-naked men, all jeering at him and pointing to his erect cock. To them, he was a figure of fun.

Zain was back up on his feet. He’d pulled his cock through the front of his underpants and was masturbating once again as he stared at Superman.

“Oh god, he moaned. “You’re hard, Superman. You’re erect in your tights and briefs. You really are... the Metropolis Moron!”

“Stop it! That... that’s nonsense,” said Superman. “You... you can’t talk to me like that. How... how dare you? How dare you call me the... the Metropolis Moron... I’m Superman. Do you know how many times I’ve saved this city? Saved the world? I’m... the Man of Steel, not the Metropolis Moron. Oh... Stop staring at my b-briefs... all of you, stop looking at my briefs! My p-penis. Stop! Stop it! Stop it, I tell you – stop looking at my... at my erection! Oh!”

Blushing, he tried, ineffectually, to cover his bulging crotch with his hands. But Zeal simply took hold of Superman’s wrists and pulled them aside, and for some reason, he didn’t resist. Why? This man touching him like this – how dare he? It was unthinkable.

“They don’t want to stop looking at your briefs, Superman,” said Zeal gently. “They don’t want to stop and they’re not going to. We’re all staring at your throbbing erection, Superman, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. We can see you, hard in your tights and panties. The real you, finally! It’s time to stop pretending. It’s all over. You, are all over. You have no power here, Superman. None at all. Not any more. We know what you really are. And it’s all right - tonight I’m going to help you let the real you out at last, my hard, horny little fool. You have no power now.”

“Nonsense,” said Superman, “that’s ridiculous. Of course I do... of course I... have power. I’m not a h-horny little fool! I could pound you all right now. I could! I’m the most... powerful man... in the world. I can fly... none of you can do that. I’m... I’m S-superman... do you understand? I’m Superman!”

But as they continued to point, laugh and stare at his helpless erection, Superman didn’t feel powerful – far from it. He glanced down at his crotch once more, and saw his stiff penis twitch excitedly in his tights and briefs.

“I’m Superman,” he said again, but his voice seemed smaller and shakier.

The tingling sensation was now utterly overwhelming. Superman looked up at the men who surrounded him, and in that moment he realised he was looking at them not with confidence, or anger, but with fear – and they knew it. Fear of what these men were going to do to him in his tights, erect and vulnerable.

He held out a hand in front of him.

“Ss-s-s-sstay back,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “Don’t... don’t you touch me!”

But Vincent Zeal stepped forward and grasped that hand once more, holding it tightly just like Starkey had, and to his own amazement, once again, Superman did not resist!

“Ssh!” said Zeal taking hold of the Man of Steel and stroking his arm. “Don’t touch you? But that’s what you want, isn’t it, Superman? You want us to touch you. You need it. You ache for it. That’s why you really came here tonight. Don’t worry, Superman – I know.”

“No. N-n-no,” whimpered Superman, “oh... ooh!”

He heard his voice... so weak and unfamiliar! Why, he sounded pathetic! Utterly pathetic and frightened! What was happening to him?

“Uh. Whuh-what do you mean... ‘you know’? Know what? Wh-what is it that you know?”

“Yes!” said Zeal, approvingly. “He’s nearly there now. If you didn’t want to be touched, Superman, then you wouldn’t be letting me do this.”

His hand explored further along Superman’s arm, caressing the tight blue spandex of his uniform. It lingered over his bicep, squeezing gently, before sliding up and across his chest, then moving down to brush his nipples.

“Uh!” gasped the Man of Steel, unable to stop himself. “Uhhh! Oh... oh... your hand...”

“That’s right, you poor pathetic creature,” said Zeal gently, his hand lingering there as he nodded to two men behind Superman.

“Help Superman out. Take his cape off.”

His body still on fire with feelings that were so new to him, Superman felt his cape being removed and taken from him.

“Stop... don’t... get off me,” he said, “leave my cape alone. I don’t want to take it off.”

But Zeal kept tight hold of Superman, and the men simply ignored him. Their hands slipped under the blue spandex top of his uniform and brusquely pulled the bright red garment out and off of him. This refusal to defer to him... it was extraordinary, and it seemed to make his body tingle even more.

“No... no! Stop... don’t! I said don’t! I told you not to! My cape! Not my cape – give it back!”

No one took the slightest notice of him. And he gave the tiniest, most indignant whimper as his cape was plucked from him. Yet he simply could not bring himself to stop them.

“You see, Superman,” said Zeal, “it’s just as I told you: you have no power here whatsoever. It must take a little getting used to, especially as it is only adding to your arousal, right?”

“You t-took my cape off... you took it off,” he said, in disbelief. “I’m Superman and you... you ignored me... I told you not to...and you defied me and just took it from me anyway. You can’t do that to me – I’m Superman! I’m giving the orders! My c-cape! Give it back!”

Superman saw it thrown into the crowd, who were now eerily quiet, watching Vincent Zeal as his hands moved slowly and sensuously over the hero’s body, toying with him in his spandex. With breathtaking tenderness, Zeal stroked Superman’s taut abdomen. Beneath his spandex he shuddered with pleasure.

“They’re not going to give it back to you. You see, Superman? You have no power here.”

“Uhhh,” he moaned. “Ooh... you... uhhh... stop it, Zeal. You m-mustn’t...”

“Enough now, Superman. That’s no way to address me,” said Zeal, quietly but firmly. “That’s not the respectful air for which you’re famed. Call me ‘Mr Zeal’, Superman. Call me that, and ask me to stop politely, and then perhaps I just might do as you ask. Go on, Superman. Do it.”

Superman swallowed. Vincent Zeal’s caresses against his spandex clad torso were like nothing he had ever experienced before. The audacity of the man! Would calling him by his title really make him stop? It was a small price to pay if so, surely? If this continued then he had no idea how his body might react.

“Well... Uh... Okay then. Um... Please Muh-M... M-Mr Zeal,” he gasped, “you m-mustn’t t- touch me... Mr Zeal. Please... please stop touching me... Mr Zeal and give me back my c-cape. Please, Mr Zeal… I’m asking nicely. There: I’m b-being respectful, sir. Stop it, M-mr Zeal... stop it, please! Uhhh!”

“That’s good, Superman. Well done. That’s much more respectful. Here – let’s play with your chest some more...”

“Haah! B-but – but you said...” protested Superman. “I called you Mr Zeal... asked politely... did as you asked... I did as I was told... please stop... I’ll m-make you stop... I will.”

Yet he did not stop Zeal. All he could do was watch, open-mouthed as the other man toyed with him.

Zeal’s fingers traced their way around his S-shield, slowly, teasing him in his spandex. Superman just gawped as they crept back down his stomach, making him ache with a yearning he could not yet comprehend… then stopped.

“Oh! Whuh-what are you doing now,” he asked breathlessly. “Your f-fingers...”

“Look, Superman,” said Vincent Zeal, so, so softly, and the hero watched as Zeal slipped one hand, then the other, beneath the yellow belt which held up his briefs. He felt the man’s hands, warm on his body as they slid down in between the red briefs and the blue spandex which was all that constrained his cock.

“S-s-stop,” he said weakly. “You... your hands... they’re... you… you’re inside my briefs. You can’t do this to me, Zeal... I mean Mr Zeal. Oh! This is disgusting.... Disgraceful. P-p-perverted! This is... I’m Superman. You can’t do this to me. You’ve g-got to stop. Oh... my briefs!”

Zeal smiled at him.

“Look at your penis, Superman. Look at the head.”

Obeying this instruction, Superman gulped as he saw a moist stain spreading across the crotch of his red briefs, darkening the fabric, betraying him, showing the Vice Lord just what effect this intimate touching was having on the Man of Steel. He could feel it now, wet spandex against the head of his own excited penis.

“You see, you don’t want me to stop, Superman. If you did, then you wouldn’t be producing precum like that. Just look at it! Why, you're so excited at being touched like this that you're literally wetting your tights and your panties, aren't you, Superchump?”

“No,” said the Man of Steel. “Not this again. I’m not wetting my tights. I mean... Oh no!”

“But you are, Superman. That’s just a simple statement of fact. You have wet your tights. You can’t deny it! Did I wet them? Did I?”

“Uh... well n-no,” breathed Superman. “N-no, you didn’t, that’s true.”

“No. Of course not. I’m not the one producing precum. So, what is it to be, a lie or the truth?”

Zeal’s hands were still for a moment. “Are you wetting your tights and panties, Superman? Are you really so utterly frightened of your own instincts that you’ve turned your back on the truth? Are you a liar? Do you tell lies, Superman?”

“I d-d-don’t lie, Zeal,” said Superman, his mind reeling. “I’m not a liar!”

“Prove it,” said Zeal. “Prove it, Superman. Can you tell the truth? Can the mighty Man of Steel put aside his ego and admit that he’s wet his panties, or is he going to lie, to save face?”

*I can’t say that in front of him... in front of all of them... and yet I can’t let him call me a liar... the truth is everything to me... everything...*

Superman gulped.

“I’m not a liar, Zeal. I’ll prove it... I’ll sh-show you...”

“So go on then. What are you waiting for, Superman? Who wet your tights, you or me?”

The men were all looking at him expectantly.

“But... but... All right. I... that is... It’s t-true, I guess... I’m... it’s true... Okay. I... I have wet my tights and briefs! It was me. I’ve wet my tights and... my b-briefs, okay... ooh.”

Saying this out loud now filled Superman with sensations he couldn’t begin to name. A strange, hot, shivering threatened to overwhelm him, and he found himself eagerly saying more:

“See? I said it! Told you I’m no liar. I’m Superman and I tell the truth. I admitted it. You were correct. And I’m not afraid to say so. I’ve wet my tights and briefs, Mr Zeal. Has that pleased you now? Did you all hear that?”

“Louder, Superman,” whispered Zeal. “I’m not sure they heard you at the back. Go on, say it! Make sure they can all hear you, nice and loud now!”

“Oh... but...”

He felt so strange. Yet there could be no harm in saying this again, could there?

“Okay. Fine.”

Clearing his throat, he shouted out:

“Uh… I’VE WET MY TIGHTS AND BRIEFS! Can you all hear me now? EVERYONE LISTEN: I’VE WET MY TIGHTS AND BRIEFS! ME, SUPERMAN – I DID IT!”

Eyes wide he looked around him.

“There! I... Superman... I have wet my tights and briefs, and I’m not afraid to say it. See? How was that - are you satisfied now? I told you I’m no liar, Zeal. I showed you. I told the truth: Superman has wet his tights and briefs – there. That’s... that’s what you wanted me to say, isn’t it? Fine – you’ve all heard me now. And I hope I’ve made it crystal clear to each and every one of you... that I’ve wet my tights and b-b-briefs.”

He swallowed and fell silent. He hadn’t meant to say quite so much. The words had come so easily though, tumbling out of his mouth. And it did... it did feel... pleasant to say it. Zeal was standing close now, staring at him.

“See?” he said again, weakly. “I... I did it. I tell the truth. I’m not a liar. I’m... I’m strong. I proved it.”

Zeal surveyed him coldly. Then he said:

“Your panties, Superman. Go on. Say it. You’ve wet your panties.”

Superman rolled his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Zeal. They’re not... they’re my briefs. I’m not going to say that. I don’t wear... why do you want me to say that... why would you... why is so important for me to call them... I mean... I mean... I... I... I don’t... I.. I... oh...”

He paused. Zeal was watching him. They all were. Waiting for him to say it... why did it matter to them?

“They’re briefs,” he said, almost pleading. “They’re my briefs! Not... nothing else... not that other word. Why do you want me to... I don’t... oh… please, Zeal? I mean, Mr Zeal? Mr Zeal? Um... I...”

Still Zeal said nothing, but gazed at him expectantly. The silence was charged and heavy; a battle of wills.

“P-please... Mr Zeal... p-please, don’t... I...”

He drew breath to protest once more, but then relented.

“Oh, fine. Okay. Go on, then. If it’s really such a big deal. It’s just words. What do I care? I don’t care. It’s not a problem. I can do it. I can. I... I...”

Superman cleared his throat.

“I’ve wet my panties,” he said.

Immediately the strange heat increased tenfold; he actually shook with the odd sensation that went through him as he said this.

“Oh! Hnngh! Ooh...” he said, as he quivered once more before the Vice Lord. “Oh! Mr Zeal! Ooh!”

“Again,” said Zeal, softly. “Again, Superman.”

And Superman was surprised to find himself doing just this.

“I’ve wet my panties. I wet my panties, Mr Zeal. Mmn. It’s just like you said. Superman... has wet his tights and panties. Are you happy now? You’ve made me say it. Oh... I don’t know... why it matters to you. It’s nothing... just silly, really. Okay. I have wet my panties, and I’m telling you all.”

Zeal did not reply, and suddenly, Superman found himself going further.

“Get a good look at me: I, Superman, have wet my tights and my panties. Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? There. I admitted it. I’m standing in the Vice Palace – this filthy den of debauchery - and I’ve wet my panties and my tights, and I can say it, because. I... I’m Superman, and I’m not a liar... I tell... the truth. Yes. The truth. I’m... I’m a real man, not some pervert. Real men tell the truth. And the truth of the matter... is that I’ve wet my tights and panties. Can you all see me? Can you all hear? I’ve wet my tights and panties! Superman has wet his tights and panties. Go on, look at me all of you, I’ve wet my p-panties! Nngh. I’ve wet my panties! Huh! Hah!”

He paused. Why was he breathing so fast, so excitedly? Why had he gone from refusing to say that word, to declaiming it so enthusiastically, even proudly? What was happening?

“You ask me why it matters... I think it matters to you, Superman,” said Zeal. “I think you just enjoyed telling a room full of men, turned on by your humiliation, that you wet your panties. I bet you felt wonderful, didn’t you, Superman? Maybe better than anything you ever felt before. Embarrassing yourself willingly. Allowing your true self to come out.”

“Whuh... what?” Superman swallowed nervously.

“Truth now, Superman? Can you tell me the truth? You like the truth, don’t you? You’re a real man, after all. A Superman! And real men tell the truth, don’t they?”

“Um... yes,” replied Superman. “They do. I do. I... I... Oh. The truth. Yes. Well. Oh... Damn it! Okay. Uh. Y-yes. I... it d-did f-feel good, Mr Zeal. Telling you I’d wet my p-panties... felt strange... but nice. I... I did enjoy it... telling you all that I’d w-wet... my p-panties. Ooh. Hnngh. There.”

Zeal’s fingers had not moved. Superman could feel them through his blue spandex, where they were lodged between his tunic and his briefs. It was driving him wild. He had to get the man to back off. He swallowed.

“Now that you’ve made me admit that... that I liked saying that... are you going to take your hands out of my briefs, or do I have to... um... do I have to... have to... uh... um...”

Vincent Zeal laughed. “Do what, exactly? You don’t have a clue what to do, Superman, you poor blubbering, blundering chump. Don’t worry – when you surrender to me you’re going to have the time of your life. Your cock knows it, which is why you’re so hard. It’s why you’ve wet your panties with excitement. Let’s get a better look at it.”

Zeal took a firm grip on the sides of his briefs.

“No! Don’t,” breathed Superman, “don’t do that… stop. N-no! Please. Don’t. Please, Mr Zeal.”

Despite these weak protests, he did nothing but watch wide-eyed as the other man grabbed his briefs and attempted to pull them down. However, the Vice Lord soon found the belt made it impossible.

“Oops. Uh oh,” he said. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Superman, but I’m afraid I can’t take your panties down while that pesky little belt of yours is holding them up now, can I?”

Superman looked at their hungry faces, each man leering at him, ridiculing him, ogling his body. How could this be happening to him? Why was he not fighting back?

“What do you mean... why should that disappoint me? I... I don’t want you to pull my panties down,” he said. “I mean... dammit, briefs, I mean my briefs. Stop calling them my panties, you... you... oh... ooh... s-stop! Aaaaah!”

Zeal had slid his fingers back into the tops of Superman’s briefs. The hero looked utterly astonished as he felt those warm fingers teasing his washboard stomach through his spandex. Zeal pulled a the fabric, teasing him. It made his knees tremble in his tights.

“Oh,” he said, “you... mustn’t... you... oh... hnngh... you have to stop this, now.”

Zeal brought his mouth close to Superman’s ear, and the Man of Steel felt his hot breath against his skin, so intimate...

“Hmm. Tell you what, Superman. If you really want me to stop now, then I will. I shall take my hands out of your little red panties and leave you with that churning erection. Hell, we’ll even hand you back your cape.”

“Hnngh... you... you will? You’ll t-take your hand out of my brie- um... out of my... my p- panties?”

Superman gazed at Zeal, dumbfounded; the man’s face was now directly in front of his own. He could feel the man’s warm breath against his mouth. Why wasn’t Zeal scared of him? Why weren’t any of these men afraid of him?

“Or,” said Zeal, “if I’m right and you want us to continue, then you’ll show us how to take off this yellow belt of yours. How does it open, Man of Jello? Tell me. I’m guessing you just press the central stud, am I right, Superman?”

Superman swallowed.

*Mustn’t tell him. I mustn’t... I mustn’t... I mustn’t...*

“Well, I... I... Uh. Yes,” he said. “That’s correct. Pressing down on that... unfastens my belt. That’s how you do it... Mr Zeal, sir. Press that, and uh... you... you’d be able to undo it. You c- could undo my belt. It would just... fall open. And... and then you really would be able to pull my panties down... I mean my briefs... oh...”

“Thank you. Well then. There is your choice, Superman. Tell me to stop and it all goes away. I swear. Or... alternatively... put your own hand on the stud right now, and open it... and give us access to your Super-penis. Give yourself to me. Surrender control. Surrender to your erection, Superman. That is your choice. What’s it to be?”

The room was utterly silent, the crowd awestruck at the audacious, profoundly erotic way in which the most powerful man in the world was steadily being defeated.

Superman could feel waves of desire coursing through his body, buffeting him, making it so hard to think clearly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I... I have to stop you.” His voice sounded so feeble. “I’m g-going to bring you to justice. All of you. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve come here for. To... to arrest you. I’m Superman. A real man. A strong man. I’m the Man of Steel. I’m... I’m a h-hero. I’m certainly not going to just stand here and let you unfasten my belt and... pull my briefs down.”

Slowly, Zeal withdrew his fingertips from the top of Superman’s briefs and rubbed his hands thoughtfully.

“Oh,” said Superman, before he could stop himself. He felt a sudden stab of alarm, and was astonished to find it was followed by disappointment! Disappointment to be parted from the Vice Lord’s touch. That warmth, that inappropriate intimacy... so unthinkable, so close to his most intimate parts... and yet it felt so good.

“So to be clear, Superman,” said Zeal, slowly and with relish, “you wouldn’t enjoy it if I were to pull your panties down, here in front of all of these men? You don’t want me to touch you and bend you to my will. You wouldn’t like it one little bit?”

“I... Of course n-not,” he breathed.

But was this true? His head seemed so full, suddenly, so overpowering were the sensations racking his body. And although he could not possibly admit it, foremost in his mind was the thought: Is he going to touch me again?

He gulped. He had to rebut Zeal’s allegation.

“Of course I wouldn’t like it if you p-pulled my panties down in front of all these men – oh... you made me say panties again. I d-don’t want you to p-pull my panties down... ooh. I said it again, damn it!”

“So you did,” smiled Zeal. “I think you rather like calling them your panties, don’t you?”

“Of course not!” The proximity of the man, the heat... and the whirling, churning feelings of his body... Superman could hardly think. His breath was coming fast now, in and out, in and out. out.

“Of course I... ha... huh... don’t like... referring to my b-briefs as... huh... as my panties. That’s ridiculous. They’re not my panties. I’m a h-hero. I’m manly. I’m Superman! I’m going to bring you to j-justice. Right... right now. You’ll see. And these are my briefs... not my p-panties. My... my red b-briefs. Over my blue tights. I don’t wear panties. I’m S-superman...”

“Of course you are! So just say the word, Superman, and I’ll let you go. You can stop all of this, and take me to the station to be charged. You can be the big man. The Man of Steel in his bulging briefs and tights, bringing the sleazes to justice.”

“Yes... th-that’s correct. B-b-bring you... to justice,” stammered Superman. “I’m the Man of S- steel. Ooh. That’s who I am. A b-big... M-m-man of ooh... S-steel. Uhh.”

“Of course,” said Zeal, sarcastically. “You’re a big Man of Steel, Superman.”

“Exactly,” said Superman, nodding frantically, his head reeling. “That’s who I am, Mr Zeal. A big Man of Steel in my briefs... and t-tights. My b-b-bulging b-briefs and tights. Ha... hnngh. Ooh.”

Superman watched as Zeal ran one finger lightly over his S-shield, and for a second he honestly thought he might fall to his knees. Zeal could see it too.

“So – to your choice, Superman. A trip to the police station. Or... you can surrender to me, like the good, breathless little Superchump I know you have quivering within you, and let me give you release. You can show me who you really are: the Metropolis Moron! A Super-submissive lurks inside you, Superman, just waiting to be allowed out. Just as your penis is trembling, waiting to be allowed out, longing to be released from your briefs and tights.”

“Th-that’s not true,” said Superman, “that’s complete nonsense.”

“Really?” said Zeal, scrutinising him. “I don’t believe you, Superman.”

The Vice Lord now reached out one hand and touched the end of his cock, making the Man of Steel whimper once more.

“Haaa... Ooh... oh! S-s-stop that. My p-penis! Your hand on my p-p- penis... never had anyone... oh! What are you doing to me? You mustn’t... hnngh.”

Zeal looked thoughtfully at him. “I wonder, Superman... I’m willing to bet you’ve done something recently... some act in which you knowingly made yourself look ridiculous.... And I bet you secretly enjoyed it – am I right? Tell me. Go on, Superman. Tell the truth now.”

“Whuh-what? D-don’t be ridiculous, I...”

Superman drew breath to deny this, but as he did so his thoughts went in a different direction. Straight away he thought back to that very afternoon at the Planet, which already seemed so long ago. As Clark he had been bumbling around in the office, making a clown of himself, when on a whim he had oafishly spilled an entire can of soda all over the crotch of his pristine smart suit. He’d even shaken it up beforehand, and the fizzing white sugary drink had exploded, gushing over his lap.

“Oops!” he had cried, deliberately loudly. “Oh, now – gosh darn it, look what I’ve done! My pants!”

He realised now that he had wanted them all to see, to know what he’d done; he wanted their eyes on him, watching him behave like a hapless fool, desperately and ineffectually trying to dab at his wet crotch with a cloth. In a way he was performing for them – and in that moment of terrifying clarity, Superman knew why. And his body burned with arousal as he realised that Zeal knew it too.

Everyone had groaned and laughed at his goonish behaviour. Clark Kent, behaving as he always did: the office klutz, covering himself in soda.

“Oh gosh, Jimmy,” he’d said, parading himself about, making sure everyone got a look at what he’d done. “What a klutz I am! What a goofball. All over my pants... See how wet it is, darn it. Think it’s gone through to my underwear!”

That fizzing liquid soaking first his pants, and then, unknown to anyone but him, through to his briefs and tights below... he recalled how it had made him feel as the wet spandex touched the tip of his shivering cock. Superman’s briefs and tights, soaked with the fizzing wet sugary drink he had deliberately spilled on his crotch in front of all his workmates. He had sat at his desk pretending to work, whist relishing the feel of the wet spandex inside his trousers. He had even risked a hand beneath his desk, was on the verge of touching himself… and then duty called: his Super-hearing alerted him to another emergency, and he had to fly off, reluctantly first taking a few seconds to dry his uniform.

Yet no one else knew. They only saw Clark Kent, the office clown. Only he was aware that in fact, it was Superman who had been the one clowning around; it was Superman who had just willingly soaked his tights and briefs. The strongest man on earth had eagerly made himself look ridiculous. And that secret, that small, private humiliation that he had performed, having it all to himself, felt good. It had felt so very good.

*Just like it felt good just now, telling them... telling Zeal and his men that I’d wet my panties.*

He had told himself it was all an important part of continuing his disguise, making people dissociate the bumbling Clark Kent from Superman. And yet...

“I knew it!” Zeal grinned in triumph. “Look at his face! Superman’s remembering, aren’t you?”

He had deliberately behaved foolishly... humiliating himself. And... and... he couldn’t admit it, couldn’t think it... but

“You liked it,” breathed Zeal. “You did something, made yourself look a dick, and secretly you liked it, Superman, didn’t you? Come on - I’m right, aren’t I... Man of Steel?”

*I’ve got to lie... I have to! I can’t tell the truth this time.*

Superman made no answer. How had Zeal known just how to confuse him like this? His mouth hung open and he stared now with obvious fear at the Vice Lord, the man he had come here to arrest, yet who now had him in the palm of his hand.

And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Superman looked at Zeal... and he nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, sir. You... you... you’re right, Mr Zeal. Oh God. Oh God. I... I m- made myself look... look foolish... I deliberately made myself look like... like a dick... and I... I... I did like it, sir. I.. I liked it very much. Very much indeed. Oh.”

He bowed his head. The enormity of what he had just admitted, of the dreadful secret he had freely given up was making his mind race.

*What have I done?*

The silence was absolute; the atmosphere felt so thick you could have cut it. Shaking slightly, Superman raised his head once more, to meet the unflinching eyes of Vincent Zeal.

“Ooh,” he whimpered softly. “What... what are you going to do with me? Now... now that I’ve told you, wh-what’s going to h-happen to me? Mr Zeal? Sir?”

Suddenly Zeal gripped his belt and briefs and pulled Superman right in to him, and the Man of Steel gasped in fright, whimpering and trembling in the other man’s grip; his obvious fear and cowardice now plain to see, as was how much it was arousing him. Yet nobody laughed as he cringed, shamingly. It was far beyond that now...

“It’s time. Stop dodging the decision. What’s it to be, Superman?”

Zeal paused for a moment and then suddenly and deftly he put out his tongue and licked the hero’s lips.

“Aah!” moaned the Man of Steel. “Ooh. Mm. Mmm. Oh... M-mr Zeal... You can’t do that! Oh... you... you...”

For a second it looked as though he was pushing Zeal away, resisting him. But then the real reason became apparent, as Superman, now with enough space between himself and his foe, reached down and touched the front of his belt. The crowd gasped.

“Go on, said Zeal, “touch the stud... Stud! Isn’t that what you want? Or do you want to be the big man and arrest me, stop all this?”

Superman’s hand remained there for what seemed like an eternity. He knew what he ought to do. It was plain. But this feeling... and the way he felt when Zeal’s tongue touched his lips...

“Are you Superman the mighty Man of Steel, here to arrest me, and prove you’re the strongest man in the world? Or are you Superman, the Metropolis Moron, here to be turned into a dirty little Superwhore?”

Then, to his astonishment he heard his own voice weakly say: “No...”

Zeal frowned, but didn’t takes his eyes from Superman’s own, staring him down. “No, Superman? No what?”

“No, Zeal... I... I don’t want to arrest you. I don’t want to... be the b-big man. I’m n-not a big man, sir. Not... not any more... that’s n-not what I... what I want... Mr Zeal. Sir.”

“Then you know what you have to do, Superman.”

His hand was on his belt. He could stop all of this right now...

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Zeal. Ooh. I mean Yes sir, Mr Zeal, I... I do. I know wh-what I have to do. I’m... I’m yours... Ooh. Take me. Take me, Zeal. Take it all from me. Please pull my panties down, sir. And t-turn me... turn me into a Superwhore.”

Superman pressed down hard on the circular yellow stud.

There was a loud click.

“Oh,” he gasped, as the last of his resistance crumbled. “H-here. I’ve d-done it. Oh god!”

At his touch, the belt fell open. He pulled it loose and felt his briefs slacken, and within a second, as the crowd cheered, Vincent Zeal drew Superman close, into his embrace. Once more he swiped the hero’s lips with his tongue, back and forth.

“Mmmf. Haaah,” gasped the Man of Steel. “Ooh. Zeal...! Hnngh. I... I... Uhhh!”

“There. Now,” said Zeal softly, “let’s get to work on you, Superman, you pathetic, over-confident spandex-clad chump.”

He yanked the belt and briefs straight down his thighs with such force that it sent the hapless hero tumbling down on to his knees.

“Ahhhhh,” said the hero as he hit the ground and looked up at Vincent Zeal.

His cock was throbbing, pushing against his blue tights, the wet patch of precum now bigger and more obvious than ever. He, Superman, was on his knees before the Vice Lord, and he had let him take his briefs down! This man had achieved what General Zod never could, and Superman cringed in fear and arousal.

“What... what have I done? You’ve pulled my briefs down! Oh! You... you pulled my panties down! And I’m on my knees! Oh! Oh! You... you’re so p-powerful. And I don’t have any power at all now, not here – it’s all just as you said! Ooh!”

“Let the games begin,” shouted Zeal in triumph. He gave Superman a firm but measured kick, and as the Man of Steel fell backwards, Zeal grabbed his legs and pulled his briefs all the way down to his feet.

“Uh!” cried Superman, as he felt his briefs being removed, the Vice Lord’s hands gripping him in his spandex. “Stripping me! My panties!”

“Off come your panties, Superman! I said, off come your panties, right?”

As the hero lay writhing on his back, Zeal slid the briefs over his feet, taking care to let his fingers linger, before plucking them off at last, taking them from him. Senses reeling, Superman cringed and cowered before the Vice Lord, trembling with fear and arousal, watching the man hold up his briefs and belt in triumph, dangling them over him.

“Isn’t that right, Superman? Answer me, chump.”

“Oh. Yes, Mr Zeal. Yes, sir. Off come my panties,” he echoed, dumbly, staring up in disbelief at the man who had mastered him so thoroughly. “Oh... off come my p-panties. He’s taken my panties off! You... you t-took my panties off!”

The full weight of his situation bore down on Superman; the realisation of what he had done hit him like a nuclear charge. He writhed and babbled in his frenzied state, his cock stiff and straining against the wet blue spandex that contained it.

“Oh! I’ve l-lost my panties to the V-Vice Lord, Vincent Zeal! I’m d-defeated! I’m utterly helpless and defeated, and at the Vice Palace of all places! And the Vice Lord just took my panties off! Ooh! What am I? What’s happening to me? What are you going to do to me?”

“On your knees, dickhead!” said Zeal, his voice firm and commanding. “Get on your knees at once, Superman. Kneel before me, Superdickhead.”

Superman let out a whimper, but did as he was ordered. He pulled himself upright and scrambled onto his knees before the Vice Lord.

“Yes, sir. Here, Mr Zeal. I’m... I’m on my knees, just like you told me. I’m... oh god... I’m kneeling before you, Mr Zeal. Superman... Superdickhead... is kneeling and submitting to you, sir.”

“Indeed you are, and it is where you belong! Superman is now ours! Superchump the Man of Jello! That is who you are now, isn’t it? I said, isn't it, my Superchump? You’re the Metropolis Moron now, aren’t you, Superman? Aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“Ah. Hngh. Uhh. All right. Ooh... yes,” said Superman.

“SO SAY IT!” Zeal took his briefs and rubbed them across the hero’s face, smearing his cheeks and lips with his own precum. Briefly, he pushed them into Superman’s mouth, before withdrawing them again.

“Aaaaah! Yes, Mr Zeal! I’m... I’m... I’m the M-m-m-metropolis...M-moron... ooh... I said it! Uh. I’m the Metropolis Moron. I’m Superman, the Metropolis Moron, n-not the Man of Steel... and I’ve had my panties pulled down! Y-you took my panties down, Zeal. Mr Zeal... sir. Oh god... feels... so... it feels good, Zeal. And now you’re g-going to make me into a... a dirty little Superwhore! I’m Superman, the Metropolis Moron, and I’ve... I’ve c-c-come here to be turned into a Superwhore! Th-that is what I want, after all. I admit it! Oh! I’m going to become a Superwhore!”

Zeal placed his foot on the hero’s penis, which still pointed straight up in his tights, but this was too much for Superman. The friction of foot against spandex against the foreskin of his erect and throbbing cock made him gasp with helpless desire, and with a strangled shout, the Man of Steel began to ejaculate. Zeal took his shoulders and gave him a shove, and Superman fell back and lay thrashing wildly on the ground, his cries echoing around the Vice Palace as a vast amount of Kryptonian semen pumped relentlessly into his tights, filling the crotch and pouring down his legs.

“I’m the Metropolis Moron,” he panted hysterically, “I’m Superman the Superwhore! Oh god... huh... huh... I’m c-c-cumming in my tights, Mr Zeal!”

A cheer went up, but all Superman could do was lie there, utterly helpless, shooting his own spunk into his uniform.

To be continued…

If you’ve enjoyed, please hit Like and consider leaving a comment if you would like more. Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday! 💦

[superslavemannn]

“Suddenly, Zeal took hold of his belt and briefs and pulled Superman right in close to him. The Man of Steel gasped, whimpered and trembled in the other man’s grip, his fear and cowardice now plain to see, as was how much it was arousing him. Yet nobody laughed as the hapless hero cringed and cowered. It had gone far beyond that…”

Superman vs the Vice Lord - Extended Edition chapter 1… cumming soon.

* This was to have been a neat littleAI animated teaser, but even the most vanilla content seems to get flagged. Anyway, if there’s interest then I’ll post the Extended chapter 1 soon…

Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

[superslavemannn]

It's time... feel that chilly wind? That's nothing, compared to the chills Superman is experiencing on the insidious backwater of Summerisle. Get comfortable and then get filthy, as we dive into the next instalment of the Man of Steel's ignominious exploits in Scotland.

Previously...

Superman, the world's greatest hero and the most powerful being on the planet, had found himself drawn to the remote and secluded environs of Summerisle, to try and help solve a series of local disappearances. Yet since his arrival there in his Clark Kent persona, he has been subject to inexplicable and humiliating circumstances. After blundering into danger opposite a mystical gang known as the Bully Boys, who seemingly defeated and depowered him, Superman awoke powerless in the home of the devious Lord Summerisle, where he was given champagne and became acquainted with the Lord's young acolytes, gradually admitting more and more of his deep-rooted secret desires. At length, it seemed everything Superman had ever wanted was finally coming true. After sexual games with the men, and giving his first blowjob, the Man of Steel begged Lord Summerisle to take his virginity at last. His wish was granted, and Superman experienced ecstasy like nothing he'd ever known before, as the Lord took him on all fours, still dressed in his spandex uniform, pounding in and out of him while the household staff looked on. Yet just as he was about to climax, the hapless hero was dealt a terrible blow. The whole scene vanished before his eyes, and he found himself back in the drawing groom of Lord Summerisle. What can have happened? Was it nothing but a dream? Will the Man of Steel ever get to cum? Read on, and let's find out...

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 6 - Hostage to his own Hard-on

‘It can’t be,’ gasped Superman, ‘it was finally happening! I was there, and I was finally going to be… to be…’

‘What’s that, Superman?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Your mind seemed to be temporarily elsewhere? What was it that you were going to be? What is it that was happening to you? Have you been lost in contemplation?’

Superman stared at him and tried to make sense of this. 

It felt so real… he was fucking me… finally, I had been through so much… admitted so much… and Lord Summerisle was fucking me in front of his men… and it was… it was glorious… I can’t have dreamed it… can I?

‘I…’ he stammered. ‘I… thought… that is, I imagined…’

Unable to complete this sentence, Superman fell silent.

‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Summerisle, his knowing smile spreading across his face, ‘it was that last sip of champagne I offered you, Superman. Perhaps it was so pleasant that you were transported… is that it, do you think?’

Superman tried to think, to remember…

‘I… I… wait…’

Suddenly he found himself focusing on one moment, just after he had confessed to Lord Summerisle about the Bully Boys and how they had tormented him at the pool. How they had seemed to know things about him, his most private and intimate secrets. And what was it that His Lordship had said in reply to this? Yes… that was it, he could see him now, saying it:

‘That’s magic for you, Superman. Now, drink. Drink, and tell me what it is you truly want. I want to get a good look inside your head.’

Those had been his words. A good look inside your head. And Superman had drunk the champagne, just as he had been ordered to, and that was when he had begun to tell them all his deepest secrets. That he was a virgin. And about how powerfully aroused and tempted he had felt since arriving on Summerisle earlier that day. It had only been hours ago since he reached the island and met Tam, the young man at the Inn, yet already it seemed like a lifetime!

Then he had confessed his erection - he’d let them see his cock, hard in his tights. Told them how powerless he was, how it made him feel. He’d asked them to take his virginity - no, he’d begged them! And all those things he had wanted for so long had taken place… Lord Summerisle’s men… Superman had been touched and pleasured by them. He’d masturbated two of them until they climaxed and he’d let them cum all over him, even opening the waistband of his tights to allow them to shoot a load down in there!

And then… Angus, that breathtakingly beautiful young man, had told Superman to kneel before him and suck him off, even getting him to beg like a dog for permission to do so. And he, the Man of Steel, had eagerly obeyed and he had loved it. The thrill of submission… the idea of him, Superman, willingly doing this. He had revelled in the ecstasy of his own humiliation. And he had given his first ever Superblowjob. 

He could see it all so clearly… surely this had been real, hadn’t it? The Elders of Krypton appearing to him, telling him to stop. And he had defiantly disobeyed them and gone along with Lord Summerisle, eagerly and enthusiastically proclaiming himself a “Superdickhead” and offering to fellate the Lord. But instead… even this was overturne, and instead he ended up asking to be fucked.

‘That was it!’ he cried aloud. ‘Angus! Angus ripped a hole in my tights and I… I begged you to…’

Lord Summerisle blinked. ‘What nonsense is this, Superman? No one has ripped your tights.’

‘I never touched your tights,’ said Angus, sitting to the left of him. ‘What are ye talking about, Superman?’

Superman gazed from one to the other, his mouth hanging open foolishly. He slid one hand behind him, feeling his buttocks. There was no hole. The blue spandex was intact, sealing him in. Containing him. How had he thought otherwise?

‘But I… I… it was all so real. You ripped a hole in my tights and then I begged you… your Lordship, I begged you to… to…’

He gulped. If this had really all been an illusion then he couldn’t possibly tell Lord Summerisle that he, Superman, had imagined himself begging to be fucked by him!

‘Yes?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘This is fascinating! What did you beg me to do, Superman? Do tell, we’re all waiting.’

And indeed, they were all staring at the hapless Man of Steel. Suddenly he found himself feeling too embarrassed to go on. He must have been so caught up in his feelings that he had imagined it all. How could he tell them of the filthy things he had dreamed?

‘It’s not important, sir,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I… it’s like you said… I think perhaps the champagne made me light-headed and made me… imagine some stuff. Like a sort of daydream. Alcohol doesn’t affect me usually, but without my powers…’

‘I see,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, it must have been a lovely daydream you were having, Superman. Just look at your erection!’

‘Oh!’

He had been semi-hard before taking a sip of the champagne. Now, he was at full erection and had made a terrible mess of the front of his tights. As they all stared at his cock, a fresh white tide rose through the blue spandex, proclaiming his helpless excitement.

‘Dear me, what a puddle of precum!’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle.

‘Looks like you’ve pished your panties,’ smirked Angus.

‘Don’t mock poor Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. He put a hand against the hero’s cheek, gently caressing him. ‘After all, you came here to help us, and now it seems you’re the one who needs help. So powerless… and so weak… and so horny. Aren’t you?’

Superman felt confused and exhausted. ‘Yes,’ he said pitiously. ‘Oh… yes. All of those things. N-never experienced anything like this. Not ever.’

‘Would you like us to give you release?’ asked Lord Summerisle. ‘If it would help, I could have one of my men here bring you off in your tights, Superman?’

Even an hour ago, this would have been unthinkable to the Man of Steel, but his prolonged state of arousal had now made him quite wild.

‘Would you?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Would you do that for me, please? Could maybe… could Angus do it? Please? Oh, please!’ 

Superman’s voice was abnormally full of emotion as he asked this. He hardly recognised it.

‘Aye,’ said Angus. ‘Of course, Superman. I’d be happy tae wank you off, pal. Nae bother.’

‘Good lad,’ beamed Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, come along then. Let’s give Superman what he needs and get to work on this splendid erection of yours.’

So saying, he reached out and flicked Superman’s cock with his index finger, just as he had done previously. But this time - 

‘Ouch!’ cried Lord Summerisle, whipping his hand back. ‘My word… that was like flicking cold metal. Your invulnerability must have returned, Superman!’

‘Oh,’ said the astonished Man of Steel. To his amazement, he found he no longer much cared about his powers; if only someone would let him cum, nothing else mattered. He reached down and touched his cock, confirming what Lord Summerisle had said, and groaned with desire as he did so.

‘Hnngh. Oh. Yes. You’re right. I wonder…’

He activated his x-ray vision, and it swiftly kicked in.

‘All my powers. They’ve… they’ve returned.’

Superman stared at the men: Angus, Darius, Brian, Elliot. His x-ray vision went below the tracksuit, the smart formal city suit, the kilt and the football shorts.

‘I can see your underwear,’ he breathed. ‘My powers are back… and I can see your underwear, all of you. Oh… just look at your briefs…’

‘How telling, that that is your first instinct,’ murmured Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, Superman -  congratulations! You’ll be wanting to take your leave of us now that your powers have returned.’

‘What? No!’ Superman looked up in alarm. ‘I thought… I thought you were going to permit me to… I mean I thought Angus was going to help me… um… to help me… c-cum?’

Lord Summerisle shook his head, sternly. ‘That was when you were depowered, Superman. A mortal man in need of release. And now… now you are the world’s strongest man once more: Superman! I can’t possible have you shooting your load in here. You’d pepper the walls with your super-spunk like a shot gun! Not to mention the fact that you might very well take Angus’s hand off when you came!’

They laughed at this. Yet Superman knew Lord Summerisle was correct.

‘I… I guess so,’ he said miserably, looking down once more. ‘But… but my erection. What should I…’

At that moment, the door opened and a servant appeared.

‘Good news, your Lordship,’ he said. ‘We’ve finished sorting the rest of Superman’s costume.’

Superman stood up. ‘My uniform?’

‘Aye,’ said the man, with a slight smirk, ‘your costume. We didnae have the cape at first, but then the dogs brought it back.’

Superman’s mouth fell open. ‘The… the dogs? Dogs had my cape?’

‘Aye,’ said the servant, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. ‘They must have smelt your scent. It’s got a wee bit of saliva on it, but otherwise it’s fine. We’ve brought all your wee bits, Superman: your cape, your boots, your belt and your panties. I’ll have them brought in now.’

‘My briefs,’ protested Superman, but the man was already out of the door. ‘They’re not panties… they’re my briefs!’

‘Well, this is wonderful news, eh, Superman?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Your ignominious encounter with the Bully Boys can now be forgotten, and you can recommence your noble task of finding those missing young men. Isn’t this great?’

‘Yes,’ echoed Superman in hollow tones, watching more servants return with the rest of his uniform. ‘It’s… it’s great news, sir.’

He covered his erection with his hands as they drew near, but they waited for him, and eventually he had no choice but to reveal the unmissable hardness of his wet and straining cock.

‘No rude comments, please,’ urged Lord Summerisle as the blushing Man of Steel attempted to dress himself in front of the ogling servants. ‘Superman is the world’s greatest hero, and he has come here to help us. We do not need to mention his embarrassing state to anyone. Is that understood.’

The servants all chorused their acceptance of this, although each of them stared shamelessly at the bulging damp patch in those world-famous tights.

‘Th-thank you, your Lordship,’ said Superman, pulling on his red briefs. Hesitantly, he drew them into place, up and over his bulging cock, and his heart sank as his foaming precum immediately soiled the red fabric.

‘Goodness,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘they don’t look like your usual red briefs, Superman. They don’t have belt loops. Why… are you wearing just a simple pair of red underpants over your tights?’

Two of the staff sniggered at this. Superman tried to comprehend what was happening. Surely, Lord Summerisle had made this exact same comment in his vision?

‘It’s complicated, your Lordship,’ he replied. 

‘Of course,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘No need to explain yourself to us, Man of Steel.’

Another member of staff sniggered, but a look from the Lord silenced him.

At last, Superman was fully dressed once more, and as he snapped the clasp of his yellow belt into place, around the red briefs, he felt a little of his former self-possession return to him.

‘Look at you,’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle. ‘Why, you appear quite the hero once again, Superman!’

As a mirror was brought before him, Superman flushed with pride to see his uniform restored to him. 

‘Aye,’ murmured Angus, ‘apart from that great wet boner in your panties.’

The smile disappeared from Superman’s face.

‘Now then,’ warned Lord Summerisle. ‘None of that, Angus! Your are our noble benefactor, Superman. Your secret is quite safe with us.’

His Lordship gazed directly at the throbbing erection in Superman’s tights as he spoke. Then he leaned across and whispered in the hero’s ear, rather loudly: ‘And don’t worry - we shall not tell a soul that your virginity is intact!’

Superman’s pulse raced at these words. Surely admitting that to these men had been part of his daydream, had it not? He felt he hardly knew what was real and what was not any more.

‘Did I… did I tell you that…’ he began, stumbling over his words.

‘That you are a virtuous virgin?’ said Lord Summerisle. This time he did not bother to whisper. ‘Indeed you did, Superman. No wonder that poor straining member of yours is so excited. It only makes us respect you all the more, my noble and virginal friend.’

‘It… it does?’ asked the flustered hero. ‘Gee… uh… thanks.’

Yet the expression on the faces of the men that surrounded him did not look like one of respect. They all looked amused and contemptuous.

‘Here,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘let me help you.’

He took hold of Superman’s cape, and before the hero even knew what was happening, Lord Summerisle was using it to mop the tip of his bulging cock!

‘Aaah!’ he gasped. ’S-s-stop! Ooh!’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lord Summerisle. ‘Sorry, Superman - I was just wiping away your precum for you. Such a pity about this situation.’

Superman’s cheeks were once more crimson. Lord Summerisle placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Perhaps a good flight through the night air will be just what you need to make your erection subside, eh?’

‘Uh, yes, maybe, sir,’ mumbled Superman.

‘Just so! Think some nice, clean, virtuous thoughts now, Man of Steel! Don’t go dwelling on any of your dirty little fantasies!’

‘Whuh-what?’ Superman looked from man to man around the room. ‘I don’t have any d-d-dirty little fantasies!’

Lord Summerisle raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Is that true, Superman?’

At this, Superman felt something stir in his briefs and tights, and to his shame, he looked down to see a further white bloom of precum erupt across the red fabric.

‘Oh,’ he gasped. ‘I… um… I uh… ooh…’

‘You’d better be going? I quite agree,’ said Lord Summerisle.

Putting one hand on Superman’s buttocks, he ordered his men to open the French windows.

‘Then you can just fly away for now,’ he said. ‘But first… a kiss, I think.’

Superman’s eyes opened wide. ‘Whuh-what? What did you s-say?’

‘You heard me,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Come here. Now.’

Superman had never felt so utterly bemused in his life. None of this made sense. Why was this man talking to him like this, ordering him around? But the greater question was: why did he seem to enjoy obeying him?

Not wishing to keep his Lordship waiting, Superman bowed his head a little and did as he was told, walking over to him.

Lord Summerisle reached out and pulled the open-mouthed Man of Steel towards him. He grabbed a handful of his spandex tunic, and said:

‘Just remember, Superman. Remember all I have shown you.’

Before Superman could even start to wonder about this, Lord Summerisle leaned in and kissed him!

‘Oh!’ He gasped. ‘Oh! Hnngh. I… I… uhhhhh.’

It felt wonderful. As if he had never been kissed before.

‘And remember that,’ said Lord Summerisle, as he slowly released him.

‘Now then, my good man,’ he smiled, ‘my good little Superman! Run along now. Up, up and away for you, eh?’

‘Uh, yes… uh, yes, sir,’ said Superman, ‘th-thank you.’ His mind was a whirl of emotions. As he moved to the window, he looked at Angus once more. He felt a pang as the beautiful young man held eye contact with him. In that moment, Superman honestly he felt that he would willingly have once more given away his powers right there and then, if only Angus could slip a hand into his tights and briefs and help him climax.

Angus winked at him. ‘Till next time, big fella.’

Superman nodded awkwardly. Looking about him, he said:

‘Th-thank you, your Lordship. Thanks for everything… for everything you’ve d-done for me.’

‘You are more than welcome,’ said the grinning Lord Summerisle. ‘Off you fly now. Go on.’

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. And feeling as though he had just been ordered away like one of the servants, Superman rose into the air, taking a last look over his shoulder, and then was gone.

As Superman took off into the night sky, a curly-haired figure stepped from the shadows and addressed Lord Summerisle.

‘Why did you let him go, your Lordship?’

‘Good evening, Damian,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘The rest of you can go. Actually, no - Angus, you stay. Everyone else out.’

The men obeyed him swiftly, closing the door behind them, leaving Lord Summerisle with Angus, clad once more in his shiny tracksuit, and Damian, his saturnine features dark and questioning.

‘Superman seems particularly taken with you, Angus,’ said Lord Summerisle, pouring them each a whisky. ‘We may be able to use that.’

Angus smirked as he accepted a glass. ‘Aye. I could see in his eyes how much he wanted me, your Lordship.’

‘But why did you let him go?’ asked Damian. ‘Beg pardon, your Lordship, but Superman was powerless, helpless. The big Superchump would have done anything you told him to do. Was he not ready for what you intend?’

Lord Summerisle shook his head. ‘No. The meat is merely seasoned… I am not ready to cook Superman… yet.’

‘I dinnae understand,’ said Damian.

Lord Summerisle held up the champagne flute from which Superman had drunk.

‘I gave him this. He was already susceptible - Superman is vulnerable to magic, and the powers of the island, and the power that is mine alone have befuddled the musclebound buffoon. But this… this heady, golden liquid is mixed with my essence. My seed.’

Damian raised an eyebrow. ‘Your see? You mean Superman was slurping away on your spunk?’

‘Well… that, and a very drinkable bottle of champagne. Think of it as a spunk spritzer, if you will.’

‘Was that what we were all drinking?’ asked Angus.

‘No. Just Superman. I took the liberty of slipping a vial of my potent juice into his glass. No wonder he gulped it down.’

‘Mmm,’ said Angus. ‘Pity. I imagine your spunk must taste amazing your Lordship.’

Summerisle grinned at him, and took his cheek in one hand, kissing the young man’s rich, smooth lips.

‘Do not worry, Angus. My balls contain enough for you. You’ve pleased me sufficiently today that I may allow you to fellate me later. Then you can have full fat, not the semi-skimmed version that I fed our witless Superman.’

They all chuckled at this. Angus grabbed his crotch and bowed. ‘I’d be honoured, your Lordship.’

‘So what happened?’ asked Damian. ‘Pardon, your Lordship, but just what did drinking your spunk do to Superman?’

‘Amongst other things,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘it allowed me to get inside his head. To take him down an imagined path. To get him to reveal to me within the walls of a fantasy, all of his deepest and darkest desires.’

Angus looked at him in awe. ‘So that was why Superman seemed so odd… so daft and confused before he left.’

‘Indeed.’

‘What happened?’ said Damian. ‘What did you see?’

‘Oh… so much,’ replied Lord Summerisle. ‘Superman confirmed that he is a virgin, which is what we need. And within the confines of that fantasy daydream, having been already mindfucked and tempted by my men, he showed me what he wanted. It was… quite something.’

He lit a cigarette. ‘Superman soon confided the desires he has hidden for years. He masturbated two of you. Angus - he was, as I said, particularly drawn to you, and I let him imagine sucking you off.’

‘No way!’ Angus hooted with delight. ‘I wish I’d really been there. The Man of Steel noshing me off, sucking away on ma nob. Oh… did he do a good job?’

‘Indeed,’ grinned Lord Summerisle, ‘he was most anxious to please you. And then - just as he said when he came to, he got you to tear a hole in his tights… and then he begged me to fuck him.’

‘Whoah,’ said Damian. Both he and Angus were hanging on the Lord’s every word. ‘And did ye? Did ye fuck Superman, my lord?’

Lord Summerisle blew out a plume of smoke. 

‘Oh yes. I fucked the Man of Steel all right. I gave him what I wanted. Here in this house. In his fantasy, I even summoned all the household staff to watch as I fucked Superman, still in his spandex. Those extra levels of humiliation made it all the more exhilarating for him. I pounded in and out of his super backside like a piston, making the Last Son of Krypton howl in ecstasy.’

Angus groaned, imagining this, and stroked his crotch.

‘And then… just as I was about to bring him to climax… just when Superman was on the cusp of fulfilling his wildest desires…’

Lord Summerisle stubbed out the cigarette. 

‘I stopped the whole thing. Took away his fantasy. I brought him to the edge and then snapped him out of it. The cruelty of it was... unimaginable.’

Damian creased his brow. ‘I still don’t understand. Surely Superman was ripe for the taking then. Why not do it for real - fuck him right here and now, and use him as we will? You’ve shown you can take away his powers whenever you want. Why wait?’

‘It’s as I told you, Damian,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Seasoning the meat. All of those desires that Superman has hidden for years, I have now brought to the surface. He cannot force them down again now; now they will be with him every moment of the day. 

‘Superman has returned to the inn. He has no idea that I know his true identity. He will resume his persona as the bumbling, bungling Clark Kent and try to find these missing men he came here seeking. But the visions I have shown him, the arousal I have unleashed within him… that is something far mightier than any so-called Man of Steel. Superman’s unspent cock will ache for release; he will find himself willing to go further and further to act upon his unspoken lusts. HIs need to submit, his secret need for humiliation and to shed the weight of his super heroics will grow greater and greater. And then, when he finds that he would do anything, anything at all in return for a release from his sexual prison…’

Lord Summerisle pulled Angus to him, and unzipped his fly.

‘…then, Superman will come to me. And he will beg.’

He yanked down his trousers as Angus knelt between his thighs, looking greedily at the bulging underwear before him.

‘Here, Angus - take down my pants and feast.’

With a mumbled ‘aye,’ Angus reached out and pulled, and a few minutes later his mouth was blissfully filled with the mighty cock of Lord Summerisle. A short distance away, back at the inn, Superman was dreaming of the very same thing, and he let out a low moan as he pictured himself taking that mighty member into his mouth...

‘More,’ he gasped, imagining Lord Summerisle towering over him, ‘mmm… more, please… please!’

And in a manner of speaking, Superman was about to get his wish…

Will Superman ever get to blow his load? What does Lord Summerisle have in store for the musclebound Man of Steel? And will that spunk spritzer be the last of the Lord's seed to pass Superman's lips, or will it soon be cocktail hour for Clark Kent once again? Find out next time! If you enjoyed this then please hit like, and consider leaving a comment.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

#supermandefeated

#supersubmission

#supermanhumiliated

#heroperil

#heroesdefeated

#briefs

#vincent zeal

#spandex

#superherohumiliation

#pantsdown

[superslavemannn]

Yes, finally! Time at last to return to the insidious Scottish backwater of Summerisle, where Superman has stumbled into a nest of mystic intrigue which has seen him stripped of both his dignity and his mighty powers. Awakening in the home of Lord Summerisle, since accepting champagne and gracious hospitality, the hero has found himself intoxicated with lust and divulging secrets he has kept hidden for years.

Sans powers, and now no more than a man in tights, the novelty of being a weakling is turning Superman on profoundly. After confessing his deepest fantasies, in an erotic frenzy, the flushed and flustered Man of Steel has already pleasured Lord Summerisle’s band of handsome acolytes, giving his first Superhandjobs and even a Superblowjob.

Now, Superman has given full rein to his desires and begged his host to give him what he craves, and take his Super-cherry, whilst he is still dressed in his uniform. The obliging Angus has just torn a hole in those famous tights… with his spandex sundered, will the Last Son of Krypton finally get his reward?

Read on and learn more, in the next instalment of…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 5 - An Audience with Superman

Superman could feel the void at the back of his tights, and it brought home more clearly than ever how lost he was, how helpless, weak and dominated. He felt Angus’s fingers slip inside his spandex and dance teasingly across the skin of his buttocks, touching and tempting him in a manner he could never have imagined, and his cock throbbed with excitement. Looking down, he watched as a fresh bloom of foaming precum emerged from the tip, further soiling the wet blue fabric against which his yearning erection strained.

‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘please…!’

‘Bring him to me,’ said Lord Summerisle.

Angus gave a low chuckle as he withdrew his fingers from Superman’s crack, and he and Jason took the whimpering Man of Steel by the wrists and and gently dragged him across to his master.

Summerisle gave a wide smile, and placed his hands on either side of Superman’s face. The hero stared back, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, wondering what was to happened next.

‘You poor, lust-crazed cretin,’ murmured Lord Summerisle.

Superman was trying to discern the meaning of these words when - to his amazement, Lord Summerisle pulled his face forward and kissed him passionately.

‘Oh!’ gasped the Man of Steel when his host released him. ‘Whuh-what’s h-happening to me? I d-don’t understand.’

‘Hush,’ said Lord Summerisle, placing one finger on the hapless hero’s lips. ‘Not long now. We’re nearly completed with this phase. On your back please, Superman. Lie down on the ground like the whore I’m going to make you into. Quick as you like.’

Superman could think of nothing to say or do in response to this, but to obey.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, as he got down on his knees and then stretched out and lay on his back before Lord Summerisle.

‘I’m ready, sir. I’m on my back, just as you asked.’

‘I didn’t “ask”, I ordered,’ snapped the Lord. ‘And don’t forget it, Superdickhead.’

Cringing, Superman tried to babble an apology, but no one was listening to him.

‘Angus, Jason - grab him by his legs, please. Walk behind me and drag him on his back. Let’s go outside to the main courtyard.’

‘Wh-what?’ whimpered Superman. ‘I th-thought you were going to f-f-f-fuck me, your Lordship?’

Lord Summerisle smiled. ‘Indeed I am, Superman. I’m going to give you what you want and take your virginity, while you are still wearing your famous uniform. Yet I think such a momentous event deserves an audience, don’t you? Darius - ring the bell and summon the whole staff, every single one of them. Let them all see what Superman is.’

‘Ooh,’ whimpered the hero. ’N-no! Please! You c-can’t! They’ll all s-s-see me! I didn’t th-think you’d be fucking me… in f-front… of an audience! Ooh! Oh no! Oh god…’

‘Bring him! On his back, now!’

Angus and Jason ignored Superman’s feeble protests, instead taking hold of his tights-clad feet, and he now found himself dragged along on his back, through the corridors of Lord Summerisle’s stately home. He was terrified at what was now about to happen, his shaming secrets laid bare for anyone to see… and yet his cock remained ramrod-stiff.

‘No,’ he moaned softly, ‘whuh-what’s h-happening to me… this c-can’t be… I’m Superman. I’m S-s-superman!’

But the only response this elicited was a chuckle, and as Angus and Jason hauled the hapless hero around a corner, Darius reached down and gave his rock-hard penis a quick squeeze.

‘Aaah! Hnngh!’ gasped Superman. ‘Please… c-c-can’t t-take much more!’

‘Fear not, Superdickhead,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You won’t have to.’

He glanced back. ‘Angus, Jason - let’s not risk an involuntary ejaculation. He’s so inexperienced anything might happen - pick Superman up and carry him the rest of the way. Bear my whore out to the courtyard between you both, like the prize harlot he is. What are you, Superman? Answer me.’

The Man of Steel panted, as the two lads picked him up, his body aching with thwarted lust as he felt their hands taking control of him.

‘I’m a whore, your Lordship,’ he said, almost in a daze now. ‘I’m Superman… your p-prize whore. Please, sir… f-fuck me. Please!’

Being carried along between these two men was a strange and freshly humiliating experience for the Man of Steel. It served to hammer home fully just how little he was now, how helpless, how foolish, how completely in the power of the charismatic and dominating Lord Summerisle. Just an object, a mere chattel.

As they continued on their journey, Superman’s cheeks began to blaze anew, as he saw servants and members of the household staff emerging. Most were young men, all roughly dressed, and they regarded him in silence, though their eyes were mocking and hungry. His cock trembled, and he couldn’t help but moan softly.

‘P-prize whore,’ he whispered, ‘I, Superman, am now a prize whore… they’re carrying me in, like some sort of t-turkey! Ooh - that’s just it - I’m just a turkey now! A helpless sacrificial superpowered thanksgiving turkey being brought to the feast! Ooh!’

Lord Summerisle turned and laughed, having clearly heard this.

‘Very astute, Superman! Your words are more accurate than you know. You are indeed a turkey, Superman, a great, dumb sacrificial turkey in tights!’

Angus and Jason halted, allowing Lord Summerisle to lower his face, until his mouth was just above Superman’s moist and tumescent cock, stood like a tentpole in his tights, dampening the spandex with every throb and fresh humiliation.

‘Wh-whuh… what are you d-doing,' asked the helpless, mind-fucked Man of Steel, ‘whuh-what’s happening to me now?’

‘Why, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, a mischievous glint in his eye, ‘you clearly have no talent for the culinary arts. I’m just checking that our prize turkey is nice and moist.’

Before Superman could comprehend these words, Lord Summerisle extended his tongue and licked his huge, wet erection, straining away in it’s spandex prison.

‘Mmmm! Why, you’re certainly a juicy turkey, aren’t you, Superman?’ he grinned. ‘Your tights are full of delicious juices! Don’t you agree, Superman?’

Superman let out a wail of lust and frustration.

‘Ooh! Oh! Ha! Ha! Aaaaaaah! Hnngh! P-please… Oh God! Oh boy. Y-y-yes, sir… whatever you say… I’m a turkey… a j-juicy turkey. A juicy t-t-turkey in tights! Oh… p-p-please… I s-s-s-swear I’ll lose my mind if you d-d-don’y give me release soon! I’m b-begging you, sir!’

Summerisle straightened up. ‘All in good time, Superman, you ludicrous chump. My tumescent turkey in tights! I shall soon make sure you are trussed and stuffed. Oh, I’ll give you a stuffing that will make you sing, Superman!’

They continued on their way, Angus and Jason keeping a firm hold on the writhing hero. Superman was not exaggerating - his lust had now reached such a height that he could barely think straight; he was quite, quite delirious with arousal. He babbled away deliriously as Angus and Jason bore him along, relishing their touch on his helpless body.

’T-t-turkey… Turkey of Steel… Superrturkey… g-going to be a-stuffed… Superchump… Krypton… Kryptonite… oh…oh… somebody save me… save me… somebody p-p-p-please let me ejaculate! I’ll do anything!’

Other men began following them, taunting the writhing, lust-crazed Man of Steel and soon he found himself tossed between them, as they took turns in carrying this ludicrous, spandex-clad man with his huge, helpless tentpole erection bouncing between his legs. The feel of their hands as they pawed at him and passed him around only served to height Superman’s arousal still further.

‘Pass the whore!’ they cried. ‘Let us all take a turn at carting the great Superchump aboot! Mind he doesnae fill his tights before the main event! Superman’s horny as fuck!’

‘Oh!’ gasped the delirious Last Son of Krypton. ‘Passed from hand to hand like I’m nothing… all my powers are gone… I’m so… so helpless… and it’s turning me on even more! Th-throbbing in my t-t-tights! Hnnggh!’

‘You’re not wrong!’ laughed his current bearer. ‘You’re a horny wee thing, Superman! But mind ye dinnae fill your pants just yet! Watch that hand on your cock, now…’

‘Oh!’ he groaned, reluctantly moving his fingers from his aching bulge, ‘yes, sir. Oh… somebody… somebody give me release, please!’

At last, they arrived in the courtyard. Superman fell silent as he saw the gathered staff of Lord Summerisle, all of whom appeared to be men in their twenties and thirties. There were about forty or so of them, and every man was staring at Superman, helpless and erect in his tights and tunic, being carried out in the arms of two men.

‘Oh god,’ moaned the hapless Man of Steel, ‘I c-can’t believe this. What’s happening to me… c-can’t let so m-many people see me… not like this… they can all see my t-tights… they can all see my… oooh… they can all see my erection… oh no…!’

Angus and Jason, who had borne him out, now placed the stunned superhero on the ground. Superman fell silent as he stood before them all, cowering and looking mortified, torn between his rampaging arousal, and the shame of his predicament. Ineffectually, he started to try and cover his bulging crotch.

‘Stop that, Superman,’ commanded Lord Summerisle, sharply. ‘Sit on this podium I’ve prepared for you. Hands by your sides, now!’

‘Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ breathed Superman, as he hurried to obey.

Lord Summerisle surveyed his men. ‘Behold. Here is Superman. The world’s most powerful man.’

He sniggered slightly as he said this.

‘The Man of Steel. Introduce yourself to my staff, please. Go on… now.’

There was silence. Superman nervously raised his head.

‘I… uh… yes, sir. It’s as his Lordship says… I’m Superman.’

He tried to straighten his back a little as he spoke, but this had the unfortunate effect of making his erection appear even more prominent; it even wobbled a little inside his tights.

‘I’m… I’m the M-man of Steel,’ he said, with a gulp, nervously glancing down at his crotch. As if in response, his penis twitched excitedly, the head pushing against the precum-drenched blue spandex.

And as he looked up once more, the assembled men were racked with a fit of the most raucous laughter Superman had ever heard. They howled with derision, pointing at him.

‘And tell my men what is in your tights, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, as the hysterical finally subsided. ‘Go on. Tell them what it is and why it’s there. Do it.’

‘Oh no,’ moaned the hero. Yet with no choice but to obey, he said: ‘I… that’s an erection. I have an erection in my tights. I’m h-hard. I h-hope you can all see… go on, get a g-g-good look. Mm.’

Superman found he enjoyed saying this, and as he looked back at the jeering, scornful faces, each one mocking him, he found he wanted to say more.

‘Yes… I’m hard in my tights… I, Superman am rock-hard in my uniform… b-b-because… b-because Lord Summerisle has promised to fuck me! Uh! Hnngh. There… I said it!’

He actually sounded quite triumphant as he spoke. ‘I did it, your Lordship! Have I pleased you? Are you going to f-fuck me now, sir?’

‘Bring me his clothes,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Bring out the rest of his uniform.’

‘Whuh-what?’ cried Superman. ‘You… you t-told me the other pieces of my uniform were lost at the pool where you f-found me! You said… you said…’

‘Did I?’ said Lord Summerisle, with a grin. His men were now producing Superman’s supposedly lost articles of clothing: his belt, his cape, his boots… and the ordinary red underpants which Tam had given him, instead of his uniform briefs.

‘How extraordinary!’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle. ‘There are no belt loops on your red briefs, Superman! And indeed, here is a label in the back of them: “Slazenger”! Why, these aren’t your real briefs at all - you’ve been going around in public simply wearing a pair of red underpants over your tights, you gloriously ludicrous chump!’

The crowd roared with laughter once more at this.

‘Please,’ begged Superman, ‘I can explain!’

‘No need,’ said Lord Summerisle. He handed the red underpants to Superman. ‘Just make a hole in them for me. Just here. Go on. Rip a little hole in them. Now!’

‘Oh!’ gasped the disgraced Man of Steel. ‘I… Yes, sir!’

He did as he was told, and ripped a hole in the back of the red briefs.

‘Wh-what should I do now, sir?’ he asked.

Lord Summerisle drew close to Superman, and licked his ear, making the horny hero whimper and shake.

‘I think you should put your panties on, Superman, don’t you? Dress yourself, my Superdickhead - put on your panties, cape and boots.’

‘Oh! Oh! Yes, sir! I… I sh-should p-put my p-p-p-panties on! Thank you, sir.’

Superman could not move fast enough. Clumsily, he stepped into the red briefs, and then pulled them up his trembling legs, over his bulging cock, and finally let them ping into place. Instantly, a patch on the front of the smooth, bright spandex darkened, absorbing the precum with which the Metropolis Marvel was helplessly producing.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lord Summerisle, ‘he’s wet his panties already. Is it because of your excitement, Superman?’

‘You know why that’s happened,’ said Superman, sounding somewhat petulant. ‘You t-told me to put them on… you….you t-told me too. So h-hard… Can’t help it.’

Lord Summerisle laughed. ‘Now dress him in his boots, cape and his belt. Quickly now. And bring Superman the mirror, that he may see what he looks like.’

The men hastened to obey, and a large, full-length mirror was set before the hapless Man of Steel.

‘Oh!’ gasped Superman. ‘Oh, my…!’

Being confronted with the reflection of his depravity and sheer disgrace suddenly brought his rapture to a halt. Superman gazed with horror at the image before him. There were spunk stains around his mouth. His uniform briefs were gone, and instead he wore this ludicrous pair of red underpants, which he had already soiled. His s-shield was also coated with cum, from where he had given handjobs and blowjobs for the first time in his life. And his fingers…

He looked down at the fingers of his right hand. Just last week, he had shaken hands with the Mayor of Metropolis and a variety of dignitaries. Now, that same hand was covered in the slimy filth of his exploits.

He shook his head. “What have you done to me? What am I becoming?’

‘Come, come, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘We have done nothing you did not want. You begged us, in fact. Just as you begged me to fuck you in your uniform.’

‘No… no,’ said Superman, ‘this isn’t fair… those desires… they’re secret! Those are my secrets! I didn’t mean to tell anyone. How have you found all this out? It’s… it’s like you’re inside my head. I shouldn’t have let myself get into this situation!’

Head whirling, Superman tried to wrest back some semblance of his dignity. Yet try as he might, his erection would not go down!

‘I think you’ve wasted my time,’ said Lord Summerisle.

‘Whuh-what?’

‘I think my men and I have bent over backwards to indulge your secret fantasies, Superman. Out of pity.’

‘Pity?’ echoed Superman, dumbly. ‘Why pity me?’

A peal of thunder rolled across the sky, and it darkened slightly.

‘Why, because of your sexual frustration, Superman. You told us all earlier this evening, did you not, that you are a virgin. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’

‘Hush… hush!’ begged the Man of Steel, staring at the onlookers.

‘Don’t hush me, you whining Superdickhead,’ snapped Summerisle. ‘Tell the truth, Superman. You are a virgin, and you begged my men and I to take your cherry. True or False?’

‘It’s true,’ he yelled out. ‘I’m sorry! You’re right, sir. It’s… it’s all true.’

He looked at his reflection. ‘But I’m… I’m Superman… I should… I ought to…’

‘Yes,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘My thoughts exactly. You should be punished, Superman. Quite right.’

‘What? No!’ Superman’s eyes grew wide once more. ‘I didn’t mean.’

‘Spank him,’ said Angus, speaking quickly. ‘For all the trouble he’s given us, Superman should be spanked.’

Lord Summerisle nodded. ‘An excellent suggestion, Angus. You deserve a spanking Superman. For wasting our time and being such a naughty Super-dickhead. Don’t you agree?’

Superman could not bring himself to speak. The prospect of being spanked, here, in front of all these men…

‘What does Superman’s penis have to say, Angus?’ asked Lord Summerisle.

Angus reached across and flicked Superman’s wet and straining erection.

‘Oh! D-don’t,’ gasped the disgraced Man of Steel. ‘P-please!’

’Why, it’s rock hard,’ said Angus. ‘Stiff and twitching with excitement, your Lordship. That’s what he thinks about being spanked, whether he cares to tell us or no.'

Lord Summerisle gave a triumphant smile. ’Well, then. What have you got to say to me, Superman?’

Superman shuffled forward. ‘Please, sir. Please, Lord Summerisle. You’re right, sir. I’m… I’m a n-naughty Superdickhead, who’s wasted your time. I… I deserve a spanking. Please spank me, sir.’

A cheer of approval went up from the crowd.

‘Very well,’ nodded Lord Summerisle. ‘Bend over my knees, Superman, you pathetic Superdickhead.’

Superman did not have to be told twice.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘right away, sir.’ And a moment later, his erect cock was sandwiched between the thighs of his insidious captor, the Lord of the island, as Superman lowered his spandex clad body, submitting for his punishment.

‘I’m… oh! I’m ready for my spanking, sir,’ he gasped.

‘Ready , aye… and I reckon he can’t wait,’ remarked Angus.

Lord Summerisle pulled up Superman’s cape, drawing it back and over his shoulders. With one hand he slowly groped the perfect spandex-clad buttocks that lay in his lap. Once they were hard as steel, impervious to pain. Now, they were vulnerable, quivering with anticipation in that smooth red and blue fabric. He ran his fingers all over them, lingering fir a few seconds on the newly turn hole. And then it began.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

Superman howled in ecstasy and torment as the Lord rained down blows upon him.

‘Oh! Oh! Yes! Mmmm… hnnggh!’

‘You’re a naughty wee Superdickhead, aren’t you?’ taunted Angus.

‘Yes,’ panted the hero, in between blows. ‘I’m a… very… very… naughty wee… Superdickhead! Aaaaaaah! Ooh! Ooh! Spank me! Spank me, I’m Supeman the Superdickhead! Mmmmm…!’

At last it was done. ‘Get up, Superman,’ ordered Lord Summerisle. ‘Get up and sit on your podium once more.’

Cringing, on shaking legs, Superman obeyed and sat down. The way in which the assembled men were staring at him was truly terrible; their contempt could not have been more obvious.

‘Did you enjoy that, Superman? Think carefully before answering.’

Superman shook his head. ‘I don’t have to think carefully, sir. You know the truth. You know everything.’

He looked up at the crowd. ‘Yes. I… I enjoyed being spanked by you, your Lordship.’

No one spoke in the courtyard. These words hung in the air. Lord Summerisle nodded his approval.

‘I enjoyed it,’ repeated Superman. ‘Being spanked by you… in front of all your men… it only t-t-turned me on even more. I loved it. And telling you is turning me on too.’

He looked back at his captor. ‘Now… p-please… won’t you show mercy? Please, your Lordship - please won’t you fuck me? The need… the yearning… I’ve taken my punishment… please!’

Lord Summerisle stood up and placed a hand on the bulge of the lust-crazed Man of Steel.

‘Oh!’ cried Superman. ‘Please… please!’

‘Hush. Beg me no more, Superman. You have done well. Now - get down on your knees. On your knees, and then on all fours like a dog. And I shall give you what you crave.’

‘Oh… th-thank you, sir!’ cried Superman. ‘Th-thank you!’

Then, with one final look of gratitude at the man who was dominating him so utterly, Superman got down on his knees, obeying this command. He bowed his head in submission, and then put his hands on the ground and silently got on to all fours.

Nothing further was said. Lord Summerisle slid his fingers through the hole in the red briefs, and the gap below this, in Superman’s tights. He tore the fabric a little more, widening the hole, and twitched one hand between the hero’s buttocks repeatedly, until at last the broken Marvel of Metropolis cried out:

‘Please! Please just do it! I’m Superman… fuck me, Lord Summerisle! I’m Superman and I’m now your Superwhore! Please, please, please give it to me, sir.’

Lord Summerisle licked his lips.

‘Yes. Yes, alright, Superman, my Superwhore. I will.’

He unzipped his trousers, unfastened them and dropped them around his ankles, revealing a sizeable erect cock. He took out a jar and began to lube himself up. ‘Time to give you your reward, Superman.’

Angus and Jason held the Man of Steel by his arms on either side, stroking his spandex clad biceps, which only increased the hero’s pleasure. Then… slowly, Lord Summerisle positioned his mighty erection at Superman spandex clad buttocks… and moved forwards.

‘Oh! Hnngh! Uh!’ The Last Son of Krypton cried out in ecstasy as he felt the mounting bulge move against his rosebud.

‘You… ooh… ooh… you’re entering me… penetrating me… me, Superman… I’m… b-being… f-fucked… oooooh! Hnnghh! Oh! Th-thank you! Oh boy… oh boy… Great Scott… I’m on my knees and being fucked by a Lord!’

Like an arm squeezing into the sleeve of a tight sweater, Superman cried out in pleasure again and again as he felt Lord Summerisle move inside him. Finally, he had what he wanted. He became oblivious to the cheers and cries as his body began to move involuntarily to the rhythm of the other man, as though he were instinctively following the steps of a new dance. It was a feeling beyond anything that he could have dreamed of, enhanced by Angus and Jason on either side of him, caressing and teasing his spandex-clad body as the Lord of this remote Scottish island pumped in and out of him.

He opened his eyes, and took in the jeering crowd all around him, point and laughing at him.

‘You’re being fucked, Superman,’ shouted on of them. ‘You’re the whore of Summerisle! How’s it feel, ye great fool - being fucked in your tights?’

‘Oh!” he gasped by way of response. He just about managed to force out the words: ‘W-w-wonderful! I, S-s-superman am b-being f-fucked in my t-t-tights… and it’s… w-w-wonderful!” Hnngh! I’m a whore - the Superwhore of Summerisle! Aaaaah!’

Lots Summerisle drew his mouth close to Superman’s ear and whispered: ’You’re mine now, Superman, do you understand? Everything you desire is me… and I am the key to giving you what you want… what you need…’

He licked the hero’s ear, and this was the final straw. Superman felt Angus gripping the shaft of his penis, and he squealed with joy and shouted out:

‘Yes! I’m yours, sir! I’m yours! I’m… I’m… ooh… oh… I’m going to.. I’m… going to c-c-c-cum…. I’m c-c-cumming!’

And then, fate dealt Superman one of the cruellest turns that had ever befallen him. There, on his knees, with Lord Summerisle pounding in and out of his spandex-clad buttocks, his body rocked by feelings so profoundly erotic he could never even have begun to describe them, the Man of Steel felt his tortured erection tense, prior to exploding into his tights and briefs, and giving him relief from the insidious torments that had been heaped upon him throughout this strange, strange evening. He closed his eyes, excitedly anticipating how he was going to feel as he pumped his clothes full of hot Kryptonian seed at last…

…yet as he opened them again, he was merely sat on Lord Summerisle’s sofa once more, surrounded by the young men, all of them sipping champagne.

‘Why-what?’ He cried out in alarm. ’N-no! No, it c-can’t be! No! No, you promised me! Noooo!’

What tantalising twist is this? Was Superman really diddled by the devilishly devious deviant Lord Summerisle, or was it an illusion? Will his tormented, tumescent tentpole ever be allowed to give up its contents, or will it remain a stained and straining prisoner in his blue spandex? And where have his true uniform briefs ended up?

Find out next time! If you enjoyed this then please hit like, and consider leaving a comment.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

#supermandefeated

#supersubmission

#supermanhumiliated

#heroperil

#heroesdefeated

#briefs

#vincent zeal

#spandex

#superherohumiliation

#pantsdown

[superslavemannn]

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 4 - KINKSTER OF STEEL

This is part 4 of an adult content, NSFW erotic Superman story, inspired by a frankly stunning image of the Man of Steel sitting next to a gloryhole created by @Buffy2ville on Deviantart, who kindly gave permission for this - thank you. No offence or copyright infringement is intended; it is purely for enjoyment, not for profit. And so I hope you enjoy...

Now let’s return to the hapless Clark Kent aka Superman. We left him sat fully clothed on a filthy toilet, after Lance Lewis had locked him in, leaving the aroused and apprehensive journalist uncertain and excited for what was to come…

Now that the door was closed, Clark could see that there was a full-length mirror on the other side of it, mottled with age and reflecting back his image. He shuddered with arousal and drank in the sight of himself, illuminated from above by one yellow lightbulb.

“Oh boy. Ohhhh b-boy” he whispered to himself. “Look at me. Look at what I’m doing. I’m… sat in my finest clothes, my best suit. Sat on a filthy wet toilet, waiting to debase myself and fellate a bunch of men. Me… Clark Kent. Oh!”

His penis throbbed with unspent arousal as he spoke these words. His whole body shook with years of pent-up longing, a yearning to be something less than the all-powerful Man of Steel for once. He lightly touched himself and moaned a little in anticipation.

Clark could feel the liquid on the toilet seat had soaked right through his trousers, all the way through to his tights and briefs below. His uniform - his sacred Kryptonian uniform, a symbol of greatness known even beyond the bounds of the earth, was absorbing the waste of normal human men. The thought made him giddy with excitement. And that was when it occurred to him:

“You know… this isn’t really my best suit, is it? My best suit… is my Superman suit. My uniform, which I have on underneath my Clark Kent clothes.”

He stared at his reflection.

“They have no idea. They have no idea that it’s not just Clark Kent who’s going to be sucking their dicks this evening - it’s Superman! Superman is going to suck cock for the first time in a public lavatory, and it’s a secret. My secret. Just mine.”

His x-ray vision activated spontaneously, penetrating the layers of his coal-black suit.

“Imagine… oh… just imagine if I was sucking their dicks dressed in my uniform.”

The thought of this turned him on so much that he whipped his hand away from his cock for fear that he might cum in his clothes right there!

“Oh! Oh boy. Oh boy. Oh god. Could I? Could I do that? They have locked me in here after all. No one would see.”

He shook his head sadly, and let his x-ray vision fade.

“It’s too much of a risk. Way too much of a risk. If anyone ever found out.”

But then, how could they find out? He still had his abilities. If anyone were to unlock the door he would hear them coming from way off, and he could change back at super-speed.

“No,” he said, “it’s still too risky.”

His hand strayed to his neck tie as he continued to gaze at his reflection.

“Although. How about… I could just take off my tie. And maybe my jacket.”

He spied an ancient and rusty hook, hanging to the left of the mirror.

“Yes. What if I take them off and hang them there?”

Before he had even given himself permission to do this, he found himself loosening his tie, standing up and pulling off his jacket.

Haltingly, almost as though his hands were resisting, he slipped the necktie over his head and off. This done, he coughed nervously and then shrugged off his suit-jacket. With shaking hands, he hung them both on the rusty hook and seated himself once more.

“And then…then I can just…”

Without thinking, from force of habit, he swiftly performed a shirt rip! The buttons of his crisp white shirt went flying to the floor, into the puddles of piss that were everywhere.

“Dang it! Didn’t mean to rip it. But now I have…”

His cock strained ecstatically at the sight before him: now, he would be able to see his S-shield as he worked away sucking dick. The red, yellow and blue insignia blazed out proudly beneath his white shirt.

“Oh boy. Okay. That… that feels really nice. Being able to see my uniform like that. In fact…”

He looked down at his shoes.

“You know, these cost a lot of money. Instead of having them soaking in stale urine all evening, I could… um…”

He paused, but he already knew what he was thinking.

“I could… well, I could just take off my shoes and put them by the basin. But then, I wouldn’t want my socks to get wet with all this. And my uniform is indestructible, after all. What if I just take off my shoes and hang up my socks on the hook. Th-then…”

He paused again, and then whispered to himself:

“Well… then I’d be able to see my red boots. I… I’d like that! What does it matter if they’re standing in piss. I mean, urine?”

Part of him tried to hold back, but then, before he knew it, he found himself unlacing his smart black leather shoes. He took them off and went to place them by the basin, which was filled with murky-looking water, but as he stood up he realised his mistake.

“Oh! Huh… damn it! What a… what a d-dumbass I am! I forgot to take my socks off before standing up.”

His pristine black socks were now soaking up the filthy contents of the toilet.

“Oh well. Better get them off now. Perhaps… perhaps I’ll put them in the basin to soak.”

Pulling off each of his now drenched socks, with a momen’s slight hesitation he dropped them into the foul-looking contents of the basin.

“Hmm. Not sure if that’s better or worse than the floor, but it doesn’t matter now. There go my socks.”

He settled himself back down upon the toilet and gazed at his reflection with satisfaction.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “My S-shield and tunic are showing, and so are my red boots.”

He looked down at the latter, now stood amid the sloppy urine all about.

“Gee. Not sure my boots have ever stood in a puddle of human piss before!”

He chuckled softly, at this, but as he did so he found himself wriggling in discomfort. Ripping his shirt open had displaced his cape, which normally stayed put, tucked into the back of his trousers.

“Well,” he said slowly, “that’s going to be awfully uncomfortable to sit on all night long. What… what difference would it make if I…”

He stood up once more, reached behind himself, and yanked his cape out from the seat of his pants. It fell down behind him, making him both instantly more comfortable and infinitely more turned on.

“Oh god. Oh boy.” he gasped. The sight of his red and blue uniform was driving him wild with lust. And from the mirror he could now see that the bottom of his cape was touching the floor of the toilet; he could see the hem darkening as its soaked up the human piss below!

“Oh! G-gosh. Well. It’s indestructible after all. What does it matter? G-gosh, though… my cape… my own cape, soiled with human urine!”

He stared once more at his S-shield, savouring the sight of it shining brightly out below his crisp white shirt. The red and yellow, he could clearly see. But the blue of his tunic, not so much.

“What good is it… leaving my shirt on but ripped open? What purpose does that serve, really?”

He could find no answer, and a moment later he took his shirt off fully and hung it on the ancient hook. Then, after a brief hesitation, he removed his glasses and tucked them inside his jacket pocket.

Superman - as he plainly could be seen to be now - seated himself once more on the filthy toilet. He was trembling quite alarmingly, as though he had a fever, he was so turned on.

“Oh god. Oh boy. Oh, great Rao. I’m sorry… I’m sorry, but I think this looks amazing. It feels wonderful. Me… Superman. The Man of Steel. The strongest being on the planet. Sat on a filthy lavatory. My feet… my boots… in a puddle of human piss. With only my coal black pants left to protect my uniform. Oh boy… look at me. Let me enjoy this moment.”

Superman felt a rush of erotic sensation like nothing that had ever touched him in all his years. His predicament was arousing him more than anything had ever done before. He thought back to his words of that morning:

“Why shouldn’t I have some fun for once?”

In that moment, he felt a desire to see his own bulging briefs and tights that was so wild and so strong, there was not the remotest hope of fighting it.

“To hell with it,” he said, standing up. “I’m going to do as I want. It’s my life. I’m the last son of Krypton. I’m Superman. I’m the Man of Steel. And my pants are coming down.”

He began to fumble clumsily with the clasp of his trousers, tugging fiercely at them.

“Everything all right in there, Clark?”

He froze with horror, bending over in the act of removing his trousers. Ridiculously, he pulled his cape around him to try and conceal his crotch, as if Lewis were in the room there with him, and then cursed his stupidity - what could this have achieved? He swallowed, and called out in Clark’s mild-mannered tones:

“Yes… yes, sir, Mr Lewis, sir. I’m f-fine. Th-thank you.”

Superman stood, willing the man to go away and leave him be. He could see Lewis just outside with his x-ray vision. Surely he wasn’t going to unlock the door and check on him? If he had to get dressed at Super-speed again now, he didn’t know what he’d do…

“Glad to hear it.” Lewis walked away once more, to his great relief. “Five minutes to go.”

“Oh… thank you, sir,” called out Superman. “I’ll be ready. C-c-can’t wait!”

As the footsteps moved away, he deactivated his x-ray vision, and a second later he ripped his trousers down his legs.

“Pants down for me,” he gasped, yanking them off his feet, trying as much as possible to avoid them soaking up the pools of piss on the floor. “Pants down for Clark Kent… and pants off for Superman… there!”

Triumphantly, he finally pulled off his trousers and held them up, before hanging them on the hook. It shook slightly, but Superman barely registered this, so desperate was he to sit back down and look at his reflection. Gently, he lowered his spandex-clad ass on to the filthy toilet seat. As the seam of his red briefs came into contact with the wet surface, he felt them and his blue tights begin to absorb the moisture.

“Ooh,” he breathed as he felt the liquid fully begin to seep up into his briefs and tights. “L-looks like I’ve wet my tights…”

He chuckled at this, and stared at the patch of white foaming precum where his ramrod stiff cock was bulging through his uniform. The front of his briefs was now well and truly awash, stained with the evidence of his excitement.

“Yes… I’ve certainly well and truly wet my tights.”

He looked his reflection in the eye defiantly. “I, Superman, have wet my tights and briefs.”

Now in the grip of a lust-crazed frenzy, he began to paw at his boots.

“Better to take these off. That way my tights can soak up some filth from the floor as well.”

He began to peel the backs of his boots down his calves, ready to remove them and sully the feet of his tights. But he was only halfway through when a voice cried out:

“You ready in there? Are you ready for showtime, for cock o’clock?”

Superman sat up and looked at himself, then over at the gloryhole.

“Just a minute, sir,” he called out, his voice shaking slightly. He returned his gaze to his reflection, drinking in the sight of his disgrace. His boots were half off, the back of his calves clad in his blue tights, exposed.

Suddenly the rusty old hook on the back of the door gave way, and to his horror, Superman watched his fine Clark Kent clothes come crashing to the ground. His eyes wide, he watched that expensive suit, shirt, and tie as the whole lot landed with a faint splash in a particularly deep puddle of piss.

“Oh!” he gasped. “Oh god! What have I done?”

He saw himself in the mirror: the son of Jor-El, Kal-El of Krypton, the Man of Steel… Superman… sat on a disgusting toilet, cape and buttocks soaked with piss, his stained briefs bulging with undisguised arousal and his boots half peeled off. And the remains of Clark Kent’s best suit before him, lying in a puddle of human waste. The sheer depravity of what he was doing fully hit home at last.

A sound came from behind the gloryhole. Someone was preparing themself for him

“Clark! I said, are you ready?”

Superman swallowed. “Yes, sir, Mr Lewis, sir. I am ready.”

With one finger he traced the symbol of his s-shield, and then with the other hand he took hold of his cock, gripping it through his tights and briefs.

“Uhhhhh. I’m ready for my sh-showtime, sir.” He gasped and groaned in arousal.

“I’m Superman,” he whispered, before continuing in a much louder voice, “and I’m ready to suck some dicks.”

What will Superman make of his night of cock? Will his first foray into fellatio be an instant triumph for him and his clients, or will the Man of Steel need a few hot tips? And will he make it to sunrise without blowing a load in his already-sullied tights and briefs?

Find out soon in Superman: Glory Night, chapter 5 - SUCKER

If you enjoyed, then please hit Like and consider leaving a comment, and I hope you found it as Superman’s tights and briefs are right now, as he sits awaiting the glory! 😈

[superslavemannn]

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 5: SUCKER

This is part 5 of an adult content, NSFW erotic Superman story, inspired by a frankly stunning image of the Man of Steel sitting next to a gloryhole created by @Buffy2ville on Deviantart, who kindly gave permission for this - thank you. Thanks also to @lexluthorspalaceofpain for a very kind illustration upgrade! No offence or copyright infringement is intended; it is purely for adult enjoyment, not for profit. And so I hope you enjoy...

Now let’s return to downtown Metropolis. Lance Lewis has locked Clark inside the filthy toilet to prepare for his night of fellatio. Left alone and more aroused than ever before by his predicament, Clark has given in to temptation and stripped off his street clothes. Now, as Superman, dressed in his world famous spandex uniform, he sits in anticipation on a filthy toilet seat, relishing the new feelings he’s allowed himself to embrace at last...

Superman sat waiting, feeling his briefs and tights soaking up more liquid from the wet and slimy toilet seat with every passing second. Slowly, his hand strayed down to his crotch. He gave in to his simmering arousal, and moved his fingers lightly up and down his cock, gripping the shaft through the wet spandex of his briefs and tights. It felt so very good, and yet he knew he had to take care not to let these sensations run away with him. At least… not yet.

“I have the whole night still to get through,” he said softly to himself. “And… and I have work to do.”

As if to reinforce this point, as that moment a sound came from his left, and Superman turned his attention to the glory hole.

“Oh boy… my first c-client.”

He gulped. Slowly but steadily, a thick, uncut penis was emerging from the glory hole. It was very, very stiff, and the tip was as wet as Superman’s own, which now gave up a little more precum at this sight; he felt it moistening the tips of his fingers as he gripped the shaft.

He found himself wondering what to do first. Ought he to say something? Would that be polite. He cleared his throat.

“Uh… good evening, sir. I hope you’re feeling good. I… I sure am. Are you ready for… f-for some ah… f-fun?”

He stared at the penis, wondering about its owner.

A gruff voice came from behind the hole.

“I’m ready for you to suck my dick, cocksucker.”

Superman’s cheeks blazed as red as his briefs at this abrupt response. Yet what did he expect? That was what he was here for, after all.

“Oh. Okay. G-good. Well. Let’s… let’s g-get to work then.”

Now the moment was here, he found himself a little unsure how best to proceed. He let go of his own cock and began to lean forward, bringing his mouth closer to the dripping erection that was awaiting him.

“Hurry up, cocksucker! Get my dick in your mouth, dumbass.”

Superman went to say something, but then realised a reply to this comment was not needed.

“Gosh,” he thought, “this really is new territory for me. Well… here goes.”

His eyes strayed to the mirror, and he watched his reflection as he hesitantly moved his mouth to the tip of the man’s cock. Seeing himself do this increased his arousal, making him bold.

‘It’s cock o’clock,” he whispered softly to himself. “It’s cock o’clock for Superman.”

More precum emerged from the tip of the man’s dick. Instinct kicked in, and suddenly Superman found himself lapping at this, licking and swiping at the liquid with his tongue. He enjoyed the strange and salty taste, and as he watched himself in the mirror he gave a low moan of joy.

‘It’s not a fucking ice lolly. Get it in your mouth!” snarled the voice behind the wall.

“Oh,” Superman mumbled, feeling foolish. “Sorry, sir.”

After a split-second hesitation, he moved his head forward and placed his mouth fully around the man’s dick. Catching sight of his reflection once more spurred him on, and Superman began to move his mouth backward and forward, in an attempt to pleasure his first client.

“Look at me…” he thought, watching himself eagerly sucking away. “I’m… I’m sucking a dick! Me, Superman! Oh boy… I bet I’m good at it too. I bet he likes it! I’ll give him a Super-blowjob!”

“What the fuck is this?” exclaimed the owner of the cock. “It’s like he’s coming at it upside down.”

There was a sudden rap at the toilet door; Superman let go of the dick he was sucking and jumped back in alarm, with a yelp of fear. Using his x-ray vision he could see Lance Lewis was on the other side of the door and he looked angry.

“Clark! What the hell’s going on in there? The client’s not happy!”

Superman gazed wildly between the erect penis he’d been sucking and the door. Lewis couldn’t come in. If he did, then there would barely be time to change, even at Super-speed. He had to appease him, whatever it took.

“I’m sorry, Mr Lewis, sir. I’m… I’m sucking his dick, just like you told me. I thought I was doing a good job. I… I’m trying sir. I’m sat here sucking cock at the g-glory hole, doing everything you asked, sir, honest!”

Even as he spoke, Superman saw himself in the mirror once more and heard the wheedling, pleading tones in his usually confident voice.

“Did you just say you were ‘sat sucking cock’?” Lance Lewis looked contemptuous as he spoke.

‘Uh… yes, sir…” replied Superman, puzzled. “I’m sat on the toilet like you told me. And I was trying my hardest.”

“Jeez, you’re an idiot,” said Lewis. “You’re supposed to be kneeling, Clark. You kneel to suck cock, don’t you understand anything?”

Superman’s eyes grew wide. He stared at the filthy ground, the puddles of urine and filth in which his half-removed red boots were standing.

“Kneel? B-but Mr Lewis, the floor…”

‘But Mr Lewis, the floor,” imitated Lance Lewis, shaking his head. “I don’t care about the goddamn floor; you need to kneel to suck cock. And you came here to be a cocksucker tonight, didn’t you? I said, didn’t you?”

Superman could feel himself beginning to panic.

“Yes, sir,’ he said, trying to placate Lewis. “That’s quite correct, I came here tonight… to be a… oh… to be a c-cocksucker. I’m here to be a c-cocksucker, sir.”

The words made his own penis throb harder and harder.

‘Well then, cocksucker Kent, get down on your knees,” shouted Lewis angrily. “Or do I have to come in there and make you?”

“No!” shouted Superman in alarm. If Lewis opened that doo, the consequences could potentially ruin him. “P-please don’t come in, sir. I’m getting down on the floor now. Of course I don’t mind kneeling, sir. I don’t mind all the… the filth. I’m doing it right now.”

Where he had peeled down the backs of his red boots they were now flapping, getting in the way. Superman decided then and there to take them off.

“Whatever happens now, my tights are going to be soaked with piss. Let’s just get them off and do this properly; I have to keep these men happy.”

Hastily, he kicked off his boots and shoved them aside. He watched his blue tights-clad feet darkening as the fabric soaked up the puddle of human waste. The sight both disgusted and aroused him.

‘My uniform…” he breathed. “Oh boy. Too late to turn back now."

And then, Superman got down on his knees in that same puddle, feeling the cold wet muck engulfing him.

“Ooh,” he cried. “I’m on my knees, Mr Lewis. I’m… I’m on my knees and ready to suck dick, sir.”

And indeed, his head was now at a much better angle for the task; he could now see the rookie mistake he had made, sat on the toilet in his tights and briefs, delicately sucking like a genteel young lady with an ice cream. Now he was squarely facing the erect cock of his client - it was just a couple of centimetres from his lips.

This seemed to content Lance Lewis. “Okay. Make sure you stay that way, right?”

“Yes, sir,” said Superman, staring down the business end of a cock. “I’ll stay on my knees, sir. It’s running my clothes, but I’ll stay on my knees, just like you said. Ooh.”

This humiliating statement furthered his arousal. He risked a quick glance in the mirror. There he was: Superman, with his boots removed, kneeling in a filthy puddle in his tights, preparing to suck cock once more.

“I… I like being on my knees, sir,” he called out. “It f-feels good.”

“Geez,” came the gruff voice of his client. “What kind of cocksucker are you?”

Superman returned his attention to the dick he was about to suck once more.

“Welll…” he hesitated and then decided to risk it.

“Hopefully… hopefully I’m a Supercocksucker, sir. If you’ll let me try, I’ll try to be a S-supercocksucker for you. W-would you like that?”

“Ha!” said the voice. “I reckon you’re more like a Superdickhead, pal.”

Superman could hardly believe his ears! There he was, trying to appease these men, debasing himself as never before, and this was the ungrateful response. He found himself activating his x-ray vision to see just whose cock it was he was sucking.

The man was tall and bearded, a rough looking biker sort, who looked none too clean.

“To think of it… how dare he call me ‘Superdickhead’! I’m the most powerful man on the planet, if not the galaxy! I could smash through this wall with one finger, and then imagine his face - how scared he’d be!”

But then… was not that power, that responsibility exactly what he had come here to escape?

Superman gazed down at his briefs and tights, awash with his own precum and the filthy slimy puddle in which he knelt. He took a deep breath.

“Gee… you… you’re quite right, sir. That’s exactly wh-what I am. A… a S-Superdickhead. That’s me. Ooh.”

His mind might have demurred, but his cock was in no doubt: it pulsed with excitement as he spoke these disgraceful words. This made up his mind.

“I’m a Superdickhead,” he said loudly and clearly, risking a stroke of his own cock. “Hnngg. Uh. Yes, Sir. That’s me. I’m a Superdickhead all right. So let’s get your dick in my Superdickhead mouth.”

“Yeah…” the man chuckled. “That’s good, Superdickhead.”

Superman groaned and touched himself once more. If this man only knew he was speaking to the Man of Steel himself! His client now spoke again.

“You like my big pink dick, don’t you, Superdickhead?”

He suddenly found himself transported back to a moment that seemed another lifetime ago: flirting with Lois the night he dropped by her apartment. He’d been turned on then, too. Lois had asked him what colour underwear she was wearing. Enjoying this game, he had played along, using his x-ray vision to get the answer: pink.

Even then, a part of him was fulfilled by knowing he was using his great powers for such a frivolous purpose. It was obvious how awestruck Lois was by him, his appearance and his mighty powers. He had stared at those pink lace panties, and imagined her astonishment if he were to ask her to let him try them on. Pulling them over his tights, or putting them on his head, making himself look ridiculous in front of her. Flying through the night like an idiot. He’d even imagined letting her take a picture, to display his disgrace to the world on the front page of the Daily Planet. “Hero Likes Wearing Pink Panties!” “The Man of Silk and Steel!”

“I like pink very much, Lois,” he’d told her, not letting on for a second about the full depraved context in which he was thinking about this. And that was that: once again Superman had buried his true nature, done the right thing, smothering his frustrated desire to be something less than he was.

But now… now he was kneeling in a filthy toilet. And he was going to give full rein to every urge he had ever squashed down and concealed in the name of his noble destiny.

He stared at the man’s penis before him, twitching away. It was time.

“Yes, sir. I like pink very much, sir. And I sure do like your big pink dick, sir. Superdickhead likes pink, and I’m going to do my very best with your big pink dick… in my mouth… right… now!”

With that, he thrust his mouth forward and set to work in earnest.

Superman’s night of cocksucking had begun.

Will Superman discover that the first cock is the deepest? Will he be able to give his clients satisfaction, whilst being strong enough not to give in and frantically tug himself off in his tights? Just how filthy is that toilet? And what further indignities does Lance Lewis have in store for the cock-hungry Kryptonian?

Find out in the next instalment of Superman: Glory Night!

As ever, if you’ve enjoyed this then please hit “like” and leave a comment. In the meantime, Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

[superslavemannn]

A quick interlude before the next instalment of Superman: Into the Wicker Man. A hot, hot story for a hot, hot day, about what happened when Superman met Nuclear Man for the very first time…

A NUCLEAR ENTRY

He had known he was in trouble the first time he fought him. Luthor’s initial attempt to give life to the Nuclear Man was a bizarre and largely innocent creature, but Superman had known straight away that it was his equal in both strength and abilities - perhaps even stronger than him. Taken by surprise, the Man of Steel had followed his first, base instinct: he ran away and tried to hide from this twisted version of himself.

Yet as he crouched down, trying ignominiously to conceal himself behind a battered old car in the hope that the metal might hide him from the other man’s x-ray vision, Superman had felt what was happening inside his tights and briefs. He didn’t dare look at first, but then, intrigued by the sensations, he forced himself to do so, gazing down at his penis. And it was just what he had been afraid of.

“An erection,” he breathed, his heart beating faster. “I’m… I’m hard in my tights! Oh… oh no! Being faced with a man who is stronger than me, stronger than Superman… it’s making me hard! Hnnggh!”

In the end he had had no choice: Luthor’s creature had located him and challenged him. Superman could hardly fight him with a huge wet erection straining inside his briefs. As he cowered before his bizarre alter ego, desperately trying to conceal his bulging crotch, in the blink of an eye, the hulking brute had grabbed him, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing, and threw the astonished and helpless hero into a pile of stinking garbage sacks. And that gave him his chance. Superman did the only thing he could to salvage the situation.

He had rarely masturbated. Jor El had frowned upon it, seemingly preferring his son to remain chaste, even if it meant regularly waking to find he’d cum in his sleep, the shiny silver sheets of his Fortress bed wet and sticky with the results of his unwitting ejaculation. Now, as he lay among the garbage sacks, his adversary gearing up to strike again, with no alternative the horny hero unfastened his belt, yanked down his briefs, and using his super-speed he furiously jerked himself off.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, and Superman let out a yell as he blew a huge load in his tights. Even in the midst of this perilous predicament, it had felt wonderful. Hot Kryptonian jizz cascaded all down his spandex-clad legs, flowing thick and wet inside his tights. He longed to plunge his hand inside the soaking blue fabric and to touch his Super-spunk, to taste it. He briefly considered this, and even moaned as he imagined himself licking his own fresh cum from his fingers. But there had been no time to savour the experience.

Superman grabbed two of the refuse sacks and split them wide open using his heat vision. Then, pulling up his briefs and squishing them right back onto his sticky, spunk-soaked tights, he swiftly re-fastened his belt. Once more his body thrilled as he felt the tight, spunk-slick fabric pressing against him. It took all his will to ignore it, and click his belt shut. This done, Superman lay down and rolled around in the garbage, coating his spandex uniform in the filthy refuse, until his tights and briefs were completely soiled. Now anyone who saw him would think this was just down to him being hurled into the rubbish pile. They would never guess that in fact the Man of Steel had just pulled himself off and eagerly pumped his tights full of cum.

His disgrace thus concealed, Superman stood up once more and went back to fighting his opponent. He had won, on that occasion, more by luck than anything else. That first Nuclear Man was defeated and destroyed.

But now it was happening all over again. Lex had used the same ruse as before to summon him. And Superman had fallen for it, blundering his way into Luthor’s splendid penthouse apartment. Lex was waiting there for him, along with his nephew, Lenny who was unimpressed by the supposedly mighty Superman, proclaiming: “The Dude of Steel… boy, are you gonna get it!”

Lex bided his time, and allowed the Man of Steel to strut about, cocky and confident, posturing and preening as he fired off a few of his usual blustering, pompous sentiments, looking somewhat crestfallen as his words drew no reaction from the Luthors. He sensed they were toying with him, as if they were waiting for something and so, perplexed by his predicament, he fell silent at last. And when Lex was ready, that was when he had introduced the Man of Steel to his new creation – to the second Nuclear Man.

The effect on Superman was immediate and obvious. Whenever this had happened in the past, it had always been somewhere that he could conceal what was happening to him, or where no one else could see it. Thrashing about fully clothed, humiliated, and helpless in Luthor’s swimming pool. Alone and trussed up inside Ross Webster’s super-computer, as its wires and tendrils tantalisingly explored his body, a pulsing anal probe making him feel wicked pleasures he had never known possible. Or writhing beneath the pile of garbage sacks outside the nightclub, where the first Nuclear Man had casually thrown him, as if the Man of Steel himself had been just another stinking sack of trash to be tossed out.

Now, however, there was nowhere for Superman to hide. It was broad daylight, gleaming sunshine streaming down on to the terrace of Lex’s spectacular penthouse. And as he gazed at Nuclear Man - this golden titan, forged from his own DNA, his body literally crackling with power - the Man of Steel’s eyes widened with utter, craven terror. And his cock stiffened and stood to attention with total, throbbing arousal! Within his tights and briefs he felt it straining for release.

In that moment, little more than a few seconds, Superman’s status as the alpha male in the room was stripped from him, as was his standing as the most powerful man in the world. It had been removed, taken from him without a word being uttered, or a punch being thrown. This new Nuclear Man was stronger than him - and they all knew it.

Luthor chuckled. The effect this was having on Superman was clear. He gestured to the hero’s erection and called for his nephew Lenny to come and take a look.

“Awesome! Look at what my Uncle Lex has done to you! The Dude of Steel’s got a boner in his panties!” guffawed Lenny Luthor.

“That’s right,” said Lex, grinning widely. “Lenny’s correct, isn’t he, Superman? Or do you disagree with his assessment of the situation? Well, come on now, answer me, Supe baby. Truth and justice is your thing, after all… so tell us, is Lenny right? What’s happening in your tights right now?”

“Luthor, you twisted…”

Superman went to protest, but as he looked down at his bulging crotch, his cock pushing and pulsing against his briefs, the words died on his lips.

“Hnnh. That’s right,” he said quietly. “He’s right. Your nephew is correct, Luthor.”

Lex shook his head. “That’s great. But you’re being a little shy. Don’t be shy. Say it, Superman.”

He scowled, cursing Luthor’s sick determination to humiliate him. Yet his penis continued to pulse with arousal, and so Superman did as he was told and said:

“Okay. You win, Luthor. I’m… I’m hard. There. I’ve admitted it….”

Superman raised his eyes and forced himself to look at Nuclear Man, and with a fear he had never known before he shivered.

“I’m hard,” he said again, gazing at those bulging muscles, that powerful body. “I have… I have an erection. Oh! Th-there… happy now?”

“Make him say the exact words, Uncle Lex,” sniggered Lenny. “Please?”

“Hmm,” said Luthor, “you heard Lenny, Superman. Stop trying to hide behind your dignity; it's long gone. Say it properly. Summarise the situation for us precisely as he did. Go on.”

Superman made a sound of frustration and annoyance, and as he did so, Nuclear Man took another step towards him. The Man of Steel shuddered, seeing those glowing footprints as his foe moved closer.

“I… I’ve got a b-boner in my tights!” he cried. “There! Happy now? I’ve g-got a b-boner in my tights! Oh!”

“Nearly,” said Lex, “but not quite.”

“Your panties, Super-dumbass,” said Lenny Luthor. “Not just your tights, your panties!”

Superman glowered at the pair of them but said nothing. But then a low growl came from Nuclear Man, a sound of unmistakeable threat, that became two words:

“Do it.”

Superman’s eyes grew wider still at this command, uttered in such a low, chilling voice. And a second later he found himself saying:

“I’ve got a boner in my panties! Okay! I’ve g-got a b-boner in my tights and my… my… oh… in my tights and p-p-panties! There! I said it.”

The Luthors applauded and cheered. And all Superman could do was stand there, impotent before them both as they toasted his humiliation, raising their glasses of champagne and touching them to his erection, making him whimper with helpless longing. His cheeks blazed with disgrace… but he was more turned on than he had ever been before. And Nuclear Man stared at the hero’s stiff and throbbing cock and gave another low growl.

“I’ve always known you better than you know yourself,” grinned Lex. “I knew exactly what you needed, Superman. I knew what you couldn’t resist. You needed someone to take all that control away from you. To take charge of you. Aren’t you going to thank your old pal Lex, Supe baby?”

Superman swallowed. “What now, Luthor? What… what’s he going to do with me?”

“Uh-uh!” said Lex, warningly. “Time to start behaving more respectfully toward me now, Supe baby. It’s Mr Luthor to you now, understand? Well?”

Superman swallowed, and his cheeks grew as red as his briefs. “Yes… yes sir, Mr Luthor. I understand, sir.”

Lex nodded. “That’s better. You’re learning, Superman.”

“Please,” said the hero. “P-please, Mr Luthor. Wh-what… what is he going to do with me, sir?”

Nuclear Man began to laugh now, a deep bass, threatening sound, and lightning crackled across his hands. It made Superman’s blood run cold, and before he could stop himself another terrible, cowardly whimper escaped his lips:

“Ooh! Oh no,” he breathed, and a second later another demeaning whimper followed. “Ooh! Ooh!”

“What is he going to do with you?” said Lex. “Well, that’s simple, Superman. I’m going to leave you boys together to get better acquainted, and then Nuclear Man is going to knock you around, beat you up a little. Maybe bend you over his knee and give you a bit of a spanking. Get the measure of you, Supe baby. He wants to see for himself just how puny you really are, compared to him. Because trust me, Superman, you really are no match for this guy.”

Superman’s cock trembled, and a few drops of precum foamed up across his red briefs.

“No, Mr Luthor,” he began, “don’t do this, sir. Please don’t leave me alone with him. Can’t we talk about this? Please!”

“Hmm,” said Lex. “Ask me on your knees, Superman. Go on. That’s how I want to see negotiations commence.”

Superman closed his eyes. But there was nothing else for it. He nodded, and just as instructed, he swiftly got down on his knees before Lex.

“Please Mr Luthor,” he said, “I’m on my knees and begging you: please don’t set your creature on me. I beg you, Mr Luthor, please.”

He looked up hopefully. Surely this terrible act of submission would be enough to placate Luthor. But the next moment Nuclear Man was looming over him, and his giant hands clamped Superman by the shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Superman,” smiled Lex. “It’s like I said: I know you better than you know yourself. You’re going to love what he’s going to do to you. Lay back and embrace it, Big Blue.”

“No,” said Superman, “please, no! Oh! Ooh! Ooh!”

Nuclear Man pulled him up by the throat and held him in front of him, dangling the terrified Man of Steel in mid air. He raised his index finger and it crackled with dazzling raw power. And then he ran that same finger over Superman’s stiff penis.

“Aaaah!” gasped the hero, wetting his briefs with still more precum. “Ooh! Oh! My p-penis! What’s he d-doing to me! Help me, Mr Luthor, please!”

“Look, Uncle Lex,” cried Lenny, “Superman’s wet his panties!”

“He certainly has,” smiled Lex. “Come on – let’s see how he’s enjoying this.”

He reached out one hand and ran his index finger around the top of Superman’s erect penis, and the Man of Steel gave a howl of arousal and embarrassment, his erection helplessly throbbing at his enemy’s touch.

“Excellent,” said Lex. “Come on, Lenny – you have a go.”

And as Nuclear Man dangled the whimpering Man of Steel before them, the Luthors took turns at toying with his penis, making him gasp and moan, until at last they grew bored.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” said Lex, giving Superman’s cock a final squeeze. “Parting is… inevitable. Play nice, now, won’t you?”

“One last thing, Uncle Lex,” pleaded Lenny. “Superman – say: ‘I’ve wet my panties’. Go on.”

Lex pointed at the Man of Steel.

“You heard my nephew, Superman. Do as he says.”

Superman nodded. “Yes sir, Mr Luthor, sir. Lenny’s right. I… I’ve wet my panties, sir. There. Shall I say it again? Hnngh.”

He didn’t wait to be asked.

“I’ve wet my panties! I’ve wet my panties!”

Superman felt himself sudden whipped up into a frenzy, and he shouted the words out loud: “I’ve wet my panties! I, Superman, have wet my panties! Hnnnnnngh! Ohhhh! Ooh! Ooh!”

Nuclear Man let him fall to the ground, and as Superman raised his head, the Luthors both turned and walked away, having seemingly tired of humiliating him.

Nuclear Man growled once more, and with one foot he pushed Superman on to his back, and placed his boot on the hero’s S-shield.

“Now. I have fun.”

[superslavemannn]

What follows is a work of fiction, meant entirely for pleasure, involving Superman, the Man of Steel, exploring his secret and long-held sexual fetishes with other men. It is not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended, nor any offence meant. If any of this is not for you for whatever reason, or if you feel it is likely to cause offence then please do not proceed any further.

However… if you would like to see what happens next to Superman, powerless, horny and at the mercy of the fiendish mystic Lord Summerisle and his band of handsome young men… well then, read on! If you thought times were hard right now, trust me, they’re even harder for the hapless Man of Steel. Superman has been lured to this strange Scottish island, and he now finds himself helpless and in the throes of a profound sexual awakening…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8 part 3 - Breaking Free

Lord Summerisle looked down at Superman’s eager face and wide eyes. The Man of Steel craved release so badly, but he had now been taught to respect and obey. It was time to test that obedience, to see just how far he would go. In order to bend Superman to his purpose, he had to make sure his loyalty was both blind and unquestioning.

‘Anything, Superman?’

‘Yes! Oh yes! Absolutely anything at all, sir. Do you…’ Superman hesitated for a second and then said, with an excitement in his voice that he could not disguise:

‘Do you want me to, uh… suck you off, your Lordship? I think… I think I did a good job just now, didn’t I?’

‘Well,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you might well think you did a good job, but that’s not for you to say. Let’s see what Angus thought. How was Superman’s cocksucking? Were you pleased with him? Did the Man of Steel deliver a Super-blowjob?

The Man of Steel turned his gaze on Angus, looking across at him eagerly, craving the lad’s approval. To his slight surprise, he noticed that Angus had swapped underwear with Darius; after cumming in Superman’s mouth, the handsome young man had pulled on the first garment he’d happened upon. Darius was now wearing the pristine white Calvins and Angus was sat on the floor in black briefs and socks, regarding the hero with languid amusement. Superman forced himself to look him in the eye, as he asked in a quavering voice: ‘Did I…. Did I do a good job, Angus? Was it… I mean… did I p-please you?’

Angus said nothing, but just stared at him. Superman felt his heart begin to race, and he could barely keep the anxiety from his voice. ‘Angus? Sir? Was my… was my c-cocksucking okay? I tried my best, honest.’

Angus stood up and gave a smirk as he began to slowly walk in a circle around the kneeling, lust-crazed Man of Steel. He took his time before answering, but at last he said:

‘It wasnae bad, Superman. But I think ye missed a bit. Aye… just here.’

He slowly slid his black briefs down his beautiful thighs and held up his dick, proffering it to the astonished and horny Man of Steel.

‘You see, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you have much to learn.’

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry Angus! I’m sorry, sir! I’ll fix it!’

Before their eyes, Superman scrambled across on his knees and reached for Angus’s cock with one trembling hand.

‘I apologise, Angus,’ he said, ‘that was clumsy of me, sir. Please… please may I please be permitted to make amends?’

Sure enough, there were a few drops of cooling spunk that had made their way to the tip of Angus’s shaft. Wide-eyed, Superman stared at them and licked his lips.

‘Aye. Ye may, Superman,’ said Angus. ‘I permit you to lick those last few drops of my cum… which you so carelessly left behind.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ The horny hero babbled and gripped the now flaccid penis. ‘Thank you, Angus, sir. That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you for letting me… mmmm…. Mmph.’

Superman thrust the penis between his lips and greedily sucked away at the rogue drops of spunk, moaning gently as he did so. By the time he had thoroughly cleaned Angus’s dick with his tongue, the lad was stiffening again, in spite of himself.

‘Hnngh. Oh man… Yeah… it’s got tae be said… that’s… no bad job you’re doing… good boy, Superman,’ Angus gasped. ‘This is a talented wee cocksucker we’ve got here, your Lordship. Good boy.’

Lord Summerisle chuckled. ‘Well done, Superman. It seems your newfound cocksucking skills do, in fact, speak for themselves.’

The lads all applauded at this and Superman’s eyes gleamed.

‘That’s enough now though,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Angus - second helpings aren’t on the menu… yet.’

‘Pity,’ said Angus, as he reluctantly withdrew his semi-erect cock from Superman’s mouth. ‘The Man of Steel looks like he could use a wee bit more. He’s certainly earned it. You’re well on your way to becoming a Super-cocksucker, my man.’

Superman licked his lips and allowed himself a grin of pride at this compliment, delighted to have begun to win the approval of Lord Summerisle’s men. As Angus pulled up his black briefs and stuffed his cock back inside them, the hero returned his attention to Lord Summerisle.

‘Thank you, Angus, and thank you, your Lordship,’ he babbled. ‘Oh, thank you! I’m glad to have done a good job sucking Angus’s cock. I’m pleased you think I have potential… the potential to be a Super-cocksucker. And now…’

His eyes strayed to Lord Summerisle’s crotch, where a sizeable package was bulging against his expensive coal black trousers.

‘Now, your Lordship,’ said Superman, somewhat hoarsely. ‘Can I… that is… d-do I g-get to…. I mean… please… please may I have the honour of sucking you off too, sir?’

The hero looked up with pleading in his eyes. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, sir. I’ll give you a S-super B-blowjob.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘But I’ve already seen you give fellatio your best shot, Superman. Now it’s my turn with you… my turn to use you for pleasure, however I see fit. And I have no interest in being sucked off by you just now.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the Man of Steel, his expression suddenly one of keenest disappointment. ‘B-b-b-but I thought… oh, p-please… please let me suck it, sir! I’ll do an even better job this time, I swear!’

‘Shut up,’ said Lord Summarise, calmly. ‘You said you would do anything, didn’t you, Superman?’

‘Yes!’ The hero nodded rapidly. ‘Anything, sir, anything at all to thank you for wh-what you’ve done for me.’

‘Excellent,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘In that case, get back on all fours, Superman. I intend to fuck you. How do you feel about that?’

‘Whuh…. What?!’

The Man of Steel sank back a little, as if winded. Despite his rapid descent into these untold disgraceful delights, he had not seen this coming. ‘I… um… I….’

‘Come along,’ smiled Summerisle. ‘Don’t be coy. How do you feel about me fucking you, Superman? Taking you from behind. Doing you on all fours. How would that be with you?’

The hero swallowed. This was not what he had anticipated… being penetrated by another man. And yet…

‘I… well… I g-guess I did say I would do “anything”, your Lordship,’ he mumbled, staring awkwardly about the room. Lord Summerisle’s men were all watching him, hungry as a pack of wolves. ‘If you… if that’s what you want…. What you want to d-d-do to me…. Then I guess it’s okay with me. Whatever you say, sir.’

Summerisle grabbed him by the jaw and forced Superman to look up.

‘Spare me your fawning, you craven little prick,’ he hissed.

Superman couldn’t stop the amazement from showing on his face; no one would ever normally dare speak to him like this. Once again he registered the novelty of being in the presence of a more dominant man, one who was so obviously the Alpha in the room.

Lord Summerisle stared down at the hero, reading every emotion, taking note of everything Superman was experiencing. There was an innocence about his expression, mixed with confusion, arousal and terror. Summerisle found it both potent and addictive, and so he nodded slowly and went further.

‘I asked you, Superman, you ridiculous, horny little coward, to tell me how you felt about me fucking you. Not to tell me that you’d go along with it because I ordered you to. I can order you to do anything I wish. I want to know what it is that you want? Come on - dig deep, you grovelling little…’ he paused and then continued: ‘you grovelling, pathetic little Super-dickhead… tell me what it is that you want. NOW!’

‘Ooh! Oh! Ooh!’

Superman whimpered suddenly, his cock throbbing with excitement in his tights at Lord Summerisle referring to him in this demeaning way. A fresh bloom of white pre-cum bubbled up across the blue of his tights, as he wet them further still.

‘You… you c-called me a… a S-s-super…. A Super-dickhead! Ooh! Hnngh. Uhhhh…!’

The effect this was having on the hero was obvious. Summerisle’s men began to circle him.

‘Indeed I did, Superman. For that’s what you truly are: Superman, the Super-dickhead. Isn’t it? I said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ said Superman. ‘You’re c-c-correct, sir. I… I… I’m Superman, the S-s-s….’

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. He looked down at his wet crotch. There was now so much white on his blue tights that it was if a can of shaving foam hd burst inside them. And it made him feel so, so horny… and so foolish. It was just as his Lordship said.

He began to nod his head. ‘I’m Superman the Super-dickhead. That’s right… a Super-dickhead. That’s me. Oh. Oh boy. Oh god…’

Lord Summerisle gave an approving smile. ‘Just so. And now… answer the question. Answer it honestly, or I shall make sure you never, ever get the blessed release you so crave. How do you feel about men fucking you, Superman? How does the Man of Steel feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman found these words echoing inside his head. His mind clouded over and suddenly it was as though he was back at the Fortress of Solitude. He imagined himself kneeling before the Elders of Krypton, his cock hard, shaming him in his tights and briefs. Those stern, patrician faces, ghosts of a world he had never truly known, staring down at him in judgement.

‘You cannot do this thing, Kal El.’

‘You are the Last Son of Krypton. You may not dishonour your race this way. We shall not allow it.’

‘The son of Jor-El is erect! How dare you be erect in our presence! You must resist your filthy lusts. You shall have no release!’

‘No release! No release! No release!’

‘No!’ shouted Superman. He remained meekly on his knees, but his voice was defiant.

‘Why should I have no release? Why should I live a life without knowing pleasure? This is my home now, not Krypton. And I have kept my desires secret long enough. I… I… I am…’

He shook slightly, gathering all of his strength and willpower to give him courage to say what was in his heart.

‘I am Superman. That’s what they call me here. The Man of Steel. Yet today… today I… I sucked another man’s penis…’

He gazed up at the Elders of Krypton, trying not to lose his nerve.’

‘I’m Superman, he repeated, ‘and today I sucked cock for the first time, and I liked it! And I’m good at it! I sucked a cock and I felt such pleasure… and I won’t apologise for that… I won’t! And I want more!’

He went to activate his heat vision, but nothing happened. The ghostly faces of the Elders of Krypton disappeared, each shaking his head in disapproval as they faded away.

Superman blinked. He was still on his knees in the house of Lord Summerisle, into whose eyes he now found himself gazing.

‘Well, Superman? Answer the question. How do you feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman bit his lip, but he could remain silent no longer. He blurted out:

‘I want you to do it! Please! I do want it…. I want you…. I want you…. oh! I want you to fuck me, Lord Summerisle! Oh! There, I said it! I… I’m Superman… I’m the most powerful being in the world… or I was before I came here. But now… I’m here in your house…utterly and literally powerless… I’m on my knees before you and I want you to fuck me, sir! I beg you to do it!’

The men applauded him once more, and it gave Superman courage. He smiled calmly at them all, panting as he looked about him, feeling his penis throb with delight as he spoke. He was breaking free at last!

‘I don’t care what the Elders of Krypton would say. To… to the Phantom Zone with them all! They all died long ago, and I’m alive. Yes. I’m alive and so… and so… Oh boy… I can’t believe I’m saying this…! P-p-please… fuck me, sir! Ooh! Oooh! Fuck me, now! Yes! Do it to me, your Lordship - take me down! You are the Alpha, not me - it’s time to give it to me. Fuck me like the Super-dickhead that I am! I want it so, so badly! That’s the truth! Hnnnnnnngh! I’m Superman - Superman the Superdickhead! Now fuck me, sir - fuck me, please! I want you, Lord Summerisle, to do me the honour of fucking me! Hhaaaaaah!’

How will Lord Summerisle react to Superman’s latest admission? Will the Man of Steel ever get the release he so desires? Will the Elders of Krypton ever recover from seeing Kal-El’s erection? And will Angus get a second helping?

Find out next time! If you’ve enjoyed it please leave a comment and hit like. Meanwhile, happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

[superslavemannn]

4K screenshot of Superman

[superslavemannn]

Watch out! The meat grinder! Superman is hung upside down, numb, paralyzed, and helpless. Unless some miracles happen in the next 10 second, Superman will be eaten alive and that grinder will crushed the big boy scout into a pulp.

[superslavemannn]

Captured by a deadly robotic beetle, pierced by sharp tentacles, paralyzed by 1M volts of electricity, Superman was overwhelmed by enormous agony. There is no way he can escape.

[superslavemannn]

A brutal doom machine was killing superman!

Is this the end of the big blue boy scout?

A recolored and restyled piece i made last year based on Jotto’s work.