Excerpt From SUPERMAN VS THE VICE LORD, EXTENDED EDITION, Chapter 7: Punishments And Betrayals

Excerpt from SUPERMAN VS THE VICE LORD, EXTENDED EDITION, Chapter 7: ‘Punishments and Betrayals’

‘Come, come, Clark – this topic is proving fascinating, don’t you think? Tell me about the time Superman encountered Ross Webster, the corrupt billionaire tycoon.’

‘What? Oh… oh no,’ said Clark aloud, before he could stop himself. Zeal was not going to let him off the hook. This man was so powerful. So strong-willed. It was dazzling.

‘Something the matter?’

‘No… no, sir.’

Damn it - it’s best to just give him what he wants, he thought. Get this over and done with as soon as possible – then finally, perhaps he’ll let me stop talking about this and I can try and get my erection to subside.

‘Well,’ he began, resignedly, ‘Webster had the help of a man named Gus – just a downtown normal guy, but boy, was he a genius. He invented a form of Kryptonite that made Superman lose control and act like… like a moron. All Superman cared about suddenly was alcohol, sex, and behaving like a total idiot. Mm. He… he got drunk in a bar and behaved like a total jackass. Hnngh.’

Zeal said nothing, but smiled, revelling in the way Clark had now given in and was discussing the Man of Steel’s embarrassing failings unprompted, with no attempt to pretend or hide from them.

‘Once the effects of that Kryptonite wore off, Superman had to fight an intelligent supercomputer, also created by Gus. He won in the end, but it was a close run thing, during which the computer bound Superman with cables, rendering him almost unconscious and drew him inside itself. Yes… cables…’

Uh oh - trouble: he realised he had begun to enjoy this too much to stop himself revealing things he shouldn’t. And here was a very dangerous memory which he had buried so deep that even the System hadn’t found it. Like his arousal in Luthor’s pool, it was one of a tiny handful of memories he only occasionally allowed himself to recall, in his most private moments… He should bury it now… and yet the prospect, the terrible, unthinkable prospect of uttering it aloud to another being, not just that, but to Zeal - a man who might use it against him…

Can’t… can’t stop - not just yet. Feels so liberating to say it out loud to someone at last. I could actually do it… I could tell Zeal what happened… I want to… I… I…’

‘I remember that I… uh… I mean, that is, I remember Superman telling me… how… how…’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh. I shouldn’t say… shouldn’t tell you…’

Clark was struggling desperately with his psyche. Part of him ached to say this, longed to reveal this secret… but he knew he shouldn’t.

‘Go on, Clark – say it. I can see you want to. What did Superman tell you about this?’

‘He… he… oh God - Superman told me how… unexpectedly, he found it felt quite… quite nice to give in. As the computer sucked him in, a shaft appeared. It took hold of his cape and ripped it off him; Superman watched it disappear down the shaft, taken from him. His boots were then pulled off - removed by the same method, even as he protested.’

Clark looked fearfully at Zeal, but the man just stared at him, waiting. He continued, each word making him tingle as he spoke.

‘Then, clad… just in his tights and briefs… oh… sorry, sir, I mean in just his tights and… panties… Superman could feel the cables binding him and I… I mean he… he said he… that is he uh told me… in… in secret… a v-very, very… deep secret… that he, uh… he…um... he liked it. Superman… liked it.’

‘He did?’ asked Zeal quietly.

‘Oh. Y-yes. Being trussed up like that. Superman liked it very much. It felt wonderful. There were some cables around my thighs… I mean his thighs… some around his arms, some more being pulled over his face and gagging him… and… and… uh… hmm… I…’

Zeal’s brow furrowed: this sounded good.

‘What is it, Clark? What are you not telling me?’

Oh God, thought Clark. Where’s my self-control – I can’t tell him this! But then… he already knows so much. Too much. When I defeat him I’ll just have to mindwipe him somehow. I’ll kiss him! Ooh! Yes, I’ll kiss Zeal. Feels too nice to stop now. My erection feels so good. Never told anyone this stuff before. Why shouldn’t I feel like this? Why shouldn’t I enjoy feeling nice? The lives I save, the good I’ve done. I want to tell him. I want to tell Zeal; it’ll feel… nice. Never even really admitted it to myself. I can’t stop now. I can’t! I’m going to tell him! I will!

Suddenly he blurted out: ‘There was another cable!’

Looking up, his eyes met Zeal’s; it made what he was saying even more thrilling, to look his enemy in the eyes as he gave up this secret. A hint of a smile played at his lips as he willingly betrayed himself to the Vice Lord.

‘Ooh. There was another cable, Mr Zeal, sir. And you were right, sir: something happened to Superman then that he… that I’ve… I mean he’s never told anyone. Not until now, Mr Zeal.’

He felt a wave of pleasure like nothing he had felt before.

‘Go on,’ said Zeal, ‘you look very excited to share this with me, Clark. Tell me about this other cable.’

Clark wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Still looking Zeal in the eye, gazing at the other man’s stern, dominant expression, he continued, his voice lower and more breathless.

‘As Superman fell backwards, the computer produced a smooth tendril made of some sort of malleable, pulsing metal. To my – I mean to his amazement, he watched this thing emerge, shiny, and… throbbing. As Superman was trussed up helplessly and sucked into the heart of machine, he felt this tendril pushing its way up around his legs, past his thighs… and in to his clothes, down past his belt and into the waistband of his briefs.’

‘You mean his panties,’ said Zeal.

Clark swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I mean the tendril pushed its way into the waistband of Superman’s… panties. Right down inside my panties. Ooh. Uh… I mean inside his panties.’

His mouth was so dry. Damn it. Why does this feel so good?

‘I gasped – oh! I mean, Superman… Superman gasped and squirmed as he realised what was happening. He felt more and more of the tendril squeezing its way inside his briefs – sorry! Sorry, Mr Zeal, I mean his panties. It was as if the machine was touching him, playing with him.

‘There was a feeling of warmth as the tendril made a hole in his tights, then it began to produce an equally warm liquid, coating and lubricating itself… Superman felt the sticky substance filling and coating his buttocks, wetting them… and… and then this thing slid up, and it was inserted into his… into Superman’s… uh… Super-anus.’

‘Incredible,’ said Zeal. ‘And how did the Man of Steel feel about receiving this anal probe? Did he dislike it? Did he muster the Super-strength to pluck it out of his Super-rosebud?’

‘No,’ said Clark, breathing rapidly, ‘No, he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try… because I loved it… I mean he… uh… he… he… Superman loved it! It f-felt wonderful, like nothing he’d ever known – being taken like that, humiliated sexually – him, the strongest man in the whole world, being helplessly penetrated! By a machine! Superman squirmed in ecstasy as the computer’s tendril penetrated him and his Super-penis became erect in his tights and briefs! Oh! I’m s-sorry, sir, - I m-mean his tights and panties!’

His notepad dropped to the ground and he did not go to pick it up.

Somewhere inside he knew he was losing this battle. His mind went back to that moment, being trussed and penetrated inside that insidious machine. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to think about this.

‘Go on, Clark. I can see you want to tell me about this. I can see you’re enjoying it. Tell me everything. Every last detail.’

‘Oh… okay. Okay then, Mr Zeal.’

And he was enjoying it. The recall of this moment of sexual subjugation was making his body thrill with pleasure. In his mind’s eye he saw himself there once again, trussed up and being penetrated.

‘Superman was tightly bound, legs splayed and being penetrated by a… a throbbing phallus, and it… it f-felt wonderful. He’d never felt pleasure like it. He didn’t care about anything else but that warmth, probing him, arousing him, taking control away from him. Superman was tied up, utterly helpless and his tights and panties were being invaded… and it made him feel so free, for the first time in his life.

‘Other tendrils began to tug at his briefs, pulling them down and unfastening his belt, and the feelings were so intoxicating that Superman actually began to buck his body back and forth with each thrust of the probe. That machine, that supercomputer had deduced how best to deal with him: not with violence, or trying to kill him or turn him into a robot. It had worked out a far more efficient way to solve this problem. It was penetrating Superman in his tights; he felt his briefs pulled down, taut and tight as they clung to his outstretched legs, until they bunched around his ankles. It… the supercomputer… it had pulled Superman’s panties down. The Man of Steel was groaning in ecstasy, his briefs around his ankles like a cheap whore, and the elation he felt was incredible. Any moment now he would explode and splurge, fill his tights with hot, creamy, Kryptonian semen.

‘But then just as Superman was on the verge of cumming, the acid he had brought began to destroy the computer. He tried to kick the canister away, to foil his own plan; he wanted this so badly, more than anything. But it was too late! The metal probe was withdrawn from his tights before anything more could happen. Superman moaned in unfulfilled arousal as that strange phallus was withdrawn from his… from his ass.

‘Superman went from ecstasy, being tied up and penetrated, to being left unsatisfied, a hero in his tights once more. He’d saved the world but it cost him his pleasure. For a split second he considered masturbating, cumming in his briefs.

‘But then a voice called out his name: Gus Gorman had found him. His erection subsided and he had to be Superman once more, and put aside his own pleasure. He had to quickly locate and put on his cape, pull up his briefs and dry them with his Super-breath… and go and be a hero. Unfulfilled… w-with only the stains on his briefs to prove that it had ever happened at all. He told Gus it was acid.’

Giddy with sensation, he realised he had reverted to saying briefs, but Zeal hadn’t corrected him. What would have been the point? He’d already proved Zeal had broken him with regard to this.

‘Poor Superman,’ cooed Zeal, ‘just when he was about to have some excitement. There he was being fucked by a machine and then it was over and he had to play the big hero once more. It must be very frustrating being the Man of Steel, don’t you think, Clark?’

‘Yes,’ said Clark, with feeling, ‘it… it sure must be.’

For a split second he wondered whether he could turn the conversation to some of the Man of Steel’s victories. But he knew he was not going to.

Enjoy, fiends!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 7 part 1 - Stripping Away Superman’s Desires

Superman gulped and looked at their faces. His heart was beating fast.

‘You are, aren’t you? Ooh. Oh! What are you g-g-going to do with me?’ he asked. ‘Oh… Great Rao… I’m completely and utterly at your mercy… what are you going to do to me?’

None of them spoke a word, instead they just returned his look with unblinking stares. Superman felt himself beginning to shake, but worse – he felt his cock beginning to throb.

‘Tell me, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Did the Bully Boys say anything to you?’

He thought back to his encounter with those masked men in their briefs.

‘Uh… yes… I’d forgotten until now, but…’

The bull-headed man… somehow he’d known about what had really happened in Luthor’s pool, and what it made him feel.

He knew, recalled Superman, he actually knew, not just about Luthor disgracing and defeating me, and pushing me into the pool… but he knew that I… oh… he knew that I liked it!

‘Their leader. He… he knew things about me,’ said Superman to Lord Summerisle.

The Man of Steel shrank back in his seat. He looked meek and worried… neither were feelings he had much prior experience of. ‘Private things, sir. Intimate things… things that I’ve never told anyone. They were… they were secret. I… don’t understand how he could have known them, but he did.’

‘Yes,’ said Lord Summerisle, refilling the hero’s glass. ‘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.’

‘Inside my… What? Oh… Yes, sir, thank you, sir,’ said Superman distractedly, concentrating on the glass before him. A strange and rather fuzzy feeling had come over him just then, and he only seemed to hear some of what Lord Summerisle had said to him. The main thing that he had heard and understood was that he had to drink. Yes. He was being treated royally… and he had to drink. He didn’t want to appear ungrateful to these people.

‘Drink my drink…’ he said, hazily, ‘I have to drink. I must.’ He raised it to his lips and sipped his champagne. ‘Mm. Thank you, your Lordship. Mmm. It’s… it’s so good… so good…’

As more of the cold fizzing liquid went down his throat, Superman looked up fearfully and asked them again:

‘So… I’m here with you all… me, Superman… and I’ve told you I’m helpless. Powerless. I’ve even t-told you that without my abilities I c-couldn’t fight off one normal man. That was p-pretty silly of me. Dumb of me to admit that. It means… it means I’m c-completely at your mercy, sirs. What are you going to do with me?’

‘You sound like there’s something you want us to do to you, Superman,’ said the man in the kilt, as he seated himself on the other side of the hero. He pulled his kilt up a little, revealing thick, powerful thighs. ‘Is there something you want us to do to you?’

Superman turned and looked at the man’s legs, and then up at his face. ‘I… I d-don’t know,’ he said. ‘I came here to help… I need to find these missing young men.’

Yet even as he spoke, Superman could feel his cock trembling in his tights, slowly attempting to rise, despite his attempts to concentrate and not get hard.

‘And I’m sure you will do just that,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘And yet perhaps in return… we can help you out.’

‘Really?’ said Superman. ‘I… I don’t… that is I’m not sure…’

Lord Summerisle stared at him, as if deep in thought, and then said:

‘Tell me, Superman… are you a virgin?’

‘Whuh-what?’

His mind was reeling. Of all the things he had expected Lord Summerisle to say, this was the last he could have guessed.

‘I… ah… I… that’s p-private! I c-can’t discuss… um… I… I’m Superman!’

This elicited a round of laughter, to his mortification.

‘Go on,’ said Lord Summerisle. Tell us, Superman. Answer the question.’

‘It’s okay,’ said the tracksuited lad, sat next to him in his briefs. ‘Ye can tell us, Superman.’

As he spoke, he placed a hand on Superman’s inner thigh.

‘Aye,’ said the kilted man, placing a hand on the hero’s other thigh. ‘Ye can tell us, all right. We’re grateful you’re here.’

Both men squeezed his thighs through his tights, and it was more than Superman could bear.

‘Hah! Oh! Oh…’

‘Go on, Superman,’ purred Lord Summerisle, ‘answer the question. Now!’

‘Yes,’ he gasped. ‘Yes, your Lordship… I am a virgin.’

The Lord nodded. ‘Yes. I thought as much.’ He gave a sudden smile. ‘There does seem something rather chaste and virginal about you in your tights, Superman. Don’t you agree?’

Superman flushed at this. He felt belittled, as if this was something unmanly, or to be ashamed of. ‘I… you think I seem… chaste and virginal… really? Is that how I come across? Is that how people see me? B-but… I’m Superman. What about my strength… my powers?’

Lord Summerisle laughed at him. ‘What strength, Superman? What powers?’ He reached out, and once again he flicked the Man of Steel’s penis with his index finger, making him yelp ignominiously.

‘Oh! Oh!’ cried Superman, and he looked down in shame at his crotch and his trembling penis.

‘No powers,’ he said quietly. ‘No strength and no power now.’

‘No. None at all,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘It really is fascinating, don’t you think, Superman? Here you sit – the mighty Man of Steel is amongst us, and it transpires he is in fact a weak and helpless virgin, now surrounded by sexually experienced men. How does that make you feel?’

‘Oh…’ Superman shrank back, cringing from their stares. ‘I… it’s really just me… I’m the only virgin? All of you have…’

‘Of course we have,’ said the kilted man, contemptuously. The expressions of the other guys confirmed this too.

‘Answer his Lordship’s question, Superman,’ said the tracksuited lad, ‘how’s it feel to be sat here without your powers, a weak and helpless virgin amongst real men?’

‘Um. Ah.’ Superman looked about him with wide eyes. ‘S-small. I feel small. Pathetic. Embarrassed. And so, so helpless.’

So many unaccustomed emotions were coursing through his mind. It was bad enough that he had been depowered and humiliated by the day’s events, but now this… he was sat here amongst these mortal men, and right now, not only were they physically stronger than him, but each of them had something he did not: each had lost their virginity… unlike Superman.

‘It’s my powers,’ he blurted out suddenly. ‘You see… I’ve always had to fight so hard to maintain self-control. And yet since arriving here… I came here when I saw you on the news, your Lordship. talking about the missing young men. It’s as if I was drawn here. I came to help… but ever since I got here, I keep… um...’

He looked down. ‘I shouldn’t say,’ he said quietly.

Both the tracksuited lad and the kilted man slid their hands further up Superman’s inner thighs, until their fingers were less than a centimetre away from his balls.

‘Hnngh!’ he gasped. ‘Oh! Ooh! Oh b-boy…’

‘Go on, Superman,’ said the kilted man. With his free hand he grabbed Superman’s own hand and held it. The lad on the other side did the same. ‘You can tell us.’

‘Hnngh. Hnngh.’ Superman was shaking. And a brief look down at his crotch confirmed his worst suspicions: his cock was still quivering in his tights, stirring, trembling and now… slowly beginning to rise, as if calling out for the hands on either side of it to grip it and milk it.

‘Since coming here,’ he gasped, ‘I… I’ve been feeling so… so… ooh…’

‘Say it,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Say it, Superman. You’ve been feeling so…?’

‘Horny!’ said Superman. ‘Oh! I said it! Ever since I got here I’ve felt so turned on, and my penis… my penis keeps getting hard… I keep getting helpless erections in my t-tights… just like… just like the one I have now! Haaaaaaaaaah! Ooohh! Oh boy! Oh no! Oh no!’

At this, his sizeable cock stood straight up stiff in his tights, juddering with excitement and straight away darkening the spandex at its tip, as his precum wetted them.

The lad in football kit and the man in the city business suit both applauded at this, the latter giving a whistle.

‘Ping! You’ve got a boner, Superman! You’re erect, mate!’

‘Yes,’ he panted. ‘So… so hard… in my tights… but never been able to act on any instinct. B-because of my powers.’

‘What a waste,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘And look at that wonderful, prominent cock of yours, Superman – look at your magnificent erection! Your penis is crying out for release!’

‘I know… I know!’ groaned Superman. ‘But I always have to maintain control… be responsible… because of my p-powers.’

‘Aye,’ said the kilted man, holding Superman’s left hand. ‘But you know what, Superman?’

‘Um… Whuh-what, sir?’

‘You don’t have any powers now, do ye?’

‘N-no,’ said Superman. ‘Right now I’m powerless. Helpless. Not a M-man of Steel any more…’

‘No. Not a Man of Steel at all. Just a helpless man in tights,’ said the kilted man. ‘Right, Superman?’

‘Y-yes,’ he gasped. ‘Here, now… I’m j-just a weak and helpless man in tights! You can d-d-d-do anything to me. You’ve got Superman here in this house… no one knows I’m here and without my powers I can’t get away. What… whuh-what are you g-going to do with me, sir? What happens now… what are you all going to do to me?’

‘This,’ said the kilted man. He took Superman’s hand and guided it up beneath his kilt, until, with a gasp, the Man of Steel felt his fingers encounter a stiff, straining erection.

‘Oh! Ooh! Your p-p-penis! You’re h-hard too! Oh! I’ve never… never touched another man there… b-but… but… ooh! Ooh! F-feels great. Oh! I can’t say that! I shouldn’t! I’m Superman! But holding your penis… hnngh… is wonderful! Haaah!’

‘It’s all yours, Superman,’ said the guy. ‘I think we should make your dreams come true, don’t you?’

‘Oh!’ Superman’s mouth was dry and his whole body racked with excitement as he grasped the man’s cock, taking a firm hold of it. ‘Oh! Yes. Yes please. Do it to me… help me… help me lose it all… finally… I’m helpless… I’m yours… please take my virginity, sirs! Take it, and I’ll do anything you say! Anything at all!’

Hard times ahead for Superman in the next instalment! If you have enjoyed and would like to read more of Superman’s Scottish subjugation, then please Like and consider leaving a comment. The Man of Steel has more adventures yet to come as he blunders among the wily folk of Summerisle in his tights. In the meantime, Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday

Happy #ThrobbingThursday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six Part I: The Deconstruction of Superman

When he came to, the first thing that he was aware of was a clock ticking. He could hear voices… men, talking in low, hushed voices. And there was a smell… several smells. Cigarette smoke. But also a dank, watery stench that seemed to be all about him.

Superman opened his eyes. He was lying on a couch – a long leather couch, stretched out. He wriggled his toes and felt them meet a hard surface as they moved within his spandex. He wasn’t wearing his boots. Slowly, he eased himself up and gazed down at his body. He was clad in just his tights and tunic, lying in a strange and dark room, hung with many old paintings.

‘Ah! He’s awake at last!’

He looked up to find a tall, distinguished-looking man with long blonde hair standing over him, smiling down.

‘Superman. The Man of Steel. Welcome.’

There was something familiar about the man, yet Superman couldn’t quite place him.

‘Where am I,’ he said, ‘what… what happened to me?’

‘You are at my home,’ said the man. ‘I am Lord Summerisle.’

Of course. That’s where he had seen him before, on the news, when he had decided to come here. That stare… so intense as he had looked at the TV set, and even more intense now, looking down upon him. Several other men were stood behind Lord Summerisle. All of them seemed to be in their twenties and dressed differently, some formal, some less so, and all of them were gazing at Superman where he lay on the couch in just his tights and tunic.

‘To think that you would come here,’ said Summerisle, ‘that you, the Man of Steel, would do us the honour of gracing a tiny backwater like this with your noble presence. You are most welcome, and we are all quite delighted that you’re here, Superman.’

Lord Summerisle took a long draw on a cigarette and exhaled, sending a cloud of smoke right into Superman’s face, to his slight irritation. Then, stubbing out the cigarette in a polished silver ashtray, he sat down on the couch - so close that his hip was right next to Superman’s legs - and put one hand on the hero’s thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. Superman could feel the man’s hand, warm on his spandex… how dare he touch him like this. He would say something now, ask him to remove it…

‘Excuse me,’ he said firmly, but found himself cut off before he could say more.

‘Do not worry, Superman, there is nothing to excuse. Welcome,’ murmured Lord Summerisle once again. ‘Welcome, my dear Superman.’ He gave the hero’s spandex-clad thigh the slightest of squeezes.

‘Uh. Um. Thank you. But I don’t understand,’ said Superman. ‘How did I come to be here?’

‘Why, my men found you of course. That idiot, Tom, raised the alarm when he ran away, the spineless little coward. He told us that you were here and that you had fallen foul of the Bully Boys. The Roaring Bulls. I rounded up the men of my estate and organised a rescue party at once, to come and save you.’

Now it was coming back to him. That man in the Bull’s head mask. All those men, all of them masked and wearing briefs, surrounding him, taunting him, pulling him down and rolling him helpless and fully-clothed into the murky swamp pool.

‘That’s what this smell is,’ he breathed, ‘the filthy water.’

‘Indeed,’ said Summerisle. ‘I would happily have bathed you myself, Superman, but under the circumstances I felt it best if we clothed you as soon as possible, to spare your blushes when you awoke. We did drag you to the stables, to give you a quick sponge down to get the worst of the mud and filth off you, and I had my men give your tights and tunic a quick rinse. But swamp water does cling so.’

Superman frowned. ‘I don’t understand… clothed me? Where is the rest of my uniform anyway? My pan- I mean, my briefs, my boots, my cape?’

‘The few pieces we retrieved are being cleaned for you, Superman. You have to understand, when we came upon you in the pool… that is, when we found you… you were quite, quite naked.’

‘What?’ Superman looked aghast. ‘I was naked?’

‘Indeed, Superman. You were thrashing around in a frenzy, my friend, completely stark naked, rambling and incoherent. And ah… this… was quite, quite hard…’

Lord Summerisle reached out and cheekily touched the end of Superman’s penis, briefly flicking it with an index finger, through the crotch of his tights, making the shocked Man of Steel yelp and shrink back.

‘Stop that!’ he said. ‘You can’t do that… you mustn’t…’

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Superman,’ said Summerisle, ‘but you really were not yourself when we found you. The Bully Boys had depowered you and depleted you, stripping you both of your wits and your abilities. You had a most splendid erection, and… well, when we got you out of the pool you were simply begging us to play with it, Superman!’

‘No! That can’t be true. I’d never do that.’

‘But it is true.’ A curly-haired, dark-eyed youth in a tracksuit, who was standing behind Lord Summerisle spoke up. ‘Ye crawled on all fours and begged me tae jerk ye off, Superman.’ He gazed at the Man of Steel with a fierce intensity as he spoke.

‘Aye,’ said another man, this one dressed in an immaculate black business suit. ‘Ye begged me to wank you off too, Superman. Ye kept trying to make me grab your stiffie.’

‘Me too,’ said a guy wearing football kit. ‘Ye were desperate tae be tossed off. It was like ye needed to cum but couldn’t do it yourself. Something was stopping you.’

‘And me,’ said a long-haired fellow dressed in a kilt and Doc Martens and wearing a biker jacket. ‘When we pulled ye out of the water ye ran all around the glade in the nude, Superman, and that great big cock of yours was bouncing up and down, stiff as a board. It was pretty funny; ye looked a bit like a big horny dog. You were raving, and then ye got down on your knees and began to kiss my boots, saying ye’d do anything tae have release. Anything at all…’

Superman’s mouth fell open. Surely this could not be true? And yet… thinking back, he’d been hard in his tights for most of the evening, ever since getting back to the Inn. And although the memories were hazy, he knew that the Bull-headed man had pointed at his erection, had squeezed it, laughed at it. All those men… focused on one thing: his erection, throbbing in his tights. The memory of it made his penis tingle even now, and he swiftly banished it.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That wasn’t me.’

‘Really?’ said the man in the kilt. ‘That’s funny – because it sure looked like you when you were slobbering all over my boots, Superman.’

‘Now,’ said Summerisle, ‘do not torment poor Superman, Brian. As I said, he was not himself. You all know the effect those spirits can have on a man. They are powerful elemental forces. And you are vulnerable to magic, are you not, Superman.’

Superman didn’t speak for a moment, and then said quietly: ‘Yes. Yes, I am. I’m totally helpless against magic of any kind.’

‘Yes… that’s what I thought. Magic makes you completely and utterly helpless… no longer Super, but just a mere man. So it’s not your fault – not at all. Put the experience out of your mind, Superman. The important thing is that we got you here safely and now you’re back to your senses. We managed to fish out most of your costume, too.’

‘My uniform,’ he said dumbly. ‘My uniform.’

‘Yes, that’s right… your costume.’

Summerisle removed his hand from Superman’s thigh, and placed it on his arm instead, slowly sliding it up towards the hero’s bicep, his fingers caressing the smooth fabric covering his taut body. He stopped and to Superman’s utter amazement he began to toy with that spandex-clad bicep, stroking it with admiration.

‘Goodness… you know, Superman, when you’re wearing your spandex, even if though it is a little soiled, your body seems transformed… almost as impressive as it looks when I’ve seen you interviewed on the television.’

‘Uh… thank you,’ said Superman, uncertain how to respond to this candid remark.

‘Here - come and feel him, all of you – see how wonderful our Man of Steel is.’

‘Whuh-what are you? No, I…’

But before Superman could protest, all the men in Summerisle’s room had surrounded the couch and were stroking his body, caressing and prodding him through his spandex.

‘I… don’t… oh… ah… um…’ was all he could say. The guy in the tracksuit was feeling his arm and stroking his armpit; the guy in the smart black business suit had one hand on his chest and was slowly running a finger over his S-shield and down to his abs, while the lad wearing football kit was feeling Superman’s feet through his tights. And the man in the kilt was kneeling down by Lord Summerisle, one hand gently feeling up Superman’s right leg, making slow but steady progress up towards his thigh. ‘It’s so smooth,’ he said. ‘I bet it feels nice tae wear, doesn’t it, Superman?’

‘Huh… hnngh,’ said Superman. ‘Ah… yes… I guess it d-does, f-feel nice, sir.’

He wanted desperately to fling them off, to tell them to stop… but how could he, when it felt so good? Here he was, in just his tights and tunic, being touched up by a gaggle of men he’d never met before, and to his confusion, the feeling was pure and unadulterated pleasure.

‘Don’t mind us, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘It’s not every day that the world’s greatest hero, no, the world’s greatest man, drops in on a tiny little place like this. You must forgive us our curiosity. You don’t mind, do you, Superman? You don’t object to us witnessing your incredible being, and feeling you for ourselves?’

Yes, he thought, yes, of course I do. I must say so.

But all he said was: ‘I… I… Ah… No. No, sir. That’s… that’s f-fine, Lord Summerisle, sir. Hah. I d-don’t mind at all. Please g-go ahead, sir. Uh. I mean… all of you, go ahead. Just as you please. It’s f-fine. Ooh.’

He risked a quick look down at his crotch, and despite the tingling delight he felt, he was relieved to find his cock was not hard. But if they kept this up, he knew it wouldn’t be long before it stood to attention and shamed him. The hand of the man in the kilt was beginning to prove very dangerous indeed, as it iworked its way teasingly up his inner thigh. It felt so good, and it was so near his penis now…

‘Uh… tell me,’ he said, trying to think of something else to focus on, ‘what d-did you mean when you said my uniform was s-soiled?’

‘Well, you had been wearing it when they pushed you into the swamp pool, Superman. As I said, I had my men rinse out your tunic and tights and dry them, and when that was done then we dressed you in them. There’s a slight smell, as you said, but I thought you’d appreciate not waking up naked amongst strangers. Did I do the right thing, Superman?’

He looked up at those eyes, gazing down on him, then down at the hand gripping his bicep. The sensation of being touched by all these men like this, and Lord Summerisle sitting so close on the couch, was so, so wonderful. It made it hard to for him to think straight. But from what they were telling him, they had saved him, overlooked his disgraceful behaviour, washed him and dressed him. He was in their debt, and owed them gratitude. Superman swallowed.

‘Uh… yes… yes, of course. Thank you, sir. Thank you all for… coming to my aid and dressing me. That was very thoughtful of you to cover my nakedness and to get me into my tights and tunic.’

‘No problem,’ smiled Lord Summerisle. ‘It is a pleasure to be able to try and repay your own kindness in coming here.’

‘I never thought I’d dress a superhero in his costume,’ said the lad in the tracksuit, ‘let alone you, Superman. I had to gently pull your tunic on over your head, smoothing the spandex down past your face. I was really careful, like.’

He raised one hand and stroked the back of it against Superman’s cheekbone, to the hero’s amazement.

‘’Uh!’ breathed Superman. ‘I’m… sure you were. Th-thank you.’

Lord Summerisle chuckled. ‘You know, Superman, despite being unconscious you were still erect when we dressed you in your tights. Why, your cock was so stiff that we had to pull the waistband right out to get it over them!’

A few of the other men laughed at this, and Superman’s cheeks coloured.

‘Oh dear, he’s blushing! My apologies, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘I didn’t mean to humiliate you.’

He squeezed Superman’s bicep one final time and clicked his fingers. To his surprise and disappointment, the men all stopped touching him in his spandex and moved away from him. He felt as though someone had just thrown cold water over him, such was the change as those warm and stroking fingers left his body.

The man in the kilt now got up and brought over a tray.

‘Here, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘sit up and have some champagne.’

He pressed a flute of bubbling golden fizz in the hero’s hand.

‘Thank you,’ said Superman, swinging his legs down, ‘but I need to ask you about these missing young men. I don’t want any…’

‘Of course you do,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Everyone wants champagne. Drink up now.’

He once more placed a hand on Superman’s thigh, fingers not far from the top of his legs, and the return of Lord Summerisle’s touch felt so nice that the Man of Steel found himself drinking the champagne, just to take his mind off the pleasing sensations in his tights. He really could not risk getting hard here, with the Lord’s hand on him like this. What would these people think of him? They’d already seen him disgrace himself at the swamp.

‘Drink, Superman. Go on. Drink your champagne.’

‘Oh. Yes, sir. I’ll drink my champagne. Thank you, sir.’

He swallowed the sparkling wine.

‘Mm. Th-thank you,’ he said, ‘it’s good.’

‘Yes,’ smiled Lord Summerisle, ‘ I knew you’d like it once you got it inside you.’

‘What? Uh… yes. Inside me.’ Superman took another sip.

‘Careful, Superman. Your hands are shaking. You don’t want to wet your tights now, do you?’ said Lord Summerisle. The men all laughed, and to his surprise, after a moment’s hesitation, Superman found himself laughing along with them. He had to stop being so uptight. Everyone on this island was so kind.

‘No sir,’ he said with a smile. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to wet my tights, sir. Gosh… that would be quite something… me, Superman, wetting my tights! Just imagine that… I guess… I guess I’d look pretty silly! It’d be very amusing, I’m sure, but it’s not an image I want the world to have of me - the Man of Steel with a wet patch in the crotch of my tights! It wouldn’t do much for my dignity would it? I’d… I’d look like a real clown… Superman, the Clown of Steel, eh? Still… I’d make a pretty funny sight, I guess!’

He laughed some more, as did they, and Superman enjoyed feeling a part of this. Since landing on this strange island, everything he had encountered had made him feel his outsider status; it felt good to join in, even if it was laughing at himself.

I’ve been so strung out with everything that’s happened in the last few hours, he thought. I won’t ever solve the situation here unless I calm down a little. And these guys seem like good people.

‘Well, don’t worry,’ he said, as they all continued to chuckle about the possibility of Superman wetting his tights. ‘With my naked runaround at the swamp I think I’ve given you all enough surprises for one day. I’ll be keeping my tights on and keeping them dry, thank you!’

They howled with laughter at this, and he joined in, as he sipped more champagne.

‘And no more Super-erections, eh, Superman?’ said the man in the city suit.

‘Gosh, no, sir - most definitely not,’ he grinned, ‘I’m very sorry you all had to see me running around naked and hard like that, but from now on it’s no Super-erections and no wetting my tights, sir.’

Superman joined in the bout of laughter that followed this, but then:

‘Too late for that, ye great super-powered fool! Ye pished yourself the moment ye came here!’

Superman froze, as once again the voice of old Jeremiah rang out in his mind, making him recall his ignominious arrival, when as Clark Kent, he had wet his trousers in front of Tam, soiling both spandex and his city suit.

‘Something the matter,’ asked the man in the kilt, ‘you look worried, Superman?’

‘No, sir.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Have some more champagne,’ said Lord Summerisle, topping up his glass.

‘Oh… thank you, your Lordship,’ said Superman, wondering if that was the correct way to address a Lord. He took the champagne and guzzled it absentmindedly. He felt it going to his head and realised he must still be without his powers.

‘Gosh. I can feel that… my abilities… they still haven’t returned.’

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER SIX PART II…

Something for the weekend… A two-parter.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!



SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Five: The Waters of Summerisle - part I

At last, all too aware of his predicament, Superman managed to tear his gaze from the excited, foaming erection that had already soiled the crotch of his newly cleaned blue tights. He forced himself to turn to the washbasin and throw some cold water on his face. Reluctantly, he wiped away the precum on his spandex and washed it from his hands… although part of him – a part that could not yet have begun to admit it to himself - longed to lick it from his fingers, to see what sensations that might bring him.

This was so new to Superman. All of his adult life he had deftly avoided his thoughts becoming suffused with lust, yet since coming to this strange and bleak place, both in mind and body he felt temptations that he had never been prey to before.

Mastering himself at last, with all of his strength and concentration, Superman felt his penis soften, and his erection finally subsided, to his relief… and yet also to his slight disappointment. He picked up the red underpants Tam had given him, and his heart sank as he gazed at them.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll just have to hope I can find my briefs before anyone has to see me in public dressed like this. After dinner I can go out on patrol, and use my x-ray vision to search for them; after all they can’t be far away. For now… I guess this… these… is the best I can do.’

Resigned, he stepped into the plain red underpants and pulled them up his legs and over his tights. With some difficulty, he fastened his belt around the waist. Without the loops of his uniform briefs to keep it in place it felt slightly loose, but he managed to wedge it on, and stood back and stared at his reflection.

His panties, as Tam had called them, did in fact look very like his uniform briefs. No doubt that was how the boy had come to mix them up in the laundry. What a strange, strange situation he now found himself in. Would anyone notice? Did it look like his uniform, or would they know?

‘I’ve been here less than a day,’ he whispered, ‘and I’m wearing red panties over my tights, instead of my briefs.’

Briefly, Superman wondered why he felt the need to give this commentary, to remind himself verbally of this fact. But he did not ponder it for more than a moment – instead he put on his boots, pulled a pair of black socks over them, followed by his shoes and another of the smart suits he wore as Clark Kent.

‘Well, my panties it is for now,’ he said. ‘With luck, no one will need to see them in any case.’

At last he fastened his trousers and pulled up the zip, and the final trace of those bright red underpants Superman was now wearing over his tights vanished.

‘Uh… I’m ready,’ he said, opening the door of his room to find Tam slouched against the wall waiting for him. ‘Lead the way, Tam.’

Tam looked him up and down. ‘Very smart, Clark. Very nice. C’mon, follow me.’

They went down the back stairs and along several corridors, coming out at last into the main room of the inn. It was an old-fashioned, stark place, cold whitewashed walls hung with a handful of ancient oil paintings, and above the door was the head of a once noble-looking stag, that had been cut off and mounted. The only customers were men, and they all stared at Clark as he entered.

‘Uh… good evening,’ he said.

‘You must be the American,’ said one, a tall, wiry man with keen eyes and thick eyebrows. ‘Mister Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. It’s uncommon kind of ye to come all this way and give your attention to Summerisle. Here –’

The man thrust a glass of something into Clark’s hand.

‘Our local whisky. The finest in the land.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, wondering how to refuse, ‘gosh, thank you, sir, but I-’

‘Drink,’ said the man, clinking his glass. ‘Your money’s no good here, son. We’ll keep you in whisky for all of your stay. Here’s to you, and to your search for the missing lads. May the Gods bless ye.’

‘B-but,’ said Clark.

‘Drink it, Clark,’ said Tam softly. ‘It’s a great honour to treat a stranger this way. Go on. Drink.’

Clark swallowed. He didn’t want to offend his hosts. ‘Uh… thank you,’ he said, and sipped the tumbler he had been given.

‘All of it now, Clark,’ said Tam, in the same soft, smooth voice. ‘Get it down you. Get it inside you.’

‘Inside me? Oh. Yes.’

He had rarely drunk whisky, and only intended to take the most minute sip, but at Tam’s urging, for some reason Clark found himself knocking the whole thing back in one. It was fiery and had a lightly spiced kick, like nothing he had ever tasted before.

‘Gosh,’ he said, ‘that sure is…’

Before he knew it, another glass had replaced the one he had just drained, and Clark let Tam steer them both to a table in the corner. A narrow wooden settle was set behind it.

‘Take a seat, Clark,’ said Tam, and he did just that. To his surprise, the lad slid in right alongside him. There was just about enough space for two, and Clark could now feel Tam’s right thigh pressing tightly against his own.

‘I’ve finished work for the day now,’ explained Tam, ‘so I thought we’d eat together. Make it less lonely for you. I take it that’s alright, Clark?’

The lad stared at him, those dark eyes above high cheekbones gazing straight into Clark’s. The feel of that leg so close and warm against his own was incredibly intimate. Within his trousers, and beneath the layers of his red underpants and blue tights, his cock twitched slightly.

‘Uh… s-sure, Tam. That’s very kind and thoughtful of you.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Tam. ‘I feel like we’re friends already, don’t you, Clark?’

He held out a glass, to toast, and Clark reached for his own. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘uh… I feel that too.’

‘Good,’ said Tam, his voice now lower and more conspiratorial. ‘To friends. New friends, Clark.’

Their glasses clinked. ‘Yes,’ said Clark, nervously returning the lad’s gaze. ‘Uh… to new friends.’

He raised the glass to his lips. ‘Down in one,’ said Tam, and once more, without thinking Clark obeyed this suggestion.

‘This… this whisky certainly is good,’ he said, wiping his lips with a handkerchief. A second later, two more glasses of the stuff were set before them, to Clark’s slight astonishment. His Super metabolism meant that it was difficult, if not quite impossible, for him to become drunk, but this Summerisle beverage was potent stuff.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Tam, with a smile. ‘Now, dinner. I bet you’d like a good piece of meat, wouldn’t you, Clark?’

As he said this, he put one hand on Clark’s leg.

‘Whuh-what?’ said Clark, his blood beginning to race.

Tam withdrew his hand, and instead placed it around Clark’s shoulders. With his other arm he pointed up at a blackboard with the day’s specials on it.

‘Rump steak. It’s good. How about that, Clark? Nice piece of rump?’

Tam gave his shoulder a playful squeeze. Within his tights, Clark’s penis trembled again and began to grow a little.

‘Huh! Hmm. Um,’ said Clark. ‘Uh. Yes. S-steak. Sounds good, thank you, Tam.’

He could hardly believe what was happening to him. The erection that he had fought so hard to master and be free of was threatening to return. And it seemed as if Tam’s body, the warmth and proximity and intimacy of being sat with him like this, was the catalyst. That arm, draped languidly around his shoulders… his touch seemed electric.

‘Good decision,’ grinned Tam. ‘A fine piece of rump steak for you, Clark. Good red meat. Cheers.’

They raised their glasses in another toast, and as Clark downed the fiery liquid once more, his penis rose, and began to push up against his spandex.

‘I can see your cheeks reddening there, Clark. I guess you’re no used tae this in Metropolis, eh?’

‘N-no,’ said Clark. ‘Not really.’

Tam withdrew his arm from his shoulders and now placed one hand back on Clark’s thigh. It was all he could do not to gasp, and his penis rose a little more. The excited warmth coming from his crotch was suddenly all he could think of.

‘Well, dinnae worry, Clark. You’ll soon adjust to our ways.’

Tam gave his thigh another slight and intimate squeeze, his fingers pressing through layers of clothing and spandex, and as two more whiskys arrived and were set before them, Clark just about managed to give a little cough, as he felt a full-masted erection take hold and stand to attention in his trousers, briefs and tights. His cock was stiff and excited, and Tam’s hand was a mere two inches away from it.

The young man who served them had a head of black curls, and a wiry, saturnine look about him. He gazed thoughtfully at Clark as he refreshed their drinks, but said nothing.

‘That’s Damian,’ said Tam, leaning in to put his mouth by Clark’s ear. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s quite intense.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, ‘okay…. Tam.’ He could feel the lad’s breath against his skin, they were so close. There were other seats like theirs in the inn, yet no one else was sitting side by side like this, like he and Tam. If anyone found it odd, then nobody mentioned it.

Several of the locals began to ask Clark questions, about the Daily Planet, about America, and about his famed special relationship with Superman, the Man of Steel. All the time, Tam’s hand remained on his thigh, and the touch of it, the warmth of it, the inappropriate intimacy of it, made Clark’s excited cock throb all the more.

I should ask him not to, he thought. I should tell him to move his hand, to take it away.

Yet that would seem so rude. And Tam had done so much for him in the short time he’d been here; why, the young man was kindness and consideration personified! What harm could it do? He wasn’t to know the inexplicable effect his hand was having on Clark. Why not just let him leave it there? No one could see his erection, after all, and surely it would subside soon.

And underpinning all this, what he could not admit to himself was that he didn’t want that touch to be withdrawn. He did not want to lose that odd and intimate warmth, like nothing he had felt before. Tam’s touch on his leg… Tam touching him… who could not possibly guess that it was not just Clark Kent whose thigh was breath his palm, but Superman, who felt him through layers of spandex. Superman was being touched by another man, and relishing the strange and intense familiarity.

Soon Damian brought the food. ‘Nice cut of meat that,’ he said with a sniff as he set the plates down. And indeed, it was a fine steak, rare and bloody. Two glasses of red wine were also placed before them, and although Clark drew breath to protest, just at that moment Tam removed his hand from his thigh, and in the sudden absence of the lad’s touch, he found himself thinking: what the hell.

He took a sip, and found it good.

They had not long finished eating, when his Super-hearing picked something up. It was roughly five miles away – the voice of a man, crying out for help.

Clark went to stand up, but then remembered his erection and quickly sat back down again.

‘What’s the matter, Clark?’ asked Tam gazing at him with wide eyes. He lowered his voice. ‘Ye don’t need to pay another urgent trip like before, do ye?’

‘No,’ said Clark, ‘nothing like that. I just need to grab some air.’

He took off his jacket, somewhat awkwardly, and fumbling for his wallet he produced a handful of notes.

‘Here,’ he said, pressing them into Tam’s hand, ‘take this. That’s for dinner, and for the service, and the rest is for you. Thank you for all you’ve done for me today, Tam. I… I really appreciate it.’

‘Wow,’ said Tam, looking down at the amount, then returning his deep gaze to Clark himself. ‘You weren’t kidding about having a big tip for me, were you, Clark?’

Their hands were still touching, and something away the way Tam said this made Clark’s helpless erection throb even more.

‘Uh… no. No, I wasn’t kidding about the uh… the b-big tip.. You’ve earned it,’ he said hoarsely, ‘every penny.’

He released Tam’s hand and stood up, trying nonchalantly to cover his crotch with his jacket.

‘I… I’ll catch you later,’ he said, trying to walk to the door with some semblance of normality.

‘Aye, Clark,’ said Tam. ‘Catch you later, just as ye say.’

Once outside he felt beyond grateful for the rush of cold air against his face. The wind was whistling once more, and he looked up at that sinister old rowan tree that loomed over the inn. He shivered… could that thing have been behind the wetting of his pants?

Just then he heard the voice cry out for help once more. No time to lose.

Using his Super-speed he shot across to a nearby pile of heavy old stones. In a blur, too fast to be seen by the human eye, he stripped off his suit, socks and shoes, and buried them safely in a dry spot, where no one could touch them. Clad now in his full uniform, albeit with those ersatz red underpants over his tights instead of his briefs, he looked down.

An erection still proudly pushed out below his belt; his cock stood stiff and pulsing. A dark spot could also be seen on his red underpants, betraying his excited precum.

‘No! Go down,’ he said in desperation, ‘go down! Superman can’t be seen like this! It’s bad enough I’m wearing underpants over my tights; I can’t let people see me with an erection!’

The wind shook the branches of the tree, and for a moment he thought he heard a man’s voice saying mockingly: ‘Yes… go down, Superman… go down!’

‘Whuh-what?’

Superman looked all around, using his x-ray vision, but there was not a soul about. Fearfully, he turned his gaze back up to the branches of the mighty old rowan tree.

From nowhere, somehow the voice of old Jeremiah, the pilot, echoed around his ears, cackling: ‘Look at him! Superman has pissed himself again - you’ve wet your pants again, Man of Steel!’

‘That’s not true,’ he shouted, in frustration and alarm, ‘I haven’t-’

Before he could say any more, Superman heard that cry for help once more, and it sounded weaker now. There was nothing else for it. Pausing only to use a blast of his Super-breath to dry the incriminating patch of his precum, he raised one arm and punched off, shooting into the darkening twilight sky: Superman, blazing to the rescue over Summerisle.

Had anyone seen him, they would have marvelled at the fact that the Man of Steel was sporting an all too obvious erection. He would have to play this very carefully.

See what dastardly events await Superman in part II… And if you enjoy it then please Like or leave a comment. Have a good day!

SUPERMAN: THE PRICE OF LUST

‘The transformation,’ he breathed, ‘it… it’s beginning. I can feel it… oh! I’m being stripped… stripped of my powers. I’m going to be… a normal man! Uhhh. OH!’

There was a strange excitement, making him tremble all over as his very DNA was torn apart and rewritten by the power of Krypton, by his father’s own technology; his legs shook in his tights. This was what he had wanted, what he had demanded, and he was getting it. And yet, as he felt his strength beginning to recede from him, to his alarm Superman began to realise that it was not just his powers that were being stripped. A crystal tube emerged behind him, sliding smoothly up the back of his legs, and began to suck, ensnaring his cape.

‘Uh… Whuh –what?’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’

The shaft increased its suction, and his cape was swiftly vacuumed into it. Superman felt it part company from him, ripped away from his tunic, and then it was gone forever, red vanishing into the translucent white, sucked away into the depths of the Fortress.

‘My cape!’ he cried. ‘Father, no!’

But even as he protested, he felt crystalline tendrils wrap themselves around his feet, as two more tubes rose up around his legs, parting them slightly, and with horror he realised that his cape was not all he was to lose. ‘No!’ he yelled in desperation. ‘Not my boots, please! Don’t take them off, please!’

Yet although he struggled, Superman’s boots were indeed gripped and forcibly taken from him. They slid down and off of his legs and then they too were sucked into those tubes.

‘Why? I don’t understand? Why are you taking my clothes off?’

‘Your cape, your boots… these are the legacies of the House of El.’

Jor El’s voice echoed all around him. ‘They are your Kryptonian heritage, a part of what you have renounced. By rights, Kal El, I should take back your tunic, as well as your tights and briefs; they bear the insignia of your noble birth…’

‘No,’ said Superman, ‘father, please, don’t do that, no! Leave me my tights at least, please!’ The idea of walking out of the crystal cage not just powerless, but stark naked in front of Lois, having been stripped by Jor El, made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. It was not how he wanted to begin his new life. ‘Please,’ he said again, ‘don’t send me out to her n-naked! Don’t take my tights and briefs off, sir! Leave me my tights and briefs, I… I beg you.’

Jor El sighed.

‘As you wish. Out of respect for the fact you are – or were – my son, I will not strip you naked, but as you desire it I will leave you these last vestiges of your uniform. Your great powers, however, are now gone, removed forever. You entered this cage as a God, but now you have willingly given that up. You leave it not as a God, but as a mortal – simply a man in tights. That is all you are now, Kal El. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I understand. I’m… I’m just a man in tights now. Thank you.’

‘You have made this sacrifice, lost all your powers, in order to satisfy a base lust.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘It is true – you will see it one day, thought you cannot accept it now. And yet I foresee that your ignoble cause will be in vain. The one you have done this for will not want you like this: a mere mortal. The sexual congress you have so craved will come to you, Kal El, but not in the way you think. When the mortals realise you are no longer a god, they will seek to subjugate you in the most degrading ways. And it will be the men of this world who will wish to take you as their concubine – not the women.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Superman, setting his jaw defiantly. ‘I’m sorry, father, but that’s ridiculous. You don’t understand these people as I do. You don’t see their true potential. You’re completely wrong.’

No reply came, and Jor El’s image simply faded away. The crystal cage opened, disgorging this newly made man into the world. On tights-clad feet the now powerless Superman padded out. He winced slightly with each step – he had never felt cold here before, but now the icy floor of his former Fortress chilled him through the thin spandex of his tights. He would have to find some more clothes.

Bashfully, he smiled up at Lois.

‘I… I’ve done it. It’s over. I’m yours,’ he said. ‘I’m just a regular man. We can be together now.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

That had been a year ago.

He still wore his uniform – his costume, as he now referred to it – beneath his clothes. Old habits die hard.

For a time, he had tried to still be Superman, a version of himself without his powers. He had acquired a new cape and boots from a fancy dress outfit, cheap-looking, but functional, and he had gone out at night, trying to protect the innocent, to make a difference. It was a laudable enough idea, but it quickly became clear to him that without his powers he amounted to nothing. His efforts, although noble, were laughable. Soon it was obvious that Superman was not what he had been, and word quickly spread throughout the underworld that there was no longer anything to fear from the former Man of Steel. Never before had Superman realised just how much he relied upon his abilities. Winning is easy when you can fly.

One night he was badly beaten and forced to run, fleeing for his life from a gang in downtown Metropolis and only narrowly escaping with his life when, in desperation, he climbed into a dumpster to hide. For several long, dark hours he sat in terror, trembling and afraid to poke his head out, while sinking further and further into stinking wet garbage, his tunic, tights and briefs absorbing all manner of unpleasant gunk. When he finally dared to clamber out, he had to slink home in disgrace wearing his filthy, reeking spandex. It was late and the streets were almost deserted, but the few people he encountered looked upon him with utter disgust and amazement. By the time he finally reached his apartment, stripped off and threw his soiled costume into the washing machine, he had to acknowledge that his days of heroics were behind him.

He bought an expensive set of weights, to try and increase his strength – and indeed to stave off the flab that his newly mortal status brought him, now his super-powered metabolism was gone. He kept his handsome figure, but other than that his progress was as unremarkable as Superman himself now was.

He still had his job at the Planet, at any rate. Lois had transferred abroad, unable to live with the guilt of what their union had cost the world. Jor El had been right, of course. It was Superman that she had fallen for, not this… this weakling. Take away the abilities, the flight, the strength, the x-ray vision, all those talents that had so charmed her, and what was left? Not even boots and a cape.

‘A man in tights,’ he said, gazing at himself in the mirror the night she left. ‘That’s all I am now, just as he told me I would be. I… I was a Super-powered wimp, and because of my own ego and lust I willingly surrendered everything I had, just to become a weak, ordinary man in my tights and briefs. Why didn’t I listen?’

When he finished work for the day and arrived back home at his apartment, he would slowly strip off his clothes, until he was just clad in his tights, briefs and tunic. Jor El had at least allowed him to keep the latter, with its S-shield, the sigil of the House of El, which he had shamed and thrown away so carelessly. He had to wash his costume more regularly these days; wearing it under his sharp city suit now caused him to sweat, and on more than one occasion his tights and briefs took on a high, sour smell. Dressed thus, he would stand and look at himself in the mirror, punishing himself, fully realising everything that he had lost.

Then, when he could take no more, he would drag a chair to the mirror and simply sit in the remains of his uniform for the rest of the night, sometimes having a couple of beers, the Man of Steel… now a belching, pitiful sight.

‘I didn’t even get what I gave it all up for,’ he said, as he sat on one such night and bitterly surveyed himself, the blue of his tights darkening where he had spilled some of his beer down one leg. ‘After all of it, all I’ve lost, all I had… all I was… and I’m still living like a Super-virgin. That’s the joke of it. Except I’m not Super any more.’

He gazed at the wet patch of spandex on his leg, as he contemplated this. His hands strayed first to his tights, then to his briefs. Looking at himself in the mirror, he watched his reflection, as with one finger he gently pressed the circular clasp on his belt, causing it to fall open with a faint click. The waistband of his briefs slackened somewhat, and Superman slid one hand inside them and took hold of his penis through the smooth blue fabric of his tights.

‘Uhhhh,’ he moaned, his cock rising in his grasp. ‘Look at you… look at me: Superman the Super disgrace. Playing with myself in my tights. Mmmm. Go on. Do it. This is me; this is the big hero now. This… this is all that’s left to me… playing with my p-penis… with my c-c-cock in my tights… so I may as well make the most of it.’

He stared his reflection right in the eye. ‘Go on – do it. There’s nothing else for it. Jor El said it was lust that had driven me, and it turns out he was right. Anyway, it was his fault: consigning me to a life on Earth as Superman the Super-virgin.’

He began to jack his hand up and down the shaft of his penis. It felt so nice that he let out a little whimper of arousal, as he writhed in his seat.

‘Oooh. Ooh. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? Who’s going to stop me? Not Jor El, nor the council of Krypton. Fuck them!’

Superman watched his cheeks colour a little as he swore; he was unused to foul language, and it felt suddenly thrilling to give in to it.

‘Yes. That’s right. Fuck them… fuck them all! Ooh. Ooh. I can do what I want now. Why should I live like Superman the Super-monk? Ooh!’ He watched his hand pumping his penis, and excitedly, he pulled his briefs down, halfway down his thighs.

‘Oh boy… oh gosh yeah… pull my pants down… Fuck Krypton – fuck everything. Hnngh. Yeah. I’ve got no one to fuck me, so I’ll fuck myself! Yes! Ooh. OOH! I’m Superman… and I’m going to splurge in my tights. Masturbation is the one thing I have left now. Hnngh. Yeah. I’ll do it… I’ll fill ’em. Fill my tights and briefs with cum, and finally I’ll have relief. Mm. Hmm. Hnggh.’

His neighbours rolled their eyes at the ecstatic howls coming from Clark Kent’s flat, and tutted, imagining the mild mannered reporter was jerking off to some porn. Little did they know it was Superman who was sat masturbating within, and as he finally came, he did indeed ‘splurge’ in his tights.

‘Oh God!’ he gasped, as he collapsed onto his knees and plunged his hand into the hot, sticky wet spandex, ‘Great Rao! Jor El forgive me, but that felt good! I came in my tights! At last!’

It was a vast ejaculation, and soon, inevitably, he lay and licked it from his fingers, willing himself to still lower depths.

‘Would you l-like to eat your own cum, Superman?’ he gasped. ‘Hmm. Thanks… don’t mind if I do. Mm. Give it to me. Fuck Krypton – if I want to ingest my own spunk I will! Mmm… yeah.’

And so, night after night, as soon as he got in, the former Man of Steel would sit and masturbate in his uniform, fumbling with his cock until at last it erupted, filling his tights and briefs and bringing him some of the relief he so desperately sought, albeit only temporarily.

Afterwards, as his penis sank back into the gooey mess in his crotch, he would stare at himself, lost in contemplation, before finally heading to bed, still wearing his cum-drenched uniform. With a cooling crotch of spunk-soaked spandex he would drift off to sleep.

In the morning he would strip it off to shower, before pulling it on again, crusty with the previous night’s adventures. This continued until one day someone at the Planet made a comment about Clark Kent’s hygiene. Mortified by what he’d come to, from then on he made time to wash and dry the suit each day, yet his nightly masturbation continued. Cumming in his tights was now what Superman lived for, and he found ever more creative ways to achieve his goal: sometimes he would put his briefs on his head; sometimes he would finger himself; sometimes he would crawl on all fours and pretend to beg General Zod or Lex Luthor to let him be their slave, his ecstatic fantasies becoming ever more elaborate and submissive as he explored the man he was now.

One day he heard two of the guys in the men’s restroom at the Daily Planet, discussing a brothel in downtown Metropolis. Blushing and stumbling over his words, he asked them if he could have the address, to their extreme amusement.

And that was how, not long after this, Clark Kent aka Superman came to visit a prostitute for the first time.

‘Ah, Miss,’ he said, in his customary bumbling, submissive way, ‘I have money here – cash for your fee. Shall…. Shall I…?’

‘Just put it on the side,’ came the bored response. She looked him up and down, stood there in his smart black suit, trembling slightly. A newbie, she decided, possibly even a virgin. Well built, clearly nervous… possibly kinky.

‘So what are we doing, hun,’ she said.

Clark swallowed. ‘You mean… uh…’

‘What is it you want me to do you?’

‘Well… I um…’ He looked down at his feet, nervously.

Definitely kinky. ‘Go on… you can say it. What is you want me to do to you?’

‘I want you to take my clothes off. Please.’

‘Sure. Okay. So we’re gonna strip you.’

‘Yes… yes, please, ma’am. Strip me… take off my clothes. And then… when you take my pants down… ooh… when you take my pants down… you’ll realise I’m… I’m m-more than I seem.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, sounding as though she was stifling a yawn. ‘I’ll bet you are. Come on then. Let’s get those clothes off of then, big boy. Pants first?’

‘Ooh,’ said Clark, ‘yes please. I think… yes… my pants first. If that’s okay with you ma’am. Please take my pants down first of all. Thank you.’

She unfastened his trousers, trying not to roll her eyes as Clark gave a little gasp. Like the professional she was, she let her fingers brush lightly against his clearly erect cock, standing up like a tent pole beneath the smart black fabric. ‘Ooh,’ he whimpered.

‘My… someone’s very hard. You’re excited to have your pants taken down, aren’t you?’

‘Oh… y-y-yes,’ he stammered. ‘Yes ma’am. V-v-v-very excited! To have you… t-t-take my p-p-pants down! Ooh! You’re d-doing it to me… taking my pants down! Ooh… oh… my pants are coming down!’

Amused, she took a firm hold of his trousers and in one swift movement yanked them down his thighs and right the way down to his feet, revealing the bright blue of his tights and the red of his briefs beneath.

She paused. ‘Okaaaaay. What have we here?’

‘Well. Now you’ve t-taken my p-pants down… Well, that is… You see, miss... ma’am… I’m… I’m really Superman.’

‘Uh-huh. And let me guess, I should call you Superman?’

‘If you don’t mind, ma’am, yes – that’s who I am, you see. That’s my big secret.’

‘Got it. And what does Superman want, honey? Why have you come here?’

‘Well…’ Clark thought of Jor El, and how once he had been given instruction… purpose.

‘You see… you see, ma’am, I’ve lost my powers – been stripped of them. That’s why I’ve not been around lately. And now I… I guess I’m really hoping that someone could… could tell me what to do. Give me orders. Do you understand me?’

‘I sure do, hun,’ she said. ‘I can see just what you need. Get on your knees, Superman. I’m going to dominate you.’

‘Oh! Yes… yes, ma’am! I think a firm hand is just what I need.’

‘I’ll bet it is. Has Superman been a bad boy?’

‘Yes! Yes, ma’am! Superman has been very bad. I’ve been very bad indeed. As bad as it’s possible for me to be. And I… I need… I need p-p-p-punishing. Ooh… hnggh.’

She roughly took off the rest of his clothes until he was just clad in his uniform and his Clark Kent glasses, whereupon she began by spanking Superman, which he enthusiastically agreed to, and ordering him to do all manner of demeaning things. Yet as prominent as his erection was, straining against his briefs and tights, something just didn’t convince her.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘Wait in the corner like a dog, Superman.’

‘Ooh,’ he said excitedly, crawling on all fours to obey. ‘Yes ma’am.’

She slapped his ass a couple more times, then left the room and returned a few minutes later with a stunningly handsome young man, with full, sensuous lips and dark hair.

‘This is him. This is Superman. He needs punishing. He wants punishing.’

‘That a fact?’ The young man looked at him with curiosity, and then reached down and pulled off his glasses.

‘Ooh!’ gasped Superman. ‘You took my glasses! You can see me!’

‘Wow, he really does look like him.’

‘I think he may just be telling the truth. I think it’s really him.’

‘I am,’ whispered Superman, ‘I promise you, I really am Superman. I’ve just lost my p-powers. They were stripped from me, along with my cape and boots.’

The woman gestured to the handsome newcomer.

‘Okay, then, Superman? This is Jason. I’m going to make you his slave. I think you need a man. That’s my professional opinion.’

‘Ooh,’ whimpered Superman, looking up in fright. ‘A man? B-b-b-but I’m… I’m not g-g-gay! I did it all for… all f-for…’

Jason reached down and grabbed Superman’s cock.

‘Ooh!’ whimpered the former Man of Steel. ‘Ah! Hnngh. OOH!’

‘Hmm,’ said Jason. ‘Looks like your cock has other ideas, Superman. Do you want to be my slave?’

He gave the Man of Steel’s penis a little squeeze, and watched foaming white precum stain the red briefs.

‘Hnngh. Yes,’ gasped Superman. ‘Yes, sir! Oh, yes, please, Jason. I do… I d-do want to be… your slave. I w-want that more than anything, sir.’

Jason stared evenly at him. ‘So prove it, Superman. Crawl over here on your hands and knees, Man of Steel… and suck my cock.’

‘Ooh!’ Superman whimpered.

Suck this man’s cock? Could he do it? Had Jor El ever envisaged the Last Son of Krypton would come to this – on his knees in a human brothel, being commanded to fellate a human male?

‘And it will be the men of this world who will wish to take you as their concubine – not the women…’

Yes… Jor El had foreseen this, had foreseen it all. What a fool he had been. Giving it all up for Lois? No. He had squandered his great gifts in order to become this. May as well follow the prophecy through. After all, Jason was right – his cock was throbbing with excitement at the demeaning prospect that lay before him.

‘A concubine,’ he breathed. ‘Th-that’s all I am now. I’m Superman the Superwhore.’

Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so, Superman? A Superwhore, huh? So are you going to suck my dick or what?’

Superman swallowed and crawled to Jason’s feet. He looked up. ‘Yes, please, Jason. May I suck your cock, sir. I’m Superman the Superwhore. Please can I suck you off?’