Happy #ThrobbingThursday!

Happy #ThrobbingThursday…!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Four: Temptation In His Tights

Using his powers, Clark was able to quickly wash and dry his uniform, heating soapy water in the old bathtub and scrubbing the bright spandex. Soon it was pristine once more, and he pulled on his tights and tunic, proudly noting how they framed his body, and then tucked in his cape. Dressed thus, he lay down on the bed to wait for Tam to return with his briefs, alone now with just his thoughts.

He’d never let anybody else take a part of his uniform away from him before; he could only imagine what Jor El would make of his predicament. Yet it had been necessary to maintain his cover. In fact, now he considered it, he felt rather proud of his quick thinking. After all, it had never occurred to him that he would have to account for why Clark Kent didn’t wear underpants; he had never anticipated a situation in which this fact might come to light.

‘I only hope Tam doesn’t notice the belt loops on my briefs,’ he murmured out loud. ‘What would I tell him if… oh!’

Clark looked down in surprise, to find his cock standing ramrod stiff to attention in his tights!

‘Oh! What in the name of… what’s happening to me? An erection – again? Just like before, when I thought about…’

Once more, Tam’s face came to his mind’s eye, and Superman recalled the lad’s searing gaze, staring at him so deeply, as if he could see his very soul.

‘My briefs… Tam’s got my briefs… and I’m hnngh… hard… Hard in my tights. Want to touch it so badly, and yet I m-mustn’t…’

The air in the room seemed hot and heavy, charged with lust, and as he gazed at his cock, throbbing away in his tights, Superman felt a temptation more desperate than he had ever known. His hand ached to clutch it, to do what he had never allowed himself to do. All his Kryptonian training, passed down to him to deal with such a situation, no longer seemed to matter or feel important.

‘Oh… I… I want to… could I? Would it… would it be so bad?’

He was trying so hard to fight it, yet as he watched a small damp spot appear on the blue spandex that bound his splendid erection, Superman could stand it no longer. This strange place, this somewhat eerie room in an Inn in the middle of nowhere… none of it made sense, and suddenly all he knew was that he, Clark, Superman, the Man of Steel, was alone and he wanted release – the release he had always denied himself. In a heartbeat, one trembling hand reached for his penis and he let out a moan as he touched it, gripping his spandex-clad shaft.

‘Huhhhhhhhhh! Hah! Hah!’

Just then, a knock at the door made him sit bolt upright in bed, and he released his cock as if it were a scalding hot coal.

‘It’s me, Clark.’ Tam’s voice came from outside the door as he knocked.

To Superman’s horror, he saw the latch rise and the door begin to open. In another moment Tam would enter the room; the lad would see not Clark Kent, but Superman, stretched out on the bed with a raging erection, and caught just as he had been about to do something about it!

Never had he brought his Super-speed to bear with such precision. In the blink of an eye, he shot across the room, put on his glasses, threw on the bathrobe, and closed the door to the bathroom, where he had left his red boots.

Such was his haste that it was as though a gust of wind had struck Tam in the face. The lad pushed the door open and stood blinking in surprise.

‘Aye… certainly some strange winds around today,’ he said softly.

‘Uh, yes,’ said Clark, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘I guess it is a little drafty in here.’

His cock was still hugely erect, and he had to hunch over slightly, so that this was not obvious beneath the dressing gown.

Tam looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Dinnae worry, Clark. I’ll make sure you’re nice and warm.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, his voice shaking slightly as he looked at the boy. ‘You s-sure do think of everything, Tam.’

‘Aye. Aye, I do.’ Tam’s gaze slowly went to Clark’s feet. ‘Oh. Those are nice socks, Clark.’

Superman looked down and cursed himself inwardly. In his arousal and haste, he had forgotten that his tights were still visible below the dressing gown! How could he have been so foolish? Now Tam was staring, though he did not know it, at the tights-clad feet of Superman. Another intimate part of his persona was being exposed to a complete stranger, totally beyond his control. And to his horror, dimly he realised this was adding to his excitement; his erection was twitching in response to his predicament.

‘Oh!’ he breathed. ‘Uh. Yes. Thank you Yes,. I… I… I… like blue… blue socks.’

Tam laughed softly. ‘But the socks you gave me to wash were black, Clark!’

‘Yes. Uh. Yes, they were.’

Tam shook his head. ‘You’re a funny wee man, aren’t you, Clark?’

‘Oh.’ Clark swallowed. Again, the air between them seemed charged and potent. ‘Yes, Tam. Yes… I guess I am… a funny wee man.’

No, he thought to himself. I’m not a “funny wee man” – I’m Superman. If only I could tell you. Part of me wants… oh! Part of me wants to let this robe drop right now and let you see me as I am… hard in my tights… oh! The world’s most powerful man is here in your Inn, in this remote place, and I’m hard in my tights! What would Tam say? How would he see me? But… but that would be… unthinkable! It would be terrible, awful, demeaning… wouldn’t it?

‘You okay there, Clark?’ asked Tam, softly. ‘You’re looking at me very intently there, fella. Everything all right?’

With a supreme effort, Clark mastered himself and came to his senses.

‘Uh… yes. Yes, Tam, thank you. I’ve just been wondering about how to begin my investigation. These missing lads.’

‘Great stuff,’ said Tam. ‘Well, everyone here on the island will be very grateful. You coming all this way to Summerisle to help a tiny wee community like ours. It’s uncommon kind of ye, Clark. There’s a few downstairs who are very eager to meet you.’

‘There are?’

‘Aye. So, on that note, let’s give you back your panties.’

‘My panties?’ said Clark in disbelief.

‘Sorry, big fella – I mean your briefs.’

To his relief, Clark saw that atop the pile of linen Tam was carrying were his red briefs. It would be so good to get them back again.

‘Gosh, thanks, Tam,’ he said. ‘That’s awesome of you. If you just wait while I get my wallet…’

‘Ach,’ said Tam, ‘don’t fuss, no need tae worry about that now. We can work something out later.’

‘But I insist,’ said Clark, ‘you’ve washed my clothes!’

‘Well, some of them,’ said Tam. ‘Your suit is still in the machine. But at least we’ve got your pants back – your briefs – so you can put your spare suit on and come down to dinner. And I thought it was a bit strange that you only brought the one pair of briefs with you…’ He looked up, and once again Clark felt that strange excitement as the lad’s dark eyes stared straight at his own. ‘…so I’ve brought you a couple of pairs of my own underpants.’

‘Whuh-what?’

Superman felt his penis twitch once again beneath the bathrobe; he could hardly believe what he was hearing. This stripling…this adonis – for he had begun to realise just how handsome Tam was – was offering him pairs of his own underwear to put on!

‘We can’t have you just with one pair of panties, now, can we, Clark?’

Why is he calling them “panties”, thought Superman, yet he did not speak.

Tam studied him, a slow, searching look as he moved closer.

‘So here, Clark… I’ve brought you some of my own. My own underpants.’

‘Your underpants, Tam,’ echoed Clark dumbly. ‘Me wearing… your… your underpants? I… ooh… I c-couldn’t p-possibly…’

‘Yes, you can, Clark,’ said Tam firmly. ‘I don’t know what folk do in Metropolis, but I can’t have you making one pair of panties last here. What will you do when they need washing?’

‘Well… I…’ said Clark. For the umpteenth time since arriving at this strange island, he felt his cheeks colouring. ‘I d-don’t know, Tam,’ he said at last.

‘Exactly. So say no more. Here are two pairs of my pants for you. Two clean pairs of briefs.’ Tam held them out to him. One of the garments was a pair of paisley y-fronted briefs, with a bright green trim. ‘These are a bit retro, I guess,’ said Tam with a smile. ‘But I think they’ll be just right for you – that colour suits you.’

‘Whuh-what,’ breathed Clark. ‘Why, I…’

And there he was, back once again in Luthor’s lair, as his nemesis slipped the Kryptonite chain over his head.

Luthor… when he gave me my necklace… I mean when he chained me, dammit…

‘It suits you, Superman,’ Lex had said, as the hero meekly inclined his head and allowed his foe to place the chain upon him, ‘the colour looks just perfect on you, Supe baby!’

He blinked, and saw Tam gazing at him.

‘And look,’ said the lad, ‘you’ll like this other pair: blue briefs – your favourite colour, Clark!’

And indeed, the boy was proffering a pair of smooth royal blue briefs with a navy trim.

‘Gee,’ said Clark, ‘I… I really don’t know what to say, Tam. This is too kind of you.’

His hand trembling slightly, Clark reached out and accepted the underpants. For a split second his fingertips brushed against Tam’s own, and it took all his self control not to make a sound, so intoxicating was that touch.

‘Do you like them,’ asked Tam, ‘are they all right, Clark?’

‘Yes, said Clark, hoarsely. ‘They’re v-very… um… very nice. Th-thank you.’

‘No problem, pal,’ said Tam. ‘Say… is everything okay, Clark – you’re hunched over a wee bit in your gown there?’

‘Uh… just the draft,’ said Clark, unconvincingly.

‘Aye… aye,’ nodded Tam. ‘Well, we’ll get some food and drink down ye; that’ll soon warm ye up. Here – ’

Tam tossed the red briefs at him. Wide-eyed, Clark just managed to catch them whilst holding the two pairs of Tam’s own underpants and clutching the bathrobe around himself.

‘Get your panties on and get dressed in your suit, and I’ll show you down to dinner.’

‘Gosh,’ said Clark, ‘thanks, Tam. You really are…’

‘Yup,’ said Tam with a grin, ‘I really am. C’mon now – get your pants on and let’s go eat.’

Clark stared at him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is… I uh…’

Tam shook his head. ‘Fine. I’ll wait outside the door. I don’t know what you’re worried about though Clark.’ He held his gaze once more. ‘In the few hours since we met I’ve watched you piss yourself and I’ve washed your dirty panties for you. I don’t know what surprise you think you’ve got for me under there, big fella.’

The lad’s eyes fell to his waist, staring directly at where Superman’s cock was hard in his tights beneath the bathrobe, straining desperately.

If only he knew just what a surprise I have under here…

‘Uh… thanks, Tam,’ gasped Clark. He now needed this boy to be out of the room so he could clear his head. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Sure thing,’ said Tam, and went to leave. ‘I’ll be right outside the door.’

But before he could go, Clark looked down at his red briefs. And what he saw filled him with horror.

‘T-tam?’ he said. ‘I’m… I’m sorry… b-but these… these aren’t mine.’

The garment he held was indeed a pair of bright red briefs. But there was a designer label in the back – “Calvin Klein” – and most crucially, there were no belt loops. What he had been given was nothing more or less than an ordinary pair of red underpants.

‘What d’ye mean man,’ frowned Tam. ‘Of course they’re yours, Clark. Those are your panties, freshly washed and dried. See?’

‘No!’ cried Clark. ‘Gosh… gee… but you see… these aren’t my panties! I mean my briefs! These aren’t mine?’

‘Why?’ asked Tam. ‘What is it that makes you think they’re not yours, Clark? Is there something special about yours or something?’

And there it was: he was trapped. For how could he tell Tam that he knew very well these were not his briefs, as he was Superman, and the loops for his world famous yellow belt were absent?

Clark stood trying to think of a way out, but no solution presented itself.

‘Well?’ asked Tam. ‘What could possibly make you think these aren’t your panties? Plain red briefs, that’s what you gave me, right? Or am I wrong?’ He looked wryly amused. ‘Was there something special about your panties, Clark?’

Superman had no choice. Wide-eyed and a little fearful, he shook his head.

‘No Tam. You’re not wrong. It… it’s me. I… I was wrong. N-nothing special about my panties… uh…my briefs. Nothing at all. Just… just plain red briefs. I was mistaken. These… these are mine. Of… of course they are.’

‘You funny wee man,’ laughed Tam. ‘You’re a real character, Clark! I’ll leave you to it. Get those panties on now, and let’s get you some food.’

‘Y-yes,’ said Superman, numb with shock and astonishment. ‘I’ll… I’ll get my panties on.’

As the door closed, the enormity of what had happened washed over him. He took off the bathrobe and let it fall to the ground around his ankles. Placing Tam’s two pairs of underwear on the bed, Superman crossed the room and opened the bathroom door, where he stood and gazed at his reflection.

‘I’ve… I’ve handed over my briefs,’ he said out loud, ‘I’ve lost a sacred part of my uniform and in return all I have to wear… is a pair of red underpants.’

He thought of the word that Tam kept using, and unbidden, he found himself saying:

‘Panties. That’s what these are. I’ve lost my briefs… I gave them away willingly… and the only option I have left now is to wear panties over my tights. I, Superman, am going to have to put on a pair of red panties. How… how could I have let this happen?’

Yet more than all of this was another terrible, shaming truth. For as Superman continued to gaze at his reflection, holding the designer underwear for which he had traded his briefs, within his tights his cock remained stiff as a board and tingling with excitement. And the small moist point where he’d wet his tights with pre-cum was now a large patch of darkened blue, with foaming white specks upon its surface.

‘Ooh,’ murmured the Man of Steel. ‘Hnngh. What have I done?’

“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. I’m the Man of Steel. I’m… I’m a h-hero. I am. And you’re all p-perverts! I’m certainly not going to just stand here and let you unfasten my belt and… pull my briefs down.’

‘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 wouldn’t like it one little bit?’

‘Of course n-not,’ he breathed. But was this true? His head seemed so full, suddenly, so overpowering were the sensations racking his body.

‘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 like calling them your panties now, 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.

‘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. And these are my briefs… not my p-panties. My… my red… 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 take my hands out of your briefs. You can stop all of this, and take me to the station to be charged. The big man. The Man of Steel in his briefs and tights, bringing the sleazes to justice.’

‘Yes… b-bring you… to justice,’ stammered Superman. ‘I’m the Man of S-steel. Ooh. That’s who I am. A M-m-man of ooh… S-steel. Uhh.’

‘Of course,’ said Zeal. ‘You’re a Man of Steel, Superman.’

‘Exactly,’ said Superman, his head reeling. ‘That’s exactly who I am, Mr Zeal. A Man of Steel in my briefs… and t-tights. Ha… hnngh.’

‘Or… alternatively, Superman... you could 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. ‘Hmm. I don’t believe you, Superman.’

The Vice Lord reached out one hand and touched the end of his cock, making the Man of Steel whimper once more. ‘Ooh… oh! S-s-stop that. My p-penis! Mr Zeal! Your hand on my p-p-penis… no one ever… I’ve never had… 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 secretly you enjoyed it – am I right? Tell me. Go on, Superman. Tell the truth now.’

‘Whuh-what? I…’

Superman drew breath to deny this, but his thoughts went in a different direction. “

Extract from “Superman vs the Vice Lord”, extended edition. For amusement only, not for profit, no copyright infringement intended.

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?’

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Part One

(NB This is a bit niche, possibly...! It’s a sort of sequel/mash-up of our very own spandex clad big blue Boy Scout, Superman, and classic flick The Wicker Man. For anyone who hasn’t seen the latter, it involves *SPOILERS* a naive and uptight policeman being lured to a remote Scottish island. He believes he is there to solve a crime, but in fact he has been brought there because he is a virgin, and the pagan villagers prey on him for their own dark purpose. If you can imagine such a thing...

If there is interest for more I’ll continue it, or if not then I will revert to more standard fare, with Luthor et al bending Superman to their fiendish will. And possibly over their fiendish knees, to spank him.

DISCLAIMER: Not-for-profit, only for fun, hope you enjoy reading. )

The new Lord Summerisle was a tall and imposing man, with long fair hair and a strong jawline. Although he had held his title for more than a decade, he was still considered ‘new’, such had been the weighty and charismatic presence of his predecessor.

‘So,’ he said, ‘after nearly four decades, the policeman's sacrifice is nearly spent. That is why our crops have begun to fail once more, and the harvest sickens.’

‘Just so, my lord.’

Damian was the son of a local farmer, a narrow-hipped young man, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and battered leather jacket. His eyes were sharp and keen, and he had a mop of thick black curls running down to the nape of his neck. ‘We've all seen the signs. It's worsening every day. If this keeps up we'll be ruined.’

‘Tush,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘how excitable you are. I would never let such a thing happen.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

Lord Summerisle's eyes were drawn upwards, to where his predecessor's portrait hung on the wall, smiling benevolently down on them.

‘What worked once before will work again,’ he said. ‘We simply require a new lamb for the sacrifice.’

Damian sniffed. ‘Not as easy these days. Technology everywhere, nosing into people's lives. And virgins are harder to find too, mind you. Strange times, your Lordship.’

Before he could reply, Lord Summerisle heard the television in his office crackle into life, unbidden. Irritated, he went to switch it off, but then paused, stopped in his tracks by what the machine was showing him. That face. So recognisable. So noble. The face that seemed to be everywhere these days. Summerisle grabbed a remote and turned up the volume to listen.

‘…well, gee, I appreciate your kind words, sir, I really do. But I'm just doing my duty, serving my country, my planet - just like so many other men and women, who I count myself lucky to work alongside. Doctors, firefighters, police… it's those guys who are the real heroes - we're all on the same team.’

The American. The Kryptonian. The Man of Steel.

‘Superman,’ breathed Lord Summerisle. ‘That's it.’ He pushed a button on the remote, pausing the live broadcast. The hero’s frozen image gazed back at him. So tall, so handsome; such a calm and noble dignity, despite that garish spandex costume.

‘My Lord?’

Summerisle was grinning from ear to ear; his body crackled with purpose. This was the moment that would define him. As he stared at the screen, at this superhuman adonis in his red and blue uniform, he felt for a moment that he had had a vision, an insight into the future. The proud superhero who was standing so confidently, parading his body to the world, afraid of nothing, suddenly blurred and changed... Summerisle could see Superman being stripped of his cape, boots and briefs, whipped and brought to heel. He saw the man standing meekly and submissively in his tights, hands half-heartedly attempting to hide his penis as it bulged against that blue, blue spandex.

Confident no longer, this Man of Steel was a defeated and broken hero, looking scared and vulnerable in his tights. This was what he had to bring about. This preening, cocky Super-oaf, bulging in his spandex was the key to it all.

Summerisle blinked, and when he looked again Superman’s image was normal; a chisel jawed hero looked out from the TV screen.

‘Strange times indeed, Damian,’ he said. ‘But fortuitous ones also. If one little virginal policeman like poor dear Sergeant Howie can sustain us all these years with the unspent nature of his cock... then what power... what extraordinary gifts could we reap... from the body of Superman?’

Damian frowned. ‘Superman? But I don’t understand… even if we could get him here… even if we could trap him… it’d need to be a virgin.’

‘Look at him, Damian,’ replied Summerisle. ‘Superman is not of this earth. Leaving aside his rigid, pious nature, how could he have sex with a mere mortal? He’d destroy them. No – I’m willing to bet anything that Superman is a virgin. In fact I can feel it, I can sense it with the power that is mine: the Man of Steel has never had sex. He is what we need!’

‘Superman is a virgin!’ Damian gazed in wonder at the Man of Steel. ‘I’d never thought about it, but yes… yes, my lord, you must be right. And him looking so full of himself in his spandex! Huh. Do you think he pulls himself off in his tights when he’s home alone?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. These puritanical types live by strange and rigid values, which makes it all the more joyous when they slip up. In any case, I will bring him here,’ said Summerisle, ‘and once I have broken Superman, once I have bent him to my will, he shall be ours!’

Damian looked at him in awe. ‘Truly, you are a wonder, my lord!’

Summerisle gazed back at the television. ‘Look at him. So noble in his blue tights and those red briefs. Not just anyone can pull that look off. Mm. What kind of underpants are you wearing, Damian?’

‘What? Oh. Um… boxer briefs, your lordship. Blue ones.’

‘Drop your trousers. Let me see.’

Damian hesitated for a split second, then unfastened his jeans, thumbing the metal clasp open. ‘Does your lordship doubt me,’ he said, as he yanked them down his legs and bunched them around his ankles, ‘for you have no need to. Look: I’ve got blue pants on, just like I said.’

‘Indeed you have,’ said Lord Summerisle. He walked around Damian and put a hand on each of his buttocks, stroking them through the thin blue nylon. Then he reached around and took hold of his dick, gripping it through the fabric.

‘Ooh!’ said Damian. ‘Oh… that feels nice, your lordship. Your hand… on my cock… mm. Do you… want to do me over the desk, to help you concentrate on how to get Superman? Or would you have me get down on my knees and suck you off, my lord? Whatever you wish, I’m here in my pants and ready to do your bidding, sir. My body is waiting to serve you as you see fit. Mm.’

Summerisle extended his tongue and licked the back of Damian’s neck, pulling him close.

‘Faithful Damian. You always know what I need. Over the desk, I think. I’m going to fuck you whilst I plot the downfall of Superman, our spandex-clad friend. And put your underpants on your head, too.’

‘Ooh. Yes, my lord, thank you,’ said Damian, his cock stiffening fully. He toed off his boots and clumsily fumbled his way out of his jeans, before pulling his boxer briefs down and stepping out of them. ‘I’ll put my pants on my head, just like you say, sir. And perhaps you’ll let me cum in them once you’re done with me, sir.’

A moment later his face was in the crotch of his underwear.

‘Perhaps I will,’ said Summerisle, guiding Damian to the desk and gently bending him over it. ‘But first, let me fuck your sweet ass, while I think how best to lure that preening Superman here to our fair land, and into my clutches.’

‘Watch where you’re going, Kent!’

Adam Kennedy, a ferret-faced reporter at the Daily Planet gave Clark Kent a brusque shove as he passed him. Clark rolled with the pressure, deftly keeping up the pretence that he could be pushed like that by a normal human male. After so many years it was second nature to him, hiding his great strength and powers beneath a façade of weakness.

‘Oh! Gosh. Sorry, Adam. Gee… I sure do always seem to be in your way,’ he said, completing the performance. Inwardly he allowed himself a smirk. If this man only knew the truth: that Clark Kent, the cringing klutz he was taking out his aggression on was really Superman, the strongest being on the planet. He’d be terrified! Still, let this petty little man have his fun. To add to the overall effect, Clark pushed his glasses up his nose in a perfectly-judged show of nervousness, and stumbled on through the office, looking goofy and awkward as ever. It was a consummate show of submission, just the way he liked it.

Before he could make his way to his desk, the TV outside Perry White’s office caught his eye, and he watched as a broadcast from one of the more obscure news channels blared out.

‘…and now another young man has gone missing from this supposedly idyllic Scottish aisle. The local police force is only a handful of individuals, with nowhere near the resources needed to handle such a strange case of missing persons. Earlier today, Lord Summerisle, the prominent local naturalist and campaigner, whose family have lived here for generations, had this to say.’

Clark watched as the cameras closed in on a strikingly handsome man in his thirties, proud, strong features framed by a long mane of blonde hair.

‘We are devastated by this new loss,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Another young man, on the cusp of manhood, now disappeared into the night without a trace. All of these missing lads must surely be connected, but such a strange and unusual case is plainly beyond the power of our local constabulary to investigate properly.’

‘And so what next, your lordship,’ asked the reporter, ‘what can you do?’

‘What indeed. We must keep our young gentlemen safe from whoever is taking them, but with so little knowledge all we can do is pray. Obviously, there is one being on the planet whom one supposes could easily solve this mystery.’

‘You’re referring to Superman?’

Summerisle gave a wry smile and nodded. ‘The very same. Yet I believe he really only looks after America, for all his talk. We would love it if he would turn his attention to our small island. But that seems like wishful thinking…’

Summerisle suddenly looked directly at the camera, and his eyes, cold, blue and powerful seemed as if they were staring directly at Clark, impossible thought that was! He actually shivered, and dropped his trenchcoat on the floor, eliciting a cry from a passing co-worker.

‘Yes…’ continued Summerisle, ‘Superman… the Man of Steel. It would be wonderful to think he might help us. That he might come for us... and aid us with all the uncanny powers of that extraordinary body of his. What a man…’

Clark stared back at Summerisle. He honestly felt this man could see him, and it made him tingle, ridiculous a notion as it was. Just then Summerisle gave a sudden smile, before returning his gaze to the reporter; it left Clark feeling somewhat diminished.

‘But it’s a foolish idea to imagine Superman would ever come here, would ever give a tiny place like ours his attention. We shall just have to manage without a Man of Steel, I’m afraid.’

The reporter continued his questions, but Clark was utterly lost in thought. He slowly picked up his coat, walked to his desk and made a phone call. Then, feeling himself able only to concentrate on one thing, he made his way to Perry’s office. There was now just a single thought in his mind.

‘Ah, chief,’ he said, knocking on the door, ‘I was wondering… uh… that is… I want to go to Scotland.’

To be continued…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

CHAPTER 2: PEELING BACK LAYERS

Summerisle was a remote place; from the mainland it was most common to fly there by seaplane.

‘Not a problem for Superman,’ thought Clark, gazing out of the window as the small craft carrying him approached the island, ‘but as Clark Kent, if I’m to come here and investigate, I need to fly in the conventional way.’

The little plane bobbed down gently on the water, and its dour pilot turned and looked expectantly at Clark, who returned his gaze in some confusion.

‘Uh… sir? We’re some way from the mainland still?’

‘Aye. You’ll have to walk the rest. It’s no deep, mind – just a couple of feet.’

‘What?’ Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But… but I’ll get wet? My shoes… my socks… my pants…’

The man smiled unpleasantly. ‘You’re no in America now, sonny. Ye’ll need to get your feet wet every now and then on Summerisle. Your pants too, at that, as ye say.’

The shore was at least twenty or thirty feet away. Surely there must be some other way?

‘Come on, sonny,’ said the pilot. ‘Ah’ve not got all day. Out ye jump. It’s only water. Be off with ye. Or did ye want to take off your shoes and socks first, and roll your trousers up?’

Clark swallowed. If he were to accept this relatively sensible solution, then the pilot would get a great surprise, as removing his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants would of course reveal that beneath them he was wearing blue tights and red boots – the world-famous uniform of Superman.

‘N-no, sir,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll manage.’

The pilot gave a low chuckle. ‘Out ye pop then, boy.’

Unbelievable. Bristling at the man’s rudeness, Clark gathered his case and his coat, and jammed his hat down firmly on his head. He would just have to dry himself off with his super-breath when he reached the shore.

He opened the door and swung his legs around. He could see with his x-ray vision that it was a little deeper than the man had claimed, though not much.

‘Well, then, sir,’ he said, ever-mindful of his manners, ‘thanks for the ride.’

‘You’re welcome,’ came the brusque response.

He took a deep breath and was just about to jump down into the murky looking Scottish waters, when a sudden violent gust of wind came out of nowhere, rocking the little seaplane. There was no warning of this whatsoever, and it took Clark so by surprise that he lost his balance and slipped, and in less than a second he was tipped straight down into the sea.

‘Huh! Hngh!’ He cried out in alarm and shock as he tumbled into the icy waters, completely soaking himself. His head slipped beneath the surface for a moment, and then he managed to steady himself. Spluttering and spitting out water, he stood up, clutching his case to his chest, water pouring from the brim of his hat. So much for just getting his feet wet; the sea was almost up to the top of his thighs.

He turned to find the pilot laughing at him. ‘Sorry, sonny! What a start to your stay! Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!’

‘Sir,’ Clark said, trying to remain calm, ‘you’re very unkind.’

Trying to muster some dignity, he began to splash his way clumsily to the shore. He could feel his spandex uniform sopping wet beneath his smart black suit. It certainly was an inauspicious beginning to his trip. Nevertheless, he had come here to try and help, to do some good, and so he ignored the pilot’s derisive laughter and waded onwards.

He scanned the mainland, wondering briefly if he could use his powers and fly, but no – there was someone stood there watching him… almost as if he was waiting. Clark waded onwards, seawater sloshing around his clothes.

The figure waiting for him was a lad of about twenty or so, with glossy, mid-length fair hair flopping over high cheekbones. His eyes were dark and thoughtful, and as Clark emerged from the waters, he looked him up and down, studying him.

‘Are you the reporter?’

‘Uh… that’s right,’ said Clark. The boy reached out a hand and he shook it. ‘Clark Kent. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Tam Lunn. Here. Let me take your case.’

‘Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,’ protested Clark.

‘S’alright.’ The boy took hold of his suitcase, and Clark reluctantly handed it over. ‘Thank you. Tam, did you say?’

‘That’s right. Fall in tae the water did ye?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did ye not just wait for the boat?’

‘There was a boat? Why, that lousy…’ Clark turned back, but the seaplane was already flying towards the horizon.

‘Ah. I see. Old Jeremiah doesn’t take well to outsiders.’

‘He sure doesn’t,’ said Clark with feeling. Standing there, soaked to the skin, the Man of Steel could sense his cheeks reddening. For all his powers he suddenly felt very foolish. Unbidden, a memory came to him then, as clear as the day it had happened.

‘Why, it’s just like the time…’

The memory formed fully in his mind’s eye: his first ever defeat. And what a terrible, ignominious defeat it had been. Luthor – tricking him into opening the box with the Kryptonite chain inside. ‘Your very own Kryptonite necklace, Supe baby. I’ve spared no expense.’

As Superman he had backed away, trying to escape, to run from Luthor’s deadly trap, his body racked with a fear like nothing he had ever known until that moment, knees knocking together foolishly as his legs trembled in his tights. It had never occurred to him that this ordinary human male could prove any kind of threat to him, Superman. Yet before he had even kicked down the door of Luthor’s lair, he had already been out-thought and outclassed. The man had not even had to lay so much as a finger on him to defeat him.

‘Mind over muscle,’ Lex had said, shaking his head as he placed the chain around Superman’s neck, tender as a lover, making him cry out: a low moan.

Powerless then, he had felt Luthor’s hands all over his body, touching him in his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, letting him know he had been bested and mastered, as the criminal genius simply dragged Superman along. Lex had not spared him anything; he had even taken hold of Superman’s nipples, once like steel, now like jello, and tweaked them through the hero’s spandex.

The terrible, disgraceful moans that Superman had made as Luthor played with him, showing him how defeated and helpless he was, still haunted him. Finally, when he had demeaned himself in the throes of defeat sufficiently, he was released. His body tingling, the Man of Steel had at last been given a good shove by his nemesis, and as he looked back in astonished fear, Superman dropped like a stone, falling into Lex’s pool, fully-clothed in his spandex uniform.

‘Mr Kent? Are ye alright?’

‘Huh?’

The boy Tam was looking quizzically at him, a half-smile in his eyes. Dimly, Clark noted that he was extremely handsome.

‘Are ye alright, Mr Kent?’

‘Oh. Ah. Um. Yes. Just… remembering.’

‘Looked like it was a happy memory, no?’

‘No… no, not really. Uh… Just… just another time I got soaked.’ Clark smiled ruefully.

‘Strange. It looked like you were remembering something nice. Well, don’t worry,’ said Tam, patting him on the back. ‘My father’s the innkeeper. I’ve come to take you there, and we’ll find ye some fine dry clothes when you get in. I’ll soon have ye out of this soggy lot before you know it.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, unsure what to say to this. ‘Uh… thank you.’

The inn was a large, stark building next to a rushing stream. A vast tree, ancient and gnarled, stood just outside it, looming up, branches outstretched towards the place. As they walked up the dusty track, Clark chose his moment carefully, and when he was ready, peered over the top of his glasses and shot a blast of his heat vision at one of the topmost branches of the old tree. It fell heavily and suddenly, making Tam cry out in alarm, and the distraction it bought him gave Clark enough time to use his super-speed and his super-breath to quickly dry his clothes.

‘Gosh,’ he said to Tam, who stood gazing in shock at the fallen bough, ‘you sure do have some strong winds here.’

‘Aye,’ said Tam slowly, ‘but not that strong. That old rowan tree has stood here longer than anything on Summerisle; it’s endured mighty storms and never loses so much as a twig.’

‘Well, I guess it must be feeling its age.’

The tree’s branches shook suddenly, and to his surprise, Clark found himself shuddering.

Tam shook his head. ‘No, Mr Kent, you dinnae understand. It’s a powerful thing this tree, it protects us. It’s magical.’

‘Magic? Oh, gee… that’s a little far fetched don’t you th-’

The tree shook once more, and Clark had to admit that he found it rather menacing.

‘Nae, Mr Kent – you’ve got to believe me. No one on Summerisle would dare touch this tree or harm it, for it would bring him powerful bad luck.’

‘Uh…’ Clark looked up nervously at the great rowan. ‘Is… is that so? Gosh. Well. I’ll… I’ll be sure to remember that.’

A huge gust of wind seemed to come from nowhere then, engulfing the pair of them. The tree’s branches seemed almost to change direction for a moment, reaching out to where Clark stood, clawing and straining at him, as rain began to fall from the sky.

‘That’s strange,’ said Tam, turning his attention back to Clark as the wind died down, ‘why, Mr Kent… your clothes… they’re all dry.’

‘Hardly surprising, with all this wind,’ said Clark.

‘But… but you were completely soaked. Your trousers… how could that be…’

Suddenly Clark heard the voice of old Jeremiah, the unpleasant pilot, echoing in his head once more.

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!

To his horror, Clark felt his bladder clench and spasm. ‘Ha! Ah! Ah!’ he cried out. ‘Uh… Tam… I need the uh… I need the bathroom… I need it real quick.’

Panicked, he started to stumble towards the inn.

‘The bathroom,’ frowned Tam, ‘what do ye need a bath for?’

‘Not a bath,’ cried out Clark, his voice getting higher. ‘I need to use the bathroom. The washroom. The restroom. Quickly, please!’

‘Oh,’ said Tam, ‘the toilet! Why didn’t ye say? Here, there’s one round the back.’

He started to lead Clark around the side of the inn, but before they could reach it there came another of those fearsome gusts of wind, enveloping them both, and making Clark gasp.

‘No!’ he said as a cold feeling embraced him. ‘Oh no… no!’

It was too late. As he stood there, the handsome young man in front of him turned back just in time to watch as Clark’s bladder emptied itself against his will. The Daily Planet’s intrepid top reporter stood open-mouthed with shame and horror, as he pissed himself, soaking first his tights and his briefs, before a dark stain came pouring down the legs of his suit. And again, he heard that malevolent voice in his head:

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper… SUPERMAN! GO ON, MAN OF STEEL, THINKING YOURSELF SO STRONG – YOU DARED TO BURN THE TREE OF MIGHT, NOW PAY THE PRICE AND WET YOUR TIGHTS! PISH YOUR TIGHTS, SUPERMAN! Hahahaha!

As Clark stood there pissing himself, on top of everything else, he felt strangely exposed – as if some force could see beneath his clothes. Tam was gazing at him open-mouthed, but what this young man who looked at him now with such pity and amusement did not, could not know… was that, just as the insidious voice in his head was now sneering, it was in fact Superman who stood before him now. Superman, the Man of Steel… had arrived on Summerisle and begun his trip by helplessly and humiliatingly pissing his tights and briefs. The wind seemed to shriek malevolently as the hero steadily wet himself, and the tree’s arms once more curved towards him.

His penis now spent, Clark felt his cheeks burning hot and red. He tried and failed to think of something to say, to explain or excuse his predicament.

‘Um,’ he said, ‘ah… uh…’

‘It’s okay, Mr Kent,’ said Tam, at last. ‘I’ll take you up the back stairs. No one need know or see. And I won’t tell anyone that ye had a wee accident, I promise. I guess you’ll be needing a bath after all, aye?’

Clark managed a very weak smile. ‘Uh. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Tam. That’s very kind.’

‘Nay bother, Mr Kent. Come on then.’

‘Um… Tam? Call me Clark, please?’

Tam grinned. ‘Right ye are… Clark. Come on now, man, never mind your wet pants, we’ll soon have ye right as rain. Follow me, Clark.’

‘Thank you, Tam.’ And follow he did, though with each step he felt his own warm piss sloshing around at the bottom of his concealed red boots, reminding him of his shame.

To be continued...

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!