Hi! Are You Really The Writer Of "Superman Vs The Vice Lord"? Man, I Love That Story, It Is Beyond Delicious!

Hi! Are you really the writer of "Superman Vs the Vice Lord"? Man, I love that story, it is beyond delicious! It inspired me to write my own erotic stories. I felt a bit sad when some strings on the story were not tied, I always assumed you had decided to leave it abandoned. Now I read that you're making an extended version. That's awesome! I'll be anxiously waiting for it, and I'm happy to see you have more stories. I just wanted to say hi,and tell you how much your story inspired me.

Hi glfan7337! Thanks very much for this, that’s really cool to hear. Yes, I’m the writer of Superman vs the Vice Lord. I’m always amazed and delighted by how many people have enjoyed it… although lots also seem to feel, like yourself, that it was left hanging, which surprises me. I thought that I had concluded it pretty definitely. By the end, despite having undergone a sort of reboot, courtesy of his Fortress, Superman is finally forced to confront, admit and embrace his own submissive nature. He’s been made to hand everything he has, everything he is, over to Vincent Zeal, with even his own sentient Kryptonian computer deriding him, and acknowledging Zeal as the stronger-willed man. The story ends with Zeal allowing Superman what he was previously denied: a chance to recreate the time Ross Webster’s supercomputer trussed him up and attempted to fuck him with a metal tendril. And Supes’s own computer obliges and does just this, leaving the Man of Steel on his knees before a triumphant Zeal, defeated and humiliated… but also excited and revelling in his total disgrace and ultimate release, as he is allowed to cum in his tights at last.

I’m not sure what could justify carrying it on beyond this point? Granted, you could make a case for the fact that the pornographer David Dax never discovered that it was, in fact, Superman that he had fucked and dominated in that filthy back alley, and not Clark Kent. Possibly there could be some ground to be covered there, But I think I quite like Dax not knowing… or at least not being certain.

If you, or anyone else, have something that you think would merit continuing the story, then I’d be happy to listen… but I think it was pretty much tied up (much like the hero himself!).

Wicker Man is the current tale… seeing Sergeant Howie walk to his doom in the original, stripped of his policeman’s uniform by the villagers, one of whom follows on, carrying the Sergeant’s clothes in a neat pile, made me think this could be an interesting/humiliating scenario for Superman to come blundering into…!

And years ago, I began but never finished a Superboy story, which was quite fun and went down well. It was called “What Lies Beneath”, and had the young and intrepid Clark Kent caught out by Luthor’s men. Having unwittingly consumed a drug named ExOne, which puts him under their mind control, a helpless Clark walks to the men’s toilet, where he is ordered to take off his clothes… only to give Lex’s goons a mighty surprise when he drops his trousers, revealing Superboy’s bulging tights and briefs!

I might come back to this at some point, although… life is short, and as fun as these horny stories can be, sometimes writing them becomes a bit too all-consuming, and a break is needed.

Anyway, there are some more helpless and humiliating times ahead for Superman on Summerisle, so hope you’ll enjoy that and find it hot. And I guess if there is interest, then I could dig out the first chapter of the extended Vice Lord. Certainly the first and last chapters are significantly longer. And if @SupermanRedboots is reading this, the latter revisits Superman’s humiliating moon battle with Nuclear Man in a particularly hot way…

In any case, glfan7337, thanks for the appreciation.Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday, all of you, and have a good day! The world is a dark place right now, so if a bit of #superhumilation and #supermandefeated floats your boat, then why not please yourself and pleasure yourself? Have fun! Up, up, and… mmmmmmmm!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

CHAPTER THREE – DIRTY LAUNDRY

After checking there was no one about to see Clark’s shaming state, Tam led them both up a dark and winding back stairwell, carrying the mortified man’s suitcase for him, and bringing him at last to an attic bedroom. It was stark and a little cold, but a good size, with a heavy oak wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and an old brass bedstead in the centre of the room.

‘This is you, Clark. This is where you’ll be staying while you’re on Summerisle.’

‘Gee,’ said Clark, looking about him, ‘that’s great, thanks Tam. This will be just fine.’

‘Through there is the bathroom,’ said Tam, pointing to a door off to the side. ‘If ye mebbe take your wet things off and leave them in the bath, I’ll see to them for ye. Don’t worry, no one will know - it can just be our secret, Clark.’

The lad stared at him with those dark eyes of his. Clark found his expression difficult to read, if a little intense. Once again, it struck him how handsome this young man was.

‘Uh… Thank you, Tam. I appreciate it.’

‘No problem. Clark.’

The lad certainly seemed to use his name a lot. Strangely, Clark found he liked this.

‘What’s the other door,’ he asked, pointing behind Tam, ‘is that a second closet or something?’

‘Oh no,’ said Tam, ‘that’s my room, Clark. You’re right next door to me, and our two rooms have a connecting door.’ He gave a sudden and radiant smile. ‘So if ye ever need anything, Clark… anything at all, you know where to find me. Even at night – I won’t mind. Just come right in and I’ll help you out.’

Clark felt suddenly very flustered. ‘Um… oh… uh… gee… that is… gosh,’ he mumbled. ‘Uh… Th-thanks, Tam. You sure are very kind and um… hospitable here.’

‘We try,’ said Tam looking him straight in the eye. ‘Now, would you like me to help you off with your clothes, Clark?’

‘Whuh… what?’

‘Your clothes? You’re in a wee state, aren’t you? Shall we get you undressed? Shall we get those wet pants off you?’

‘No!’ cried Clark, sounding rather alarmed. ‘Um… I mean. Th-thank you, but there’s no need. I can undress myself, thank you.’

‘But it’s no bother,’ said Tam, ‘c’mon, let me help you.’ The lad reached out towards Clark’s belt, but he stepped back.

‘No! N-no thank you, though it’s very kind of you.’

‘Okay,’ said Tam, raising an eyebrow. ‘Just trying to help. Away into the bathroom with you then, Clark, and get your pants off. I’ll wait outside, as you’re so shy. Off you go.’

‘What?’ Clark’s mind was racing, so befuddled. This lad seemed not to care about anything, and was so nonchalant in his suggestion of undressing.

‘Strip,’ said Tam, rather more firmly now. ‘Into the bathroom and strip, Clark. Take your wet clothes off and put them in the bathtub, and when ye’ve done, give me a shout, and I’ll take them down to the laundry. I’ll get ’em washed and dried; no one will know. Here-’

The boy fished out a pink towelling bathrobe from a chest and threw it to him. ‘Ye can put this on as you’re so shy. Come on now, Clark – I’ve work to do. Run along and strip for me. Quickly! Chop chop, now! Strip!’

‘Um… oh… okay…’ Clark was now completely befuddled by Tam’s forceful behaviour. Being ordered to strip like this was all very strange… but then the lad was doing him a kindness after all, and he had agreed to hide his shameful secret.

‘Um… all right, Tam… I’ll go and strip. Thank you.’

Once in the bathroom he looked at himself in the mirror. This was such a strange place. And how on earth had he come to wet himself in that awful, sudden, shaming way?

‘Are ye done yet, Clark? Have you got your pants off yet?’

‘No,’ he called back, slightly irritated. ‘I haven’t got my pants off yet. Hold on, please.’

Reluctantly, he began to take off his clothes. He removed his wallet and keys from the pockets of his wet pants, and with the slightest of hesitations, he unfastened them and pulled them down. They really were utterly saturated with his piss, and they fell heavily around his ankles with a squelch.

Outside he could hear Tam begin to softly sing, a low song with a slow and rhythmic melody, though he couldn’t make out the words. The lad had a fine voice, thought Clark.

He took off his shoes and socks and put them in the bathtub as instructed, then stepped out of his sopping wet trousers. He folded them and put them with his shoes and socks. Then, still vaguely aware of Tam’s singing on the other side of the door, Clark stared at himself in the mirror. His top half was clad in his sober perfectly tailored suit, while from the waist down his uniform blazed out: his bright red briefs, blue tights and his red boots. But what a mortifying sight: all down his legs and crotch was darkened spandex, where Superman, the Man of Steel had helplessly pissed himself. He shook his head in utter bafflement.

And there it was again: as he gazed at his reflection and took in his wet tights, Superman was once more transported back to his first ignominious defeat, at the hands of Lex Luthor. Why was this memory surfacing today? Was it just his soaked uniform?

Outside Tam was still singing that strange song, and now he was tapping out a rhythm with his foot. Or was he hitting the wall? Clark couldn’t focus, all he could think of was Luthor, putting that Kryptonite chain around his neck.

‘Chaining me…’ he said out loud. ‘Giving me a necklace. That’s what he said to me. He was making fun of me. Said he’s spared no expense to make me feel at home…

He could hear that voice as if it was yesterday: ‘Your very own Kryptonite necklace, Supe baby. I’ve spared no expense.’

‘Yes… he was so masterful. Sneering at me. Calling me “Supe baby”. Told me it was just my colour and that my new necklace suited me. Said it was our “first date”. The fiend. I… oh…’

Superman found himself recalling the sensations as Luthor had slipped his chain over his head.

‘My necklace,’ he breathed, now entranced by this strange and detailed journey into his memory.

He hadn’t even tried to stop Luthor. He had simply sagged and lent back against the wall behind him, which he then slowly began to slide down.

‘Helpless in my tights,’ he murmured. ‘Gosh… he sure humiliated me. Made me his helpless prisoner. His hands on my nipples, teasing me in my spandex. M-m-making me cry out… and wh-whimper…’

Just as he had that day, Superman found himself drawn backwards, slumping his body against the wall, lost in this memory as the singing from behind the door continued. And just as he had that day, he couldn’t stop himself from sliding down it… and then giving a low moan.

‘Haaaaa. Hnngh,’ he breathed. ‘Ohhhh…’

‘Clark! Come on now, mate, please! It’s going to be extra work for me tae get these to the laundry, and I’ve not got all day! Have you finished stripping?’

The harsh yell from Tam as he abruptly stopped his singing was enough to snap Superman out of his dreamlike reverie. He shook his head and stood up.

‘Sorry! Sorry, Tam!’ he called out. ‘I’m nearly done.’

At super-speed he whipped off his jacket, shirt and tie. He could see nowhere to stash his uniform; once Tam was out of the way he would wash it himself. In the meantime he simply pulled on the bathrobe over the top to conceal it. He took off his glasses and checked his appearance in the mirror, before putting them back on again and absent-mindedly pushing them up his nose.

There was a wooden washing basket in the corner. He placed his clothes inside it – he would pass them out to Tam.

Clark opened the door just a crack. Tam stood there waiting, brushing a lock of fair hair from his cheekbones.

‘Um… sorry to keep you waiting, Tam,’ he said. ‘Here… here are my clothes. And don’t worry – I’ll be sure to pay extra for all your help, with a big tip.’

‘Is that right,’ grinned Tam, ‘you’ve got a nice big tip for me? Thank you, Clark. I’ll look forward to that.’

Clark was confused. Was the boy being lewd? Surely not.

‘Come on then, Clark – let me have your pants.’

‘Sure. Um… here.’

Awkwardly, Clark pushed the washing basket out through the gap in the door, taking care that Tam should not see his feet, or spy any glimpse of his uniform.

Tam wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stench of urine from the wet clothes.

‘Sorry,’ apologised Clark.

‘S’alright,’ said Tam. ‘Okay… is that everything? I’ve got your shoes, socks, trousers – I mean your pants – your jacket, your shirt and your tie.’

‘Thank you. I really, really appreciate this.’

‘Hold on, Clark. Where are your underpants?’

‘Whu-what?’

‘Your underpants? Ye’ve forgotten tae put them in. Come on now, Clark, please – I’m on a schedule here, mate. Get your undies off, now, and give them to me.’

How on earth could he get out of this one? How could he hide the fact that he was wearing no underwear – as his Superman uniform was all he wore next to his skin, below his Clark Kent clothes?

‘Um… well… that is…’

‘Clark! C’mon, man – underpants off, please!’

A thought occurred to him. ‘Okay, Tam,’ he said, ‘if you’re really sure you don’t mind washing my… my underpants.’

‘You’re a strange one, Clark,’ laughed Tam, ‘I can hardly leave you with pissy pants now, can I? Come on – get them off, man.’

Keeping the towelling robe tight around him, Clark slid his hands beneath it. Deftly, using just a touch of his super-speed, he unfastened his belt and slid it through the loops of his red briefs. Then, holding eye contact with Tam, he wriggled his hips, writhing and twisting, in a rather comedic fashion, until at last his wet briefs fell down - flop - around his ankles. He stepped out of them swiftly, making sure Tam did not get a look at his red boots, then snatched up the briefs and thrust them out through the open door, holding them in such a way that the belt loops were not immediately obvious. He was dimly aware that performing this whole strange strip-tease in front of Tam had made him feel very odd, sensations he had never felt before.

‘Here, Tam,’ he said, throwing his briefs into the basket. ‘Th-those are… are my uh… my underpants. Thank you for… for washing them for me.’

Tam gave him an amused look. ‘Red briefs, eh, Clark? Very sexy!’

Clark did not know what to make of this whatsoever, and he felt his cheeks redden once again. ‘Oh,’ he said foolishly, ‘um…. Ooh… errr. Gee… I… I… um… ah… thank you.’

Tam shook his head. ‘I’m sorry – you’re a shy wee man, aren’t you Clark?’

Clark nodded his head dumbly, wishing he could close the door. ‘Uh. Yes, Tam. That’s right. You’re right. I’m… uh… shy… I’m a sh-shy wee man. And… and I’m just embarrassed by all of this… including you seeing my… my underpants. And having to wash them for me. Ooh. I promise you, Tam, I’ve never w-wet myself before. Let alone had to give someone my… my underpants to wash. Oh. Ooh.’ Those strange sensations racked his body once more. It felt almost pleasurable as he said these words. And the strange thing, the really odd thing was, as he said these words… he felt as though he was saying them as Superman, not as Clark Kent.

Tam’s dark eyes stared right at him, seemingly gazing into Clark’s soul.

‘Don’t be shy with me, Clark. There’s no need. I’ll keep this all secret. And no one will see your underpants apart from me. I won’t let anyone see your briefs. I’ll guard them with my life. You can trust me. It’s our secret, Clark, right?’

‘Uh. Y-yes, Tam,’ he echoed. ‘It’s our secret. Thank you. Thank you so much.’

‘No problem, Clark. I’ll away now and attend to your pissy clothes. Dinner is in one hour – I’ll come and get you and bring you down. Do you need me to find you something else to wear?’

Gosh. The lad certainly thought of everything. ‘No, thank you,” said Clark. “I have a spare suit with me.’

‘That’s great.’ Tam turned to go, then paused. ‘And spare underpants?’

‘Er… what?’

‘Have you got more underpants, Clark?’

It was not a question he had ever thought he would have to answer. If only he had brought some spare pairs for show, even though he never wore them. Unused to telling lies, before he knew it, Clark had replied: ‘Uh… no. I d-don’t.’

Tam nodded, slowly. ‘Right then. I’d best get your briefs done first and bring them back to you. Can’t have you wondering around without any underwear, can we, Clark?’

He held his gaze as he said this, and again Clark found himself completely unsettled and unsure, staring into those dark eyes…

‘I said, we can’t have you wondering around without any underwear on, can we?’

‘Um… no. We certainly c-can’t… um… have that. Um. We c-can’t have me wondering around without my underwear. Thanks, Tam. Thank you. I’ll be sure to tip-‘

‘Ach! You and your big tip! See you in an hour, Clark.’

With a sudden wink and a grin, Tam departed. Once he had gone, he – Clark… Superman… took off the robe and cast it to one side. In his wet uniform, now minus the red briefs, he sank down on to the bathroom floor and sat staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror, as he attempted to make sense of everything. Try as he might, his gaze kept returning to the dark stain spreading out across his blue tights. Surely it couldn’t have been connected to his damaging the tree? And yet he felt certain that something, or maybe even someone, had caused this. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.

‘How?’ he asked aloud softly. ‘What force in the world could possibly make me wet my tights?’

As if in answer, his penis twitched lightly as he said this, the head brushing against wet spandex. And there it was: another part of the mystery. For as Superman gazed at the wet crotch of his tights, he realised what those strange sensations were, and what they had resulted in.

‘Oh boy,’ he breathed. ‘Gee… I… I’ve got an erection. I’m h-hard! I’m hard in my tights! Huh! What is going on today?’

He turned sideways to get a better look, seemingly spellbound by his own spandex-clad erection. He had always exercised such self-control. Keeping his sexual urges in check had never been a problem. And yet here, now…

For a split second he recalled Tam’s dark eyes staring into his own.

‘I won’t let anyone see your briefs. I’ll guard them with my life. You can trust me.’

Before he could stop himself, Superman’s hand grasped his cock firmly through the wet tights, and he moaned once more.

‘Ooh! Haaa. Hnngh. Oh. Ooh! Ooh!’

For a brief, tantalising few seconds, he began to masturbate, before a titanic effort of will brought him to his senses.

‘No!’ he cried out. ‘S-stop this. I’m Superman. Hnngh Remember who you are. I’m the… the M-man of Steel..’

He let go of his cock and stood up. ‘Come on. Enough introspection. Time to wash my tights.’

And pulling off his boots and emptying each one into the bath, he proceeded to peel off the rest of his urine-soaked uniform and do just that.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the island, Lord Summerisle hung up the phone and smiled.

‘So then, Superman is here. The mighty Man of Steel. And already he has felt the power of the island. Now let the fun begin.’

To be continued…

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?’

Webster flicked a switch and the Kryptonite beam vanished.

“It’s done,” he said, “come on in, gentlemen - my new toy awaits you. Come and see what I’ve done to Superman!”

From where he lay, writhing in the dirt in his spandex, Superman looked up just in time to see the cave filling with men. They advanced towards him, each carrying a selection of insidious-looking devices.

“I see you took his cape and boots. That’s good. And you’re sure he’s powerless now?” asked one of them.

Webster had exited the computer, and by way of response, he grabbed Superman by the neck of his tunic and threw him into the path of the man who had spoken. The former Man of Steel cried out in pain and alarm.

“Boy,” chuckled the mam. “He really is less than nothing now, aren’t you, Supes?”

“No,” cried Superman, “get away from me. Don’t touch me! P-please!”

His fear was palpable, and every man in the room could see it, and was aroused by it: the most powerful being on the planet, now utterly powerless before them, stripped of his god-like abilities and made vulnerable, simply a man in bright spandex, crawling before them and cringing in fright.

“But there’s something else,” whispered one of them. “Dude, look at his crotch. Superman’s hard! He’s trying to get away, slithering around on the floor in his tights and begging us not to touch him, but his cock is telling a different story. Superman knows what we’re all thinking about – and I think he wants it more than any man in this room; he just can’t admit it to himself yet. But his erection can’t lie - and he can’t disguise it! The Man of Steel wants to be taken; he wants it so bad he’s throwing a monster bone in his tights and briefs!”

“Just so,” smiled Webster. “Don’t worry, Superman - you’re going to get the release that Super cock of yours so desperately needs. I’ve sold your ass to all of these men!”

“You’ve... you’ve done what?” breathed Superman.

“I’ve sold you, Superman. Like a whore. Which is what you are now. I’ve removed your superpowers, so your only remaining value is as my whore. People are going to pay me a lot of money to fuck you, Superman.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing!

“No!” said Superman. “Please... that’s... you can’t... Webster don’t let them... don’t let them do that to me... I can be useful... I can serve you some other way...”

Webster shook his head. “Actually, you really can’t, Superman. Without your abilities, you have a distinct lack of discernible skill. Right now, all you are is a musclebound chump in tights… And it’s time for those tights to come down, so you can start earning your keep.”

With that, he gave Superman a kick, making him yelp, before pulling him upright.

“But before we get you out of your spandex and start ploughing your ass, I think it’s only fair that I mete out some punishment. After all, before I removed those tiresome powers of yours, you proved to be quite a thorn in my side.”

He clicked his fingers, and one of the men brought him a chair. Webster seated himself, and then grabbed Superman by the front of his briefs. The hero tried to push him away, but without his strength it was futile. He gave a small and ignominious whimper of fear.

“Ooh!! Wh-what are you going to do to me? Wh-what’s my p-p-punishment? Ooh!”

He did not have to wait long for the answer to this question. For a moment or two, Webster stared at Superman’s crotch, studying it. Then he placed his thumb on the circular clasp of that famous yellow belt and unfastened it. As the red briefs loosened in his grip, Webster slid them over Superman’s straining erection and pulled them all the way to his knees, before forcing the hero down and bending him across his knees.

Terrible, shameful noises of fear and arousal tore their way from Superman’s lips.

“Please,” he begged, “not this! Don’t spank me! Please don’t spank me, Mr Webster, sir.”

The crowd of men had encircled them now and were growing closer and closer.

“Beg all you like, Superman,” said Webster. “But do you want to know the real triumph? Even as you’re begging me not to do it, I can feel your cock hard between my knees, Superman! You’re going to be spanked, Superman! Understand that?”

“Yes,” gasped Superman, gazing up at the waiting crowd. “I’m going to be s-s-spanked. Oh god! You’re g-going to spank me... in front of all these men... powerless in my t-tights... and I can’t stop you. And it’s m-making me h-hard! Oh! Go on, then. Do it to me, Mr Webster! Spank me - spank Superman! Hnngg! Ooh!”

As the first blow landed on his spandex clad buttocks, the cave rang both with the sound of Superman’s humiliating punishment, and the cheers from his audience.

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: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 7 part 2 - Superman’s Secrets Laid Bare

‘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!’

The guy in the football kit had dropped his shorts until they were around his ankles. Now he kicked them away and sat down on Superman’s lap, a stiff cock pushing against a pair of red Calvin Klein briefs.

‘Here, Superman,’ he said, ‘smell my shorts.’

He grabbed his discarded football shorts and pulled them slowly down over Superman’s head, pushing the hero’s face into the still warm crotch.

‘Uh!’ cried the hero, inhaling deeply. ‘Oh… mmm… ooh! Oh God..,. Oh boy… They’re so w-warm… and th-that s-smell… the smell of your c-crotch on my face… me, Superman, sniffing your bulge… uh… th-thank you…’

Through one leg of the shorts Superman could still see out, and he drank in the sight before him, of this horny young man, whose musk he could smell, looking resplendent in red briefs. The lad chuckled and stood up for a moment, to give him a better view.

‘Do ye like what ye see, Superman,’ he said, ‘Do ye like my arse, Man of Steel?’

He pushed his buttocks against Superman’s face, and the hero gave a long moan of pleasure.

‘Hnnnnggh! Yes! I love it. You… you look amazing… oh… you are amazing… c-can’t believe… this happening…!’

‘Oh, it’s happening all right, Superman,’ said the lad softly. ‘Don’t ye worry about that.’ He sat back down on the hero’s lap, warm buttocks pressing against those thighs in their blue tights.

Superman inhaled once more, relishing the male scent from the shorts.

‘The smell,’ he gasped, ‘the smell from your crotch, your shorts… it’s driving me wild! Ohhhhh!’

‘Thought ye’d like it,’ smiled the lad. ‘Now… let’s get to work on you, Superman.’

So saying, slowly he began to toy with the hero’s cock. ‘Haaaaaa!’ groaned Superman. ‘Oh! Finally! I’ve wanted that t-touch… for so long! From.. from another man… me, Superman, being t-touched like this. N-never… never told anyone. Ooh! Thank you. Oh… your hand on my p-penis! Oh boy… it’s so good! Hnngh!’

The man in the suit had begun to kiss the back of Superman’s neck, one hand sliding down the front of his tunic, playing with his nipples. Meanwhile the tracksuited boy guided Superman’s hand inside his white Calin Klein briefs, and the Man of Steel needed no further encouragement. With a cock in both of his hands, the Last Son of Krypton began to masturbate the tracksuited lad and the kilted man, inexpertly at first, but slowly gaining confidence, despite the fact he was shaking with lust. He relished the feel of their wet precum on his skin. He, Superman, who had gone untouched and chaste for so long, was now being set upon by a gang of men almost as horny as he was himself… and he loved it.

‘Thank you,’ he gasped as the footballer began to wank him off through his tights. ‘Oh… give me your cocks… keep doing that to me… to my… my h-helpless erection… I’m Superman! I’m Superman and I finally get to be a man, not just a hero. I’m b-b-being m-masturbated… in my tights! Me, Superman… I’m being masturbated! And it’s other men, doing it to me, helping me give up control. I’m… oh… I’m n-not p-powerful and untouchable any more… I’m weak and horny… s-so, so horny… Take it all from me, sirs! I’m a weak and horny virgin and I’m yours, to do with as you please! Hnngh! Oh… feels so… so… good!’

‘That’s right, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you’re a helpless, horny little man in tights, aren’t you? Not the world’s strongest man any more. Your Alpha status has been removed, taken from you. That’s right, Superman, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Superman, gripping those two cocks and milking them furiously, even as the footballer’s hand flew up and down his own shaft. ‘I’m… n-nothing now… nothing but a… a weak and helpless, horny l-little man… in tights! I’m Superman, the M-man of Steel… strongest man in the world, and yet now I’m helpless in my tights, your Lordship! Oooh! You took away my Alpha status, just like you said - it’s gone, t-taken from me! Ooh! Oh boy! I don’t have to be strong any more… I’ve showed you what I really am… a pitiful little virgin who’s helpless in your clutches… but not a virgin much longer! Oh! Thank you! Oh… my p-penis! Never felt anything like it! If the Elders of K-krypton could see me now… their m-mighty champion… haaaaaaah! I’m debased… disgraced… Oh… your penises… your cocks feel so good! Nothing… could have prepared me… for this! Ooh!’

They fell on him then, and as Superman bucked and writhed beneath their touch, he felt as if those ecstatic feelings would never end.

Brian, the kilted man, gave a long groan. ‘Oh man… you’re milking me so well, Superman. You… hnngh… you’re a top-class masturbator. World’s Finest wanker, aren’t you?’

Superman felt a strange swell of pride at these words. For all that a part of him was shocked and stunned by his own disgraceful behaviour, this was the most intimate he had ever been with any other living being. His virginal state was being deflowered – and not by any one human, but by five other men at once! He loved it. He wanted it. And he badly wanted to please them.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he gasped, as he pumped the man’s cock enthusiastically. ‘I’m… huh… hah… glad you l-like it.’

Brian stood up, but made sure Superman’s hand never left his cock. Looming over the hero as he sat on the couch, he yanked up his kilt, and said: ‘You’re a top-class wanker, Superman, aren’t you? Say it. Say it as you toss me off. Go on.’

‘Uhh,’ groaned Superman, his hands working hard. ‘Yes sir… I’m a t-top-class wanker, sir.’ The word was unfamiliar and sounded strange in his accent. He decided to say it again. ‘I’m a t-t-top-class wanker. I, Superman, am a top-class wanker, sir! Hnngh.’

‘Get your shorts off his head, Elliot,’ said Brian, nodding at the lad in football gear, who obliged and pulled his shorts off of Superman’s head. The hero blinked, as they were removed, and he found himself looking directly up one of the two men he was masturbating, while hands held him firmly, gripping him in his spandex.

‘Uh,’ he gasped, ‘ooh! Ooh! You took them off my head! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!’

‘That’s right,’ said Brian, with a grin. ‘that’s right, Superman – “ooh!” – “uh!” Ye sound good when you whimper pathetically like that, Man of Steel!’

In the grip of lust as they were, each of them laughed at this, except Superman, who was uncertain of what to do or say, and so inevitably he found himself inadvertently making more of these ignominious sounds.

‘I do? Oh! Good! Ooh! Oh! Ooh! Um… I’m glad you like me… wh-whimpering p-pathetically, sir…. Ooh! C-can’t help it! Oh! Ooh! I… I am pathetic… Superman is pathetic and I like being pathetic… ooooh!’

Brian now removed Superman’s hand from his cock, and took over the work himself, one hand moving swiftly up and down his shaft.

‘Do ye want it in your face, Superman,’ he panted. ‘Sh-shall I cum on your face, Superman?’

Superman felt his heart beat faster; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Could he do this? Could he let this young man ejaculate in his face, him, the Man of Steel? Surely he had to draw the line at this? And just with that thought, his instincts took over.

‘Ooh,’ he said, his body on fire with pleasurable sensations, ‘ooh! Y-yes! I d-do want it in my face, sir! P-please do that… do it to me! C-c-cum… on my… f-face! Me, Superman – I want you to cum on my face! Ooh! Ooooh!’

Superman thought back frantically to his days as a teen, masturbating in the fields behind the old Kent farm, unseen by anyone. He remembered the thick wads of hot cum he would expel, and knew then that he wanted it more than anything. ‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘cum on my f-face! Please! I want it, sir!’

He did not have to ask twice. A second later Brian’s cock erupted, spraying a massive volley of hot spunk in the face of the Last Son of Krypton!

‘Gah!’

Superman gasped as the lad’s jizz landed on his nose, cheeks and lips, and as he did so he felt some of the hot spunk entering his mouth. ‘Oh! Oh! Mmm!’

And before he could stop himself, the Man of Steel was eagerly lapping up every drop that made it past his lips.

‘Mmmmm,’ he said, closing his eyes, ‘oh… oh b-boy. Ulp. Mmf. Yeah.’

And there we must leave Superman until the next time, hard, horny, and helpless in his tights, and with a face full of spunk for the first time in his life… but will it be the last? And what does Lord Summerisle really have in store for the debased and humiliated Man of Steel? Find out next time…

If you’ve enjoyed, then please like and leave a comment and there will be more spandex-clad antics on Summerisle soon… meanwhile Happy #Supersubmissivesunday!