Briefs - Tumblr Posts

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...

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…

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?’

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!

And now to see what awaits Superman in the second party of this chapter. Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Five: The Waters of Summerisle - part II

‘Somebody saaave me!’

The voice belonged to a man dangling from a precipice, a blonde haired guy in his thirties, with a weaselly little hipster beard. He was clinging to a jutting piece of rock that hung over a series of murky looking swamp pools amid a wide expansive clearing, surrounded by tall trees. The fall was quite far enough to end a life.

The man’s cries were becoming shallower, and as Superman approached, he saw the guy lose his grip and go hurtling to certain death.

‘Not today,’ he said.

In a heartbeat he had caught the man, and had him in his arms.

‘Huh?’ gasped his passenger. ‘Wait… it can’t be…’

Superman alighted on the ground and gently set down the man he had rescued, who stood before him open mouthed. ‘S-superman? Is it… is that really you?’

He smiled, and as he was so often known to do, he clasped both hands together in front of his crotch. An innocent enough gesture, but also enough to conceal the annoying erection which still would not go down. In fact, as his hands brushed the material covering his penis, he felt his excitement increase, if anything.

‘That’s me, sir,’ he said, in those confident tones so familiar to the whole world. ‘You really should be more careful when wandering around places like this.’

Just then, laughter sounded all around them. Superman furrowed his brow and looked about him. There was no one to be seen anywhere. ‘Did you hear that,’ he asked the man whose life he had just saved. ‘C-can you hear s-someone laughing?’

Superman stumbled slightly over his words and had to focus and think what he was saying. To his astonishment, he realised that the whisky and wine he had taken at the inn had had an effect on him after all. His hands brushed his spandex-clad cock once more, and he felt it react with pleasure.

The man nodded. ‘Ye should come away now, Superman. We shouldn’t be here. Nobody comes here. It’s where the Mad Ones dwell.’

‘The Mad Ones,’ repeated Superman. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The Roaring Bulls. The Bully Boys. They’re crazy, Superman! Spirits that live in the water. Please, ye’ve got tae get us away from here.’

Looking around, it was clear that the only way out was to head to the encircling trees, or to fly them back up from where this young man had fallen. Superman shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, sir – I won’t let anything happen to you, but I’m interested in what you’re telling me. I’d like to know some more about these… these Bully Boys, as you call them.’

‘You will know more… Superman.’

The voice echoed eerily all around them, followed by more laughter. A mist had now begun to form and was drifting over the pools amongst which they stood.

‘Please,’ begged the man, ‘Superman, take me away from here. Fly me out, please. I’ll do anything, just get me away.’

The man really was beside himself. ‘Okay. What’s your name, sir?’

‘Tom,’ said the guy. ‘It’s Tom. Please, Superman, I’m begging you, get me out of here.’

Superman nodded. This man was plainly hysterical. He would fly him to safety and then come back to investigate. ‘Come on then, Tom. Put your arm around my neck…’

Superman broke off, surprised by the almost electric charge that went through his erect penis as he said this. ‘I… um… I mean… let me get a hold of you, and I’ll…’

The laughter echoed all around them once more, and the mist was billowing up from the pools.

‘Of course,’ said Tom, and draped his arm around Superman’s neck ‘Like this, Superman?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘J-just like that.’ The feel of the man’s hand against the bare skin of his neck was making Superman recall Tam’s touch, back at the Inn, and his cock throbbed. He felt fresh wet precum blossoming across his briefs and tights.

He shook his head, and in one swift movement he scooped the man up before he could notice his bulging cock. ‘Okay, Tom,’ he said, ‘let’s get you out of here.’

Superman bent his knees and made to fly off, but nothing happened. In astonishment, he looked at Tom.

‘Come on then, Superman. Please, please – take us away.’

He bent his knees once more and jumped. But nothing happened; his red boots just squelched down hard into the boggy ground.

‘I… I can’t,’ he said in astonishment. ‘My powers are gone… I can’t fly.’

A strange wailing and howling now could be heard. Tom began to whimper with fright, and Superman set him down once more. He paid no mind to concealing his throbbing erection; there were other, more immediate problems.

‘There,’ whimpered Thom, ‘oh… Superman, look over there!’

Superman turned and looked in the direction the man was pointing.

Emerging from the mist that was now closing all about them was a man. At least it had a man’s body, tall and lean and naked except for a pair of black briefs, yet this person wore a mask like the head of a bull. It pointed at them both.

Tom screamed, and before Superman could stop him, the terrified man stumbled away into the mist and was gone. He turned back, and tried to activate his x-ray vision, to see whose face lurked beneath the mask. But nothing happened.

‘My powers,’ he said dumbly. ‘What have you done to me?’

More laughter sounded, as out of the mist all around him came young men. Each wore an animal mask, and each was naked except for a pair of briefs.

‘Who are you men,’ cried Superman. ‘Who are you and what have you done to me?’

The Bull-headed man was drawing close to him now. ‘The question you should ask, Superman, is what will we do to you.’

Everywhere Superman turned, more of these young, masked men in briefs were emerging from the mist, closing in on him. He felt his head whirling, and as his gaze dropped to their bulging crotches, his body coursed with a strange mix of fear and arousal.

‘S-stay back,’ he said. ‘D-don’t you… don’t you touch me!’

The Bull-headed man gave a deep, throaty chuckle. ‘Don’t touch you, Superman? That’s just what you long for us to do.’

‘No,’ he cried out. ‘No!’

‘Why don’t you fly away, Man of Steel?’ asked the Bull-headed man.

‘I c-can’t’ he said, amazed at how his voice was shaking. ‘My p-powers. They’ve g-gone. You took them from me… You must’ve taken them!’

‘Just so. And now… now you are simply a man in tights, aren’t you, Superman?’

‘Huh. Hnngh.’

In that moment the strange and unaccustomed drunkenness he felt somehow increased tenfold. Before he could think, Supermsn found himself agreeing with this.

‘Uh… Y-yes. That’s right.’

‘What are you, Superman?’ asked a man in a fox mask. He squeezed the hero’s spandex clad bicep as he spoke. The touch made Superman’s cock tingle with pleasure, pushing against his now thoroughly wet tights and briefs.

‘What are you now, Man of Steel?’

‘Ah! Oh. Hah,’ he said. ‘I… I’m just a man in tights now. That’s all I am. Without my powers… I’m j-j-just a man in tights… not Super any more… Oh. N-no. you’re t-touching me! You m-mustn’t… Ooh! Ooh! Ah…’

A ripped young man in blue briefs and a wolf mask knelt and took hold of Superman’s thigh and began to kiss it and lick it through his spandex, pulling at the fabric with his teeth. His fingers played with the hero, tantalisingly teasing him in his tights, just below his crotch, invading his most intimate areas and producing the most ignominious sounds of pleasure from the now weak and incredibly horny Man of Steel.

‘Ooh! Ooh! Haaaah! Oh… I… I can’t… I c-can’t hold on! You took my powers and I’m h-helpless! Hnngh Ooooh!’

The Bull-headed man was now immediately in front of him. He reached out one hand and took hold of Superman’s stiff and throbbing cock. The Man of Steel gave a bestial cry of pure desire.

‘Haaaaaaaaaa! Oh! Uh!’

‘And tell us, Superman – what is this? What is this in your tights and briefs, little hero? Tell us!’

‘It’s… hnngh… it’s An erection!’ he gasped. ‘I’ve got an erection in my tights and briefs! I’m hard! Oh! Help! Help me! What… what’s happening to me?’

‘Let’s just say,’ said the man, ‘we’re stripping you.’

‘My clothes,’ said Superman, now in a panic. ‘Don’t take my clothes, my uniform, please!’

‘What about these little red panties?’

Someone behind him slipped one hand down the back of Superman’s briefs, and a warm and playful finger begin sliding its way up between his spandex clad buttocks.

‘Shall we pull your panties down, Superman?’

‘Ooh! Ooh!’ Now he was whimpering just as pathetically as Tom, the man he had rescued.

‘No! No, p-please don’t pull my p-panties down,’ he begged pathetically. ‘Please, not that! Oh! Uh! Haaa!’

Though in truth, it was clear by now that they could do anything to him, and Superman would not be able to stop them.

‘It’s not your clothes we’re stripping you of, you Super dummy,’ said the Bull-headed man. ‘It’s your ego.’

He squeezed Superman’s cock, and as the hero gasped and squirmed, more foaming white precum burst from its tip, gleaming against the red of his briefs.

‘Hnngh! Uh! I I… don’t understand! Oh… my p-penis! My erection. What are you going to do with me?’

‘Just this,’ said the Bull-headed man. He let go of Superman’s pulsing and erect cock. ‘Put him in the water.’

‘What? No! D-don’t!’ Superman looked at the murky swamp pool the man was pointing at. ‘Don’t! Please!’

‘Why fight it,’ said the man. ‘It’s what you want, Superman. I can see it in your head.’

Superman’s eyes widened with terror.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know just what I mean, Superman. I can see your thoughts. I can see it all. I can feel your deepest secrets, your fears… your fantasies. And nothing has ever been as good, no moment has ever been as arousing or exciting… as when Luthor chained you and pushed you helplessly into his pool. Has it, Superman?’

In a flash, once again he was back there in Luthor’s lair. The memory that had been tormenting him ever since he had landed on Summerisle. Lex chaining him… Humiliating him… tweaking his nipples through his spandex until Superman cried out. And at last, when he could take no more, pushing him fully clothed and helpless into his pool.

Giving me my necklace, he thought. Oh God! He knows! He knows everything!

‘Oh! Ooh. Ooh!’ Superman let forth several more of these terrible ignominious whimpers.

‘You sound like a monkey, Superman,’ said a man in light brown briefs wearing an ape mask. ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh!’

More laughter echoed all around him. He felt his penis respond enthusiastically to this further humiliation.

‘How…’ he gasped ‘H-how did you know? My humiliation… what Lex did to me… it’s my deepest secret! Oh…. How could you… ooh. Ooh… oh!’

‘I told you, Supeman – I can see it all, all that is you. You have no secrets here. I have unmanned you. You are naked, despite your tights and briefs. And I asked you a question, Superman.’

The man’s voice was stern and booming. ‘Answer me. No event has ever aroused you or pleased you as much as your humiliation and defeat in Luthor’s pool – am I right? Am I? Answer me, you puny little fool!’

Superman hung his head. ‘Yes. It’s true.’

‘I know,’ said the man in whose thrall he now undoubtedly was. ‘You are nothing to me, Superman, understand?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes sir. I am nothing to you. I’m nothing, sir.’

‘You were hard in your tights and briefs that day, Superman. Are you hard now?’

‘Yes,’ breathed Superman. ‘I’m hard. S-so hard in my t-tights.’

‘You were helpless that day, Superman. Are you helpless now?’

‘Yes. I’m so, so helpless. Utterly helpless.’ As he said this, Superman tried to touch his penis, the urge to masturbate was so great, but the Bull-headed man merely slapped his hand away.

One of the young men now approached with a garland made of some strange plant, a kind of water-lily with long green fronds, and gave it to the Bull-headed man.

‘You let Luthor chain you that, day, Superman. Will you let me chain you now?’

‘Y-yes,’ he replied. ‘Oh, yes. Yes please. Yes sir. Do it. Put it on me.’

Just as he had for Lex, Superman inclined his head, making it easier for the Bull-headed man to reach out and place the garland around his neck.

‘Oh,’ he gasped as it hung around his shoulders. ‘You’ve ch-chained me. You’ve done it. Hnngh. Aaaah.’

‘And what does this signify, Superman, you snivelling chump?’

‘Oh! Oh boy. It… it signifies… mind over muscle. Sir.’

‘Just so. And now. Put him in the water.’

With their hands all over him, making his body thrill, Superman let himself be led to the filthy pool of green, slimey-looking water.

‘Green,’ he murmured, ‘just my colour. Like Luthor said.’

‘Get on your hands and knees, you Superdickhead,’ commanded the Bull-headed man. ‘Down on all fours, now!’

‘Yes sir,’ Superman said meekly, and hurriedly obeyed. Once he was on all fours in the dirt they forced him down and rolled him onto his back.

For a few moments Superman just lay there, while each of them toyed with him, pawing at him, touching him enough to fuel the lust that now engulfed him, but not enough to give him release. The Bull-headed man knelt down and straddled him, tweaking his nipples through his spandex tunic, and Superman’s ecstatic cries rang out all around them. ‘My nipples,’ he shrieked, ‘doing it to me, just like Lex Luthor! Oh! It’s like I’m really n-naked! You knew my f-f-fantasies!’

‘Yes,’ said the Bull-headed man as he pinched Superman’s nipple and pulled it. ‘I know all about you, you poor, helpless little fool. Welcome to your ultimate defeat.’

Finally, when they were done playing with him, as he lay in the wet and filthy mud, feeling it soaking into his spandex, they simply rolled the Man of Steel along, laughing as he moaned in ecstasy at the sensations from his erect cock, until – plop!

With a mighty splash, Superman dropped like a stone into the waters of the filthy swamp pool.

‘Aaah!’ he cried out.

‘how does that feel, Superman?’

‘Hungh!’ he cried. ‘I c-can feel my b-boots… filling with water. They’re sliding off. They’re coming off! Off my legs. Something has my belt… I can feel something pulling at it. My cape! Oooh! Something tore my cape from me! My clothes… my uniform… it’s coming off… I’m losing it all, aren’t I?’

Gasping and spluttering, he looked up at the Bull-headed man. All of them were gathered around the pool, watching him writhe and splash within its depths.

‘Yes, Superman. You’re finally losing it all.’

Superman could stand it no longer. He felt something ripping at his briefs, pulling them down his legs; it seemed he could also feel his tights being yanked down. Semi-naked in the muddy, algae-riddled pool, he took hold of his cock and began to pump it up and down.

‘Superman,’ he cried, ‘I’m Superman and I’m helpless in your clutches! You’ve stripped me of my powers and put me in the water just like Luthor. I’m wet and filthy and humiliated… and hard! Oh God! So hard. And I’ve. Lost. It Allllllllll!’

Erotic pleasure beyond what even his senses could withstand overcame him then, and as something thick and gloopy began to splatter all over him, raining down across his body, Superman closed his eyes and sunk back into the filth and slime.

The last thing he heard, was a voice saying: ‘Good. He is ours now.’

Whose villainous clutches is Superman in, the helpless horny hero? To be continued…

Teaser preview for chapter 6 of SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN - coming soon!

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

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

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

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

Find out what happens to Superman when he meets the charismatic and strong-willed Lord Summerisle in chapter 6, and is drawn further into the twisted machinations of this remote Scottish island and its people, losing more and more of his self-control…

Coming soon!

Happy #ThrobbingThursday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six Part I: The Deconstruction of Superman

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

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

‘Ah! He’s awake at last!’

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

‘Superman. The Man of Steel. Welcome.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, that’s right… your costume.’

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh-what are you? No, I…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed the sparkling wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER SIX PART II…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six: The Deconstruction of Superman

Part II

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

‘Really,’ said the lad in the tracksuit. ‘So does that mean that right now you’re still helpless, Superman?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ he nodded. ‘It means I can’t fly or use my Super-strength. And my invulnerability is completely gone.’

Without thinking, he tried to activate his powers to see beneath the lad’s shiny blue tracksuit. ‘And… gosh… I can’t even use my x-ray vision.’

‘What the hell,’ laughed the lad, ‘did you just try and check out what I was wearing under here, Superman?’

‘Oh. Ah… well… yes! Superman grinned bashfully. ‘Sorry, sir – I just wanted to check my x-ray vision wasn’t working.’

‘So ye thought ye’d test it out by seeing me in my undies!’ exclaimed the lad.

‘Oh… um… I…’ he blustered. It had never occurred to him that he was doing anything wrong. Yet they were all laughing, and once more Superman found himself laughing with them.

‘I’m sorry, sir. Lois always used to like it when I looked to see what underwear she had on. And… and I ah…I felt sure that you were wearing briefs!’

‘Did she really,’ said the lad, with a grin. ‘So you thought you’d get an eyeful of me in ma panties! Do you make a habit of this, Superman, you big Super-pervert?’

‘No!’ Superman’s first reaction was shock – he couldn’t let them think this!

But they were all laughing at him again, and he decided the best course of action was not to take everything so seriously. And after a moment or two, he too laughed along at this.

‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘Well, yes… ah… I guess… perhaps I need to mend my ways.’

‘Aye, Superman,’ said the lad. ‘You’re a naughty wee man, aren’t ye?’

He hesitated, and then replied: ‘Um. Ah… yes, sir. I… I guess I am… very naughty, sir.’

‘Well, say it then,’ said the lad, still grinning, ‘say it, Superman. Tell me what you are.’

Superman held his gaze for a second, deliberating… and then he said: ‘Yes, sir. I’m… a naughty man, sir. I’m a naughty wee man… I’m a very naughty Superman. I sh-shouldn’t have tried looking at your underwear without asking. Sorry, sir. Ooh.’

These words had an intoxicating effect on him, just as he had suspected they might. And they all cheered as he said this.

‘I… I hope you’re not offended?’ he asked the lad. ‘By my trying to look at your underpants?’

‘Course not, Superman. Not a bit. If it’s good enough for Lois Lane, it’s good enough for me! Even if you are a naughty wee Superman!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said with relief. ‘I’m sorry for being a naughty Superman, sir! I won’t be naughty any more, sir!’

They all laughed again at this admission. There, he thought – I went along with it and that’s an end to it.

‘Okay,’ said Superman, ‘now, I wonder if we could talk about…’

The tracksuited lad cut him off. ‘But if ye wanted to see my pants, Superman, ye only had tae ask.’

‘Wait, what?’

Before Superman could stop him, the lad deftly slipped his tracksuit bottoms down, revealing a nicely filled pair of pristine white Calvin Klein briefs. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘ye wanted a look at me in ma panties, didn’t ye, Superman? Anything for you.’

‘Uh… ah… I…’ his cheeks coloured, and yet in truth he couldn’t stop looking at the lad’s bulging underwear.

‘Don’t need your x-ray vision to look at this, do ye, Superman,’ grinned the lad. The room erupted into laughter once more. After a moment’s hesitation, Superman smiled and laughed too, joining in this joke at his expense.

‘No,’ he said chuckling, ‘I guess sometimes I don’t need my powers, sir. And you look… ah… very nice…. In your p-panties… oh! I mean your underpants. Uh. You look great, in fact. Um. Ah. Thank you for um… sh-showing them to me.’

‘My pleasure,’ said the lad softly, staring at the Man of Steel. ‘I’ll leave my keks off, seeing as you like what you see, Superman.’

‘Oh, but wait, I didn’t mean…’

‘It’s nay bother, honest.’

The lad pulled his trackie bottoms down over his shoes and off of his legs, and dropped them on the floor. ‘All gone. Off they come, Superman. Just for you.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Er… I didn’t mean you to, er… thank you.’

‘S’alright. That’s the least I can do, eh?’ The lad sat down next to him, his bottom half now clad just in underwear. His naked thigh was touching the Man of Steel’s own. ‘As long as you like it. You do think I look good in my panties, right, Superman?’

‘I…’ Superman felt caught up in a mix of emotions. Yet this was all so innocent, wasn’t it? And the people here were so considerate.

‘You like me in my panties, don’t you, Superman,’ said the tracksuited lad, softly. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ said Superman. ‘It’s just as I said, sir. You… you look great in your… um… in your panties.’

‘And you like me in them, don’t you?’

He paused, and then said: ‘Yes. Oh. Yes, sir. I d-do like you in your panties. You look wonderful in them. Ah. Huh. Hm. Thank you for showing them to me. Um… thank you, sir. It’s very kind of you to do this. To… take your tracksuit bottoms down and show me… show me what you look like… in your panties.’

He had begun to feel flustered and rather hot, he realised.

‘Why, what a flatterer you are, Superman,’ smiled Lord Summerisle, refilling his glass.

Before he could respond, the long-haired man in the kilt asked him:

‘So if your powers are still gone and you’re helpless… does that mean we could do anything to you, Superman? A room full of us lads… ye couldn’t stop us, could ye?’

Superman swallowed, unsure of where this was going. He ought not to give an answer to this, to do so would be to make himself more vulnerable than he already was. And yet… he found he wanted to reply. He was tired of holding back.

‘Oh. Yes sir,’ he said, ‘that’s quite correct, sir. Without my powers there’s no way I could hold off all of you guys. Probably not even two of you.’

He thought back to when Zod had invaded, and how, stripped of his powers, he had been so badly defeated by the guy in that diner. It seemed so long ago now. For all his bluster, all his bravado and ‘would you care to step outside, he had been beaten to a pulp by a normal human man. It was a truth which made Superman very uncomfortable, and he had always tried to conceal it… until now.

‘Uh… in fact,’ he said, before he could stop himself, ‘the last time I lost my powers I couldn’t even win a fight with one man. Not even one normal guy - he whipped my ass. Gosh. Yes. Without my powers I’m… I’m not Super at all… I’m guessing even just one of you could overpower me physically. Right now… right now, any of you could do anything to me… anything at all… and I c-c-c-couldn’t stop you. Let alone all of you. Ooh.’

‘Well, yes,’ Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘I didn’t like to mention it, but I realised you must still be powerless when I did this…’ He leaned forward and once more flicked the Man of Steel’s penis, making him gasp and give a little whimper. Yet this time he didn’t yelp, and didn’t shrink from the touch.

‘Oh!’ said Superman. He swallowed. ‘Ooh. Er. Yes. You see? I couldn’t even stop you… t-t-touching my… my p-penis, your Lordship. You just reached out and flicked my penis… my most intimate, private part… you did that to me, Superman… and I wasn’t able to stop you! Hnngh.’

‘Yes, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘That’s right.’ And as he spoke, he reached out and did it again.

‘Oh! Ooh! Ooh!!’ said Superman. He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to think about how this made him feel. ‘Stop it, please! My penis… you mustn’t.’

‘My apologies, Superman. It’s just quite fascinating to witness you like this. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.’

Superman stared at him, and then shook his head. He shook his head. ‘I can understand your curiosity, sir. It’s strange for me as well. Being so utterly helpless like this… it’s new to me… never felt anything like this before.’

‘Aye,’ said the lad in the tracksuit, his leg firm and warm against Superman’s own. ‘I bet ye haven’t.’

The atmosphere had changed suddenly. There was no more laughter, and the silence seemed charged and heavy. Superman swallowed again. He looked at the man in the kilt.

‘Uh… I… why did you ask me that?’ he said. ‘Why did you want to know if you could do anything to me… and why did you ask me if I w-wouldn’t be able to s-stop you? Whuh-what… what is that you’ve got planned for me? Are you going to do something with me? Are you going to do something to me?’

Superman gulped and looked at their faces. His heart was beating fast. He was weak and helpless without his abilities - totally powerless and at their mercy, sat there in his tights. And he had just told them all and confirmed this for them.

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

Find out what lies in store for Superman, the hapless, helpless Man of Steel in the next instalment! If you’ve enjoyed then please hit Like, and the next stage of Superman’s breathtakingly humiliating adventures on Summerisle will be along soon…

Meantime, happy #ThrobbingThursday!

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 7 part 1 - Stripping Away Superman’s Desires

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes,’ said Lord Summerisle, refilling the hero’s glass. ‘That’s magic for you, Superman. Now, drink. Drink, and tell me what it is you truly want. I want to get a good look inside your head.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh-what?’

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

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

This elicited a round of laughter, to his mortification.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hah! Oh! Oh…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Um… Whuh-what, sir?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

Time to return to Scotland and find out how the world’s greatest hero is faring, as he sits powerless, outwitted and horny in the clutches of the devilish Lord Summerisle and his insidious men… Watch out, Superman - it’s mind over muscle once more!

Happy #ManOfJelloMonday !

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 1: Superman’s Dreams Let Loose

‘Hnngh! Oh! Mmf!’

Superman’s enthusiastic groans and muffled noises of ecstasy rang out, as hot spunk battered his face and flooded his mouth. On instinct, he tried desperately to gulp and swallow what he could. The warm, viscose feel as it slipped down his throat was strange and new to him, and he found he wanted to experience more of it. His hands reached for his yearning erection and squeezed it through his tights. Gripping his spandex clad shaft as he swallowed the hot and sticky cum, Superman gave a deep groan of pleasure. He was finally able to act on these feelings he had buried for so long. It felt beyond amazing, and his wet cock pulsed in his hands.

At the same time, he became dimly aware of the front of his spandex tunic being grasped. The man in the sharp business suit was had hold of him and was pulling it.

‘Well, would ye look at this,’ he said with a grin, ‘turns out playing with cock is a sweaty business for Superman now that ye’ve no more superpowers, eh?’

‘Uh. Hnngh. Huh? Wh-what?’

As the stream of spunk from Brian’s cock began to slow, the suited man grabbed a handful of spandex from beneath each of Superman’s armpits and pulled, stretching the fabric out. And then he realised what he meant: the bright blue of his tunic was darkened and moist with his own considerable perspiration. The Man of Steel was sweating furiously, and so much so that for the first time in his life he had large and noticeable wet stains at each of his armpits. The guy in the suit laughed at him.

‘Something else new to get used to, eh, Supey?’

‘I… uh… yes…’ gasped the hero feebly, uncertain how to react.

This elicited more laughter, and a second later the suited guy released his armpits and grabbed Superman by his famous S-shield instead, pulling the top of his uniform right out at the neck to allow access to the hero’s chest. Brian, the guy in the kilt, had now finished blowing his considerable load, and Superman opened his cum-soaked eyes in surprise to find that Elliot – the footballer, who had parted company from his football shorts, and whose red briefs were around his thighs – was now also nearing climax. As the guy in the business suit obligingly held Superman’s tunic open, Elliot gave a roar and began to pump a fresh load of cum into the hero’s spandex.

Superman shrieked with delight as he felt the top of his uniform being filled with cum; he squealed as it squirted across his excited nipples and his hairy chest, coating them, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing it in.

‘Oh!’ he gasped. ‘You’re cumming all over me! You’re cumming all over Superman, and I… I’m just letting you! Oh! Oh! Thank you! G-give it to me! Mmmmmm! I’m a helpless horny hero in my tights… c-c-cum all over me, sir! You’re cumming on Superman! Uhhhh! Cum all over me, please! Give to me! Cum on me, please!’

And cum they did! At Lord Summerisle’s urging, Superman was dragged to his feet. Reluctantly, he relinquished their touch on his cock, for now it was the turn of Darius, the man in the sharp city business suit, to give Superman his due.

‘Open your tights to me, Superman,’ Darius ordered. ‘Open up your tights and hold them out and steady. I’m going to cum inside them, and I’m going to cover your wee virgin cock with my spunk. Understand?’

‘Oh! Yes!’ gasped Superman. ‘Yes, sir. I understand. Ooh! Th-thank you, sir.’

With trembling hands, the hero pulled out the waistband of his tights, revealing his excited and throbbing cock.

‘H-here,’ he gasped, ‘my tights are open and my p-p-penis is ready for you. I pulled out my tights, just as you t-told me to, sir. Ooh! Ooh! Listen to me… f-following orders! Ooh! I do as I’m told now! You’ve made me obedient! You’ve made Superman obey your commands! Oh! Ooh! C-can’t… believe… this is happening to me!’

The guy who had been dressed in a tracksuit, and who now wore just his suit-top, his socks and a pair of white Calvin Klein briefs, hooted with laughter at this. ‘Believe it, Superman,’ he said, ‘your cock sure does!’

The lad’s name was Angus, and now he coyly grabbed the top of his tracksuit. ‘What do ye think, Supes? Would ye like me to take this off for ye? Would ye like that - me just in my panties, Superman?’

‘Oh… oooh! Ooh!’ whimpered the lust crazed Man of Steel, wide-eyed at this suggestion. ‘Y-yes. I would like that, sir. That would be wonderful… You just in your p-p-panties. Hnngh.’

Angus smiled. ‘Well then,’ he said softly. ‘Off it comes. Anything for you, Superman.’

‘Ooh!’ came the response. ‘Thank you! Thank you, sir! Mmmm…’

Teasingly, Angus removed his tracksuit top, enjoying the obvious effect this had on the horny hero. He held it out for a moment, before letting it fall to the ground. Then he swooped down, grabbed Superman by the hair, pulled back the Man of Steel’s head and kissed him.

As Angus’s tongue entered the hero’s mouth, caressing and lapping through the layers of Brian’s spunk, for a second Superman felt he might actually collapse, so great were the feelings of ecstatic pleasure which racked his body. Together, their tongues twined and teased, and the Last Son of Krypton revelled in his own disgrace.

At last, Angus released him, and with a grin, he tweaked the panting hero’s nipples through his wet blue and red spandex. Then he turned his attention to Darius, who was clearly ready to cum. His fly was lowered and his stiff cock was in his hand being pumped, but he was somewhat encumbered by the trousers of his sharp dark suit, which were still fastened.

‘Allow me,’ said Angus, and with dextrous fingers, he stood behind Darius and undid his trousers. That done, he yanked them down to his knees, along with the man’s black briefs.

‘There ye go, pal,’ said Angus. ‘Pants down. Don’t keep Superman waiting now, will ye? He’s desperate for your hot load in his tights and all over his cock. Isn’t that right, Supes?’

‘Yes!’ gasped Superman. ‘I… I am… d-desperate for you to p-put your p-penis in my tights… ooh! I want you to put your penis in my tights and f-fill them with c-cum! Oh! C-can’t believe I can actually be saying this! It’s unthinkable! B-but I love it! I’m Superman… and I want you to fill my tights with your cum! C-cum on my penis, sir!’

‘Your cock, Superman,’ ordered Lord Summerisle. ‘Stop saying penis. You want him to cum on your cock. Your virgin cock. Don’t you? I said, don’t you?’

As he said this Summerisle gave Superman a couple of sudden hard slaps on his buttocks. The Man of Steel gave a yelp.

‘Ow! Ooh! Oh! Yes, your Lordship! I… I do… uh… I do want him to c-cum on… on my cock! My virgin cock! Cum on my virgin cock, please! Cover it with spunk, sir – cover my puny virgin cock with your hot cum!’

As he spoke, Superman attempted to shove one hand into his tights and grab hold of his erection, so desperate was he for release, but Lord Summerisle took a firm hold of it and forced the hero to keep both hands stretching the waistband of his tights out, to give Darius access.

‘Well, then, Superman,’ smiled Darius, ‘seeing as you ask so nicely…’

He was an inch or two taller than the Man of Steel, and he spoke, he stepped forward, and put his cock and balls just over the waistband of the hero’s waiting tights.

‘Now,’ he gasped, ‘here it comes, Superman!’

It was a huge load. At first Superman stared into Darius’s eyes as he began to cum, but then had to look down and watch, as his most intimate parts were coated with the thick, hot spunk that now began to course into his spandex as the other man pumped away at his erupting cock. The feelings were so extraordinary that Superman made more noise than Darius himself; it made him shake and his knees knocked together in his tights, rivulets of cum running down each leg.

‘Oh! Ooooooooooooooooh! Ooh! My cock! My c-c-c-cock! You’ve c-covered my c-c-cock with your c-cummmmmmmmm! Ooh! Ooh! F-f-filling me! F-filling my tights with your s-spunk! You’re c-cumming in my uniform! Hnnnngh!Ooh!’

When Darius’s cock had shot its last few drops into Superman’s tights, Lord Summerisle and Angus knocked the hero’s hands away. As the spandex waistband snapped back into place, they made him sproosh the hot spunk all around inside his tights. Superman groaned and whimpered pathetically as he massaged Darius’s semen into his spandex, and several times as his hands touched his cock he attempted to masturbate, but the Lord and his men would not allow it – not yet.

As for Angus, he had not climaxed, but had been steadily yanking himself throughout this degrading takedown of the world’s most powerful man.

‘And now, Superman,’ he said, ‘now time for something a wee bit different. Can I get him on his knees, your Lordship?’

‘Of course,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You heard Angus, Superman – get down on the floor and get on your knees. Kneel, Superman. Obey. Kneel.’

‘Ooh! Ohhh…’ For a moment, Superman was transported to another time and another place, as he remembered his steadfast defiance and refusal to kneel before General Zod. But this seemed a lifetime ago, when he still had his powers. He was a warrior then, holding out with all his strength to save his adopted planet. Whatever he was now, here, it was a world away from that. And although he hesitated, after just a brief handful of seconds, Superman did as he was told. The Man of Steel obediently got down on to the floor and knelt before Angus.

He felt his knees squish into the cooling spunk that now coursed through the legs of his tights, coating them. Eyes wide, he looked up at the handsome, wiry young man.

‘I did as you ordered, Angus, sir. I obeyed. I… Superman… am kneeling. I submit. I submit, sirs… Hnngh. Oooh. Ohhhh. I submit! Wh-what… what are you g-g-going to do with me? Angus? Sir? What happens to me now?’

Angus stood and loomed over the hero. The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.

‘Pull down my underwear, Superman,’ he said softly. ‘I want you to pull my pants down and help me out of them.’

Superman nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

The Man of Steel took hold of those pristine white briefs, which were stretched around Angus’s legs, and slowly lowered them to his ankles, allowing them to bunch. And then, as the lad stepped out of them, Superman helped him, and reverently placed the briefs to one side.

‘Well done, Superman,’ said Angus. ‘That’s very good.’

Superman looked up at him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And now, Superman… you are going to suck me off.’

Despite himself, the hero gasped. ‘Wh-what?’

‘You heard me, Superman. You’re going to suck my cock. And you’re going to do it willingly and enthusiastically. Aren’t you… Man of Steel?’

Angus gave a slight sneer as he said these last words. He met the hero’s quivering gaze with a look of triumph and of challenge. Yet if he expected resistance, he found none.

‘Yes,’ replied Superman slowly. ‘I’m going to ah… that is… I… um…’

He swallowed, tasting cum as he did so, and it strengthened his resolve.

‘I’m going to… to suck your cock, sir. Oh! Ooh! Oh! Did you all hear me? I said it! I did it! I’m Superman, I’m the Man of Steel… I’m the Last Son of Krypton… and I’m going to remain here on my knees before you and suck your cock, Angus… sir! Ooh! Ooh! Listen to me saying those terrible words! And you’re right – I want it! I’m going to suck your cock willingly and enthusiastically, and I’m going to make a good job of it! I’ve never done anything like this before, but I promise you, Superman is going to do all he can to give you a… a Super-blowjob, sir! I’m ready to suck my f-first c-cock!’

It was all that Angus could do to stop himself from erupting right away as Superman knelt before him, looking hungrily at his bulging cock as he babbled these demeaning words.

‘Please,’ said the hero at last, reaching out his hands anxiously. ‘Please may I have it now, sir? Please may I suck your cock?’

‘Ask his Lordship,’ said Angus. ‘And as you do, hold up your hands and beg like a dog.’

‘Ooh!’ said Superman. ‘Oh…. Oh b-boy. You want me to b-beg… like a dog.’

‘Yup. Just like a dog. That a problem for ye, Superman?’

Again, there was another brief pause, as if some trace of resistance on Superman’s part was being eroded and worn away. And then he nodded.

‘No, sir. Of course not. I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll b-beg like a… like a d-d-dog.’

Slowly, Superman raised up his hands to the height of his chest. Then he let them go weak and limp at the wrists, exactly like a begging dog.

Trivial and playful as it was, this act seemed to demean Superman all the more – he was already on his knees asking to suck cock, and yet he had grovel shamefully like this and to ask Lord Summerisle’s permission before that straining, stiff erection would be his. He stared at the tip, which was awash with precum, and imagined it in his mouth, where just a short time ago Angus’s tongue had been, making him feel such wonderful things. Surely his cock would provide even greater thrills for the kneeling and submissive Man of Steel? He had to have it!

Superman turned to look up at the Lord of this strange place.

‘Please, Lord Summerisle,’ he began in a voice hoarse with lust. ‘Please may I suck Angus’s cock, sir? I promise I’ll do my best. I promise your Lordship. Please let me suck him… I… I want it, sir. Please let me have it. Oh… let me suck him, please!’

Superman felt Lord Summerisle’s hand at his neck in a moment, caressing him and playing with his spunk-drenched spandex. The touch was warm and thrilling, and it also reinforced Superman’s sense of utter submission. This man was greater than him. This man had mastered him.

‘Good little Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you are exactly what I imagined you to be. Now, here is your reward. You may suck it. Suck Angus’s cock, Superman. Let this act and our seed properly welcome you to Summerisle, you willing, kneeling, craven little fool. Suck it, Superman. Slobber away on it, like the great spandex-clad buffoon that you are.’

Superman was not expecting Lord Summerisle’s insulting words. Yet as much a small part of him wanted to rebut them, another, stronger part of the Man of Steel found himself aroused to receive such a shaming rebuke. In fact, it turned him on so much that before he even knew what he was doing he found himself echoing and repeating these sentiments, and wallowing in how much it turned him on to do so.

‘Hnngh. Yes. Yes, your Lordship. That’s right. I’m a b-buffoon. I’m a… a s-s-spandex-clad b-buffoon. I’m Superman, and I’m on my knees… c-craven and p-pathetic in my f-filthy tights. I came to this island the most powerful man in the world, and yet now… I’m a h-helpless, horny man in t-tights… and I’m on my knees… and now… I’m g-going to suck cock! Oh! I’m going to suck cock! Me, Superman… I’m going to suck my first cock! Ohhhh!’

He could hold on no longer, and as the last of these demeaning words left Superman’s lips, he lent forward and took hold of Angus’s cock.

The feeling of joy as Superman slid that penis into his waiting mouth was like nothing he had ever experienced or could ever have imagined until that moment. The hard, throbbing shaft against his wet tongue, mastering him, governing him, making Superman, the mighty Man of Steel into nothing but a means of pleasure for another male aroused him so completely that he entered into an almost trance-like state.

Minutes passed, and Superman lived up to his promise to give a “Super-blowjob”, sucking, licking and lapping away. But by now, Angus himself had done a heroic job of holding back, and there was only so much he could take of this astonishing, depraved, dazzling performance.

‘I’m cumming,’ he roared, as his spunk began to batter the tonsils of the Last Kryptonian. ‘I’m cumming in ye, Superman! The Man of Steel is drinking my spunk! Swallow it all, Superman! Take every last drop!’

For his part, Superman barely tasted the waves of cum that came soaring into his mouth, so frenzied and turned on was he by what he was doing. He thrashed and bucked, whilst making deep groans of arousal, and even after Angus withdrew his cock and wiped the tip across the hero’s S-shield, the Man of Steel continued to moan and gasp in sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Lord Summerisle looked on coolly, as Angus finished wiping his dick on the world’s greatest hero and hunted around for his white briefs. Still gulping and making noises of debased contentment, Superman turned and looked up at the man in whose stately home he had just got down on his knees and given his first blowjob. He shivered at the steel he saw in those eyes.

‘So then,’ the Lord said softly, ‘now it’s my turn, Superman. Let’s see how you dance for the Organ Grinder, you helpless, horny, pathetic little monkey.’

What next for Superman in his extraordinary visit to the strange Scottish backwater? Just what does Lord Summerisle intend for the hapless, helpless, horny hero? Can he win back his powers? Has he lost himself forever more? Just where are his briefs? And will he ever get the release he so badly craves?

Find out in the next instalment, coming soon! And if you have enjoyed this, then please Like and consider leaving a comment.

In the meantime, happy #ManOfJelloMonday!

Time at last to go back to that small Scottish Island, where Superman has been lured, only to end up an inadvertent guest in the stately home of Lord Summerisle. The Man of Steel has let his hair down, and his guard along with it, allowing the insidious Summerisle to slowly get inside his head, persuading him to reveal his deepest and most intimate secrets. Doing so has left the powerless hero horny as hell, and Lord Summerisle’s men have lost no time in gleefully opening Superman up to new experiences. They have all had their fun with him, each new act slightly taking the Man of Steel further towards his deep-buried depraved desires. We rejoin him now, as he basks in the ecstatic glow of having sucked off Angus. Superman has given his first blowjob… but will it be his last? Read on and see…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 2: The Price of Pleasuring Angus

Just then he heard a clear, strong voice say softly: ‘So, now it’s my turn, Superman. Let’s see how you dance for the Organ Grinder, you helpless, horny, pathetic little monkey.’

Cautiously, Superman raised his head and looked up at Lord Summerisle.

The man was so imposing. He was gazing down at the Man of Steel with ice cold dominance in his eyes.

‘It’s just like he said,’ thought Superman, ‘there is an alpha in this room, and for once, not one single person thinks it’s me. Because he’s removed that from me. He’s taken that status away from me - he’s done that to help me realise my dreams. The dreams I had never even properly admitted to myself. This man… he’s amazing. He’s incredible. Such power…’

And it was true: no one could be in any doubt as to who was the alpha, the strongest man in the room. Not Superman, the Last Son of Krypton, who had arrived here with the powers of a god, yet had so easily been stripped of them, and who now was on his knees like a craven, lust-driven fool, missing most of his clothes and covered in cum. No, it was the man before whom he now knelt, who had done what General Zod could not: Lord Summerisle. This normal, mortal man with a fierce intelligence and a natural authority, who seemed to see right into Superman’s very soul, and whose gentle encouragement had deftly removed all of his defences and disguises, laying bare secrets he thought he would never reveal to another living being.

Without his remarkable abilities and his public persona to hide behind, how swiftly and how eagerly Superman had embraced sexual subjugation. Encouraged and tempted by Lord Summerisle’s handsome acolytes, he had rushed to be complicit in his submission, and in return… they had cum all over him and inside him, coating and filling his uniform and his mouth with their spunk. And he had revelled in it, embraced it, leapt at the chance to obey these men and to follow their demeaning orders, his body exploding with pleasurable sensations no experience in his life until this point could even come close to.

‘And I’ve sucked cock,’ thought Superman, as the events of the last hour tumbled over themselves inside his head, the full reality dawning on him. ‘I’ve sucked a cock for the first time in my life… and I liked it! Oh…. Oh god, and not only that: I begged for it! They told me to beg Lord Summerisle to let me suck Angus’s cock… and I did it! I, Superman, begged for the privilege of sucking this man off!’

Lord Summerisle crossed the room to refill his glass, and as he moved aside, Superman dimly caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass pane of one of the French windows. His eyes widened.

'If my enemies could see me now: the mighty Man of Steel… on my knees in my filthy tights and tunic. Ooh! Luthor, Zod, Nuclear Man… what would they say if they could see me like this? I told Zod I would never kneel, but I’ve done much worse now. And I’m still hard! Will they ever let me cum?’

‘My erection,’ he moaned softly, ‘aaah…’

Superman’s raging erection was indeed still pushing up, straining desperately against the soiled fabric of his tights, yearning for release. Once more, his hand moved to his cock, aching to end his torment.

‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘you’ve got to let me cum… please!’

Lord Summerisle was by his side in an instant and slapped Superman’s hand away before it could touch his penis. He was rather more forceful this time, and the hero gave a slight yelp at being struck like this.

‘How dare you, Superman, you great, blubbering buffoon?’ The Lord grabbed his chin and forced it upwards.

‘All I have done for you… all we have done for you… and your only concern is for your pathetic, virginal cock.’

‘But p-p-please, your Lordship,’ stammered the Man of Steel. ‘I thought you were all going to help me… let me l-l-lose it all… I thought… you’ve all c-c-cum… let me have release, sir, p-p-please!’

‘You self-absorbed, egotistical little cretin,’ sneered Summerisle. ‘You’ve not been paying attention, Superman, you horny, powerless little man.’

‘Wh-what do you mean? I d-don’t understand?’ Superman’s arousal receded somewhat, replaced by confusion and alarm.

Lord Summerisle thrust a glass of champagne at him, and roughly poured it down his throat, making him gag. He spluttered wildly, swallowing a bizarre mix of spunk and fizzing wine.

The Lord threw the glass aside. ‘Here you are in my house, Superman, in my home. We rescued you, and I had you cleaned up, offered you hospitality. I have coaxed out of you your most private desires, given you champagne, fed you the cock and fresh spunk that you so obviously crave… and you didn’t even think to do anything for me in return. Don’t you think that I, as the Lord of this island, and the man who has done so much for you, should cum before you, you pathetic Super-dickhead?’

‘Oh! Oh!’ Superman cried out frenziedly. ‘I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, your Lordship! Forgive me, sir! Forgive me!’

He threw himself down upon the ground and prostrated himself before the Lord.

‘I’m so sorry, sir! You have done so much for me. I got carried away. So… so aroused… I’m… oh! Ooh! I feel so horny that I’m not thinking straight. Of course you must cum before me, your Lordship. I want that more than anything, sir. You’ve been so good to me. You were right - you even allowed me to suck my first cock! I’m an idiot, please forgive me!’

Lord Summerisle ignored him, idly holding up a hand and examining his fingernails. Superman began to panic, and before he knew it, he was grovelling once more, hands pressed together as he pleaded.

‘Please, your Lordship. This is all new to me. Don’t forget, I’m a… I’m a virgin. A Super-virgin, not as experienced as you all are; it’s no wonder I was so thoughtless. What can I do, to help you cum, your Lordship? Please, please - I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.’

Summerisle looked down at Superman’s eager face. He could not help but be amused by how utterly crazed with lust the Man of Steel was; he practically salivating, so desperate was he for more.

‘I’ll do anything, sir,’ he said again.

‘Anything?’

‘Yes! Anything at all, sir. Do you…’ Superman hesitated for a second and then said, with excitement in his voice: ‘Do you want me to, uh… suck you off, your Lordship? I think… I think I did a good job just now, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Would you like to do the same for you, sir? I’d like to - it’d be my honour, in fact.’

With every word he spoke, Superman realised he was growing more and more turned on by the idea of sucking this extraordinary, dominating man’s penis.

‘Please,’ he murmured. ‘Ohh, p-please, Lord Summerisle. Won’t you do me the honour of letting me s-suck you off?’

Will Superman get what he wants? What does Lord Summerisle really have in mind for the hapless, horny hero? And how did Angus rate Superman’s first frenetic foray into fellatio? Will the Last Son of Krypton soon have his lips around the cock he craves? Or does a different fate lie in store for him?

Find out in the next instalment! Thanks for reading, and as ever, if you enjoyed it please leave a comment. More from Superman and the sinister Summerisle soon…

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

What follows is a work of fiction, meant entirely for pleasure, involving Superman, the Man of Steel, exploring his secret and long-held sexual fetishes with other men. It is not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended, nor any offence meant. If any of this is not for you for whatever reason, or if you feel it is likely to cause offence then please do not proceed any further.

However… if you would like to see what happens next to Superman, powerless, horny and at the mercy of the fiendish mystic Lord Summerisle and his band of handsome young men… well then, read on! If you thought times were hard right now, trust me, they’re even harder for the hapless Man of Steel. Superman has been lured to this strange Scottish island, and he now finds himself helpless and in the throes of a profound sexual awakening…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8 part 3 - Breaking Free

Lord Summerisle looked down at Superman’s eager face and wide eyes. The Man of Steel craved release so badly, but he had now been taught to respect and obey. It was time to test that obedience, to see just how far he would go. In order to bend Superman to his purpose, he had to make sure his loyalty was both blind and unquestioning.

‘Anything, Superman?’

‘Yes! Oh yes! Absolutely anything at all, sir. Do you…’ Superman hesitated for a second and then said, with an excitement in his voice that he could not disguise:

‘Do you want me to, uh… suck you off, your Lordship? I think… I think I did a good job just now, didn’t I?’

‘Well,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you might well think you did a good job, but that’s not for you to say. Let’s see what Angus thought. How was Superman’s cocksucking? Were you pleased with him? Did the Man of Steel deliver a Super-blowjob?

The Man of Steel turned his gaze on Angus, looking across at him eagerly, craving the lad’s approval. To his slight surprise, he noticed that Angus had swapped underwear with Darius; after cumming in Superman’s mouth, the handsome young man had pulled on the first garment he’d happened upon. Darius was now wearing the pristine white Calvins and Angus was sat on the floor in black briefs and socks, regarding the hero with languid amusement. Superman forced himself to look him in the eye, as he asked in a quavering voice: ‘Did I…. Did I do a good job, Angus? Was it… I mean… did I p-please you?’

Angus said nothing, but just stared at him. Superman felt his heart begin to race, and he could barely keep the anxiety from his voice. ‘Angus? Sir? Was my… was my c-cocksucking okay? I tried my best, honest.’

Angus stood up and gave a smirk as he began to slowly walk in a circle around the kneeling, lust-crazed Man of Steel. He took his time before answering, but at last he said:

‘It wasnae bad, Superman. But I think ye missed a bit. Aye… just here.’

He slowly slid his black briefs down his beautiful thighs and held up his dick, proffering it to the astonished and horny Man of Steel.

‘You see, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you have much to learn.’

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry Angus! I’m sorry, sir! I’ll fix it!’

Before their eyes, Superman scrambled across on his knees and reached for Angus’s cock with one trembling hand.

‘I apologise, Angus,’ he said, ‘that was clumsy of me, sir. Please… please may I please be permitted to make amends?’

Sure enough, there were a few drops of cooling spunk that had made their way to the tip of Angus’s shaft. Wide-eyed, Superman stared at them and licked his lips.

‘Aye. Ye may, Superman,’ said Angus. ‘I permit you to lick those last few drops of my cum… which you so carelessly left behind.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ The horny hero babbled and gripped the now flaccid penis. ‘Thank you, Angus, sir. That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you for letting me… mmmm…. Mmph.’

Superman thrust the penis between his lips and greedily sucked away at the rogue drops of spunk, moaning gently as he did so. By the time he had thoroughly cleaned Angus’s dick with his tongue, the lad was stiffening again, in spite of himself.

‘Hnngh. Oh man… Yeah… it’s got tae be said… that’s… no bad job you’re doing… good boy, Superman,’ Angus gasped. ‘This is a talented wee cocksucker we’ve got here, your Lordship. Good boy.’

Lord Summerisle chuckled. ‘Well done, Superman. It seems your newfound cocksucking skills do, in fact, speak for themselves.’

The lads all applauded at this and Superman’s eyes gleamed.

‘That’s enough now though,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Angus - second helpings aren’t on the menu… yet.’

‘Pity,’ said Angus, as he reluctantly withdrew his semi-erect cock from Superman’s mouth. ‘The Man of Steel looks like he could use a wee bit more. He’s certainly earned it. You’re well on your way to becoming a Super-cocksucker, my man.’

Superman licked his lips and allowed himself a grin of pride at this compliment, delighted to have begun to win the approval of Lord Summerisle’s men. As Angus pulled up his black briefs and stuffed his cock back inside them, the hero returned his attention to Lord Summerisle.

‘Thank you, Angus, and thank you, your Lordship,’ he babbled. ‘Oh, thank you! I’m glad to have done a good job sucking Angus’s cock. I’m pleased you think I have potential… the potential to be a Super-cocksucker. And now…’

His eyes strayed to Lord Summerisle’s crotch, where a sizeable package was bulging against his expensive coal black trousers.

‘Now, your Lordship,’ said Superman, somewhat hoarsely. ‘Can I… that is… d-do I g-get to…. I mean… please… please may I have the honour of sucking you off too, sir?’

The hero looked up with pleading in his eyes. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, sir. I’ll give you a S-super B-blowjob.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘But I’ve already seen you give fellatio your best shot, Superman. Now it’s my turn with you… my turn to use you for pleasure, however I see fit. And I have no interest in being sucked off by you just now.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the Man of Steel, his expression suddenly one of keenest disappointment. ‘B-b-b-but I thought… oh, p-please… please let me suck it, sir! I’ll do an even better job this time, I swear!’

‘Shut up,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You said you would do anything, didn’t you, Superman?’

‘Yes!’ The hero nodded rapidly. ‘Anything, sir, anything at all to thank you for wh-what you’ve d-d-done for me.’

‘Excellent,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘In that case, get back on all fours, Superman. I intend to fuck you. How do you feel about that?’

‘Whuh…. What?!’

The Man of Steel sank back a little, as if winded. Despite his rapid descent into these untold disgraceful delights, he had not seen this coming. ‘I… um… I….’

‘Come along,’ smiled Summerisle. ‘Don’t be coy. How do you feel about me fucking you, Superman? Taking you from behind. Doing you on all fours. How would that be with you?’

The hero swallowed. This was not what he had anticipated… being penetrated by another man. And yet…

‘I… well… I g-guess I did say I would do “anything”, your Lordship,’ he mumbled, staring awkwardly about the room. Lord Summerisle’s men were all watching him, hungry as a pack of wolves. ‘If you… if that’s what you want…. What you want to d-d-do to me…. Then I guess it’s okay with me. Whatever you say, sir.’

Summerisle grabbed him by the jaw and forced Superman to look up.

‘Spare me your fawning, you craven little prick,’ he hissed.

Superman couldn’t stop the amazement from showing on his face; no one would ever normally dare speak to him like this. Once again he registered the novelty of being in the presence of a more dominant man, one who was so obviously the Alpha in the room.

Lord Summerisle stared down at the hero, reading every emotion, taking note of everything Superman was experiencing. There was an innocence about his expression, mixed with confusion, arousal and terror. Summerisle found it both potent and addictive, and so he nodded slowly and went further.

‘I asked you, Superman, you ridiculous, horny little coward, to tell me how you felt about me fucking you. Not to tell me that you’d go along with it because I ordered you to. I can order you to do anything I wish. I want to know what it is that you want? Come on - dig deep, you grovelling little…’ he paused and then continued: ‘you grovelling, pathetic little Super-dickhead… tell me what it is that you want. NOW!’

‘Ooh! Oh! Ooh!’

Superman whimpered suddenly, his cock throbbing with excitement in his tights at Lord Summerisle referring to him in this demeaning way. A fresh bloom of white pre-cum bubbled up across the blue of his tights, as he wet them further still.

‘You… you c-called me a… a S-s-super…. A Super-dickhead! Ooh! Hnngh. Uhhhh…!’

The effect this was having on the hero was obvious. Summerisle’s men began to close in on him, sensing his increased arousal.

‘Indeed I did, Superman. For that’s what you truly are: Superman, the Super-dickhead. Isn’t it? I said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ said Superman. ‘You’re c-c-correct, sir. I… I… I’m Superman, the S-s-s….’

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. He looked down at his wet crotch. There was now so much white bubbling across his blue tights that it was as if a can of shaving foam had burst inside them. And it made him feel so, so horny… and so foolish. It was just as his Lordship said.

He began to nod his head. ‘I’m Superman the Super-dickhead. That’s right… a Super-dickhead. That’s me. Oh. Oh boy. Oh god…’

Lord Summerisle gave an approving smile. ‘Just so. And now… answer the question. Answer it honestly, or I shall make sure you never, ever get the blessed release you so crave. How do you feel about men fucking you, Superman? How does the Man of Steel feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman found these words echoing inside his head. His mind clouded over and suddenly it was as though he was back at the Fortress of Solitude. He imagined himself kneeling before the Elders of Krypton, his cock hard, shaming him in his tights and briefs. Those stern, patrician faces, ghosts of a world he had never truly known, staring down at him in judgement.

‘You cannot do this thing, Kal El.’

‘You are the Last Son of Krypton. You may not dishonour your race this way. We shall not allow it.’

‘The son of Jor-El is erect! How dare you be erect in our presence! You must resist your filthy lusts. You shall have no release!’

‘No release! No release! No release!’

‘No!’ shouted Superman. He remained meekly on his knees, but his voice was defiant.

‘Why should I have no release? Why should I live a life without knowing pleasure? This is my home now, not Krypton. And I have kept my desires secret long enough. I… I… I am…’

He shook slightly, gathering all of his strength and willpower to give him courage to say what was in his heart.

‘I am Superman. That’s what they call me here. The Man of Steel. Yet today… today I… I sucked another man’s penis…’

He gazed up at the Elders of Krypton, trying not to lose his nerve.’

‘I’m Superman, he repeated, ‘and today I sucked cock for the first time, and I liked it! And I’m good at it! I sucked a cock and I felt such pleasure… and I won’t apologise for that… I won’t! And I want more!’

He went to activate his heat vision, but nothing happened. The ghostly faces of the Elders of Krypton disappeared, each shaking his head in disapproval as they faded away.

Superman blinked. He was still on his knees in the house of Lord Summerisle, into whose eyes he now found himself gazing.

‘Well, Superman? Answer the question. How do you feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman bit his lip, but he could remain silent no longer. He blurted out:

‘I want you to do it! Please! I do want it…. I want you…. I want you…. oh! I want you to fuck me, Lord Summerisle! Oh! There, I said it! I… I’m Superman… I’m the most powerful being in the world… or I was before I came here. But now… I’m here in your house…utterly and literally powerless… I’m on my knees before you and I want you to fuck me, sir! I beg you to do it!’

The men applauded him once more, and it gave Superman courage. He smiled calmly at them all, panting as he looked about him, feeling his penis throb with delight as he spoke. He was breaking free at last!

‘I don’t care what the Elders of Krypton would say. To… to the Phantom Zone with them all! They all died long ago, and I’m alive. Yes. I’m alive and so… and so… Oh boy… I can’t believe I’m saying this…! P-p-please… fuck me, sir! Ooh! Oooh! Fuck me, now! Yes! Do it to me, your Lordship - take me down! You are the Alpha, not me - it’s time to give it to me. Fuck me like the Super-dickhead that I am! I want it so, so badly! That’s the truth! Hnnnnnnngh! I’m Superman - Superman the Superdickhead! Now fuck me, sir - fuck me, please! I want you, Lord Summerisle, to do me the honour of fucking me! Hhaaaaaah!’

How will Lord Summerisle react to Superman’s latest admission? Will the Man of Steel ever get the release he so desires? Will the Elders of Krypton ever recover from seeing Kal-El’s erection? And will Angus get a second helping?

Find out next time! If you’ve enjoyed it please leave a comment and hit like. Meanwhile, happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

What follows is a work of adult fiction, meant entirely for pleasure, involving Superman, the Man of Steel, exploring his secret and long-held sexual fetishes with other men. It is not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended, nor any offence meant.

If any of this means it is not for you for whatever reason, or if you feel it is likely to cause offence then please do not proceed any further.

However… if you would like to see what happens next to Superman, powerless, horny and at the mercy of the fiendish mystic Lord Summerisle and his band of handsome young men… well then, read on! If you thought times were hard right now, trust me, they’re even harder for the hapless Man of Steel. Superman has been lured to this strange Scottish island, and he now finds himself helpless and in the throes of a profound sexual awakening…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8 part 3 - Breaking Free

Lord Summerisle looked down at Superman’s eager face and wide eyes. The Man of Steel craved release so badly, but he had now been taught to respect and obey. It was time to test that obedience, to see just how far he would go. In order to bend Superman to his purpose, he had to make sure his loyalty was both blind and unquestioning.

‘Anything, Superman?’

‘Yes! Oh yes! Absolutely anything at all, sir. Do you…’ Superman hesitated for a second and then said, with an excitement in his voice that he could not disguise:

‘Do you want me to, uh… suck you off, your Lordship? I think… I think I did a good job just now, didn’t I?’

‘Well,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you might well think you did a good job, but that’s not for you to say. Let’s see what Angus thought. How was Superman’s cocksucking? Were you pleased with him? Did the Man of Steel deliver a Super-blowjob?

The Man of Steel turned his gaze on Angus, looking across at him eagerly, craving the lad’s approval. To his slight surprise, he noticed that Angus had swapped underwear with Darius; after cumming in Superman’s mouth, the handsome young man had pulled on the first garment he’d happened upon. Darius was now wearing the pristine white Calvins and Angus was sat on the floor in black briefs and socks, regarding the hero with languid amusement. Superman forced himself to look him in the eye, as he asked in a quavering voice: ‘Did I…. Did I do a good job, Angus? Was it… I mean… did I p-please you?’

Angus said nothing, but just stared at him. Superman felt his heart begin to race, and he could barely keep the anxiety from his voice. ‘Angus? Sir? Was my… was my c-cocksucking okay? I tried my best, honest.’

Angus stood up and gave a smirk as he began to slowly walk in a circle around the kneeling, lust-crazed Man of Steel. He took his time before answering, but at last he said:

‘It wasnae bad, Superman. But I think ye missed a bit. Aye… just here.’

He slowly slid his black briefs down his beautiful thighs and held up his dick, proffering it to the astonished and horny Man of Steel.

‘You see, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you have much to learn.’

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry Angus! I’m sorry, sir! I’ll fix it!’

Before their eyes, Superman scrambled across on his knees and reached for Angus’s cock with one tentative, trembling hand.

‘I apologise, Angus,’ he said, ‘that was clumsy of me, sir. Please… please may I please be permitted to make amends?’

Sure enough, there were a few drops of cooling spunk that had made their way to the tip of Angus’s shaft. Wide-eyed, Superman stared at them and licked his lips.

‘Aye. Ye may, Superman,’ said Angus. ‘I permit you to lick those last few drops of my cum… which you so carelessly left behind.’

‘Oh, thank you!’ The horny hero babbled and gripped the now flaccid penis. ‘Thank you, Angus, sir. That’s very kind of you, sir. Thank you for letting me… mmmm…. Mmph.’

Superman thrust the penis between his lips and greedily sucked away at the rogue drops of spunk, moaning gently as he did so. By the time he had thoroughly cleaned Angus’s dick with his tongue, the lad was stiffening again, in spite of himself.

‘Hnngh. Oh man… Yeah… it’s got tae be said… that’s… no bad job you’re doing… good boy, Superman,’ Angus gasped. ‘This is a talented wee cocksucker we’ve got here, your Lordship. Good boy.’

Lord Summerisle chuckled. ‘Well done, Superman. It seems your newfound cocksucking skills do, in fact, speak for themselves.’

The lads all applauded at this and Superman’s eyes gleamed.

‘That’s enough now though,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Angus - second helpings aren’t on the menu… yet.’

‘Pity,’ said Angus, as he reluctantly withdrew his semi-erect cock from Superman’s mouth. ‘The Man of Steel looks like he could use a wee bit more. He’s certainly earned it. You’re well on your way to becoming a Super-cocksucker, my man.’

Superman licked his lips and allowed himself a grin of pride at this compliment, delighted to have begun to win the approval of Lord Summerisle’s men. As Angus pulled up his black briefs and stuffed his cock back inside them, the hero returned his attention to Lord Summerisle.

‘Thank you, Angus, and thank you, your Lordship,’ he babbled. ‘Oh, thank you! I’m glad to have done a good job sucking Angus’s cock. I’m pleased you think I have potential… the potential to be a Super-cocksucker. And now…’

His eyes strayed to Lord Summerisle’s crotch, where a sizeable package was bulging against his expensive coal black trousers.

‘Now, your Lordship,’ said Superman, somewhat hoarsely. ‘Can I… that is… d-do I g-get to…. I mean… please… please may I have the honour of sucking you off too, sir?’

The hero looked up with pleading in his eyes. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, sir. I’ll give you a S-super B-blowjob.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘But I’ve already seen you give fellatio your best shot, Superman. Now it’s my turn with you… my turn to use you for pleasure, however I see fit. And I have no interest in being sucked off by you just now.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the Man of Steel, his expression suddenly one of keenest disappointment. ‘B-b-b-but I thought… oh, p-please… please let me suck it, sir! I’ll do an even better job this time, I swear!’

‘Shut up,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You said you would do anything, didn’t you, Superman?’

‘Yes!’ The hero nodded rapidly. ‘Anything, sir, anything at all to thank you for wh-what you’ve d-d-done for me.’

‘Excellent,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘In that case, get back on all fours, Superman. I intend to fuck you. How do you feel about that?’

‘Whuh…. What?!’

The Man of Steel sank back a little, as if winded. Despite his rapid descent into these untold disgraceful delights, he had not seen this coming. ‘I… um… I….’

‘Come along,’ smiled Summerisle. ‘Don’t be coy. How do you feel about me fucking you, Superman? Taking you from behind. Doing you on all fours. How would that be with you?’

The hero swallowed. This was not what he had anticipated… being penetrated by another man. And yet…

‘I… well… I g-guess I did say I would do “anything”, your Lordship,’ he mumbled, staring awkwardly about the room. Lord Summerisle’s men were all watching him, hungry as a pack of wolves. ‘If you… if that’s what you want…. What you want to d-d-do to me…. Then I guess it’s okay with me. Whatever you say, sir.’

Summerisle grabbed him by the jaw and forced Superman to look up.

‘Spare me your fawning, you craven little prick,’ he hissed.

Superman couldn’t stop the amazement from showing on his face; no one would ever normally dare speak to him like this. Once again he registered the novelty of being in the presence of a more dominant man, one who was so obviously the Alpha in the room.

Lord Summerisle stared down at the hero, reading every emotion, taking note of everything Superman was experiencing. There was an innocence about his expression, mixed with confusion, arousal and terror. Summerisle found it both potent and addictive, and so he nodded slowly and went further.

‘I asked you, Superman, you ridiculous, horny little coward, to tell me how you felt about me fucking you. Not to tell me that you’d go along with it because I ordered you to. I can order you to do anything I wish. I want to know what it is that you want? Come on - dig deep, you grovelling little…’ he paused and then continued: ‘you grovelling, pathetic little Super-dickhead… tell me what it is that you want. NOW!’

‘Ooh! Oh! Ooh!’

Superman whimpered suddenly, his cock throbbing with excitement at Lord Summerisle referring to him in this demeaning way. He looked down at his crotch as a fresh bloom of white pre-cum bubbled up across the blue spandex of his tights, wetting them further still.

‘Oh! You… you c-called me a… a S-s-super…. A Super-dickhead! Ooh! Hnngh. Uhhhh…! Unthinkable… you… no one t-t-talks to me like this… ooh! A S-Super-dickhead! Ahhh! Oh boy…!

The effect this was having on the hero was obvious. Summerisle’s men began to close in on him, sensing his increased arousal.

‘Indeed I did, Superman. For that’s what you truly are: Superman, the Super-dickhead. Isn’t it? I said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ said Superman. ‘You’re c-c-correct, sir. I… I… I’m Superman, the S-s-s….’

He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. He looked back down at his wet crotch. There was now so much white bubbling up and out across his blue tights that it was as if a can of shaving foam had burst inside them. And it made him feel so, so horny… and so foolish. It was just as his Lordship said.

He began to nod his head. ‘I’m Superman the Super-dickhead. That’s right… a Super-dickhead. That’s me. Oh. Oh boy. Oh god…’

Lord Summerisle gave an approving smile. ‘Just so. And now… answer the question. Answer it honestly, or I shall make sure you never, ever get the blessed release you so crave. How do you feel about men fucking you, Superman? How does the Man of Steel feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman found these words echoing inside his head. His mind clouded over and suddenly it was as though he was back at the Fortress of Solitude. He imagined himself kneeling before the Elders of Krypton, his cock hard, shaming him in his tights and briefs. Those stern, patrician faces, ghosts of a world he had never truly known, staring down at him in judgement.

‘You cannot do this thing, Kal-El.’

‘You are the Last Son of Krypton. You may not dishonour your race this way. We shall not allow it.’

‘The son of Jor-El is erect! How dare you be erect in our presence! You must resist your filthy lusts. You shall have no release!’

‘No release! No release! No release!’

‘No!’ shouted Superman. He remained meekly on his knees, but his voice was defiant.

‘Why should I have no release? Why should I live a life without knowing pleasure? This is my home now, not Krypton. And I have kept my desires secret long enough. I… I… I am…’

He shook slightly, gathering all of his strength and willpower to give him courage to say what was in his heart.

‘I am Superman. That’s what they call me here. The Man of Steel. Yet today… today I… I sucked another man’s penis…’

He gazed up at the Elders of Krypton, trying not to lose his nerve.’

‘I’m Superman, he repeated, ‘and today I sucked cock for the first time, and I liked it! And I’m good at it! I sucked a cock and I felt such pleasure… and I won’t apologise for that… I won’t! And I want more!’

He went to activate his heat vision, but nothing happened. The ghostly faces of the Elders of Krypton disappeared, each shaking his head in disapproval as they faded away.

Superman blinked. He was still on his knees in the house of Lord Summerisle, into whose eyes he now found himself gazing.

‘Well, Superman? Answer the question. How do you feel about me fucking you?’

How do I feel about him fucking me?

Superman bit his lip, but he could remain silent no longer. He blurted out:

‘I want you to do it! Please! I do want it…. I want you…. I want you…. oh! I want you to fuck me, Lord Summerisle! Oh! There, I said it! I… I’m Superman… I’m the most powerful being in the world… or I was before I came here. But now… I’m here in your house…utterly and literally powerless… I’m on my knees before you and I want you to fuck me, sir! I want you - no, I beg you to do it!’

The men applauded him once more, and it gave Superman courage. He smiled calmly at them all, panting as he looked about him, feeling his penis throb with delight as he spoke. He was breaking free at last!

His expression now solemn, Superman looked up at Lord Summerisle.

‘I don’t care what the Elders of Krypton would say. To… to the Phantom Zone with them all! They all died long ago, and I… I’m alive. Yes. I’m alive and so… and so… Oh boy… I can’t believe I’m saying this…! P-p-please… fuck me, sir! Ooh! Oooh! Fuck me, now! Yes! Do it to me, your Lordship - take me down! You are the Alpha, not me - it’s time to give it to me. Fuck me like the Super-dickhead that I am! I want it so, so badly! That’s the truth! Hnnnnnnngh! I’m Superman - Superman the Superdickhead! Now fuck me, sir - fuck me, please! I want you, Lord Summerisle, to do me the honour of fucking me! Hhaaaaaah!’

How will Lord Summerisle react to Superman’s latest admission? Will the Man of Steel ever get the release he so desires? Will the Elders of Krypton ever recover from seeing Kal-El’s erection? And will Angus get a second helping?

Find out next time! If you’ve enjoyed it please leave a comment and hit like. Meanwhile, happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

#supermandefeated#supersubmission#supermanhumiliated#heroperil#vincent zeal#heroesdefeated#spandex#pantsdown#briefs#superherohumiliation

A quick interlude before the next instalment of Superman: Into the Wicker Man. A hot story for a hot day, about what happened when Superman met Nuclear Man for the very first time…

A NUCLEAR ENTRY

He had known he was in trouble the first time he fought him. Luthor’s initial attempt to give life to the Nuclear Man was a bizarre and largely innocent creature, but Superman had known straight away that it was his equal in both strength and abilities - perhaps even stronger than him. Taken by surprise, the Man of Steel had followed his first, base instinct: he ran away and tried to hide from this twisted version of himself.

Yet as he crouched down, trying ignominiously to conceal himself behind a battered old car in the hope that the metal might hide him from the other man’s x-ray vision, Superman had felt what was happening inside his tights and briefs. He didn’t dare look at first, but then, intrigued by the sensations, he forced himself to do so, gazing down at his penis. And it was just what he had been afraid of.

“An erection,” he breathed, his heart beating faster. “I’m… I’m hard in my tights! Oh… oh no! Being faced with a man who is stronger than me, stronger than Superman… it’s making me hard! Hnnggh!”

In the end he had had no choice: Luthor’s creature had located him and challenged him. Superman could hardly fight him with a huge wet erection straining inside his briefs. As he cowered before his bizarre alter ego, desperately trying to conceal his bulging crotch, in the blink of an eye, the hulking brute had grabbed him, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing, and threw the astonished and helpless hero into a pile of stinking garbage sacks. And that gave him his chance. Superman did the only thing he could to salvage the situation.

He had rarely masturbated. Jor El had frowned upon it, seemingly preferring his son to remain chaste, even if it meant regularly waking to find he’d cum in his sleep, the shiny silver sheets of his Fortress bed wet and sticky with the results of his unwitting ejaculation. Now, as he lay among the garbage sacks, his adversary gearing up to strike again, with no alternative the horny hero unfastened his belt, yanked down his briefs, and using his super-speed he furiously jerked himself off.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, and Superman let out a yell as he blew a huge load in his tights. Even in the midst of this perilous predicament, it had felt wonderful. Hot Kryptonian jizz cascaded all down his spandex-clad legs, flowing thick and wet inside his tights. He longed to plunge his hand inside the soaking blue fabric and to touch his Super-spunk, to taste it. He briefly considered this, and even moaned as he imagined himself licking his own fresh cum from his fingers. But there had been no time to savour the experience.

Superman grabbed two of the refuse sacks and split them wide open using his heat vision. Then, pulling up his briefs and squishing them right back onto his sticky, spunk-soaked tights, he swiftly re-fastened his belt. Once more his body thrilled as he felt the tight, spunk-slick fabric pressing against him. It took all his will to ignore it, and click his belt shut. This done, Superman lay down and rolled around in the garbage, coating his spandex uniform in the filthy refuse, until his tights and briefs were completely soiled. Now anyone who saw him would think this was just down to him being hurled into the rubbish pile. They would never guess that in fact the Man of Steel had just pulled himself off and eagerly pumped his tights full of cum.

His disgrace thus concealed, Superman stood up once more and went back to fighting his opponent. He had won, on that occasion, more by luck than anything else. That first Nuclear Man was defeated and destroyed.

But now it was happening all over again. Lex had used the same ruse as before to summon him. And Superman had fallen for it, blundering his way into Luthor’s splendid penthouse apartment. Lex was waiting there for him, along with his nephew, Lenny who was unimpressed by the supposedly mighty Superman, proclaiming: “The Dude of Steel… boy, are you gonna get it!”

Lex bided his time, and allowed the Man of Steel to strut about, cocky and confident, posturing and preening as he fired off a few of his usual blustering, pompous sentiments, looking somewhat crestfallen as his words drew no reaction from the Luthors. He sensed they were toying with him, as if they were waiting for something and so, perplexed by his predicament, he fell silent at last. And when Lex was ready, that was when he had introduced the Man of Steel to his new creation – to the second Nuclear Man.

The effect on Superman was immediate and obvious. Whenever this had happened in the past, it had always been somewhere that he could conceal what was happening to him, or where no one else could see it. Thrashing about fully clothed, humiliated, and helpless in Luthor’s swimming pool. Alone and trussed up inside Ross Webster’s super-computer, as its wires and tendrils tantalisingly explored his body, a pulsing anal probe making him feel wicked pleasures he had never known possible. Or writhing beneath the pile of garbage sacks outside the nightclub, where the first Nuclear Man had casually thrown him, as if the Man of Steel himself had been just another stinking sack of trash to be tossed out.

Now, however, there was nowhere for Superman to hide. It was broad daylight, gleaming sunshine streaming down on to the terrace of Lex’s spectacular penthouse. And as he gazed at Nuclear Man - this golden titan, forged from his own DNA, his body literally crackling with power - the Man of Steel’s eyes widened with utter, craven terror. And his cock stiffened and stood to attention with total, throbbing arousal! Within his tights and briefs he felt it straining for release.

In that moment, little more than a few seconds, Superman’s status as the alpha male in the room was stripped from him, as was his standing as the most powerful man in the world. It had been removed, taken from him without a word being uttered, or a punch being thrown. This new Nuclear Man was stronger than him - and they all knew it.

Luthor chuckled. The effect this was having on Superman was clear. He gestured to the hero’s erection and called for his nephew Lenny to come and take a look.

“Awesome! Look at what my Uncle Lex has done to you! The Dude of Steel’s got a boner in his panties!” guffawed Lenny Luthor.

“That’s right,” said Lex, grinning widely. “Lenny’s correct, isn’t he, Superman? Or do you disagree with his assessment of the situation? Well, come on now, answer me, Supe baby. Truth and justice is your thing, after all… so tell us, is Lenny right? What’s happening in your tights right now?”

“Luthor, you twisted…”

Superman went to protest, but as he looked down at his bulging crotch, his cock pushing and pulsing against his briefs, the words died on his lips.

“Hnnh. That’s right,” he said quietly. “He’s right. Your nephew is correct, Luthor.”

Lex shook his head. “That’s great. But you’re being a little shy. Don’t be shy. Say it, Superman.”

He scowled, cursing Luthor’s sick determination to humiliate him. Yet his penis continued to pulse with arousal, and so Superman did as he was told and said:

“Okay. You win, Luthor. I’m… I’m hard. There. I’ve admitted it….”

Superman raised his eyes and forced himself to look at Nuclear Man, and with a fear he had never known before he shivered.

“I’m hard,” he said again, gazing at those bulging muscles, that powerful body. “I have… I have an erection. Oh! Th-there… happy now?”

“Make him say the exact words, Uncle Lex,” sniggered Lenny. “Please?”

“Hmm,” said Luthor, “you heard Lenny, Superman. Stop trying to hide behind your dignity; it's long gone. Say it properly. Summarise the situation for us precisely as he did. Go on.”

Superman made a sound of frustration and annoyance, and as he did so, Nuclear Man took another step towards him. The Man of Steel shuddered, seeing those glowing footprints as his foe moved closer.

“I… I’ve got a b-boner in my tights!” he cried. “There! Happy now? I’ve g-got a b-boner in my tights! Oh!”

“Nearly,” said Lex, “but not quite.”

“Your panties, Super-dumbass,” said Lenny Luthor. “Not just your tights, your panties!”

Superman glowered at the pair of them but said nothing. But then a low growl came from Nuclear Man, a sound of unmistakeable threat, that became two words:

“Do it.”

Superman’s eyes grew wider still at this command, uttered in such a low, chilling voice. And a second later he found himself saying:

“I’ve got a boner in my panties! Okay! I’ve g-got a b-boner in my tights and my… my… oh… in my tights and p-p-panties! There! I said it.”

The Luthors applauded and cheered. And all Superman could do was stand there, impotent before them both as they toasted his humiliation, raising their glasses of champagne and touching them to his erection, making him whimper with helpless longing. His cheeks blazed with disgrace… but he was more turned on than he had ever been before. And Nuclear Man stared at the hero’s stiff and throbbing cock and gave another low growl.

“I’ve always known you better than you know yourself,” grinned Lex. “I knew exactly what you needed, Superman. I knew what you couldn’t resist. You needed someone to take all that control away from you. To take charge of you. Aren’t you going to thank your old pal Lex, Supe baby?”

Superman swallowed. “What now, Luthor? What… what’s he going to do with me?”

“Uh-uh!” said Lex, warningly. “Time to start behaving more respectfully toward me now, Supe baby. It’s Mr Luthor to you now, understand? Well?”

Superman swallowed, and his cheeks grew as red as his briefs. “Yes… yes sir, Mr Luthor. I understand, sir.”

Lex nodded. “That’s better. You’re learning, Superman.”

“Please,” said the hero. “P-please, Mr Luthor. Wh-what… what is he going to do with me, sir?”

Nuclear Man began to laugh now, a deep bass, threatening sound, and lightning crackled across his hands. It made Superman’s blood run cold, and before he could stop himself another terrible, cowardly whimper escaped his lips:

“Ooh! Oh no,” he breathed, and a second later another demeaning whimper followed. “Ooh! Ooh!”

“What is he going to do with you?” said Lex. “Well, that’s simple, Superman. I’m going to leave you boys together to get better acquainted, and then Nuclear Man is going to knock you around, beat you up a little. Maybe bend you over his knee and give you a bit of a spanking. Get the measure of you, Supe baby. He wants to see for himself just how puny you really are, compared to him. Because trust me, Superman, you really are no match for this guy.”

Superman’s cock trembled, and a few drops of precum foamed up across his red briefs.

“No, Mr Luthor,” he began, “don’t do this, sir. Please don’t leave me alone with him. Can’t we talk about this? Please!”

“Hmm,” said Lex. “Ask me on your knees, Superman. Go on. That’s how I want to see negotiations commence.”

Superman closed his eyes. But there was nothing else for it. He nodded, and just as instructed, he swiftly got down on his knees before Lex.

“Please Mr Luthor,” he said, “I’m on my knees and begging you: please don’t set your creature on me. I beg you, Mr Luthor, please.”

He looked up hopefully. Surely this terrible act of submission would be enough to placate Luthor. But the next moment Nuclear Man was looming over him, and his giant hands clamped Superman by the shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Superman,” smiled Lex. “It’s like I said: I know you better than you know yourself. You’re going to love what he’s going to do to you. Lay back and embrace it, Big Blue.”

“No,” said Superman, “please, no! Oh! Ooh! Ooh!”

Nuclear Man pulled him up by the throat and held him in front of him, dangling the terrified Man of Steel in mid air. He raised his index finger and it crackled with dazzling raw power. And then he ran that same finger over Superman’s stiff penis.

“Aaaah!” gasped the hero, wetting his briefs with still more precum. “Ooh! Oh! My p-penis! What’s he d-doing to me! Help me, Mr Luthor, please!”

“Look, Uncle Lex,” cried Lenny, “Superman’s wet his panties!”

“He certainly has,” smiled Lex. “Come on – let’s see how he’s enjoying this.”

He reached out one hand and ran his index finger around the top of Superman’s erect penis, and the Man of Steel gave a howl of arousal and embarrassment, his erection helplessly throbbing at his enemy’s touch.

“Excellent,” said Lex. “Come on, Lenny – you have a go.”

And as Nuclear Man dangled the whimpering Man of Steel before them, the Luthors took turns at toying with his penis, making him gasp and moan, until at last they grew bored.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” said Lex, giving Superman’s cock a final squeeze. “Parting is… inevitable. Play nice, now, won’t you?”

“One last thing, Uncle Lex,” pleaded Lenny. “Superman – say: ‘I’ve wet my panties’. Go on.”

Lex pointed at the Man of Steel.

“You heard my nephew, Superman. Do as he says.”

Superman nodded. “Yes sir, Mr Luthor, sir. Lenny’s right. I… I’ve wet my panties, sir. There. Shall I say it again? Hnngh.”

He didn’t wait to be asked.

“I’ve wet my panties! I’ve wet my panties!”

Superman felt himself sudden whipped up into a frenzy, and he shouted the words out loud: “I’ve wet my panties! I, Superman, have wet my panties! Hnnnnnngh! Ohhhh! Ooh! Ooh!”

Nuclear Man let him fall to the ground, and as Superman raised his head, the Luthors both turned and walked away, having seemingly tired of humiliating him.

Nuclear Man growled once more, and with one foot he pushed Superman on to his back, and placed his boot on the hero’s S-shield.

“Now. I have fun.”

Another unexpected detour before the next chapter of Superman: Into the Wicker Man. Inspired by a frankly stunning image by Buffy2ville on deviant art, here’s the tale of how Superman came to find himself in a sticky situation in downtown Metropolis.

As ever, this is purely for enjoyment only, no copyright infringement intended, nor any offence meant. if you enjoy then please leave hit like and leave a comment.

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 1

Hearing his laptop ping, announcing the arrival of a new email, Clark Kent looked up from scanning the front pages of the Daily Planet. He was sat at his desk in the office, just sipping a coffee.

“From Jimmy? Let’s take a look…”

Clark clicked on the email to open it up, and then raised an eyebrow. There was something embedded - a link for a video call. And a message alongside it which just read: “CK - it’s me. Please, please open this.”

He considered this. Surely only the real Jimmy Olsen would address him as “CK”. Yet opening an attachment seemed unwise; he’d already had to ask the I.T. department to scrub his laptop for viruses twice this month. And with the dire situation in which he currently found himself with Perry White, was it wise to risk angering anyone else?

He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to chance it. He clicked on the video messaging link and as the app opened up and the call went live, Clark’s eyes opened wide in shock. It was not his friend Jimmy Olsen; instead another face filled the screen.

“Hello Clark. Or should I say, ‘CK’. How are you doing, old pal?”

It was Lance Lewis - one of Metropolis’s veteran pornographers and a notorious maker of adult films. Clark had written countless articles about the man, denouncing his seedy profession. They had clashed at various social occasions, including most recently a charity ball where Lewis had tried to engage him in a reasoned debate. Unwilling to enter into a battle of words with the man, instead Clark had turned and stiffly walked away.

“You’re a hypocrite!” Lance Lewis had shouted after him as he departed. “Don’t tell me you never get horny or get your rocks off somehow. You sneer at my trade, but it’s a legitimate profession. Clark Kent is a hypocrite, and I’m going to prove it!”

For a moment, he had nearly stopped and responded to this. But what would be the point? There was no arguing with men like Lance Lewis.

Now, that face was grinning from his laptop screen. Lewis had glossy, shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes, with high cheekbones. He was somewhere in his early thirties, and was dressed in one of his customary sharp designer suits, looking immaculate.

“How are we feeling this fine morning, Mr Kent?” asked Lewis. He gave a smirk. “Did you wake up with morning wood? Was your little CK standing tall and proud, like the fine, upstanding citizen you are?”

Clark checked about him, but he was alone; he was nearly always the first in the office.

“Lewis, you deranged pervert,” he said through clenched teeth, “have you completely lost your mind? Why are you messaging me like this? I’ll thank you to keep your sick fantasies to yourself!”

Lance Lewis smiled and wagged his finger. “Come, come, Clark. Why would I not get in touch? You’re the reason, after all. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you? Your latest article, libelling me, has gone far enough. I want you to make amends.”

Clark swallowed. The man was correct. Perry and the Daily Planet’s legal team had hauled him over the coals for the latest piece he’d written, wherein he had gotten carried away with some of what he was blaming Lance Lewis and his fellow pornographers for. The article had made a tenuous link behind the adult entertainment industry and a rise in crime. He had badly misjudged the tone, which came across as high-handed and sanctimonious, angering many who felt Clark was looking down at people from an Ivory Tower. A furious Perry White had accused Clark of making his self-professed “crusade against filth” way too personal, going so far as to claim he had become obsessed.

“Yeah.” Lewis grinned at him like a cat with its prey. “My sources tell me even your bosses have recognised what a naughty boy you are.”

“Men like you are diseased perverts,” hissed Clark. “I’ll take you down one day, I swear.”


“If I were you,” said Lewis, “I’d stop with the blustering and empty threats, because I hold all the cards. If you don’t do exactly as I request, then I will press home the libel case against you and the Daily Planet, and I won’t rest until I’ve sued your pathetic ass off and dragged your beloved newspaper into bankruptcy. Think about that, Clark: you’ll be singlehandedly responsible for the loss of hundreds of livelihoods. All because of your obsession for sanctimonious preaching.”

Clark felt his cheeks growing hot with panic. Lewis had a point. If he were to act on his threat, what he was saying really could come to pass. To be responsible for the closure of the Daily Planet, and for the loss of so many jobs, especially in the current social climate… it didn't bear thinking about.

Clark bit his lip. “What… what must I do?”

Saying this felt a little odd; it gave him a sensation he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Lance Lewis regarded him coldly, and then said: “Tell me, Clark - and answer me honestly. Are you a virgin?”

“Wh-what?” Clark now felt his cheeks blaze with embarrassment; he quickly checked to make sure he was still alone before replying.

“That’s… that’s none of your business,” he growled.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Lewis. “Start co-operating and being very nice to me, Clark, or it will go badly for you. I will ask you again, and I suggest you think hard before replying, dickhead: are you a virgin?”

Dickhead! This man had just called him a dickhead! Clark’s ego smarted; if only Lance Lewis knew it was Superman he was really talking to. Nevertheless, he couldn’t lie. He would have to answer the man’s question.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes what?” said Lewis. “Answer properly, and in a nice, clear voice, Clark. And make sure you address me respectfully as ‘Mr Lewis’ from now on. Understand me?”

Clark ground his teeth with frustration. For a third time he made sure no one else had arrived for work yet. And then, when he was satisfied of this, he said in loud, clear tones: “Yes. Yes, Mr Lewis. That’s correct. I… I am a virgin.”

Lewis smiled and applauded him. “Well done, Clark. Good boy. I was certain you had to be. Only a virgin would be so rabidly obsessed with other people’s sexual predilections.”


Clark seethed at being spoken to like this. “Well? What now?”

Seeing Lance Lewis’s eyes flash with anger, he hurriedly adjusted what he’d just said.

“Sorry. I mean, what now, Mr Lewis."
This sudden rush to adapt a more respectful demeanour made him once again feel a strange and unaccountably pleasant tingle. So much so, that he added, “What must I do, Mr Lewis? What can I do to… atone for my actions?”

Again… saying this felt pleasant and somehow… right.

“Well said, Clark,” said Lewis. “Atonement is what we need to get to. There’s hope for you yet.”

Lewis gestured behind him. It seemed he was in a toilet - a filthy public gentlemen’s lavatory. And Lance Lewis pointed to a hole on the wall, adjacent to the cubicle behind him.

“Tell me, Clark, do you know what a gloryhole is?”

Clark hesitated for a moment, and then said: “N-no…”

Lance Lewis studied him, looking him right in the eyes.

“Is that true, Clark?”

Damn. Clark took a breath. “No, Mr Lewis. No… it’s not true. I apologise. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t tell lies and I never have. I… I believe I do know what a gloryhole is.”

Lewis nodded. “Good boy. Thank you for being honest.”

Again, strange feelings washed over Clark at these words.

“So come on, Clark. What is a gloryhole?”

“It’s…” he took another deep breath. “It’s a hole through which… uh… through which men put their… their…” Clark reddened further, and then continued: “Men put their erect penises through the hole… to be…. Uh…. To be fellated… to be… um… ‘sucked off’. Is that… is that correct… Mr Lewis?”

“It certainly is, Clark,” said Lance Lewis gravely. “Just as I suspected, you’re not quite as innocent as you appear, are you?”

Clark’s eyes widened once more. This statement was more true than anyone could guess. If Lewis only knew about his secret identity, let alone the feelings he kept buried deep down. Best to just give him what he wanted.

“No, Mr Lewis, I’m not,” he said meekly. Yet again, he experienced a pleasurable tingle as he spoke. “I’m… I’m not as innocent as I appear.”

“No. Just as I said. Well, Clark - I have a treat for you.”

Clark furrowed his brow. “Uh… you do?”

“Indeed I do. I am prepared to ditch the legal case against the Daily Planet, and waive any future such action. I will forgive your ill-judged, sanctimonious vendetta and allow the whole thing to go away.”

“Gosh,” said Clark, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. With one finger he nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. “That… that would be wonderful, Mr Lewis. I’d be very, very grateful if you’d do that… sir.”

Lewis smiled at this added mark of respect.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. And in return, Clark, you would have to do one thing. One small thing, to secure the future of the Daily Planet and all your co-workers.”

Clark nodded slowly. “Okay… nothing criminal, I hope?”

“Not at all. It’s something that will bring pleasure to a lot of people.”

“Oh. Well… I guess that sounds great,” said Clark. “So… what must I do, Mr Lewis, sir?”

Lewis stared him right in the eye once again, and then said: “You are to come here at nine o’clock this evening and meet me. And then I am going to lock you in this toilet, where you will remain until morning, and you will suck each and every cock that comes through that gloryhole. Do you understand Clark?”

“Wh-what? You can’t be serious!”

“Oh,” said Lance Lewis softly, “I’m deadly serious.”

“But… but that’s not right! It’s public indecency! I can’t!” protested Clark.

“Not at all. This restroom may be public - it’s in downtown Metropolis... quite a rough part of the city. Yet it’s privately owned - by me, in fact. And so you would be performing acts of pleasure on privately owned property. And you would be locked in, so these acts would be our little secret, Clark. Surely that is a small price to pay, both to settle your indiscretion and to save the jobs of so many of your colleagues and friends?”

Clark thought rapidly. How could he get out of this? The most obvious solution was to show up for the appointment as Superman. Yet he wasn’t sure what grounds he could cite for intervening in this. And in any case, it seemed Lance Lewis had anticipated such a possibility.

“Perhaps you are considering trying to involve your friend, the Man of Steel. I promise you that if you do then I shall come at the Planet in revenge for your libellous words, with the full power of the law.”

It was a trap. But Clark couldn’t see a way out. He had blundered into this through his own misguided actions, and even Superman wasn’t above the law. He thought about what we was being asked to do, and the idea made him feel quite light-headed.

“I… I would have to do this… for just this one night,” he said, in halting and uncertain tones. “One night of… um… fellatio? Sucking whatever came through that hole? Whoever stuck their p-p-penis through there, I would be expected to… to pleasure them with my mouth? And then… the debt would be paid?”

“That’s right,” said Lewis, “one night of engaging in acts of pleasure, for a man whose lived a hitherto chaste life. You’ll even still be able to claim you’re virgin - if you still wish to remain as such by the time morning comes.”

Clark tried to make sense of what Lewis was saying. If he still wished to remain a virgin? What did the man mean?

“I think that’s a very fair offer, to save the livelihoods of so many people from your bungling. Don’t you agree, Clark?”

Clark swallowed. His mind was racing with so many thoughts, images and feelings.

“Y-y-yes, Mr Lewis, sir. It’s… it’s a very fair offer, t-thank you, sir. If you’ll do as you say…. If it saves the Daily Planet… and pays my debt… then… then I accept. I’ll… I’ll do it, sir. I’ll suck them all off.”

He felt his whole body becoming warm and flushed as he said this.

“Excellent. Then we have a deal, Clark. Agreed?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Lewis.”

“Yes sir,” said Clark, “I w-won’t b-back out. I’ll be there for my… for my d-date. I g-give you my word.”

Lewis stared at him. “Good,’ he said. And then the video call was terminated.

“Hey Clark.”

One of his co-workers had just arrived. “How you doing?”

Clark slammed the laptop shut. “I’m… I’m good thanks, Greg,” he replied, his mind in a daze.

He was still struggling to understand the enormity of what he had just committed himself to, but it was not just this that concerned him. Clark cleared his throat awkwardly.

Pushing back his chair a little, he slowly gazed down at his crotch. Poking through the fabric of his expensive grey suit trousers was his rock-hard cock. It was ramrod-stiff and straining against the fabric of his tights, his briefs and his civilian clothes.

He had an erection. He, Clark Kent, had just promised to spend the night sucking dicks at the end of a gloryhole, and far from filling him with disgust, the prospect was making him harder than he could ever remember being.

“Oh boy,” he said softly. “Oh b-boy.”

Will Clark Kent aka Superman keep his word and spend a night at the gloryhole? Will he really wear his best suit? And what does Lance Lewis have in store for the haplesss Man of Steel?

We shall see! Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

And now, on a stunning bumper double-post day, we now return to the insidious Scottish backwater of Summerisle, where Superman has stumbled into a nest of mystic intrigue that has seen him seemingly stripped of both his dignity and his mighty powers. Awakening in the home of Lord Summerisle, since accepting champagne and gracious hospitality from his host, the hero has found himself intoxicated with lust and confessing desires he has kept hidden for years.

In an erotic frenzy, the flustered and newly powerless Man of Steel has already pleasured Lord Summerisle’s band of handsome acolytes, giving his first Superhandjobs and even a Superblowjob. Now, he has enthusiastically consented to let Summerisle have sex with him, ignominiously begging the man to take his virginity.

This new hurdle crossed, this fresh disgrace embraced, as he descends lower and lower on his journey of erotic discovery and adventure, wiill Superman at last get the release he so desperately craves? Surely even he cannot hold on any longer without helplessly blowing a load in his tights and briefs? Or can he?

Read on and learn more, in the next instalment of…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 4 - The Sundered Spandex

'...I’m Superman - Superman the Superdickhead! Now fuck me, sir - fuck me, please! I want you, Lord Summerisle, to do me the honour of fucking me! Hhaaaaaah!’

As this terrible confession forced itself from his mouth, the Man of Steel began to fumble with his tights. Gripping the edge of the waistband, he began to pull them down, clumsily wriggling and writhing out of them. Yet he had only lowered them as far as his crotch, when Lord Summerisle snapped at him:

‘Stop that! I said, stop, Superman. Exactly what is it that you think you’re doing?’

‘Why,’ said the hero, his face a mask of confusion once more, ‘I…. I’m t-taking my tights off. I’m pulling down my t-tights… undressing myself… removing the last of my uniform… so that I’m ready for you, sir. I’m getting ready for you to uh… to f-fuck me, your lordship.’

‘Is that so, Superman?’ Lord Summerisle gazed coolly down at him. ‘That is all very admirable, however you are forgetting two things. Firstly, I have not yet consented to penetrating you. All we have established is that you want me to do so. And you do want that, right, Man of Steel?’

‘Oh! Yes!” gasped Superman. ‘That’s what I want more than anything, sir - for you to fuck me! Please, please, do it - f-fuck me, Lord Summerisle! Be the first to fuck S-Superman! Ooh! That’s why I was getting undressed for you, sir!’

‘How sweet,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘How like a blushing bride on her wedding night you are, Superman.’

There was laughter at this; Angus in particular hooted and snorted with derision, as Superman’s cheeks coloured further. Lord Summerisle remained calm, however.

'But that is the second thing you have overlooked, you Super cretin: What makes you think I am going to fuck you naked?’

Superman’s eyes widened. ‘B-but… I don’t understand… how else could you do it to me, sir? I can’t be fucked if I’m still w-wearing c-clothes?’

‘Can’t you?’ Summerisle smiled. ‘You’re powerless, aren’t you, Super-dickhead?’

Superman nodded, blushing slightly as he did. ‘Yes. I’m t-totally powerless.’

‘And so therefore your suit has none of its usual resilience, am I correct?’

‘Well… yes,’ said Superman, looking puzzled, ‘that’s right, sir.’

‘Well then,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘that settles it. Angus, would you and the others be so kind as to take hold of Superman and to rip a hole in his tights. You see, Man of Steel… ha! Man of Steel? Hardly. Man of Semen, I should say. I am indeed going to grant your wish and fuck you, Superman. I’m going to fuck you while you are still wearing your world famous uniform.’

Superman stared at Lord Summerisle with horror, hardly able to comprehend what he was hearing. He had felt so focused, having given free rein to the ecstatic feelings he had repressed for so long, yet now his mind became conflicted once more.

He craved release; nothing else had mattered if it led to him finally being able to have the orgasm these men had promised him. The loss of his great powers; the removal of his status as the world’s strongest being; even the increasingly demeaning humiliations and sexual depravities that had been heaped upon the Man of Steel since his arrival on this obscure Scottish backwater - none of it had mattered, if it meant he could finally cum, and do so at the touch of another living being, dominating him. It was what he had wanted… what he had secretly longed for for years. And as he was only now becoming free enough to admit to himself, being helpless and humiliated like this, relinquishing all control to these Scotsmen was a turn-on more profoundly potent than anything he had ever experienced.

Yet now they wanted to despoil his uniform. Lord Summerisle had just instructed his man Angus to rip a hole in Superman’s tights. And somehow, this seemed a step too far.

He could remember the day that he had first been clad in his world famous spandex. The culmination of his studies with Jor-El. A chamber he’d never seen before had risen up inside his Fortress, sliding out of the ground before his eyes, and caught within that sea of white crystal, there it was, shining like the beacon it was to become: blue, red and yellow - a soft, sensual uniform in the colours of his adopted home, but bearing the sigil of his father’s house.

The spandex had been a nod to Earth too - a practical fabric from the new world, that would cling to Kal-El’s body, displaying every contour of his manly form for all to see, and at the same time benefitting from the invulnerability granted to him by the earth’s yellow sun. Right from the first time he put it on, he had had to restrain himself and keep his feelings in check, it made him feel so sexual. More of his natural instincts that Superman had learned to curb and suffocate over so many years.

Yet his invulnerability was now gone. Both Superman and his uniform were brought down, no longer imbued with god-like abilities and protection. And the garment which he, the world’s greatest hero, had made famous to the entire planet, was now at the mercy of mortal men, who wanted to rip it, for the base purpose of fucking the Man of Steel while he still wore it. Was this not, surely, a degradation too far?

Superman’s cock throbbed still, and he ached for release from the feelings that kept him in thrall. But to let this man tear his tights and penetrate him through them…

‘Interesting,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You look rather put out, Superman. Reluctant, even. Have you nothing to say? Do you not want to be fucked on all fours in your uniform, Man of Steel?’

He smiled slyly as he spoke. Superman swallowed before responding.

‘I… I… I do want… that is, uh… I want to be f-fucked by you, sir. Gosh… yes, I certainly do w-want that.’

He gathered what little courage he could, choosing his words carefully.

‘But… ah… b-but I think you’d enjoy it more if I was naked. Without my uniform. You ah c-could have me s-stark naked on all fours. I th-think you’d like that more, sir.’

‘On the contrary, I think I’d enjoy it far more if I fucked you wearing your uniform, Superman,’ replied Lord Summerisle breezily. ‘Yes… on all fours and fully clothed in your tights and tunic. Think how you’ll enjoy it when I make you cum at last - you’ve already had one lot of human spunk in your crotch, drenching your genitals; now you can pump a fine load of your own out to join it!’

Superman felt his heart beat faster. He had to resist… although in truth, the idea of filling his tights was a thrilling one. Yet he had to stand firm, somehow. He drew breath to restate that he’d prefer to be naked.

Lord Summerisle’s eyes were suddenly wild and cunning.

‘What do you say, Superman? Shall I fuck you… fully-clothed?’

No…. No! Those words… ‘fully clothed’. So simple… ostensibly meaningless. And yet as Lord Summerisle uttered them…

‘Mind over muscle.’

In an instant, Superman was once more transported back to the most profoundly erotic moment of his life, long before he came to Summerisle. Back to the scene of his very first ever defeat: Lex Luthor’s lair. That fateful day. Eyes widening, knees knocking, his whole body trembling as the people’s champion stumbled backwards and tried futilely to run away from his ignominious fate.

Lex had smiled at him, giving a low chuckle as he watched the so-called Man of Steel retreat, attempting to stumble away. All that confidence and cockiness gone in mere seconds, wiped away to reveal this cowardly, fearful, weakened man in spandex, cringing pathetically before the one who had bested him.

‘I spared no expense to make you feel right at home.’

As Luthor advanced towards him, holding the Kryptonite, Superman caught a brief glimpse of Miss Teschmacher, and what he saw in her expression only added to his humiliation: disappointment, at seeing the world’s strongest man - the being known as “Superman” - brought down by the genius that was Lex Luthor, and now showing his true colours. And it hadn’t even taken one hour.

And there was Otis, drinking this delicious sight in too, staring incredulously at the real Man of Steel, now he didn’t have superpowers to fall back on. It was plain to them all that Superman was now the weakest creature in the room… weaker even than a goon like Otis.

Moaning both in arousal and despair at this utter humiliation, he slid down the wall, and as Lex went to put the chain around his neck, Superman lowered his head. It was so tiny, just the slightest inclination. But Superman knew deep down what he was doing. That minute movement, aiding his foe in chaining him, was an act of submission. And within the confines of his briefs and tights, he felt his cock stiffen with pleasure at the knowledge of what he’d just done.

With the chain about his neck, he heard them chuckling, as Otis said:

“I think Superman likes his Kryptonite necklace, Mr Luthor!”

And he did like it, even more than they knew. Through the effects of the Kryptonite, he felt panic grip him, as he wondered how he would possibly be able to conceal his growing erection. The spandex of his tights and briefs, which had always given him a secret thrill, now only served to make it more obvious how turned on he was, and soon he would be at full mast.

And then Luthor had done it: simply pushed the mighty Superman into his swimming pool. His shame was covered, as Earth’s champion toppled into the waters with a splash, placing his erection safely out of sight below the surface. And there the pathetic, powerless hero lay thrashing around. Fully clothed.

Lex had gone to attend to his plans for world domination, and left Superman floating in his pool with a hard-on he was unable to act upon… just as had been the case for most of his life. A powerless hero, writhing there in the water…

‘Fully clothed…’ he said out loud.

Lord Summarise looked curiously at him. ‘Something the matter, Superman?’

He shook his head. ‘No, sir. Nothing the matter. Nothing at all.’

There it was… his decision was made. And he was further unmanned.

‘Please do it, sir,’ said Superman. ‘You were right. You know best, sir. P-please… ah… d-do it… m-make a hole in my tights… and f-fuck me! Fuck me fully clothed, your Lordship! You were right. That’s much better than fucking me naked. Tear a hole in my tights and do it to me!’

‘Yes…’ said Lord Summerisle, with a wry smile. ‘That’s good. That’s right, Superman. Mind over muscle.’

‘Ooh!’ whimpered Superman. ‘Wh-wh-whuh… what did you just say?’

‘Mind over muscle,’ said Lord Summerisle, with mock innocence. ‘After all… I am something of a genius. Whereas you, now your powers are gone, are nothing but a Superdickhead… am I right, Superman?’

‘B-b-but…’ said Superman. Was it a coincidence that this man had echoed Luthor’s words from all those years ago, just as he was thinking of this.

‘Well?’ Snapped Lord Summerisle. ‘Answer me, Superman!”

‘Yes, yes,’ said Superman, anxious not to upset him. ‘I… now my powers are gone, I’m j-just a Superdickhead. You are a genius, your Lordship, and I… I am a S-superdickhead. It’s just that something you said…’

‘Mind over muscle,’ repeated Lord Summerisle, with a smile. He stared at Superman’s throbbing cock as he spoke. ‘Yes… you like those words, don’t you, Superman? They remind you of something that turned you on, am I right?’

‘Y-yes. Oh! Yes, sir. How… how is it you understand me so? It’s like you can see right into my mind, into my memories…’

‘Yes,’ said Lord Summerisle, putting his mouth to Superman’s ear. ‘That’s exactly what it’s like, Superman.’

He licked the hero’s ear gently, eliciting further ignominious whimpers. And then he moved in front of Superman, held him by the wrists, and looked the trembling Man of Steel right in the eye.

‘Now then, Angus - rip me a hole in Superman’s tights.’

‘Aye, your Lordship.’

‘Ooh!’ said Superman. ‘Ooh!’ He felt Angus’s fingers playing around his ass crack, stroking him and teasing their way up between his spandex clad buttocks. ‘Oh! Oh!’

Soon, this tantalising touch would be replaced by the cock of the magnificent Lord Summerisle; Angus’s fingers were like a herald going before a mighty king!

For a second or two more, Superman felt his buttocks teased. And then there was a loud tearing sound, as Angus sundered the blue spandex.

‘Oh!’ gasped Superman. ‘You’ve d-done it! You’ve r-ripped a hole in my t-t-tights! Ooh! Oh! Oh! Your f-fingers… I can feel them inside my tights, t-touching me there… you’ve split a hole in my uniform! Hnnnngh! Aaaah!'’

Can it be? Is Lord Summerisle really going to take the Man of Steel up, up and away? Will Superman’s ripped tights ever recover, or will his uniform forever now have an easy access hole, to the joy of villains everywhere? And just what is in that champagne?

Find out next time! If you enjoyed this then please hit like, and consider leaving a comment.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!



Superman: Glory Night, chapter 2

This is part 2 of a mature content erotic Superman story, inspired by a frankly stunning image of the Man of Steel sitting next to a gloryhole created by @Buffy2ville on Deviantart, who kindly gave permission for this - thank you. Many thanks to the old friend whose hot spandex-clad body features in the first pic for this chapter, and to SupermanRedboots whose hot crotch and legs feature as well, also by kind permission. No offence or copyright infringement is intended; it is purely for enjoyment, not for profit. And so I hope you enjoy...

Despite coming in early to try and get ahead, Clark’s productivity fell to almost zero for the rest of that day. After Lance Lewis terminated the call, he sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, with the office beginning to get busier, he stood up and hurriedly pulled on his overcoat, desperate to conceal the prominent erection bulging straight up inside his trousers, briefs and tights. This done, he left the office and walked around for a few blocks, waiting for his arousal to die down. It took far longer than he had anticipated, and by the time he returned to the Daily Planet, mumbling excuses about having to go for a coffee run, Perry had noticed his absence and took the opportunity to once again berate him in front of his colleagues.

“Little does he know,” thought Clark afterwards, sitting chastened at his desk, “just how much I’m giving up to help him and the rest of the guys here. I’m… I’m almost prostituting myself, just to save their jobs.”

Yet even as he consoled himself with this thought, there were other, more troubling facts which he knew that he was not fully admitting to himself. His erection had subsided at last, but even now, underneath the desk where he was sat pretending to work, beneath his smart suit trousers, Clark could feel a patch of wet spandex touching the tip of his cock; the legacy of how excited and aroused Lance Lewis’s proposal had made him. It was taking all of his considerable strength and willpower to ignore it, and not to dwell too much on why the idea of a night sucking dicks had taken such a powerful hold on him.

By mid morning he needed the bathroom, and he took himself off to the gents washroom of the Daily Planet. Finding the place deserted, Clark stared at himself in the mirror and slowly lowered the fly of his dark suit trousers. He pulled the zipper down as far as it would go and gently held it open, his hands shaking.

There it was: that slightly darkened, moist patch on his bright red briefs, shining out from beneath his sober city clothes. He felt ridiculous, as if his own penis was making fun of him. For a second it crossed his mind to strip at super-speed and rinse the stain out of his uniform. He could do it... using his abilities he could probably achieve this in what? Ten seconds? Fifteen? Thirty, maximum.

He stared at the stain on his briefs. With his index finger he reached out and touched it, dabbing at the moist spandex.

“Oh,’ he gasped at the sensations. “Oh!”

The thrill, as his finger probed the wet fabric, his cock responding enthusiastically to the contact! It was like an ache, for everything he had never been able to have.

Gazing at the tip of his finger, Clark wondered longingly what it might taste like. A moment later he gave in and raised it to his mouth. His tongue swiped gently at it, and he gave a slight moan of awe, instantly wishing for more.

Why should he put himself to the bother of rinsing out his tights and briefs? He found he did not want to rid himself of the evidence of his erection. He pulled the gap in his pants closed and drew up his zipper once more. By this point he was unable to use the bathroom as he had intended; inevitably his cock had risen up excitedly beneath his touch and was now stiff as a board once more. He pushed open one of the cubicles and seated himself within.

“This is where I’ll be by nine o’clock tonight,” he breathed. “I’ll be in a bathroom - a mens’ public toilet. Me, Clark Kent. I’ll be sat just like I am now. Except I’ll be there for a different reason. I’ll be there to… to suck cock.”

Once more, he wondered if he could address this problem as Superman. But Lance Lewis had been very clear in his threat to proceed with the libel case if he did, and there was no doubt that he could and would do this.

“But it’s more than that,” he thought, looking down at his bulging crotch. “I… I want to go through with it.”

And there he had it: for the first time Clark admitted the truth to himself. From the moment Lewis had suggested this terrible, demeaning way out of his predicament, a part of him had leapt at the idea. It tapped into desires, dreams and fantasies that he had smothered for years, never daring to hope that there might one day be a chance to act on them. How could he, Superman, the most powerful man on the planet, if not the entire galaxy, ever safely find a way to place himself in the kind of jeopardy that secretly he wanted so badly? The prospect of being helpless and sexually dominated excited him more than he knew how to articulate. And it was this which truly had him in thrall, not Lance Lewis. Clark knew that there was not a chance of him wriggling out of the disgraceful night that lay in store for him, because deep down inside he could not wait.

He sat there for a long time, and eventually it became clear that being in a toilet cubicle, an echo of what was yet to come, was doing nothing to reduce his hard-on. Adjusting his penis as best he could, Clark took off his jacket and walked awkwardly back to his desk with it draped across his arm, to try and cover his bulging pants.

He thought about when Lance Lewis had asked him if he knew what a gloryhole was. After his hurried pretence, he had then admitted the truth:

“No, Mr Lewis. No… it’s not true. I apologise. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t tell lies and I never have. I… I believe I do know what a gloryhole is.”

But this in itself was a lie, was it not? Clark did tell lies. Lots of them. He’d lied just now, telling Perry he’d gone out for a coffee run. He had lied upon returning from the bathroom, when Greg asked him why he was walking so oddly, and he’d made something up about being troubled by a stiff back.

“Stiff back? No. It’s a stiff cock that’s troubling me. And soon it will be lots of them. Lots and lots of stiff cocks…”

And of course, as Superman he lied every day of his life, to protect his secret identity.

“I do tell lies. Of course I do. Just… just when it suits me. That’s the truth of the matter, but I pretend it’s not. I pretend to be something better than that, in order to fulfil my own self-imposed moral standards. So… so why should this be any different? That’s it: I’ll do as Lewis says. I’ll go to this place and suck cock. He said he would lock me in, didn’t he? So they won’t know if I get hard. And after all, I might not get hard.”

But even as he said these words Clark shook his head; he didn’t even believe this himself.

“Who am I kidding? Of course I’m going to get hard. I’m hard again right now just thinking about it; heaven knows how turned on I’ll feel when I’m really there. But if they lock me in… then no one can see. No one will know that I’m actually… enjoying myself. That’s it. And I’ll save the Daily Planet, and everyone’s careers. And I’ll grovel to Lewis and earn his forgiveness. And this will all be just one other lie that I found acceptable. Something else to conceal from the public. The same way I never told anyone the truth about how badly Nuclear Man humiliated me and whooped my ass on the moon, or about how scared and turned on I was when Luthor chained me and dominated me, And in return… finally… finally I get to have some fun. Why is that so wrong?”

Soon after this, a text message arrived his phone, telling him the address in downtown Metropolis where he was to go that evening, to fellate these mystery men. But by this time Clark had already deduced where the place must be himself, he was so fixated on what lay ahead.

When the end of the working day came, he shot out from behind his desk and headed for home.

“Faster than a speeding bulllet,” he whispered under his breath.

Once back at his apartment, he undressed, stripping off his civilian clothes. He sat down on his bed dressed only in his Superman uniform. Holding up the trousers he had just taken off, he peered inside them. With interest, he stared at the little patch of precum that had gathered within, hidden below the surface of his sober city suit. He hesitated, and then sniffed it. He liked the smell, and inhaled it deeply.

“Soon… soon I won’t have to imagine,” he breathed. “The all-powerful Superman… I’m going to be able to inhale this musk for real.”

Lost in a strange reverie, Clark pulled the crotch of his pants right over his head, and then he lay down on his bed, legs stretched out and enjoying the sensory delights.

He remained like this for some time, the sensations as new as they were blissful to him, lying in this odd, meditative, calm and profoundly erotic state. At last, conscious of the clock ticking away, he tugged the pants off of his head and threw them across the room. Standing up, he turned and examined himself in the mirror.

His tights and briefs were now very obviously stained by the tip of his cock. Thankfully there had been no emergency today which had required Superman. And if anything happened tonight? He flicked a concealed switch inside his wardrobe, activating the back-up force of robots at his Fortress, who dealt with such matters when the Man of Steel was indisposed.

“One night off,” he muttered. “Just one. For once, I get to have some fun. Even Superman deserves that, surely?”

He shaved, and made himself look his best, before dressing in his finest suit, a sharp and crisply tailored black number. His hands shook slightly with anticipation as he knotted his tie. He looked immaculate.

This done, he sat down in front of the clock and waited, unable to concentrate on a single other thing apart from the night of fellatio that awaited him.

At 8.45pm, Clark Kent opened the window of his apartment.

“It’s time,” he said. “Oh. Oh boy. Here I go. I’m really going to do this.”

He grinned. “Up, up and away! And then… down, down… and down to… who knows?”

Clark paused for a moment, and then he shot off into the night sky dressed in his best suit, not bothering to switch to his Superman uniform.

What will Clark discover in the downtown bathroom in Metropolis? Will he back out, or will he go through with Lance Lewis's inglorious plan for him? Will Superman face a long dark night of the soul, or a long dark cock at the hole?

Next chapter coming soon... if you enjoyed then please hit “like” and consider leaving a comment. Happy #MeekManOfSteelMonday

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 3 - HYPOCRITE

This is part 3 of a mature content erotic Superman story, inspired by a frankly stunning image of the Man of Steel sitting next to a gloryhole created by @Buffy2ville on Deviantart, who kindly gave permission for this - thank you. No offence or copyright infringement is intended; it is purely for enjoyment, not for profit. And so I hope you enjoy... now let’s find out what happens when Clark keeps his appointment with the devious pornographer Lance Lewis, at a public toilet in downtown Metropolis…

Less than a minute after leaving his apartment, Clark touched down lightly in a grubby back alley near the public toilet that was his destination. He walked the rest of the way, breathing heavily. He was bristling with excitement and apprehension.

A figure stepped from the shadows, a good-looking man of about thirty, with shoulder length brown hair.

“Well, well,” grinned Lance Lewis. “Right on time. An excellent habit for a whore, right, Clark?”

Despite everything, he scowled. “I’m not a whore, Lewis.”

Lance’s expression darkened. “But tonight you’re going to do what a whore does, isn’t that right? And what’s with calling me ‘Lewis’? Perhaps you want me to cancel this arrangement?”

“No!” Clark put out his hands in a placatory gesture. “Please, sir, no! I’m… I’m very sorry, Mr Lewis, sir. I didn’t mean to say that. I… I’m not a whore, but you’re quite right - tonight I… I’m going to behave just like a whore. And… and that’s just f-fine. I’ll d-do what a whore does. Thank you, sir. Forgive me, please.”

“Forgive you?”

“Yes… yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Lewis stared at him. “Well, look like you mean it, Clark. Get on your knees.”

"Wh-what?” Clark could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“You heard me, Kent. If you want me to forgive you, get down on your knees.”

Clark tried to think of something he could say or do, but Lewis was staring at him with a cold determination, and it was clear the man was not going to let him off the hook.

“Okay.”

Clark took a breath, and then slowly assumed a kneeling position at Lewis’s feet. Looking up, he said:

“I’m… I’m very sorry, Mr Lewis, sir. P-please forgive me. Please."

This seemed to satisfy Lance Lewis. “Okay. That’s better, Clark. But mind you keep a civil tongue in your head this evening.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” babbled Clark. “I’ll be on my b-best behaviour for you, sir.”

Already, his body was aglow with fiery arousal, both at the knowledge of what he was walking into and also, to his surprise, at the deferential manner which seemed to come so naturally to him.

‘This is my associate,” said Lewis, “my business partner, Carmine.”

A handsome, dark eyed young man with neat dark hair stepped from the shadows. Clark swallowed rapidly.

“Oh… I… I d-didn’t know anyone else was going to be here,” he said. “Uh…”

“Lots of people are going to be here,” said Lewis. “Lots of men. Right, Clark?”

Clark nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand sir. Lots of men are going be here. Lots of men are gong be… uh… c-coming here tonight.”

“Indeed. I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Lewis stared at him. “And tell Carmine what you’re going to be doing for these men, Clark. Go on. Introduce yourself and tell him why you’re here”

Clark bit his lip. He had no choice. Turning to this handsome younger guy, who was gazing at him with curiosity, he said: “I… um… Good evening, Carmine. Uh. Sir. Mr Carmine, sir. M-my name is C-Clark K-Kent. And I… I’m here to make amends for t-tarnishing Mr Lewis’s reputation.”

“And how are you going to do that, Clark?” asked Lance Lewis. “Tell Carmine how you’re going to make it up to me. Don’t be coy now.”

“N-no, sir.” Clark hesitated, and then said. “I… I’m g-going to be s-sucking… um… sucking d-dick."

He could hardly believe it as the words left his mouth, and before he could stop himself, he repeated this statement.

“I’ve come to suck cock! I’m going to be on the other side of a… of a g-g-glory hole! Ooh!”

Carmine smiled and knelt down beside him. “Good to meet you, Clark. You look like you’re looking forward to sucking some dick.”

“Is that true?” asked Lewis, crouching down on Clark’s other side. “Is our intrepid reporter looking forward to a night of cock?”

Both Lance Lewis and Carmine turned their attention to Clark’s crotch. He knew what they would be able to see, even restrained by three separate layers of clothing. There was no use trying to hide the fact he was now sporting a prominent erection.

“I… I…. Well. That is… t-to my ah… surprise… I am… uh… quite c-c-curious to t-try it… to t-try s-sucking some… ah… some penises.. I mean… some cocks.”

Both men smirked at this, and then doubled up with laughter.

“Yup. A hypocrite. Just like I said. Well, now’s your chance, Clark. You can find out just what it’s like. This could be a whole new beginning for you, huh?”

“Hmm. Uh. Yes. Maybe. B-but you are going to lock me in, right?” asked Clark, anxiously. “You said you’d lock me in and I would be alone, that’s correct, isn’t it, Mr Lewis?”

“Of course,” said Lewis. “It’ll just be you in there. As long as you do your job for the evening and those lips work away, no one else will be able to see you, Clark. It’ll be our secret. You, me… and Carmine.”

“Oh. Well… good. That’s just swell. Th-thank you, Mr Lewis. Thank you, Carmine. Th-thank you f-for this uh… opportunity.”

“I think it’s cruel to keep him waiting,” said Carmine.

Lewis nodded. “Come on, Clark. Let’s get you ready. It’s nearly showtime for you, right.”

“Yes, sir,” nodded Clark. “It’s nearly showtime for me!”

Together, Carmine and Lance Lewis dragged Clark to his feet and led him into the public bathroom.

It was bigger than he had expected, but also much, much filthier. There were scraps of paper, old leaves and empty condom wrappers strewn about the floor. The walls were scrawled with graffiti and foul language. Much of the place was also awash with puddles, some nearly a centimetre high. The pungent smell of these shallow pools unmistakably identified the substance as urine.

“Ugh,” said Clark, looking down as his shoes squelched into the wet floor. “It’s… the whole place is so dirty. It’s absolutely disgusting.”

“Problem?” asked Lance Lewis. “The urinals in here haven’t been properly serviced for a while, but you know what men are like: they just piss away regardless. That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it, Clark?”

“No sir.” Clark shook his head. “Uh. Where is the uh… oh…”

There, just to the left of a filthy hand towel hanging limply from a rail, was the scene of his night’s adventure. The toilet seat was cylindrical, and most of the cistern had collapsed on the floor behind it. The seat itself was a dirty beige and caked with aged grime and dirt, though it was a good size. It was also soaking wet all over. And just in front of this, set in the wall above and to the left of the towel rail, there it was: the gloryhole.

“Gosh,” said Clark. “So… that’s it, huh?”

“It sure is,” said Lance Lewis. “That’s your destiny! Ready, Clark?”

He swallowed. The hole didn’t exactly look clean, but then nothing in here did. He looked down once more at the pool of urine in which he stood, and then slowly nodded.

“Yes, sir, Mr Lewis, sir. I’m… I’m ready, sir.”

“Great stuff,” said Lewis, “well I’m going to lock you in now, and you’lll have about ten minutes or so to acclimatise yourself before your first client.”

Clark frowned. “Ten minutes? You mean I’ll have to wait in here?”

“Of course. It’ll give you time to think.”

That was what Clark was unsettled by, but he didn’t say so.

Lewis pointed towards the disgusting toilet. “Go take a seat, Clark. You look great, by the way. I’m pleased to see you’ve come in your best, just as I ordered you to. That’s a fine-looking outfit you’re wearing.”

“Uh. Yes, sir.” replied Clark. “This suit cost a lot of money. It’s my-best.”

He ran his hands over the smooth, pristine black fabric of his trousers. For a moment he felt regretful, not wanting to sully his beautiful clothes in this disgusting place.

“Problem, Clark?”

“No, sir.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Lewis gestured again to the toilet. “So… come on, Clark… sit. Sit, boy.”

Hesitantly at first, feeling foolish, he moved towards the toilet. The seat was splashed with urine just like the floor, and he looked about for some toilet paper. Yet there was nothing but an empty cardboard tube hanging from the wall.

“Nope,” chuckled Carmine, as if reading his thoughts. “All gone I’m afraid. Nothing to wipe the seat with. Problem? I said, Problem, Clark?”

Trying not to think about the piss-splashed seat, Clark resigned himself. He pushed his glasses up his nose, took a deep breath and sat down.

“Ooh. N-no. No p-problem, Carmine, sir.”

Lance Lewis smiled broadly. “Excellent. You look just perfect there, Clark.”

Clark could see the men staring at his crotch. His erection was now painfully obvious.

“You know,” said Lewis, staring at the bulge in his pants, “I think you might be going to enjoy tonight more than you think.”

Unable to think of anything to say to this, with his cheeks flushing red, Clark said simply: “Um. Th-thank you, Mr Lewis, sir.”

Lewis nodded. He stared at Clark, sat meekly on his toilet seat, and then he and Carmine went out and he closed the door behind them. Using his x-ray vision, Clark could see the man was keeping his word and was turning a key in the lock.

‘Ten minutes,” Lewis called from behind the door. “Ten minutes and then it’s showtime, Clark. Be ready for cock o’clock, won’t you?”

“Oh!” gasped Clark. “Yes, sir. C-c-cock o’clock. I’ll… I’ll be ready for showtime, sir.”

There was laughter and then the footsteps echoed away.

What will happen to Clark, aroused and ensnared, as he awaits his night of depravity? Will he rise to the occasion, or will he fall at the first hurdle and hide his true, disgraceful desires, just as he hides his colourful briefs and tights beneath his sober black suit? And what on Earth is he going to tell his dry cleaners?

Find out right now, in the next chapter - “KINKSTER OF STEEL”

If you’ve enjoyed, then please hit Like and leave a comment… I hope you find it hot, just like Superman 😈! In the meantime, Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!