Webster Flicked A Switch And The Kryptonite Beam Vanished.

Webster flicked a switch and the Kryptonite beam vanished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could hardly believe what he was hearing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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?’

Hi, I love your work, i was wondering if all of the extended vice lord story was somewhere or if you post your stories anywhere else?

Hey… thanks for the appreciation and the follow. Glad you enjoy! I wrote Vice Lord a long time ago, and the only parts of the extended version I’ve shared are the extracts on here. I’ll probably post the whole thing at some point, with pics, once I’ve finished the current story - Superman: Into The Wicker Man. Happy to answer any more questions, and once again thanks for the appreciation.

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...

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!