SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

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 could feel waves of desire coursing through his body, buffeting him, making it so hard to think clearly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I… I have to stop you.’ His voice sounded so feeble. ‘I’m g-going to bring you to justice. All of you. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve come here for. To… to arrest you. I’m Superman. I’m the Man of Steel. I’m… I’m a h-hero. I am. And you’re all p-perverts! I’m certainly not going to just stand here and let you unfasten my belt and… pull my briefs down.’

‘So to be clear, Superman,’ said Zeal, slowly and with relish, ‘you wouldn’t enjoy it if I were to pull your panties down, here in front of all of these men? You wouldn’t like it one little bit?’

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

‘Of course I wouldn’t like it if you p-pulled my panties down in front of all these men – oh… you made me say panties again. I d-don’t want you to p-pull my panties down… ooh. I said it again, damn it!’

‘So you did,’ smiled Zeal. ‘I think you like calling them your panties now, don’t you?’

‘Of course not!’

The proximity of the man, the heat… and the whirling, churning feelings of his body… Superman could hardly think. His breath was coming fast now, in and out, in and out.

‘Of course I… ha… huh… don’t like… referring to my b-briefs as… huh… as my panties. That’s ridiculous. They’re not my panties. I’m a h-hero. I’m manly. I’m Superman! I’m going to bring you to j-justice. Right… right now. And these are my briefs… not my p-panties. My… my red… red b-briefs. Over my blue tights. I don’t wear panties. I’m S-superman…’

‘Of course you are! So just say the word, Superman, and I’ll take my hands out of your briefs. You can stop all of this, and take me to the station to be charged. The big man. The Man of Steel in his briefs and tights, bringing the sleazes to justice.’

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

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

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

‘Or… alternatively, Superman... you could surrender to me, like the good, breathless little Superchump I know you have quivering within you, and let me give you release. You can show me who you really are: the Metropolis Moron! A Super-submissive lurks inside you, Superman, just waiting to be allowed out. Just as your penis is trembling, waiting to be allowed out, longing to be released from your briefs and tights.’

‘Th-that’s not true,’ said Superman, ‘that’s complete nonsense.’

‘Really?’ said Zeal, scrutinising him. ‘Hmm. I don’t believe you, Superman.’

The Vice Lord reached out one hand and touched the end of his cock, making the Man of Steel whimper once more. ‘Ooh… oh! S-s-stop that. My p-penis! Mr Zeal! Your hand on my p-p-penis… no one ever… I’ve never had… oh! What are you doing to me? You mustn’t… hnngh.’

Zeal looked thoughtfully at him.

‘I wonder, Superman… I’m willing to bet you’ve done something recently… some act in which you knowingly made yourself look ridiculous…. And I bet secretly you enjoyed it – am I right? Tell me. Go on, Superman. Tell the truth now.’

‘Whuh-what? I…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

CHAPTER THREE – DIRTY LAUNDRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No problem. Clark.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh… what?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Sure. Um… here.’

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

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

‘Sorry,’ apologised Clark.

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

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

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

‘Whu-what?’

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

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

‘Um… well… that is…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Er… what?’

‘Have you got more underpants, Clark?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ooh! Haaa. Hnngh. Oh. Ooh! Ooh!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued…

SUPERMAN: THE TRIPLE THREAT

‘C'mon, Superman, you can show the three of them!’

The cry came from a guy in the crowd below, cheering the Man of Steel on, yet it cost Superman dearly. In that moment of distraction as the young man shouted encouragement, Superman tried to give a quick smile of reassurance. It was barely a second, but as he looked up, Non was on him. Superman tried to turn, but all too slowly, even with his super-speed. That giant of a man had him, and held him there in mid-air.

‘Ugh,’ he panted, trying to free himself. ‘Stop… get off me!’

Ursa looked about them. ‘Non, can you hold him?’

Non grunted his assent, and although Superman struggled, his tights-clad legs thrashing, he could not escape the giant Kryptonian's clutches; Non was far too strong, even for him. He was trapped.

‘Get… off me… let me go,’ he growled, but try as he might, he could not free himself. And as he struggled, held there before Zod and Ursa, to his horror Superman realised something: he was scared.

Down below on the city streets, the people were going wild, screaming their encouragement, urging Superman to break free and beat the three Kryptonians.

‘General,’ said Ursa, ‘we're going about this the wrong way. See how these idiots worship Kal El? If we defeat him physically they will just cheer him on to come back and keep resisting us. We need to destroy Superman, to tarnish him in their eyes, so they no longer believe in him.’

‘What do you suggest, my dear?’ said Zod.

Ursa smiled. ‘While Non has the little fool held tight, if you would be so good as to take hold of his legs. I have a plan, my lord...’

‘Certainly.’

Superman cried out as the General grabbed him by the ankles. ‘Let me go, Zod!’

Ursa motioned Non to fly down lower towards the watching crowd, so no one would miss what followed. The General had hold of Superman’s legs, Non, his torso, and now Ursa grabbed him by the throat, making him give a tiny strangled yelp. Then, with one swift motion she snatched the Man of Steel's cape from him. Superman could do nothing except look on helplessly as she ripped it out of his tunic and threw it away, letting it flutter to the ground.

‘And now, my General - if you would be so good as to remove Superman's boots,’ she purred. ‘Take them off and throw them to his army of worshippers. Let them touch their idol’s possessions!’

Superman cried out in alarm. ‘No, don't you... stop that... don't touch me, Zod! Stop! Stop! My boots... uh… no! No! NO!’

But his protests were in vain. While Non continued to hold him fast, General Zod took a firm grip of his boots and plucked them off, throwing them to an awestruck crowd below. As Superman watched, a pair of skater dudes ran forward and snatched them up eagerly, showing them to their friends, seemingly oblivious to the seriousness of the situation. ‘Don’t,’ he tried to shout out to them, ‘bring them back!’

‘Woohoo! We got his boots! Imagine what these will fetch on eBay!’

Now Superman was only dressed in his tunic, tights and briefs, and Zod took hold of his feet once more.

‘Get off me! Get off me!’ shouted Superman. ‘I'll destroy you, Zod, I swear!’

Ursa grinned a wide grin. ‘Your anger towards us is misplaced, Superman. We are your own kind, after all. Here - let me make you more comfortable.’ She stretched out a hand, scarlet clad fingernails glistening, and with one finger she caressed the circular clasp on Superman's yellow belt.

‘Whuh-what are you d-doing,’ asked the trapped Man of Steel. ‘Whu-what are you-’

‘Sssh,’ replied Ursa. ‘Look at you. You're so uptight, Kal El... Superman. You need to relax. You'll be much happier if I unfasten your belt and slide these cumbersome briefs down your legs. Come on – let’s help you out of them. Here...’

In panic, as she reached for him, Superman writhed and wriggled desperately, but Non held him firm above, while the General maintained an iron grip on his feet and legs.

Ursa smiled, and took hold of his belt, pulling his briefs out and away from his body. They were taut in her grasp, and she held his gaze for a few moments, obviously relishing his fear.

‘Please,’ said Superman, uncertain whether she would actually go through with this. ‘Please, n-not that… let me-’

But before he could say more Ursa pressed down hard on the circular stud, and with a click the belt fell open, loosening Superman’s briefs in her grip.

‘No!’ cried Superman. ‘No, no, no! Don't you... my briefs... get off of my briefs! D-don't! Don’t touch that! Oh – stop! S-stop, don’t! Ursa, don’t! Not my briefs! Not my briefs– no!’

But Ursa’s sly fingers fully unfastened his belt and snagged the waistband of Superman’s briefs, loosening them and pushing her fingers through the belt loops..

‘Down they come, Superman!’

And as the people of Metropolis watched, she began to slowly slide them down to his knees, while the Man of Steel could do nothing but protest and cry out in impotent rage, powerless to prevent his enforced stripping. From inside his tights, the outline of his penis was now clear to see, pushing up against his bright blue spandex.

There… isn’t that more comfortable for you, Superman? Look at your hero, people of earth – your mighty hero. Behold your so-called “Man of Steel” – ha! I’ve pulled his panties down!’

From below he could hear gasps and cries of amazement. But there was also the sound of laughter. They were demeaning him in the eyes of those he sought to protect, making him a figure of fun. He was dimly aware of cameras flashing too; there were people actually taking pictures of his ignominious predicament.

‘Stop this… stop this, now! Pull my briefs up and fight me! Fight me! Or are you afraid?’

‘Why fight? No, Superman. This is much more fun. See-’

Calmly, Ursa reached out her hand once more.

‘And look – now that I’ve pulled your panties down we can all get a good look at your manhood! Come, let your people below see it! Behold, people of Earth! Get a good look at your champion! Don’t hide it, Superman! Let them all look at you in your blue tights! They can all see your penis, Superman. Every single one of them is staring at your bulging Super-penis.’

And indeed, inside his tights his cock was now plain for all to see. Ursa slid a finger down it and grasped it, making Superman whimper ignominiously.

‘Ooh... my.... my penis... you can't touch me like that... ooh… stop... what are you doing? Release me! My penis! My p-p-p-penis! You mustn't do this... I'm S-superman!’

Ursa stroked him in his tights, teasing his balls and relishing the foolish expression on his face as his cock hardened under her touch.

‘And of course, you’re growing hard. The son of our gaoler is becoming erect in his tights! Look at him, people of Earth! Throbbing in his tights! Tell me - SUPERman –’ she said, lowering her voice so only he could hear, ‘how Super do you think they'll find you… after they've seen you cum in your tights?’

Superman held her eye as she began to masturbate him in earnest, manipulating him in his tights.

‘Ah! Oh p-p-please,’ he pleaded, ‘n-not this. Anything but this. D-don't do it to me... p-please! Let me f-fight you. These p-p-people they need me... uh... ooh uhhh you can't do this, Ursa p-please... s-stop masturbating me! They need me! Uhhh…’

‘And what about you, Superman,’ she continued, working away tirelessly on his erection. ‘What do you need? These primitives cannot offer you sexual relief; they'd break! Your frustration must be so immense... I can feel it! You want to cum... don't you, Superman? Admit it! You've never felt anything as good as this before, have you? Come on... they tell us that Truth is your thing...? Answer me truthfully… answer! Answer, Superman! ANSWER!’

Superman bit his lip, but as she pressed her question again and again, in time with the pumping of his cock, he couldn't resist.

‘Ooh. Uhh. Oh god. All… all right. Y-yes. I... oh no... I d-do want to... want to cum! Wh-what you're doing to me... Being masturbated by you… it d-does feel g-good. It f-feels so good! But I don't want to c-cum like this... not here... you'll... you'll humiliate me in front of the world. My people...’

‘Indeed. But we’ve already humiliated you. Look – they can all see that you’re being held by Non. They can see he’s stronger than you, Superman. And they can all see this: you, their idol, with your briefs half way down your legs, being masturbated by your enemies. And they can see the effect it’s had on their champion. They can see your erection, Superman. They know it’s made you hard. They know it’s turned you on. How does that knowledge make you feel?’

It was no good. His body was now on fire with arousal.

‘Ooh,’ he said pathetically. ‘Ooh. Oh god. I’m erect and they can all see. They’re all watching you masturbate me! And that’s... turning me on... even more! Ooh. Ooh!’

‘Look at them, Kal El,’ said General Zod, ‘all those cameras clicking away, recording your fall in detail. They want you to cum as well. They hunger for your disgrace – for your humiliation! See how they thank their saviour? They are not your people - we are.’

Following Ursa's lead, the General let go of one of Superman's legs and slid a finger between the hero's buttocks, pushing the blue spandex up towards the Man of Steel's sphincter...

‘Come, son of Jor-El,’ he said, ‘Ursa is right. Fighting is not the way. Admit my fingers and let us show you release!’

‘AAAH!’ cried Superman. ‘No! Z-zod! You mustn't.... uh! You're... you're inside me! Ooh! Oh god... What would Jor-El say? I'm… I’m being fingered by General Zod! Ooh! Oh Jor El, I’m being fingered by General Zod!’

‘And masturbated by me,’ said Ursa, triumphantly.

Then, all at once, her hand halted in its insidious work.

‘Or shall I stop, Superman? If you prefer we can stop this now - return to fighting. Shall I pull up your briefs and let you go, just run along? What's it to be?’

‘Uh. Uh.... p-please,’ moaned Superman. ‘Please.’

‘Please what?’ asked Zod, ‘what is it to be, Kal-El? You heard the question.’

He skilfully tweaked the hero's buttocks, making him squirm and gasp as he was fingered in his tights. Seeing the son of their gaoler humiliated sexually like this was hugely arousing to him too, and his own cock throbbed.

‘You... you know the answer,’ gasped Superman.

‘We both know it,’ said Ursa, still holding his cock. ‘But the people of earth need to hear it. And you need to hear yourself say it.’

They had drifted nearly to the ground by now, and the assembled crowd was silent, watching this unbelievable scene unfold.

‘What is your answer, Superman? Shall we stop this?’

The absence of that motion on his cock was a torture greater than anything he had ever known. Superman fought desperately, but the words he wanted would not come to his lips.

‘Answer her, Superman,’ snarled General Zod. ‘Answer now!’ Deftly, the General slid his finger suddenly further up between the hero’s buttocks, pushing the blue spandex of his tights inside him.

A terrible demeaning sound tore itself from Superman’s lips as he squirmed ecstatically at Zod’s invasion of his ass.

‘Ooooh! Hnngh! N-No,’ he whimpered at last. ‘D-d-don’t… don’t stop.’

‘What was that, Kal El?’ said Zod. ‘Speak up now.’

‘Puh-p-p-please,’ said Superman in a shaking voice, ‘p-please... don't stop... don't stop masturbating me. I don’t want her to s-stop, General. I… I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want you to let me go. I...I... I want to cum. I want to c-cum, General. Please don't stop what you were doing, Lady Ursa. You were right. Never... never felt anything like this... I can't... can't continue fighting... just as you knew would happen. I want it too badly. Let them all see – let them take their photographs. I’m already done for. Please Ursa - finish it... make me cum... make me fill my tights.’

The shock from the crowd was audible... and yet still the cameras clicked away, recording Superman's disgrace.

‘And what about the General,’ cooed Ursa. ‘Should he take his finger out of your ass, Superman? Speak up now...’

Superman let out a whimper. ‘N-no.’ he said at last. ‘I... oh god... I don't want that. I’m sorry, Jor-El. I don't want the General to remove his finger. Please... please keep d-doing it to me, General… I don’t want you to stop, Zod.’

‘And why is that. Kal-El,’ asked Zod, his face a mask of triumph. ‘Answer me!’

Superman shook his head. There was no resistance left.

‘B-because... oh... because I l-like it! Oh god. Jor-El, I'm sorry. I'm being f-fingered by Krypton's worst criminal... the humiliation... the disgrace... wish I could be stronger, b-but it f-feels so... so nice. Feels so good. I’m b-being fingered by General Zod… and I like it! There – I s-said it! I’m being f-fingered by General Zod and I l-like it! Nngh! I’ve admitted it, General!’

Superman began to buck his hips, writhing under the touch of his foe. ‘P-please, General... d-don't stop fingering me, s-sir. Keep doing it to me! And Ursa... I'm... uh... I'm b-begging you - please carry on masturbating me! M-make cum, I beg you! Make me fill my tights with my Kryptonian cum.. and then I swear I'll... I'll kneel... I'll kneel before Zod. I'll do it - the planet is yours.’

Disgusted cries from the Metropolitans rent the air:

‘He's a coward! Superman is nothing but a pervert! He'd rather get his rocks off than save us! Go on then - do it to him. Finish him and end this!’

‘There,’ said Ursa. ‘That didn't take long, did it?’

At last they alighted on the ground, and she began to wank Superman in earnest now, again and again, her hand going up and down his blue spandex-clad tights. ‘Ooh,’ he gasped, ‘ooh. Thank you. Uh. Th-thank you.’

‘Non,’ she said, ‘release, Superman. He doesn't want to escape now, do you?’

‘N-no,’ whimpered the hero miserably. ‘C-couldn't escape if I w-wanted to. I'm... I'm yours... to do with as you please.’

Superman’s legs shook as he said this, his knees knocking with fear and arousal, causing his briefs to slide down his calves and bunch around his ankles. Ursa let go his cock and the General abruptly pulled his finger from Superman’s buttocks, making him cry out.

The next moment he found himself shoved and stumbling forward. He looked around in confusion.

‘Pull them up,’ ordered Ursa brusquely. ‘Pull up your panties, Superman.’

‘Pull them up again? B-b-b-b-but,’ said Superman, ‘but I thought you said I could c-cum-’

‘You will need to kneel and submit to the General first,’ said Ursa, ‘wearing your panties, legacy of the House of El. Then we will break you and make you cum, understand, Superman? I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

‘Ooh!’ whimpered the Man of Steel. ‘Yes, Ursa. I’ll do as you say and pull up my briefs… I mean my p-panties. And I’ll… I’ll kneel b-before Zod.’

With shaking hands, Superman dragged his briefs back up his legs and let out another ignominious whimper as he had to pull them over his excited spandex-clad erection. Then it was done, and with a click he fastened them once more.

‘Now, Kal-El,’ said the General, ‘do you admit to being a craven fool?’

He swallowed, cheeks colouring. ‘Yes, General. I’m a f-fool. A c-craven fool. Ooh.’

‘The Son of Jor-El is a coward, who wishes only to serve me, am I correct?’

Superman hesitated, but Ursa glared at him and gave him a kick.

‘Uh! Oh. Okay. Yes. I’m a c-c-coward. The Son of Jor-El is a coward, who wishes only to serve… to serve General Zod. Please let me serve you, sir… I… I b-beg you. Ooh.’

‘Well then,’ said Ursa. ‘Prove it… Superman.’

‘You know what you need to do,’ said Zod. ‘Show me, Kal El. Show me who you really are… Superman. Now, finally… kneel before Zod.’

He paused, his heart pounding. It had happened so quickly. How had it come to this? Could he still resist? Was there any chance he could fight back now they had released him?

But his erect cock, wet and excited in his spandex had the answer for him. And Superman bowed his head and finally, willingly, he got down on his knees before General Zod.

‘I’m yours, sir. Do what you want with me, General. The son of Jor El is your willing slave. I’ll do whatever you say, sir. I’ll obey. Hnngh!’

Saying this only increased his arousal tenfold!

‘You see… I… I’m obedient, General, sir. I’ve showed you I… know my p-place. The son of Jor El is now the good, obedient servant of General Zod. Oh! Thank you for letting me serve you, sir. Uh. Just p-p-please… let me… c-c-cum! Ooh! I p-pledge myself to you, if you’ll only... let me cum! Uhhhhh!’

Finally!’ sneered Zod. ‘I accept your allegiance, Superman, you grovelling little fool. Off with your panties, then, Ka El.!’

He lifted Superman off the ground with one hand, snatched up his briefs, freeing them, and threw them into the crowd. ‘Isn't that right, my pathetic slave?’

‘Nngh. Y-yes, General,’ echoed Superman, his body writhing as Ursa recommenced expertly tossing him off.

‘Off with my panties. Ooh – you took them from me. God... never knew... I c-could be so p-pathetic... or how it'd make me f-feel. You took my briefs off, Zod... and the truth is I liked it. Oh... if the council on Krypton could see me now: I'm supposed to be their Last Son. If they could see my shame. I'm Superman. I should be defeating you... but you took away my briefs - I mean my panties - and I wanted you to. You took my panties off, Zod and I luh-liked it! Even just admitting that to you is turning me on! What does that make me? Oh, what am I now?? What kind of Superman enjoys being stripped of his p-panties?’

‘Imagine them here, Superman,’ whispered Ursa. ‘Imagine the Council all watching you being masturbated while the General takes hold of you and fingers your ass once more.’

‘Oh! Oh! Ooh! Yes! I… I can see them,’ whimpered Superman, as the General did just this. ‘Oooooh! It’s like they’re here… Huge… forbidding faces… and their disapproval is t-t-t-turning me on even more! Everyone can see my disgrace, and I don’t care. Superman is ruined. I’m defeated and it’s turning me on. Ooh!!’

The end was close now.

Hey, wait!’ A young street hustler in a white t-shirt and leather jacket, who had earlier managed to grab Superman's briefs when Zod threw them aside, now came running over. ‘Uh… Can I... can I put his pants on his head? If he's gonna go... if Superman’s really finished... which seems likely given everything he's doing... can we help you make him look as ridiculous as possible?’

Ursa surveyed the young man; there was an excited bulge in his jeans. Clearly this primitive was turned on by Kal-El's downfall.

‘What do you say, Superman,’ she asked. ‘Shall we let this envoy of your sainted earth put your panties on your head? The idea clearly excites him.’

‘Uh. Uh. Mm. Nngh. Mm. Y-yes,’ said Superman, gasping with each stroke of his penis. ‘Do it... let him do it... he's right - it's fitting that I should... look... a f-fool. I am a fool. I admit it. Hnngh. I, Superman, am a fool. I was supposed to save them, and I’ve let them all down, they should be able to do this to me. Do it. Put my briefs on my head. I mean my p-p-panties. Make me look as ridiculous as possible. I deserve it... mmmm. Let the elders of Krypton see me with my panties on my head! Let them all see me for what I am! Let them see their champion wearing his briefs on his head! OOH!’

‘Just make sure his eyes can still see mine,’ commanded Ursa.

‘Sure thing, lady!’ The hustler didn't have to be asked twice, and with obvious relish, he pulled Superman's briefs firmly down over his head, aligning the right leg with his eyes so the hero could maintain eye contact as he was wanked to his total defeat by Ursa. At the feel of his own spandex being stretched over his handsome face and his head, the hero gasped. ‘Oh… oh! I’m so… so humiliated. And so hard…’

‘Here ya go, Superman,’ breathed the excited hustler, ‘I put your little red panties on your head, just like you wanted.’

‘Ugh. Uh. Th-thank you,’ said Superman ‘thank you for putting my p-panties on my head, sir. H-how does it make me luh-look?’

‘You look like a fucking dickhead, man!’ came the reply. ‘A Superdickhead! No one on this planet will ever believe in you again. You lost it all, dude!’

‘OOh. G-good. I tried to fight them… I did. But I guess that's what I am now. Superman the S-s-super... superdickhead! I give in. I'm a Superdickhead. Isn’t that what you all want to hear? I’m a helpless Super-dickhead with my panties on my head, too much in thrall to my own erection to save the earth. OH! Ursa... your touch... f-feels.... so good! Being masturbated by you... and f-fingered by Zod. I like it... I luh-like it s-so b-bad... that I c-can't s-stop you!’

The hustler had unzipped his fly and fished out his own cock. ‘Mind if I knock one out,’ he asked nervously.

‘Do as you wish,’ sneered Ursa, taking a firm hold on Superman's penis. ‘With one condition. Just be certain to coat Superman with your earthling spunk when you cum.’

‘You got it, lady,’ cried the excited hustler. ‘I'm gonna cum all over your face, Superman! On behalf of the planet you sold out I'm gonna shower you with cum! The “Man of Steel”… ha! He ain’t a Man of Steel now, that’s for sure!’

‘Oh god,’ said Superman. ‘You’re going to cum on my face? All right. D-do it. If you m-must. I deserve it. I’ve failed you all. I deserve to be coated with semen... with s-spunk.’

‘It's time now, Superman,’ whispered Ursa, ‘no going back now, right?’

‘N-no, Ursa,’ whimpered Superman. ‘No going back. Th-thank you, Lady Ursa. Mmm. Uh. Uh. Ooh… ooh… gonna cum soon, I can feel it.’

‘You are quite utterly and singularly pathetic, Superman, do you know that,’ said Zod.

‘Oh. Ooh. Yes, sir, General. Of c-course I know that, General... sir. I've got my briefs on my head, and your finger up my ass, and I'm conceding the planet to you just for the privilege of cumming in my tights. You've ended me, General.’

‘It was not I, in truth,’ said Zod, ‘but Ursa. Beg her to let you cum, Superman. Beg her as foolishly as you can.’

‘Uh... y-yes... p-p-please, Ursa...please please please please... I'm not a threat any more - you've turned me from earth's champion into a spandex clad Superdickhead; a babbling little fool. I'm Superman the coward, the Superdickhead! All I care about is being masturbated by you, and debasing myself in your clutches. Never dreamed I was capable of these feelings. My cock is making my whole body thrill as you touch me! Grant me your mercy, Lady Ursa, and just let me cum... please!’

Just then Superman felt the hustler's warm spunk begin to rain down upon him.

‘Oh! My face! I can feel him c-cumming all over me! Hot s-spunk all over my face! Ursa... General... you were right - they c-couldn't w-wait to turn on me! I've got a f-f-face full... of s-s-spunk! Mm. Mmf.’

‘Indeed you have, son of our gaoler,’ said Ursa, staring him Superman the eye. ‘You look good coated in semen, Superman; it befits you! Perhaps we’ll let the earthlings do more of this. But now, you pathetic, trembling disgrace of a man: fill your tights with cum as we watch you. Do it, Superman. Ejaculate, you pathetic man – ejaculate in your tights for General Zod! There!’

Then, with one final squeeze, Ursa did the deed. Whooping and howling in humiliated, frenzied ecstasy, Superman fell to the ground and pumped his tights full of a vast amount of spunk. Despite the mortifying shame of it, his whole life long, nothing had ever, ever felt this good. ‘Ooh! Ooh. Aah.’ He held eye contact with Zod and Ursa as he came all over himself; their contemptuous stares only served to make the experience more pleasurable for him.

When it was done, and Ursa and the General stood gazing at this disgraced hero, Superman rose up on legs shaking in semen-sodden blue spandex. His face was slick with cum, ditto the red briefs atop his head. ‘You’ve buh-beaten me,’ he said, unnecessarily. ‘And now. Puh-please, sir. Please may I be permitted to kneel once more before Zod. Please let me show my obedience, General.’

The General nodded and pointed at the ground before him, and pausing only to remove his briefs from his head and pull them up once more, kneel is what Superman did.

‘I’m yours, General,’ he said, ‘Superman is your obedient slave, sir. And I am a willing slave. Thank you, General... Master.’

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!