Something For The Weekend A Two-parter.

Something for the weekend… A two-parter.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!



SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Five: The Waters of Summerisle - part I

At last, all too aware of his predicament, Superman managed to tear his gaze from the excited, foaming erection that had already soiled the crotch of his newly cleaned blue tights. He forced himself to turn to the washbasin and throw some cold water on his face. Reluctantly, he wiped away the precum on his spandex and washed it from his hands… although part of him – a part that could not yet have begun to admit it to himself - longed to lick it from his fingers, to see what sensations that might bring him.

This was so new to Superman. All of his adult life he had deftly avoided his thoughts becoming suffused with lust, yet since coming to this strange and bleak place, both in mind and body he felt temptations that he had never been prey to before.

Mastering himself at last, with all of his strength and concentration, Superman felt his penis soften, and his erection finally subsided, to his relief… and yet also to his slight disappointment. He picked up the red underpants Tam had given him, and his heart sank as he gazed at them.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll just have to hope I can find my briefs before anyone has to see me in public dressed like this. After dinner I can go out on patrol, and use my x-ray vision to search for them; after all they can’t be far away. For now… I guess this… these… is the best I can do.’

Resigned, he stepped into the plain red underpants and pulled them up his legs and over his tights. With some difficulty, he fastened his belt around the waist. Without the loops of his uniform briefs to keep it in place it felt slightly loose, but he managed to wedge it on, and stood back and stared at his reflection.

His panties, as Tam had called them, did in fact look very like his uniform briefs. No doubt that was how the boy had come to mix them up in the laundry. What a strange, strange situation he now found himself in. Would anyone notice? Did it look like his uniform, or would they know?

‘I’ve been here less than a day,’ he whispered, ‘and I’m wearing red panties over my tights, instead of my briefs.’

Briefly, Superman wondered why he felt the need to give this commentary, to remind himself verbally of this fact. But he did not ponder it for more than a moment – instead he put on his boots, pulled a pair of black socks over them, followed by his shoes and another of the smart suits he wore as Clark Kent.

‘Well, my panties it is for now,’ he said. ‘With luck, no one will need to see them in any case.’

At last he fastened his trousers and pulled up the zip, and the final trace of those bright red underpants Superman was now wearing over his tights vanished.

‘Uh… I’m ready,’ he said, opening the door of his room to find Tam slouched against the wall waiting for him. ‘Lead the way, Tam.’

Tam looked him up and down. ‘Very smart, Clark. Very nice. C’mon, follow me.’

They went down the back stairs and along several corridors, coming out at last into the main room of the inn. It was an old-fashioned, stark place, cold whitewashed walls hung with a handful of ancient oil paintings, and above the door was the head of a once noble-looking stag, that had been cut off and mounted. The only customers were men, and they all stared at Clark as he entered.

‘Uh… good evening,’ he said.

‘You must be the American,’ said one, a tall, wiry man with keen eyes and thick eyebrows. ‘Mister Clark Kent from the Daily Planet. It’s uncommon kind of ye to come all this way and give your attention to Summerisle. Here –’

The man thrust a glass of something into Clark’s hand.

‘Our local whisky. The finest in the land.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, wondering how to refuse, ‘gosh, thank you, sir, but I-’

‘Drink,’ said the man, clinking his glass. ‘Your money’s no good here, son. We’ll keep you in whisky for all of your stay. Here’s to you, and to your search for the missing lads. May the Gods bless ye.’

‘B-but,’ said Clark.

‘Drink it, Clark,’ said Tam softly. ‘It’s a great honour to treat a stranger this way. Go on. Drink.’

Clark swallowed. He didn’t want to offend his hosts. ‘Uh… thank you,’ he said, and sipped the tumbler he had been given.

‘All of it now, Clark,’ said Tam, in the same soft, smooth voice. ‘Get it down you. Get it inside you.’

‘Inside me? Oh. Yes.’

He had rarely drunk whisky, and only intended to take the most minute sip, but at Tam’s urging, for some reason Clark found himself knocking the whole thing back in one. It was fiery and had a lightly spiced kick, like nothing he had ever tasted before.

‘Gosh,’ he said, ‘that sure is…’

Before he knew it, another glass had replaced the one he had just drained, and Clark let Tam steer them both to a table in the corner. A narrow wooden settle was set behind it.

‘Take a seat, Clark,’ said Tam, and he did just that. To his surprise, the lad slid in right alongside him. There was just about enough space for two, and Clark could now feel Tam’s right thigh pressing tightly against his own.

‘I’ve finished work for the day now,’ explained Tam, ‘so I thought we’d eat together. Make it less lonely for you. I take it that’s alright, Clark?’

The lad stared at him, those dark eyes above high cheekbones gazing straight into Clark’s. The feel of that leg so close and warm against his own was incredibly intimate. Within his trousers, and beneath the layers of his red underpants and blue tights, his cock twitched slightly.

‘Uh… s-sure, Tam. That’s very kind and thoughtful of you.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Tam. ‘I feel like we’re friends already, don’t you, Clark?’

He held out a glass, to toast, and Clark reached for his own. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘uh… I feel that too.’

‘Good,’ said Tam, his voice now lower and more conspiratorial. ‘To friends. New friends, Clark.’

Their glasses clinked. ‘Yes,’ said Clark, nervously returning the lad’s gaze. ‘Uh… to new friends.’

He raised the glass to his lips. ‘Down in one,’ said Tam, and once more, without thinking Clark obeyed this suggestion.

‘This… this whisky certainly is good,’ he said, wiping his lips with a handkerchief. A second later, two more glasses of the stuff were set before them, to Clark’s slight astonishment. His Super metabolism meant that it was difficult, if not quite impossible, for him to become drunk, but this Summerisle beverage was potent stuff.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Tam, with a smile. ‘Now, dinner. I bet you’d like a good piece of meat, wouldn’t you, Clark?’

As he said this, he put one hand on Clark’s leg.

‘Whuh-what?’ said Clark, his blood beginning to race.

Tam withdrew his hand, and instead placed it around Clark’s shoulders. With his other arm he pointed up at a blackboard with the day’s specials on it.

‘Rump steak. It’s good. How about that, Clark? Nice piece of rump?’

Tam gave his shoulder a playful squeeze. Within his tights, Clark’s penis trembled again and began to grow a little.

‘Huh! Hmm. Um,’ said Clark. ‘Uh. Yes. S-steak. Sounds good, thank you, Tam.’

He could hardly believe what was happening to him. The erection that he had fought so hard to master and be free of was threatening to return. And it seemed as if Tam’s body, the warmth and proximity and intimacy of being sat with him like this, was the catalyst. That arm, draped languidly around his shoulders… his touch seemed electric.

‘Good decision,’ grinned Tam. ‘A fine piece of rump steak for you, Clark. Good red meat. Cheers.’

They raised their glasses in another toast, and as Clark downed the fiery liquid once more, his penis rose, and began to push up against his spandex.

‘I can see your cheeks reddening there, Clark. I guess you’re no used tae this in Metropolis, eh?’

‘N-no,’ said Clark. ‘Not really.’

Tam withdrew his arm from his shoulders and now placed one hand back on Clark’s thigh. It was all he could do not to gasp, and his penis rose a little more. The excited warmth coming from his crotch was suddenly all he could think of.

‘Well, dinnae worry, Clark. You’ll soon adjust to our ways.’

Tam gave his thigh another slight and intimate squeeze, his fingers pressing through layers of clothing and spandex, and as two more whiskys arrived and were set before them, Clark just about managed to give a little cough, as he felt a full-masted erection take hold and stand to attention in his trousers, briefs and tights. His cock was stiff and excited, and Tam’s hand was a mere two inches away from it.

The young man who served them had a head of black curls, and a wiry, saturnine look about him. He gazed thoughtfully at Clark as he refreshed their drinks, but said nothing.

‘That’s Damian,’ said Tam, leaning in to put his mouth by Clark’s ear. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s quite intense.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, ‘okay…. Tam.’ He could feel the lad’s breath against his skin, they were so close. There were other seats like theirs in the inn, yet no one else was sitting side by side like this, like he and Tam. If anyone found it odd, then nobody mentioned it.

Several of the locals began to ask Clark questions, about the Daily Planet, about America, and about his famed special relationship with Superman, the Man of Steel. All the time, Tam’s hand remained on his thigh, and the touch of it, the warmth of it, the inappropriate intimacy of it, made Clark’s excited cock throb all the more.

I should ask him not to, he thought. I should tell him to move his hand, to take it away.

Yet that would seem so rude. And Tam had done so much for him in the short time he’d been here; why, the young man was kindness and consideration personified! What harm could it do? He wasn’t to know the inexplicable effect his hand was having on Clark. Why not just let him leave it there? No one could see his erection, after all, and surely it would subside soon.

And underpinning all this, what he could not admit to himself was that he didn’t want that touch to be withdrawn. He did not want to lose that odd and intimate warmth, like nothing he had felt before. Tam’s touch on his leg… Tam touching him… who could not possibly guess that it was not just Clark Kent whose thigh was breath his palm, but Superman, who felt him through layers of spandex. Superman was being touched by another man, and relishing the strange and intense familiarity.

Soon Damian brought the food. ‘Nice cut of meat that,’ he said with a sniff as he set the plates down. And indeed, it was a fine steak, rare and bloody. Two glasses of red wine were also placed before them, and although Clark drew breath to protest, just at that moment Tam removed his hand from his thigh, and in the sudden absence of the lad’s touch, he found himself thinking: what the hell.

He took a sip, and found it good.

They had not long finished eating, when his Super-hearing picked something up. It was roughly five miles away – the voice of a man, crying out for help.

Clark went to stand up, but then remembered his erection and quickly sat back down again.

‘What’s the matter, Clark?’ asked Tam gazing at him with wide eyes. He lowered his voice. ‘Ye don’t need to pay another urgent trip like before, do ye?’

‘No,’ said Clark, ‘nothing like that. I just need to grab some air.’

He took off his jacket, somewhat awkwardly, and fumbling for his wallet he produced a handful of notes.

‘Here,’ he said, pressing them into Tam’s hand, ‘take this. That’s for dinner, and for the service, and the rest is for you. Thank you for all you’ve done for me today, Tam. I… I really appreciate it.’

‘Wow,’ said Tam, looking down at the amount, then returning his deep gaze to Clark himself. ‘You weren’t kidding about having a big tip for me, were you, Clark?’

Their hands were still touching, and something away the way Tam said this made Clark’s helpless erection throb even more.

‘Uh… no. No, I wasn’t kidding about the uh… the b-big tip.. You’ve earned it,’ he said hoarsely, ‘every penny.’

He released Tam’s hand and stood up, trying nonchalantly to cover his crotch with his jacket.

‘I… I’ll catch you later,’ he said, trying to walk to the door with some semblance of normality.

‘Aye, Clark,’ said Tam. ‘Catch you later, just as ye say.’

Once outside he felt beyond grateful for the rush of cold air against his face. The wind was whistling once more, and he looked up at that sinister old rowan tree that loomed over the inn. He shivered… could that thing have been behind the wetting of his pants?

Just then he heard the voice cry out for help once more. No time to lose.

Using his Super-speed he shot across to a nearby pile of heavy old stones. In a blur, too fast to be seen by the human eye, he stripped off his suit, socks and shoes, and buried them safely in a dry spot, where no one could touch them. Clad now in his full uniform, albeit with those ersatz red underpants over his tights instead of his briefs, he looked down.

An erection still proudly pushed out below his belt; his cock stood stiff and pulsing. A dark spot could also be seen on his red underpants, betraying his excited precum.

‘No! Go down,’ he said in desperation, ‘go down! Superman can’t be seen like this! It’s bad enough I’m wearing underpants over my tights; I can’t let people see me with an erection!’

The wind shook the branches of the tree, and for a moment he thought he heard a man’s voice saying mockingly: ‘Yes… go down, Superman… go down!’

‘Whuh-what?’

Superman looked all around, using his x-ray vision, but there was not a soul about. Fearfully, he turned his gaze back up to the branches of the mighty old rowan tree.

From nowhere, somehow the voice of old Jeremiah, the pilot, echoed around his ears, cackling: ‘Look at him! Superman has pissed himself again - you’ve wet your pants again, Man of Steel!’

‘That’s not true,’ he shouted, in frustration and alarm, ‘I haven’t-’

Before he could say any more, Superman heard that cry for help once more, and it sounded weaker now. There was nothing else for it. Pausing only to use a blast of his Super-breath to dry the incriminating patch of his precum, he raised one arm and punched off, shooting into the darkening twilight sky: Superman, blazing to the rescue over Summerisle.

Had anyone seen him, they would have marvelled at the fact that the Man of Steel was sporting an all too obvious erection. He would have to play this very carefully.

See what dastardly events await Superman in part II… And if you enjoy it then please Like or leave a comment. Have a good day!

SUPERMAN: THE PRICE OF LUST

‘The transformation,’ he breathed, ‘it… it’s beginning. I can feel it… oh! I’m being stripped… stripped of my powers. I’m going to be… a normal man! Uhhh. OH!’

There was a strange excitement, making him tremble all over as his very DNA was torn apart and rewritten by the power of Krypton, by his father’s own technology; his legs shook in his tights. This was what he had wanted, what he had demanded, and he was getting it. And yet, as he felt his strength beginning to recede from him, to his alarm Superman began to realise that it was not just his powers that were being stripped. A crystal tube emerged behind him, sliding smoothly up the back of his legs, and began to suck, ensnaring his cape.

‘Uh… Whuh –what?’ he said. ‘What’s happening?’

The shaft increased its suction, and his cape was swiftly vacuumed into it. Superman felt it part company from him, ripped away from his tunic, and then it was gone forever, red vanishing into the translucent white, sucked away into the depths of the Fortress.

‘My cape!’ he cried. ‘Father, no!’

But even as he protested, he felt crystalline tendrils wrap themselves around his feet, as two more tubes rose up around his legs, parting them slightly, and with horror he realised that his cape was not all he was to lose. ‘No!’ he yelled in desperation. ‘Not my boots, please! Don’t take them off, please!’

Yet although he struggled, Superman’s boots were indeed gripped and forcibly taken from him. They slid down and off of his legs and then they too were sucked into those tubes.

‘Why? I don’t understand? Why are you taking my clothes off?’

‘Your cape, your boots… these are the legacies of the House of El.’

Jor El’s voice echoed all around him. ‘They are your Kryptonian heritage, a part of what you have renounced. By rights, Kal El, I should take back your tunic, as well as your tights and briefs; they bear the insignia of your noble birth…’

‘No,’ said Superman, ‘father, please, don’t do that, no! Leave me my tights at least, please!’ The idea of walking out of the crystal cage not just powerless, but stark naked in front of Lois, having been stripped by Jor El, made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. It was not how he wanted to begin his new life. ‘Please,’ he said again, ‘don’t send me out to her n-naked! Don’t take my tights and briefs off, sir! Leave me my tights and briefs, I… I beg you.’

Jor El sighed.

‘As you wish. Out of respect for the fact you are – or were – my son, I will not strip you naked, but as you desire it I will leave you these last vestiges of your uniform. Your great powers, however, are now gone, removed forever. You entered this cage as a God, but now you have willingly given that up. You leave it not as a God, but as a mortal – simply a man in tights. That is all you are now, Kal El. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I understand. I’m… I’m just a man in tights now. Thank you.’

‘You have made this sacrifice, lost all your powers, in order to satisfy a base lust.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘It is true – you will see it one day, thought you cannot accept it now. And yet I foresee that your ignoble cause will be in vain. The one you have done this for will not want you like this: a mere mortal. The sexual congress you have so craved will come to you, Kal El, but not in the way you think. When the mortals realise you are no longer a god, they will seek to subjugate you in the most degrading ways. And it will be the men of this world who will wish to take you as their concubine – not the women.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Superman, setting his jaw defiantly. ‘I’m sorry, father, but that’s ridiculous. You don’t understand these people as I do. You don’t see their true potential. You’re completely wrong.’

No reply came, and Jor El’s image simply faded away. The crystal cage opened, disgorging this newly made man into the world. On tights-clad feet the now powerless Superman padded out. He winced slightly with each step – he had never felt cold here before, but now the icy floor of his former Fortress chilled him through the thin spandex of his tights. He would have to find some more clothes.

Bashfully, he smiled up at Lois.

‘I… I’ve done it. It’s over. I’m yours,’ he said. ‘I’m just a regular man. We can be together now.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

That had been a year ago.

He still wore his uniform – his costume, as he now referred to it – beneath his clothes. Old habits die hard.

For a time, he had tried to still be Superman, a version of himself without his powers. He had acquired a new cape and boots from a fancy dress outfit, cheap-looking, but functional, and he had gone out at night, trying to protect the innocent, to make a difference. It was a laudable enough idea, but it quickly became clear to him that without his powers he amounted to nothing. His efforts, although noble, were laughable. Soon it was obvious that Superman was not what he had been, and word quickly spread throughout the underworld that there was no longer anything to fear from the former Man of Steel. Never before had Superman realised just how much he relied upon his abilities. Winning is easy when you can fly.

One night he was badly beaten and forced to run, fleeing for his life from a gang in downtown Metropolis and only narrowly escaping with his life when, in desperation, he climbed into a dumpster to hide. For several long, dark hours he sat in terror, trembling and afraid to poke his head out, while sinking further and further into stinking wet garbage, his tunic, tights and briefs absorbing all manner of unpleasant gunk. When he finally dared to clamber out, he had to slink home in disgrace wearing his filthy, reeking spandex. It was late and the streets were almost deserted, but the few people he encountered looked upon him with utter disgust and amazement. By the time he finally reached his apartment, stripped off and threw his soiled costume into the washing machine, he had to acknowledge that his days of heroics were behind him.

He bought an expensive set of weights, to try and increase his strength – and indeed to stave off the flab that his newly mortal status brought him, now his super-powered metabolism was gone. He kept his handsome figure, but other than that his progress was as unremarkable as Superman himself now was.

He still had his job at the Planet, at any rate. Lois had transferred abroad, unable to live with the guilt of what their union had cost the world. Jor El had been right, of course. It was Superman that she had fallen for, not this… this weakling. Take away the abilities, the flight, the strength, the x-ray vision, all those talents that had so charmed her, and what was left? Not even boots and a cape.

‘A man in tights,’ he said, gazing at himself in the mirror the night she left. ‘That’s all I am now, just as he told me I would be. I… I was a Super-powered wimp, and because of my own ego and lust I willingly surrendered everything I had, just to become a weak, ordinary man in my tights and briefs. Why didn’t I listen?’

When he finished work for the day and arrived back home at his apartment, he would slowly strip off his clothes, until he was just clad in his tights, briefs and tunic. Jor El had at least allowed him to keep the latter, with its S-shield, the sigil of the House of El, which he had shamed and thrown away so carelessly. He had to wash his costume more regularly these days; wearing it under his sharp city suit now caused him to sweat, and on more than one occasion his tights and briefs took on a high, sour smell. Dressed thus, he would stand and look at himself in the mirror, punishing himself, fully realising everything that he had lost.

Then, when he could take no more, he would drag a chair to the mirror and simply sit in the remains of his uniform for the rest of the night, sometimes having a couple of beers, the Man of Steel… now a belching, pitiful sight.

‘I didn’t even get what I gave it all up for,’ he said, as he sat on one such night and bitterly surveyed himself, the blue of his tights darkening where he had spilled some of his beer down one leg. ‘After all of it, all I’ve lost, all I had… all I was… and I’m still living like a Super-virgin. That’s the joke of it. Except I’m not Super any more.’

He gazed at the wet patch of spandex on his leg, as he contemplated this. His hands strayed first to his tights, then to his briefs. Looking at himself in the mirror, he watched his reflection, as with one finger he gently pressed the circular clasp on his belt, causing it to fall open with a faint click. The waistband of his briefs slackened somewhat, and Superman slid one hand inside them and took hold of his penis through the smooth blue fabric of his tights.

‘Uhhhh,’ he moaned, his cock rising in his grasp. ‘Look at you… look at me: Superman the Super disgrace. Playing with myself in my tights. Mmmm. Go on. Do it. This is me; this is the big hero now. This… this is all that’s left to me… playing with my p-penis… with my c-c-cock in my tights… so I may as well make the most of it.’

He stared his reflection right in the eye. ‘Go on – do it. There’s nothing else for it. Jor El said it was lust that had driven me, and it turns out he was right. Anyway, it was his fault: consigning me to a life on Earth as Superman the Super-virgin.’

He began to jack his hand up and down the shaft of his penis. It felt so nice that he let out a little whimper of arousal, as he writhed in his seat.

‘Oooh. Ooh. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself? Who’s going to stop me? Not Jor El, nor the council of Krypton. Fuck them!’

Superman watched his cheeks colour a little as he swore; he was unused to foul language, and it felt suddenly thrilling to give in to it.

‘Yes. That’s right. Fuck them… fuck them all! Ooh. Ooh. I can do what I want now. Why should I live like Superman the Super-monk? Ooh!’ He watched his hand pumping his penis, and excitedly, he pulled his briefs down, halfway down his thighs.

‘Oh boy… oh gosh yeah… pull my pants down… Fuck Krypton – fuck everything. Hnngh. Yeah. I’ve got no one to fuck me, so I’ll fuck myself! Yes! Ooh. OOH! I’m Superman… and I’m going to splurge in my tights. Masturbation is the one thing I have left now. Hnngh. Yeah. I’ll do it… I’ll fill ’em. Fill my tights and briefs with cum, and finally I’ll have relief. Mm. Hmm. Hnggh.’

His neighbours rolled their eyes at the ecstatic howls coming from Clark Kent’s flat, and tutted, imagining the mild mannered reporter was jerking off to some porn. Little did they know it was Superman who was sat masturbating within, and as he finally came, he did indeed ‘splurge’ in his tights.

‘Oh God!’ he gasped, as he collapsed onto his knees and plunged his hand into the hot, sticky wet spandex, ‘Great Rao! Jor El forgive me, but that felt good! I came in my tights! At last!’

It was a vast ejaculation, and soon, inevitably, he lay and licked it from his fingers, willing himself to still lower depths.

‘Would you l-like to eat your own cum, Superman?’ he gasped. ‘Hmm. Thanks… don’t mind if I do. Mm. Give it to me. Fuck Krypton – if I want to ingest my own spunk I will! Mmm… yeah.’

And so, night after night, as soon as he got in, the former Man of Steel would sit and masturbate in his uniform, fumbling with his cock until at last it erupted, filling his tights and briefs and bringing him some of the relief he so desperately sought, albeit only temporarily.

Afterwards, as his penis sank back into the gooey mess in his crotch, he would stare at himself, lost in contemplation, before finally heading to bed, still wearing his cum-drenched uniform. With a cooling crotch of spunk-soaked spandex he would drift off to sleep.

In the morning he would strip it off to shower, before pulling it on again, crusty with the previous night’s adventures. This continued until one day someone at the Planet made a comment about Clark Kent’s hygiene. Mortified by what he’d come to, from then on he made time to wash and dry the suit each day, yet his nightly masturbation continued. Cumming in his tights was now what Superman lived for, and he found ever more creative ways to achieve his goal: sometimes he would put his briefs on his head; sometimes he would finger himself; sometimes he would crawl on all fours and pretend to beg General Zod or Lex Luthor to let him be their slave, his ecstatic fantasies becoming ever more elaborate and submissive as he explored the man he was now.

One day he heard two of the guys in the men’s restroom at the Daily Planet, discussing a brothel in downtown Metropolis. Blushing and stumbling over his words, he asked them if he could have the address, to their extreme amusement.

And that was how, not long after this, Clark Kent aka Superman came to visit a prostitute for the first time.

‘Ah, Miss,’ he said, in his customary bumbling, submissive way, ‘I have money here – cash for your fee. Shall…. Shall I…?’

‘Just put it on the side,’ came the bored response. She looked him up and down, stood there in his smart black suit, trembling slightly. A newbie, she decided, possibly even a virgin. Well built, clearly nervous… possibly kinky.

‘So what are we doing, hun,’ she said.

Clark swallowed. ‘You mean… uh…’

‘What is it you want me to do you?’

‘Well… I um…’ He looked down at his feet, nervously.

Definitely kinky. ‘Go on… you can say it. What is you want me to do to you?’

‘I want you to take my clothes off. Please.’

‘Sure. Okay. So we’re gonna strip you.’

‘Yes… yes, please, ma’am. Strip me… take off my clothes. And then… when you take my pants down… ooh… when you take my pants down… you’ll realise I’m… I’m m-more than I seem.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, sounding as though she was stifling a yawn. ‘I’ll bet you are. Come on then. Let’s get those clothes off of then, big boy. Pants first?’

‘Ooh,’ said Clark, ‘yes please. I think… yes… my pants first. If that’s okay with you ma’am. Please take my pants down first of all. Thank you.’

She unfastened his trousers, trying not to roll her eyes as Clark gave a little gasp. Like the professional she was, she let her fingers brush lightly against his clearly erect cock, standing up like a tent pole beneath the smart black fabric. ‘Ooh,’ he whimpered.

‘My… someone’s very hard. You’re excited to have your pants taken down, aren’t you?’

‘Oh… y-y-yes,’ he stammered. ‘Yes ma’am. V-v-v-very excited! To have you… t-t-take my p-p-pants down! Ooh! You’re d-doing it to me… taking my pants down! Ooh… oh… my pants are coming down!’

Amused, she took a firm hold of his trousers and in one swift movement yanked them down his thighs and right the way down to his feet, revealing the bright blue of his tights and the red of his briefs beneath.

She paused. ‘Okaaaaay. What have we here?’

‘Well. Now you’ve t-taken my p-pants down… Well, that is… You see, miss... ma’am… I’m… I’m really Superman.’

‘Uh-huh. And let me guess, I should call you Superman?’

‘If you don’t mind, ma’am, yes – that’s who I am, you see. That’s my big secret.’

‘Got it. And what does Superman want, honey? Why have you come here?’

‘Well…’ Clark thought of Jor El, and how once he had been given instruction… purpose.

‘You see… you see, ma’am, I’ve lost my powers – been stripped of them. That’s why I’ve not been around lately. And now I… I guess I’m really hoping that someone could… could tell me what to do. Give me orders. Do you understand me?’

‘I sure do, hun,’ she said. ‘I can see just what you need. Get on your knees, Superman. I’m going to dominate you.’

‘Oh! Yes… yes, ma’am! I think a firm hand is just what I need.’

‘I’ll bet it is. Has Superman been a bad boy?’

‘Yes! Yes, ma’am! Superman has been very bad. I’ve been very bad indeed. As bad as it’s possible for me to be. And I… I need… I need p-p-p-punishing. Ooh… hnggh.’

She roughly took off the rest of his clothes until he was just clad in his uniform and his Clark Kent glasses, whereupon she began by spanking Superman, which he enthusiastically agreed to, and ordering him to do all manner of demeaning things. Yet as prominent as his erection was, straining against his briefs and tights, something just didn’t convince her.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘Wait in the corner like a dog, Superman.’

‘Ooh,’ he said excitedly, crawling on all fours to obey. ‘Yes ma’am.’

She slapped his ass a couple more times, then left the room and returned a few minutes later with a stunningly handsome young man, with full, sensuous lips and dark hair.

‘This is him. This is Superman. He needs punishing. He wants punishing.’

‘That a fact?’ The young man looked at him with curiosity, and then reached down and pulled off his glasses.

‘Ooh!’ gasped Superman. ‘You took my glasses! You can see me!’

‘Wow, he really does look like him.’

‘I think he may just be telling the truth. I think it’s really him.’

‘I am,’ whispered Superman, ‘I promise you, I really am Superman. I’ve just lost my p-powers. They were stripped from me, along with my cape and boots.’

The woman gestured to the handsome newcomer.

‘Okay, then, Superman? This is Jason. I’m going to make you his slave. I think you need a man. That’s my professional opinion.’

‘Ooh,’ whimpered Superman, looking up in fright. ‘A man? B-b-b-but I’m… I’m not g-g-gay! I did it all for… all f-for…’

Jason reached down and grabbed Superman’s cock.

‘Ooh!’ whimpered the former Man of Steel. ‘Ah! Hnngh. OOH!’

‘Hmm,’ said Jason. ‘Looks like your cock has other ideas, Superman. Do you want to be my slave?’

He gave the Man of Steel’s penis a little squeeze, and watched foaming white precum stain the red briefs.

‘Hnngh. Yes,’ gasped Superman. ‘Yes, sir! Oh, yes, please, Jason. I do… I d-do want to be… your slave. I w-want that more than anything, sir.’

Jason stared evenly at him. ‘So prove it, Superman. Crawl over here on your hands and knees, Man of Steel… and suck my cock.’

‘Ooh!’ Superman whimpered.

Suck this man’s cock? Could he do it? Had Jor El ever envisaged the Last Son of Krypton would come to this – on his knees in a human brothel, being commanded to fellate a human male?

‘And it will be the men of this world who will wish to take you as their concubine – not the women…’

Yes… Jor El had foreseen this, had foreseen it all. What a fool he had been. Giving it all up for Lois? No. He had squandered his great gifts in order to become this. May as well follow the prophecy through. After all, Jason was right – his cock was throbbing with excitement at the demeaning prospect that lay before him.

‘A concubine,’ he breathed. ‘Th-that’s all I am now. I’m Superman the Superwhore.’

Jason raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so, Superman? A Superwhore, huh? So are you going to suck my dick or what?’

Superman swallowed and crawled to Jason’s feet. He looked up. ‘Yes, please, Jason. May I suck your cock, sir. I’m Superman the Superwhore. Please can I suck you off?’

Happy #ThrobbingThursday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six Part I: The Deconstruction of Superman

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

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

‘Ah! He’s awake at last!’

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

‘Superman. The Man of Steel. Welcome.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, that’s right… your costume.’

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh-what are you? No, I…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed the sparkling wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER SIX PART II…

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.

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.

HELPLESS, HILARIOUS AND HORNY

As he thrashed desperately in the water, Superman felt his cape tugged. He had snagged it on the drain below him, and as he writhed, trying to get the Kryptonite chain off of himself, his cape came loose and fell to the bottom of the pool.

“Uh! UGH!” he gasped. “Oh… my c-c-cape. N-no.” He heard a ripping sound as it parted company from his tunic. Then the current carried it away, swirling down to the drain below.

“Oh… god… Jor-El… hnngh… someone help me.”

But just when he thought he could take no more, the effects of the Kryptonite ceased.

“What? It… it’s stopped. Hnngh.”

Floundering and spluttering, Superman made his way to the edge of the pool and began to crawl out.

“I can’t believe Luthor pushed me in there like that,” he muttered, “fully clothed.”

Superman felt a strange flutter as he said these words, an odd tingling sensation. In his mind’s eye, he saw it happening all over again: Luthor weakening him, dragging him along, holding him closely and so intimately, with not the slightest hint of fear, despite his great powers. And then the evil genius had simply pushed him into the swimming pool, where he dropped like a stone.

“Fully clothed,” he murmured once more. He looked down at himself. It was a pitiful sight.

Superman’s spandex was now totally soaked and dripping, and his boots had also come off in the water as he frantically kicked and splashed; he was now clad only in his tights and briefs. He’d have to go back for his boots, along with his cape. But first he had to deal with his foe.

The Kryptonite chain still hung around his neck, though no longer glowing. So Luthor’s plan had come to nothing, he thought. Time to confront the man who had bound him with this rock.

Clad in just his wet tights, briefs and tunic, Superman walked slowly back to the heart of Luthor’s lair, his feet squelching in wet spandex with every step and his Kryptonite chain rattling. Lex was sat waiting for him.

“Nice try, Luthor,” he said. “Your little toy wasn’t as effective as you thought. Now I’m going to teach you a lesson – I’m going to have you safely locked up.”

“Would you mind not dripping on the carpet, Superman,” said Lex, coolly. “That’s an interesting new look you’ve got there. How’s it make you feel, being dressed in just in your tights and briefs?”

“Never mind my tights and briefs,” said Superman. His cheeks coloured slightly as he saw Luthior’s gaze flick across his body, clad in his soaking wet spandex. “You should be worrying about your own wardrobe, Luthor; from now on it’ll be just prison fatigues.”

“And I see you’ve kept the necklace I gave you, Superman. I’m touched that you like it. A fitting memento of our first date, don’t you think, sweetcheeks ?”

Superman scowled, and hastily pulled off the Kryptonite chain and dropped it on the floor. He had only been acquainted with Luthor for this last hour or so, and yet the man instinctively seemed to know how to make him feel foolish. Perhaps he really was the genius he claimed to be. Nevertheless, it was time to end this for good.

Determined, Superman went to move towards Luthor’s desk, but his wet tights made him slip and slide along the polished floor so that he had to put out a hand to steady himself. Strangely, Luthor didn’t seem fazed or intimidated as he approached. Instead he calmly announced:

“Come in now. Superman’s ready and waiting for you.”

Half a dozen sharp-suited, strikingly attractive young men entered the room. They were all staring at Superman in a calm, clinical fashion.

“What’s going on,” said Superman. Lex chuckled.

“He’s here, just like I promised. Superman – the Man of Steel - is ready and waiting for you in his tights, if a little wet. I’m afraid I couldn’t resist pushing him into my pool.”

"You pushed Superman fully clothed into a swimming pool?!” said one young guy.

“Awesome! Wish I'd seen that. Wow, look at him, stood there in his wet tights! I can’t believe this is really the Man of Steel What a dickhead, man! He looks pathetic!”

"Now look," began Superman.

“What about Superman’s boots and cape?” interrupted one of the young men, ignoring him. “Where are they? We paid for everything”

“Concerned about not getting your money’s worth?” smiled Lex. “They’re in the pool – fell off when he was thrashing around in there. I’ll have Otis fish them out for you. Whoever wants them can have them.”

“I don’t know what sick game this is, Luthor,” said Superman, “but nobody is touching my boots and cape, or any of my clothes. Who are these men?”

“Why, these are some very rich, very bad people, Superman,” said Lex. “And the sick game is that they have paid me a lot of money to deliver you to them, helpless and horny in your tights, ready for them to do whatever they choose with you. Et voila!”

Superman’s mouth fell open. “You really are a diseased maniac, Luthor. Well, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you and your guests, but your plan has failed – I’m not helpless and horny in my tights. Huh? Why… why did I say that?”

The assembled men all laughed at him. Superman’s eyes widened. Something wasn’t right.

“Get on your knees, Superman,” said a blonde young man with a wry smile on his face. “You shouldn’t be stood up in our company. Kneel, Man of Steel. Kneel.”

He shook his head. “I don’t kneel for anyone. This sick game ends now. The Kryptonite didn’t work.”

Again, the men laughed at him, and this time Luthor joined in. “Great, isn’t he?” he chuckled. Superman began to feel very uneasy.

“Why are you laughing at me,” he said, and then wished he hadn’t, as the laughter increased.

“Look at you, Superman,” said the blonde guy, pointing at him, “stood there soaking wet and completely helpless in your tights and briefs! Just look at him! Oh man! This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen! You’re not a Man of Steel any more, Superman, you’re – you’re hilarious! Ha! Oh boy… Superman is hilarious!”

That was it. His cheeks reddening, Superman shook his head. “That’s enough. For your information, I’m certainly not helpless, and I’m not hilarious.”

Their laughter increased, some of the young men now doubled up as they jeered at him.

“And I suppose you’re not horny, either,” said Luthor, with a mischievous smile.

“Of course I’m not horny,” snapped Superman. “Uh. I Uhhh…”

Again, he felt unease. He’d never said the word ‘horny’ before, so why was he saying it now?

“I’m not horny, Luthor,” he said again, before he could stop himself. “I’m not helpless and I’m most definitely not horny… I’m not – stop laughing at me, all of you! I’m Superman!”

Some of them were now doubled up, pointing at him and howling with mirth. Never before had Superman been ridiculed like this.

Okay, if they wanted to laugh at him, fine. Let’s finish this, he thought. He moved to take hold of the blonde guy, who seemed like the ringleader.

“Okay, sir - I’ll show you how hilarious I am,” he said. “You won’t find me so funny when I put you in gaol. Your sick fantasy is over.”

Superman strode across and went to take hold him, but the blonde guy reached out one hand, and to the Man of Steel’s astonishment, it was he who was grabbed and firmly held.

“Huh? ​Whuh-what? Ugh!”

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” smiled the blonde. Playfully he mussed Superman’s hair. “My sick fantasy is just beginning. It’s like we keep telling you, you big Superbozo – you’re helpless, and you’re horny.”

Some of the others had grabbed him now as well. Superman tried to free himself, to shake them off, but he couldn’t!

“What is this,” he cried, “how are you doing this? Get off me! Unhand me! Let me go!”

“I told you, Superman,” said Lex, walking over to him, “mind over muscle. You’re a fine and strapping specimen in your tights, but you never stood a chance against a genius like me.”

“Now,” said the blonde guy, “I told you before, I won’t tell you again – kneel, Superman.”

“Ugh. I won’t! NO! Hnngh. Uh.” He tried to resist, but with them holding him so firmly he had no choice.

“Okay, I’ll kneel,” he growled, but even as he said this he was already on his knees. He looked up at them as they encircled him. “What have you done to me, Luthor? How is it these men are able to push me around like this?”

“Well,” said Lex, “the reason that you felt the effects of the Kryptonite stop, Superman, is because it had done its job. You’re not Super any more. It has removed your powers. I’ve changed you – taken them away from you, Superman.”

“What?! No! No! My powers – ”

Lex shook his head. “Are no more.”

Superman’s mind was racing as he tried to comprehend this. “But… but that means… I can’t get out of here… I’m… I’m a prisoner. T-trapped. Oh no. Luthor… Luthor, please! Think about what you’re doing. Restore my powers, please. The world needs me!”

“It’s a done deal. I couldn’t restore them even if I wanted to, Superman. You’ve retained your muscle, obviously…”

“Sure has,” said one guy, stroking his spandex-clad bicep, as Superman looked up in alarm. Two more of the men took this opportunity to squeeze his buttocks.

“… but right now you’re weaker than a normal human male. And although you’ll retain your fine musculature, whatever you do from now on, you always will be. You’re a weakling, now, Superman – a Super-weakling, in point of fact.”

Slowly it began to dawn on him just what Lex had done.

“A Super-weakling?” he repeated. “Th-that… that’s why you were all laughing at me. That’s what you meant… when you said I was h-h-helpless in my tights. So… it…it’s true… I… I really am… helpless… in my tights.”

This admission produced another bout of laughter from his captors as he knelt before them.

“I’m helpless in my tights... And the humiliation… my humiliation… that’s why you’re laughing at me too. I’m Superman, but you… just ordinary men… you’ve done this to me… you’ve taken away my powers.”

“Uh-huh. That’s right, Superman,” said the blonde guy, taking hold of his chin and making him look up at him. “You’re powerless and defeated, kneeling before us in wet spandex. In just your soaking wet tights and briefs. How do you think that makes you look, Man of Steel?”

Superman swallowed. “F-foolish. I… I look… foolish… and hilarious.”

“So you admit it then?”

“Yes. How can I not? I… I… I am hilarious. You’ve made me a laughing stock. Superman is a laughing stock now. I walked in here the most powerful man on Earth, and Luthor’s just clicked his fingers and changed me, made me into the weakest. Ooh. Oh god. No wonder you couldn’t stop laughing at me. There’s never been a defeat like it. I’m not a Man of Steel any more… I’ve been turned into something else… you’ve turned me into something laughable, Luthor. Ooh. I never even stood a chance. Oh god. I’m – I’m a weakling in tights. I’m – I’m pathetic. You’ve made me pathetic. It’s exactly as you said… Superman is now just a pathetic Super-weakling. I’m a Super-weakling. Oh god. I’m hilarious, just like you said – I’m just a hilarious weakling in my tights and briefs. Ooh.”

“Come on now, Superman,” said the blonde guy, grinning. He released Superman’s head. “There’s something else. Do you understand it yet?”

Superman slowly gazed down at his crotch. And there was the last piece of the puzzle.

His penis was rock hard; a bulging erection was standing excitedly in his tights and briefs.

“Oh! I’m horny,” he said breathlessly. “I’m… h-hard in my tights and briefs. Ooh. And saying that just made me harder still. You were right… I’m helpless and horny in my tights. All these things you’ve done to me, all this terrible humiliation… and it’s given me an erection! Oh!”

“Finally he gets it,” said Lex.

“D-dammit, Luthor – how did you do this to me? How did you make me hard?”

“It’s ‘Mr Luthor’ from now on, Superman – understand?”

He nodded slowly. This was so demeaning – and yet that only strengthened his arousal “Oh. Yes. Yes, sir, Mr Luthor. I understand, sir. That’s how I’ll address you from now on, sir. How... how did you get me so aroused, Mr Luthor, sir?”

“I just took away your powers, Superman. It stood to reason that being taken down and turned into a helpless, spandex clad stooge like this would turn you on. It’s the one thing you could never have. You must have fantasised about this, surely, Superman?”

“Ooh. A helpless… s-spandex clad s-stooge. No. Never.”

The blonde guy ran one playful finger over his s-shield and dragged Superman to his feet.

“I don’t believe you, Superman,” he said as the hero stood up. He grabbed him by his briefs and ran that same finger slowly across the former Man of Steel’s bulge, making him gasp. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Ah! AH! Oh… oh… n-n-no,” said Superman, giving in. “Oh god. My p-penis. You t-touched my penis! No, I’m n-not telling the truth. I’m l-lying. M-mr Luthor… Mr Luthor is correct. In my most private moments… I have f-fantasised about this. Me, Superman being defeated. Being completely at the mercy of villains who c-could do anything to me, weak and in my spandex… so unthinkable… just like you touching me in my t-tights just now. oh god, c-c-c-can’t believe I just told you that. Mm. And you c-called me a helpless, spandex clad stooge. Ooh.”

“You’re going to tell us everything from now on, Superman, understand. All your secrets.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I’ll tell you anything. Ooh. Oh god. All my s-secrets. Hnngh. Whuh-what… uuh what are you going to do to me? Now that you h-have me… helpless and horny and h-humiliated in my tights like… now that you’ve got me defeated, depowered and turned on… what are you g-g-g-going to do with me?”

“Well, for starters,” said the blonde, “I think we should take a closer look at your erection, don’t you, Superman?”

“Ooh,” he said. “Y-yes sir. Shall I… Shall I undo my b-belt and pull my b-briefs down, sir. Ooh. I’m S-superman – c-can’t believe I just said that… and it turned me on even more! Oh god… take my tights down, sir. Humiliate me further, please – it f-feels better than anything I’ve ever known.”

“Well, Superman,” said the blonde, “since you asked so nicely. I’ll do it. I’ll take your briefs down for you.”

He pressed the circle on Superman’s belt and it fell open.

“OOH!” gasped Superman. They took hold of his wet briefs and dragged them down his legs. “You’re t-taking my briefs down. I’m being stripped and I’m helpless. Oh God – you’re t-taking my briefs off! P-pulling them down my legs! Are you g-going to take my tights down too? Are my tights coming down?”

“Maybe,” said the guy, looking him in the eye. “Depends how you behave, Superman. Can you show us obedience?”

“Oh… y-yes, sir. I can be obedient. I have no choice now that I’ve been turned into a… a S-super-weakling. Ooh. I’ll obey you, sir. I’ll be Super-obedient. See how I’m g-g-grovelling? I’m Superman… Superman the... the pitiful, obedient, grovelling Man of Steel. Ooh! Mm. Whatever you tell me to do I’ll obey. What choice do I have? I’m nothing now. Hnngh.”

“Look, Superman,” said another guy, holding up his wet briefs and belt to the Man of Steel’s face. “We took your panties down, didn’t we?”

“Ooh. Yes. Yes, sir you did.”

“Say it, Superman. Those exact words. Tell us what we did to you.”

“Oh. S-so humiliating!”

“Do it!”

“Yes sir! You… you took… oh god… you took my panties down! You pulled my panties down! Oh… can’t believe I said that. I’m Superman… and I just had my wet briefs – I mean panties – pulled down. You’ve stripped me, Superman, of my panties. Mmmm… and now you’re making me s-s-say it! You’re making me say it! You took my panties down! Never f-felt so humiliated! Or so h-horny! Oh… oh… are you g-going to take my tights down now, as well as my panties?”

He didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

“Okay, Superman, you big bozo. Let’s peel you out of your tights. Just like a big fucking banana. And have you got a big banana waiting for us in here, you fucking idiot?”

“Ooh. Ooh. Pull them down… and you’ll see,” said Superman breathlessly. “Pull my tights down and you’ll f-find out if I’ve g-got a big b-banana in my t-tights. Ooh. Making myself sound such an idiot… in front of you, Mr Luthor… and it t-t-turns me on even more! MMM!”

There were a few low whistles as his quivering cock sprang free from his blue tights, which along were now pulled down to his knees.

“Aah,” he gasped, as one of them took hold of his cock. “I’m erect! I’ve imagined this so many times… n-never thought it could happen! Never even thought I could admit it to myself, and yet here I am: Superman, brought down for good! You’ve taken my powers away, made me a laughing stock… and now you’ve made me show you my erection, so you know how hot it’s making me. I don’t have to be a hero anymore… I’m no longer a Man of Steel… Mr Luthor took it all away from me and now I’m just a m-m-man in t-tights and b-briefs… w-waiting to see wh-what you’re g-going to do with me n-next! HNNNGH! MMM!”

“Come on,” commanded the grinning blonde. “Grab his arms and legs. I’ll keep hold of this. Let’s take him to the bedroom in his wet house spandex. Don’t worry, Superman – we’re going to explore every inch of your body. Everything you’ve ever imagined is going to come true.”

“Ooh,” he whimpered as they lifted him up. “I’m helpless… helpless and horny in my tights… so humiliated… but it feels so good. The humiliation… you’re doing this to me, to Superman. You’ve humiliated Superman! Oh god… Uhhhhh!”

“Trust me, Superman – if you think we’ve humiliated you so far, you ain’t seen nothing yet…”

Lost in ecstatic arousal, their hands probing his body, Superman closed his eyes and surrendered to the lust that now ruled him.