SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 7 part 1 - Stripping Away Superman’s Desires

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh-what?’

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

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

This elicited a round of laughter, to his mortification.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hah! Oh! Oh…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Um… Whuh-what, sir?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I DON’T KNOW YOU, LADY’

'Huhhh!'

Superman was sent reeling backwards as the piercing beams washed over him. His mouth fell open and he gazed up in dumb amazement. He had not expected the computer to be able to synthesise Kryptonite so successfully, especially after Gus's previous failure. Not only had it managed to precisely replicate the effects of the green meteor rocks, but it was pumping them out across Superman's increasingly weakened body in the form of rays. Each one hits him like a wave, and each stripped him of a little more of his strength. In vain, he moaned and attempted to lift his legs and fly away, but he could now no more soar into the air than a normal man could. The machine was vanquishing him, and each passing second sealed his ignominious fate further. His limbs flipped and flagged as the deadly beams bathed and enveloped his body.

To his surprise, Superman looked up to see Lorelei exit the Supercomputer's hub and come striding towards him with purpose in her eyes. This was it, he thought: like Miss Teschmacher before her, she would come to his rescue and would save him from these rays that were bringing him to his knees.

‘Lorelei,’ he began, ‘help me... if you can just...’

But before he could continue she put a finger to her lips, to shut Superman up.

‘Aw, no, honey,’ she said, ‘that’s not right, is it? It’s like you said, sugar: you don’t know me, do you? It’s not “Lorelei”, now it’s just “Lady”. Isn’t that right, hun?’

‘Lorelei!’ Superman croaked her name again, his eyes wide, but she just shook her head.

‘No, Superman - you don’t know anyone called Lorelei. That was someone else - another guy. That was what you said.’

She stared at him with amused contempt. ‘Funny how you seemed to remember my name just fine before you came, isn’t it, Superman?’ But it's just like you said: you don't know me, right? That wasn't you. That was some other guy... the guy who wanted me to do all those things to him, right? Not you, Superman. Not you, baby.'

She looked coldly at him, and beneath the green rays, Superman felt his cheeks flush.

'Lorelei,' he gasped, 'I'm... I'm sorry if I hurt you...'

'Oh, don't worry, sugar,' she said, gazing at him with amused contempt, 'it's "Lady" right, not Lorelei? And I'm long past being hurt. I'd hate to bring you down by letting people think you associated yourself with little ol' me, Superman... let alone that you had me... pull your tights down and give you what you wanted. No, that was the other guy, wasn't it, hun? Not you.'

In shame, Superman hung his head. 'I'm s-s-sorry,' he said. 'but puh-please... if you release me then I'll...'

'You'll what? Tell the world about you and me? Admit what you did, and what you wanted me to do to you, Superman? What you had me do for you? Is that what you'll do?'

'I... um... I...'

'Thought not,' said Lorelei. 'Don't trouble yourself, sweetie.'

She took a step towards him, unaffected by the green rays herself, and with one swift movement she took hold of his cape and pulled. All it took was a short, sharp tug, and Superman felt it ripped from his tunic.

'What are you doing?' he asked her, in alarm. 'My cape... you took off my cape?'

'Mm-hm. I think I'm going to take a few things from you,' she said. 'Maybe I'll give them to that other Superman - the one who wasn't too good for me. I think he'd enjoy that. And after all, I was pretty good at guessing what he enjoyed.'

Superman's helpless body began to tremble. He had rarely, if ever, felt so helpless. Lorelei could see it too, and with a grin, she knelt down and began to tug off one of his boots.

'No!' cried Superman. 'Oh no! Please, Lorelei, don't!' But he was so weak now that it was as much as he could do to stand upright. And he felt her take a firm hold of his calf, lift up his foot, and the next moment his boot was taken from him and slung to one side. With one finger she toyed with the spandex of his tights, pulling at it and letting it ping back between his toes.

'Oops,' she said. 'Careful now, Superman, honey, or you might get your nice blue tights mussed up on the floor of this dirty ol' cave.'

She looked up at him. 'And the tights were real dirty that night, weren't they. When the "other guy" came and begged me to take his tights down. Your uniform was all dark and soiled. My, how it stank... But that wasn't you, was it Superman? You don't know me, right?'

He was beginning to feel so strange. A hot, delirious excitement was moving over his body, even as the insidious beams leeched his abilities away, and it made him tingle. 'Please,' he begged, 'please...'

Lorelei smiled, and began to tug at his other boot.

'My,' she said,' he sure was dirty, that guy who wasn't you. He had stains from the oil tanker on his tights... but more than that... he'd been sat for hours in a bar in downtown Metropolis, getting out of it. Working up the courage to come see me. He stank of booze... and sweat... and all sorts... Phew-ee! I don't know what he'd been up to in that bar full of men, but those stains on his briefs told a hell of a tale. He sure was a naughty boy... not like you, right, Superman? You're not dirty and naughty like that, are you? That's why you don't know me.'

‘Uh... no... he,’ said softly, ‘that’s right... I’m... I’m not d-dirty... n-naughty... uh... I... I...’

Softly, she peeled down the top of Superman's one remaining red boot, exposing his blue spandex clad leg beneath. Fingers grazed his spandex clad flesh as the boot was deftly taken down and away from him.

'Ooh,' whimpered Superman, 'ooh!'

'Yeah, that wasn't you, was it, Superman? How could it be? A fine upstanding Super-man like you... getting off his face and horny with the bums of Metropolis, then coming to get his rocks off.'

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I d-didn't mean to imply...'

'Sssh,' she said. With one hand on his thigh, she finally plucked off his boot. It slid away easily, and Superman's legs almost buckled beneath him.

‘Just in your tights and briefs now, big guy. Just like he was that night. I wouldn't let him in the bedroom until I'd made him take off his cape and boots. Not that it made much difference; your tights and panties were sticky as all hell with filth...oops, I mean his, not yours... right, Superman?'

'Y-yes,' he said feebly, 'h-him... not me. Not me... oh...'

She began to slide her hands up the inside of Superman's inner thighs, fingers lingering on his muscled legs in their spandex, relishing the feeling of the hero trembling in fear... and something else.

'Then... when we'd got you on the bed... I pulled you up by your filthy blue tights and red panties. I mean, duh! Not you - the other guy.'

Her fingers reached the bottom of his briefs and began to push their way inside.

'You were just wearing them, nothing else - your tights and panties, Superman. Oh, silly me, I mean the other guy!'

'Ooh! Ooh! Oh!' gasped Superman, as her fingers penetrated his briefs at the tops of his legs. By now it was obvious to both of them that his cock was hard; a throbbing erection was outlined underneath his red spandex. The Kryptonite rays had done their work and he was, by now, weak and utterly helpless.

'Yeah... you were a little tongue-tied then, too... oops... I mean the other guy was,' she laughed. 'But I know how to take charge, Superman.'

One hand slid up and through the bottom leg of his briefs and firmly gripped Superman's penis.

'Aaah! Huh!' he gasped. Superman felt the tip of his cock wetting the blue spandex of his tights. The cool fabric was slick and sticky against the sensitive flesh of his helmet, and the feeling was almost unbearably arousing.

From high above came the sound of applause. Ross Webster was stood at the controls of the computer, clapping wildly.

'This is wonderful, Lorelei! Now finish him off! I bet that's what you had to do him that night, right? Finish him off?'

Lorelei squeezed Superman's cock, making him cry out in delirious, ignominious lust. 'Oh, no, honey. He didn't need me, did you, Superman?'

'Please,' gasped the hero, 'please... I'm sorry... don't tell him... please! I'm sorry... it... it was me, all right? I admit it: it was me. I was... so ashamed.'

'Gosh,' said Lorelei, wide-eyed, 'you mean that was you after all, Superman?'

'Yes... yes... it was me,' he gasped.

'It was you in those dirty, stinking tights?'

'Yes... that's right... the man in those dirty... stinking tights... was me. It was me in the dirty tights. I do know you... I'm so sorry... forgive me. Don't tell Webster about what happened... don’t tell him what I asked for... please!'

'Oh gee,' said Lorelei. 'But you stand for truth, doncha Supey. And I think some truth is what's needed. Just like when I knew what you needed was for me to do... this!'

With her free hand she stabbed at the clasp of his belt, and it fell open. And as Superman stood in the dwindling green rays, shaking and whimpering like a fool, she let go of his cock and yanked his briefs down firmly. They cascaded down his trembling legs, bunching around his ankles and then she shoved him out of them, leaving him helpless, hard and horny in his tights and tunic.

Lorelei held the briefs aloft. 'Look,' she said, laughing at the darkened crotch where the Man of Steel's precum had soiled them, 'you wet your panties, Superman!'

Moaning in lust, arms flopping by his sides, Superman staggered backwards.

'I'm lost,' he gasped, 'help me... My briefs... I... I’ve wet my tights... my p-panties... huh... oh god...! oh no... hnnggh!’

'Yeah,' said Lorelei, twirling his briefs around with one finger, 'I tried to help him that night, didn't I, you naughty Supes? We tried everything. But in the end we had to admit that it wasn't my help he needed. When he'd drunk enough to be honest, Superman blabbed everything... and he got me to call up the bar... the bar where he'd been so naughty, right, Supey? That's how you got your tights and panties so dirty, wasn't it?'

'Oh,' he looked up at her, as the last of his resistance vanished. He took hold of his erection in his tights, and with a groan, he said: 'Yes. Lorelei's right. That's how my tights and briefs... hnngh... my tights and panties... that's how they got so filthy.'

'Well done, sugar. And can you tell the truth now? Can naughty Superman admit the truth now?'

'Yes,' he breathed, jacking his spandex clad penis, 'naughty Superman can admit the truth now. I asked Lorelei to call the bar... get in touch with the guys from there... and send a cab to get them... so they could finish what they started, in the restroom of that bar with me... oh! I said it! That was what I needed... they knew what to do with me... wh-what to give me... in my s-s-stinking tights and buh-briefs.... my filthy red puh-panties... those guys, they gave me... ooh, they gave me... they gave me haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!'

With a bestial howl, Superman fell to his knees, and began to pump thick, hot spunk into the crotch of his sullied tights, darkening the spandex to a filthy, shadowy blue.

'Lorelei,' he gasped, as she began to walk away with his boots, cape and briefs, 'my clothes.... my uniform... at least leave me... my.... b-briefs!'

'Sorry, honey,' she said with a smirk, exiting the cave, 'I don't know you.'

Happy #ThrobbingThursday…!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Four: Temptation In His Tights

Using his powers, Clark was able to quickly wash and dry his uniform, heating soapy water in the old bathtub and scrubbing the bright spandex. Soon it was pristine once more, and he pulled on his tights and tunic, proudly noting how they framed his body, and then tucked in his cape. Dressed thus, he lay down on the bed to wait for Tam to return with his briefs, alone now with just his thoughts.

He’d never let anybody else take a part of his uniform away from him before; he could only imagine what Jor El would make of his predicament. Yet it had been necessary to maintain his cover. In fact, now he considered it, he felt rather proud of his quick thinking. After all, it had never occurred to him that he would have to account for why Clark Kent didn’t wear underpants; he had never anticipated a situation in which this fact might come to light.

‘I only hope Tam doesn’t notice the belt loops on my briefs,’ he murmured out loud. ‘What would I tell him if… oh!’

Clark looked down in surprise, to find his cock standing ramrod stiff to attention in his tights!

‘Oh! What in the name of… what’s happening to me? An erection – again? Just like before, when I thought about…’

Once more, Tam’s face came to his mind’s eye, and Superman recalled the lad’s searing gaze, staring at him so deeply, as if he could see his very soul.

‘My briefs… Tam’s got my briefs… and I’m hnngh… hard… Hard in my tights. Want to touch it so badly, and yet I m-mustn’t…’

The air in the room seemed hot and heavy, charged with lust, and as he gazed at his cock, throbbing away in his tights, Superman felt a temptation more desperate than he had ever known. His hand ached to clutch it, to do what he had never allowed himself to do. All his Kryptonian training, passed down to him to deal with such a situation, no longer seemed to matter or feel important.

‘Oh… I… I want to… could I? Would it… would it be so bad?’

He was trying so hard to fight it, yet as he watched a small damp spot appear on the blue spandex that bound his splendid erection, Superman could stand it no longer. This strange place, this somewhat eerie room in an Inn in the middle of nowhere… none of it made sense, and suddenly all he knew was that he, Clark, Superman, the Man of Steel, was alone and he wanted release – the release he had always denied himself. In a heartbeat, one trembling hand reached for his penis and he let out a moan as he touched it, gripping his spandex-clad shaft.

‘Huhhhhhhhhh! Hah! Hah!’

Just then, a knock at the door made him sit bolt upright in bed, and he released his cock as if it were a scalding hot coal.

‘It’s me, Clark.’ Tam’s voice came from outside the door as he knocked.

To Superman’s horror, he saw the latch rise and the door begin to open. In another moment Tam would enter the room; the lad would see not Clark Kent, but Superman, stretched out on the bed with a raging erection, and caught just as he had been about to do something about it!

Never had he brought his Super-speed to bear with such precision. In the blink of an eye, he shot across the room, put on his glasses, threw on the bathrobe, and closed the door to the bathroom, where he had left his red boots.

Such was his haste that it was as though a gust of wind had struck Tam in the face. The lad pushed the door open and stood blinking in surprise.

‘Aye… certainly some strange winds around today,’ he said softly.

‘Uh, yes,’ said Clark, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘I guess it is a little drafty in here.’

His cock was still hugely erect, and he had to hunch over slightly, so that this was not obvious beneath the dressing gown.

Tam looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Dinnae worry, Clark. I’ll make sure you’re nice and warm.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, his voice shaking slightly as he looked at the boy. ‘You s-sure do think of everything, Tam.’

‘Aye. Aye, I do.’ Tam’s gaze slowly went to Clark’s feet. ‘Oh. Those are nice socks, Clark.’

Superman looked down and cursed himself inwardly. In his arousal and haste, he had forgotten that his tights were still visible below the dressing gown! How could he have been so foolish? Now Tam was staring, though he did not know it, at the tights-clad feet of Superman. Another intimate part of his persona was being exposed to a complete stranger, totally beyond his control. And to his horror, dimly he realised this was adding to his excitement; his erection was twitching in response to his predicament.

‘Oh!’ he breathed. ‘Uh. Yes. Thank you Yes,. I… I… I… like blue… blue socks.’

Tam laughed softly. ‘But the socks you gave me to wash were black, Clark!’

‘Yes. Uh. Yes, they were.’

Tam shook his head. ‘You’re a funny wee man, aren’t you, Clark?’

‘Oh.’ Clark swallowed. Again, the air between them seemed charged and potent. ‘Yes, Tam. Yes… I guess I am… a funny wee man.’

No, he thought to himself. I’m not a “funny wee man” – I’m Superman. If only I could tell you. Part of me wants… oh! Part of me wants to let this robe drop right now and let you see me as I am… hard in my tights… oh! The world’s most powerful man is here in your Inn, in this remote place, and I’m hard in my tights! What would Tam say? How would he see me? But… but that would be… unthinkable! It would be terrible, awful, demeaning… wouldn’t it?

‘You okay there, Clark?’ asked Tam, softly. ‘You’re looking at me very intently there, fella. Everything all right?’

With a supreme effort, Clark mastered himself and came to his senses.

‘Uh… yes. Yes, Tam, thank you. I’ve just been wondering about how to begin my investigation. These missing lads.’

‘Great stuff,’ said Tam. ‘Well, everyone here on the island will be very grateful. You coming all this way to Summerisle to help a tiny wee community like ours. It’s uncommon kind of ye, Clark. There’s a few downstairs who are very eager to meet you.’

‘There are?’

‘Aye. So, on that note, let’s give you back your panties.’

‘My panties?’ said Clark in disbelief.

‘Sorry, big fella – I mean your briefs.’

To his relief, Clark saw that atop the pile of linen Tam was carrying were his red briefs. It would be so good to get them back again.

‘Gosh, thanks, Tam,’ he said. ‘That’s awesome of you. If you just wait while I get my wallet…’

‘Ach,’ said Tam, ‘don’t fuss, no need tae worry about that now. We can work something out later.’

‘But I insist,’ said Clark, ‘you’ve washed my clothes!’

‘Well, some of them,’ said Tam. ‘Your suit is still in the machine. But at least we’ve got your pants back – your briefs – so you can put your spare suit on and come down to dinner. And I thought it was a bit strange that you only brought the one pair of briefs with you…’ He looked up, and once again Clark felt that strange excitement as the lad’s dark eyes stared straight at his own. ‘…so I’ve brought you a couple of pairs of my own underpants.’

‘Whuh-what?’

Superman felt his penis twitch once again beneath the bathrobe; he could hardly believe what he was hearing. This stripling…this adonis – for he had begun to realise just how handsome Tam was – was offering him pairs of his own underwear to put on!

‘We can’t have you just with one pair of panties, now, can we, Clark?’

Why is he calling them “panties”, thought Superman, yet he did not speak.

Tam studied him, a slow, searching look as he moved closer.

‘So here, Clark… I’ve brought you some of my own. My own underpants.’

‘Your underpants, Tam,’ echoed Clark dumbly. ‘Me wearing… your… your underpants? I… ooh… I c-couldn’t p-possibly…’

‘Yes, you can, Clark,’ said Tam firmly. ‘I don’t know what folk do in Metropolis, but I can’t have you making one pair of panties last here. What will you do when they need washing?’

‘Well… I…’ said Clark. For the umpteenth time since arriving at this strange island, he felt his cheeks colouring. ‘I d-don’t know, Tam,’ he said at last.

‘Exactly. So say no more. Here are two pairs of my pants for you. Two clean pairs of briefs.’ Tam held them out to him. One of the garments was a pair of paisley y-fronted briefs, with a bright green trim. ‘These are a bit retro, I guess,’ said Tam with a smile. ‘But I think they’ll be just right for you – that colour suits you.’

‘Whuh-what,’ breathed Clark. ‘Why, I…’

And there he was, back once again in Luthor’s lair, as his nemesis slipped the Kryptonite chain over his head.

Luthor… when he gave me my necklace… I mean when he chained me, dammit…

‘It suits you, Superman,’ Lex had said, as the hero meekly inclined his head and allowed his foe to place the chain upon him, ‘the colour looks just perfect on you, Supe baby!’

He blinked, and saw Tam gazing at him.

‘And look,’ said the lad, ‘you’ll like this other pair: blue briefs – your favourite colour, Clark!’

And indeed, the boy was proffering a pair of smooth royal blue briefs with a navy trim.

‘Gee,’ said Clark, ‘I… I really don’t know what to say, Tam. This is too kind of you.’

His hand trembling slightly, Clark reached out and accepted the underpants. For a split second his fingertips brushed against Tam’s own, and it took all his self control not to make a sound, so intoxicating was that touch.

‘Do you like them,’ asked Tam, ‘are they all right, Clark?’

‘Yes, said Clark, hoarsely. ‘They’re v-very… um… very nice. Th-thank you.’

‘No problem, pal,’ said Tam. ‘Say… is everything okay, Clark – you’re hunched over a wee bit in your gown there?’

‘Uh… just the draft,’ said Clark, unconvincingly.

‘Aye… aye,’ nodded Tam. ‘Well, we’ll get some food and drink down ye; that’ll soon warm ye up. Here – ’

Tam tossed the red briefs at him. Wide-eyed, Clark just managed to catch them whilst holding the two pairs of Tam’s own underpants and clutching the bathrobe around himself.

‘Get your panties on and get dressed in your suit, and I’ll show you down to dinner.’

‘Gosh,’ said Clark, ‘thanks, Tam. You really are…’

‘Yup,’ said Tam with a grin, ‘I really am. C’mon now – get your pants on and let’s go eat.’

Clark stared at him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is… I uh…’

Tam shook his head. ‘Fine. I’ll wait outside the door. I don’t know what you’re worried about though Clark.’ He held his gaze once more. ‘In the few hours since we met I’ve watched you piss yourself and I’ve washed your dirty panties for you. I don’t know what surprise you think you’ve got for me under there, big fella.’

The lad’s eyes fell to his waist, staring directly at where Superman’s cock was hard in his tights beneath the bathrobe, straining desperately.

If only he knew just what a surprise I have under here…

‘Uh… thanks, Tam,’ gasped Clark. He now needed this boy to be out of the room so he could clear his head. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Sure thing,’ said Tam, and went to leave. ‘I’ll be right outside the door.’

But before he could go, Clark looked down at his red briefs. And what he saw filled him with horror.

‘T-tam?’ he said. ‘I’m… I’m sorry… b-but these… these aren’t mine.’

The garment he held was indeed a pair of bright red briefs. But there was a designer label in the back – “Calvin Klein” – and most crucially, there were no belt loops. What he had been given was nothing more or less than an ordinary pair of red underpants.

‘What d’ye mean man,’ frowned Tam. ‘Of course they’re yours, Clark. Those are your panties, freshly washed and dried. See?’

‘No!’ cried Clark. ‘Gosh… gee… but you see… these aren’t my panties! I mean my briefs! These aren’t mine?’

‘Why?’ asked Tam. ‘What is it that makes you think they’re not yours, Clark? Is there something special about yours or something?’

And there it was: he was trapped. For how could he tell Tam that he knew very well these were not his briefs, as he was Superman, and the loops for his world famous yellow belt were absent?

Clark stood trying to think of a way out, but no solution presented itself.

‘Well?’ asked Tam. ‘What could possibly make you think these aren’t your panties? Plain red briefs, that’s what you gave me, right? Or am I wrong?’ He looked wryly amused. ‘Was there something special about your panties, Clark?’

Superman had no choice. Wide-eyed and a little fearful, he shook his head.

‘No Tam. You’re not wrong. It… it’s me. I… I was wrong. N-nothing special about my panties… uh…my briefs. Nothing at all. Just… just plain red briefs. I was mistaken. These… these are mine. Of… of course they are.’

‘You funny wee man,’ laughed Tam. ‘You’re a real character, Clark! I’ll leave you to it. Get those panties on now, and let’s get you some food.’

‘Y-yes,’ said Superman, numb with shock and astonishment. ‘I’ll… I’ll get my panties on.’

As the door closed, the enormity of what had happened washed over him. He took off the bathrobe and let it fall to the ground around his ankles. Placing Tam’s two pairs of underwear on the bed, Superman crossed the room and opened the bathroom door, where he stood and gazed at his reflection.

‘I’ve… I’ve handed over my briefs,’ he said out loud, ‘I’ve lost a sacred part of my uniform and in return all I have to wear… is a pair of red underpants.’

He thought of the word that Tam kept using, and unbidden, he found himself saying:

‘Panties. That’s what these are. I’ve lost my briefs… I gave them away willingly… and the only option I have left now is to wear panties over my tights. I, Superman, am going to have to put on a pair of red panties. How… how could I have let this happen?’

Yet more than all of this was another terrible, shaming truth. For as Superman continued to gaze at his reflection, holding the designer underwear for which he had traded his briefs, within his tights his cock remained stiff as a board and tingling with excitement. And the small moist point where he’d wet his tights with pre-cum was now a large patch of darkened blue, with foaming white specks upon its surface.

‘Ooh,’ murmured the Man of Steel. ‘Hnngh. What have I done?’

Hi! 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

Part One

(NB This is a bit niche, possibly...! It’s a sort of sequel/mash-up of our very own spandex clad big blue Boy Scout, Superman, and classic flick The Wicker Man. For anyone who hasn’t seen the latter, it involves *SPOILERS* a naive and uptight policeman being lured to a remote Scottish island. He believes he is there to solve a crime, but in fact he has been brought there because he is a virgin, and the pagan villagers prey on him for their own dark purpose. If you can imagine such a thing...

If there is interest for more I’ll continue it, or if not then I will revert to more standard fare, with Luthor et al bending Superman to their fiendish will. And possibly over their fiendish knees, to spank him.

DISCLAIMER: Not-for-profit, only for fun, hope you enjoy reading. )

The new Lord Summerisle was a tall and imposing man, with long fair hair and a strong jawline. Although he had held his title for more than a decade, he was still considered ‘new’, such had been the weighty and charismatic presence of his predecessor.

‘So,’ he said, ‘after nearly four decades, the policeman's sacrifice is nearly spent. That is why our crops have begun to fail once more, and the harvest sickens.’

‘Just so, my lord.’

Damian was the son of a local farmer, a narrow-hipped young man, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and battered leather jacket. His eyes were sharp and keen, and he had a mop of thick black curls running down to the nape of his neck. ‘We've all seen the signs. It's worsening every day. If this keeps up we'll be ruined.’

‘Tush,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘how excitable you are. I would never let such a thing happen.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

Lord Summerisle's eyes were drawn upwards, to where his predecessor's portrait hung on the wall, smiling benevolently down on them.

‘What worked once before will work again,’ he said. ‘We simply require a new lamb for the sacrifice.’

Damian sniffed. ‘Not as easy these days. Technology everywhere, nosing into people's lives. And virgins are harder to find too, mind you. Strange times, your Lordship.’

Before he could reply, Lord Summerisle heard the television in his office crackle into life, unbidden. Irritated, he went to switch it off, but then paused, stopped in his tracks by what the machine was showing him. That face. So recognisable. So noble. The face that seemed to be everywhere these days. Summerisle grabbed a remote and turned up the volume to listen.

‘…well, gee, I appreciate your kind words, sir, I really do. But I'm just doing my duty, serving my country, my planet - just like so many other men and women, who I count myself lucky to work alongside. Doctors, firefighters, police… it's those guys who are the real heroes - we're all on the same team.’

The American. The Kryptonian. The Man of Steel.

‘Superman,’ breathed Lord Summerisle. ‘That's it.’ He pushed a button on the remote, pausing the live broadcast. The hero’s frozen image gazed back at him. So tall, so handsome; such a calm and noble dignity, despite that garish spandex costume.

‘My Lord?’

Summerisle was grinning from ear to ear; his body crackled with purpose. This was the moment that would define him. As he stared at the screen, at this superhuman adonis in his red and blue uniform, he felt for a moment that he had had a vision, an insight into the future. The proud superhero who was standing so confidently, parading his body to the world, afraid of nothing, suddenly blurred and changed... Summerisle could see Superman being stripped of his cape, boots and briefs, whipped and brought to heel. He saw the man standing meekly and submissively in his tights, hands half-heartedly attempting to hide his penis as it bulged against that blue, blue spandex.

Confident no longer, this Man of Steel was a defeated and broken hero, looking scared and vulnerable in his tights. This was what he had to bring about. This preening, cocky Super-oaf, bulging in his spandex was the key to it all.

Summerisle blinked, and when he looked again Superman’s image was normal; a chisel jawed hero looked out from the TV screen.

‘Strange times indeed, Damian,’ he said. ‘But fortuitous ones also. If one little virginal policeman like poor dear Sergeant Howie can sustain us all these years with the unspent nature of his cock... then what power... what extraordinary gifts could we reap... from the body of Superman?’

Damian frowned. ‘Superman? But I don’t understand… even if we could get him here… even if we could trap him… it’d need to be a virgin.’

‘Look at him, Damian,’ replied Summerisle. ‘Superman is not of this earth. Leaving aside his rigid, pious nature, how could he have sex with a mere mortal? He’d destroy them. No – I’m willing to bet anything that Superman is a virgin. In fact I can feel it, I can sense it with the power that is mine: the Man of Steel has never had sex. He is what we need!’

‘Superman is a virgin!’ Damian gazed in wonder at the Man of Steel. ‘I’d never thought about it, but yes… yes, my lord, you must be right. And him looking so full of himself in his spandex! Huh. Do you think he pulls himself off in his tights when he’s home alone?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. These puritanical types live by strange and rigid values, which makes it all the more joyous when they slip up. In any case, I will bring him here,’ said Summerisle, ‘and once I have broken Superman, once I have bent him to my will, he shall be ours!’

Damian looked at him in awe. ‘Truly, you are a wonder, my lord!’

Summerisle gazed back at the television. ‘Look at him. So noble in his blue tights and those red briefs. Not just anyone can pull that look off. Mm. What kind of underpants are you wearing, Damian?’

‘What? Oh. Um… boxer briefs, your lordship. Blue ones.’

‘Drop your trousers. Let me see.’

Damian hesitated for a split second, then unfastened his jeans, thumbing the metal clasp open. ‘Does your lordship doubt me,’ he said, as he yanked them down his legs and bunched them around his ankles, ‘for you have no need to. Look: I’ve got blue pants on, just like I said.’

‘Indeed you have,’ said Lord Summerisle. He walked around Damian and put a hand on each of his buttocks, stroking them through the thin blue nylon. Then he reached around and took hold of his dick, gripping it through the fabric.

‘Ooh!’ said Damian. ‘Oh… that feels nice, your lordship. Your hand… on my cock… mm. Do you… want to do me over the desk, to help you concentrate on how to get Superman? Or would you have me get down on my knees and suck you off, my lord? Whatever you wish, I’m here in my pants and ready to do your bidding, sir. My body is waiting to serve you as you see fit. Mm.’

Summerisle extended his tongue and licked the back of Damian’s neck, pulling him close.

‘Faithful Damian. You always know what I need. Over the desk, I think. I’m going to fuck you whilst I plot the downfall of Superman, our spandex-clad friend. And put your underpants on your head, too.’

‘Ooh. Yes, my lord, thank you,’ said Damian, his cock stiffening fully. He toed off his boots and clumsily fumbled his way out of his jeans, before pulling his boxer briefs down and stepping out of them. ‘I’ll put my pants on my head, just like you say, sir. And perhaps you’ll let me cum in them once you’re done with me, sir.’

A moment later his face was in the crotch of his underwear.

‘Perhaps I will,’ said Summerisle, guiding Damian to the desk and gently bending him over it. ‘But first, let me fuck your sweet ass, while I think how best to lure that preening Superman here to our fair land, and into my clutches.’

‘Watch where you’re going, Kent!’

Adam Kennedy, a ferret-faced reporter at the Daily Planet gave Clark Kent a brusque shove as he passed him. Clark rolled with the pressure, deftly keeping up the pretence that he could be pushed like that by a normal human male. After so many years it was second nature to him, hiding his great strength and powers beneath a façade of weakness.

‘Oh! Gosh. Sorry, Adam. Gee… I sure do always seem to be in your way,’ he said, completing the performance. Inwardly he allowed himself a smirk. If this man only knew the truth: that Clark Kent, the cringing klutz he was taking out his aggression on was really Superman, the strongest being on the planet. He’d be terrified! Still, let this petty little man have his fun. To add to the overall effect, Clark pushed his glasses up his nose in a perfectly-judged show of nervousness, and stumbled on through the office, looking goofy and awkward as ever. It was a consummate show of submission, just the way he liked it.

Before he could make his way to his desk, the TV outside Perry White’s office caught his eye, and he watched as a broadcast from one of the more obscure news channels blared out.

‘…and now another young man has gone missing from this supposedly idyllic Scottish aisle. The local police force is only a handful of individuals, with nowhere near the resources needed to handle such a strange case of missing persons. Earlier today, Lord Summerisle, the prominent local naturalist and campaigner, whose family have lived here for generations, had this to say.’

Clark watched as the cameras closed in on a strikingly handsome man in his thirties, proud, strong features framed by a long mane of blonde hair.

‘We are devastated by this new loss,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Another young man, on the cusp of manhood, now disappeared into the night without a trace. All of these missing lads must surely be connected, but such a strange and unusual case is plainly beyond the power of our local constabulary to investigate properly.’

‘And so what next, your lordship,’ asked the reporter, ‘what can you do?’

‘What indeed. We must keep our young gentlemen safe from whoever is taking them, but with so little knowledge all we can do is pray. Obviously, there is one being on the planet whom one supposes could easily solve this mystery.’

‘You’re referring to Superman?’

Summerisle gave a wry smile and nodded. ‘The very same. Yet I believe he really only looks after America, for all his talk. We would love it if he would turn his attention to our small island. But that seems like wishful thinking…’

Summerisle suddenly looked directly at the camera, and his eyes, cold, blue and powerful seemed as if they were staring directly at Clark, impossible thought that was! He actually shivered, and dropped his trenchcoat on the floor, eliciting a cry from a passing co-worker.

‘Yes…’ continued Summerisle, ‘Superman… the Man of Steel. It would be wonderful to think he might help us. That he might come for us... and aid us with all the uncanny powers of that extraordinary body of his. What a man…’

Clark stared back at Summerisle. He honestly felt this man could see him, and it made him tingle, ridiculous a notion as it was. Just then Summerisle gave a sudden smile, before returning his gaze to the reporter; it left Clark feeling somewhat diminished.

‘But it’s a foolish idea to imagine Superman would ever come here, would ever give a tiny place like ours his attention. We shall just have to manage without a Man of Steel, I’m afraid.’

The reporter continued his questions, but Clark was utterly lost in thought. He slowly picked up his coat, walked to his desk and made a phone call. Then, feeling himself able only to concentrate on one thing, he made his way to Perry’s office. There was now just a single thought in his mind.

‘Ah, chief,’ he said, knocking on the door, ‘I was wondering… uh… that is… I want to go to Scotland.’

To be continued…

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!