A Quick Interlude Before The Next Instalment Of Superman: Into The Wicker Man. A Hot Story For A Hot

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

A NUCLEAR ENTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luthor, you twisted…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nearly,” said Lex, “but not quite.”

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

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

“Do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lex pointed at the Man of Steel.

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

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

He didn’t wait to be asked.

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

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

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

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

“Now. I have fun.”

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

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

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 1

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

“From Jimmy? Let’s take a look…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he said in a low voice.

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

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

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


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

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

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

Again… saying this felt pleasant and somehow… right.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that true, Clark?”

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

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

Again, strange feelings washed over Clark at these words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lewis smiled at this added mark of respect.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-what? You can’t be serious!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Clark.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh boy,” he said softly. “Oh b-boy.”

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

We shall see! Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

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

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

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

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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 4 - The Sundered Spandex

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord Summerisle’s eyes were suddenly wild and cunning.

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

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

‘Mind over muscle.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fully clothed…’ he said out loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Aye, your Lordship.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!