Vincent Zeal - Tumblr Posts

SUPERMAN: THE PRICE OF LUST

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

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

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

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

‘My cape!’ he cried. ‘Father, no!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jor El sighed.

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

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

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

‘That’s not true!’

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

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

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

Bashfully, he smiled up at Lois.

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

‘Oh,’ she said.

That had been a year ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clark swallowed. ‘You mean… uh…’

‘What is it you want me to do you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Wow, he really does look like him.’

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

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

The woman gestured to the handsome newcomer.

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

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

Jason reached down and grabbed Superman’s cock.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Ooh!’ Superman whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUPERMAN: THE TRIPLE THREAT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Certainly.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Down they come, Superman!’

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

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

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

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

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

Calmly, Ursa reached out her hand once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Superman shook his head. There was no resistance left.

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

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

Disgusted cries from the Metropolitans rent the air:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saying this only increased his arousal tenfold!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The end was close now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HELPLESS, HILARIOUS AND HORNY

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

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

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

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

“What? It… it’s stopped. Hnngh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now look," began Superman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh? ​Whuh-what? Ugh!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?! No! No! My powers – ”

Lex shook his head. “Are no more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you admit it then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Finally he gets it,” said Lex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ooh. Yes. Yes, sir you did.”

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

“Oh. S-so humiliating!”

“Do it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excerpt from SUPERMAN VS THE VICE LORD, EXTENDED EDITION, Chapter 7: ‘Punishments and Betrayals’

‘Come, come, Clark – this topic is proving fascinating, don’t you think? Tell me about the time Superman encountered Ross Webster, the corrupt billionaire tycoon.’

‘What? Oh… oh no,’ said Clark aloud, before he could stop himself. Zeal was not going to let him off the hook. This man was so powerful. So strong-willed. It was dazzling.

‘Something the matter?’

‘No… no, sir.’

Damn it - it’s best to just give him what he wants, he thought. Get this over and done with as soon as possible – then finally, perhaps he’ll let me stop talking about this and I can try and get my erection to subside.

‘Well,’ he began, resignedly, ‘Webster had the help of a man named Gus – just a downtown normal guy, but boy, was he a genius. He invented a form of Kryptonite that made Superman lose control and act like… like a moron. All Superman cared about suddenly was alcohol, sex, and behaving like a total idiot. Mm. He… he got drunk in a bar and behaved like a total jackass. Hnngh.’

Zeal said nothing, but smiled, revelling in the way Clark had now given in and was discussing the Man of Steel’s embarrassing failings unprompted, with no attempt to pretend or hide from them.

‘Once the effects of that Kryptonite wore off, Superman had to fight an intelligent supercomputer, also created by Gus. He won in the end, but it was a close run thing, during which the computer bound Superman with cables, rendering him almost unconscious and drew him inside itself. Yes… cables…’

Uh oh - trouble: he realised he had begun to enjoy this too much to stop himself revealing things he shouldn’t. And here was a very dangerous memory which he had buried so deep that even the System hadn’t found it. Like his arousal in Luthor’s pool, it was one of a tiny handful of memories he only occasionally allowed himself to recall, in his most private moments… He should bury it now… and yet the prospect, the terrible, unthinkable prospect of uttering it aloud to another being, not just that, but to Zeal - a man who might use it against him…

Can’t… can’t stop - not just yet. Feels so liberating to say it out loud to someone at last. I could actually do it… I could tell Zeal what happened… I want to… I… I…’

‘I remember that I… uh… I mean, that is, I remember Superman telling me… how… how…’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh. I shouldn’t say… shouldn’t tell you…’

Clark was struggling desperately with his psyche. Part of him ached to say this, longed to reveal this secret… but he knew he shouldn’t.

‘Go on, Clark – say it. I can see you want to. What did Superman tell you about this?’

‘He… he… oh God - Superman told me how… unexpectedly, he found it felt quite… quite nice to give in. As the computer sucked him in, a shaft appeared. It took hold of his cape and ripped it off him; Superman watched it disappear down the shaft, taken from him. His boots were then pulled off - removed by the same method, even as he protested.’

Clark looked fearfully at Zeal, but the man just stared at him, waiting. He continued, each word making him tingle as he spoke.

‘Then, clad… just in his tights and briefs… oh… sorry, sir, I mean in just his tights and… panties… Superman could feel the cables binding him and I… I mean he… he said he… that is he uh told me… in… in secret… a v-very, very… deep secret… that he, uh… he…um... he liked it. Superman… liked it.’

‘He did?’ asked Zeal quietly.

‘Oh. Y-yes. Being trussed up like that. Superman liked it very much. It felt wonderful. There were some cables around my thighs… I mean his thighs… some around his arms, some more being pulled over his face and gagging him… and… and… uh… hmm… I…’

Zeal’s brow furrowed: this sounded good.

‘What is it, Clark? What are you not telling me?’

Oh God, thought Clark. Where’s my self-control – I can’t tell him this! But then… he already knows so much. Too much. When I defeat him I’ll just have to mindwipe him somehow. I’ll kiss him! Ooh! Yes, I’ll kiss Zeal. Feels too nice to stop now. My erection feels so good. Never told anyone this stuff before. Why shouldn’t I feel like this? Why shouldn’t I enjoy feeling nice? The lives I save, the good I’ve done. I want to tell him. I want to tell Zeal; it’ll feel… nice. Never even really admitted it to myself. I can’t stop now. I can’t! I’m going to tell him! I will!

Suddenly he blurted out: ‘There was another cable!’

Looking up, his eyes met Zeal’s; it made what he was saying even more thrilling, to look his enemy in the eyes as he gave up this secret. A hint of a smile played at his lips as he willingly betrayed himself to the Vice Lord.

‘Ooh. There was another cable, Mr Zeal, sir. And you were right, sir: something happened to Superman then that he… that I’ve… I mean he’s never told anyone. Not until now, Mr Zeal.’

He felt a wave of pleasure like nothing he had felt before.

‘Go on,’ said Zeal, ‘you look very excited to share this with me, Clark. Tell me about this other cable.’

Clark wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Still looking Zeal in the eye, gazing at the other man’s stern, dominant expression, he continued, his voice lower and more breathless.

‘As Superman fell backwards, the computer produced a smooth tendril made of some sort of malleable, pulsing metal. To my – I mean to his amazement, he watched this thing emerge, shiny, and… throbbing. As Superman was trussed up helplessly and sucked into the heart of machine, he felt this tendril pushing its way up around his legs, past his thighs… and in to his clothes, down past his belt and into the waistband of his briefs.’

‘You mean his panties,’ said Zeal.

Clark swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I mean the tendril pushed its way into the waistband of Superman’s… panties. Right down inside my panties. Ooh. Uh… I mean inside his panties.’

His mouth was so dry. Damn it. Why does this feel so good?

‘I gasped – oh! I mean, Superman… Superman gasped and squirmed as he realised what was happening. He felt more and more of the tendril squeezing its way inside his briefs – sorry! Sorry, Mr Zeal, I mean his panties. It was as if the machine was touching him, playing with him.

‘There was a feeling of warmth as the tendril made a hole in his tights, then it began to produce an equally warm liquid, coating and lubricating itself… Superman felt the sticky substance filling and coating his buttocks, wetting them… and… and then this thing slid up, and it was inserted into his… into Superman’s… uh… Super-anus.’

‘Incredible,’ said Zeal. ‘And how did the Man of Steel feel about receiving this anal probe? Did he dislike it? Did he muster the Super-strength to pluck it out of his Super-rosebud?’

‘No,’ said Clark, breathing rapidly, ‘No, he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try… because I loved it… I mean he… uh… he… he… Superman loved it! It f-felt wonderful, like nothing he’d ever known – being taken like that, humiliated sexually – him, the strongest man in the whole world, being helplessly penetrated! By a machine! Superman squirmed in ecstasy as the computer’s tendril penetrated him and his Super-penis became erect in his tights and briefs! Oh! I’m s-sorry, sir, - I m-mean his tights and panties!’

His notepad dropped to the ground and he did not go to pick it up.

Somewhere inside he knew he was losing this battle. His mind went back to that moment, being trussed and penetrated inside that insidious machine. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to think about this.

‘Go on, Clark. I can see you want to tell me about this. I can see you’re enjoying it. Tell me everything. Every last detail.’

‘Oh… okay. Okay then, Mr Zeal.’

And he was enjoying it. The recall of this moment of sexual subjugation was making his body thrill with pleasure. In his mind’s eye he saw himself there once again, trussed up and being penetrated.

‘Superman was tightly bound, legs splayed and being penetrated by a… a throbbing phallus, and it… it f-felt wonderful. He’d never felt pleasure like it. He didn’t care about anything else but that warmth, probing him, arousing him, taking control away from him. Superman was tied up, utterly helpless and his tights and panties were being invaded… and it made him feel so free, for the first time in his life.

‘Other tendrils began to tug at his briefs, pulling them down and unfastening his belt, and the feelings were so intoxicating that Superman actually began to buck his body back and forth with each thrust of the probe. That machine, that supercomputer had deduced how best to deal with him: not with violence, or trying to kill him or turn him into a robot. It had worked out a far more efficient way to solve this problem. It was penetrating Superman in his tights; he felt his briefs pulled down, taut and tight as they clung to his outstretched legs, until they bunched around his ankles. It… the supercomputer… it had pulled Superman’s panties down. The Man of Steel was groaning in ecstasy, his briefs around his ankles like a cheap whore, and the elation he felt was incredible. Any moment now he would explode and splurge, fill his tights with hot, creamy, Kryptonian semen.

‘But then just as Superman was on the verge of cumming, the acid he had brought began to destroy the computer. He tried to kick the canister away, to foil his own plan; he wanted this so badly, more than anything. But it was too late! The metal probe was withdrawn from his tights before anything more could happen. Superman moaned in unfulfilled arousal as that strange phallus was withdrawn from his… from his ass.

‘Superman went from ecstasy, being tied up and penetrated, to being left unsatisfied, a hero in his tights once more. He’d saved the world but it cost him his pleasure. For a split second he considered masturbating, cumming in his briefs.

‘But then a voice called out his name: Gus Gorman had found him. His erection subsided and he had to be Superman once more, and put aside his own pleasure. He had to quickly locate and put on his cape, pull up his briefs and dry them with his Super-breath… and go and be a hero. Unfulfilled… w-with only the stains on his briefs to prove that it had ever happened at all. He told Gus it was acid.’

Giddy with sensation, he realised he had reverted to saying briefs, but Zeal hadn’t corrected him. What would have been the point? He’d already proved Zeal had broken him with regard to this.

‘Poor Superman,’ cooed Zeal, ‘just when he was about to have some excitement. There he was being fucked by a machine and then it was over and he had to play the big hero once more. It must be very frustrating being the Man of Steel, don’t you think, Clark?’

‘Yes,’ said Clark, with feeling, ‘it… it sure must be.’

For a split second he wondered whether he could turn the conversation to some of the Man of Steel’s victories. But he knew he was not going to.

Enjoy, fiends!

‘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.'

Webster flicked a switch and the Kryptonite beam vanished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could hardly believe what he was hearing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

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…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

CHAPTER 2: PEELING BACK LAYERS

Summerisle was a remote place; from the mainland it was most common to fly there by seaplane.

‘Not a problem for Superman,’ thought Clark, gazing out of the window as the small craft carrying him approached the island, ‘but as Clark Kent, if I’m to come here and investigate, I need to fly in the conventional way.’

The little plane bobbed down gently on the water, and its dour pilot turned and looked expectantly at Clark, who returned his gaze in some confusion.

‘Uh… sir? We’re some way from the mainland still?’

‘Aye. You’ll have to walk the rest. It’s no deep, mind – just a couple of feet.’

‘What?’ Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But… but I’ll get wet? My shoes… my socks… my pants…’

The man smiled unpleasantly. ‘You’re no in America now, sonny. Ye’ll need to get your feet wet every now and then on Summerisle. Your pants too, at that, as ye say.’

The shore was at least twenty or thirty feet away. Surely there must be some other way?

‘Come on, sonny,’ said the pilot. ‘Ah’ve not got all day. Out ye jump. It’s only water. Be off with ye. Or did ye want to take off your shoes and socks first, and roll your trousers up?’

Clark swallowed. If he were to accept this relatively sensible solution, then the pilot would get a great surprise, as removing his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants would of course reveal that beneath them he was wearing blue tights and red boots – the world-famous uniform of Superman.

‘N-no, sir,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll manage.’

The pilot gave a low chuckle. ‘Out ye pop then, boy.’

Unbelievable. Bristling at the man’s rudeness, Clark gathered his case and his coat, and jammed his hat down firmly on his head. He would just have to dry himself off with his super-breath when he reached the shore.

He opened the door and swung his legs around. He could see with his x-ray vision that it was a little deeper than the man had claimed, though not much.

‘Well, then, sir,’ he said, ever-mindful of his manners, ‘thanks for the ride.’

‘You’re welcome,’ came the brusque response.

He took a deep breath and was just about to jump down into the murky looking Scottish waters, when a sudden violent gust of wind came out of nowhere, rocking the little seaplane. There was no warning of this whatsoever, and it took Clark so by surprise that he lost his balance and slipped, and in less than a second he was tipped straight down into the sea.

‘Huh! Hngh!’ He cried out in alarm and shock as he tumbled into the icy waters, completely soaking himself. His head slipped beneath the surface for a moment, and then he managed to steady himself. Spluttering and spitting out water, he stood up, clutching his case to his chest, water pouring from the brim of his hat. So much for just getting his feet wet; the sea was almost up to the top of his thighs.

He turned to find the pilot laughing at him. ‘Sorry, sonny! What a start to your stay! Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!’

‘Sir,’ Clark said, trying to remain calm, ‘you’re very unkind.’

Trying to muster some dignity, he began to splash his way clumsily to the shore. He could feel his spandex uniform sopping wet beneath his smart black suit. It certainly was an inauspicious beginning to his trip. Nevertheless, he had come here to try and help, to do some good, and so he ignored the pilot’s derisive laughter and waded onwards.

He scanned the mainland, wondering briefly if he could use his powers and fly, but no – there was someone stood there watching him… almost as if he was waiting. Clark waded onwards, seawater sloshing around his clothes.

The figure waiting for him was a lad of about twenty or so, with glossy, mid-length fair hair flopping over high cheekbones. His eyes were dark and thoughtful, and as Clark emerged from the waters, he looked him up and down, studying him.

‘Are you the reporter?’

‘Uh… that’s right,’ said Clark. The boy reached out a hand and he shook it. ‘Clark Kent. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Tam Lunn. Here. Let me take your case.’

‘Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,’ protested Clark.

‘S’alright.’ The boy took hold of his suitcase, and Clark reluctantly handed it over. ‘Thank you. Tam, did you say?’

‘That’s right. Fall in tae the water did ye?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did ye not just wait for the boat?’

‘There was a boat? Why, that lousy…’ Clark turned back, but the seaplane was already flying towards the horizon.

‘Ah. I see. Old Jeremiah doesn’t take well to outsiders.’

‘He sure doesn’t,’ said Clark with feeling. Standing there, soaked to the skin, the Man of Steel could sense his cheeks reddening. For all his powers he suddenly felt very foolish. Unbidden, a memory came to him then, as clear as the day it had happened.

‘Why, it’s just like the time…’

The memory formed fully in his mind’s eye: his first ever defeat. And what a terrible, ignominious defeat it had been. Luthor – tricking him into opening the box with the Kryptonite chain inside. ‘Your very own Kryptonite necklace, Supe baby. I’ve spared no expense.’

As Superman he had backed away, trying to escape, to run from Luthor’s deadly trap, his body racked with a fear like nothing he had ever known until that moment, knees knocking together foolishly as his legs trembled in his tights. It had never occurred to him that this ordinary human male could prove any kind of threat to him, Superman. Yet before he had even kicked down the door of Luthor’s lair, he had already been out-thought and outclassed. The man had not even had to lay so much as a finger on him to defeat him.

‘Mind over muscle,’ Lex had said, shaking his head as he placed the chain around Superman’s neck, tender as a lover, making him cry out: a low moan.

Powerless then, he had felt Luthor’s hands all over his body, touching him in his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, letting him know he had been bested and mastered, as the criminal genius simply dragged Superman along. Lex had not spared him anything; he had even taken hold of Superman’s nipples, once like steel, now like jello, and tweaked them through the hero’s spandex.

The terrible, disgraceful moans that Superman had made as Luthor played with him, showing him how defeated and helpless he was, still haunted him. Finally, when he had demeaned himself in the throes of defeat sufficiently, he was released. His body tingling, the Man of Steel had at last been given a good shove by his nemesis, and as he looked back in astonished fear, Superman dropped like a stone, falling into Lex’s pool, fully-clothed in his spandex uniform.

‘Mr Kent? Are ye alright?’

‘Huh?’

The boy Tam was looking quizzically at him, a half-smile in his eyes. Dimly, Clark noted that he was extremely handsome.

‘Are ye alright, Mr Kent?’

‘Oh. Ah. Um. Yes. Just… remembering.’

‘Looked like it was a happy memory, no?’

‘No… no, not really. Uh… Just… just another time I got soaked.’ Clark smiled ruefully.

‘Strange. It looked like you were remembering something nice. Well, don’t worry,’ said Tam, patting him on the back. ‘My father’s the innkeeper. I’ve come to take you there, and we’ll find ye some fine dry clothes when you get in. I’ll soon have ye out of this soggy lot before you know it.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, unsure what to say to this. ‘Uh… thank you.’

The inn was a large, stark building next to a rushing stream. A vast tree, ancient and gnarled, stood just outside it, looming up, branches outstretched towards the place. As they walked up the dusty track, Clark chose his moment carefully, and when he was ready, peered over the top of his glasses and shot a blast of his heat vision at one of the topmost branches of the old tree. It fell heavily and suddenly, making Tam cry out in alarm, and the distraction it bought him gave Clark enough time to use his super-speed and his super-breath to quickly dry his clothes.

‘Gosh,’ he said to Tam, who stood gazing in shock at the fallen bough, ‘you sure do have some strong winds here.’

‘Aye,’ said Tam slowly, ‘but not that strong. That old rowan tree has stood here longer than anything on Summerisle; it’s endured mighty storms and never loses so much as a twig.’

‘Well, I guess it must be feeling its age.’

The tree’s branches shook suddenly, and to his surprise, Clark found himself shuddering.

Tam shook his head. ‘No, Mr Kent, you dinnae understand. It’s a powerful thing this tree, it protects us. It’s magical.’

‘Magic? Oh, gee… that’s a little far fetched don’t you th-’

The tree shook once more, and Clark had to admit that he found it rather menacing.

‘Nae, Mr Kent – you’ve got to believe me. No one on Summerisle would dare touch this tree or harm it, for it would bring him powerful bad luck.’

‘Uh…’ Clark looked up nervously at the great rowan. ‘Is… is that so? Gosh. Well. I’ll… I’ll be sure to remember that.’

A huge gust of wind seemed to come from nowhere then, engulfing the pair of them. The tree’s branches seemed almost to change direction for a moment, reaching out to where Clark stood, clawing and straining at him, as rain began to fall from the sky.

‘That’s strange,’ said Tam, turning his attention back to Clark as the wind died down, ‘why, Mr Kent… your clothes… they’re all dry.’

‘Hardly surprising, with all this wind,’ said Clark.

‘But… but you were completely soaked. Your trousers… how could that be…’

Suddenly Clark heard the voice of old Jeremiah, the unpleasant pilot, echoing in his head once more.

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!

To his horror, Clark felt his bladder clench and spasm. ‘Ha! Ah! Ah!’ he cried out. ‘Uh… Tam… I need the uh… I need the bathroom… I need it real quick.’

Panicked, he started to stumble towards the inn.

‘The bathroom,’ frowned Tam, ‘what do ye need a bath for?’

‘Not a bath,’ cried out Clark, his voice getting higher. ‘I need to use the bathroom. The washroom. The restroom. Quickly, please!’

‘Oh,’ said Tam, ‘the toilet! Why didn’t ye say? Here, there’s one round the back.’

He started to lead Clark around the side of the inn, but before they could reach it there came another of those fearsome gusts of wind, enveloping them both, and making Clark gasp.

‘No!’ he said as a cold feeling embraced him. ‘Oh no… no!’

It was too late. As he stood there, the handsome young man in front of him turned back just in time to watch as Clark’s bladder emptied itself against his will. The Daily Planet’s intrepid top reporter stood open-mouthed with shame and horror, as he pissed himself, soaking first his tights and his briefs, before a dark stain came pouring down the legs of his suit. And again, he heard that malevolent voice in his head:

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper… SUPERMAN! GO ON, MAN OF STEEL, THINKING YOURSELF SO STRONG – YOU DARED TO BURN THE TREE OF MIGHT, NOW PAY THE PRICE AND WET YOUR TIGHTS! PISH YOUR TIGHTS, SUPERMAN! Hahahaha!

As Clark stood there pissing himself, on top of everything else, he felt strangely exposed – as if some force could see beneath his clothes. Tam was gazing at him open-mouthed, but what this young man who looked at him now with such pity and amusement did not, could not know… was that, just as the insidious voice in his head was now sneering, it was in fact Superman who stood before him now. Superman, the Man of Steel… had arrived on Summerisle and begun his trip by helplessly and humiliatingly pissing his tights and briefs. The wind seemed to shriek malevolently as the hero steadily wet himself, and the tree’s arms once more curved towards him.

His penis now spent, Clark felt his cheeks burning hot and red. He tried and failed to think of something to say, to explain or excuse his predicament.

‘Um,’ he said, ‘ah… uh…’

‘It’s okay, Mr Kent,’ said Tam, at last. ‘I’ll take you up the back stairs. No one need know or see. And I won’t tell anyone that ye had a wee accident, I promise. I guess you’ll be needing a bath after all, aye?’

Clark managed a very weak smile. ‘Uh. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Tam. That’s very kind.’

‘Nay bother, Mr Kent. Come on then.’

‘Um… Tam? Call me Clark, please?’

Tam grinned. ‘Right ye are… Clark. Come on now, man, never mind your wet pants, we’ll soon have ye right as rain. Follow me, Clark.’

‘Thank you, Tam.’ And follow he did, though with each step he felt his own warm piss sloshing around at the bottom of his concealed red boots, reminding him of his shame.

To be continued...

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?’

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!

And now to see what awaits Superman in the second party of this chapter. Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Five: The Waters of Summerisle - part II

‘Somebody saaave me!’

The voice belonged to a man dangling from a precipice, a blonde haired guy in his thirties, with a weaselly little hipster beard. He was clinging to a jutting piece of rock that hung over a series of murky looking swamp pools amid a wide expansive clearing, surrounded by tall trees. The fall was quite far enough to end a life.

The man’s cries were becoming shallower, and as Superman approached, he saw the guy lose his grip and go hurtling to certain death.

‘Not today,’ he said.

In a heartbeat he had caught the man, and had him in his arms.

‘Huh?’ gasped his passenger. ‘Wait… it can’t be…’

Superman alighted on the ground and gently set down the man he had rescued, who stood before him open mouthed. ‘S-superman? Is it… is that really you?’

He smiled, and as he was so often known to do, he clasped both hands together in front of his crotch. An innocent enough gesture, but also enough to conceal the annoying erection which still would not go down. In fact, as his hands brushed the material covering his penis, he felt his excitement increase, if anything.

‘That’s me, sir,’ he said, in those confident tones so familiar to the whole world. ‘You really should be more careful when wandering around places like this.’

Just then, laughter sounded all around them. Superman furrowed his brow and looked about him. There was no one to be seen anywhere. ‘Did you hear that,’ he asked the man whose life he had just saved. ‘C-can you hear s-someone laughing?’

Superman stumbled slightly over his words and had to focus and think what he was saying. To his astonishment, he realised that the whisky and wine he had taken at the inn had had an effect on him after all. His hands brushed his spandex-clad cock once more, and he felt it react with pleasure.

The man nodded. ‘Ye should come away now, Superman. We shouldn’t be here. Nobody comes here. It’s where the Mad Ones dwell.’

‘The Mad Ones,’ repeated Superman. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The Roaring Bulls. The Bully Boys. They’re crazy, Superman! Spirits that live in the water. Please, ye’ve got tae get us away from here.’

Looking around, it was clear that the only way out was to head to the encircling trees, or to fly them back up from where this young man had fallen. Superman shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, sir – I won’t let anything happen to you, but I’m interested in what you’re telling me. I’d like to know some more about these… these Bully Boys, as you call them.’

‘You will know more… Superman.’

The voice echoed eerily all around them, followed by more laughter. A mist had now begun to form and was drifting over the pools amongst which they stood.

‘Please,’ begged the man, ‘Superman, take me away from here. Fly me out, please. I’ll do anything, just get me away.’

The man really was beside himself. ‘Okay. What’s your name, sir?’

‘Tom,’ said the guy. ‘It’s Tom. Please, Superman, I’m begging you, get me out of here.’

Superman nodded. This man was plainly hysterical. He would fly him to safety and then come back to investigate. ‘Come on then, Tom. Put your arm around my neck…’

Superman broke off, surprised by the almost electric charge that went through his erect penis as he said this. ‘I… um… I mean… let me get a hold of you, and I’ll…’

The laughter echoed all around them once more, and the mist was billowing up from the pools.

‘Of course,’ said Tom, and draped his arm around Superman’s neck ‘Like this, Superman?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘J-just like that.’ The feel of the man’s hand against the bare skin of his neck was making Superman recall Tam’s touch, back at the Inn, and his cock throbbed. He felt fresh wet precum blossoming across his briefs and tights.

He shook his head, and in one swift movement he scooped the man up before he could notice his bulging cock. ‘Okay, Tom,’ he said, ‘let’s get you out of here.’

Superman bent his knees and made to fly off, but nothing happened. In astonishment, he looked at Tom.

‘Come on then, Superman. Please, please – take us away.’

He bent his knees once more and jumped. But nothing happened; his red boots just squelched down hard into the boggy ground.

‘I… I can’t,’ he said in astonishment. ‘My powers are gone… I can’t fly.’

A strange wailing and howling now could be heard. Tom began to whimper with fright, and Superman set him down once more. He paid no mind to concealing his throbbing erection; there were other, more immediate problems.

‘There,’ whimpered Thom, ‘oh… Superman, look over there!’

Superman turned and looked in the direction the man was pointing.

Emerging from the mist that was now closing all about them was a man. At least it had a man’s body, tall and lean and naked except for a pair of black briefs, yet this person wore a mask like the head of a bull. It pointed at them both.

Tom screamed, and before Superman could stop him, the terrified man stumbled away into the mist and was gone. He turned back, and tried to activate his x-ray vision, to see whose face lurked beneath the mask. But nothing happened.

‘My powers,’ he said dumbly. ‘What have you done to me?’

More laughter sounded, as out of the mist all around him came young men. Each wore an animal mask, and each was naked except for a pair of briefs.

‘Who are you men,’ cried Superman. ‘Who are you and what have you done to me?’

The Bull-headed man was drawing close to him now. ‘The question you should ask, Superman, is what will we do to you.’

Everywhere Superman turned, more of these young, masked men in briefs were emerging from the mist, closing in on him. He felt his head whirling, and as his gaze dropped to their bulging crotches, his body coursed with a strange mix of fear and arousal.

‘S-stay back,’ he said. ‘D-don’t you… don’t you touch me!’

The Bull-headed man gave a deep, throaty chuckle. ‘Don’t touch you, Superman? That’s just what you long for us to do.’

‘No,’ he cried out. ‘No!’

‘Why don’t you fly away, Man of Steel?’ asked the Bull-headed man.

‘I c-can’t’ he said, amazed at how his voice was shaking. ‘My p-powers. They’ve g-gone. You took them from me… You must’ve taken them!’

‘Just so. And now… now you are simply a man in tights, aren’t you, Superman?’

‘Huh. Hnngh.’

In that moment the strange and unaccustomed drunkenness he felt somehow increased tenfold. Before he could think, Supermsn found himself agreeing with this.

‘Uh… Y-yes. That’s right.’

‘What are you, Superman?’ asked a man in a fox mask. He squeezed the hero’s spandex clad bicep as he spoke. The touch made Superman’s cock tingle with pleasure, pushing against his now thoroughly wet tights and briefs.

‘What are you now, Man of Steel?’

‘Ah! Oh. Hah,’ he said. ‘I… I’m just a man in tights now. That’s all I am. Without my powers… I’m j-j-just a man in tights… not Super any more… Oh. N-no. you’re t-touching me! You m-mustn’t… Ooh! Ooh! Ah…’

A ripped young man in blue briefs and a wolf mask knelt and took hold of Superman’s thigh and began to kiss it and lick it through his spandex, pulling at the fabric with his teeth. His fingers played with the hero, tantalisingly teasing him in his tights, just below his crotch, invading his most intimate areas and producing the most ignominious sounds of pleasure from the now weak and incredibly horny Man of Steel.

‘Ooh! Ooh! Haaaah! Oh… I… I can’t… I c-can’t hold on! You took my powers and I’m h-helpless! Hnngh Ooooh!’

The Bull-headed man was now immediately in front of him. He reached out one hand and took hold of Superman’s stiff and throbbing cock. The Man of Steel gave a bestial cry of pure desire.

‘Haaaaaaaaaa! Oh! Uh!’

‘And tell us, Superman – what is this? What is this in your tights and briefs, little hero? Tell us!’

‘It’s… hnngh… it’s An erection!’ he gasped. ‘I’ve got an erection in my tights and briefs! I’m hard! Oh! Help! Help me! What… what’s happening to me?’

‘Let’s just say,’ said the man, ‘we’re stripping you.’

‘My clothes,’ said Superman, now in a panic. ‘Don’t take my clothes, my uniform, please!’

‘What about these little red panties?’

Someone behind him slipped one hand down the back of Superman’s briefs, and a warm and playful finger begin sliding its way up between his spandex clad buttocks.

‘Shall we pull your panties down, Superman?’

‘Ooh! Ooh!’ Now he was whimpering just as pathetically as Tom, the man he had rescued.

‘No! No, p-please don’t pull my p-panties down,’ he begged pathetically. ‘Please, not that! Oh! Uh! Haaa!’

Though in truth, it was clear by now that they could do anything to him, and Superman would not be able to stop them.

‘It’s not your clothes we’re stripping you of, you Super dummy,’ said the Bull-headed man. ‘It’s your ego.’

He squeezed Superman’s cock, and as the hero gasped and squirmed, more foaming white precum burst from its tip, gleaming against the red of his briefs.

‘Hnngh! Uh! I I… don’t understand! Oh… my p-penis! My erection. What are you going to do with me?’

‘Just this,’ said the Bull-headed man. He let go of Superman’s pulsing and erect cock. ‘Put him in the water.’

‘What? No! D-don’t!’ Superman looked at the murky swamp pool the man was pointing at. ‘Don’t! Please!’

‘Why fight it,’ said the man. ‘It’s what you want, Superman. I can see it in your head.’

Superman’s eyes widened with terror.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know just what I mean, Superman. I can see your thoughts. I can see it all. I can feel your deepest secrets, your fears… your fantasies. And nothing has ever been as good, no moment has ever been as arousing or exciting… as when Luthor chained you and pushed you helplessly into his pool. Has it, Superman?’

In a flash, once again he was back there in Luthor’s lair. The memory that had been tormenting him ever since he had landed on Summerisle. Lex chaining him… Humiliating him… tweaking his nipples through his spandex until Superman cried out. And at last, when he could take no more, pushing him fully clothed and helpless into his pool.

Giving me my necklace, he thought. Oh God! He knows! He knows everything!

‘Oh! Ooh. Ooh!’ Superman let forth several more of these terrible ignominious whimpers.

‘You sound like a monkey, Superman,’ said a man in light brown briefs wearing an ape mask. ‘Ooh-ooh-ooh!’

More laughter echoed all around him. He felt his penis respond enthusiastically to this further humiliation.

‘How…’ he gasped ‘H-how did you know? My humiliation… what Lex did to me… it’s my deepest secret! Oh…. How could you… ooh. Ooh… oh!’

‘I told you, Supeman – I can see it all, all that is you. You have no secrets here. I have unmanned you. You are naked, despite your tights and briefs. And I asked you a question, Superman.’

The man’s voice was stern and booming. ‘Answer me. No event has ever aroused you or pleased you as much as your humiliation and defeat in Luthor’s pool – am I right? Am I? Answer me, you puny little fool!’

Superman hung his head. ‘Yes. It’s true.’

‘I know,’ said the man in whose thrall he now undoubtedly was. ‘You are nothing to me, Superman, understand?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes sir. I am nothing to you. I’m nothing, sir.’

‘You were hard in your tights and briefs that day, Superman. Are you hard now?’

‘Yes,’ breathed Superman. ‘I’m hard. S-so hard in my t-tights.’

‘You were helpless that day, Superman. Are you helpless now?’

‘Yes. I’m so, so helpless. Utterly helpless.’ As he said this, Superman tried to touch his penis, the urge to masturbate was so great, but the Bull-headed man merely slapped his hand away.

One of the young men now approached with a garland made of some strange plant, a kind of water-lily with long green fronds, and gave it to the Bull-headed man.

‘You let Luthor chain you that, day, Superman. Will you let me chain you now?’

‘Y-yes,’ he replied. ‘Oh, yes. Yes please. Yes sir. Do it. Put it on me.’

Just as he had for Lex, Superman inclined his head, making it easier for the Bull-headed man to reach out and place the garland around his neck.

‘Oh,’ he gasped as it hung around his shoulders. ‘You’ve ch-chained me. You’ve done it. Hnngh. Aaaah.’

‘And what does this signify, Superman, you snivelling chump?’

‘Oh! Oh boy. It… it signifies… mind over muscle. Sir.’

‘Just so. And now. Put him in the water.’

With their hands all over him, making his body thrill, Superman let himself be led to the filthy pool of green, slimey-looking water.

‘Green,’ he murmured, ‘just my colour. Like Luthor said.’

‘Get on your hands and knees, you Superdickhead,’ commanded the Bull-headed man. ‘Down on all fours, now!’

‘Yes sir,’ Superman said meekly, and hurriedly obeyed. Once he was on all fours in the dirt they forced him down and rolled him onto his back.

For a few moments Superman just lay there, while each of them toyed with him, pawing at him, touching him enough to fuel the lust that now engulfed him, but not enough to give him release. The Bull-headed man knelt down and straddled him, tweaking his nipples through his spandex tunic, and Superman’s ecstatic cries rang out all around them. ‘My nipples,’ he shrieked, ‘doing it to me, just like Lex Luthor! Oh! It’s like I’m really n-naked! You knew my f-f-fantasies!’

‘Yes,’ said the Bull-headed man as he pinched Superman’s nipple and pulled it. ‘I know all about you, you poor, helpless little fool. Welcome to your ultimate defeat.’

Finally, when they were done playing with him, as he lay in the wet and filthy mud, feeling it soaking into his spandex, they simply rolled the Man of Steel along, laughing as he moaned in ecstasy at the sensations from his erect cock, until – plop!

With a mighty splash, Superman dropped like a stone into the waters of the filthy swamp pool.

‘Aaah!’ he cried out.

‘how does that feel, Superman?’

‘Hungh!’ he cried. ‘I c-can feel my b-boots… filling with water. They’re sliding off. They’re coming off! Off my legs. Something has my belt… I can feel something pulling at it. My cape! Oooh! Something tore my cape from me! My clothes… my uniform… it’s coming off… I’m losing it all, aren’t I?’

Gasping and spluttering, he looked up at the Bull-headed man. All of them were gathered around the pool, watching him writhe and splash within its depths.

‘Yes, Superman. You’re finally losing it all.’

Superman could stand it no longer. He felt something ripping at his briefs, pulling them down his legs; it seemed he could also feel his tights being yanked down. Semi-naked in the muddy, algae-riddled pool, he took hold of his cock and began to pump it up and down.

‘Superman,’ he cried, ‘I’m Superman and I’m helpless in your clutches! You’ve stripped me of my powers and put me in the water just like Luthor. I’m wet and filthy and humiliated… and hard! Oh God! So hard. And I’ve. Lost. It Allllllllll!’

Erotic pleasure beyond what even his senses could withstand overcame him then, and as something thick and gloopy began to splatter all over him, raining down across his body, Superman closed his eyes and sunk back into the filth and slime.

The last thing he heard, was a voice saying: ‘Good. He is ours now.’

Whose villainous clutches is Superman in, the helpless horny hero? To be continued…

Teaser preview for chapter 6 of SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN - coming soon!

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

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

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

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

Find out what happens to Superman when he meets the charismatic and strong-willed Lord Summerisle in chapter 6, and is drawn further into the twisted machinations of this remote Scottish island and its people, losing more and more of his self-control…

Coming soon!

Happy #ThrobbingThursday!

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six Part I: The Deconstruction of Superman

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

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

‘Ah! He’s awake at last!’

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

‘Superman. The Man of Steel. Welcome.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, that’s right… your costume.’

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

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

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

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

‘Whuh-what are you? No, I…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed the sparkling wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER SIX PART II…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter Six: The Deconstruction of Superman

Part II

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

‘Really,’ said the lad in the tracksuit. ‘So does that mean that right now you’re still helpless, Superman?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ he nodded. ‘It means I can’t fly or use my Super-strength. And my invulnerability is completely gone.’

Without thinking, he tried to activate his powers to see beneath the lad’s shiny blue tracksuit. ‘And… gosh… I can’t even use my x-ray vision.’

‘What the hell,’ laughed the lad, ‘did you just try and check out what I was wearing under here, Superman?’

‘Oh. Ah… well… yes! Superman grinned bashfully. ‘Sorry, sir – I just wanted to check my x-ray vision wasn’t working.’

‘So ye thought ye’d test it out by seeing me in my undies!’ exclaimed the lad.

‘Oh… um… I…’ he blustered. It had never occurred to him that he was doing anything wrong. Yet they were all laughing, and once more Superman found himself laughing with them.

‘I’m sorry, sir. Lois always used to like it when I looked to see what underwear she had on. And… and I ah…I felt sure that you were wearing briefs!’

‘Did she really,’ said the lad, with a grin. ‘So you thought you’d get an eyeful of me in ma panties! Do you make a habit of this, Superman, you big Super-pervert?’

‘No!’ Superman’s first reaction was shock – he couldn’t let them think this!

But they were all laughing at him again, and he decided the best course of action was not to take everything so seriously. And after a moment or two, he too laughed along at this.

‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘Well, yes… ah… I guess… perhaps I need to mend my ways.’

‘Aye, Superman,’ said the lad. ‘You’re a naughty wee man, aren’t ye?’

He hesitated, and then replied: ‘Um. Ah… yes, sir. I… I guess I am… very naughty, sir.’

‘Well, say it then,’ said the lad, still grinning, ‘say it, Superman. Tell me what you are.’

Superman held his gaze for a second, deliberating… and then he said: ‘Yes, sir. I’m… a naughty man, sir. I’m a naughty wee man… I’m a very naughty Superman. I sh-shouldn’t have tried looking at your underwear without asking. Sorry, sir. Ooh.’

These words had an intoxicating effect on him, just as he had suspected they might. And they all cheered as he said this.

‘I… I hope you’re not offended?’ he asked the lad. ‘By my trying to look at your underpants?’

‘Course not, Superman. Not a bit. If it’s good enough for Lois Lane, it’s good enough for me! Even if you are a naughty wee Superman!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said with relief. ‘I’m sorry for being a naughty Superman, sir! I won’t be naughty any more, sir!’

They all laughed again at this admission. There, he thought – I went along with it and that’s an end to it.

‘Okay,’ said Superman, ‘now, I wonder if we could talk about…’

The tracksuited lad cut him off. ‘But if ye wanted to see my pants, Superman, ye only had tae ask.’

‘Wait, what?’

Before Superman could stop him, the lad deftly slipped his tracksuit bottoms down, revealing a nicely filled pair of pristine white Calvin Klein briefs. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘ye wanted a look at me in ma panties, didn’t ye, Superman? Anything for you.’

‘Uh… ah… I…’ his cheeks coloured, and yet in truth he couldn’t stop looking at the lad’s bulging underwear.

‘Don’t need your x-ray vision to look at this, do ye, Superman,’ grinned the lad. The room erupted into laughter once more. After a moment’s hesitation, Superman smiled and laughed too, joining in this joke at his expense.

‘No,’ he said chuckling, ‘I guess sometimes I don’t need my powers, sir. And you look… ah… very nice…. In your p-panties… oh! I mean your underpants. Uh. You look great, in fact. Um. Ah. Thank you for um… sh-showing them to me.’

‘My pleasure,’ said the lad softly, staring at the Man of Steel. ‘I’ll leave my keks off, seeing as you like what you see, Superman.’

‘Oh, but wait, I didn’t mean…’

‘It’s nay bother, honest.’

The lad pulled his trackie bottoms down over his shoes and off of his legs, and dropped them on the floor. ‘All gone. Off they come, Superman. Just for you.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Er… I didn’t mean you to, er… thank you.’

‘S’alright. That’s the least I can do, eh?’ The lad sat down next to him, his bottom half now clad just in underwear. His naked thigh was touching the Man of Steel’s own. ‘As long as you like it. You do think I look good in my panties, right, Superman?’

‘I…’ Superman felt caught up in a mix of emotions. Yet this was all so innocent, wasn’t it? And the people here were so considerate.

‘You like me in my panties, don’t you, Superman,’ said the tracksuited lad, softly. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ said Superman. ‘It’s just as I said, sir. You… you look great in your… um… in your panties.’

‘And you like me in them, don’t you?’

He paused, and then said: ‘Yes. Oh. Yes, sir. I d-do like you in your panties. You look wonderful in them. Ah. Huh. Hm. Thank you for showing them to me. Um… thank you, sir. It’s very kind of you to do this. To… take your tracksuit bottoms down and show me… show me what you look like… in your panties.’

He had begun to feel flustered and rather hot, he realised.

‘Why, what a flatterer you are, Superman,’ smiled Lord Summerisle, refilling his glass.

Before he could respond, the long-haired man in the kilt asked him:

‘So if your powers are still gone and you’re helpless… does that mean we could do anything to you, Superman? A room full of us lads… ye couldn’t stop us, could ye?’

Superman swallowed, unsure of where this was going. He ought not to give an answer to this, to do so would be to make himself more vulnerable than he already was. And yet… he found he wanted to reply. He was tired of holding back.

‘Oh. Yes sir,’ he said, ‘that’s quite correct, sir. Without my powers there’s no way I could hold off all of you guys. Probably not even two of you.’

He thought back to when Zod had invaded, and how, stripped of his powers, he had been so badly defeated by the guy in that diner. It seemed so long ago now. For all his bluster, all his bravado and ‘would you care to step outside, he had been beaten to a pulp by a normal human man. It was a truth which made Superman very uncomfortable, and he had always tried to conceal it… until now.

‘Uh… in fact,’ he said, before he could stop himself, ‘the last time I lost my powers I couldn’t even win a fight with one man. Not even one normal guy - he whipped my ass. Gosh. Yes. Without my powers I’m… I’m not Super at all… I’m guessing even just one of you could overpower me physically. Right now… right now, any of you could do anything to me… anything at all… and I c-c-c-couldn’t stop you. Let alone all of you. Ooh.’

‘Well, yes,’ Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘I didn’t like to mention it, but I realised you must still be powerless when I did this…’ He leaned forward and once more flicked the Man of Steel’s penis, making him gasp and give a little whimper. Yet this time he didn’t yelp, and didn’t shrink from the touch.

‘Oh!’ said Superman. He swallowed. ‘Ooh. Er. Yes. You see? I couldn’t even stop you… t-t-touching my… my p-penis, your Lordship. You just reached out and flicked my penis… my most intimate, private part… you did that to me, Superman… and I wasn’t able to stop you! Hnngh.’

‘Yes, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘That’s right.’ And as he spoke, he reached out and did it again.

‘Oh! Ooh! Ooh!!’ said Superman. He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to think about how this made him feel. ‘Stop it, please! My penis… you mustn’t.’

‘My apologies, Superman. It’s just quite fascinating to witness you like this. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.’

Superman stared at him, and then shook his head. He shook his head. ‘I can understand your curiosity, sir. It’s strange for me as well. Being so utterly helpless like this… it’s new to me… never felt anything like this before.’

‘Aye,’ said the lad in the tracksuit, his leg firm and warm against Superman’s own. ‘I bet ye haven’t.’

The atmosphere had changed suddenly. There was no more laughter, and the silence seemed charged and heavy. Superman swallowed again. He looked at the man in the kilt.

‘Uh… I… why did you ask me that?’ he said. ‘Why did you want to know if you could do anything to me… and why did you ask me if I w-wouldn’t be able to s-stop you? Whuh-what… what is that you’ve got planned for me? Are you going to do something with me? Are you going to do something to me?’

Superman gulped and looked at their faces. His heart was beating fast. He was weak and helpless without his abilities - totally powerless and at their mercy, sat there in his tights. And he had just told them all and confirmed this for them.

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

Find out what lies in store for Superman, the hapless, helpless Man of Steel in the next instalment! If you’ve enjoyed then please hit Like, and the next stage of Superman’s breathtakingly humiliating adventures on Summerisle will be along soon…

Meantime, happy #ThrobbingThursday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 7 part 2 - Superman’s Secrets Laid Bare

‘Oh!’ Superman’s mouth was dry and his whole body racked with excitement as he grasped the man’s cock, taking a firm hold of it.

‘Oh! Yes. Yes please. Do it to me… help me… help me lose it all… finally… I’m helpless… I’m yours… please take my virginity, sirs! Take it, and I’ll do anything you say! Anything at all!’

The guy in the football kit had dropped his shorts until they were around his ankles. Now he kicked them away and sat down on Superman’s lap, a stiff cock pushing against a pair of red Calvin Klein briefs.

‘Here, Superman,’ he said, ‘smell my shorts.’

He grabbed his discarded football shorts and pulled them slowly down over Superman’s head, pushing the hero’s face into the still warm crotch.

‘Uh!’ cried the hero, inhaling deeply. ‘Oh… mmm… ooh! Oh God..,. Oh boy… They’re so w-warm… and th-that s-smell… the smell of your c-crotch on my face… me, Superman, sniffing your bulge… uh… th-thank you…’

Through one leg of the shorts Superman could still see out, and he drank in the sight before him, of this horny young man, whose musk he could smell, looking resplendent in red briefs. The lad chuckled and stood up for a moment, to give him a better view.

‘Do ye like what ye see, Superman,’ he said, ‘Do ye like my arse, Man of Steel?’

He pushed his buttocks against Superman’s face, and the hero gave a long moan of pleasure.

‘Hnnnnggh! Yes! I love it. You… you look amazing… oh… you are amazing… c-can’t believe… this happening…!’

‘Oh, it’s happening all right, Superman,’ said the lad softly. ‘Don’t ye worry about that.’ He sat back down on the hero’s lap, warm buttocks pressing against those thighs in their blue tights.

Superman inhaled once more, relishing the male scent from the shorts.

‘The smell,’ he gasped, ‘the smell from your crotch, your shorts… it’s driving me wild! Ohhhhh!’

‘Thought ye’d like it,’ smiled the lad. ‘Now… let’s get to work on you, Superman.’

So saying, slowly he began to toy with the hero’s cock. ‘Haaaaaa!’ groaned Superman. ‘Oh! Finally! I’ve wanted that t-touch… for so long! From.. from another man… me, Superman, being t-touched like this. N-never… never told anyone. Ooh! Thank you. Oh… your hand on my p-penis! Oh boy… it’s so good! Hnngh!’

The man in the suit had begun to kiss the back of Superman’s neck, one hand sliding down the front of his tunic, playing with his nipples. Meanwhile the tracksuited boy guided Superman’s hand inside his white Calin Klein briefs, and the Man of Steel needed no further encouragement. With a cock in both of his hands, the Last Son of Krypton began to masturbate the tracksuited lad and the kilted man, inexpertly at first, but slowly gaining confidence, despite the fact he was shaking with lust. He relished the feel of their wet precum on his skin. He, Superman, who had gone untouched and chaste for so long, was now being set upon by a gang of men almost as horny as he was himself… and he loved it.

‘Thank you,’ he gasped as the footballer began to wank him off through his tights. ‘Oh… give me your cocks… keep doing that to me… to my… my h-helpless erection… I’m Superman! I’m Superman and I finally get to be a man, not just a hero. I’m b-b-being m-masturbated… in my tights! Me, Superman… I’m being masturbated! And it’s other men, doing it to me, helping me give up control. I’m… oh… I’m n-not p-powerful and untouchable any more… I’m weak and horny… s-so, so horny… Take it all from me, sirs! I’m a weak and horny virgin and I’m yours, to do with as you please! Hnngh! Oh… feels so… so… good!’

‘That’s right, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you’re a helpless, horny little man in tights, aren’t you? Not the world’s strongest man any more. Your Alpha status has been removed, taken from you. That’s right, Superman, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Superman, gripping those two cocks and milking them furiously, even as the footballer’s hand flew up and down his own shaft. ‘I’m… n-nothing now… nothing but a… a weak and helpless, horny l-little man… in tights! I’m Superman, the M-man of Steel… strongest man in the world, and yet now I’m helpless in my tights, your Lordship! Oooh! You took away my Alpha status, just like you said - it’s gone, t-taken from me! Ooh! Oh boy! I don’t have to be strong any more… I’ve showed you what I really am… a pitiful little virgin who’s helpless in your clutches… but not a virgin much longer! Oh! Thank you! Oh… my p-penis! Never felt anything like it! If the Elders of K-krypton could see me now… their m-mighty champion… haaaaaaah! I’m debased… disgraced… Oh… your penises… your cocks feel so good! Nothing… could have prepared me… for this! Ooh!’

They fell on him then, and as Superman bucked and writhed beneath their touch, he felt as if those ecstatic feelings would never end.

Brian, the kilted man, gave a long groan. ‘Oh man… you’re milking me so well, Superman. You… hnngh… you’re a top-class masturbator. World’s Finest wanker, aren’t you?’

Superman felt a strange swell of pride at these words. For all that a part of him was shocked and stunned by his own disgraceful behaviour, this was the most intimate he had ever been with any other living being. His virginal state was being deflowered – and not by any one human, but by five other men at once! He loved it. He wanted it. And he badly wanted to please them.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he gasped, as he pumped the man’s cock enthusiastically. ‘I’m… huh… hah… glad you l-like it.’

Brian stood up, but made sure Superman’s hand never left his cock. Looming over the hero as he sat on the couch, he yanked up his kilt, and said: ‘You’re a top-class wanker, Superman, aren’t you? Say it. Say it as you toss me off. Go on.’

‘Uhh,’ groaned Superman, his hands working hard. ‘Yes sir… I’m a t-top-class wanker, sir.’ The word was unfamiliar and sounded strange in his accent. He decided to say it again. ‘I’m a t-t-top-class wanker. I, Superman, am a top-class wanker, sir! Hnngh.’

‘Get your shorts off his head, Elliot,’ said Brian, nodding at the lad in football gear, who obliged and pulled his shorts off of Superman’s head. The hero blinked, as they were removed, and he found himself looking directly up one of the two men he was masturbating, while hands held him firmly, gripping him in his spandex.

‘Uh,’ he gasped, ‘ooh! Ooh! You took them off my head! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!’

‘That’s right,’ said Brian, with a grin. ‘that’s right, Superman – “ooh!” – “uh!” Ye sound good when you whimper pathetically like that, Man of Steel!’

In the grip of lust as they were, each of them laughed at this, except Superman, who was uncertain of what to do or say, and so inevitably he found himself inadvertently making more of these ignominious sounds.

‘I do? Oh! Good! Ooh! Oh! Ooh! Um… I’m glad you like me… wh-whimpering p-pathetically, sir…. Ooh! C-can’t help it! Oh! Ooh! I… I am pathetic… Superman is pathetic and I like being pathetic… ooooh!’

Brian now removed Superman’s hand from his cock, and took over the work himself, one hand moving swiftly up and down his shaft.

‘Do ye want it in your face, Superman,’ he panted. ‘Sh-shall I cum on your face, Superman?’

Superman felt his heart beat faster; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Could he do this? Could he let this young man ejaculate in his face, him, the Man of Steel? Surely he had to draw the line at this? And just with that thought, his instincts took over.

‘Ooh,’ he said, his body on fire with pleasurable sensations, ‘ooh! Y-yes! I d-do want it in my face, sir! P-please do that… do it to me! C-c-cum… on my… f-face! Me, Superman – I want you to cum on my face! Ooh! Ooooh!’

Superman thought back frantically to his days as a teen, masturbating in the fields behind the old Kent farm, unseen by anyone. He remembered the thick wads of hot cum he would expel, and knew then that he wanted it more than anything. ‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘cum on my f-face! Please! I want it, sir!’

He did not have to ask twice. A second later Brian’s cock erupted, spraying a massive volley of hot spunk in the face of the Last Son of Krypton!

‘Gah!’

Superman gasped as the lad’s jizz landed on his nose, cheeks and lips, and as he did so he felt some of the hot spunk entering his mouth. ‘Oh! Oh! Mmm!’

And before he could stop himself, the Man of Steel was eagerly lapping up every drop that made it past his lips.

‘Mmmmm,’ he said, closing his eyes, ‘oh… oh b-boy. Ulp. Mmf. Yeah.’

And there we must leave Superman until the next time, hard, horny, and helpless in his tights, and with a face full of spunk for the first time in his life… but will it be the last? And what does Lord Summerisle really have in store for the debased and humiliated Man of Steel? Find out next time…

If you’ve enjoyed, then please like and leave a comment and there will be more spandex-clad antics on Summerisle soon… meanwhile Happy #Supersubmissivesunday!

Time to return to Scotland and find out how the world’s greatest hero is faring, as he sits powerless, outwitted and horny in the clutches of the devilish Lord Summerisle and his insidious men… Watch out, Superman - it’s mind over muscle once more!

Happy #ManOfJelloMonday !

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 1: Superman’s Dreams Let Loose

‘Hnngh! Oh! Mmf!’

Superman’s enthusiastic groans and muffled noises of ecstasy rang out, as hot spunk battered his face and flooded his mouth. On instinct, he tried desperately to gulp and swallow what he could. The warm, viscose feel as it slipped down his throat was strange and new to him, and he found he wanted to experience more of it. His hands reached for his yearning erection and squeezed it through his tights. Gripping his spandex clad shaft as he swallowed the hot and sticky cum, Superman gave a deep groan of pleasure. He was finally able to act on these feelings he had buried for so long. It felt beyond amazing, and his wet cock pulsed in his hands.

At the same time, he became dimly aware of the front of his spandex tunic being grasped. The man in the sharp business suit was had hold of him and was pulling it.

‘Well, would ye look at this,’ he said with a grin, ‘turns out playing with cock is a sweaty business for Superman now that ye’ve no more superpowers, eh?’

‘Uh. Hnngh. Huh? Wh-what?’

As the stream of spunk from Brian’s cock began to slow, the suited man grabbed a handful of spandex from beneath each of Superman’s armpits and pulled, stretching the fabric out. And then he realised what he meant: the bright blue of his tunic was darkened and moist with his own considerable perspiration. The Man of Steel was sweating furiously, and so much so that for the first time in his life he had large and noticeable wet stains at each of his armpits. The guy in the suit laughed at him.

‘Something else new to get used to, eh, Supey?’

‘I… uh… yes…’ gasped the hero feebly, uncertain how to react.

This elicited more laughter, and a second later the suited guy released his armpits and grabbed Superman by his famous S-shield instead, pulling the top of his uniform right out at the neck to allow access to the hero’s chest. Brian, the guy in the kilt, had now finished blowing his considerable load, and Superman opened his cum-soaked eyes in surprise to find that Elliot – the footballer, who had parted company from his football shorts, and whose red briefs were around his thighs – was now also nearing climax. As the guy in the business suit obligingly held Superman’s tunic open, Elliot gave a roar and began to pump a fresh load of cum into the hero’s spandex.

Superman shrieked with delight as he felt the top of his uniform being filled with cum; he squealed as it squirted across his excited nipples and his hairy chest, coating them, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing it in.

‘Oh!’ he gasped. ‘You’re cumming all over me! You’re cumming all over Superman, and I… I’m just letting you! Oh! Oh! Thank you! G-give it to me! Mmmmmm! I’m a helpless horny hero in my tights… c-c-cum all over me, sir! You’re cumming on Superman! Uhhhh! Cum all over me, please! Give to me! Cum on me, please!’

And cum they did! At Lord Summerisle’s urging, Superman was dragged to his feet. Reluctantly, he relinquished their touch on his cock, for now it was the turn of Darius, the man in the sharp city business suit, to give Superman his due.

‘Open your tights to me, Superman,’ Darius ordered. ‘Open up your tights and hold them out and steady. I’m going to cum inside them, and I’m going to cover your wee virgin cock with my spunk. Understand?’

‘Oh! Yes!’ gasped Superman. ‘Yes, sir. I understand. Ooh! Th-thank you, sir.’

With trembling hands, the hero pulled out the waistband of his tights, revealing his excited and throbbing cock.

‘H-here,’ he gasped, ‘my tights are open and my p-p-penis is ready for you. I pulled out my tights, just as you t-told me to, sir. Ooh! Ooh! Listen to me… f-following orders! Ooh! I do as I’m told now! You’ve made me obedient! You’ve made Superman obey your commands! Oh! Ooh! C-can’t… believe… this is happening to me!’

The guy who had been dressed in a tracksuit, and who now wore just his suit-top, his socks and a pair of white Calvin Klein briefs, hooted with laughter at this. ‘Believe it, Superman,’ he said, ‘your cock sure does!’

The lad’s name was Angus, and now he coyly grabbed the top of his tracksuit. ‘What do ye think, Supes? Would ye like me to take this off for ye? Would ye like that - me just in my panties, Superman?’

‘Oh… oooh! Ooh!’ whimpered the lust crazed Man of Steel, wide-eyed at this suggestion. ‘Y-yes. I would like that, sir. That would be wonderful… You just in your p-p-panties. Hnngh.’

Angus smiled. ‘Well then,’ he said softly. ‘Off it comes. Anything for you, Superman.’

‘Ooh!’ came the response. ‘Thank you! Thank you, sir! Mmmm…’

Teasingly, Angus removed his tracksuit top, enjoying the obvious effect this had on the horny hero. He held it out for a moment, before letting it fall to the ground. Then he swooped down, grabbed Superman by the hair, pulled back the Man of Steel’s head and kissed him.

As Angus’s tongue entered the hero’s mouth, caressing and lapping through the layers of Brian’s spunk, for a second Superman felt he might actually collapse, so great were the feelings of ecstatic pleasure which racked his body. Together, their tongues twined and teased, and the Last Son of Krypton revelled in his own disgrace.

At last, Angus released him, and with a grin, he tweaked the panting hero’s nipples through his wet blue and red spandex. Then he turned his attention to Darius, who was clearly ready to cum. His fly was lowered and his stiff cock was in his hand being pumped, but he was somewhat encumbered by the trousers of his sharp dark suit, which were still fastened.

‘Allow me,’ said Angus, and with dextrous fingers, he stood behind Darius and undid his trousers. That done, he yanked them down to his knees, along with the man’s black briefs.

‘There ye go, pal,’ said Angus. ‘Pants down. Don’t keep Superman waiting now, will ye? He’s desperate for your hot load in his tights and all over his cock. Isn’t that right, Supes?’

‘Yes!’ gasped Superman. ‘I… I am… d-desperate for you to p-put your p-penis in my tights… ooh! I want you to put your penis in my tights and f-fill them with c-cum! Oh! C-can’t believe I can actually be saying this! It’s unthinkable! B-but I love it! I’m Superman… and I want you to fill my tights with your cum! C-cum on my penis, sir!’

‘Your cock, Superman,’ ordered Lord Summerisle. ‘Stop saying penis. You want him to cum on your cock. Your virgin cock. Don’t you? I said, don’t you?’

As he said this Summerisle gave Superman a couple of sudden hard slaps on his buttocks. The Man of Steel gave a yelp.

‘Ow! Ooh! Oh! Yes, your Lordship! I… I do… uh… I do want him to c-cum on… on my cock! My virgin cock! Cum on my virgin cock, please! Cover it with spunk, sir – cover my puny virgin cock with your hot cum!’

As he spoke, Superman attempted to shove one hand into his tights and grab hold of his erection, so desperate was he for release, but Lord Summerisle took a firm hold of it and forced the hero to keep both hands stretching the waistband of his tights out, to give Darius access.

‘Well, then, Superman,’ smiled Darius, ‘seeing as you ask so nicely…’

He was an inch or two taller than the Man of Steel, and he spoke, he stepped forward, and put his cock and balls just over the waistband of the hero’s waiting tights.

‘Now,’ he gasped, ‘here it comes, Superman!’

It was a huge load. At first Superman stared into Darius’s eyes as he began to cum, but then had to look down and watch, as his most intimate parts were coated with the thick, hot spunk that now began to course into his spandex as the other man pumped away at his erupting cock. The feelings were so extraordinary that Superman made more noise than Darius himself; it made him shake and his knees knocked together in his tights, rivulets of cum running down each leg.

‘Oh! Ooooooooooooooooh! Ooh! My cock! My c-c-c-cock! You’ve c-covered my c-c-cock with your c-cummmmmmmmm! Ooh! Ooh! F-f-filling me! F-filling my tights with your s-spunk! You’re c-cumming in my uniform! Hnnnngh!Ooh!’

When Darius’s cock had shot its last few drops into Superman’s tights, Lord Summerisle and Angus knocked the hero’s hands away. As the spandex waistband snapped back into place, they made him sproosh the hot spunk all around inside his tights. Superman groaned and whimpered pathetically as he massaged Darius’s semen into his spandex, and several times as his hands touched his cock he attempted to masturbate, but the Lord and his men would not allow it – not yet.

As for Angus, he had not climaxed, but had been steadily yanking himself throughout this degrading takedown of the world’s most powerful man.

‘And now, Superman,’ he said, ‘now time for something a wee bit different. Can I get him on his knees, your Lordship?’

‘Of course,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You heard Angus, Superman – get down on the floor and get on your knees. Kneel, Superman. Obey. Kneel.’

‘Ooh! Ohhh…’ For a moment, Superman was transported to another time and another place, as he remembered his steadfast defiance and refusal to kneel before General Zod. But this seemed a lifetime ago, when he still had his powers. He was a warrior then, holding out with all his strength to save his adopted planet. Whatever he was now, here, it was a world away from that. And although he hesitated, after just a brief handful of seconds, Superman did as he was told. The Man of Steel obediently got down on to the floor and knelt before Angus.

He felt his knees squish into the cooling spunk that now coursed through the legs of his tights, coating them. Eyes wide, he looked up at the handsome, wiry young man.

‘I did as you ordered, Angus, sir. I obeyed. I… Superman… am kneeling. I submit. I submit, sirs… Hnngh. Oooh. Ohhhh. I submit! Wh-what… what are you g-g-going to do with me? Angus? Sir? What happens to me now?’

Angus stood and loomed over the hero. The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.

‘Pull down my underwear, Superman,’ he said softly. ‘I want you to pull my pants down and help me out of them.’

Superman nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

The Man of Steel took hold of those pristine white briefs, which were stretched around Angus’s legs, and slowly lowered them to his ankles, allowing them to bunch. And then, as the lad stepped out of them, Superman helped him, and reverently placed the briefs to one side.

‘Well done, Superman,’ said Angus. ‘That’s very good.’

Superman looked up at him. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And now, Superman… you are going to suck me off.’

Despite himself, the hero gasped. ‘Wh-what?’

‘You heard me, Superman. You’re going to suck my cock. And you’re going to do it willingly and enthusiastically. Aren’t you… Man of Steel?’

Angus gave a slight sneer as he said these last words. He met the hero’s quivering gaze with a look of triumph and of challenge. Yet if he expected resistance, he found none.

‘Yes,’ replied Superman slowly. ‘I’m going to ah… that is… I… um…’

He swallowed, tasting cum as he did so, and it strengthened his resolve.

‘I’m going to… to suck your cock, sir. Oh! Ooh! Oh! Did you all hear me? I said it! I did it! I’m Superman, I’m the Man of Steel… I’m the Last Son of Krypton… and I’m going to remain here on my knees before you and suck your cock, Angus… sir! Ooh! Ooh! Listen to me saying those terrible words! And you’re right – I want it! I’m going to suck your cock willingly and enthusiastically, and I’m going to make a good job of it! I’ve never done anything like this before, but I promise you, Superman is going to do all he can to give you a… a Super-blowjob, sir! I’m ready to suck my f-first c-cock!’

It was all that Angus could do to stop himself from erupting right away as Superman knelt before him, looking hungrily at his bulging cock as he babbled these demeaning words.

‘Please,’ said the hero at last, reaching out his hands anxiously. ‘Please may I have it now, sir? Please may I suck your cock?’

‘Ask his Lordship,’ said Angus. ‘And as you do, hold up your hands and beg like a dog.’

‘Ooh!’ said Superman. ‘Oh…. Oh b-boy. You want me to b-beg… like a dog.’

‘Yup. Just like a dog. That a problem for ye, Superman?’

Again, there was another brief pause, as if some trace of resistance on Superman’s part was being eroded and worn away. And then he nodded.

‘No, sir. Of course not. I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll b-beg like a… like a d-d-dog.’

Slowly, Superman raised up his hands to the height of his chest. Then he let them go weak and limp at the wrists, exactly like a begging dog.

Trivial and playful as it was, this act seemed to demean Superman all the more – he was already on his knees asking to suck cock, and yet he had grovel shamefully like this and to ask Lord Summerisle’s permission before that straining, stiff erection would be his. He stared at the tip, which was awash with precum, and imagined it in his mouth, where just a short time ago Angus’s tongue had been, making him feel such wonderful things. Surely his cock would provide even greater thrills for the kneeling and submissive Man of Steel? He had to have it!

Superman turned to look up at the Lord of this strange place.

‘Please, Lord Summerisle,’ he began in a voice hoarse with lust. ‘Please may I suck Angus’s cock, sir? I promise I’ll do my best. I promise your Lordship. Please let me suck him… I… I want it, sir. Please let me have it. Oh… let me suck him, please!’

Superman felt Lord Summerisle’s hand at his neck in a moment, caressing him and playing with his spunk-drenched spandex. The touch was warm and thrilling, and it also reinforced Superman’s sense of utter submission. This man was greater than him. This man had mastered him.

‘Good little Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘you are exactly what I imagined you to be. Now, here is your reward. You may suck it. Suck Angus’s cock, Superman. Let this act and our seed properly welcome you to Summerisle, you willing, kneeling, craven little fool. Suck it, Superman. Slobber away on it, like the great spandex-clad buffoon that you are.’

Superman was not expecting Lord Summerisle’s insulting words. Yet as much a small part of him wanted to rebut them, another, stronger part of the Man of Steel found himself aroused to receive such a shaming rebuke. In fact, it turned him on so much that before he even knew what he was doing he found himself echoing and repeating these sentiments, and wallowing in how much it turned him on to do so.

‘Hnngh. Yes. Yes, your Lordship. That’s right. I’m a b-buffoon. I’m a… a s-s-spandex-clad b-buffoon. I’m Superman, and I’m on my knees… c-craven and p-pathetic in my f-filthy tights. I came to this island the most powerful man in the world, and yet now… I’m a h-helpless, horny man in t-tights… and I’m on my knees… and now… I’m g-going to suck cock! Oh! I’m going to suck cock! Me, Superman… I’m going to suck my first cock! Ohhhh!’

He could hold on no longer, and as the last of these demeaning words left Superman’s lips, he lent forward and took hold of Angus’s cock.

The feeling of joy as Superman slid that penis into his waiting mouth was like nothing he had ever experienced or could ever have imagined until that moment. The hard, throbbing shaft against his wet tongue, mastering him, governing him, making Superman, the mighty Man of Steel into nothing but a means of pleasure for another male aroused him so completely that he entered into an almost trance-like state.

Minutes passed, and Superman lived up to his promise to give a “Super-blowjob”, sucking, licking and lapping away. But by now, Angus himself had done a heroic job of holding back, and there was only so much he could take of this astonishing, depraved, dazzling performance.

‘I’m cumming,’ he roared, as his spunk began to batter the tonsils of the Last Kryptonian. ‘I’m cumming in ye, Superman! The Man of Steel is drinking my spunk! Swallow it all, Superman! Take every last drop!’

For his part, Superman barely tasted the waves of cum that came soaring into his mouth, so frenzied and turned on was he by what he was doing. He thrashed and bucked, whilst making deep groans of arousal, and even after Angus withdrew his cock and wiped the tip across the hero’s S-shield, the Man of Steel continued to moan and gasp in sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Lord Summerisle looked on coolly, as Angus finished wiping his dick on the world’s greatest hero and hunted around for his white briefs. Still gulping and making noises of debased contentment, Superman turned and looked up at the man in whose stately home he had just got down on his knees and given his first blowjob. He shivered at the steel he saw in those eyes.

‘So then,’ the Lord said softly, ‘now it’s my turn, Superman. Let’s see how you dance for the Organ Grinder, you helpless, horny, pathetic little monkey.’

What next for Superman in his extraordinary visit to the strange Scottish backwater? Just what does Lord Summerisle intend for the hapless, helpless, horny hero? Can he win back his powers? Has he lost himself forever more? Just where are his briefs? And will he ever get the release he so badly craves?

Find out in the next instalment, coming soon! And if you have enjoyed this, then please Like and consider leaving a comment.

In the meantime, happy #ManOfJelloMonday!

“Superman? What’s that in your briefs? It looks like some sort of device.”

“Yes… that’s exactly what it is. Mr Luthor installed it when my powers were temporarily knocked out. He was… he was way too clever for me, Jimmy. While I was weak and helpless, after he’d put the Kryptonite chain on me, he ordered me to take off my briefs and give them to him. It seemed a relatively innocent request. I didn’t think it could do any harm… I thought he was just trying to provoke me, humiliate me, and so to buy myself some time to recover, I agreed. I unfastened my belt, pulled down my briefs, stepped out of them and handed them over to Mr Luthor. I thought he would just use them to taunt me, and that while he was distracted with them I could try and free myself from the Kryptonite. But it was a dreadful mistake. I underestimated him.

“Once I slid them off, my briefs were no longer invulnerable, and Mr Luthor knew that would be the case. He made some quick incisions in them, even as I tried to protest, and he inserted this - a sort of living metal. I thought it was just a different kind of belt buckle - a petty gesture to make me look foolish, nothing more - and so when he returned my briefs, I could see no reason not to put them on… but as I pulled them back up my legs, in seconds the metal had begun to reshape itself. It flowed around my crotch and spread into tiny silver tendrils that penetrated the fabric of my tights, winding their way around my… my penis. 

“Oh!” I cried out, “Ooh! Luthor! What have you done to me? What did you put in my briefs?”

“He just stood there and laughed as I fell to my knees. In desperation, I tried to take off my briefs again, but it was too late. And just like that, my penis was in the hands of my greatest enemy; he can do what he wants with it. He trapped me, and tricked me, and now his device keeps me in my place… it keeps me submissive, binding me to him forever. Mr Luthor owns me now, Jimmy - all because I let him. I was a fool… a Super-fool. And now I’ve paid the price.

“He’ll be here soon, Jimmy. He ordered me to fetch you - he wants you to photograph what he has planned… he says it will be a record, to make sure I never forget.”

Time at last to go back to that small Scottish Island, where Superman has been lured, only to end up an inadvertent guest in the stately home of Lord Summerisle. The Man of Steel has let his hair down, and his guard along with it, allowing the insidious Summerisle to slowly get inside his head, persuading him to reveal his deepest and most intimate secrets. Doing so has left the powerless hero horny as hell, and Lord Summerisle’s men have lost no time in gleefully opening Superman up to new experiences. They have all had their fun with him, each new act slightly taking the Man of Steel further towards his deep-buried depraved desires. We rejoin him now, as he basks in the ecstatic glow of having sucked off Angus. Superman has given his first blowjob… but will it be his last? Read on and see…

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 2: The Price of Pleasuring Angus

Just then he heard a clear, strong voice say softly: ‘So, now it’s my turn, Superman. Let’s see how you dance for the Organ Grinder, you helpless, horny, pathetic little monkey.’

Cautiously, Superman raised his head and looked up at Lord Summerisle.

The man was so imposing. He was gazing down at the Man of Steel with ice cold dominance in his eyes.

‘It’s just like he said,’ thought Superman, ‘there is an alpha in this room, and for once, not one single person thinks it’s me. Because he’s removed that from me. He’s taken that status away from me - he’s done that to help me realise my dreams. The dreams I had never even properly admitted to myself. This man… he’s amazing. He’s incredible. Such power…’

And it was true: no one could be in any doubt as to who was the alpha, the strongest man in the room. Not Superman, the Last Son of Krypton, who had arrived here with the powers of a god, yet had so easily been stripped of them, and who now was on his knees like a craven, lust-driven fool, missing most of his clothes and covered in cum. No, it was the man before whom he now knelt, who had done what General Zod could not: Lord Summerisle. This normal, mortal man with a fierce intelligence and a natural authority, who seemed to see right into Superman’s very soul, and whose gentle encouragement had deftly removed all of his defences and disguises, laying bare secrets he thought he would never reveal to another living being.

Without his remarkable abilities and his public persona to hide behind, how swiftly and how eagerly Superman had embraced sexual subjugation. Encouraged and tempted by Lord Summerisle’s handsome acolytes, he had rushed to be complicit in his submission, and in return… they had cum all over him and inside him, coating and filling his uniform and his mouth with their spunk. And he had revelled in it, embraced it, leapt at the chance to obey these men and to follow their demeaning orders, his body exploding with pleasurable sensations no experience in his life until this point could even come close to.

‘And I’ve sucked cock,’ thought Superman, as the events of the last hour tumbled over themselves inside his head, the full reality dawning on him. ‘I’ve sucked a cock for the first time in my life… and I liked it! Oh…. Oh god, and not only that: I begged for it! They told me to beg Lord Summerisle to let me suck Angus’s cock… and I did it! I, Superman, begged for the privilege of sucking this man off!’

Lord Summerisle crossed the room to refill his glass, and as he moved aside, Superman dimly caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass pane of one of the French windows. His eyes widened.

'If my enemies could see me now: the mighty Man of Steel… on my knees in my filthy tights and tunic. Ooh! Luthor, Zod, Nuclear Man… what would they say if they could see me like this? I told Zod I would never kneel, but I’ve done much worse now. And I’m still hard! Will they ever let me cum?’

‘My erection,’ he moaned softly, ‘aaah…’

Superman’s raging erection was indeed still pushing up, straining desperately against the soiled fabric of his tights, yearning for release. Once more, his hand moved to his cock, aching to end his torment.

‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘you’ve got to let me cum… please!’

Lord Summerisle was by his side in an instant and slapped Superman’s hand away before it could touch his penis. He was rather more forceful this time, and the hero gave a slight yelp at being struck like this.

‘How dare you, Superman, you great, blubbering buffoon?’ The Lord grabbed his chin and forced it upwards.

‘All I have done for you… all we have done for you… and your only concern is for your pathetic, virginal cock.’

‘But p-p-please, your Lordship,’ stammered the Man of Steel. ‘I thought you were all going to help me… let me l-l-lose it all… I thought… you’ve all c-c-cum… let me have release, sir, p-p-please!’

‘You self-absorbed, egotistical little cretin,’ sneered Summerisle. ‘You’ve not been paying attention, Superman, you horny, powerless little man.’

‘Wh-what do you mean? I d-don’t understand?’ Superman’s arousal receded somewhat, replaced by confusion and alarm.

Lord Summerisle thrust a glass of champagne at him, and roughly poured it down his throat, making him gag. He spluttered wildly, swallowing a bizarre mix of spunk and fizzing wine.

The Lord threw the glass aside. ‘Here you are in my house, Superman, in my home. We rescued you, and I had you cleaned up, offered you hospitality. I have coaxed out of you your most private desires, given you champagne, fed you the cock and fresh spunk that you so obviously crave… and you didn’t even think to do anything for me in return. Don’t you think that I, as the Lord of this island, and the man who has done so much for you, should cum before you, you pathetic Super-dickhead?’

‘Oh! Oh!’ Superman cried out frenziedly. ‘I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, your Lordship! Forgive me, sir! Forgive me!’

He threw himself down upon the ground and prostrated himself before the Lord.

‘I’m so sorry, sir! You have done so much for me. I got carried away. So… so aroused… I’m… oh! Ooh! I feel so horny that I’m not thinking straight. Of course you must cum before me, your Lordship. I want that more than anything, sir. You’ve been so good to me. You were right - you even allowed me to suck my first cock! I’m an idiot, please forgive me!’

Lord Summerisle ignored him, idly holding up a hand and examining his fingernails. Superman began to panic, and before he knew it, he was grovelling once more, hands pressed together as he pleaded.

‘Please, your Lordship. This is all new to me. Don’t forget, I’m a… I’m a virgin. A Super-virgin, not as experienced as you all are; it’s no wonder I was so thoughtless. What can I do, to help you cum, your Lordship? Please, please - I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do.’

Summerisle looked down at Superman’s eager face. He could not help but be amused by how utterly crazed with lust the Man of Steel was; he practically salivating, so desperate was he for more.

‘I’ll do anything, sir,’ he said again.

‘Anything?’

‘Yes! Anything at all, sir. Do you…’ Superman hesitated for a second and then said, with excitement in his voice: ‘Do you want me to, uh… suck you off, your Lordship? I think… I think I did a good job just now, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Would you like to do the same for you, sir? I’d like to - it’d be my honour, in fact.’

With every word he spoke, Superman realised he was growing more and more turned on by the idea of sucking this extraordinary, dominating man’s penis.

‘Please,’ he murmured. ‘Ohh, p-please, Lord Summerisle. Won’t you do me the honour of letting me s-suck you off?’

Will Superman get what he wants? What does Lord Summerisle really have in mind for the hapless, horny hero? And how did Angus rate Superman’s first frenetic foray into fellatio? Will the Last Son of Krypton soon have his lips around the cock he craves? Or does a different fate lie in store for him?

Find out in the next instalment! Thanks for reading, and as ever, if you enjoyed it please leave a comment. More from Superman and the sinister Summerisle soon…

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!