vincentzeal

[vincentzeal]

It couldn’t happen… right?

Superman… the Man of Steel. Earth’s mightiest hero. Diapered and disgraced, stood helpless in the clutches of jeering gangsters, unable to comprehend what was happening to him.

No, it couldn’t happen… not to Superman…

Or could it?

Find out soon…!

[vincentzeal]

Superman vs the Vice Lord - EXTENDED EDITION 2024

Chapter 1: How The Belt Brought Him Down

Its true name was “Virtual Zeality”, but it was known better as the Vice Palace, a club where any and all depravity would take place at the behest of clients who could afford its exorbitant membership fees. It specialised in bespoke holograms, for the ultra-rich of Metropolis to have their most exotic fantasies made real in breathtakingly convincing light sculptures. Superman knew of its existence and detested it, but to his disgust and frustration he was helpless to act: the Vice Palace always stayed just inside the law.

Finally The Mayor’s office and the D.A. had already made several unsuccessful attempts to shut the place down; eventually it seemed easier to tolerate the establishment. After all, there were real criminals out there to be dealt with, and Vincent Zeal, the proprietor of the Vice Palace, was simply providing people with a service – at any rate that was how the Mayor had explained it to Superman when last he met with the Man of Steel. Now, however, it seemed he might finally have an opportunity to close down this debauched club.

A short while earlier, as his blue-and-red-clad body cleaved the night sky on patrol, he had heard someone shouting his name, calling out for him. He followed the voice to its source, and moments later he arrived at the roof of the Metropolis Police Department.

He touched down lightly to find a young officer there waiting for him – James Starkey. Superman nodded approvingly. He had dealt with the man once or twice before, a fine officer.

Starkey gazed up as the Man of Steel appeared from the sky. That amazing body, tall, slim and well-muscled, displayed proudly to the world in the famous skin-tight spandex uniform. It certainly was a sight.

As he alighted, to his slight surprise, Superman felt Starkey’s gaze linger slightly on his crotch and it made him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. He crossed his hands and held them just in front of his red briefs, hiding his bulge. His uniform was so much a part of who he was, it would never usually occur to him to be in any way embarrassed about how little it left to the imagination.

He bowed his head and nodded courteously. “Good evening, Officer Starkey. “Why did you shout my name, sir? Is there some trouble?”

Starkey shook his head. “Not exactly, Superman. It’s about the Vice Palace.”

Superman frowned. “That den of perversion? I thought the Mayor had decided to let it go unchallenged.”

“That’s right, Superman,” said Starkey. “And I know how much that bummed you out. But tonight we’ve had a tip-off that they’re doing something special. Something clearly outside the law... and it’s... well, it’s something that particularly concerns you.”

“What do you mean? How does it concern me, Officer?”

Starkey looked awkward. “We arrested a dealer earlier on this evening who traded some information with us. It seems Vince Zeal has a big, themed event planned for the next two days, for which he’s commissioned a lot of bespoke porn. Those holograms of his. And I mean a lot. A lot of very bad people are paying a fortune for what he has planned.”

The Man of Steel set his jaw, his anger obvious. “Officer Starkey, you know how much that disgusts me. I will never understand how anyone can enjoy such filth. But you also know that unless there is a specific illegal element to the proceedings then I am powerless to act. I’m not a vigilante, sir.”

“That’s just it, Superman,” said Starkey, looking down at his shoes, then back up to meet the hero’s gaze. “I said it was themed... uh... well, you see the theme... the theme of the event is... is...”

Superman’s eyes narrowed. “Is what, Officer? It’s quite all right, there’s no need to be embarrassed; I know what goes on there.”

Starkey laughed nervously. “Sure, Superman... it’s just... that is... it’s a little awkward to... to uh...” The man really did look deeply uncomfortable.

Superman smiled. He had to put this poor man at ease. “Officer, please – it’s quite all right. I’m well aware that the press refer to me as the Big Blue Boy Scout, but trust me – I’m not a boy scout. I’m a man of the world, despite my powers. You won’t embarrass me by talking about sex, sir. I promise you, whatever filthy or deviant act it is, I can take it. Now tell me, what is this depraved theme that Vincent Zeal and his fellow perverts have got panned? Judging from your reaction it must be something pretty degrading.”

“Uh... well, you could say that. The thing is... the theme... well, it’s you, Superman.” Starkey laughed nervously.

“Me?” Of all the things Superman had expected to hear, he could never have guessed it would be this. “The theme is me? How...?”

“Well, Superman, Zeal has commissioned bespoke pornographic images of you in uh... well, in all manner of sexual situations. And the word is he’s got you doing some really filthy, depraved things.”

Superman opened his mouth and closed it again. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “What... what sort of things?”

“Well...” Starkey halted. “Are you sure you want to know, Superman?”

The Man of Steel was finding this almost too much to comprehend. “Yes. Yes, tell me. What is he making out that I’ve done? Is he trying to make people believe I’ve... I’ve slept with some loose-moralled woman or something?”

Starkey eyed him for a second. “No. No, nothing like that. They say he’s got footage of you sucking cock, Superman.”

He watched the hero’s face as he said this, eyes wide and his mouth open in astonishment.

“Our intel says you suck dick in this performance. That you beg for it – you beg to suck cock. And that you uh... sorry, Superman... you get fucked. Fucked by other men. Excuse my language.”

“What? Officer Starkey, you can’t be serious?”

“I’m afraid so, Superman. Zeal’s selling it on the basis that you’re secretly a dirty male whore, Superman. That’s what we’ve heard. That’s how the evening has been marketed amongst the elite and the underworld. Zeal’s making out he’s got footage of you behind closed doors, indulging in all of your most perverted fantasies.”

“But, that’s nonsense,” cried Superman, “I don’t have any perverted fantasies! I don’t! That’s nonsense!”

Starkey ignored him and continued.

“Zeal’s customers are buying tickets to see you stripped naked and sexually humiliating yourself for their entertainment. They want to see you... whoring yourself, Superman. Not my words. That’s how the event has been sold: Superman the dirty whore. Come see the secrets the Man of Steel doesn’t want you to see. Word is that tickets are changing hands for the price of a small country. People are desperate to see you as a uh...”

“A what?” asked Superman. “They’re desperate to see me as what?”

“Well... as a Superslut. That’s what he’s selling people. The notion that you’re secretly a dirty little Superslut. I’m really sorry to have to tell you that, Superman, but that’s what Zeal is calling you.”

Starkey licked his lips, savouring the look of utter bewilderment and disgust on the Man of Steel’s face, and the slight pink blush that was reddening his cheeks.

“Yeah... Superman the dirty little Superslut,” he repeated softly. “That’s what they’re all paying to see.”

The Man of Steel looked from side to side trying to comprehend this. “How dare he...! Me... a dirty male whore? Stripped naked... and begging to suck... why would anyone want to pay to see that? To see me, Superman, sexually humiliated?”

“I know, right? But don’t you see, Superman – this is your chance!” said Starkey. “It’s one thing for Zeal to peddle porn and sell sex: that’s inside the law. But abusing your image like this? Trying to make people believe this is the truth? He’d be bang to rights; you can have him! Take him down, once and for all!”

Superman considered this information. “What about the police? Why can’t you follow this up yourselves?”

Starkey shook his head. “Sorry, Superman – the Mayor’s instructed us to leave it alone. We can’t act until concrete evidence is found. Truth be told, the rumour is that Zeal has some sort of hold over the Mayor, and the DA... though there’s no proof. But if you can go to the club, expose what they’ve done and bring him in, then we’ll be able to act. I’ll make sure of it. It’s just that you’ll have to go this first part alone – I’m real sorry, Superman.”

Superman shook his head and smiled confidently once more. “No need to be sorry, Officer Starkey. I don’t need help to go up against a pervert like Vincent Zeal. He’s just small fry. Thanks for the tip-off, though. I appreciate it – and thank you for trying to spare my blushes, I appreciate that too, sir. Although I must admit, I could never have guessed this was what you meant.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Man of Steel,” said Sharkey, staring directly at the bulge in Superman’s tights and briefs. “Glad you took the news so well. Good luck.”

He held out his hand, and Superman took it, and shook it warmly. “Bring that scum to the station when you’re done and I’ll have the boys standing by, ready to raid the Vice Palace.”

“Of course,” said Superman. “Trust me, tonight everything is going to come tumbling down in that den of filth. Thank you, officer. I’m very grateful to you.”

Smiling at Starkey, he lifted one arm to the sky, looked up and punched off, flying into the night, a blur of red and

“Yeah,” murmured Starkey quietly, looking after him with a sly smile. “It sure will... everything’s gonna come tumbling down tonight, Superman. Including your tights, asshole.”

He held up the hand which he had proffered the Man of Steel and laughed, as a few tiny red granules fell from it...

Superman sped towards the Vice Palace, turning the facts over in his head. He had waited so long for this, for Zeal to make a mistake, and now – what a vast error this was! Making pornographic images of him, Superman. Trying to make him look like a whore! The audacity of the man was beyond belief.

Yet the anger and disgust he felt were overridden by an unusual and growing sense of excitement. From his fingertips, travelling across his body was a wave of adrenalin like nothing Superman had experienced before. The thrill, no doubt, he thought, of being able to finally put a sleazebag like Vincent Zeal behind bars.

There was one thing he found curious: Officer Starkey’s gaze had kept falling on his crotch. It was a look that was almost lewd, he was staring so provocatively at the contents of his tights and briefs. Superman wondered about this, but then dismissed it. “The poor guy was embarrassed to have to break the news to me; no wonder he couldn’t look me in the eye. I’ll give him my personal thanks when the arrests have been made. He’s a fine officer and handled this whole business very tactfully.”

There it was: a huge building, with a domed glass roof. Superman slowed his speed and focused his x-ray vision on the Vice Palace. Inside was a mass of bodies, some naked and writhing, some clothed and watching, men dressed in expensive suits for the most part. The elite businessmen of Metropolis who paid to get their depraved kicks here.

“So many people,” he thought. “Can they all really be there because they want to see me as... as some kind of whore?”

Superman shivered as he spoke; for some reason this thought unsettled him.

Inside the Vice Palace, Vincent Zeal received a text message on his phone and smiled. He was nearly as tall as Superman, although not as well built. He wore an immaculate black suit, blue shirt and black tie, and his dark good looks were almost a mirror of the Man of Steel’s own.

He raised a hand, and at his signal, bursts of red powder erupted throughout the club, like dry indoor fireworks. The air was soon thick with the stuff, which dispersed slowly.

“Any minute now,” he said softly.

Within seconds Superman had located the optimum point in the glass dome to bust through. As he rocketed in at super-speed, his arms whirled about him, collecting every sliver and shard of breaking glass, and pulverising it as he landed.

Cries filled the air as the Man of Steel spun round, looking for Vincent Zeal. But what a sight met his eyes instead!

The room was filled with vid-screens, holograms and projectors, and every one depicted him, Superman, in the midst of some act of unspeakable sexual depravity. His mind reeled as he took each one in, and despite himself, for the second time that evening his jaw dropped and his mouth fell open in shock and disbelief.

It was everything Starkey had described and more. There was a terrifyingly life-like hologram of him on all fours, his blue tights and red briefs bunched around his ankles, as a younger man roughly fucked him from behind. Superman could only gaze in horror and amazement, watching his own “body” being sodomized, whilst his own mouth, his own voice seemingly cried out in high-quality surround sound:

“Yes! Oh... Ooh... Oooh... Yes! Please fuck me! That’s what I’ve paid you for! Fuck Superman! Fuck me like the Superchump that I am! Give it to me! I want you to fuck me... Superman wants you to fuck him... fuck away all my hypocrisy! Oh god, I want your cock! Superman wants your cock! I’m the secret Superslut of Metropolis! Fuck me – fuck Superman! Oh, this is worth every cent! Fuck me, please, don’t stop! I’m being fucked and I love it!”

His hips were moving back and forth ecstatically; his expression was one of delight. Most shaming of all, the cock of this holographic version of him was erect and as the younger man thrust himself into the hero’s ass, Superman watched himself masturbating furiously in obvious pleasure. “Fuck me, please,” he heard himself say, over and over, the voice indistinguishable from his own, “oh, fuck me… fuck Superman! Fuck me like the Superwhore of Steel that I am! Mmmmm!”

To the left of this scene, another holographic image of the Man of Steel lay on the ground, fully-clothed except for his red cape, as a circle of men jerked themselves off over his prone body! As the spunk rained down upon him, Superman watched himself gratefully scraping it up from where it landed on his crotch and abdomen, and start to swallow the pools of ejaculate!

“Mmph! Mmm!” This ersatz Superman groaned in pleasure as he greedily lapped the spunk from his hands. “Thank you. Thank you, sirs. Don’t stop – cum all over me.”

And behind this image yet another holographic doppelganger was on his knees enthusiastically sucking off a mob of waiting men, while still more took part in any number of lurid scenarios. As he gazed around, Superman saw himself masturbated by street punks, dressed up in a diaper by city men in sharp suits, dumped head first and fully-clothed into what appeared to be a vat of cold semen... why, in one of these nightmares he even seemed to be the willing sexual plaything of a group of gorillas, who threw him between each other, ripping his spandex! In another, he was in gaol, half-stripped and fellating a queue of horny prisoners. And in every one of these chilling scenarios, the Man of Steel was a willing and eager participant, his own cock fully erect and spurting super-semen!

Nothing could have prepared him for this. It was enough to render Superman utterly speechless as he stared up at these brilliantly devised images of his Super-degradation.

“Gentlemen,” a smooth voice called out, “I’d like you to welcome our guest of honour, without whom none of this would be possible: I give you our own blundering Superchump; our musclebound, yet pea-brained Super-shithead... the Metropolis Moron himself. He’s flown here tonight for us in his best tights, not as a hero, but as the entertainment. Make some noise for our very own caped cocksucker from Krypton: it’s Superman, the Man of Jello!”

Vincent Zeal walked forward, a mocking, triumphant look on his face, as the room erupted in screaming and jeering and applause and laughter. Yet the sound that was foremost in Superman’s already-clouded mind was his own deepfaked voice, loud and clear through the sound system:

“Ohhh yes... god, let me suck it, please... please... oh, give Superman your dick.... Fuck me... treat me like the Super-prick, the Super-shithead that I am! Fuck me like a Super-chump, I’m Superchump the Man of Jelloooooooooo!”

The Superman hologram to his right went over the edge as his young rider fucked him, and began to ecstatically shoot thick white streams of cum from his Super-cock.

“Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!” The holographic Superman’s voice cried out in joy as he began to ejaculate.

There was another round of laughter and applause as the men all began to gather around him, watching the Man of Steel standing open-mouthed and spellbound by this demeaning spectacle. Some were naked, some clothed but with their dicks out; there was even one young guy who stood staring dispassionately at Superman, wearing nothing but his socks and underpants, the latter yanked halfway down his thighs... and he was masturbating.

As Superman slowly became aware of this guy edging closer and closer, he met his gaze. Yet the man didn’t look down, but instead kept on stroking off, holding eye contact with the hero.

“Um, sir, stop doing that,” said Superman, less sternly than he would have liked. The hologram of himself was still ejaculating. “I’m telling you now, stop that. You just... um... you should... you... you...”

Flustered, he wagged a finger at the guy, who just stared back, making the hero feel rather foolish. Fighting, making arrests was one thing. Facing down a naked man, masturbating over him... it was quite another. He found his gaze drawn to the man’s penis, the hand on its shaft moving steadily up and down.

“Like what you see, Superman?” said the guy, taking another step towards him. “Seeing all your dirty little secrets... seeing what an idiot you look when you cum is making me so hard, Man of Steel... mmm... do you want my cock? You’re sure staring at it like you do.”

“That’s not me,” said Superman, trying to establish his authority. “Those images aren’t me! And no, thank you, I don’t want your… uh… Please stop masturbating and pull up your underpants now, sir – pull them up and stop that. I don’t know how they’ve done this but... but... it’s not me, I give you my word.”

The men were steadily closing in around Superman. To his other side, a hot young guy in a check shirt gave a horny smile and said:

“Mmm. Your word? I’ll give you a word, Superman: Superdickhead... mmm, you’re a Superdickhead, Superman, aren’t you? That’s the right word for you. Go on, say it: tell me you’re a... uh... a Superdickhead.”

He grinned at Superman, relishing the hero’s obvious embarrassment at this demeaning talk. “Come on, Supes – you’re a Superdickhead, aren’t you? Aren’t you? C’mon, buddy, tell us all what you are, hmm?”

“That’s right,” said the other guy, “oh man, yes – that’s exactly what he is: Superman is a Superdickhead. Man, that’s hot. You’re a Superdickhead, Superman - go on, admit it, dude.”

The guy’s hand shot back and forth up and down his slick wet cock as he said this. Superman tried to ignore him, to turn away from him, but this semi-naked young man was now standing so close.

“Hey, where are you going, Superman,” he breathed. “Why don’t you pull up my underpants for me, Super-dickhead? Go on, touch me in my underwear... you know you want to.”

The other guy in the check shirt smirked at Superman’s growing awkwardness and began to jack his own cock.

“Look at your face, Superman,” he said, “you’re so, so excited to be fucked – you’re not a Man of Steel, dude! A Superdickhead is what you really are, and it’s so hot to finally see the truth! Mmmmm! To see the real Superman. Superman is a Superdickhead, aren’t you? Right, Superdickhead?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” growled the hero, “but for the last time, that is not me, and I am most definitely not a Superdickhead.”

“Aah,” gasped the guy, “he said it! He said it! I win! I made Superman say Superdickhead! I made him say it! You see, Superman, you really are a Superdickhead! Hnngh”

Some of the men began to laugh at this, pointing at Superman, who now found himself blushing furiously.

“Oh boy… he said it,” repeated the guy in his underwear, “he said it! Superman said Superdickhead!”

He began to jerk himself faster and faster, and the Man of Steel felt his cheeks redden yet further.

“Superdickhead!” came the cries from all around him. “Look: Superdickhead’s blushing!”

“Sir, I told you to stop that,” said Superman, taking a step forward as a warning. “Stop right now. Pull up your underpants this minute. I said, pull them up! Put your hands by your sides and-”

But before he could finish speaking the lad began to cum. With a gasp, he pointed his cock down and out, and before the dumbfounded Superman could react, it had erupted, squirting several thick ribbons of spunk all over his blue tights.

“Aah!” he yelped in surprise, “why, you... you...”

“How’s it feel, Superman,” the lad gasped. “Oh boy! I’m cumming on the Man of Steel! Uh!”

And indeed he was! Furious, Superman moved out of his reach, but it was too late, the young guy’s aim was good – his right leg had taken quite a soaking. The viscous white spunk was swiftly running down one leg of his blue tights, mocking him as the fabric turned dark and soggy. How dare this punk do this – shoot semen at him, Superman? This place was truly out of control.

“What’s the matter with you filthy degenerates?” he cried out. “Do you think spraying your semen all over my tights like that is something to be proud of? Do you?”

“Fuck yeah, Superman,” gasped the grinning lad, “sure do! I came all over your legs, and I’m Super-proud, seeing my spunk on your tights! I came on Superman; nothing can ever change that now! Look how wet your tights are... oh man, what a shot; I sure soaked you! You look like you pissed yourself!”

They were laughing at him once more, and the lad who had squirted his jizz all down Superman’s tights pointed in at awe at his seed as it dribbled down the hero’s blue spandex. The Man of Steel felt it warm and wet against his skin as the men all howled with derision at him. It reached the top of his boot, and began to trickle down inside.

“Look everyone!” shouted the lad in the check shirt. “Look at him: Superman has pissed himself! The Superdickhead is so afraid of us he’s pissed his tights!”

“Nonsense,” he replied, “I’ve done no such thing. Stop this at once.”

This cry was echoed by others, and to his disgust, Superman soon found the howling mob of lust-crazed men pointing at his semen-soaked legs and chanting:

“He’s pissed his tights! He’s pissed his tights! Superman has pissed his pants!”

“Look over here, Superman,” said a hot young Indian guy in a sharp business suit, “smile for the camera!”

Flies undone, he held his erect dick in one hand and in the other was his phone, pointing at the Man of Steel. “I’m filming you – you can show the whole wide world how you’ve pissed your tights. Let them all see you: Superman has pissed his tights! Mmmm...”

His hand shot up and down the shaft of his penis as he filmed Superman. “Oh man,” he gasped, “the Man of Steel’s wet his pants, and now I’m gonna cum on him!”

“Stop it, sir – stop this, all of you,” Superman protested, taken aback by having to deny this, “this is nonsense. I haven’t wet my pants. I said, I have not wet my pants. Stop this at once! Stop filming me, sir – stop!”

The guy moved towards Superman, but the sight of the flustered hero in his humiliated state was clearly too much for him, and the next moment he exploded, his pumping cock covering his suit with hot white cum.

“Look, Superman,” he gasped, “I’ve creamed my pants! I creamed my pants, just like you! I creamed my pants like Superman! Uhhhh!” He sank to his knees in ecstasy, and began to sproosh his cum over his clothes. “See, Superman... I jizzed my pants, just like you!”

Zeal shook his head with contempt. “I’m sorry, Superman. Zain has no self-control. You’re his hero, so having seen you cream your pants like this is very exciting for him.”

“I didn’t cream my pants!” cried Superman. “I tell you, I didn’t!”

Zeal ignored him, and clicked his fingers, bringing aides to his side.

“Don’t worry though, Superman, today is all about you. I’ll have Zain punished. Strip him to his underpants, men.”

The mob obeyed Zeal without hesitation, and Superman’s eyes widened as he watched the handsome young man having his cum-stained designer suit torn from him.

“Oh,” cried Zain, “I’m the CEO of ZainOil... and yet I’m being stripped! Down... down come my pants! Mmm. Look, Superman – I’m being stripped naked because I creamed my pants just like you! If this is what they do to me, just imagine what’s in store for you!”

What on earth was happening? Why was he not in control of this situation?

“This is nonsense,” said Superman, “I haven’t creamed my pants – I mean, I haven’t wet my pants... I mean my tights.... Oh! You’re... tricking me. Stop saying this, all of you....”

Yet this only encouraged them. Fighting a super-villain or an army was easy, but how could he deal with a room full of frenzied, horny, masturbating men, whose intention was seemingly to shout him down, repeating this humiliating statement again and again?

“He’s pissed his tights! He’s pissed his tights! Superman has pissed his tights!”

The mob began to close in on him in earnest now, taking advantage of Superman’s obvious discomfort. The men were all in various states of undress, but each had his cock out and was masturbating as they encircled the flustered Man of Steel. If he wasn’t careful he was soon going to find himself at the centre of a giant circle jerk! How could he make them stop?

“Stop,” he cried out, “now just get back! I haven’t pissed my tights, I tell you! Stop doing that, all of you! Stop it at once! Get back... get away from me... I... I’m warning you!”

In desperation he turned to the Vice Lord.

“Zeal... Zeal, make them stop. Call them off!”

Wherever Superman looked, dozens of penises were surrounding him. And the men who jacked them up and down didn’t appear to be scared of him – indeed, each looked amused and excited as they edged closer to the Man of Steel; his total lack of authority here was obvious. What in the world could he do?

“Zeal,” he repeated, “call them off... make them stop, Zeal.”

“You sound scared, Superman,” said Zeal. “Worried they’re all going to cum on you? Worried how that might make you feel, Man of Steel? Not just one leg of your tights coated in spunk, but all of you, Superman, cum raining down upon you! You’d look good with a spray of jizz across your S-shield, wouldn’t you? Hot, creamy spunk coating you, Superman... just like Zain here...”

He pointed to the young Indian guy, who now lay on the floor, revelling in his cum-soaked underpants and socks.

“Mm, yeah... do it, Superman,” groaned Zain, “let them all cum on you! Oh god, I’d love to see that! Imagine you in your spandex all covered in layer after layer of spunk! Hnngh! I’m getting hard again thinking about it!”

“Enough!” shouted Superman. He forced himself to focus. He had to put a stop to this chaos before it turned into an orgy. A burst of heat vision shot from his eyes, taking out the main speaker array. The voices of all his Super-doppelgangers were immediately silenced, but each one still rutted before his eyes, greedily debasing themselves.

He ignored the masturbating men who encircled him and focused on Vincent Zeal. The excitement of arresting this man was now almost tangible; he felt flushed and warm with it.

“That’s better. You know, your imagination is quite impressive, Zeal. It’s a shame you couldn’t have used it for something more wholesome than imagining me in all these... humiliating situations.”

Something made him pause as he said this.

“So you find these images humiliating, do you, Superman?” said Zeal, with a smile.

“Of course they’re humiliating, Zeal,” growled the Man of Steel. “How could I not find them humiliating? Seeing myself in states of undress like this... stripped naked and turned into some sort of... submissive sexual plaything. It’s... it’s incredibly humiliating for me to see myself like this. And no doubt that was your intention.”

“It certainly was,” said Zeal. “Partly, at least.”

To Superman’s surprise, he felt a strange thrill as Zeal said this. For the first time he realised that his body was almost shaking with an odd sensation. It could only be excitement, he supposed, at closing down this den of filth once and for all. Yes... that must be it. He shook his head and tried to focus. What were they talking about? Oh yes...

“Well, you’ve succeeded, Zeal,” said Superman. “You wanted me humiliated, and so I am. Well done. Big deal. I’m... very humiliated. Completely and utterly humiliated.”

Again he felt that odd sensation as he said this – a thrilling rush all over his body! What could it mean?

“But... but that’s it. The fun’s over, Zeal. I’m taking you to gaol for trying to tarnish my image like this. You’re going to regret this. All of this. You and your perverted friends.”

“Perverted?” Zeal smiled. “Listen, Superman, you’re the one who pays guys to fuck you behind closed doors. Who begs to be fucked in his tights! We all saw it. What a hypocrite you are, Man of Steel.”

“But these are holograms,” cried Superman. “Deepfakes! This is just fabrication; you had these images commissioned. To make people believe that I could do... these terrible things. It’s all lies, all of it! I never paid anyone to... to do that to me. In my... in my tights. On my... my hands and knees... it’s unthinkable. All these... disgusting... disgraceful...”

They were laughing at him once more, and some of them were even booing, and shouting: “Liar!” This cry was taken up, over and over:

“Liar, liar, tights on fire!”

Superman gazed about in desperation. What could he do, to persuade them these holograms were fake? They were so convincing…

“Why, Superman – what’s the matter,” asked Zeal, “you’re the star of the show; aren’t you pleased with the party I’ve thrown you? There’s really no need to pretend it’s not you; the truth is out now, and your dirty little secret is safe with us.”

“Stop it,” said Superman, “I don’t have a dirty little secret. I don’t! Why are you all laughing?”

Zeal slowly applauded him. “He’s funny, isn’t he? So funny!”

Laughter echoed all around Superman once more and the assembled crowd began to point at him and jeer.

“Funny, am I? You won’t sound so confident at the police station, Zeal,” he growled. “You can laugh all you want, but this depraved stunt of yours has given me a weapon - a weapon to shut you down for good.”

The tingling feeling of excitement now completely wracked his body; he felt oddly intoxicated and totally ecstatic.

“Indeed,” nodded Zeal solemnly. “I think your ‘weapon’ is exactly what we should be discussing – don’t you, my dear Superchump?”

Another intense feeling shot through the Man of Steel’s nervous system.

“I’m not your dear Superchump,” he said, both aware on some level of what a ridiculous response this was, and yet giving the slightest of gasps as the word passed his lips. Somehow, saying that word: "Superchump" had increased his strange excitement even more. Oddly, he found he wanted to say it again. A further denial couldn’t hurt, after all...

“I... I said I’m not your Superchump, Zeal. I’m not a Superchump, understand? I’m Superman... not Superchump or a... Superdickhead. I’m not... I’m not!”

Looking around him, to his confusion he realised the men were all pointing towards his crotch, whooping and laughing at him, some of them doubled up with amusement.

“What are you degenerates all laughing for? Why are you laughing at me?”

Zeal was smiling at him, and his expression was almost one of... pity.

“Oh dear. Poor Superman. You’re not the brightest, are you? Why don’t you see for yourself, Superchump? Have a look at your tights. Look down, down at the crotch. Go on, Superchump. Then you’ll see why we’re all laughing at you. Go on. Do it.”

Slowly, Superman turned his gaze down, and was so shocked by what he saw that he actually staggered backwards.

“No... NO! Hahhh!”

Within the confines of his skintight blue spandex, pushing up against the tights and the red briefs he wore over them, Superman’s own penis was tenting out, pushing straight upwards in a massive, straining erection! Even though the yellow belt locked his briefs tight around his crotch, there was no disguising his arousal: the Man of Steel had a colossal hard-on!

“No,” he said. “No! This can’t be! What have you done to me? How?”

“No one has done anything to you, Superman,” said Zeal. “This is fascinating... see how weak you really are, how truly pathetic, behind all that bravado and bluster? You can’t even take responsibility for your own arousal! You chose to come here tonight, Superman, to place yourself among all these ‘degenerates’... you ensured you were right here in the centre of all this, under the pretence of arresting me. But the real reason you wanted to come to the Vice Palace is right there, hard and tenting through your tights and briefs. That churning, throbbing erection in your panties tells us all we need to know, Man of Steel.

“The real degenerate here is you, Superman - my horny, hypocritical hero! You want the world to think you disapprove, but really you just want to be allowed to let your true self out and give in to your erection. And a fine erection it is – doesn’t Superman look good like this, hard in his tights and panties? Doesn’t the Metropolis Moron look just fine?”

A gang of naked young men to his left whooped and applauded at this, yelling their approval. Dazed, Superman looked about him: he was still surrounded by semi-naked men, all jeering at him and pointing to his erect cock. To them, he was a figure of fun.

Zain was back up on his feet. He’d pulled his cock through the front of his underpants and was masturbating once again as he stared at Superman.

“Oh god, he moaned. “You’re hard, Superman. You’re erect in your tights and briefs. You really are... the Metropolis Moron!”

“Stop it! That... that’s nonsense,” said Superman. “You... you can’t talk to me like that. How... how dare you? How dare you call me the... the Metropolis Moron... I’m Superman. Do you know how many times I’ve saved this city? Saved the world? I’m... the Man of Steel, not the Metropolis Moron. Oh... Stop staring at my b-briefs... all of you, stop looking at my briefs! My p-penis. Stop! Stop it! Stop it, I tell you – stop looking at my... at my erection! Oh!”

Blushing, he tried, ineffectually, to cover his bulging crotch with his hands. But Zeal simply took hold of Superman’s wrists and pulled them aside, and for some reason, he didn’t resist. Why? This man touching him like this – how dare he? It was unthinkable.

“They don’t want to stop looking at your briefs, Superman,” said Zeal gently. “They don’t want to stop and they’re not going to. We’re all staring at your throbbing erection, Superman, and there’s not a damned thing you can do about it. We can see you, hard in your tights and panties. The real you, finally! It’s time to stop pretending. It’s all over. You, are all over. You have no power here, Superman. None at all. Not any more. We know what you really are. And it’s all right - tonight I’m going to help you let the real you out at last, my hard, horny little fool. You have no power now.”

“Nonsense,” said Superman, “that’s ridiculous. Of course I do... of course I... have power. I’m not a h-horny little fool! I could pound you all right now. I could! I’m the most... powerful man... in the world. I can fly... none of you can do that. I’m... I’m S-superman... do you understand? I’m Superman!”

But as they continued to point, laugh and stare at his helpless erection, Superman didn’t feel powerful – far from it. He glanced down at his crotch once more, and saw his stiff penis twitch excitedly in his tights and briefs.

“I’m Superman,” he said again, but his voice seemed smaller and shakier.

The tingling sensation was now utterly overwhelming. Superman looked up at the men who surrounded him, and in that moment he realised he was looking at them not with confidence, or anger, but with fear – and they knew it. Fear of what these men were going to do to him in his tights, erect and vulnerable.

He held out a hand in front of him.

“Ss-s-s-sstay back,” he stammered, his voice shaking. “Don’t... don’t you touch me!”

But Vincent Zeal stepped forward and grasped that hand once more, holding it tightly just like Starkey had, and to his own amazement, once again, Superman did not resist!

“Ssh!” said Zeal taking hold of the Man of Steel and stroking his arm. “Don’t touch you? But that’s what you want, isn’t it, Superman? You want us to touch you. You need it. You ache for it. That’s why you really came here tonight. Don’t worry, Superman – I know.”

“No. N-n-no,” whimpered Superman, “oh... ooh!”

He heard his voice... so weak and unfamiliar! Why, he sounded pathetic! Utterly pathetic and frightened! What was happening to him?

“Uh. Whuh-what do you mean... ‘you know’? Know what? Wh-what is it that you know?”

“Yes!” said Zeal, approvingly. “He’s nearly there now. If you didn’t want to be touched, Superman, then you wouldn’t be letting me do this.”

His hand explored further along Superman’s arm, caressing the tight blue spandex of his uniform. It lingered over his bicep, squeezing gently, before sliding up and across his chest, then moving down to brush his nipples.

“Uh!” gasped the Man of Steel, unable to stop himself. “Uhhh! Oh... oh... your hand...”

“That’s right, you poor pathetic creature,” said Zeal gently, his hand lingering there as he nodded to two men behind Superman.

“Help Superman out. Take his cape off.”

His body still on fire with feelings that were so new to him, Superman felt his cape being removed and taken from him.

“Stop... don’t... get off me,” he said, “leave my cape alone. I don’t want to take it off.”

But Zeal kept tight hold of Superman, and the men simply ignored him. Their hands slipped under the blue spandex top of his uniform and brusquely pulled the bright red garment out and off of him. This refusal to defer to him... it was extraordinary, and it seemed to make his body tingle even more.

“No... no! Stop... don’t! I said don’t! I told you not to! My cape! Not my cape – give it back!”

No one took the slightest notice of him. And he gave the tiniest, most indignant whimper as his cape was plucked from him. Yet he simply could not bring himself to stop them.

“You see, Superman,” said Zeal, “it’s just as I told you: you have no power here whatsoever. It must take a little getting used to, especially as it is only adding to your arousal, right?”

“You t-took my cape off... you took it off,” he said, in disbelief. “I’m Superman and you... you ignored me... I told you not to...and you defied me and just took it from me anyway. You can’t do that to me – I’m Superman! I’m giving the orders! My c-cape! Give it back!”

Superman saw it thrown into the crowd, who were now eerily quiet, watching Vincent Zeal as his hands moved slowly and sensuously over the hero’s body, toying with him in his spandex. With breathtaking tenderness, Zeal stroked Superman’s taut abdomen. Beneath his spandex he shuddered with pleasure.

“They’re not going to give it back to you. You see, Superman? You have no power here.”

“Uhhh,” he moaned. “Ooh... you... uhhh... stop it, Zeal. You m-mustn’t...”

“Enough now, Superman. That’s no way to address me,” said Zeal, quietly but firmly. “That’s not the respectful air for which you’re famed. Call me ‘Mr Zeal’, Superman. Call me that, and ask me to stop politely, and then perhaps I just might do as you ask. Go on, Superman. Do it.”

Superman swallowed. Vincent Zeal’s caresses against his spandex clad torso were like nothing he had ever experienced before. The audacity of the man! Would calling him by his title really make him stop? It was a small price to pay if so, surely? If this continued then he had no idea how his body might react.

“Well... Uh... Okay then. Um... Please Muh-M... M-Mr Zeal,” he gasped, “you m-mustn’t t- touch me... Mr Zeal. Please... please stop touching me... Mr Zeal and give me back my c-cape. Please, Mr Zeal… I’m asking nicely. There: I’m b-being respectful, sir. Stop it, M-mr Zeal... stop it, please! Uhhh!”

“That’s good, Superman. Well done. That’s much more respectful. Here – let’s play with your chest some more...”

“Haah! B-but – but you said...” protested Superman. “I called you Mr Zeal... asked politely... did as you asked... I did as I was told... please stop... I’ll m-make you stop... I will.”

Yet he did not stop Zeal. All he could do was watch, open-mouthed as the other man toyed with him.

Zeal’s fingers traced their way around his S-shield, slowly, teasing him in his spandex. Superman just gawped as they crept back down his stomach, making him ache with a yearning he could not yet comprehend… then stopped.

“Oh! Whuh-what are you doing now,” he asked breathlessly. “Your f-fingers...”

“Look, Superman,” said Vincent Zeal, so, so softly, and the hero watched as Zeal slipped one hand, then the other, beneath the yellow belt which held up his briefs. He felt the man’s hands, warm on his body as they slid down in between the red briefs and the blue spandex which was all that constrained his cock.

“S-s-stop,” he said weakly. “You... your hands... they’re... you… you’re inside my briefs. You can’t do this to me, Zeal... I mean Mr Zeal. Oh! This is disgusting.... Disgraceful. P-p-perverted! This is... I’m Superman. You can’t do this to me. You’ve g-got to stop. Oh... my briefs!”

Zeal smiled at him.

“Look at your penis, Superman. Look at the head.”

Obeying this instruction, Superman gulped as he saw a moist stain spreading across the crotch of his red briefs, darkening the fabric, betraying him, showing the Vice Lord just what effect this intimate touching was having on the Man of Steel. He could feel it now, wet spandex against the head of his own excited penis.

“You see, you don’t want me to stop, Superman. If you did, then you wouldn’t be producing precum like that. Just look at it! Why, you're so excited at being touched like this that you're literally wetting your tights and your panties, aren't you, Superchump?”

“No,” said the Man of Steel. “Not this again. I’m not wetting my tights. I mean... Oh no!”

“But you are, Superman. That’s just a simple statement of fact. You have wet your tights. You can’t deny it! Did I wet them? Did I?”

“Uh... well n-no,” breathed Superman. “N-no, you didn’t, that’s true.”

“No. Of course not. I’m not the one producing precum. So, what is it to be, a lie or the truth?”

Zeal’s hands were still for a moment. “Are you wetting your tights and panties, Superman? Are you really so utterly frightened of your own instincts that you’ve turned your back on the truth? Are you a liar? Do you tell lies, Superman?”

“I d-d-don’t lie, Zeal,” said Superman, his mind reeling. “I’m not a liar!”

“Prove it,” said Zeal. “Prove it, Superman. Can you tell the truth? Can the mighty Man of Steel put aside his ego and admit that he’s wet his panties, or is he going to lie, to save face?”

*I can’t say that in front of him... in front of all of them... and yet I can’t let him call me a liar... the truth is everything to me... everything...*

Superman gulped.

“I’m not a liar, Zeal. I’ll prove it... I’ll sh-show you...”

“So go on then. What are you waiting for, Superman? Who wet your tights, you or me?”

The men were all looking at him expectantly.

“But... but... All right. I... that is... It’s t-true, I guess... I’m... it’s true... Okay. I... I have wet my tights and briefs! It was me. I’ve wet my tights and... my b-briefs, okay... ooh.”

Saying this out loud now filled Superman with sensations he couldn’t begin to name. A strange, hot, shivering threatened to overwhelm him, and he found himself eagerly saying more:

“See? I said it! Told you I’m no liar. I’m Superman and I tell the truth. I admitted it. You were correct. And I’m not afraid to say so. I’ve wet my tights and briefs, Mr Zeal. Has that pleased you now? Did you all hear that?”

“Louder, Superman,” whispered Zeal. “I’m not sure they heard you at the back. Go on, say it! Make sure they can all hear you, nice and loud now!”

“Oh... but...”

He felt so strange. Yet there could be no harm in saying this again, could there?

“Okay. Fine.”

Clearing his throat, he shouted out:

“Uh… I’VE WET MY TIGHTS AND BRIEFS! Can you all hear me now? EVERYONE LISTEN: I’VE WET MY TIGHTS AND BRIEFS! ME, SUPERMAN – I DID IT!”

Eyes wide he looked around him.

“There! I... Superman... I have wet my tights and briefs, and I’m not afraid to say it. See? How was that - are you satisfied now? I told you I’m no liar, Zeal. I showed you. I told the truth: Superman has wet his tights and briefs – there. That’s... that’s what you wanted me to say, isn’t it? Fine – you’ve all heard me now. And I hope I’ve made it crystal clear to each and every one of you... that I’ve wet my tights and b-b-briefs.”

He swallowed and fell silent. He hadn’t meant to say quite so much. The words had come so easily though, tumbling out of his mouth. And it did... it did feel... pleasant to say it. Zeal was standing close now, staring at him.

“See?” he said again, weakly. “I... I did it. I tell the truth. I’m not a liar. I’m... I’m strong. I proved it.”

Zeal surveyed him coldly. Then he said:

“Your panties, Superman. Go on. Say it. You’ve wet your panties.”

Superman rolled his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Zeal. They’re not... they’re my briefs. I’m not going to say that. I don’t wear... why do you want me to say that... why would you... why is so important for me to call them... I mean... I mean... I... I... I don’t... I.. I... oh...”

He paused. Zeal was watching him. They all were. Waiting for him to say it... why did it matter to them?

“They’re briefs,” he said, almost pleading. “They’re my briefs! Not... nothing else... not that other word. Why do you want me to... I don’t... oh… please, Zeal? I mean, Mr Zeal? Mr Zeal? Um... I...”

Still Zeal said nothing, but gazed at him expectantly. The silence was charged and heavy; a battle of wills.

“P-please... Mr Zeal... p-please, don’t... I...”

He drew breath to protest once more, but then relented.

“Oh, fine. Okay. Go on, then. If it’s really such a big deal. It’s just words. What do I care? I don’t care. It’s not a problem. I can do it. I can. I... I...”

Superman cleared his throat.

“I’ve wet my panties,” he said.

Immediately the strange heat increased tenfold; he actually shook with the odd sensation that went through him as he said this.

“Oh! Hnngh! Ooh...” he said, as he quivered once more before the Vice Lord. “Oh! Mr Zeal! Ooh!”

“Again,” said Zeal, softly. “Again, Superman.”

And Superman was surprised to find himself doing just this.

“I’ve wet my panties. I wet my panties, Mr Zeal. Mmn. It’s just like you said. Superman... has wet his tights and panties. Are you happy now? You’ve made me say it. Oh... I don’t know... why it matters to you. It’s nothing... just silly, really. Okay. I have wet my panties, and I’m telling you all.”

Zeal did not reply, and suddenly, Superman found himself going further.

“Get a good look at me: I, Superman, have wet my tights and my panties. Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? There. I admitted it. I’m standing in the Vice Palace – this filthy den of debauchery - and I’ve wet my panties and my tights, and I can say it, because. I... I’m Superman, and I’m not a liar... I tell... the truth. Yes. The truth. I’m... I’m a real man, not some pervert. Real men tell the truth. And the truth of the matter... is that I’ve wet my tights and panties. Can you all see me? Can you all hear? I’ve wet my tights and panties! Superman has wet his tights and panties. Go on, look at me all of you, I’ve wet my p-panties! Nngh. I’ve wet my panties! Huh! Hah!”

He paused. Why was he breathing so fast, so excitedly? Why had he gone from refusing to say that word, to declaiming it so enthusiastically, even proudly? What was happening?

“You ask me why it matters... I think it matters to you, Superman,” said Zeal. “I think you just enjoyed telling a room full of men, turned on by your humiliation, that you wet your panties. I bet you felt wonderful, didn’t you, Superman? Maybe better than anything you ever felt before. Embarrassing yourself willingly. Allowing your true self to come out.”

“Whuh... what?” Superman swallowed nervously.

“Truth now, Superman? Can you tell me the truth? You like the truth, don’t you? You’re a real man, after all. A Superman! And real men tell the truth, don’t they?”

“Um... yes,” replied Superman. “They do. I do. I... I... Oh. The truth. Yes. Well. Oh... Damn it! Okay. Uh. Y-yes. I... it d-did f-feel good, Mr Zeal. Telling you I’d wet my p-panties... felt strange... but nice. I... I did enjoy it... telling you all that I’d w-wet... my p-panties. Ooh. Hnngh. There.”

Zeal’s fingers had not moved. Superman could feel them through his blue spandex, where they were lodged between his tunic and his briefs. It was driving him wild. He had to get the man to back off. He swallowed.

“Now that you’ve made me admit that... that I liked saying that... are you going to take your hands out of my briefs, or do I have to... um... do I have to... have to... uh... um...”

Vincent Zeal laughed. “Do what, exactly? You don’t have a clue what to do, Superman, you poor blubbering, blundering chump. Don’t worry – when you surrender to me you’re going to have the time of your life. Your cock knows it, which is why you’re so hard. It’s why you’ve wet your panties with excitement. Let’s get a better look at it.”

Zeal took a firm grip on the sides of his briefs.

“No! Don’t,” breathed Superman, “don’t do that… stop. N-no! Please. Don’t. Please, Mr Zeal.”

Despite these weak protests, he did nothing but watch wide-eyed as the other man grabbed his briefs and attempted to pull them down. However, the Vice Lord soon found the belt made it impossible.

“Oops. Uh oh,” he said. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Superman, but I’m afraid I can’t take your panties down while that pesky little belt of yours is holding them up now, can I?”

Superman looked at their hungry faces, each man leering at him, ridiculing him, ogling his body. How could this be happening to him? Why was he not fighting back?

“What do you mean... why should that disappoint me? I... I don’t want you to pull my panties down,” he said. “I mean... dammit, briefs, I mean my briefs. Stop calling them my panties, you... you... oh... ooh... s-stop! Aaaaah!”

Zeal had slid his fingers back into the tops of Superman’s briefs. The hero looked utterly astonished as he felt those warm fingers teasing his washboard stomach through his spandex. Zeal pulled a the fabric, teasing him. It made his knees tremble in his tights.

“Oh,” he said, “you... mustn’t... you... oh... hnngh... you have to stop this, now.”

Zeal brought his mouth close to Superman’s ear, and the Man of Steel felt his hot breath against his skin, so intimate...

“Hmm. Tell you what, Superman. If you really want me to stop now, then I will. I shall take my hands out of your little red panties and leave you with that churning erection. Hell, we’ll even hand you back your cape.”

“Hnngh... you... you will? You’ll t-take your hand out of my brie- um... out of my... my p- panties?”

Superman gazed at Zeal, dumbfounded; the man’s face was now directly in front of his own. He could feel the man’s warm breath against his mouth. Why wasn’t Zeal scared of him? Why weren’t any of these men afraid of him?

“Or,” said Zeal, “if I’m right and you want us to continue, then you’ll show us how to take off this yellow belt of yours. How does it open, Man of Jello? Tell me. I’m guessing you just press the central stud, am I right, Superman?”

Superman swallowed.

*Mustn’t tell him. I mustn’t... I mustn’t... I mustn’t...*

“Well, I... I... Uh. Yes,” he said. “That’s correct. Pressing down on that... unfastens my belt. That’s how you do it... Mr Zeal, sir. Press that, and uh... you... you’d be able to undo it. You c- could undo my belt. It would just... fall open. And... and then you really would be able to pull my panties down... I mean my briefs... oh...”

“Thank you. Well then. There is your choice, Superman. Tell me to stop and it all goes away. I swear. Or... alternatively... put your own hand on the stud right now, and open it... and give us access to your Super-penis. Give yourself to me. Surrender control. Surrender to your erection, Superman. That is your choice. What’s it to be?”

The room was utterly silent, the crowd awestruck at the audacious, profoundly erotic way in which the most powerful man in the world was steadily being defeated.

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

“Don’t be ridiculous. I... I have to stop you.” His voice sounded so feeble. “I’m g-going to bring you to justice. All of you. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve come here for. To... to arrest you. I’m Superman. A real man. A strong man. I’m the Man of Steel. I’m... I’m a h-hero. I’m certainly not going to just stand here and let you unfasten my belt and... pull my briefs down.”

Slowly, Zeal withdrew his fingertips from the top of Superman’s briefs and rubbed his hands thoughtfully.

“Oh,” said Superman, before he could stop himself. He felt a sudden stab of alarm, and was astonished to find it was followed by disappointment! Disappointment to be parted from the Vice Lord’s touch. That warmth, that inappropriate intimacy... so unthinkable, so close to his most intimate parts... and yet it felt so good.

“So to be clear, Superman,” said Zeal, slowly and with relish, “you wouldn’t enjoy it if I were to pull your panties down, here in front of all of these men? You don’t want me to touch you and bend you to my will. You wouldn’t like it one little bit?”

“I... Of course n-not,” he breathed.

But was this true? His head seemed so full, suddenly, so overpowering were the sensations racking his body. And although he could not possibly admit it, foremost in his mind was the thought: Is he going to touch me again?

He gulped. He had to rebut Zeal’s allegation.

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

“So you did,” smiled Zeal. “I think you rather like calling them your panties, don’t you?”

“Of course not!” The proximity of the man, the heat... and the whirling, churning feelings of his body... Superman could hardly think. His breath was coming fast now, in and out, in and out. out.

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

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

“Yes... th-that’s correct. B-b-bring you... to justice,” stammered Superman. “I’m the Man of S- steel. Ooh. That’s who I am. A b-big... M-m-man of ooh... S-steel. Uhh.”

“Of course,” said Zeal, sarcastically. “You’re a big Man of Steel, Superman.”

“Exactly,” said Superman, nodding frantically, his head reeling. “That’s who I am, Mr Zeal. A big Man of Steel in my briefs... and t-tights. My b-b-bulging b-briefs and tights. Ha... hnngh. Ooh.”

Superman watched as Zeal ran one finger lightly over his S-shield, and for a second he honestly thought he might fall to his knees. Zeal could see it too.

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

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

“Really?” said Zeal, scrutinising him. “I don’t believe you, Superman.”

The Vice Lord now reached out one hand and touched the end of his cock, making the Man of Steel whimper once more.

“Haaa... Ooh... oh! S-s-stop that. My p-penis! Your hand on my p-p- penis... never had anyone... oh! What are you doing to me? You mustn’t... hnngh.”

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

“Whuh-what? D-don’t be ridiculous, I...”

Superman drew breath to deny this, but as he did so his thoughts went in a different direction. Straight away he thought back to that very afternoon at the Planet, which already seemed so long ago. As Clark he had been bumbling around in the office, making a clown of himself, when on a whim he had oafishly spilled an entire can of soda all over the crotch of his pristine smart suit. He’d even shaken it up beforehand, and the fizzing white sugary drink had exploded, gushing over his lap.

“Oops!” he had cried, deliberately loudly. “Oh, now – gosh darn it, look what I’ve done! My pants!”

He realised now that he had wanted them all to see, to know what he’d done; he wanted their eyes on him, watching him behave like a hapless fool, desperately and ineffectually trying to dab at his wet crotch with a cloth. In a way he was performing for them – and in that moment of terrifying clarity, Superman knew why. And his body burned with arousal as he realised that Zeal knew it too.

Everyone had groaned and laughed at his goonish behaviour. Clark Kent, behaving as he always did: the office klutz, covering himself in soda.

“Oh gosh, Jimmy,” he’d said, parading himself about, making sure everyone got a look at what he’d done. “What a klutz I am! What a goofball. All over my pants... See how wet it is, darn it. Think it’s gone through to my underwear!”

That fizzing liquid soaking first his pants, and then, unknown to anyone but him, through to his briefs and tights below... he recalled how it had made him feel as the wet spandex touched the tip of his shivering cock. Superman’s briefs and tights, soaked with the fizzing wet sugary drink he had deliberately spilled on his crotch in front of all his workmates. He had sat at his desk pretending to work, whist relishing the feel of the wet spandex inside his trousers. He had even risked a hand beneath his desk, was on the verge of touching himself… and then duty called: his Super-hearing alerted him to another emergency, and he had to fly off, reluctantly first taking a few seconds to dry his uniform.

Yet no one else knew. They only saw Clark Kent, the office clown. Only he was aware that in fact, it was Superman who had been the one clowning around; it was Superman who had just willingly soaked his tights and briefs. The strongest man on earth had eagerly made himself look ridiculous. And that secret, that small, private humiliation that he had performed, having it all to himself, felt good. It had felt so very good.

*Just like it felt good just now, telling them... telling Zeal and his men that I’d wet my panties.*

He had told himself it was all an important part of continuing his disguise, making people dissociate the bumbling Clark Kent from Superman. And yet...

“I knew it!” Zeal grinned in triumph. “Look at his face! Superman’s remembering, aren’t you?”

He had deliberately behaved foolishly... humiliating himself. And... and... he couldn’t admit it, couldn’t think it... but

“You liked it,” breathed Zeal. “You did something, made yourself look a dick, and secretly you liked it, Superman, didn’t you? Come on - I’m right, aren’t I... Man of Steel?”

*I’ve got to lie... I have to! I can’t tell the truth this time.*

Superman made no answer. How had Zeal known just how to confuse him like this? His mouth hung open and he stared now with obvious fear at the Vice Lord, the man he had come here to arrest, yet who now had him in the palm of his hand.

And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Superman looked at Zeal... and he nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, sir. You... you... you’re right, Mr Zeal. Oh God. Oh God. I... I m- made myself look... look foolish... I deliberately made myself look like... like a dick... and I... I... I did like it, sir. I.. I liked it very much. Very much indeed. Oh.”

He bowed his head. The enormity of what he had just admitted, of the dreadful secret he had freely given up was making his mind race.

*What have I done?*

The silence was absolute; the atmosphere felt so thick you could have cut it. Shaking slightly, Superman raised his head once more, to meet the unflinching eyes of Vincent Zeal.

“Ooh,” he whimpered softly. “What... what are you going to do with me? Now... now that I’ve told you, wh-what’s going to h-happen to me? Mr Zeal? Sir?”

Suddenly Zeal gripped his belt and briefs and pulled Superman right in to him, and the Man of Steel gasped in fright, whimpering and trembling in the other man’s grip; his obvious fear and cowardice now plain to see, as was how much it was arousing him. Yet nobody laughed as he cringed, shamingly. It was far beyond that now...

“It’s time. Stop dodging the decision. What’s it to be, Superman?”

Zeal paused for a moment and then suddenly and deftly he put out his tongue and licked the hero’s lips.

“Aah!” moaned the Man of Steel. “Ooh. Mm. Mmm. Oh... M-mr Zeal... You can’t do that! Oh... you... you...”

For a second it looked as though he was pushing Zeal away, resisting him. But then the real reason became apparent, as Superman, now with enough space between himself and his foe, reached down and touched the front of his belt. The crowd gasped.

“Go on, said Zeal, “touch the stud... Stud! Isn’t that what you want? Or do you want to be the big man and arrest me, stop all this?”

Superman’s hand remained there for what seemed like an eternity. He knew what he ought to do. It was plain. But this feeling... and the way he felt when Zeal’s tongue touched his lips...

“Are you Superman the mighty Man of Steel, here to arrest me, and prove you’re the strongest man in the world? Or are you Superman, the Metropolis Moron, here to be turned into a dirty little Superwhore?”

Then, to his astonishment he heard his own voice weakly say: “No...”

Zeal frowned, but didn’t takes his eyes from Superman’s own, staring him down. “No, Superman? No what?”

“No, Zeal... I... I don’t want to arrest you. I don’t want to... be the b-big man. I’m n-not a big man, sir. Not... not any more... that’s n-not what I... what I want... Mr Zeal. Sir.”

“Then you know what you have to do, Superman.”

His hand was on his belt. He could stop all of this right now...

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Zeal. Ooh. I mean Yes sir, Mr Zeal, I... I do. I know wh-what I have to do. I’m... I’m yours... Ooh. Take me. Take me, Zeal. Take it all from me. Please pull my panties down, sir. And t-turn me... turn me into a Superwhore.”

Superman pressed down hard on the circular yellow stud.

There was a loud click.

“Oh,” he gasped, as the last of his resistance crumbled. “H-here. I’ve d-done it. Oh god!”

At his touch, the belt fell open. He pulled it loose and felt his briefs slacken, and within a second, as the crowd cheered, Vincent Zeal drew Superman close, into his embrace. Once more he swiped the hero’s lips with his tongue, back and forth.

“Mmmf. Haaah,” gasped the Man of Steel. “Ooh. Zeal...! Hnngh. I... I... Uhhh!”

“There. Now,” said Zeal softly, “let’s get to work on you, Superman, you pathetic, over-confident spandex-clad chump.”

He yanked the belt and briefs straight down his thighs with such force that it sent the hapless hero tumbling down on to his knees.

“Ahhhhh,” said the hero as he hit the ground and looked up at Vincent Zeal.

His cock was throbbing, pushing against his blue tights, the wet patch of precum now bigger and more obvious than ever. He, Superman, was on his knees before the Vice Lord, and he had let him take his briefs down! This man had achieved what General Zod never could, and Superman cringed in fear and arousal.

“What... what have I done? You’ve pulled my briefs down! Oh! You... you pulled my panties down! And I’m on my knees! Oh! Oh! You... you’re so p-powerful. And I don’t have any power at all now, not here – it’s all just as you said! Ooh!”

“Let the games begin,” shouted Zeal in triumph. He gave Superman a firm but measured kick, and as the Man of Steel fell backwards, Zeal grabbed his legs and pulled his briefs all the way down to his feet.

“Uh!” cried Superman, as he felt his briefs being removed, the Vice Lord’s hands gripping him in his spandex. “Stripping me! My panties!”

“Off come your panties, Superman! I said, off come your panties, right?”

As the hero lay writhing on his back, Zeal slid the briefs over his feet, taking care to let his fingers linger, before plucking them off at last, taking them from him. Senses reeling, Superman cringed and cowered before the Vice Lord, trembling with fear and arousal, watching the man hold up his briefs and belt in triumph, dangling them over him.

“Isn’t that right, Superman? Answer me, chump.”

“Oh. Yes, Mr Zeal. Yes, sir. Off come my panties,” he echoed, dumbly, staring up in disbelief at the man who had mastered him so thoroughly. “Oh... off come my p-panties. He’s taken my panties off! You... you t-took my panties off!”

The full weight of his situation bore down on Superman; the realisation of what he had done hit him like a nuclear charge. He writhed and babbled in his frenzied state, his cock stiff and straining against the wet blue spandex that contained it.

“Oh! I’ve l-lost my panties to the V-Vice Lord, Vincent Zeal! I’m d-defeated! I’m utterly helpless and defeated, and at the Vice Palace of all places! And the Vice Lord just took my panties off! Ooh! What am I? What’s happening to me? What are you going to do to me?”

“On your knees, dickhead!” said Zeal, his voice firm and commanding. “Get on your knees at once, Superman. Kneel before me, Superdickhead.”

Superman let out a whimper, but did as he was ordered. He pulled himself upright and scrambled onto his knees before the Vice Lord.

“Yes, sir. Here, Mr Zeal. I’m... I’m on my knees, just like you told me. I’m... oh god... I’m kneeling before you, Mr Zeal. Superman... Superdickhead... is kneeling and submitting to you, sir.”

“Indeed you are, and it is where you belong! Superman is now ours! Superchump the Man of Jello! That is who you are now, isn’t it? I said, isn't it, my Superchump? You’re the Metropolis Moron now, aren’t you, Superman? Aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“Ah. Hngh. Uhh. All right. Ooh... yes,” said Superman.

“SO SAY IT!” Zeal took his briefs and rubbed them across the hero’s face, smearing his cheeks and lips with his own precum. Briefly, he pushed them into Superman’s mouth, before withdrawing them again.

“Aaaaah! Yes, Mr Zeal! I’m... I’m... I’m the M-m-m-metropolis...M-moron... ooh... I said it! Uh. I’m the Metropolis Moron. I’m Superman, the Metropolis Moron, n-not the Man of Steel... and I’ve had my panties pulled down! Y-you took my panties down, Zeal. Mr Zeal... sir. Oh god... feels... so... it feels good, Zeal. And now you’re g-going to make me into a... a dirty little Superwhore! I’m Superman, the Metropolis Moron, and I’ve... I’ve c-c-come here to be turned into a Superwhore! Th-that is what I want, after all. I admit it! Oh! I’m going to become a Superwhore!”

Zeal placed his foot on the hero’s penis, which still pointed straight up in his tights, but this was too much for Superman. The friction of foot against spandex against the foreskin of his erect and throbbing cock made him gasp with helpless desire, and with a strangled shout, the Man of Steel began to ejaculate. Zeal took his shoulders and gave him a shove, and Superman fell back and lay thrashing wildly on the ground, his cries echoing around the Vice Palace as a vast amount of Kryptonian semen pumped relentlessly into his tights, filling the crotch and pouring down his legs.

“I’m the Metropolis Moron,” he panted hysterically, “I’m Superman the Superwhore! Oh god... huh... huh... I’m c-c-cumming in my tights, Mr Zeal!”

A cheer went up, but all Superman could do was lie there, utterly helpless, shooting his own spunk into his uniform.

To be continued…

If you’ve enjoyed, please hit Like and consider leaving a comment if you would like more. Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday! 💦

[vincentzeal]

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

“Don’t be ridiculous. I... I have to stop you.” His voice sounded so feeble. “I’m g-going to bring you to justice. All of you. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve come here for. To... to arrest you. I’m Superman. A real man. A strong man. I’m the Man of Steel. I’m... I’m a h-hero. I’m certainly not going to just stand here and let you unfasten my belt and... and pull my briefs down.”

Will the Vice Lord succeed? Are those briefs coming down? What secrets is Superman hiding in his tights? Is he a Man of Steel… or something else?

Find out in Superman vs the Vice Lord - Chapter 1

Extended Edition 2024

Cumming this weekend!

[vincentzeal]

“Suddenly, Zeal took hold of his belt and briefs and pulled Superman right in close to him. The Man of Steel gasped, whimpered and trembled in the other man’s grip, his fear and cowardice now plain to see, as was how much it was arousing him. Yet nobody laughed as the hapless hero cringed and cowered. It had gone far beyond that…”

Superman vs the Vice Lord - Extended Edition chapter 1… cumming soon.

* This was to have been a neat littleAI animated teaser, but even the most vanilla content seems to get flagged. Anyway, if there’s interest then I’ll post the Extended chapter 1 soon…

Happy #SupersubmissiveSunday!

[vincentzeal]

It's time... feel that chilly wind? That's nothing, compared to the chills Superman is experiencing on the insidious backwater of Summerisle. Get comfortable and then get filthy, as we dive into the next instalment of the Man of Steel's ignominious exploits in Scotland.

Previously...

Superman, the world's greatest hero and the most powerful being on the planet, had found himself drawn to the remote and secluded environs of Summerisle, to try and help solve a series of local disappearances. Yet since his arrival there in his Clark Kent persona, he has been subject to inexplicable and humiliating circumstances. After blundering into danger opposite a mystical gang known as the Bully Boys, who seemingly defeated and depowered him, Superman awoke powerless in the home of the devious Lord Summerisle, where he was given champagne and became acquainted with the Lord's young acolytes, gradually admitting more and more of his deep-rooted secret desires. At length, it seemed everything Superman had ever wanted was finally coming true. After sexual games with the men, and giving his first blowjob, the Man of Steel begged Lord Summerisle to take his virginity at last. His wish was granted, and Superman experienced ecstasy like nothing he'd ever known before, as the Lord took him on all fours, still dressed in his spandex uniform, pounding in and out of him while the household staff looked on. Yet just as he was about to climax, the hapless hero was dealt a terrible blow. The whole scene vanished before his eyes, and he found himself back in the drawing groom of Lord Summerisle. What can have happened? Was it nothing but a dream? Will the Man of Steel ever get to cum? Read on, and let's find out...

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 6 - Hostage to his own Hard-on

‘It can’t be,’ gasped Superman, ‘it was finally happening! I was there, and I was finally going to be… to be…’

‘What’s that, Superman?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Your mind seemed to be temporarily elsewhere? What was it that you were going to be? What is it that was happening to you? Have you been lost in contemplation?’

Superman stared at him and tried to make sense of this. 

It felt so real… he was fucking me… finally, I had been through so much… admitted so much… and Lord Summerisle was fucking me in front of his men… and it was… it was glorious… I can’t have dreamed it… can I?

‘I…’ he stammered. ‘I… thought… that is, I imagined…’

Unable to complete this sentence, Superman fell silent.

‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Summerisle, his knowing smile spreading across his face, ‘it was that last sip of champagne I offered you, Superman. Perhaps it was so pleasant that you were transported… is that it, do you think?’

Superman tried to think, to remember…

‘I… I… wait…’

Suddenly he found himself focusing on one moment, just after he had confessed to Lord Summerisle about the Bully Boys and how they had tormented him at the pool. How they had seemed to know things about him, his most private and intimate secrets. And what was it that His Lordship had said in reply to this? Yes… that was it, he could see him now, saying it:

‘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.’

Those had been his words. A good look inside your head. And Superman had drunk the champagne, just as he had been ordered to, and that was when he had begun to tell them all his deepest secrets. That he was a virgin. And about how powerfully aroused and tempted he had felt since arriving on Summerisle earlier that day. It had only been hours ago since he reached the island and met Tam, the young man at the Inn, yet already it seemed like a lifetime!

Then he had confessed his erection - he’d let them see his cock, hard in his tights. Told them how powerless he was, how it made him feel. He’d asked them to take his virginity - no, he’d begged them! And all those things he had wanted for so long had taken place… Lord Summerisle’s men… Superman had been touched and pleasured by them. He’d masturbated two of them until they climaxed and he’d let them cum all over him, even opening the waistband of his tights to allow them to shoot a load down in there!

And then… Angus, that breathtakingly beautiful young man, had told Superman to kneel before him and suck him off, even getting him to beg like a dog for permission to do so. And he, the Man of Steel, had eagerly obeyed and he had loved it. The thrill of submission… the idea of him, Superman, willingly doing this. He had revelled in the ecstasy of his own humiliation. And he had given his first ever Superblowjob. 

He could see it all so clearly… surely this had been real, hadn’t it? The Elders of Krypton appearing to him, telling him to stop. And he had defiantly disobeyed them and gone along with Lord Summerisle, eagerly and enthusiastically proclaiming himself a “Superdickhead” and offering to fellate the Lord. But instead… even this was overturne, and instead he ended up asking to be fucked.

‘That was it!’ he cried aloud. ‘Angus! Angus ripped a hole in my tights and I… I begged you to…’

Lord Summerisle blinked. ‘What nonsense is this, Superman? No one has ripped your tights.’

‘I never touched your tights,’ said Angus, sitting to the left of him. ‘What are ye talking about, Superman?’

Superman gazed from one to the other, his mouth hanging open foolishly. He slid one hand behind him, feeling his buttocks. There was no hole. The blue spandex was intact, sealing him in. Containing him. How had he thought otherwise?

‘But I… I… it was all so real. You ripped a hole in my tights and then I begged you… your Lordship, I begged you to… to…’

He gulped. If this had really all been an illusion then he couldn’t possibly tell Lord Summerisle that he, Superman, had imagined himself begging to be fucked by him!

‘Yes?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘This is fascinating! What did you beg me to do, Superman? Do tell, we’re all waiting.’

And indeed, they were all staring at the hapless Man of Steel. Suddenly he found himself feeling too embarrassed to go on. He must have been so caught up in his feelings that he had imagined it all. How could he tell them of the filthy things he had dreamed?

‘It’s not important, sir,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I… it’s like you said… I think perhaps the champagne made me light-headed and made me… imagine some stuff. Like a sort of daydream. Alcohol doesn’t affect me usually, but without my powers…’

‘I see,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, it must have been a lovely daydream you were having, Superman. Just look at your erection!’

‘Oh!’

He had been semi-hard before taking a sip of the champagne. Now, he was at full erection and had made a terrible mess of the front of his tights. As they all stared at his cock, a fresh white tide rose through the blue spandex, proclaiming his helpless excitement.

‘Dear me, what a puddle of precum!’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle.

‘Looks like you’ve pished your panties,’ smirked Angus.

‘Don’t mock poor Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. He put a hand against the hero’s cheek, gently caressing him. ‘After all, you came here to help us, and now it seems you’re the one who needs help. So powerless… and so weak… and so horny. Aren’t you?’

Superman felt confused and exhausted. ‘Yes,’ he said pitiously. ‘Oh… yes. All of those things. N-never experienced anything like this. Not ever.’

‘Would you like us to give you release?’ asked Lord Summerisle. ‘If it would help, I could have one of my men here bring you off in your tights, Superman?’

Even an hour ago, this would have been unthinkable to the Man of Steel, but his prolonged state of arousal had now made him quite wild.

‘Would you?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Would you do that for me, please? Could maybe… could Angus do it? Please? Oh, please!’ 

Superman’s voice was abnormally full of emotion as he asked this. He hardly recognised it.

‘Aye,’ said Angus. ‘Of course, Superman. I’d be happy tae wank you off, pal. Nae bother.’

‘Good lad,’ beamed Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, come along then. Let’s give Superman what he needs and get to work on this splendid erection of yours.’

So saying, he reached out and flicked Superman’s cock with his index finger, just as he had done previously. But this time - 

‘Ouch!’ cried Lord Summerisle, whipping his hand back. ‘My word… that was like flicking cold metal. Your invulnerability must have returned, Superman!’

‘Oh,’ said the astonished Man of Steel. To his amazement, he found he no longer much cared about his powers; if only someone would let him cum, nothing else mattered. He reached down and touched his cock, confirming what Lord Summerisle had said, and groaned with desire as he did so.

‘Hnngh. Oh. Yes. You’re right. I wonder…’

He activated his x-ray vision, and it swiftly kicked in.

‘All my powers. They’ve… they’ve returned.’

Superman stared at the men: Angus, Darius, Brian, Elliot. His x-ray vision went below the tracksuit, the smart formal city suit, the kilt and the football shorts.

‘I can see your underwear,’ he breathed. ‘My powers are back… and I can see your underwear, all of you. Oh… just look at your briefs…’

‘How telling, that that is your first instinct,’ murmured Lord Summerisle. ‘Well, Superman -  congratulations! You’ll be wanting to take your leave of us now that your powers have returned.’

‘What? No!’ Superman looked up in alarm. ‘I thought… I thought you were going to permit me to… I mean I thought Angus was going to help me… um… to help me… c-cum?’

Lord Summerisle shook his head, sternly. ‘That was when you were depowered, Superman. A mortal man in need of release. And now… now you are the world’s strongest man once more: Superman! I can’t possible have you shooting your load in here. You’d pepper the walls with your super-spunk like a shot gun! Not to mention the fact that you might very well take Angus’s hand off when you came!’

They laughed at this. Yet Superman knew Lord Summerisle was correct.

‘I… I guess so,’ he said miserably, looking down once more. ‘But… but my erection. What should I…’

At that moment, the door opened and a servant appeared.

‘Good news, your Lordship,’ he said. ‘We’ve finished sorting the rest of Superman’s costume.’

Superman stood up. ‘My uniform?’

‘Aye,’ said the man, with a slight smirk, ‘your costume. We didnae have the cape at first, but then the dogs brought it back.’

Superman’s mouth fell open. ‘The… the dogs? Dogs had my cape?’

‘Aye,’ said the servant, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. ‘They must have smelt your scent. It’s got a wee bit of saliva on it, but otherwise it’s fine. We’ve brought all your wee bits, Superman: your cape, your boots, your belt and your panties. I’ll have them brought in now.’

‘My briefs,’ protested Superman, but the man was already out of the door. ‘They’re not panties… they’re my briefs!’

‘Well, this is wonderful news, eh, Superman?’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Your ignominious encounter with the Bully Boys can now be forgotten, and you can recommence your noble task of finding those missing young men. Isn’t this great?’

‘Yes,’ echoed Superman in hollow tones, watching more servants return with the rest of his uniform. ‘It’s… it’s great news, sir.’

He covered his erection with his hands as they drew near, but they waited for him, and eventually he had no choice but to reveal the unmissable hardness of his wet and straining cock.

‘No rude comments, please,’ urged Lord Summerisle as the blushing Man of Steel attempted to dress himself in front of the ogling servants. ‘Superman is the world’s greatest hero, and he has come here to help us. We do not need to mention his embarrassing state to anyone. Is that understood.’

The servants all chorused their acceptance of this, although each of them stared shamelessly at the bulging damp patch in those world-famous tights.

‘Th-thank you, your Lordship,’ said Superman, pulling on his red briefs. Hesitantly, he drew them into place, up and over his bulging cock, and his heart sank as his foaming precum immediately soiled the red fabric.

‘Goodness,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘they don’t look like your usual red briefs, Superman. They don’t have belt loops. Why… are you wearing just a simple pair of red underpants over your tights?’

Two of the staff sniggered at this. Superman tried to comprehend what was happening. Surely, Lord Summerisle had made this exact same comment in his vision?

‘It’s complicated, your Lordship,’ he replied. 

‘Of course,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘No need to explain yourself to us, Man of Steel.’

Another member of staff sniggered, but a look from the Lord silenced him.

At last, Superman was fully dressed once more, and as he snapped the clasp of his yellow belt into place, around the red briefs, he felt a little of his former self-possession return to him.

‘Look at you,’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle. ‘Why, you appear quite the hero once again, Superman!’

As a mirror was brought before him, Superman flushed with pride to see his uniform restored to him. 

‘Aye,’ murmured Angus, ‘apart from that great wet boner in your panties.’

The smile disappeared from Superman’s face.

‘Now then,’ warned Lord Summerisle. ‘None of that, Angus! Your are our noble benefactor, Superman. Your secret is quite safe with us.’

His Lordship gazed directly at the throbbing erection in Superman’s tights as he spoke. Then he leaned across and whispered in the hero’s ear, rather loudly: ‘And don’t worry - we shall not tell a soul that your virginity is intact!’

Superman’s pulse raced at these words. Surely admitting that to these men had been part of his daydream, had it not? He felt he hardly knew what was real and what was not any more.

‘Did I… did I tell you that…’ he began, stumbling over his words.

‘That you are a virtuous virgin?’ said Lord Summerisle. This time he did not bother to whisper. ‘Indeed you did, Superman. No wonder that poor straining member of yours is so excited. It only makes us respect you all the more, my noble and virginal friend.’

‘It… it does?’ asked the flustered hero. ‘Gee… uh… thanks.’

Yet the expression on the faces of the men that surrounded him did not look like one of respect. They all looked amused and contemptuous.

‘Here,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘let me help you.’

He took hold of Superman’s cape, and before the hero even knew what was happening, Lord Summerisle was using it to mop the tip of his bulging cock!

‘Aaah!’ he gasped. ’S-s-stop! Ooh!’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lord Summerisle. ‘Sorry, Superman - I was just wiping away your precum for you. Such a pity about this situation.’

Superman’s cheeks were once more crimson. Lord Summerisle placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Perhaps a good flight through the night air will be just what you need to make your erection subside, eh?’

‘Uh, yes, maybe, sir,’ mumbled Superman.

‘Just so! Think some nice, clean, virtuous thoughts now, Man of Steel! Don’t go dwelling on any of your dirty little fantasies!’

‘Whuh-what?’ Superman looked from man to man around the room. ‘I don’t have any d-d-dirty little fantasies!’

Lord Summerisle raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Is that true, Superman?’

At this, Superman felt something stir in his briefs and tights, and to his shame, he looked down to see a further white bloom of precum erupt across the red fabric.

‘Oh,’ he gasped. ‘I… um… I uh… ooh…’

‘You’d better be going? I quite agree,’ said Lord Summerisle.

Putting one hand on Superman’s buttocks, he ordered his men to open the French windows.

‘Then you can just fly away for now,’ he said. ‘But first… a kiss, I think.’

Superman’s eyes opened wide. ‘Whuh-what? What did you s-say?’

‘You heard me,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Come here. Now.’

Superman had never felt so utterly bemused in his life. None of this made sense. Why was this man talking to him like this, ordering him around? But the greater question was: why did he seem to enjoy obeying him?

Not wishing to keep his Lordship waiting, Superman bowed his head a little and did as he was told, walking over to him.

Lord Summerisle reached out and pulled the open-mouthed Man of Steel towards him. He grabbed a handful of his spandex tunic, and said:

‘Just remember, Superman. Remember all I have shown you.’

Before Superman could even start to wonder about this, Lord Summerisle leaned in and kissed him!

‘Oh!’ He gasped. ‘Oh! Hnngh. I… I… uhhhhh.’

It felt wonderful. As if he had never been kissed before.

‘And remember that,’ said Lord Summerisle, as he slowly released him.

‘Now then, my good man,’ he smiled, ‘my good little Superman! Run along now. Up, up and away for you, eh?’

‘Uh, yes… uh, yes, sir,’ said Superman, ‘th-thank you.’ His mind was a whirl of emotions. As he moved to the window, he looked at Angus once more. He felt a pang as the beautiful young man held eye contact with him. In that moment, Superman honestly he felt that he would willingly have once more given away his powers right there and then, if only Angus could slip a hand into his tights and briefs and help him climax.

Angus winked at him. ‘Till next time, big fella.’

Superman nodded awkwardly. Looking about him, he said:

‘Th-thank you, your Lordship. Thanks for everything… for everything you’ve d-done for me.’

‘You are more than welcome,’ said the grinning Lord Summerisle. ‘Off you fly now. Go on.’

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. And feeling as though he had just been ordered away like one of the servants, Superman rose into the air, taking a last look over his shoulder, and then was gone.

As Superman took off into the night sky, a curly-haired figure stepped from the shadows and addressed Lord Summerisle.

‘Why did you let him go, your Lordship?’

‘Good evening, Damian,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘The rest of you can go. Actually, no - Angus, you stay. Everyone else out.’

The men obeyed him swiftly, closing the door behind them, leaving Lord Summerisle with Angus, clad once more in his shiny tracksuit, and Damian, his saturnine features dark and questioning.

‘Superman seems particularly taken with you, Angus,’ said Lord Summerisle, pouring them each a whisky. ‘We may be able to use that.’

Angus smirked as he accepted a glass. ‘Aye. I could see in his eyes how much he wanted me, your Lordship.’

‘But why did you let him go?’ asked Damian. ‘Beg pardon, your Lordship, but Superman was powerless, helpless. The big Superchump would have done anything you told him to do. Was he not ready for what you intend?’

Lord Summerisle shook his head. ‘No. The meat is merely seasoned… I am not ready to cook Superman… yet.’

‘I dinnae understand,’ said Damian.

Lord Summerisle held up the champagne flute from which Superman had drunk.

‘I gave him this. He was already susceptible - Superman is vulnerable to magic, and the powers of the island, and the power that is mine alone have befuddled the musclebound buffoon. But this… this heady, golden liquid is mixed with my essence. My seed.’

Damian raised an eyebrow. ‘Your seed? You mean Superman was slurping away on your spunk?’

‘Well… that, and a very drinkable bottle of champagne. Think of it as a spunk spritzer, if you will.’

‘Was that what we were all drinking?’ asked Angus.

‘No. Just Superman. I took the liberty of slipping a vial of my potent juice into his glass. No wonder he gulped it down.’

‘Mmm,’ said Angus. ‘Pity. I imagine your spunk must taste amazing your Lordship.’

Summerisle grinned at him, and took his cheek in one hand, kissing the young man’s rich, smooth lips.

‘Do not worry, Angus. My balls contain enough for you. You’ve pleased me sufficiently today that I may allow you to fellate me later. Then you can have full fat, not the semi-skimmed version that I fed our witless Superman.’

They all chuckled at this. Angus grabbed his crotch and bowed. ‘I’d be honoured, your Lordship.’

‘So what happened?’ asked Damian. ‘Pardon, your Lordship, but just what did drinking your spunk do to Superman?’

‘Amongst other things,’ said Lord Summerisle, ‘it allowed me to get inside his head. To take him down an imagined path. To get him to reveal to me within the walls of a fantasy, all of his deepest and darkest desires.’

Angus looked at him in awe. ‘So that was why Superman seemed so odd… so daft and confused before he left.’

‘Indeed.’

‘What happened?’ said Damian. ‘What did you see?’

‘Oh… so much,’ replied Lord Summerisle. ‘Superman confirmed that he is a virgin, which is what we need. And within the confines of that fantasy daydream, having been already mindfucked and tempted by my men, he showed me what he wanted. It was… quite something.’

He lit a cigarette. ‘Superman soon confided the desires he has hidden for years. He masturbated two of you. Angus - he was, as I said, particularly drawn to you, and I let him imagine sucking you off.’

‘No way!’ Angus hooted with delight. ‘I wish I’d really been there. The Man of Steel noshing me off, sucking away on ma nob. Oh… did he do a good job?’

‘Indeed,’ grinned Lord Summerisle, ‘he was most anxious to please you. Even licked the last drops from the tip of your cock, the greedy, spandex-clad dickhound. And then - just as he said when he came to, Superman got you to tear a hole in his tights… and then he begged me to fuck him.’

‘Whoah,’ said Damian. Both he and Angus were hanging on the Lord’s every word. ‘And did ye? Did ye fuck Superman, my lord?’

Lord Summerisle blew out a plume of smoke. 

‘Oh yes. I fucked the Man of Steel all right. I gave him what I wanted. Here in this house. In his fantasy, I even summoned all the household staff to watch as I fucked Superman, still in his spandex. Those extra levels of humiliation made it all the more exhilarating for him. With everyone watching, I pounded in and out of his super backside like a piston, making the Last Son of Krypton howl in ecstasy.’

Angus groaned, imagining this, and stroked his crotch.

‘And then… just as I was about to bring him to climax… just when Superman was on the cusp of fulfilling his wildest desires…’

Lord Summerisle stubbed out the cigarette. 

‘I stopped the whole thing. Took away his fantasy. I brought him to the edge and then snapped him out of it. The cruelty of it was... unimaginable.’

Damian creased his brow. ‘I still don’t understand. Surely Superman was ripe for the taking then. Why not do it for real - fuck him right here and now, and use him as we will? You’ve shown you can take away his powers whenever you want. Why wait?’

‘It’s as I told you, Damian,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Seasoning the meat. All of those desires that Superman has hidden for years, I have now brought to the surface. He cannot force them down again now; now they will be with him every moment of the day. 

‘Superman has returned to the inn. He has no idea that I know his true identity. He will resume his persona as the bumbling, bungling Clark Kent and try to find these missing men he came here seeking. But the visions I have shown him, the arousal I have unleashed within him… that is something far mightier than any so-called Man of Steel. Superman’s unspent cock will ache for release; he will find himself willing to go further and further to act upon his unspoken lusts. HIs need to submit, his secret craving for humiliation and to shed the weight of his super heroics will grow greater and greater. And then, when he finds that he would do anything, anything at all in return for a release from his sexual prison…’

Lord Summerisle pulled Angus to him, and unzipped his fly.

‘…then, Superman will come to me. And he will beg.’

He yanked down his trousers as Angus knelt between his thighs, looking greedily at the bulging underwear before him.

‘Here, Angus - take down my pants and feast.’

With a mumbled ‘aye,’ Angus reached out and pulled, and a few minutes later his mouth was blissfully filled with the mighty cock of Lord Summerisle. A short distance away, back at the inn, Superman was dreaming of the very same thing, and he let out a low moan as he pictured himself taking that mighty member into his mouth...

‘More,’ he gasped, imagining Lord Summerisle towering over him, ‘mmm… give me more, please… please!’

And in a manner of speaking, Superman was about to get his wish…

Will Superman ever get to blow his load? What does Lord Summerisle have in store for the musclebound Man of Steel? And will that spunk spritzer be the last of the Lord's seed to pass Superman's lips, or will it soon be cocktail hour for Clark Kent once again? Find out next time! If you enjoyed this then please hit like, and consider leaving a comment.

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

#supermandefeated

#supersubmission

#supermanhumiliated

#heroperil

#heroesdefeated

#briefs

#vincent zeal

#spandex

#superherohumiliation

#pantsdown

[vincentzeal]

where did you find Superman vs Vice Lord? I saw you mentioned it was from an extended edition. And I wanted to read more.

Hey. I wrote Superman vs the Vice Lord. The excerpt you mention is from an extended version that I’ve so far not got round to releasing, other than that teaser. I will do at some point, probably here if there’s enough interest. I’ve been trying out a few illustrations for it…

[vincentzeal]

Yes, finally! Time at last to return to the insidious Scottish backwater of Summerisle, where Superman has stumbled into a nest of mystic intrigue which has seen him stripped of both his dignity and his mighty powers. Awakening in the home of Lord Summerisle, since accepting champagne and gracious hospitality, the hero has found himself intoxicated with lust and divulging secrets he has kept hidden for years.

Sans powers, and now no more than a man in tights, the novelty of being a weakling is turning Superman on profoundly. After confessing his deepest fantasies, in an erotic frenzy, the flushed and flustered Man of Steel has already pleasured Lord Summerisle’s band of handsome acolytes, giving his first Superhandjobs and even a Superblowjob.

Now, Superman has given full rein to his desires and begged his host to give him what he craves, and take his Super-cherry, whilst he is still dressed in his uniform. The obliging Angus has just torn a hole in those famous tights… with his spandex sundered, will the Last Son of Krypton finally get his reward?

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

SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

Chapter 8, part 5 - An Audience with Superman

Superman could feel the void at the back of his tights, and it brought home more clearly than ever how lost he was, how helpless, weak and dominated. He felt Angus’s fingers slip inside his spandex and dance teasingly across the skin of his buttocks, touching and tempting him in a manner he could never have imagined, and his cock throbbed with excitement. Looking down, he watched as a fresh bloom of foaming precum emerged from the tip, further soiling the wet blue fabric against which his yearning erection strained.

‘Please,’ he gasped, ‘please…!’

‘Bring him to me,’ said Lord Summerisle.

Angus gave a low chuckle as he withdrew his fingers from Superman’s crack, and he and Jason took the whimpering Man of Steel by the wrists and and gently dragged him across to his master.

Summerisle gave a wide smile, and placed his hands on either side of Superman’s face. The hero stared back, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, wondering what was to happened next.

‘You poor, lust-crazed cretin,’ murmured Lord Summerisle.

Superman was trying to discern the meaning of these words when - to his amazement, Lord Summerisle pulled his face forward and kissed him passionately.

‘Oh!’ gasped the Man of Steel when his host released him. ‘Whuh-what’s h-happening to me? I d-don’t understand.’

‘Hush,’ said Lord Summerisle, placing one finger on the hapless hero’s lips. ‘Not long now. We’re nearly completed with this phase. On your back please, Superman. Lie down on the ground like the whore I’m going to make you into. Quick as you like.’

Superman could think of nothing to say or do in response to this, but to obey.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, as he got down on his knees and then stretched out and lay on his back before Lord Summerisle.

‘I’m ready, sir. I’m on my back, just as you asked.’

‘I didn’t “ask”, I ordered,’ snapped the Lord. ‘And don’t forget it, Superdickhead.’

Cringing, Superman tried to babble an apology, but no one was listening to him.

‘Angus, Jason - grab him by his legs, please. Walk behind me and drag him on his back. Let’s go outside to the main courtyard.’

‘Wh-what?’ whimpered Superman. ‘I th-thought you were going to f-f-f-fuck me, your Lordship?’

Lord Summerisle smiled. ‘Indeed I am, Superman. I’m going to give you what you want and take your virginity, while you are still wearing your famous uniform. Yet I think such a momentous event deserves an audience, don’t you? Darius - ring the bell and summon the whole staff, every single one of them. Let them all see what Superman is.’

‘Ooh,’ whimpered the hero. ’N-no! Please! You c-can’t! They’ll all s-s-see me! I didn’t th-think you’d be fucking me… in f-front… of an audience! Ooh! Oh no! Oh god…’

‘Bring him! On his back, now!’

Angus and Jason ignored Superman’s feeble protests, instead taking hold of his tights-clad feet, and he now found himself dragged along on his back, through the corridors of Lord Summerisle’s stately home. He was terrified at what was now about to happen, his shaming secrets laid bare for anyone to see… and yet his cock remained ramrod-stiff.

‘No,’ he moaned softly, ‘whuh-what’s h-happening to me… this c-can’t be… I’m Superman. I’m S-s-superman!’

But the only response this elicited was a chuckle, and as Angus and Jason hauled the hapless hero around a corner, Darius reached down and gave his rock-hard penis a quick squeeze.

‘Aaah! Hnngh!’ gasped Superman. ‘Please… c-c-can’t t-take much more!’

‘Fear not, Superdickhead,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘You won’t have to.’

He glanced back. ‘Angus, Jason - let’s not risk an involuntary ejaculation. He’s so inexperienced anything might happen - pick Superman up and carry him the rest of the way. Bear my whore out to the courtyard between you both, like the prize harlot he is. What are you, Superman? Answer me.’

The Man of Steel panted, as the two lads picked him up, his body aching with thwarted lust as he felt their hands taking control of him.

‘I’m a whore, your Lordship,’ he said, almost in a daze now. ‘I’m Superman… your p-prize whore. Please, sir… f-fuck me. Please!’

Being carried along between these two men was a strange and freshly humiliating experience for the Man of Steel. It served to hammer home fully just how little he was now, how helpless, how foolish, how completely in the power of the charismatic and dominating Lord Summerisle. Just an object, a mere chattel.

As they continued on their journey, Superman’s cheeks began to blaze anew, as he saw servants and members of the household staff emerging. Most were young men, all roughly dressed, and they regarded him in silence, though their eyes were mocking and hungry. His cock trembled, and he couldn’t help but moan softly.

‘P-prize whore,’ he whispered, ‘I, Superman, am now a prize whore… they’re carrying me in, like some sort of t-turkey! Ooh - that’s just it - I’m just a turkey now! A helpless sacrificial superpowered thanksgiving turkey being brought to the feast! Ooh!’

Lord Summerisle turned and laughed, having clearly heard this.

‘Very astute, Superman! Your words are more accurate than you know. You are indeed a turkey, Superman, a great, dumb sacrificial turkey in tights!’

Angus and Jason halted, allowing Lord Summerisle to lower his face, until his mouth was just above Superman’s moist and tumescent cock, stood like a tentpole in his tights, dampening the spandex with every throb and fresh humiliation.

‘Wh-whuh… what are you d-doing,' asked the helpless, mind-fucked Man of Steel, ‘whuh-what’s happening to me now?’

‘Why, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, a mischievous glint in his eye, ‘you clearly have no talent for the culinary arts. I’m just checking that our prize turkey is nice and moist.’

Before Superman could comprehend these words, Lord Summerisle extended his tongue and licked his huge, wet erection, straining away in it’s spandex prison.

‘Mmmm! Why, you’re certainly a juicy turkey, aren’t you, Superman?’ he grinned. ‘Your tights are full of delicious juices! Don’t you agree, Superman?’

Superman let out a wail of lust and frustration.

‘Ooh! Oh! Ha! Ha! Aaaaaaah! Hnngh! P-please… Oh God! Oh boy. Y-y-yes, sir… whatever you say… I’m a turkey… a j-juicy turkey. A juicy t-t-turkey in tights! Oh… p-p-please… I s-s-s-swear I’ll lose my mind if you d-d-don’y give me release soon! I’m b-begging you, sir!’

Summerisle straightened up. ‘All in good time, Superman, you ludicrous chump. My tumescent turkey in tights! I shall soon make sure you are trussed and stuffed. Oh, I’ll give you a stuffing that will make you sing, Superman!’

They continued on their way, Angus and Jason keeping a firm hold on the writhing hero. Superman was not exaggerating - his lust had now reached such a height that he could barely think straight; he was quite, quite delirious with arousal. He babbled away deliriously as Angus and Jason bore him along, relishing their touch on his helpless body.

’T-t-turkey… Turkey of Steel… Superrturkey… g-going to be a-stuffed… Superchump… Krypton… Kryptonite… oh…oh… somebody save me… save me… somebody p-p-p-please let me ejaculate! I’ll do anything!’

Other men began following them, taunting the writhing, lust-crazed Man of Steel and soon he found himself tossed between them, as they took turns in carrying this ludicrous, spandex-clad man with his huge, helpless tentpole erection bouncing between his legs. The feel of their hands as they pawed at him and passed him around only served to height Superman’s arousal still further.

‘Pass the whore!’ they cried. ‘Let us all take a turn at carting the great Superchump aboot! Mind he doesnae fill his tights before the main event! Superman’s horny as fuck!’

‘Oh!’ gasped the delirious Last Son of Krypton. ‘Passed from hand to hand like I’m nothing… all my powers are gone… I’m so… so helpless… and it’s turning me on even more! Th-throbbing in my t-t-tights! Hnnggh!’

‘You’re not wrong!’ laughed his current bearer. ‘You’re a horny wee thing, Superman! But mind ye dinnae fill your pants just yet! Watch that hand on your cock, now…’

‘Oh!’ he groaned, reluctantly moving his fingers from his aching bulge, ‘yes, sir. Oh… somebody… somebody give me release, please!’

At last, they arrived in the courtyard. Superman fell silent as he saw the gathered staff of Lord Summerisle, all of whom appeared to be men in their twenties and thirties. There were about forty or so of them, and every man was staring at Superman, helpless and erect in his tights and tunic, being carried out in the arms of two men.

‘Oh god,’ moaned the hapless Man of Steel, ‘I c-can’t believe this. What’s happening to me… c-can’t let so m-many people see me… not like this… they can all see my t-tights… they can all see my… oooh… they can all see my erection… oh no…!’

Angus and Jason, who had borne him out, now placed the stunned superhero on the ground. Superman fell silent as he stood before them all, cowering and looking mortified, torn between his rampaging arousal, and the shame of his predicament. Ineffectually, he started to try and cover his bulging crotch.

‘Stop that, Superman,’ commanded Lord Summerisle, sharply. ‘Sit on this podium I’ve prepared for you. Hands by your sides, now!’

‘Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ breathed Superman, as he hurried to obey.

Lord Summerisle surveyed his men. ‘Behold. Here is Superman. The world’s most powerful man.’

He sniggered slightly as he said this.

‘The Man of Steel. Introduce yourself to my staff, please. Go on… now.’

There was silence. Superman nervously raised his head.

‘I… uh… yes, sir. It’s as his Lordship says… I’m Superman.’

He tried to straighten his back a little as he spoke, but this had the unfortunate effect of making his erection appear even more prominent; it even wobbled a little inside his tights.

‘I’m… I’m the M-man of Steel,’ he said, with a gulp, nervously glancing down at his crotch. As if in response, his penis twitched excitedly, the head pushing against the precum-drenched blue spandex.

And as he looked up once more, the assembled men were racked with a fit of the most raucous laughter Superman had ever heard. They howled with derision, pointing at him.

‘And tell my men what is in your tights, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle, as the hysterical finally subsided. ‘Go on. Tell them what it is and why it’s there. Do it.’

‘Oh no,’ moaned the hero. Yet with no choice but to obey, he said: ‘I… that’s an erection. I have an erection in my tights. I’m h-hard. I h-hope you can all see… go on, get a g-g-good look. Mm.’

Superman found he enjoyed saying this, and as he looked back at the jeering, scornful faces, each one mocking him, he found he wanted to say more.

‘Yes… I’m hard in my tights… I, Superman am rock-hard in my uniform… b-b-because… b-because Lord Summerisle has promised to fuck me! Uh! Hnngh. There… I said it!’

He actually sounded quite triumphant as he spoke. ‘I did it, your Lordship! Have I pleased you? Are you going to f-fuck me now, sir?’

‘Bring me his clothes,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘Bring out the rest of his uniform.’

‘Whuh-what?’ cried Superman. ‘You… you t-told me the other pieces of my uniform were lost at the pool where you f-found me! You said… you said…’

‘Did I?’ said Lord Summerisle, with a grin. His men were now producing Superman’s supposedly lost articles of clothing: his belt, his cape, his boots… and the ordinary red underpants which Tam had given him, instead of his uniform briefs.

‘How extraordinary!’ exclaimed Lord Summerisle. ‘There are no belt loops on your red briefs, Superman! And indeed, here is a label in the back of them: “Slazenger”! Why, these aren’t your real briefs at all - you’ve been going around in public simply wearing a pair of red underpants over your tights, you gloriously ludicrous chump!’

The crowd roared with laughter once more at this.

‘Please,’ begged Superman, ‘I can explain!’

‘No need,’ said Lord Summerisle. He handed the red underpants to Superman. ‘Just make a hole in them for me. Just here. Go on. Rip a little hole in them. Now!’

‘Oh!’ gasped the disgraced Man of Steel. ‘I… Yes, sir!’

He did as he was told, and ripped a hole in the back of the red briefs.

‘Wh-what should I do now, sir?’ he asked.

Lord Summerisle drew close to Superman, and licked his ear, making the horny hero whimper and shake.

‘I think you should put your panties on, Superman, don’t you? Dress yourself, my Superdickhead - put on your panties, cape and boots.’

‘Oh! Oh! Yes, sir! I… I sh-should p-put my p-p-p-panties on! Thank you, sir.’

Superman could not move fast enough. Clumsily, he stepped into the red briefs, and then pulled them up his trembling legs, over his bulging cock, and finally let them ping into place. Instantly, a patch on the front of the smooth, bright spandex darkened, absorbing the precum with which the Metropolis Marvel was helplessly producing.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lord Summerisle, ‘he’s wet his panties already. Is it because of your excitement, Superman?’

‘You know why that’s happened,’ said Superman, sounding somewhat petulant. ‘You t-told me to put them on… you….you t-told me too. So h-hard… Can’t help it.’

Lord Summerisle laughed. ‘Now dress him in his boots, cape and his belt. Quickly now. And bring Superman the mirror, that he may see what he looks like.’

The men hastened to obey, and a large, full-length mirror was set before the hapless Man of Steel.

‘Oh!’ gasped Superman. ‘Oh, my…!’

Being confronted with the reflection of his depravity and sheer disgrace suddenly brought his rapture to a halt. Superman gazed with horror at the image before him. There were spunk stains around his mouth. His uniform briefs were gone, and instead he wore this ludicrous pair of red underpants, which he had already soiled. His s-shield was also coated with cum, from where he had given handjobs and blowjobs for the first time in his life. And his fingers…

He looked down at the fingers of his right hand. Just last week, he had shaken hands with the Mayor of Metropolis and a variety of dignitaries. Now, that same hand was covered in the slimy filth of his exploits.

He shook his head. “What have you done to me? What am I becoming?’

‘Come, come, Superman,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘We have done nothing you did not want. You begged us, in fact. Just as you begged me to fuck you in your uniform.’

‘No… no,’ said Superman, ‘this isn’t fair… those desires… they’re secret! Those are my secrets! I didn’t mean to tell anyone. How have you found all this out? It’s… it’s like you’re inside my head. I shouldn’t have let myself get into this situation!’

Head whirling, Superman tried to wrest back some semblance of his dignity. Yet try as he might, his erection would not go down!

‘I think you’ve wasted my time,’ said Lord Summerisle.

‘Whuh-what?’

‘I think my men and I have bent over backwards to indulge your secret fantasies, Superman. Out of pity.’

‘Pity?’ echoed Superman, dumbly. ‘Why pity me?’

A peal of thunder rolled across the sky, and it darkened slightly.

‘Why, because of your sexual frustration, Superman. You told us all earlier this evening, did you not, that you are a virgin. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’

‘Hush… hush!’ begged the Man of Steel, staring at the onlookers.

‘Don’t hush me, you whining Superdickhead,’ snapped Summerisle. ‘Tell the truth, Superman. You are a virgin, and you begged my men and I to take your cherry. True or False?’

‘It’s true,’ he yelled out. ‘I’m sorry! You’re right, sir. It’s… it’s all true.’

He looked at his reflection. ‘But I’m… I’m Superman… I should… I ought to…’

‘Yes,’ said Lord Summerisle. ‘My thoughts exactly. You should be punished, Superman. Quite right.’

‘What? No!’ Superman’s eyes grew wide once more. ‘I didn’t mean.’

‘Spank him,’ said Angus, speaking quickly. ‘For all the trouble he’s given us, Superman should be spanked.’

Lord Summerisle nodded. ‘An excellent suggestion, Angus. You deserve a spanking Superman. For wasting our time and being such a naughty Super-dickhead. Don’t you agree?’

Superman could not bring himself to speak. The prospect of being spanked, here, in front of all these men…

‘What does Superman’s penis have to say, Angus?’ asked Lord Summerisle.

Angus reached across and flicked Superman’s wet and straining erection.

‘Oh! D-don’t,’ gasped the disgraced Man of Steel. ‘P-please!’

’Why, it’s rock hard,’ said Angus. ‘Stiff and twitching with excitement, your Lordship. That’s what he thinks about being spanked, whether he cares to tell us or no.'

Lord Summerisle gave a triumphant smile. ’Well, then. What have you got to say to me, Superman?’

Superman shuffled forward. ‘Please, sir. Please, Lord Summerisle. You’re right, sir. I’m… I’m a n-naughty Superdickhead, who’s wasted your time. I… I deserve a spanking. Please spank me, sir.’

A cheer of approval went up from the crowd.

‘Very well,’ nodded Lord Summerisle. ‘Bend over my knees, Superman, you pathetic Superdickhead.’

Superman did not have to be told twice.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘right away, sir.’ And a moment later, his erect cock was sandwiched between the thighs of his insidious captor, the Lord of the island, as Superman lowered his spandex clad body, submitting for his punishment.

‘I’m… oh! I’m ready for my spanking, sir,’ he gasped.

‘Ready , aye… and I reckon he can’t wait,’ remarked Angus.

Lord Summerisle pulled up Superman’s cape, drawing it back and over his shoulders. With one hand he slowly groped the perfect spandex-clad buttocks that lay in his lap. Once they were hard as steel, impervious to pain. Now, they were vulnerable, quivering with anticipation in that smooth red and blue fabric. He ran his fingers all over them, lingering fir a few seconds on the newly turn hole. And then it began.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

Superman howled in ecstasy and torment as the Lord rained down blows upon him.

‘Oh! Oh! Yes! Mmmm… hnnggh!’

‘You’re a naughty wee Superdickhead, aren’t you?’ taunted Angus.

‘Yes,’ panted the hero, in between blows. ‘I’m a… very… very… naughty wee… Superdickhead! Aaaaaaah! Ooh! Ooh! Spank me! Spank me, I’m Supeman the Superdickhead! Mmmmm…!’

At last it was done. ‘Get up, Superman,’ ordered Lord Summerisle. ‘Get up and sit on your podium once more.’

Cringing, on shaking legs, Superman obeyed and sat down. The way in which the assembled men were staring at him was truly terrible; their contempt could not have been more obvious.

‘Did you enjoy that, Superman? Think carefully before answering.’

Superman shook his head. ‘I don’t have to think carefully, sir. You know the truth. You know everything.’

He looked up at the crowd. ‘Yes. I… I enjoyed being spanked by you, your Lordship.’

No one spoke in the courtyard. These words hung in the air. Lord Summerisle nodded his approval.

‘I enjoyed it,’ repeated Superman. ‘Being spanked by you… in front of all your men… it only t-t-turned me on even more. I loved it. And telling you is turning me on too.’

He looked back at his captor. ‘Now… p-please… won’t you show mercy? Please, your Lordship - please won’t you fuck me? The need… the yearning… I’ve taken my punishment… please!’

Lord Summerisle stood up and placed a hand on the bulge of the lust-crazed Man of Steel.

‘Oh!’ cried Superman. ‘Please… please!’

‘Hush. Beg me no more, Superman. You have done well. Now - get down on your knees. On your knees, and then on all fours like a dog. And I shall give you what you crave.’

‘Oh… th-thank you, sir!’ cried Superman. ‘Th-thank you!’

Then, with one final look of gratitude at the man who was dominating him so utterly, Superman got down on his knees, obeying this command. He bowed his head in submission, and then put his hands on the ground and silently got on to all fours.

Nothing further was said. Lord Summerisle slid his fingers through the hole in the red briefs, and the gap below this, in Superman’s tights. He tore the fabric a little more, widening the hole, and twitched one hand between the hero’s buttocks repeatedly, until at last the broken Marvel of Metropolis cried out:

‘Please! Please just do it! I’m Superman… fuck me, Lord Summerisle! I’m Superman and I’m now your Superwhore! Please, please, please give it to me, sir.’

Lord Summerisle licked his lips.

‘Yes. Yes, alright, Superman, my Superwhore. I will.’

He unzipped his trousers, unfastened them and dropped them around his ankles, revealing a sizeable erect cock. He took out a jar and began to lube himself up. ‘Time to give you your reward, Superman.’

Angus and Jason held the Man of Steel by his arms on either side, stroking his spandex clad biceps, which only increased the hero’s pleasure. Then… slowly, Lord Summerisle positioned his mighty erection at Superman spandex clad buttocks… and moved forwards.

‘Oh! Hnngh! Uh!’ The Last Son of Krypton cried out in ecstasy as he felt the mounting bulge move against his rosebud.

‘You… ooh… ooh… you’re entering me… penetrating me… me, Superman… I’m… b-being… f-fucked… oooooh! Hnnghh! Oh! Th-thank you! Oh boy… oh boy… Great Scott… I’m on my knees and being fucked by a Lord!’

Like an arm squeezing into the sleeve of a tight sweater, Superman cried out in pleasure again and again as he felt Lord Summerisle move inside him. Finally, he had what he wanted. He became oblivious to the cheers and cries as his body began to move involuntarily to the rhythm of the other man, as though he were instinctively following the steps of a new dance. It was a feeling beyond anything that he could have dreamed of, enhanced by Angus and Jason on either side of him, caressing and teasing his spandex-clad body as the Lord of this remote Scottish island pumped in and out of him.

He opened his eyes, and took in the jeering crowd all around him, point and laughing at him.

‘You’re being fucked, Superman,’ shouted on of them. ‘You’re the whore of Summerisle! How’s it feel, ye great fool - being fucked in your tights?’

‘Oh!” he gasped by way of response. He just about managed to force out the words: ‘W-w-wonderful! I, S-s-superman am b-being f-fucked in my t-t-tights… and it’s… w-w-wonderful!” Hnngh! I’m a whore - the Superwhore of Summerisle! Aaaaah!’

Lots Summerisle drew his mouth close to Superman’s ear and whispered: ’You’re mine now, Superman, do you understand? Everything you desire is me… and I am the key to giving you what you want… what you need…’

He licked the hero’s ear, and this was the final straw. Superman felt Angus gripping the shaft of his penis, and he squealed with joy and shouted out:

‘Yes! I’m yours, sir! I’m yours! I’m… I’m… ooh… oh… I’m going to.. I’m… going to c-c-c-cum…. I’m c-c-cumming!’

And then, fate dealt Superman one of the cruellest turns that had ever befallen him. There, on his knees, with Lord Summerisle pounding in and out of his spandex-clad buttocks, his body rocked by feelings so profoundly erotic he could never even have begun to describe them, the Man of Steel felt his tortured erection tense, prior to exploding into his tights and briefs, and giving him relief from the insidious torments that had been heaped upon him throughout this strange, strange evening. He closed his eyes, excitedly anticipating how he was going to feel as he pumped his clothes full of hot Kryptonian seed at last…

…yet as he opened them again, he was merely sat on Lord Summerisle’s sofa once more, surrounded by the young men, all of them sipping champagne.

‘Why-what?’ He cried out in alarm. ’N-no! No, it c-can’t be! No! No, you promised me! Noooo!’

What tantalising twist is this? Was Superman really diddled by the devilishly devious deviant Lord Summerisle, or was it an illusion? Will his tormented, tumescent tentpole ever be allowed to give up its contents, or will it remain a stained and straining prisoner in his blue spandex? And where have his true uniform briefs ended up?

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

Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!

#supermandefeated

#supersubmission

#supermanhumiliated

#heroperil

#heroesdefeated

#briefs

#vincent zeal

#spandex

#superherohumiliation

#pantsdown

[vincentzeal]

Magnificent stuff. Hiding. Helpless. Hard. Horny.

Superbulge 😈😈

[vincentzeal]

Coming soon: SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN chapter 9 - “Shattered Dreams”

Will Lord Summerisle give Superman what he desires, and take the Man of Steel’s cherry while he’s still dressed in his uniform? Find out soon…

[vincentzeal]

Amazing stuff from the exceptional @heroperil !

“Holy Briefs Invasion, Batman!”

“Indeed, Robin - these villainous vines have us trussed up like two terrified and tumescent turkeys! We c-can’t help ourselves, old chum!”

Poison Ivy has planned a not-so-happy St. Patrick's Day for Batman & Robin!

[vincentzeal]

Superman: Glory Night, chapter 8: PERFORMER

This is part 8 of an adult content, NSFW erotic Superman story, inspired by a frankly stunning image of the Man of Steel sitting next to a gloryhole created by @Buffy2ville on Deviantart, who kindly gave permission for this - thank you.

No offence or copyright infringement is intended; it is purely for ADULT enjoyment, not for profit. And so, I hope you enjoy...

Clark Kent has agreed to a night of performing fellatio at a gloryhole, in order to atone for his actions and save the jobs of everyone at the Planet. Yet unbeknownst to his blackmailers, Clark is really Superman, and has long harboured potent fantasies of being sexually dominated by other men - an escape from the pressures of his life as the world’s most powerful being.

Having now embraced his desires and sucked off two very satisfied men at the gloryhole, Superman now finds himself faced with another dilemma as he realises his third client is none other than his good pal, Jimmy Olsen. Spunk-stained and helplessly horny, the Man of Steel must make a choice…

“Oh boy! Jimmy is here and waiting for me to suck his dick!”

Superman’s head was reeling. He would never have thought that his friend and work colleague, geeky Jimmy Olsen, would ever visit a place like this. They’d been friends ever since he started at the Daily Planet; it seemed unfathomable to him that a goofy klutz like Olsen would want to have his dick sucked at a glory hole.

“But then,” he thought. “It would be equally unthinkable to Jimmy to imagine that the man on his knees on the other side of this hole was Superman. Not to mention that I’m also really his pal, Clark Kent, and that I’m the most powerful man in the world. I guess… I guess we all have secrets. But what do I do? I can’t suck Jimmy off… but then how can I say no?”

“Uh… hey? Is everything okay?”

Superman could see Jimmy through the wall, looking nervous and yet expectant. How could he possibly refuse to suck one dick out of dozens for no good reason? If Lance Lewis was displeased with him in any way, then Jimmy would no longer have a job. And after all, sucking dick was what he was here to do.

“Just have to suck it up,” he whispered, then gave a low chuckle at his unwitting joke. “Looks like this… is a job for Superwhore.”

He wiped some of the spunk from his lips with the sleeve of his tunic, noting the stain it left on the blue spandex.

“Everything’s fine, sir,” he said. “Apologies - I’m just getting ready to suck you off. I… I want to do a real good job for you, sir.”

The bottom of his cape was soaking wet from the puddle he was kneeling in. After a moment’s hesitation, Superman used this to once more wipe some of the spunk from around his mouth, trying to ignore the stench of urine from it as he did so.

“Come on, dude,” said Jimmy, “I feel dumb standing here waiting; hurry up and blow me.”

Superman raised his eyebrows. Jimmy sure did have another side to him.

Leaning forward, Superman slipped his lips around the head of Jimmy’s cock and slowly took it into his mouth, drawing heavily on it as if it was a cigar. He sucked, licked and kissed it for around thirty seconds, before releasing it.

“I hope you don’t feel dumb now, sir,” he said. “It’s me who’s the dumb one. Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.”

“Oh… oh boy,” gasped Jimmy. “That was amazing. Come on, get it back in your mouth and do it again, please.”

“You don’t have to say, please,” said Superman. “I’m just doing my job, sir. Thank you for kindly allowing me to suck you off.”

So saying, he once more began to pleasure Jimmy’s dick with his mouth, his own erection throbbing excitedly as he heard the groans from his pal.

“Gosh… never thought I’d be sucking Jimmy’s penis like this. But he’s my friend, so let’s give him the full service and hope he enjoys it. Little does he know that his old pal Superman is now a Superwhore!”

They remained like that for a few minutes, Superman enjoying the murmurs and gasps from behind the wall as he brought all of his newfound skill to bear on Jimmy’s stiff wet cock. Then, as he took a pause, preparing to go to the next stage, on a whim he asked:

“Tell me, sir… might I ask what your name is?”

“What? What kind of a question is that?”

Why had he asked this? Superman knew, but he would have to be careful in clarifying. He spoke quickly:

“Well… I’m a whore, you see… and I want to… to be a good whore and I want to do a good job. I… I was just thinking that you might find it even hotter if I spoke to you, sir, and called you by your name. I’m sorry if that was dumb of me, sir. I… I am quite the dummy. One of my other clients this evening even called me a Superdickhead.”

His cock ached as he said this, which was, of course, the reason why he had shared this information with Jimmy. Every demeaning admission brought him nothing but unadulterated arousal.

“Oh… sure… that does sound kind of hot. Okay… my name… my name is…”

Superman waited, holding his breath. He was sure Jimmy would give a fake name.

“It’s Jimmy. Call me Jimmy.”

Wow. He’d given his real name. Superman could hardly believe it.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he babbled excitedly. “Oh… oh, thank you for telling me… Jimmy. It’s an honour to suck your dick, sir.”

He kissed the end of Jimmy’s penis and slobbered away enthusiastically as he spoke.

“You have a magnificent dick, Jimmy. Thank you for letting me suck you off, sir. I’ll do a great job for you Jimmy.”

“Jeez,” said Jimmy. “You sure are one hell of a cocksucker, dude.”

“Mmf,” said Superman, risking a quick and exhilarated tug on his own ramrod stiff cock. “Hnngh. Mmf. Ohhh. Thank you, sir. Thank you, Jimmy, sir. I promise you I’ll do my best cocksucking for you.”

“You know,” said Jimmy, “the weird thing is… you sound just like Superman.”

The Man of Steel froze, his lips still around the head of Jimmy’s erection.

“Oh…. I… I do?”

“Yeah. Really exactly like him. Anyone ever told you that before?”

Superman thought quickly. “Uh… actually… actually, yes. I get that all the time. People always say that.”

He looked at his reflection in the ancient mirror, his uniform stained and his handsome features blasted with cum.

“You know, sir… I actually look a little like Superman too.”

“You do? Oh god.” He could detect Jimmy’s heart beating faster. “Oh boy… that’s really hot.”

“It is?”

A thought occurred to Superman.

“Jimmy… I mean, sir… would you like it if I really was Superman?”

“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, hell yeah,” gasped Jimmy. “That’s my all time greatest fantasy.”

Superman’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“It is? You want to be sucked off by Superman? Is that right, Jimmy?”

“You bet it is. That and much more. I’ve fantasised about it for years. I know Superman a little, you see, and I’ve always had a thing for him. That amazing body in his tight blue and red spandex.”

Wow. Boy, oh boy was this night full of surprises.

“Gosh,” said Superman, taking a couple of swipes on Jimmy’s cock with his tongue. “Have… have you ever told Superman this, Jimmy?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Superman doesn’t even know I’m bisexual. I couldn’t tell him all the dirty things I long to do to him. He’d never speak to me again!”

“But Jimmy…” Superman ran his index finger over the piss slit off his friend’s cock, and softly lapped the precum from it. “Superman is the most powerful man in the world. You might be surprised by what his reaction would be. The one thing he can never be is dominated sexually… it seems quite likely that’s the one thing he might crave, don’t you think? You might find that Superman secretly would love nothing better than to get down on his knees and suck you off.”

“Oh man… that’s such a hot thought. I could cum just thinking about it. But it could never happen.”

“Great Scott… if he only knew,” thought Superman. “Well… let’s see if I can’t make Jimmy’s dream come true.”

“Tell you what, Jimmy,” he said. “Would you like me to pretend that I really am Superman?”

“Oh gee… you mean… like… roleplay?”

“Sure. You already said I sound just like him. And I’ve told you I look like him too.”

Superman smiled and winked at his reflection.

“So why don’t you just treat me as if I’m the real thing? Pretend… go on.”

Superman took a deep breath. His whole body was shivering with potent arousal.

“I’m Superman. I’m Superman, and I’m on my knees on the other side of this glory hole, ready and willing to suck your dick, Jimmy.”

Using his x-ray vision, he watched as his words hit home, seeing Olsen gasp with delight.

“Oh boy. Oh man that is so hot. Okay. Okay, let’s do this… Superman. I want you… I want you to suck my dick!”

“Great!” smiled the Man of Steel. He took the waiting cock into his mouth once more and went back and forth with it, all the while watching his friend’s expression, though Jimmy did not know it.

“Oh my god… Superman is on his knees and sucking my dick. And you’re good at it too, Superman. Superman is a… super-cocksucker!”

“Mmf… mmm…” groaned the world’s mightiest male. “Thank you, sir. I love it when you call me that. I’m glad you think I’m a Super-cocksucker.”

“You sure are that. Tell me, what are you wearing, Superman?”

“What do you think I’m wearing, Jimmy, sir? My uniform, of course. Although it’s a little different than usual. I’ve taken off my boots and I’m kneeling in a filthy puddle to do my job as a whore. And my first two clients came all over me, so my spandex is a little spunk-stained in places. Plus my tights and my briefs and my cape are all wet and dirty from the puddle I’m kneeling in. I don’t know for sure but I suspect at least some of this filth I’m in is human urine.”

“Whoa. Superman… why would you be doing this?”

“Well, Jimmy… sir… I got myself into trouble with some clever men. It was my own fault - I made some foolish mistakes. And the only way I could get out of it was to agree to suck dick for a whole night.”

“Man… you came up with that story on the spot?”

Superman chuckled. “Well… that’s because it’s true, Jimmy.”

“Sure… sorry, I snapped out of character for a second. Okay, Superman. So you got yourself in trouble and the only way out of it was to become a whore for the night.”

“That’s right, Jimmy. Superman is now a Superwhore. Do you… mmmfff… do you think I’m doing a good job, sir?”

“Oh, you’re doing a great job,” gasped Jimmy. “You’re a top notch Superwhore, Superman.”

“Mmmmm…” Superman reached down and grabbed his own cock at this, allowing himself a quick fumble.

“Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you. Hnngh. You know, Jimmy, my briefs are all wet with precum too. I’ve made a real mess where my erection is helplessly creaming inside my tights and my briefs.”

“What?” said Jimmy incredulously. “Wait, are you saying you’re turned on by all this, Superman? You’re on your knees sucking my dick and you’re hard as well?”

“You bet I am,” answered Superman enthusiastically. “It’s like I told you, Jimmy - the one thing Superman cannot ever have is sexual domination. And secretly that’s the one thing I’ve craved all these years. Oh boy…. It f-feels so good to be able to tell someone at last. You see, Jimmy - I’m probably enjoying being here on my knees and sucking your dick even more than you are!”

“Uh! Oh gee…” gasped Jimmy. “If that’s true then you must really be enjoying yourself, Superman, because this is amazing for me. Blow me, Superman - get my cock in your mouth, Man of Steel! Suck my dick so hard that you cream your tights and panties!”

Superman didn’t need telling twice. He upped his game, with every minute ,devising new ways to pleasure Jimmy with his tongue, lips and mouth. To his astonishment, Jimmy was prone to talking dirty, and having now bought into their seeming roleplay, Olsen was eager to talk down to the Man of Steel.

“You know, Superman, for years I’ve fantasised about you taking me to your Fortress. You once told me about that crystal chamber, where you can be depowered? The one that takes away your abilities and makes you into a weakling?”

“Mmf. Mm,” replied Superman, his mouth full. “Yesth, sir, Jimmy. Why’d you remember a thing like that? Mmf. Mm. Your cock is amazing.”

Jimmy chuckled and gasped as the Man of Steel sucked him off.

“Well, Superman. I’ve had this fantasy for a long time. I’ve thought how I would trick you into getting into that chamber and showing me how it works. And then I would strip you of your abilities before you knew what was going on. I’d take all your superpowers away, leaving you vulnerable. And then once you were nothing but a…. Well, nothing but a weak man in spandex with no powers, I would get you to lead me to that great silver bed of yours, and tell you to pull down your tights and briefs and let me fuck you.”

Superman’s raging lust momentarily abated as he took in these words with amazement! He’d imagined Jimmy was about to come out with something romantic like making him dinner or flying through a moonlit sky; he could never have believed his good pal harboured such filthy dreams of dominating him.

“Jimmy… fantasising about fucking me! I would never have dreamt it. As for the idea of me being taken like that by another man… why, I never… I couldn’t… could I?”

But as he listened to his friend talk excitedly and at length about exactly how he’d like to fuck him, Superman could not deny that the thought of this was only adding to his helpless arousal. Once more, he slipped his hand around his cock and allowed himself a couple of quick strokes, before withdrawing it with a low groan.

“Oh boy, Jimmy,” he gasped, releasing his mouthful of cock for a few seconds, “you’re making me even harder than I already am! My briefs…”

He looked down at his crotch and whistled.

“My briefs and tights are so full of precum that’s it’s like I’ve wet myself, Jimmy!”

“Oh God,” moaned Jimmy, “I’ve just described fucking you Superman… and you’re saying it’s turning you on more? Are you telling me you want me to fuck you, Superman? Are you?”

“It… the thought would never have occurred to me,” admitted the horny hero, “but now, thinking about it… what you’re describing… being tricked into giving up my powers like a chump… and then you taking me in my own bed… oh god, yes, I would love that Jimmy!”

“Say it,” said Jimmy, his voice ragged with excitement. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, Superman! Say it, Superman, you cocksucking Superwhore!”

Superman kissed and sucked the end of his pal’s cock, before saying loudly and clearly:

“Yes, Jimmy! I would love to be fucked by you! There, I’ve said it - I, Superman, would love it if you could trick me into giving up my powers, and then order me to follow you to my bed and fuck me! Fuck me, Jimmy, fuck me up the ass! Take me up, up and away!”

As both men continued in this vein, each lost in their own version of this disgraceful fantasy, Superman’s reverie was suddenly broken as his super-hearing spontaneously activated, honing in on a persistent series of news alerts and police intercom messages…

“Lex Luthor has released a swarm of drones across Metropolis… they seem to be unleashing a cloud of some sort…”

“No one knows what Luthor intends with these nefarious machines, but Superman will surely intercept them…”

"Still more of Luthor’s drones are filling the skies and releasing their contents… but where is Superman?”

“The Man of Steel is nowhere to be seen… Superman, we need you…”

“Where is Superman?”

For the first time since entering the filthy toilet and stripping to his uniform, Superman’s lust was suddenly supplanted by another feeling: anger.

“Dammit Luthor,” he thought, “can’t I have one night for myself? One night of joy in all my life of duty. ‘Where is Superman? Where is Superman?’ I’ll tell you where he is: Superman is on his knees sucking dick, and it’s chance I’ll never get again. Let me stay here, debasing myself and hearing Jimmy talk about fucking me up the ass, even as I suck his cock… please. Come on - where are my robot duplicates?”

Yet the next moment he heard one of his Kryptonian android replicas arrive on the scene, and begin to tackle Luthor’s drones, to his great relief.

“The crisis is over… Superman is here and he seems to be making short work of Luthor’s mayhem…”

“The cloud is dispersing…”

“The last of the drones has been taken out…”

“Superman has saved the day, yet again… the Metropolis Marvel has done it…”

“Hmm,” he thought, his spirits rising once more, along with his rock hard dick, “if only you knew that the Metropolis Marvel is right this minute kneeling in a puddle of human waste, sucking off men to solve a problem of his own idiotic making! How ‘marvellous' would you think Superman if you could see the dick I’m sucking right now, my mouth stuffed with the erection of my own pal, Jimmy, even as he’s talking me through all the filthy things he wants to do to me! Ha! But that’s my own secret - something just for me and no-one else.”

Superman gave a long and deep groan, as he felt Jimmy’s throbbing cock move closer to ejaculation.

“Jimmy," he said, panting and gasping, “I want you to know that if I ever find a way to let you fuck me, I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. I’d love you to take me in my own bed… with my tights and briefs around my ankles.”

“Oh boy… this is so hot… you really, really do sound so like Superman!”

The Man of Steel grinned: “That’s because I really am Superman, Jimmy,” he said, safe in the knowledge that his pal would think he was just continuing the role-play. “I’m Superman… I’m Superman the cocksucking Superwhore!”

“Mmmmmm…. yeah,” cried Jimmy, “it really is you, Superman. And just like you said, when we’re in your bed I’ll pull your tights and briefs down around your ankles like you’re a cheap whore, Superman!”

“Yes!” replied the hero, “oh, yes, do that, please! Make me your Superwhore Jimmy! Pull my briefs and tights down and fuck me… fuck me… oh… oh… you’re going to cum soon… do you want me to swallow, sir?”

“Fuck no,” said Jimmy, "I want to cum on your face, Superman! Is that okay with you?”

Superman grabbed his own dick for a delicious squeeze, and then released it.

“Mm. Mmm. Mm. It’s nothing to do with me, sir. Forget what I think. It’s what you want, Jimmy, sir. And if you want to cum on my face… then I can’t stop you… so… cum… all… over… my face…!”

Superman pulled Jimmy’s dick fully out of his mouth. With admirable skill, he worked the shaft from top to bottom, kissing and licking, all the while using his super-hearing to note the signs of imminent ejaculation. He positioned himself just in time, as Olsen gave a roar, and his cock erupted, once again blasting Superman’s face with great streams of hot spunk.

“Aaah!" he yelled out in ecstasy. “Thank you! You’re cumming all over me!”

He kept his mouth open, and managed to catch a little of his friend’s exploding ejaculate, his taste buds thrilling at the warm goo.

"Cumming all over me, Jimmy! Oh! Oh! This is the hugest load - more than anyone else!”

And Superman was not wrong. Making Jimmy’s dream of being blown by him come true had helped his friend produce a vast amount of spunk. The Man of Steel knelt there in submission, whimpering with pleasure as it rained down over him, further staining his already soiled blue and red spandex, burst after burst splattering his S-shield and trickling downwards.

Meanwhile, as his third cock-sucking adventure reached its climax, Superman’s android duplicate waved farewell to the cheering crowds below, and headed back to the Fortress of Solitude.

Had it been the Man of Steel himself and not a machine, he might have thought to investigate the strange, darkening clouds, which Luthor’s drones had successfully released before they were neutralised. But the android had no such curiosity, and so flew off, its task achieved. While the real Superman remained on his knees in a puddle of piss and stagnant water, moaning and stroking his penis, lost in utter ecstasy and abandonment at the night of debauchery that he had embraced so willingly. And even as he knelt in this blissful state, greedily swallowing whatever drops of his friend’s cum that he could, the Man of Steel had no idea of the danger he was in.

Will Jimmy ever get over realising his fantasy so successfully? Will Superman let on to his pal that he has done him the ultimate favour? How much more spunk, precum and piss can the Man of Steel’s soiled spandex uniform take? And just what has Lex Luthor released into the skies of Metropolis?

Find out in the next disgraceful instalment of Superman: Glory Night! And as ever, if you’ve enjoyed then please hit Like and consider leaving a comment.

Happy #TumescentTuesday!

[vincentzeal]

‘You say Superman’s personality just reawakened?’

'Yup. That's right. The prison wardens were carrying him in like a hepless chump, when the Red K fog in his mind must have lifted. He remembered where he was and that he was Superman, but he doesn't understand how he lost his powers or why he confessed to all those crimes.

‘He struggled a little and tried to escape, but without his powers, he's weaker than a normal man now. And although he pleaded pathetically with the wardens to put him down and let him explain, they weren't having any of it. Superman's beginning his new life as a convicted criminal. And Metropolis is ours for the taking.'

[vincentzeal]

‘What do you mean, Superman’s been “neutralised”?’

'Exactly what I said. The Boss got to Superman and used Red K to get inside his head and strip him of his powers. We made him confess to everything, and the judge fast-tracked his sentencing. As of now, Superman is being sent down.’

‘He's not a threat any more, now that’s he’s not a so-called Man of Steel. As of today, he's just a man in tights. Here - I’m texting you a picture of him now…’

‘Whoa! I can’t believe it! Superman is just being carried along like a big helpless chump! And what happened to his blue tights? They look kinda dirty.’

‘Superman’s been on his knees since he got in here, that’s why his tights are stained. And there’s more to come for our powerless man in spandex; he’s going to be in prison for a long time. The governor's given the boys the heads-up - they can't wait to see Big Blue again. So yeah... Superman's finally been neutralised. I'll keep you updated."

[vincentzeal]

What’s the worst place Superman could end up, having been stripped of his powers and tricked into confessing to a criminal act?

Why, gaol, of course. Don’t worry, Superman - all those familiar faces you put behind bars are going to be very excited to see you… they’re preparing you a very, very warm welcome.

[vincentzeal]

Mafia boss and his toy

[vincentzeal]

New suit, same hot body

[vincentzeal]

He’s back and he’s hot.