Superman: Glory Night, chapter 12: PRISONER
This is part 12 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.
If you are not an adult then this is NOT for 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, to atone for a libellous article he wrote and thus save the jobs of everyone at the Daily Planet. Yet unbeknownst to his blackmailers, Clark is really Superman, and has long harboured potent fantasies of being sexually dominated by other men. Locked inside a public bathroom by Lance Lewis, and told he will be there alone until dawn, he soon gave into temptation and began performing his task not as Clark, but Superman, dressed in his spandex, the danger of his predicament only increasing his arousal.
Four clients and four cocks down, Superman has at last realised why he has been feeling strange… during the course of the evening his powers have been knocked out. The Man of Steel is now more helpless, humiliated and vulnerable than he has ever been, and everything is at stake.
The cause of this has now been revealed to be Lex Luthor. Whilst the genius millionaire curses and wonders why his plan to strip the Man of Steel of his powers has not succeeded, little does he know that in fact, it has worked better than he could have hoped.
To Superman’s shock, his fifth client of the night turns out to be a Lubanian, who once served in the military of that country under Colonel Koslov during the period the Man of Steel was imprisoned there. Despite the terrible memories this awakens, Clark cannot turn back and must finish what he started. Thus we rejoin him now, on his knees in his soiled spandex, as a vast load of Lubanian spunk pumps into Superman’s willing and subservient mouth…
“Why did it not work? I checked everything a hundred times; Superman should be powerless. He ought to be weakened to the level of a normal human male or even just below. It should have worked! Damn it, it should have worked!”
Yet whilst Lex Luthor stared at the formula of his synthetic Kryptonite mist, cursing his luck, and wondering sourly how his latest scheme had failed to rob Superman of his powers, on the other side of Metropolis, the newly vulnerable Man of Steel fell backwards and collapsed against the wall of the filthy toilet cubicle, giving a slight whimper as something sharp pierced one of his buttocks. These tiny shocks… even pain… it was all new to him. Had Lex but known it, his insidious red mist had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
“I’ll fill your fucking mouth, you Superklutenscum! I’ll give you so much jizz you’ll wonder what hit you!”
The Lubanian had lived up to this promise, Superman gasped and swallowed, his mouth full to bursting. Rivulets of sticky cum dangled from his chin, as he gulped the rest of the man’s seed down. How quickly he had become accustomed to the taste of semen.
Laughter came from the other side of the gloryhole.
“Did Superklutenscum enjoy that?”
My client… have to please… my client.
Already finding himself blindly obedient to Lance Lewis’s instructions, the Man of Steel scrambled towards the hole, where he tried to speak through the gluey contents of his mouth.
“Yesh… mmf… yeff, sir… I enjoyed it, thank you. Oh… so much… so much s-s-spunk in my m-mouth…”
The Lubanian laughed again. “You know,” he said, “you actually do a good impression of Superman. You sound just like him. Even through that mouthful of spunk I just gave you.”
“Mmmph. Yesh. Yeff. So I’m told,” replied the Man of Steel, licking his lips.
And then, because he figured he might as well get the thrill of saying it, he added:
“It’s because I am Superman, sir. I really am. I’m kneeling here powerless in my spandex… me, Superman… I'm the Man of Steel and I just sucked your Lubanian dick. Like a Superklutenscum.”
“You sure did,” replied his client. “You know… ‘Superman’… I’ll tell you something before I go. Something real funny. You know what scared Superklutenscum - your so-called ‘Man of Steel’ the worst when he was in our glorious country?”
Superman felt his cheeks burn hot once more, even as the spunk cascaded down his chin.
“N-no, sir. What scared him most? Was it…” he gulped, and more semen made its way down his throat. “Was it… Colonel Koslov?”
He heard his voice, clogged with semen, shaking as he uttered the name of the man who had dominated him in ways he could never have dreamed of.
The Lubanian laughed.
“No… Superman feared Koslov and he was right to do so. But the thing that terrified him more than anything else was the Colonel’s pet falcon, Katchi.”
“Aah!”
Superman gave a tiny little whimper. Within his tights and briefs his cock began rapidly to deflate once more, turning flaccid. In terror, he watched his erection sinking.
“That… that c-c-can’t be true.”
“Oh, it’s true, my friend. Superman turned into a Supercoward at the sight of that bird.”
He felt himself shaking with fright as the memory returned. The falcon had been a tool of Koslov’s sadism. Somehow it had instilled itself in Superman’s psyche like nothing before or since. As he pictured the bird now, looming over him, he just managed to prevent another whimper escaping his lips.
“Yeah… that’s surprised you, hasn’t it, my cocksucking friend?” sneered the Lubanian. “Your Superman doesn’t mention that when he’s being interviewed, does he? But we didn’t forget in Lubania. Once, when I was on guard duty, I watched that falcon swoop down on Superklutenscum. And you know what he did, your great Man of Steel?”
“N-no,” whispered Superman, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Whuh-what… what did he do?”
The man laughed. “He ran away… and then he was so frightened without his powers… frightened of what the falcon could do to him… that your Superman climbed into a garbage can to hide!”
It was true. He had suppressed the memory for so long, but it came back to him now as if he were living it afresh.
Koslov had trained Katchi to torment the powerless Man of Steel. That falcon… he shuddered at the memory. Who knew the Man of Steel could be so scared by a mere bird? And yet those talons, that beak. Even its eyes were cruel, and Superman remembered the chill that overtook him every time he saw the creature bearing down on him. It was as if the falcon, too, was ridiculing him, looking upon him not as a hero, or a god, or even a man, but as something pitiable, laughable, mere prey beneath its claws.
During the height of his stay at the Lubanian prison camp, Koslov had even managed to train Katchi to pull off Superman’s briefs. This was one of the worst punishments he had endured there. He would be forced to run through the camp, chased by the falcon, for the entertainment of Koslov and his troops. Then, when he fell or could run no more, the falcon would swoop down upon the cowering, helpless Man of Steel, ripping at his briefs. Once, he even tried to remove them, to speed the process and get it over with, but Koslov had him whipped for this.
And so, Superman simply had to lie there in the filth, as the malevolent bird tore at him, bit by bit removing his briefs. In the process, its talons would slice painfully at his buttocks, his thighs, and more than once, his penis.
The first time it happened, he had made the grave error of begging, crying out:
“Not my briefs! C-Colonel… p-p-please! Not my b-b-briefs!”
This had angered Koslov, something Superman learned never to do thereafter.
“Briefs? Briefs? You do not wear ‘briefs’, Superklutenscum! You wear panties, don’t you? Don’t you?”
There still remained a spark of defiance in Superman at this point, and he had stuck out his chin and said:
“N-no… they… they are briefs. My uniform briefs. Please…”
Koslov’s fury was terrible. He ordered Katchi to swoop relentlessly at the whimpering Man of Steel. Just when he felt he could take no more, the bird was called off, and Koslov and his men surrounded Superman.
Lying in the filthy dirt, he looked up at them, trembling. He had never known it was possible to feel like this.
“So… what is it you wear, Superklutenscum? What is it that you are so keen for Katchi not to remove? Is it briefs? IS IT?”
“No!” yelled the terrified hero, pathetically. “Not briefs! I'm sorry! I"m sorry, sir! I… I wear… p-p-panties, sir! Yes… I wear panties, Colonel! P-please… don’t take my panties off… I”m b-b-begging you, sir… let me keep my panties!”
To try and prove his point, Superman scrambled clumsily on to his knees before the Colonel and wrung his hands.
“I’ve learned my lesson, sir, and I’m b-begging you… please don’t take my panties off, sir…. Please!”
Koslov smiled. “Good, Superklutenscum. Very good, you pathetic weakling. I’m impressed with you.”
“Oh!” gasped Superman. These few scant words of praise caused a rush of endorphines, such was the rarity of any softening towards him. “Thank you, Colonel, thank you! You won’t regret it, sir.”
“Won’t regret what, klutenscum?”
“Letting me keep my… uh… my p-panties, sir.”
“Ha! You fool… who said I was going to do that? Come, my pet - take his panties down, now!”
He had let out a shriek. The bird had duly carried out its task, as he writhed helpless beneath her talons. And this became a terrible ritual for Superman, one of many that he would endure during his time in Lubania.
He blinked, and the memory receded in the depths of his mind once more.
This night of ecstasy had now become a nightmare… his rollercoaster of pleasure and arousal had suddenly turned sour.
Superman looked down at his crotch where beneath his spandex tights and briefs, his limp cock had now retreated into their gooey contents. He could feel it shrinking at this man’s words, at the memory, the same way he was doing now, as if he could hide from them.
“A g-g-g-g-garbage can,” he echoed dumbly.
It was just as he said… it was like he was back there now, hiding in that filthy muck, as the falcon terrorised him.
“Yeah! He crawled inside - climbed into it like the Superwimp he is… and believe me, it was full of all kinds of disgusting stuff. Superman didn’t care, he was just terrified of that bird. In the end he begged us to put the lid on the garbage can! And it was me who got to do it - yes! I put the lid on your blubbering Superwimp, trapping him inside like the garbage he is! He hid in there until Katchi got bored and went to eat. Boy, did your hero smell when we finally tipped him out of that thing! We had to strip him naked and make him wash his tights!”
“Oh,” gasped the Man of Steel. “Superman… a Superwimp? A… a Superwimp… trapped… hiding in… in a filthy garbage can. Ooh! I… I… oh!”
“Yes! A Superwimp! How you westerners buy into his lies! Whenever we see him on TV in Lubania, it’s like the whole country stops and laughs. We toast the Superwimp and remember how we brought him down. That speech he made to the United Nations last year, that was broadcast around the world? I swear you could have gone deaf with the sound of laughter in Lubania; everyone ridicules Superman. Because we know what lies underneath all his confidence. For all his posturing and pompous speeches, we remember the man who hid in a trash can, and begged us not to take his panties down. We saw his true nature, saw how cowardly he is when you take away his abilities. Trust me - without his powers, Superman is nothing but a Superwimp in tights. A pathetic, grovelling little coward hiding in a garbage can full of rotting filth. I’ll never forget that. Nor will our people. That's his legacy in Lubania.”
Despite everything, Superman then found the courage to ask the question he had wanted an answer to for years.
“So… uh… why do you not say anything? You Lubanians captured Superman, weakened him, humiliated him, made him… do things… and did things to him. Unmanned him in the most appalling ways. You... you t-t-turned him into a... a S-superwimp. Hnngh. Whuh-why… why have you never exposed all this to the rest of the world? All they know is that Superman was a prisoner in Lubania for months.”
“Ha!” said the man. “That’s a typical westerner question. Here… I’m going to stick my dick through the gloryhole again. Clean off the last of my spunk with your tongue and then I’ll tell you, understand?”
“Oh! Yes, sir,” said Superman. He would have done anything to know the answer to this question. Under the circumstances, he actually found slurping a few more drops of cum from this man’s penis was quite comforting.
He completed his job with ease and kissed the end of the cock, before it was withdrawn.
“Good job, cocksucker,” said the voice from the other side. “Ha! Or should I call you ‘Supercocksucker’? Hahaha!”
Superman blushed, despite himself.
“Yes, sir. Supercocksucker is perfect, thank you. Please… won’t you tell me the answer to my question now. Tell me…” he paused, and then said: “Tell Supercocksucker, please. Mm.”
This was met with another low chuckle. “Sure, Supercocksucker. You want to know why we let Superman maintain his image? Why we don’t let on what really happened, just how low he was brought when he was ours?”
Superman brought his face close to the hole.
“Yes - yes, I do, sir. Superman - I mean, Superklutenscum… Supercocsucker… he must wonder why too.”
“I’ll tell you: we just don’t care.”
This answer hit Superman like an anvil.
“Yup. We don’t give a damn about Superman. He can fly around all he likes, pretending to be this and that, making out he’s the strongest man in the world. That he's never been beaten. And us, Lubania? People think we’re some backward little Eastern European nation. But our scientist, Dr Zirkan - he stripped away Superman’s powers like that-”
A snap of clicked fingers came from the hole.
“All of these supervillains and monsters, even aliens… even Lex Luthor himself. They dream about doing what we did. But it was us that actually did it - Lubania. Colonel Koslov. Dr Zirkan. Everyone in Lubania knows what Superman really is. Everyone knows how he behaved when he was our prisoner. How cowardly he was without his powers to protect him. And you know what, cocksucker - Superman knows it too. That’s the biggest joke. Everything we did to him. He will never forget that. He can preen and lecture the world as he did with that speech to the UN. But when he goes to bed at night, I bet some part of Superman remembers grovelling in the dirt in Lubania. Hiding in a trash can. And he will never, ever forget it. That’s why. Get it now?”
Superman had gone quite cold.
“Y-yes,” he said. “I… I do. I see that. And I… I think you’re right. I think Superman does remember all of those things… in his darkest and most p-private moments. I think he thinks of them often.
Another guttural laugh came from the hole, then: “And you know, any time the Colonel wanted to bring Superman to heel, he only had to say three words...”
“Whuh-what?”
Superman had started to feel whispers of arousal once more, but now this was replaced by abject terror.
The man chuckled again. “Why you say ‘whuh-what, cocksucker?’ You wanna know what were the words?”
“No! N-no!” he babbled. “I didn’t mean that, I-”
“I’ll tell you, cocksucker.”
Superman wanted to run, but found himself paralysed with fright.
Don’t say it, he thought, but couldn’t find the will to speak. Don’t say it!
“All my colonel had to say was…”
Superman tensed, plunging a fist to his mouth to stop himself from screaming.
“Katchi! Punish Superman!”
A cold and clammy horror engulfed him, one that he had not known for years, ever since escaping Lubania. And as Superman gazed down at his crotch, trembling with unbridled terror, he saw the fabric now change shade again, at the torrent of urine now wetting it. His bladder was emptying at the mention of these words. He was pissing himself.
His jaw fell open. Superman, the erstwhile Man of Steel was now utterly defiled.
“And you know what happened to Superklutenscum, when Koslov said these words? Huh? Do ya?”
“Did I… did I… I mean, did he… did he wet himself?” whispered Superman, as his cock gushed away. Already he was sitting in a puddle of his own making. “When Koslov said those words… I bet… I bet Superman… p-p-pissed his tights and briefs with f-fright.”
“Yes! You guessed right! Every time. Good answer. Except it’s not his briefs, is it, Superklutenscum…? Huh? Or have you not been listening to me?”
Superman swallowed miserably watching the steaming hot flow leave his uniform.
“N-no. N-no, sir. I should have said… Superman pissed his tights and… and his panties. I mean… that is to say, I… I pissed my tights and panties. Oh! And you’ve made me do it again now! Those words… scared me so… oh! I’ve wet my panties, sir!”
“Haha! I hope not,” cried the Lubanian, “I really hope you're joking, otherwise you really will stink, little klutenscum. Anyway, see you around - thanks for a good job, my cocksucking friend. Perhaps I’ll let you suck it again some time. Give my regards to your Superman… ha! Hands on his hips, pretending not to remember what he made him into. What a joke... A Superwimp, right? Don't forget that.”
"Yes," said Superman, dumbly. "A S-s-s-superwimp. I won't forget. Oh."
The last drops of his Kryptonian urine exited the tip of his penis, and all that remained in his crotch was a wet mess.
"A Superwimp," he said softly again. "Oh... oh..."
Even without his super-hearing, he heard the man’s footsteps retreating, then there was silence.
Superman sat there stunned. He felt his tights and briefs, now wet with the contents of his own bladder, along with the precum of his frustrated erection, and the spattered semen of the several men he had serviced so far. He reached down and pulled at the blue material that bound his inner thigh. It snapped back, as he released it, drops of piss flying from it.
“Lubania,” he murmured. “I could never have known. Oh! They… they did things to me… all those things… and I knelt at Koslov’s feet and begged.”
He’d thought he had buried these demons long ago, but tonight had proved otherwise. He had never known humiliation like this - never.
“I pissed myself,” he said, his voice still unsteady. “Even after all this time, the memory of Koslov’s falcon was enough… to make me wet my tights and briefs."
He forced himself up and stared at his reflection once more.
“Oh great Rao. No. Oh no… no! I’ve wet my tights and panties. I, Superman… have wet my tights and panties. Oh boy. How am I ever going to get out of this?”
His eyes turned once more to where his trousers lay in the filth. There was no going back now. Every single piece of his clothing, be it Clark Kent’s or Superman’s was now totally defiled.
“Clark? You’ve got another client coming. You okay in there?”
Lance Lewis. Superman stared at the door, wishing he could activate his x-ray vision. He tried in vain, but there was nothing. His eyes returned to the tops of his thighs and the crotch of his briefs, the spandex now darkened from where he had soiled himself helplessly.
He moved halfheartedly towards his trousers with the intention of pulling them on, and then stopped. Once more, there was no time to attempt to dress himself. Lewis was keeping the men coming. Coming for him - Clark Kent… Superman… the Man of Steel… now turned professional whore. A Superwhore. He was a Superwhore now, and he was trapped.
And even as he thought this, a famliar tingle began at his crotch. And Superman looked down to see stirrings in his saturated tights and briefs.
“Yes sir, Mr Lewis,” he called out meekly. “Everything is okay, sir. I’m ready for my next client, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Glad to hear it, Clark. Be sure to do a good job for me now, won’t you?”
Once more, Superman’s eyes flicked to the mirror, and he gazed at his eyes as he spoke.
“Yes, sir, Mr Lewis. I’ll do a good job. A super job. I’ll suck cock real good for you, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you for this opportunity.”
“Glad to hear it, dickbreath.”
Lewis’s footsteps grew fainter and fainter.
And without even bothering to whisper, Superman ran one finger along his stiffening shaft, as he said:
“I’m the Last Son of Krypton. The Man of Tomorrow. The Man of Steel. And yet here and now I’ve filled my tights and briefs with spunk and urine. I’ve pissed myself. Oh great Rao… and yet I’m getting hard again. I couldn’t be more humiliated… and yet a part of me…”
He gripped his cock as it rose to a full erection once more, feeling it tense and ramrod stiff through his wet and sticky spandex.
“…hnngh… THIS part of me… still wants… more! Mmmmm…”
So saying, he wiped his dick on his hands. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he proceeded to greedily ingest the contents of each digit.
“Come on then,” he said, “whose cock is waiting for me now? I’m Superklutenscum… and my memories are alive… all those complicated, terrible memories I've kept locked away for years... and now I’m a prisoner once more, just like I was in Lubania. Lewis called me 'dickbreath'... and I guess I must smell of dick by now. It's true. So let them stuff me full of cock… bring it on!”
He grinned at himself in the mirror.
“If I’m a prisoner then I may as well enjoy it.”
For a split second, he fancied he could see the shocked faces of Jor-El and the Elders of Krypton once more, luminous as they scowled at him.
“No,” he growled. “Not now. Get out! Go away! Go away!”
The vision faded, and Superman grinned.
“Well. My powers are gone. I’ve lost everything. I’m not a Man of Steel any more, am I? To hell with it.”
With the index finger of his right hand, he traced the S-shield on his chest, making a path through the part-dried layers of spunk that coated it. Then he gripped his erection and gasped.
“I’m Superman,” he panted, “not Superman the Man of Steel. They gave me that name. I’ll give myself another now: I’m the Man of Cock! Ha!”
He chuckled with glee and squeezed his shaft excitedly.
“Yes! I’m the Man of Cock! The Man of Spunk! The Prisoner of Lubania, who grovelled and begged before Colonel Koslov. The Superwimp. Uhhhh! Yeah. I'm a Superwimp now. I’m all of those things, and I own them now. I’m not afraid any more. I’m not going to wet myself again. I’ve already filled my tights and briefs with precum and urine… with piss - ha! yes, with piss... why be pious, Superwimp? - and I don’t care. The Lubanians are right - they saw the real me.”
He found himself in a frenzy now, and on a whim, he slipped his hand inside his filthy red briefs. The sensations were off the scale; and Superman laughed again.
“And you know what?” he said. “My briefs… my uniform briefs… legacy of the Elders of Krypton, all those old men looking down on me, judging me… legacy of the House of El… well, to hell with it. In fact..."
He stopped suppressing the image and gave it full reign: the Elders of Krypton appeared before him, as he imagined their scorn. Each of them looked appalled at his disgraceful state, and he gave a sly smile.
"Yes! Look at me," he cried. "Take a good look at the Last Son of Krypton! I was sent here, sentenced to be a god, the most powerful being on the planet. To live the life of a monk. Well, not any more! My powers are gone! Now I can live a full life, a life of lust! I can be a... a Superwimp! Yes! A Man of Cock!"
He gestured gleefully to his briefs.
"And see these? My uniform briefs? A symbol of my noble Kryptonian heritage. Well, the briefs are gone - they’re my panties now! Oh yeah! That's right: I've been turned into a helpless Superwimp and my briefs.... hah... uhhhhh... have been t-t-turned into my panties! I wear panties. Why should I spend my every waking hour saving the planet? I couldn't if I wanted to now, I'm powerless - screw your mission, Elders! I'm a wimp in tight and panties! I'm pathetic! Kal-El of Krypton is pathetic, a pathetic wimp in panties... and I love it! I'm going to enjoy myself, and there's not a damned thing anyone can do to stop me! I'm already covered in spunk and urine... I mean, piss... yes! And I'm going to get my precious uniform even more dirty! Hnnnnngh!”
Superman gasped as he said this, and the faces he had imagined disappeared, though their looks of disgust remained in his psyche. It was so unthinkable, such a betrayal of all he stood for. And that turned him on even more.
“Oh! Oh! Yes! My panties! It’s done - I’ve renamed them, too! My briefs are now my panties. I’m Superman… And I wear tights and panties… and I’m the Man of Cock… the Man of hot, stiff, cocks! So give me some more and let me please my customers. Let me please Lance Lewis. My employer. I'm a Superwhore. So come on… let's get me back down on my knees, where I belong!”
And then, the man who less than an hour ago had been the mightiest being on the planet, got down on his knees in a puddle of his own piss, and sat patiently, waiting for another cock to suck.
“Lex,” said Mercy, frowning at the screen of her tablet, “this might be nothing, but… the nanobots have got a faint trace coming up, matching his biometric signature.”
Luthor looked up, his eyes wild.
“Superman? Superman’s biometric signature?”
“Yeah. It’s faint and irregular… but it’s coming from downtown Metropolis… somewhere… somewhere really unpleasant, near 69th. I'm guessing the reason we couldn't get a signal before is because Superman hadn't ingested enough of the mist. He must have inhaled a ton of the stuff now. It's rewriting his biology as we speak, just as you intended. And from what I'm seeing...”
She looked up at him and smirked. "I don't think he has his powers any more."
Luthor was by her side in an instant.
"Are you sure? Mercy, are you sure, goddamnit?"
"Yes."
Mercy's eyes were filled with a cold glee.
"Look at this: I've checked and double-checked. The genetic code that indicates Superman's abilities is no longer present. It's gone. Removed. We've done it. You've done it, Lex! You've stripped Superman of his abilities, taken it all from him. In fact, not only does he no longer have his powers, but he should be weaker than you or I. As of this moment, the Man of Steel is just a helpless man in tights."
What a twist for Superman! How will this rebranding affect the Man of Cock going forwards? Will Lex discover what his old foe has become? Will the dreadful secrets of Superman’s sojourn in Lubania ever become public? And just how much more punishment can Superman's tights and briefs - whoops, sorry! - can Superman's tights and panties, stand?!
Well, to find out, keep reading in the next inglorious instalment of Superman: Glory Night!
If you've enjoyed then please leave a comment and hit Like. In the meantime, Happy #SupersubmissiveSaturday!
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