The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 2)
Last week...
Superman was reliving the nightmare of his first encounter with Kryptonite. Yet, strangely, he found himself aroused by the crushing humiliation. Little did he know this masochistic fantasy would become a prelude to the most agonizing punishment he'd ever endure...
Let's delve deeper into the story this week...
Chapter 2: Cruel Punishment
''Ahhhhh!!''
A devastating scream shattered the silence in the Fotress of Solitude. Superman's eyes shot open, his body jerking upright in a desperate, uncontrollable motion as a guttural scream tore from his throat, sharp and frantic.
He eyes quickly scanned the room, still wild and unfocused. Sweat poured down his face and soaked through his clothes, his skin slick with the residue of his panic, as if he feared the nightmare might be waiting for him to fall back into its grip. Or he secretly wished it was happening all over again? The most shocking truth unfolded in front of his face as he looked down on his wetted crotch.
An erection! His penis pushed out below his belt; his cock stood stiff and pulsing. A dark spot could be seen on his red underpants. It's his precum. There was now so much white bubbling across his crotch that it was as if someone rubbed a soap on it over and over. And it made him feel so, so horny and so foolish.
''No! Go down,'' he quickly released something and whispered in desperation, ''go down! Superman can't be like this!''
''Kal-El!'' suddenly, a deep and solemn voice tore through the chamber, reverberating off the crystal walls.
''No!'' Superman almost cried out but uttered an almost inaudible shout, knowing it was too late.
In an instant, the dimly lit room flickered to life, and the familiar, towering form of Jor-El's face emerged in hologram. His expression, typically calm and wise, now carried the weight of deep disappointment and abomination. His eyes focused on Superman, still trembling and lying flat. The sight of his son—weak, horny, and broken—was more than Jor-El could bear.
For a moment, Jor-El said nothing, his holographic form simply observing, staring at the white bubbling stain and the erection that betrayed Superman's hidden secret. The air around them grew colder, the tension thick with the weight of unspoken words. Superman was shaking, his arms trembling uncontrollably as he tried to steady himself, to push himself up. But he was either too weak or too scared to make any move, even his erratic gasps became shallower. It was so quiet at that point, as if the only sound Superman can hear was the burst of presume bubbles on his briefs.
Then, with a quick, deliberate motion, Jor-El activated the robotic arms as his eyes closed. The cold metallic tentacles reached up under the crystal bed with precision and purpose. Leaving no time to react, they locked onto Superman, grabbing his arms and legs firmly, lifting him from the bed with mechanical strength. Superman heart sunk in the bottom as he clenched his fists but didn't fight back. Of course, he couldn't fight back. He stood no chance of winning over the most advanced technology from his hometown, from the hands of his father.
The robotic then forced his body into an X-shaped position in mid-air. Superman's body hung limply; his muscles seemed like too drained to resist.
''Father...'' Superman's voice cracked, weak and desperate. ''Please... I... I won't be like this anymore. Please... mercy.'' His voice was full of remorse, the words tumbling out in a haze of anguish.
But Jor-El's face remained unmoving, his disappointment heavy in the air. Without a word, he initiated the sequence, sending a surge of electricity through the robotic arms. The current coursed through Superman's body, lighting up his form as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, the pain overwhelming, but he couldn't escape.
''You have failed,'' Jor-El's voice echoed, cold and unwavering. ''Your weakness tarnishes the legacy of Krypton.'' The words cut deep, more painful than the electricity coursing through his body.
Superman's body shook violently, but he held his tongue, his breath shallow as the energy coursed through him.
''Father...'' Superman tried to plead, but before he could continue, a surge of much more powerful electricity shot through his body, cutting off his words. The pain was way beyond overwhelming, so intense that it nearly paralyzed his mind. It was as if every nerve in his body was on fire, and his ability to think, let alone speak, was ripped from him. He couldn't even manage to utter a complete sentence, let alone call out to his father by name. The agony was all-consuming.
Another surge of electricity shot through his limbs, much stronger than the last time. White foam began to spill from Superman's mouth as his body trembled uncontrollably. His lips quivered, but no coherent words escaped.
It was getting worse and worse. Superman started to make unintelligible sounds; his once strong voice reduced to nothing more than desperate, nonsensical muttering. The electricity coursed through him relentlessly with no sigh of stopping, making his muscles seize and stiffen, locking him in a cruel state of paralysis. Soon, his body became rigid, his arms and legs twisted, forced into unnatural positions by the electric current.
Now, his eyes, wide with terror and pain, rolled upward, unable to focus. His pupils dilated, and his once proud, heroic face was twisted with agony as tears slipped down his cheeks, leaving streaks on his skin. The proud symbol of strength, now reduced to a vulnerable, broken shell, trembled under the harsh punishment of his father's relentless force. Despite his superhuman resilience, the torment was too much, and Superman could do nothing but endure the excruciating surge of power tearing through him.
At that moment, Superman's mind was a chaotic storm of images and sensations. Lex Luthor's face, kryptonite necklace, the filthy pool, the sadistic dungeon, Jor-el. The images of Lex Luthor and the fragments of pain, fear, and sexual climax, flashed before his eyes, each one overlapping the next in a swirl of howling. His head throbbed as the memories blurred together, distorting and blending until they formed a formless, slimy, glowing mass in his mind.
Without warning, the mass exploded within him, an overwhelming sensation of pain and destruction flooding his entire being.
In an instant, everything stopped. The excruciating punishment ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Superman slowly came around, feeling an uncanny warmth spreading across his crotch and onto his legs.
''Father...please…I…please.'' Superman groaned like a beat-up stray dog, with his voice dripping with fear and shame. He was terrified beyond comprehension. He has lost the control of his bladder. The white foams on his briefs were now replaced by urine spurting uncontrollably, washing away any trace of precum.
As the robotic arms finally released their grip, Superman crumpled to the floor, collapsing onto all fours in a shallow puddle of yellowish liquid seeping from his defeated body. The filthy water soaked into his suit, darkening the blue fabric at his knees. His chest rose and fell in strained, labored breaths as he tried to piece himself back together. The once-pristine red briefs, now saturated with the foul mix, clung tightly to his battered frame, dripping steadily like silent tears.
Above him, the hologram of Jor-El loomed, his disapproving gaze cutting deeper than any wound. It was a wordless condemnation, a brutal reminder of everything Superman had failed to uphold, and the greatness he had let slip away.
Superman's head hung low, his hands trembling as they braced against the icy floor.
''Look at you, Kal-El. The last hope of Krypton. And yet here you kneel, filthy, battered, and groveling. Is this what the great House of El has been reduced to? A weakling covered in his own urine?'' Jor-El's voice thundered through the Fortress, each word sharper than Kryptonian steel.
Kal-El's lips moved silently, but no words came out. He dared not look up.
''Speak up, Kal-El! Or has your shame choked the voice from your throat? Pathetic. ''
Superman's voice cracked as he finally managed to whisper, ''Father, I—''
''Do not call me that,'' Jor-El interrupted, his tone dripping with contempt. ''You are no son of mine. No true son of Krypton would allow himself to be such a pervert. You crawl here in the Fortress, sullying this sacred place with your pitiful presence. Look at your red briefs, Kal-El. Look at them!''
Superman hesitated but complied, sitting up slowly with his head bowed in shame. His body trembled as his gaze fell to his soiled red briefs, the fabric clinging to him in damp humiliation. What was once the proud bulge of his manhood now lay defeated, softened and curled against his body, as if it tried to hide itself in the cradle of his scrotum. A pitiful shadow of strength reduced to nothing. The wet fabric clung mercilessly, sticky, and smelly, stripping away any last vestige of dignity he might have held onto. His eyes brimmed with tears, a painful mix of shame and despair, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to let them fall.
Jor-El's hologram sneered. ''Those are not the symbol of a hero. Those are the symbol of a coward. A failure. A useless creature. You claim to fight for justice, yet you can't even fight to keep your dignity, or even control your bladder! Let me tell you what it truly represents now: Humiliation. Weakness. Shame. You don't deserve to wear it.''
The words cut deeper than any wound ever had. Superman's body shuddered, falling again on all fours. ''I'll fix this,'' he begged. ''I'll do anything.''
''Anything?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with sarcasm. ''How noble of you. Tell me, Kal-El, how do you plan to fix the fact that you are an embarrassment to Krypton? How do you plan to fix the fact that you have been reduced to a pervert, who squandered every gift we gave you? That you've allowed yourself to become a laughingstock, a broken shell of a sex addict?''
Superman clutched his chest, his fingers digging into the icy floor. ''I'll never do that again,'' he said, his voice breaking. ''It was a dream Father. A dream I cannot control! I would never let myself be consumed by my own desires if I were awake. Father you have to believe me!''
''A dream?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with venom, each word cutting deeper than the last. ''Don't you dare speak of that dream! I've seen it all!''
Tears brimmed in Superman's eyes, threatening to spill. ''No…'' he whispered, his voice barely audible. ''That can't be true…''
''Oh, but it is,'' Jor-El sneered. ''That dream—was it a glimpse into your true desires? Your downfall, your defeat, your humiliation, your stupidity—is that what thrills you? Is that the source of your twisted pleasure? How dare you feel aroused when you are nothing but a fool, a plaything at the hands of your enemy?! You've grown addicted to this twisted sickness. And that, my son, is the gravest danger to a hero. So, congratulations—you've managed to turn yourself into a symbol of mockery and disgrace.''
Superman's head dropped lower, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His body shuddered with silent sobs as his father's relentless words continued.
''You crawl before me like a whipped dog, covered in filth and begging for scraps of forgiveness. And for what? What do you think forgiveness will achieve? Do you think a few pitiful words from me will erase your disgrace? Will they clean the dirt from your suit, the stench of failure from your skin? You reek of incompetence, Kal-El. Even the Fortress itself feels sullied by your presence.''
''Father, I'm sorry,'' Superman choked, his voice breaking as he finally lifted his tear-streaked face. ''I'll do anything to prove myself.'' Superman collapsed fully to the floor, his forehead pressing against the cold crystal as if trying to merge with it and disappear. His sobs echoed faintly in the cavernous space, but Jor-El was unmoved.
''Beg all you want, Kal-El. Cry, if it soothes your fragile ego,'' Jor-El said, his voice sharp and unrelenting. ''But understand this—your tears are meaningless to me. Mercy is something you do not deserve. A hero must stand above any challenges, even to tame your dream!''
Superman's thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning out of control. What would his father think of him now, after witnessing his deepest, most private secrets? The things he sometimes didn't even understand about himself. Was he truly addicted to being dominated, to feeling defeated, humiliated? Or was this just a natural reaction, something inherent in every human — even though, as an alien, he had lived among them for decades? Had he unknowingly adopted their thoughts, their flaws? Was this kind of vulnerability something everyone dealt with, even if they didn't recognize it?
He had never questioned it before, never allowed himself the space to think about it. But now, in the midst of this emotional turmoil, the uncertainty gripped him. What if he was the only one that had this kind of twisted fetish, only him, Superman? No, it mustn't be! It can't be!
But, no matter how this twisted desire conjured in his mind, could he overcome it? Could he rise above this weakness and reclaim his true self? Could he be a hero again?
Jor-El paused, his cold, unyielding gaze drilling into Superman. The weight of his judgment was suffocating, pressing down on the fallen hero like an unbearable burden. Jor-El signed, ''For the sake of our people, however, I will grant you another chance. But first, you must pass a test.''
''What test, Father?'' Superman's head shot up, his voice trembling with hope, though he tried to mask it. It was as though he were clutching at straws, dangling over an abyss. ''Thank you, Father! I'll take it—I'll succeed, no matter the cost. Just give me the test!''
From the icy floor, a crystal pillar began to rise to as high as Superman waist, its smooth surface refracting light in a kaleidoscope of colors. Atop it rested a small red rubber ring, no larger than Superman's wrist. The sight of it left him puzzled, though a deep sense of foreboding began to stir within him.
''Stand up, Kal-El,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice firm and unwavering. Superman rose shakily from the floor, his body still trembling from the overwhelming shame that weighed on him.
''Now, take off your briefs,'' Jor-El ordered without hesitation, his tone sharp and cutting.
The command hit Superman like a bolt of lightning, his spine stiffening as he froze in place. His mind raced with disbelief and humiliation.
''Is there a problem?'' Jor-El's voice carried an edge of impatience.
''N-no, no problem, Father,'' Superman stammered, his voice barely audible as he lowered his gaze. With trembling hands, he reached for his belt, unfastening it slowly. The red briefs slid down his legs and pooled around his ankles, exposing him completely.
Without the support of fabric, his once-proud form seemed diminished. His manhood, peeking out of a rounded hole in his blue-clad crotch, hung low, lifeless and defeated, heavily limp, dangling openly. The last drops of urine still clinging to it. The semi-turgid glans hid within layers of uncut foreskin like a deserter huddled in a trench, weeping silently, wishing that it could disappear into void. His testicles sagged and the veins on his ballsack wrinkled as if utterly drained of vitality, just a pitiful reflection of his shattered pride.
The exposure stung worse than any physical pain he had endured. He felt like he could melt into slime on the spot.
Never had he felt so vulnerable, so utterly debased, displaying of his shattered ego. His father, the holographic projection of Krypton's greatest mind, had surely seen him unclothed before—after grueling battles, in the privacy of the Fortress of Solitude, as he cleaned and recovered. But never like this. Never in such a scenario where he stood as a soiled, defeated figure, his shame laid bare, like a boy waiting for punishment for wetting his own bed. The humiliation was beyond anything Superman could have imagined, and he dared not look up to meet his father's eyes. Every second stretched into an eternity, the weight of Jor-El's silence crushing him even further.
''Now, place the ring at the base of your genitals,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, as though he were instructing Kal-El on some mundane tasks. Yet for Superman, it was anything but trivial. The command was so bizarre, so utterly alien, that it momentarily stunned him. ''My…genitals?'' But the thought of disobedience didn't even cross his mind.
''Y…yes, Father,'' Superman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. With trembling hands, he reached out to take the rubber ring from the pillar. For a moment, he turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. It felt soft and elastic, like rubber, yet there was a faint hardness beneath the surface, almost as if something was embedded within it.
He squeezed it lightly, its strange texture both pliable and resilient. The simplicity of the object belied the weight of the act he was about to perform. ''A ring for…my…my penis?'' But he couldn't linger on the thought. His father's piercing gaze reminded him of the stakes, the expectations he was meant to fulfill.
Taking a deep breath, Superman stretched the rubber ring and carefully slid it down, positioning it at the root of his manhood. It wasn't too tight or too loose, fitting snugly at the base, resting against his balls. The sensation was strange, slightly uncomfortable, but tolerable—at least for a moment. Before he could even think to adjust it, the ring suddenly constricted without warning, tightening mercilessly around the soft tissue.
A jolt of horror coursed through Superman as he felt the unyielding grip around his shaft, the pressure growing unbearable.
Panic set in, the terrifying thought racing through his mind: was this thing going to sever him, leaving him a eunuch of Krypton? Frantically, he clawed at the ring, desperate to remove it, but the more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed. His shaft flushed an alarming purple-red, the pain intensifying with every second.
''Help me, Father! Please, help!'' Superman cried out, his voice trembling with a weary groan of utter despair, his hands desperately grappling at the unyielding edge of the ring.
''Stop, Kal-El!'' Jor-El's voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding.
''I don't want to be a eunuch! Father, I'm still a virgin!! Please!!! I beg you!'' Superman's words spilled out in a frantic rush, great panic evident in every syllable. However, the vice-like grip around his penis didn't seem to cease, with more prominent veins popping up on his super dong. Now, he was at the verge of passing out, or possibly worse.
''I SAID STOP!'' Jor-El's voice thundered like a clap of judgment, reverberating through the chamber. The sheer force of it struck Superman to his core, and without even thinking, he released his grip on the ring.
The moment his hands let go, the ring loosened immediately, rebounding to a form that wasn't crushing but still uncomfortably snug. It began to lose further, and eventually wrapped around the super shaft like a second skin, hugging it while restraining it.
Jor-El's voice remained steady, cold, and devoid of any empathy. ''I am not here to harm you, my son. This is a test—a test of your will, your discipline, and your ability to control yourself. Your desires, Kal-El, are your greatest enemy.''
Superman stood there, his chest heaving as sweat poured down his body, his trembling hands cupping his disciplined manhood. The fear of emasculation several seconds ago still coursing through him left him too stunned to speak.
''You see,'' Jor-El continued, his tone as detached as ever, ''this device is designed to teach you restraint. It will shrink and make you suffer if it detects your hands engaging in any inappropriate activity with your manhood. And if there is any sign of pre-ejaculation or ejaculation—both of which are strictly forbidden—it will activate its core, exposing you to Kryptonite radiation. You will experience the ultimate pain you could ever imagined. Consider it a punishment for succumbing to your animal instincts.''
Superman stared down at his body, his trembling hands hovering uncertainly over the ring. His mind was a haze of disbelief, his eyes fixed and unblinking as the weight of Jor-El's words pressed down on him like a mountain. ''No more masturbation? I will never feel the climax again?'' The stark horror of it struck Kal to the pit of his soul. ''Is it the price I have to pay for being a hero?''
''Now, put your briefs back on and clean yourself,'' Jor-El ordered, his tone cold and devoid of sympathy.
Superman swallowed hard and nodded silently. With a deliberate motion, he tucked his restrained manhood into his red briefs, pulling them snug before buckling his yellow belt. He exhaled slowly, using his super breath to dry the soiled remnants of his once-pristine suit.
Jor-El's hologram sighed audibly, ''I will grant you another chance—not because you've earned it, but because Krypton cannot afford the disgrace of another failure. However, mark my words, Kal-El: this is your last reprieve. Be the hero who deserves to wear that symbol on your chest.''
''Th…thank you, Father. I swear, I'll never fail you again,'' Superman stammered, his voice a mixture of fear and determination.
''No touching…ever…but it will worth it?'' He thought.
''Don't thank me, Kal-El,'' Jor-El replied coldly. ''Save your gratitude for the day you truly honor the House of El. If that day ever comes.''
With those final words, the hologram flickered, then vanished, leaving Superman alone in the vast, empty silence of the Fortress of Solitude.
Superman took an deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, and for the first time since his father's hologram had appeared, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He adjusted his briefs one final time, the weight of the ring still present, but no longer as painful. Now it was just a reminder — a symbol of his failure, but also of the expectations placed upon him. The burden was heavy, but it was his to bear.
''No more touching…yes. Being a hero means a lot… but saving the world means more than my selfish desire of course. You are the last son of Krypton. We don't accept failure, Kal-El.'' He tried to contemplate the consequence of the ring he just had on, but all worries had been washed away by the motto in his mind: nobody is perfect. Almost nobody, but Superman.
He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath, letting the quiet envelop him. ''Don't let your father down, Kal-El,'' he whispered to himself, his voice steady, though soft. ''You're the hero people believe in. The one who can rise above any challenge. The symbol of truth, justice… and a better tomorrow.''
His words echoed in his mind, igniting something deep inside of him — a spark of determination and heroism. The crushing weight of shame and self-doubt began to melt away, replaced by the clarity of purpose. He remembered who he was, what he stood for. He wasn't just Kal-El. He wasn't just Clark Kent. He was Superman, and the world was counting on him.
With renewed focus, Superman turned away from the towering fortress that had witnessed his lowest moments, stepping into the vast, cold expanse of the icy tundra. The chill of the air cut sharply against his skin, but it was a welcome sensation, clearing the fog from his mind. Each gust of wind seemed to carry with it the remnants of his doubts, scattering them into the frozen wilderness behind him.
He stood tall, his hands firmly planted on his hips, looking out over the desolate landscape. The silence was deafening, yet in it, he found his resolve. ''Enough,'' he muttered, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the weight of everything he had just endured. ''No more distractions. No more self-doubt. No more weakness. It's time to be the hero I was meant to be.''
A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a rare moment of confidence beginning to take root. He bent his knees, gathering his strength. The world ahead awaited him, full of challenges, yes, but also of possibility.
With a forceful push, Superman launched himself into the air, soaring upward, leaving behind the cold wasteland below. The wind howled around him, his cape trailing behind like a symbol of hope itself.
''Looks like a job for Superman,'' he said with quiet conviction, his voice barely above a whisper, but full of determination. As he shot toward Metropolis, the city's gleaming skyline calling him forward, Superman felt, for the first time in a long while, truly like the hero he was born to be.
... How would Superman grapple with his sexual desire while facing such a cruel punishment in his iconic red briefs?
Poor Superman. He had no idea the ring would amplify his suffering beyond anything he could comprehend...
Stay tuned for Chapter 3: Reflection of Shame, arriving this time next week...
(I'm also publishing this story on http://www.telemachus12.com at the same time. Please check it up and explore more. The site is amazing!)
