Disclaimer: I do not own Superman or related characters and am not making a profit from this story. The characters are owned by DC Comics.
Superman cruised high above the Atlantic Ocean in a confused state of mind. A great opportunity had presented itself, yet with it there were question marks. Since the threat of kryptonite had forever been removed he had a confidence to match his enormous power. Interpol and other international security organisations had done their job well in helping him to locate all deposits of the deadly green and red mineral on planet Earth. He had watched almost in ecstasy as the almost 500kg of kryptonite had been blasted skyward atop a Russian rocket on a one-way trip to annihilation in the sun. With the kryptonite removed, he had redoubled his efforts to rid the world forever of the corrupt criminal organisation of his hated adversary, Lex Luthor, the most evil man on Earth, and everywhere the Luthor empire was crumbling.
But now there was a new development. Stung by the attacks, Luthor had that day made contact with Superman via a secure radio frequency...
"Superman you alien asshole, you have the upper hand and I admit that my final and total defeat is only a matter of time. But be warned, in whatever time is left to me as the world's pre-eminent master criminal, I will use all of my resources to go down fighting. I cannot win but I will go out in such devastating fashion that the world will tremble, and your victory will come at the cost of thousands of lives and overwhelming destruction of property."
"However, I give you an alternative. You allow me one final little victory at no cost to people or property, after which I will go quietly into retirement and give you all of the information you need to quickly and easily undo my entire empire. Names, locations, bank account numbers, everything. Your victory will come even more quickly that you can have ever imagined, and untold lives and property will have been saved. What do you say?"
Superman was puzzled by the offer. Certainly he feared what the insane rage of
Luthor might do as he faced his Waterloo, and the offer to surrender quietly so much valuable information was irresistible, but what was the "one final victory" to which Luthor referred?
"What is it you want, Luthor? I won't let you harm any human being or what is theirs, in any way."
"It's so simple Superman. You come to my secret headquarters - I will give you the coordinates - every evening for seven nights. You be my slave, subject to my every whim on these visits. And at the end of the seven nights I give you all that you want and surrender to you. Without kryptonite I cannot harm you, and you will not be asked to act against any human being or participate in any destructive act. Furthermore, over these seven nights, I will put a hold on all of the activities of my organisation."
"It sounds sick Luthor. Totally typical of you."
"Perhaps, but at least as I go into retirement I will be comforted by the knowledge that for one week of my life I had achieved my greatest conquest, Superman as my slave, obedient to my will. My offer stands until midnight. If you haven't accepted by then, I unleash the whirlwind and we end in a storm of destruction."
The offer was of course too good to turn down. To save so many lives, so much property, and put an end to the Luthor organisation, was a dream come true. And without kryptonite, what could Luthor do to harm him? He would suffer at most some humiliation, even degradation, for a brief time, but it was surely worth it for what was on offer. Yet he couldn't help wondering if their was some unexpected twist to this that he has not foreseen. A mind as brilliant and devious as Luthor's could come up with anything...
Four night's later, Superman glided into the steep canyon side of a massive open cut galena mine. The lead in the mineral deposits distorted his x-ray vision and he could not penetrate into the surface of the mine walls, artificial cliffs which hung ominously over the deep wound in the Earth which was the mine. Just as Luthor had told him, there was the slight overhang which cleverly concealed a small rough balcony and the wide entry into the fortress within; Luthor's hitherto secret headquarters.
He silently glided onto the balcony then walked into the room beyond, a palatial hall lined with marble and lit with elegant electric chandeliers. At the far ends of the hall were massive oak doors, which his vision easily penetrated, and beyond these corridors led to many rooms. But the walls, floors and ceiling, built as they were against lead-laden ore deposits, were impenetrable to his gaze.
Luthor stood at the centre of the room alongside a long, richly dressed dining table, set to accommodate 24 guests. Along the far side of the hall, standing against the wall with their hand clasped in front of them, were five huge, heavily muscled men clad in wrestler briefs and boots. No-one else was present.
"Ah Superman, you arrogant twat, you came as promised. Your triumph is at hand, I concede that, bit this next week belongs to me, we agree?"
"Agreed Luthor. Let me just clarify the terms one last time..."
"Just as I promised Superman. You do my bidding as my slave over these next seven nights, here in my headquarters, and on the final night I will give you this..." and he held up a hollow silver cylinder, about 30 centimetres long and 8 centimetres round, with a bulbous screwtop end... " within which will be a list of all the names, locations and accounts I promised. After that you fly me to Washington to surrender me to the FBI, and the contract is complete. Agreed?"
"Agreed Luthor. I'm here as promised. Your slave for the next four hours. What do you want?"
"Tonight I have planned a banquet for friends and associates. You will wait on us, serve us our food and drink with the appropriate deference and politeness of a trained waiter. And you will finish the evening by doing the washing up. Understand?"
"That's 'Yes Sir, Mr. Luthor'".
Superman quietly bit his lip and paused for a brief second.
"Yes Sir, Mr. Luthor."
"Good boy. Now if you go through that door you will find the kitchen. Gustav and his staff will direct your work. Go boy."
Superman walked towards the door confident in his safety but still tentatively wondering how the night would pan out. Through the closed door he could see the chef and sous-chef at work in the kitchen. He walked in and waited.
"Ah, the staff!" said Gustav in a thick Bavarian accent. "You uniform is there on the chair. Get into it then uncork the wine. It's a good year. It deserves to breathe."
Superman looked at the chair and chuckled to himself at what lay on it. An over-sized french maid's outfit: skimpy black dress, white apron with a heart-shaped bodice, fishnet tights, white cap, and black stiletoes in a size no french maid ever wore. So this was Luthor's game. Humiliation. But the tall Kryptonian only smiled as he shed his famous skintight costume and began to don the outfit of a sexual tease. His self-esteem was immune to this sort of attempt. He would wear the costume, even play along as Luthor required. At the end of the day he would remain Superman and be one day closer to his longed-for victory over the arch-criminal. Luthor could have his brief triumph; it would all come to nothing.
Truthfully, it galled Superman not to be able to apprehend the criminal guests there and then. Luthor it transpired had told them that Superman had come under his power via a secret drug which rendered him obedient to Luthor's will. Many he recognised as leaders within Luthor's vast multi-faceted organisation; drug barons, murderers, pimps and thieves. But he would have the last laugh. They had no idea that at the end of the week Luthor would hand all of them, and their many underlings, over to him on a plate. Let them have their fun for now.
And so the first night passed. The "french maid" served the wine and food. "She" allowed the roaming hands of the guests to wander under the skirt and feel the naked flesh beneath; the costume had no pants. "She" bent from the waist when guests "accidentally" dropped their cutlery onto the floor, allowing her massively muscled butt and the rosebud within full exposure to the ogling eyes. She stood and chatted in a light French accent when guests involved her in conversation, pretending not to notice the hand under the skirt firmly stroking "her" growing cock. And she only laughed when her generous "eggs" were grasped and displayed as comparisons to the grapefruit on the table.
When the guests had finally gone, throwing ribald final comments as Luthor's five muscled henchmen showed them out through the oak doors, Superman returned one final time to the kitchen. In superfast time he washed and dried all crockery and kitchenware, much to Gustav's delight, then changed back into his regular costume and strode out towards the balcony.
"Same time tomorrow, Kitten," mocked Luthor with a wink. Superman gave a brief cursory nod then launched himself off the balcony into the dark void beyond. I mere seconds he was once again home in Clark Kent's Metropolis apartment. As he showered he his mind wandered between mild disgust at the game had been the focus of earlier that night, to subtle amusement at the immature sexual nonsense of it all, but most of all to the expectation of ultimate triumph in six more days.
He slept soundly, only slightly troubled by dreams of gay sex and servitude. But that, of course, was only a fantasy.