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.
On the second night of Superman's contract with Luthor the massive galena mine was lashed by savage winds and torrential rain. The powerful Kryptonian flew through it virtually without noticing the howling gale and jagged lightning; he was too preoccupied with pondering what was to come... The evening before had been little more than a lewd child's game that he had played along with, knowing it was of little consequence to his final victory and Luthor's ultimate defeat. What would the arch-criminal have in mind for tonight? With the planet free of kryptonite he could not harm the Man of Steel, and their agreement would not allow him to cause harm to anyone else. Superman grinned wryly. Let Luthor have his little games; his downfall was certain.
Superman's powerful vision penetrated the weather with ease and honed in on the camouflage overhang and the balcony beneath, now curtained by a veil of water, a temporary waterfall masking it from all but the superbeing and his penetrating gaze. With an immaculate grace he alighted on the balcony, immediately meeting the gaze of his host who stood expectantly within the large hall, grinning inscrutably. Luthor drank in the vision of the perfect male form standing before him. No wonder he was the most desired being on the planet. But Luthor's interest in Superman was not sexual; well, not in the sense of desire at least. His thoughts turned more to vengeance and humiliation and he knew secretly within that the time was coming, inexorably.
Superman met and held Luthor's gaze for a few seconds, then his whole form seemed to blur momentarily. His exquisite muscle control sent rapid vibrations throughout his body, and in less than a second he was dry, the water steaming off in a cloud of vapour.
"Welcome Kal-el." Luthor's use of Superman's birth name was an unwanted intimacy and intrusion that made no impression.
"Well Luthor, what do you have in mind for tonight? You have me once again for four hours, then twenty more over the remainder of the week, and then your criminal reign comes to an end. We might as well get on with it."
"So keen! I guess you must have really enjoyed yourself last night. You certainly entered into the spirit of things!" Luthor grinned broadly and gave a low chuckle. He allowed his eyes to wander openly up and down the tall muscular frame. The cloak draped imperiously down over the broad, proud shoulders like the robe of a warrior prince. Luthor coveted that cloak. He suppressed an inner shudder of delight at the thought that soon it would be his to wrap about himself in triumphant glee.
"Shall we just get on with it?" The tone of disgust and disdain was clear in Superman's voice. He made no attempt to disguise his attitude to Luthor whom he regarded as the lowest form of life, a man of supreme ability and intelligence who had chosen to pervert his natural gifts to the service of his own ego and personal power. The sooner the world was rid of him, the better.
"Indeed we shall. You'll find your costume for tonight's entertainment in there," Luthor pointed at a door further down the hall from the door that Superman knew led to the kitchen. He was puzzled as he strode towards the heavy wood and iron door. Hi x-ray vision revealed a small, bare room, empty apart from a small stool. No sign of any costume. He entered and the door closed heavily behind him. Closer examination of the stool revealed a brown leather dog-collar studded with steel rivets. So this was to be his costume.
"Put it on, Superfreak," came Luthor's voice over a hidden intercom, "and leave your regular costume on the wall hooks for now."
Gritting his teeth and reminding himself that all of this would soon be little more than a brief memory, Superman complied. He stripped naked, hung his costume on the wall hooks, and buckled the dog collar around his neck. Being naked except for the collar had a weird psychological effect on the alien hero. Despite his loathing for Luthor and disgust at the criminal's sick sense of humour, he was oddly aroused, and he felt a stirring in his lower abdomen as his balls began to contract within their skin bag and his member slightly lengthened and stiffened.
"Play along, get it over with, then get out of here," he told himself. "Two nights down and five to go."
On the wall was another exit from the room, a low swing door, hinged at the top and only a few feet in height. On it was written "THIS WAY" and so he knelt down and crawling forward pushed the swing door in and up and entered a narrow low tunnel. It was a tight squeeze for his tall muscly frame and he had to crawl on elbows and knees to negotiate his way. After a few seconds he came to an apparent dead-end but a slight nudge against the lead-lined end wall showed that it too was a door, sprung and hinged at the base so that it opened away and down and he was able to crawl awkwardly out of the tunnel and into another room.
As he did so he noticed high-heeled feet and legs encased in fishnet tights. She towered over him as he knelt and crawled, and as his head and shoulders emerged she bent and clipped a chain leash to the collar.
"Stay boy. Good dog," came the husky voice, much deeper than he had expected, and he felt large hand stroking his hair. He glanced up from his crouched position, eyes surveying first the long heavy legs, then the bulging leather jockstrap, the hairy stomach and leather bolero top. "She" was no lady. A middle-aged bearded face leered down at him.
"Who's a good boy then?"
He stuttered in reply, "I... I suppose I am..."
"BAD DOG!" The end of the chain slapped across his exposed buttocks. "We don't use words! We're a dog, aren't we? WE BARK!"
Superman lowered his eyes and gave a soft "Yip." So this was to be the game. Well, he had survived being a manhandled French maid; he could survive a few hours as someone's puppy.
"That's better. Good boy." A tug on the chain indicated they were going "walkies". The leather-clad master led the Man of Steel on the leash, crawling on all fours. Superman could now see the large room held many couches and armchairs, all occupied by men of various ages dressed in leather, from young college aged men barely into their twenties, to grey-whiskered octogenarians. All smiled expectantly.
"Who wants to inspect my puppy?" asked the grinning master, as he led his pet into the centre of the room. There were immediate calls of "Yes!" "Me!" and "Bring that tail over here!"
Superman was led like an obedient and submissive animal on all fours around the room, from one ogling fetishist to the next, all drinking in his superb naked form and rippling muscles. Hands stroked across his back, petted his head, and ran between his legs, feeling the firm inner thighs and massaging the large pendulous balls. Fingers invaded his ass-crack and toyed at the rosebud entry to his most private region. His large semi-stiff organ felt hands wrap around it, tracing the pulsing veins and circumcision scar, and toying with the piss slit lips moist with the first traces of pre-cum. The proud Kryptonian struggled to maintain composure. Despite his arousal and apparent response he had to fight to remain compliant and submit to the humiliating play of the giggling men in leather. Only by constantly reminding himself that this degradation would soon be over and was a small price to pay for the final outcome was he able to supress his urge to overpower them.
And so the next four hours passed. The obedient "dog" was the pet and plaything of the leather-clad men, allowing every indignity their wandering hands demanded and following all of their commands to beg, roll over, fetch, play dead, and run around the room while being spanked and ridden like a horse. Especially popular was the instruction to roll on his back and allow his tummy, cock and balls to be scratched and tickled.
"Still nicely equipped for breeding," observed the bearded master. "Maybe we'll neuter it later. Those balls would make a nice set of earrings." Superman met his smirk with one of his own; he knew, as did they, that there wasn't a knife on the planet that could cut penetrate his invulnerable skin. He would enjoy putting this pervert behind bars in the very near future.
After several hours of deviant attention, with the submissive pet spreadeagled on his back while men crowded around him wiping pre-cum from the tip of his cock and tasting it ("Mmmm, nice texture!", "Lovely! Just enough salt!") a door suddenly opened and one of Luthor's burly guards strode into the room. Without comment the leather men began to exit, the "master" last of all, turning briefly as he departed and calling "Bye-bye Bow wow," to the naked Superman, still sprawled on the floor, before disappearing into the corridor beyond.
Luthor's guard threw the famous red, blue and yellow costume across the room to Superman, then turned and left without comment. Superman quickly dressed and walked out of the room and down a short corridor into the empty silent main hall. The lights had been dimmed and outside the storm had eased to quiet rain falling softly beyond the balcony.
With a brief sigh he launched himself into the darkness, relieved that his second night of servitude had come to an end. Despite his humiliating treatment he felt no sense of degradation. Everything he was subjecting himself to was without doubt for a greater good. And yet throughout the next day star reporter Clark Kent was deeply distracted and preoccupied, his brow furrowed and his thoughts constantly turning to the evening to come...