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.
The air around him blazed as he hurtled through the atmosphere, his cheeks also ablaze with shame and anger. The most powerful being in the solar system and yet he had been made to blubber like a baby and whimper like a cowed pup!
At around 3am, astronomers observing the planet Mars were startled to see the asteroid moon Deimos suddenly shatter into millions pieces, showering away in every direction. Apparently an unobserved object had collided with Deimos at enormous speed, destroying it instantly.
His hatred for Luthor was now greater than ever. And yet his degradation at the hands of Luthor's accomplices could not be blamed solely on his arch-enemy; his own arousal and curiosity had led him to agree to the use of the EM machine, and made him vulnerable to their assaults. And without his great powers and invulnerability, he had proven himself less worthy than the weakest child who could hold back tears and bite his tongue rather than plea for mercy. Was he not a truly pathetic excuse for a man without the advantages of his Kryptonian heritage? Enraged with self-disgust he plummeted towards the Earth's surface.
At a hurriedly convened press conference later that morning, the Prime Minister denied accusations of secret weapons-testing in the Australian Outback. Seismologists described the series of huge spikes on their machines as "like an enormous giant pounding his way across the country."
His thoughts raced with the knowledge that there was still a contract to fulfil. He could not welch now or risk forever being branded a coward. And more than that, he had a point to prove: he could take whatever Luthor and his minions could dish out. After all, what was a little naked pain and exposure? Had he not at some level actually enjoyed the experience? And any true hero could surely bear a few hours of physical and psychological abuse in the pursuit of the greater good. He would show Luthor; he would show them all!
Seasoned sailors aboard the ore carrier FRANAKIPAN in the North Pacific swore they had never seen the like of the dozen tornadal waterspouts that flew up on the horizon, then disappeared again within minutes. Some said it was unnatural, that dark forces were at play in the deep ocean, and prayed that Davey Jones would let them pass and not drag them down into his cold dark vaults.
As the sun set over the deep chasm of the abandoned galena mine, a tall, handsome figure in blue, red and yellow slowly descended onto the balcony which hovered over almost half a kilometre above the mine floor. Luthor was already there and waiting, having spent the previous night and day at the lair, preparing for the penultimate night of Superman's contract. Indeed, had the powerful Kryptonian not been so preoccupied with coming to terms with the events of the night before, and intent on working off his rage on the natural environment, he might have been aware of the many helicopters which had ferried guests to the Luthor hideout, invited to witness and participate in the next evening's "play".
"Nicely on time I see." A broad grin spread across the face of the older, bald-headed criminal mastermind. "Eager for more?"
"Two more nights, Luthor. I'm true to my word, and I'll see that you honour yours."
"Yes, yes, of course, no question of that. Shall we launch straight into tonight's program?"
Superman looked puzzled.
"Oh. No magazine tonight before we start? Well, whatever.." He tried to look nonchalant and hoped he had not revealed his curiosity to see images of the previous night's play, when he had been weak, vulnerable, and totally at the mercy of the many men and women who had used him so disgracefully for their own amusement.
"Oh, I have something much better than a magazine for you tonight, Superman. Last night's glorious encounter was worthy of much more than simple magazine coverage. Come in and I'll show you." And he turned and walked into the great entry hall, motioning Superman to follow.
They walked through the hall and along a long corridor, turning at length to descend a few steps down a wide marble staircase to a plush foyer. Two of Luthor's wrestler henchmen stood by double doors opposite and opened them wide as Luthor and Superman approached.
They entered a small but ornate art deco cinema, seating about 80 elegantly attired people who smiled and nodded as they entered and gave polite applause. The centre row was empty and Luthor led his slightly confused companion to a seat half way along. As soon as they sat down the cinema darkened and the feature began to roll.
"I think you'll find this much more interesting than a dirty magazine," whispered Luthor as the opening title appeared on the screen, the word PLAYTHING snaking out of the wide ass of a naked man kneeling side on to the camera in "doggy" position.
Superman gasped as he recognised himself and realised at once that his fifth night of debauched submission had been caught in high definition and rapidly edited into a feature length pornographic movie. For a moment he felt a surge of panic. He breathed deep and slow and maintained his composure, all the while his eyes locked unblinking on the images before him.
There were soft inhalations from the audience as the film played out, whispered oohs and ahhs, spontaneous giggles and titters and even occasional applause. There was Superman, bereft of his great powers, the sordid plaything of leering, laughing criminals. There was the French maid being touched up, fingered, forcefully dildoed with a candlestick, covered in hot wax, and milked into a cream-jug. Now the puppy, wagging his dogtail buttplug on command, scampering around on all fours, yelping at the sting of the leash on his bare ass, crying out at the pinch of the clothes pegs and the savage burn of "the zipper". Next was the baby being shorn of all body hair, then gasping for air as he endured repeated dunking in the over-sized baby bath, violated with a baby's rattle before once again being milked of his ball juice.
Then, finally, the coup de grace, the naughty schoolboy. Superman watched in shame as he heard himself sobbing and bellowing for release. He saw himself struggling without effect against the strength of his college boy captors, quivering in pain and fear as the teacher's hand lay stroke after stroke of full-force spanking on his bright crimson butt cheeks, crying in agony as the college girls kneed and kicked him in his large, swollen balls, then blubbering uncontrollably as each of the boys in turn sent him sprawling headfirst along the floor with powerful kicks to the glowing, aching backside.
As the final images of him slowly dressing and walking to the balcony faded, and the logo LL Films appeared, the cinema filled with applause. The houselights brightened and the whole audience stood and clapped wildly: a standing ovation!
"It seems you have won some fans, Superman," smiled Luthor. "Perhaps you're in the wrong profession? You're obviously a born porn star!"
Superman dropped his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge the enthusiasm of his audience, but with the lights now full on he could not disguise the wet patch at the front of his crotch which grown and spread with his involuntary arousal at the film. Luthor stood in close and let his fingers play across the dampness.
"A little sticky down there, I see. I think you enjoyed the film more than you're prepared to admit." And he squeezed the hard, damp bulge.
Superman pulled away from the hand and deftly covered his front with his cloak.
"Do you expect to distribute that?" he asked angrily. "Do you think I would let that happen?"
"Now, now, don't worry my Kryptonian friend. This was a once-only event. You don't have to be concerned about PLAYTHING ever finding its way onto the internet." Still smiling his superior, mocking grin Luthor turned towards the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us for this special event screening. I am sure that you will agree with me that Kal-el is a born superstar of the erotic screen, one who doesn't hold back and certainly gives his all."
There was loud agreement, and further applause.
"Please make your way now to the refreshments; my men will show you the way, and out star and I will join you shortly."
Two of Luthor's henchmen opened a door on the left of the screen and the crowd began to leave. Soon only Luthor, Superman and the two wrestlers were left in the cinema. Luthor clicked his fingers and the screen began to rise into the ceiling, revealing a small stage beyond. Centre stage stood a large metal cylinder which Superman immediately recognised.
So, it would be the EM experience again.
"As you can see," said Luthor as he led the Man of Steel towards the device, "the Environmental Manipulator is currently inactive. You know what it does, the effect it has on you..."
"Yes, it negates my superpowers and invulnerability. It turns me into a normal man."
"Precisely. Well, here's the remote. Tonight you can have the privilege of turning it on and neutering yourself." Luthor had observed the night before how potent Superman's own psyche had been in disempowering him, once he had committed to the experience of masochistic submission and the belief in the EM machine. Cleverly, he reasoned that if Superman himself was the one who turned on the machine he would be even more fully under the power of the suggestion of its effect.
Superman looked down at the remote Luthor had placed in his hands. He knew what would happen once he switched it on. Fear rose in him but what could he do? Admit his cowardice? Go back on his contract?
Silently he threw the twin switches and the green and red lights began to flash around the cylinder. He slowly turned the adjustment knobs up to the indicated level and the machine began to hum.
"What do you feel, Superman?"
"Strange. Nauseous. I feel weak, drained of power."
"Good, good." The criminal mastermind slipped the control from the hands of his superhero prey. "I'm pleased you are so committed to our little sessions. Tonight is going to be very special."
He nodded at the two burly wrestlers. Immediately they took hold of Superman and began to forcefully undress him. He did not resist but gritted his teeth against the indignity and rough treatment. Before long he stood naked before his nemesis who held his famous costume in his hands.
Casting aside all but the cloak, Luthor fixed the red cloth to his own shoulders so that it draped behind him like a symbol of royalty.
"Looks much better on me I think." And he leered at the magnificent naked form before him with its massive semi-erect organ still wet with pre-cum. "Hold him down boys."
Superman was man-handled to the floor, spreadeagled on his back and held firmly in place by Luthor's two powerful servants. From a box at the side Luthor produced a can of shaving foam and a cut-throat razor.
"Time for some adjustments." He laughed, and then began to spray foam all over the prone, powerless Kryptonian. Superman was soon covered head to foot in foam which stang and choked him as it got into his eyes, nose and mouth. With quick purposeful sweeps Luthor set about removing every hair from his victim's body, this time including the crown of sleek black locks so admired by millions all around the planet.
"Flip him over." Having denuded the entire anterior side, Luthor now turned his attentions to Superman's back, paying special attention to get well inside the sculpted, muscled ass cheeks so that once again the pink nether eye was revealed, gaping and beckoning. Soon every piece of hair, from head to feet, ass to eyebrows, had been removed. As the henchmen stood Superman up and wiped off the remaining foam, the effect was strange, like a muscular, over-sized kewpie doll. Superman continued to say nothing, gritting his teeth and thinking how glad he was there were no mirrors around to add the sight of himself to his shame and embarrassment.
"I've had these specially made for you," said Luthor as he pulled several leather and metal objects from the box. The first was a thick collar with several steel rings attached, which was quickly fastened around his neck. Next, similar manacles were placed around his wrists and ankles, and the rings on the wrists clipped to those on the collar so that has hands were held close by the side of his neck. Even if could get hold of the EM remote control now, he could not operate it. He was completely at the mercy of his enemy, alone, naked, powerless and surrounded by thugs and the elite of the underworld. How could he have so endangered himself? Once again he had allowed his vanity and curiosity to betray him!
"Now this is almost certainly going to hurt. Hold him still boys." Luthor produced a pincer-like handtool from the box. He pinched Superman's left nipple tightly and pulled it so that the skin stretched out from the pec, then applied the tool directly behind the nipple. Superman yelled out in pain and tried to break the grip of his captors but they held him firmly in place. He looked down at his chest and saw a steel ring inserted into his flesh at the nipple. A small trail of blood ran down towards his abs and his eyes widened. He had never bled before!
Next Luthor pulled on the right nipple and Superman struggled even more but again he had no hope of breaking the hold of the powerful thugs. With another burst of pain he saw a second nipple ring embedded into his flesh.
"Stop it!" he shouted angrily. "This is going too far!" But before he could say another word one of the henchmen grabbed him in a fierce bear-hug and the other shoved a ball-gag into his mouth and secured it tightly at the back of his head. Luthor pressed his face close to Superman's and smiled in mockery,
"That's enough out of you, you stupid fuck! Now, open his legs wide."
The thugs obeyed and Superman was once again spread-eagled and pinned to the floor. Luthor bent over him and grabbed the hairless ballsack in his left hand, kneading it and stretching it. Superman kicked and fought, terrified at the prospect of genital mutilation. With two quick clicks Luthor placed two rings into the scrotum, then stood up, admiring his handiwork.
"One to go," he said, then took hold of the flaccid but still impressive cock. He gabbed the frenulum and pulled it out hard, then placed the ring tool on the delicate skin, midway between the circumcision scar and the generous glans. Superman jerked involuntarily as the ring was inserted into the underside of his cock and looked down at Luthor's "adjustments", five solid steel rings now embedded into his flesh. What was to happen next
"Nearly done," said Luthor, pulling a set of chains from the box. Once more Superman was pulled roughly to his feet. With his hands held tight to his neck by the manacles and collar, he could offer no resistance. The rings on his scrotum were quickly chained to those on his nipples, but the chains were short and he had to stand bent over so as not to pull on the rings. Similarly, the scrotum rings were connected to the manacles at his ankles, and again the chains were short, forcing him to stand bow-legged. It was in truth a comical effect, exactly what Luthor had hoped for. Shaved, bent over, bow-legged, ball-gagged and his hands immobilised. One more short chain was added, connecting the ankles, then Luthor took out a leash and clipped it to the ring in the cock.
"Now I think we're ready to join our guests," he laughed and began to lead the naked, hairless and chained superhero by the leash. Waddling along in a bow-legged bent over shuffle, the hapless Kryptonian resembled nothing so much as a bald, white chimpanzee.