The Professor smiled as he looked at the display. The readout indicated that Superman’s mind had been thoroughly scrubbed clean. Every scrap of individuality had been erased, leaving him an empty, mindless shell, ready to be filled with whatever this mad Doctor wished. Overlord’s own member grew firm just at the thought of it.
Returning to the main laboratory the Doctor paused to admire his handiwork. It never ceased to give him a thrill to see his obedient, brainwashed slaves when they were absorbing their programming. The other 12 members of the Super Friends just sat there respectfully in their conditioning chairs. Black tubes were snaked into all of the spellbound superheroes’ mouths, each stuffed with an exact replica of the dirty Doctor’s cock. Their ears were encased in headphones that constantly droned the new ‘truth’ of their existence into their docile, susceptible brains. Mind-wiped just like Superman, their brains were like sponges absorbing without question any programming that the Doctor wished to insert there. But this level of programming was only designed to maintain and enhance the intensive brainwashing they had each received. Once the initial mind-altering process was completed, it was necessary to install their new slave personalities, containing the values, thoughts, ideas and needs that the Master desired his slaves to have.
Approaching the console, the Doctor deactivated the chairs marked #4 and #10. The headphones of both slaves grew quiet as they awoke from their programming trance. After a slight pause, the two slaves slowly removed their headphones while the feeding tubes retracted from their mouths before they got up from their chairs. Approaching their Master like a couple of reanimated zombies, the former Super Friends once known as Aquaman and Green Lantern stood stiffly at attention before him.
“How may this slave serve you, Master,” the two reprogrammed super-slaves asked in unison. Even though they appeared emotionless and robotic in nature, two pairs of wide, staring eyes were locked upon the man they now belong to. The flames of an unquenchable, raging inferno to serve and obey their Master burned like the sun within their slavish minds and their bright eyes glowed like twinkling stars in the dark night sky.
The Doctor smiled broadly, admiring the two muscular slaves that stood before him. Number 4, who used to go by the name of Aquaman, was a tall, athletic blond man in his early thirties with big strong legs and a broad swimmers‘ chest, while Number 10, the superhero formerly called The Green Lantern, was an equally handsome man with brown hair, a couple of years younger and slightly shorter than his companion but just as muscular in stature. Each of their heads had been shaved. Instead of their once thick manes, the heroes were now sporting military-styled crew cuts. Both were dressed not in their once-familiar costumes, but in the new uniforms that the scientist had especially designed to be worn by all of his subjugated servants: a pair of knee high black leather boots, a studded dog collar and a full body slave harness with a cock-sheath built-in. The outfits were his own personal taste of course, preferring these much more revealing garments over their old tight fitting lycra suits that, no matter how much they showcased their well-defined frames, completely covered up their phenomenal physiques. The Doctor was very pleased at how good his new playthings looked in the assigned fetish gear which they now both adorned.
Running his hands over the hard bodies of his personal property, the Master smiled once more, relishing their submission and obedience.
Instructing his two new super-slaves to follow him, the Doctor returned to the room where his most recent acquisition Superman still sat bound in the chair. The helmet had already been removed, its purpose completed and The Man of Steel now vacantly stared at the screen which still flickered in front of him.
The computer program had deleted all of his most cherished memories from his consciousness. He could no longer remember Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even Clark Kent for that matter. Every last detail of Superman’s life had been extracted from his very brain. His entire existence forgotten, the past 32 years gone without a trace. Robbed of his identity, his morals, his beliefs, he was now a man without a name, a history, or a purpose.
Marveling at his accomplishment, The Doctor turned the display off and spoke to his latest victim.
“What is your name?” he asked the glassy-eyed Man of Steel who just kept looking forward, staring at the blank screen.
Superman’s dull, lifeless expression never changed as the slack faced superhero replied in a slow, almost mechanical tone: “I… do… not… know... ”
“Who am I?,” the Professor pressed on.
Finally looking up to see who was talking to him, Superman answered him once again, “I … am… not… sure… Do… I… know… you?… ”
“You may not know me now… ” The Doctor reassured his new patient, “ …but, after I’m through with you, boy, you shall never forget me!”
Satisfied and pleased with this stage of his conversion, the Doctor was now ready to move on to the next phase of transforming this former superhero into his devoted slave. Releasing him from the chair, the Doctor instructed the newly converted drone to stand, which the once-strong willed Man of Steel did without question.
Summoning his faithful servants who were waiting patiently to one side, The Doctor ordered them to take off the patient’s clothes. The former Aquaman and Green Lantern were more than happy to comply. After they were through, Number 4 lovingly handed the article of clothing over to his Master.
Stripped of his once-proud costume, Superman just stood there totally still and completely naked, his true identity exposed. Frozen in place, not moving so much as an inch, The Man of Steel almost looked like a Greek statue, only far more impressive. The lecherous Doctor took a minute to enjoy the view, appraising him with his leering eyes as if he really were a work of art. Or, perhaps more appropriately, a side of beef. At 6’ 3, 235 lbs. of rock solid muscle with a 12” killer cock to boot, Superman was truly a wonder to behold. He was, without a doubt, the finest example of manhood ever to have been created, the literal personification of masculinity. As the desirous Doctor ogled this perfect male specimen in all of his nakedness, the blood raced to his own cock, knowing that all this would soon be his.
The diabolical Doctor then gave Number 4 an electric clipper with a Kryptonite reinforced blade and instructed him to give The Man of Steel a buzz cut. Superman already had some bald patches on the sides of his skull where the searing laser beams had singed his jet black hair all of way down to its roots so he was definitely in need of a trim. Number 4 shaved Superman’s head close and tight in the back and around his ears, leaving him with just a flat top although his signature curl in front remained. The radically different hair style made Superman look even more butch.
Clutching Superman’s former uniform in his left hand, the Doctor held it up to his nose and took a whiff, breathing in the iconic hero’s manly aroma as he thought to himself, “You won’t be needing this any more, my heroic hunk. For you are about to receive a whole new wardrobe, my boy. And now that you are through with these out-of-date threads, I shall neatly fold up this suit and put it in a picture frame. That big red S will sure look good hanging next to all the other superhero logos I have just hung on my wall alongside my many, many degrees and awards. This once-treasured emblem of yours shall now become merely a memento of the singular greatest accomplishment of my long and distinguished career… The eternal enslavement of the mighty and powerful Superman!”
Then The Doctor commanded both Number 4 and Number 10 to dress the passive slave-to-be in the new uniform that would soon take the place of that tired old blue and red getup that he used to wear. Number 10 knelt and slid Superman’s feet into the heavy black leather boots before lacing them up. While Number 10 attended to his footwear, Number 4 was busily putting the one-piece slave harness on the unresisting Superman. As number 4 buckled the harness firmly around The Man of Steel’s chest and torso, the tight leather straps only helped to accentuate Superman’s heaving pecs and six-pack abs. Number 4 adjusted the garment to fit him snugly, just as his Master had told him to do. Once the harness was in place, next Number 4 closed the thick leather armbands that encircled both of Superman’s muscular 24” biceps. Finally, Number 4 took a studded dog collar and secured it around Superman’s neck. Pleased with his work, his Master nodded to Number 4 approvingly. Glad to be of service to his owner, Number 4 then turned around to face the man he now belonged to and just stood at attention, standing to the left of Superman while he awaited his Master’s further instructions.
Meanwhile, Number 10, still on his knees, took hold of the leather thong hanging down from the chest harness into which he then guided the well-hung Man of Steel’s enormous cock. After that, he pulled the thong between Superman’s thick legs, carefully positioning the leather undergarment over the straight superhero’s butt cheeks, making sure the specially-tailored opening sown in the back exposed his virgin asshole for easier access in the future. Bringing the end of the thong up to the rear of the harness, Number 10 now fastened the helpless hero into his new uniform. Superman gasped at the tightness pressing between his massive thighs, but otherwise remained still. After that, Number 10 then got up off the floor and stood to the right of Superman, looking directly at his Master as all three superheroes were now lined up perfectly in a row.
The Doctor savored the sight of the three strapping superstuds standing before him, all blankly obedient and dressed in their identical slave-uniforms, just as he liked.
Approaching his latest conquest, the Master pressed his hand upon Superman’s exposed bubble butt, relishing the touch of his bare slave-flesh while his other hand brushed against the leather covered cock of his newest possession. Drained of his emotions, Superman made no reaction and stood there quite still, apparently oblivious to the lustful attentions of the horny Doctor.
Removing his hands from the nether regions of Superman, the Doctor reached upwards and took hold of the leather collar worn by his new pet. Pulling the deliciously vacant face of his next sex-slave closer to his, the Master praised his newly chosen attire. “Mmmm, now that‘s much better, boy. Definitely an vast improvement over that ridiculous red cape and those silly blue ballet tights you once wore, that‘s for sure. Yes, I must say, this kind of uniform really suits you, Super-Slave,” he complimented his latest toy, as he attached a dog tag to his collar with the unlucky number 13 emblazoned upon it in big bold print. Not only was The Man of Steel the thirteenth superhero that he had added to his live Justice League of America action figure collection, thirteen shall soon become the future name of the man they once called Superman.
Facing his two previously reprogrammed superhero slaves, the Doctor barked an order at them, “Take the newly-assigned number 13 directly to the brainwashing chamber,” their Master commanded the former Aquaman and Green Lantern, “and prepare him for conditioning.”
“Yes Master,” Number 4 and Number 10 respectfully answered him before leaving the room, guiding the now-cooperative Superman between them …
To be continued…
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