It felt like eternity.
Superman just lay there, crumpled and lifeless, like a broken ragdoll—his body a stinky, soiled mess. Everything felt so unreal to him. Yet the searing pain between his legs and the surging sensation in his chest kept yanking him back, again and again, to the horrifying reality.
The only thing still stiff in his body was that remarkable erection. Those red briefs were now all painted with a wet dark maroon. He knew he had lost it all. He was no longer in control of his body, of his own genitals. He has wetted his pants again.
For a moment, Clark even forgot that Jimmy and Jonathan were right there, witnessing it all unfold. But the monster's next words reminded him of the cruel situation.
"Did you two enjoy the view from the front row?" The man let out a cruel laugh as he stepped back and turned around, glancing over at Jonathan and Jimmy. Both of them were soaked with tears, but their expressions remained frozen, their bodies still held rigid by the magic's grip, unable to respond or move.
"This is your hero," the man sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Your so-called " Man of Steel". Your big, blue baby scout, who can't even keep control of his own bladder. He's nothing but a weak, caped freak, constantly embarrassing himself, wetting his panties over and over again. What a joke."
These words were so humiliating, carving in his soul like a sharp knife. Kal could do nothing but just lay there sprawled. His body was weak and trembling as the peephole underneath the red briefs still pumping out fresh hot piss.
Lasting for nearly three minutes, a puddle of urine was formed on the floor. The torture had pushed him to his limits, and now he found himself drained like a squashed sponge.
The black-clad figure hovered a few feet above the ground. Then, He turned around and looked down at his fallen adversary, savoring the moment of triumph.
"You were supposed to be invincible," the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And yet, here you are—weak, pathetic, and completely at my mercy."
Superman lay still, a single tear tracing down his once-handsome, now battered and bruised face.
The man in black raised his left hand, and from his fingertips shot a transparent beam of energy. It struck Superman square in the chest, pinning him to the ground. It wasn't painful, but it locked his body in place and overriding his ability to move.
"Bad manner, Super Moron. You messed up the floor," the black-clad man said, looking at the piss puddle nearby.
"I will help you to clean up. Besides, you look little dehydrated."
With a slow, deliberate motion, the man extended his right hand toward that dirty puddle on the floor nearby. The piss within the puddle began to ripple unnaturally, as though drawn by an invisible force.
Superman watched helplessly as his filthy excretory product lifted itself from the ground, defying gravity to form a hovering sphere. The puddle's contents swirled and coalesced, creating a murky, foul-smelling waterball that floated ominously in mid-air.
"Look at it," the man mused, "I bet you never looked at your own piss in a such unique way."
Superman's heart raced as he realized what was about to happen. He clenched his jaw, summoning every ounce of willpower he had left to resist.
But the man was relentless. With a flick of his fingers, the transparent beam tightened its grip on Superman's body, forcing his head back and his jaw open. Superman gritted his teeth, trying to fight it, but the force was too strong. His mouth opened involuntarily, leaving him completely vulnerable.
The pissball hovered closer, its foul stench growing stronger with each passing second. It was so close that Superman could see bits of dirt and debris swirling within it. As the sphere reached near his mouth, he thrashed as much as the beam's restraints would allow, but it was futile.
With a sharp gesture, the man in black moved the pissball forward, forcing it into Superman's open mouth.
Then, the dirty liquid gushed down Superman's throat, cold and vile. He gagged, his body convulsing as he tried to expel the filthy water, but the beam held him firmly in place, leaving him no choice but to swallow.
The taste of his own piss was unbearable—bitter, metallic, and reeking of decay. And the humiliation of being forced to endure it was almost worse than the taste and his physical discomfort. Superman's eyes burned as tears welled up, blurring his vision.
Superman's chest heaved as the last of his own piss slid down his throat, leaving a nauseating aftertaste that made his stomach churn.
He coughed weakly, his throat raw, burning and tingling. All he could do was lie there, his mind racing with anger, shame, and that erection still stood stiff, with few drops of remaining urine sliding on to his inner thigh.
The man landed on the floor, leaning his body close to Superman.
"I believe you have replenished the water you just lost. You alien freak, now, tell me. What you want me to do with you next?"
"Do you want to cum?"
In a split second, he took hold of that erect bulge in his hands, and released a surge of crackling electricity, coursing directly into Superman's penis. The energy struck like lightning, sending waves of unbearable pain through his body.
"AAAAAARGHH!!!!!" Superman screamed, his voice echoing across the barn. His body convulsed violently as the electrical energy overwhelmed his Kryptonian cells.
"Do you feel it, Superman?" the black-clad man hissed, leaning in close. "The power of your own kind, burning you from the inside out!"
Superman wasn't even able to ponder the meaning of those words, as his screams grew louder. His hands were weakly grasping at the man's arm as he tried in vain to break free. But his erection only kept growing, harder and larger.
He was about to cum. And that cock ring would kill him. No doubt!
In a desperate move, Superman summoned his heat vision, twin beams of red energy shooting out from his eyes and striking the hand of the man in black. The intense heat scorched his attacker's rubber-clad skin, trying to force the man to release his grip.
But nearly that the same time, the man's golden eyes flared, and a beam of radiant energy erupted from them, meeting Superman's heat vision in mid-air.
The two beams collided, creating a dazzling explosion of light and heat. But it was clear that Superman was losing the struggle. The energy of his enemy was overwhelming, inching closer and closer to the hero.
"You're weak, Superman," the man taunted, his voice booming. "Weak with piss in your panties!"
Superman gritted his teeth, straining with every ounce of his willpower to hold back the assault. But the golden energy eventually broke through, striking him squarely in the eyes.
"AHHHHHH!" Superman cried out, clutching his face with his hands. Blinding pain surged through him, and darkness consumed his vision.
"My eyes... I can't see!" Superman gasped, panic evident in his voice.
"Blind already? And here I thought you were invincible."
Before Superman could react, another blast of heat vision slammed into his crotch, sending his body convulsing violently. His body jerked upward, barely two inches from the floor, as the heat scorched the skins on his groin, piercing into his core existing.
"ARGHHHHH!"
Superman's splendid manhood was showered in a blinding flash, electrified to grow larger, exceeding its limit, tenting out that piece of red fabric like it would tear it open. The cock ring was now sending out the warning of danger, shrinking hard on his penis. Pains from the ring and the attack were like they were wringing a wet towel, almost snapping all the tissues inside.
Superman's mouth opened wide as he gasped desperately for air. His hands twitched weakly, trying to lift up, but his strength was gone. Then his chest stopped heaving; his hands fell limp.
"You…are…killing…me…" As those words escaped Superman's mouth, a spring of fresh wet precum blossoming across his briefs and tights, foaming white thick liquid bursting from its tip, gleaming against the red of his briefs.
In an instant, the ring revealed its Kryptonite core. The sheer force of it knocked Superman completely unconscious. The last traces of life were fading from his body as the green glow pulsed faintly underneath those soiled red briefs.
Almost simultaneously, the man in black recoiled, jerking his hand back as if something sharp had stabbed his fingertip. He staggered, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to steady himself. A sharp, unexpected pain shot through his finger, radiating up his arm with a force he hadn't anticipated.
His head spun, a wave of nausea hitting him hard, as though his own body had turned against him, fighting him from the inside.
"What did you do!!??" The man shouted at the lifeless body of Superman. But there was no answer.
The man in black rushed toward Jonathan and Jimmy. With both hands, he grabbed their collars and yanked them down from the hanging ropes. His face was twisted with rage. "What the hell was that??!!"
Jonathan and Jimmy, just recovering from the effects of the magic, were now confronted with a terrifyingly furious face.
"W-we... we don't know either..." Jimmy's tears burst from his eyes. "Oh God. What have you done... Who are you...?! You... you killed Superman!!"
Jonathan, meanwhile, was completely dazed, staring blankly at Superman lying motionless on the ground, his lower body soiled by his bodily filth.
"My child... Clark..."
* * *
"What's happening, Luthor?!!"
General Todd's voice cut through the tense silence, sharp and commanding. He jabbed a finger at the massive monitor dominating the dimly lit laboratory, its eerie light-blue glow casting strange shadows across the room.
On the screen, Superman lay sprawled on a wooden floor, unconscious, in his most broken form. His hands, slack at his side. His eyes, burnt. His briefs and tights, soiled. His manhood, broken. His precum, spilled. Only that dimly green little light, flickering at his crotch, underneath that wetted red fabric.
"Why did our creation stop all its attacks?!" General Todd roared, slamming his fist on the nearby console. "We were so close to getting what we wanted!"
Lex Luthor, seated calmly in his high-backed chair, tilted his head slightly at the outburst. A sleek helmet covered his head, countless wires snaking from it to the equipment around him, designed to monitor and connect with his creation's mind.
On the glowing monitor, the scene mirrored exactly what the black-clad man had seen through his own eyes.
He's Lex Luthor's creation, his baby son born out of Superman's precum, who defeated Superman easily. But now he was hurt for the first time, not by Superman, but by that green glowing thing inside Superman's underpants.
Lex's lips curled, his fingertips pressed together in front of his face. His voice was measured, calm, but carried a subtle edge of irritation.
"General," he said, his gaze fixed on the screen, "I think that something tucked inside Superman's briefs… is hurting my baby."
General Todd's brow furrowed, his anger momentarily replaced with confusion. "Are you telling me," he growled, "it can do what Superman himself couldn't? Hurt our creation?"
"You're asking me as though I already knew," Lex said smoothly. "Trust me, General, this is as much a surprise to me as it is to you." His expression was as calm as ever, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Lex stood up, removing the helmet.
"Zoom in on Superman's red briefs." Lex ordered the operators seated behind him..
Then he approached closer towards the screen, inspecting the strange things glowing with green light in Superman's bulge, and his penis was still pumping out fresh precum. With his hands clasped behind his back, Lex raised a brow at the screen.
"Do the thermal analysis" Lex commanded.
On the screen, the image of Superman's bulge was replaced with its thermal contours. And there it was. The cold rounded thing wrapped around Superman's swollen cock. It's a ring.
Todd threw his hands up in exasperation. "You're the genius here! You took Superman's DNA, you made that thing"—he jabbed a finger at the monitor—"and we even gain all his memories and histories just from several drops of precum. Now you're telling me you didn't think to check for something like this?"
"Calm down, Todd," Lex replied, his tone almost patronizing. "We harvested his DNA years ago. Four years, to be exact. Whatever that ring is, it clearly wasn't part of his life back then. It must be new."
He paused, leaning closer to the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But that glow… it's Kryptonite. No question about it."
"Kryptonite?" Todd barked, his face growing redder by the second. "You mean to tell me that a creature from Superman's DNA—one that's supposed to outmatch him—and it's still vulnerable to kryptonite? The same flaw Superman has?!"
"Congratulations," Lex deadpanned, casting the general a sidelong glance. "You've put the pieces together."
Todd slapped a hand on the table, causing a nearby mug to wobble precariously. "Unbelievable," he growled. "You said this thing would be perfect Luthor! You said we have created something superior to Superman! And now you're telling me it's just a souped-up clone with the same weakness?! I thought the United Nations and global governments had helped Superman destroy them a year ago! Now, that Metropolis Moron can suddenly pull it off himself?!"
"Perfection is a process, General," Lex said, brushing a speck of dust from his tailored jacket. "Tonight was just the beginning."
Todd glared at him, his jaw tight. "You'd better hope it's the end of Superman," he snarled. "Because if it's not, Luthor, you might be the one who go back to jail." With that, he stormed out, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with a loud hiss.
Lex sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the monitor. "Such a charming man," he muttered dryly.
He returned to study the screen intently, his mind racing. Superman's bulge was bathed in the faint green glow of the kryptonite ring. It was almost poetic, in a way.
This was the closest Lex had ever come to seeing his nemesis truly defeated, yet it still didn't feel… complete.
The DNA experiment had already proven valuable in ways even Lex hadn't anticipated. Superman's precum wasn't just simple bodily fluids—it had carried his power, his life source, and most surprisingly, his memories. It gave away Superman's true identity, gave away his life stories, and gave away his hidden weakness.
Yes, by studying Superman's precum, Lex knew a lot.
He had uncovered the truth: Clark Kent, the bumbling, inept little reporter, was Superman's human disguise (Actually, clever as Lex, he had been suspecting it for quite a while but didn't get solid evidence until now). He had also found out Clark Kent's apartment number, his desk at the Daily Planet, the address of the Kent farm, and even the coordinates of the Fortress of Solitude. And yes, he had also determined that tonight was the perfect time to unleash his creation to ambush the Man of Steel. Defenseless in his hometown, vulnerable, along with two of the most important people in his life, who were ready to be held as hostages at any given time.
But he didn't care about them all, in the slightest way possible, until he discovered a key—a key that could unlock Superman's ultimate downfall and usher in his unavoidable doom.
It's Superman's alien sexuality, his helpless craving for beautiful men, his inglorious histories of masturbation and voyeurism, and his uncontrollable yearning for pain and humiliation. All of them can be used as more powerful weapons than Kryptonite, Superman's true vulnerability.
With it, his true identity was just a side dish, but his sexual corruption was the main course.
And yes, two days ago, Lex created the thing out of Superman's precum. The black-clad monster, he had the strength, the speed, the magical power that even Superman didn't have. Maybe it inherited some ability from his ancestor?
But he possessed something more: his touch or his pure presence can awaken Superman's alien sexuality. Something that could confuse him, distract him, weaken him in ways Lex hadn't foreseen. It's the best weapon against Superman.
It was an intriguing development, but it still wasn't enough.
Superman wasn't just a problem to be eliminated; the death of the greatest hero on earth was an asset to be exploited. And Lex Luthor wasn't about to waste an asset.
There was no profit in a corpse, no satisfaction in simple destruction. Although the bull needed to be penned, dehorned, and castrated, the process itself—and its products—were the true treasures, not simply the result. Killing Superman wasn't the endgame. It never had been. Imagine the contributions to science, Luthor's wealth growing to the level of a nation, and his invulnerable army of superhumans.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, his mind turning over possibilities. "Perfect?" he murmured to himself. "No. Not yet. But imperfect tools can be far more useful… in the right hands."
Lex leaned back in his chair, the gears in his mind already shifting into motion. Tonight wasn't about Superman's death—it was about testing the limits of what could be done. And judging by the results, the possibilities were endless.
"Now, my son," as Lex put back on the helmet, he began to speak in his mind, teleporting his order to the black-clad man, "be careful of that cock ring. We will find a way to take it off, destroy it, and then let's harvest his essences like we planned."
A small chuckle escaped his lips. General Todd might want to rush into battle, but Lex? Lex played the long game.
"Clark Kent was not your only secret, Superman. But now, we're going to expose them, one by one."
Next page