"Where… am I?"
Superman's eyes fluttered open, but darkness still clouded his vision. His body felt like lead, his limbs unresponsive, and his mind fogged with a gray haze of void and confusion.
For a fleeting second, he couldn't remember where he was—or why. Then it hit him. The dull ache in his muscles sharpened, and the unbearable stench of his filthy, tattered costume filled his senses.
"I lost…I failed."
He groaned softly, his fingers scraping against the hard floor beneath him. It wasn't the cornfield anymore. The surface was solid, splintered in places—familiar but wrong. He was back in the barn.
Blinking against the haze, he forced his head to lift. Through blurred vision, he noticed a strong, glaring light illuminating the barn's interior—the headlights of a car cutting through the gloom. And then he saw it.
The sight made his stomach lurch.
Jonathan and Jimmy hung from the barn's hanging beam, their wrists bound by thick ropes, their bodies limp like marionettes held up by invisible strings. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear, but their lips were frozen, unable to scream or plead.
"No!!! It…can't…be!"
Superman reached out instinctively, his hand trembling in a futile attempt to reach them. Then, something uncanny caught his eye—a faint, shimmering aura surrounding them, like transparent beams of light, holding them rigid and suspended. His heart sank. He didn't need to guess who was behind it.
"He's still here."
Anger and desperation surged through him, battling the exhaustion that weighed him down. He planted his palms against the wooden floor, willing his body to move. His arms trembled violently, his muscles screaming in protest, but he pushed through it.
His body was healing—slowly, agonizingly, but it was happening. The pain that had gripped him earlier was ebbing away, his injuries mending thanks to his Kryptonian resilience.
One more small mercy: his painful erection finally died down, and the suffocating pressure from the penis ring that had tortured him was finally gone. For the first time in what felt like hours, his body began to feel like his own again.
"Get up. You have to get up. They need you. You can't let it end like this."
His breath came in ragged gasps as he managed to lift himself to his knees. The room spun, but he steadied himself, forcing his body to rise inch by agonizing inch. He winced as pain flared through his ribs and shoulders, but he kept going. When he finally managed to straighten his upper body, he glanced upward at the hanging beam.
"Jonathan… Jimmy…" he shouted out hoarsely, his voice breaking.
Then a shadow moved.
From above, the man in black descended like a specter, landing with unsettling silence before him. The barn seemed to grow colder in his presence, his rubber-clad foot striking the wooden floor with deliberate weight. He stood tall, his dark form and the cold in his eyes exuding an unshakable dominance.
Superman's heart sank. His breath hitched as he looked at the man who had defeated him so thoroughly.
The man in black tilted his head, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Awake at last," he said smoothly, but his voice was chilling.
Superman's fists clenched weakly, trembling as he tried to steady himself. His voice, ragged and weak, barely escaped his lips.
"Let them go!… whoever you are… This is between you and me…"
The man said with a low and cruel voice. "They're here because of you, Superman. Because you couldn't stop me. And now…" He gestured lazily toward the suspended forms of Jonathan and Jimmy. "Now they'll share in your failure."
Superman's mind churned with fear and self-reproach, his thoughts a chaotic storm. His arms trembled beneath him, threatening to give out, but he forced them to hold. He couldn't collapse—not now. He had to fight back.
"You will not win! I'm still standing! I'm Superman! The strongest man alive!"
Superman finally managed to stand, though his movements were still strained. His eyes, however, burned with sharp determination and righteous anger. He could feel his body and strength recovered, his powers surging back to life.
Adjusting his cape with a decisive motion, he began spinning rapidly in place, generating a whirlwind of air that instantly cleaned the grime and filth off his battle-worn suit. As he slowed to a halt, his hair settled perfectly into place—sleek, shining, and immaculate, with the signature curl falling across his forehead.
"Your plan has failed! Your ambush couldn't kill me. Now, I'm back on my feet. Let's settle this with an honest fight!" Superman puffed out his chest, striking his iconic heroic pose.
He hovered in mid-air, arms crossed as he stared down the man before him.
"I'm Superman," Superman began, "I've fought gods, monsters, and alien warlords who've conquered entire galaxies. And yet, here you are, thinking you can take me on with brute strength and… whatever it is you're trying to prove." Saying this, Superman felt his confidence back. There was no alternative. He had to win, and he would win.
The man tilted his rubber-clad head slightly, as if he found those words amusing.
"No response? Fine," Superman continued, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles. "Let's get this over with. I've got more important things to do than humoring someone who doesn't know when they're out of their league."
With a burst of speed, Superman closed the gap between them in a blink, his fist surging forward with a force he rarely unleashed—his strongest punch yet. The air around his fist crackled, and the sheer velocity of the blow sent shockwaves through the air.
The man flinched, just barely, as Superman's punch collided with his palm. But instead of the earth-shattering impact Superman had anticipated, the man caught his fist effortlessly, his grip tightening like a vice.
"What—?" Superman's eyes widened in disbelief as the man's fingers clamped down, forcing him to his knees. Before he could react, the man's free hand shot forward, grabbing Superman by the neck and lifting him off the ground like a rag doll.
"Still feeling super?" the man taunted, his voice low and disdainful.
Then the man hurled Kal-El into the dirt with such force that the ground quaked. Superman scrambled to his feet, only to be met with a blindingly fast punch to his midsection that drove the air from his lungs.
The man's power was far beyond Superman. But what was even more terrifying was the unsettling sexual stimulation Superman had felt during their earlier battle—a twisted sensation that now crept back into his mind. His penis stiffened little by little as the ruthless attacks landed on him
But the black-clad man didn't stop there—he twisted Superman's arm behind his back and flung him skyward, only to leap up and intercept him mid-flight, slamming him back into the earth.
Superman tried to fight back, landing a few punches that barely made the man flinch, but every attempt was met with an overpowering counter. The man grabbed Superman by his tattered red cape, using it to whip him around before slamming him into the ground. Superman's once-pristine suit was again torn and dirty, his emblem barely visible beneath the grime.
"You're too cocky thinking you could defeat me, Super moron" the man sneered, hovering over Superman's crumpled form.
Superman lay sprawled on the ground, his body battered and his spirit wavering. He struggled to rise, but his limbs refused to obey.
Just three minutes ago, Superman had been confident he could secure an easy victory. But now, he felt his energy draining away once again, leaving him with only a hopeless semi-erection in his briefs.
He looked up at the man, who loomed over him with an air of absolute dominance. "I will not let you win. I'm not Super moron! I'm Superman, I'm-"
Before he could finish, the man unleashed a sudden, blistering surge of energy from his hands. The surge hit Superman like a tidal wave of pure destruction, slamming into him with such ferocity that the floor beneath him cracked and cratered.
The energy seemed to crawl under his skin, igniting every nerve with unbearable heat and pressure. He writhed in pain, clutching his chest, however his erection was throbbing and jolting underneath the tights, screaming for a fresh release.
Before he could catch his breath, the man descended with a slow, calculated precision, his feet landing soundlessly beside Superman.
His shadow swallowed the hero, now trembling on the ground, instinctively trying to crawl away. The man's hand shot out and grabbed Superman by his cape, yanking him upward with a brutal tug.
Superman dangled helplessly, his legs barely brushing the ground, his face twisted in pain and defiance.
"You're done," the man said, his voice cold and unyielding. "Surrender."
Superman gasped for air, his vision blurred but his resolve flickering weakly. "I'll… never… give up. I'm…still Superman," he choked, though the words felt hollow, his body betraying the fight left in him.
Without a word, the black-clad man unleashed an even more devastating surge of energy. It engulfed Superman entirely, a storm of raw, electric force that lifted him off his feet and sent him hurtling back to the floor with a sickening thud.
Superman lay sprawled, every muscle screaming in protest, his chest heaving as he tried—and failed—to push himself up.
The man watched with detached amusement as Superman feebly attempted to rise. He rose up his arms like a bird learning to fly, managing only to lift his body a few inches off the ground before face-planting back into the dirt.
With each attempt, his movements grew more absurd—ass sticking up in the air, legs kicking out and clumsily crawling as though swimming in the dirt. Again and again, his body rose and fell, his efforts becoming a pitiful cycle of failure.
After seemingly ten minutes of his ridiculous futile trying, Superman lay still, his breath shallow and ragged. He stared at the ground beneath him, realization dawning in his glassy eyes: he failed.
His erection died down as the power that defined him was gone. That once-proud now-limp and soft bulge pressed against the floor.
The man approached Superman, watching as the fallen hero lay motionless on the ground, his chest rising and falling weakly with each shallow breath.
"Surrender," he commanded again, his voice carrying an air of finality.
This time, there was no answer. Superman finally pushed himself up and didn't even lift his head. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint rustling of his tattered cape as it dragged across the floor.
"How am I supposed to fight this?" Superman thought, despair flooding his mind, "His strength rivals mine—no, surpasses it in every way. And his attacks…" Superman's breath hitched.
"They're unlike anything I've ever faced. They disarmed me—not just physically, but mentally. They made me feel things, distracted me, aroused me, drove me insane, made me hard. How can I fight someone who turns my own body against me? How can I save Jonathan and Jimmy?"
The grim answer was unavoidable: there was nothing he could do. Nothing but plead.
Superman's heart dropped, his voice cracking under the weight of shame and desperation. "This is between you and me…I'll do whatever you want…kill me if you want—just release Jimmy and Jonathan. Please."
The man stepped forward, pressing his rubber-clad foot onto Superman's head and forcing him further down. "Before you make requests," he said coldly, "learn how to bow."
Without hesitation, Superman obeyed, lowering his head to the floor.
And as he knelt, that unsettling sensation crept through him again, one he couldn't suppress. Humiliation burned in his chest, but so did something darker, something he didn't want to name. His penis rose up a bit in his tights, his arousal betraying him once again.
"Please," Superman whispered, his voice breaking, "let them go. I'm begging you…"
Jonathan and Jimmy starred in stunned terror. They had never seen Superman like this—broken, humiliated, brought to his knees. The symbol of hope, reduced to begging like a defeated dog. It was a nightmare that twisted everything they believed about him.
Superman didn't dare lift his head. Part of him was terrified of showing even the slightest hint of defiance, but another part dreaded seeing the expressions on Jonathan and Jimmy's faces. He knew they had witnessed everything. He knew their belief in him wasn't just shaken—it was utterly shattered.
The black-clad man unmoved, his glowing eyes narrowing with a chuckle that exuded disdain. "Sincerity," he said mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. "I don't feel it."
Before Superman could respond, the man's boot struck him in the chest, sending him sprawling onto his back with a grunt.
Pain flared through his body again, but it was nothing compared to the sting of humiliation as he lay there, legs spread wide, his soiled red briefs on full display for the most important people in his life to see.
Without hesitation, the man pressed the sole of his left foot firmly against Superman's face, the rubber material cold and unyielding. Superman flinched, but the weight held him in place.
"Mhhhhh…" A muffled, incoherent sound escaped Superman's lips as he squirmed on the ground, his hands clawing at the wooden floor in a futile attempt to steady himself. The overpowering stench from the man's foot filled his nostrils, sharp and suffocating, invading his lungs.
"Clean it," the man ordered, his tone sharp and condescending. "Use your mouth."
Superman's heart sank, and his mind raced in disbelief.
"Is this what I've come to? I'm Superman. I'm supposed to inspire hope, to win over evil. But here I am… on my back, ordered to… lick my enemy's foot…Great Krypton, somebody, please help me..."
As the man's foot pressed harder, leaving no room for defiance, Superman's body remained motionless, as if the weight on his face had drained him of life.
The only thing that betrayed him was the growing, throbbing penis in his tights. Despite his shame, despite his desperate attempts to suppress it, it was beyond his control, no matter how hard he tried.
"Jonathan and Jimmy can see it all… What would they think of me…noo…"
Superman wished he could shrink down to nothing, curl up and disappear like a leaf crumbling to dust. Imagining what they had seen—he was getting hard in his briefs, eagerly and willingly! His self-pride, in mortification of his personal secret thus violated, and total embarrassment thereof—burning him flame red.
"I said NOW!" the man growled, pressing his foot down harder.
Superman hesitated, his pride screaming at him to resist, but the sensation in his body ordered him to obey.
Slowly, his tongue slid out, trembling with reluctance. The instant it made contact with the sole; a wave of revulsion washed over him. The rubber was slick and gritty, a bitter mix of dirt and sweat that coated his tongue with its foul, grainy taste.
"This is disgusting… degrading…", Superman thought, feeling his whole body flushing with shame and his alien sexuality. "Disgusting", "degrading". Those two words had increased his strange excitement even more. Now his mind was full of it, ignoring the burning shame from the fact Jonathan and Jimmy were both watching
"I'm disgusting. I'm a degraded alien freak." Each lick seemed to strip away another layer of his dignity. He gave up fighting, he didn't even try to conceal it.
As he continued, the unbearable sting began to morph into a roaring ache of desire. A smoldering heat flared in his chest, then sank lower, curling tightly in the pit of his stomach, reaching to his helpless manhood. His own penis was now tenting out, pushing up against the red briefs he wore over them, pushing straight upwards in a massive, straining erection.
"Why does this feel… good. Why am I enjoying it?"
The man watched with amusement, "Not good enough," he said after a moment. He shifted his weight, forcing the black-clad foot harder against Superman's face before pushing it into his mouth.
Superman gagged slightly but opened wider, the pressure making resistance impossible. The rubber-clad foot filled his mouth completely, the taste overwhelming, a mix of soils and filth. Kal felt the toes were jammed tightly into his throat, making him suffocate and almost vomit from the pungent smell.
"Get between the toes," the man ordered, his voice low and mocking. "Don't miss a spot."
Superman's tongue obeyed, sliding between the man's toes to scrape away the grime. The sensation was revolting, the flavor bitter and pungent.
"This is the lowest I've ever fallen", he thought, the weight of his humiliation nearly unbearable. He wanted to fight back, to shove the man away, but his body defied him, betraying his will. To his own horror, he found himself savoring the act, like a starving man relishing his first bite of a fine, indulgent meal.
"Mmmmhhhh…." Superman closed his eyes, making an ungraceful slurping sound. His both hands were no longer scratching the floor. They both moved unconsciously towards his crotch. Not to conceal the massive bulge, he ached to touch it, to take hold of it, to release what's inside of it. Even if it would activate the relentless torture by that little red ring warped around his penis.
"Why can't I stop?" The question burned in his mind, yet the answer eluded him. As he licked, his senses were overloaded by an unusual and growing sense of excitement. From his tongue, travelling across his body was a wave of adrenalin like nothing Superman had experienced before.
"This is wrong", he told himself, but his thoughts wavered. Every humiliating moment, every flick of his tongue, seemed to drag him deeper into an inexplicable mix of disgust and forbidden pleasure.
He hated it. He hated himself. Yet, he couldn't stop licking, like he couldn't stop that churning, throbbing erection in his tights, like he couldn't stop his hands from reaching further down to his crotch.
The man chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction as he watched Superman's willpower crumble before him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled his foot away from Superman's face and planted it firmly on the iconic "S" emblem on his chest, now glistening with sticky saliva.
"Maybe you do know how to bow after all," he sneered, pressing down harder. Superman let out a desperate, muffled moan, his body betraying him once again.
The man noticed the flicker in Superman's eyes—an unsettling mix of submission and longing, as if he felt a hollow ache the moment the foot left his mouth.
"Please…" Superman rasped, his voice choked with exhaustion, his eyes brimming with tears. "I've shown you…my surrender. Please, stop… and release them…"
"Stop?" The man's gaze drifted downward to Superman's crotch. "Funny… your body seems to have a different idea, Superman."
Before Superman could say anything, the man shifted his weight, pressing his foot firmly against the red-clad bulge. Superman's hands shot down instinctively, but they hesitated just short of pushing him away, trembling in shame and helplessness.
"Ahhh!" A miserable scream tore through the air. "Please! Stop! I'm begging you! I'm Superman, you…you can't do this to me…" Superman was on the verge of collapse, the crushing pressure on his crotch threatening to break him.
He felt like all his blood rushing down at his groin, pushing the pre-ejaculation to the tip of his swollen gland.
" Superman? No, you're just horny, hypocritical fraud," the voice taunted with venom. "You want everyone, your father, your little sidekick, to believe you disapprove. But deep down, you just wish you could let your true self out... to give in completely. What a fine erection it is – doesn't Superman look good like this, hard in his tights and panties? Doesn't the Metropolis Moron look just fine?"
"Stop it! That... that's nonsense. It's not true!" Superman protested, his voice wavering. "Oh... stop stepping on my b-briefs..., stop stepping on my... my... thing. I'm Superman! In the name of Krypton, just stop! Stop it! Please! Oh!" Despite his words, he made no move to resist. He just lay there, his hands gripping tightly onto the man's muscular calf.
"You see? You don't actually want me to stop, Superman. If you did, then you wouldn't let you cock grow like this." the man's cold voice sarcastic but weirdly arousing. "You're trembling with excitement at being punished like this."
He pressed down harder, his foot grinding into Superman's groin with deliberate malice. As if crushing an insect into the dirt, he shifted to using only the tip of his foot, the pressure precise and unrelenting. Superman's inflated penis and swollen balls were pressed nearly into a pizza-like dough.
The illusion of his nuts being smashed into pieces and his penis being snapped off slowly creeped in. He feared it would come true in any given second, but the final climax he would get. Oh…How sweet. How beautiful. All destroyed.
"You're literally about to wet your tights and your panties, aren't you, Superman?" The man teased, increasing the force on his foot.
"No," screamed the Man of Steel, tearing up helplessly. "Not this…again. I'm not wetting my tights. I mean... Oh no!"
"Again?" The man laughed, "What you mean again? You have wetted your tights before?!"
"N-nnnno," Superman gasped, gritting his teeth as the relentless pressure continued. "N-no, that's not true."
The black-clad man's anger flared at the response. With a furious growl, he raised his left foot and brought it down hard, stomping repeatedly on Superman's manhood again, again and again.
"AAAHH!" Superman screamed, the pain searing through him as if he had fallen from a thousand miles high, crashing to the earth and landing on a sharp, jagged spear, piercing through his groin, bursting out his balls.
He tried to use his hands to shield his penis and balls from the brutal blows, but it was pointless. The impact only caused his hands to nearly fracture from the brutal force of the strikes.
The pain was unimaginable, and darkness consumed his soul.
"Don't fucking lie to me!!" The man howled and didn't stop his relentless stomping.
Superman's groans grew weaker and weaker, his hands losing the last of their strength. Eventually, they fell limp, his arms stretched out flat against the ground.
Overwhelmed by intense pain, Superman lost the ability to think and instinctively blurted out the entire truth, "Yes… I… lied… I… have wetted my tights… I have… wetted… all…over… my tights more… than… once…"
As bloody foams began to fill up his mouth, a moist stain appeared at the tip of his erection, then quickly spread across the crotch of his red briefs, darkening the fabric. Superman, finally gave in, was now urinating on his already tattered skin-tight Kryptonian suit.
The black-clad man finally paused his relentless torture, satisfied with the response and the scene before him.
Superman lay there motionless, like an eagle with its wings cruelly clipped, fallen into a filthy ditch. He couldn't even summon a thought about what to do next. What senses he had left registered the shadow of death slowly unfurling its wings before him, yet he had no idea what form his tragic fate would take as despair loomed, ready to tear him apart.
The air in his nostrils was thick with an indescribable metallic tang. It was the mingled stench of dust, blood, and urine.
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