The Telemachus Story Archive

The Seven BDSM Nights of Superman
Chapter 8 - Finale
By Henry Dee

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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 party continued through the night and into the next day. By midday most of the guests had found their way to their rooms, or, more often each others, where in pairs and groups they continued the celebrations in ecstatic debauchery. Luthor wandered the corridors, kicking aside empty bottles: Dom Perignon '83, Chivas Regal 50yo, Domaine Romanée-Conti 2005,...

Here and there an unconscious guest or employee lay propped up in a corner or sprawled on the floor. Drunken laughter and carnal grunts emanated from some rooms, while from others there was only silence or deep snoring. In several he found groups of guests and henchmen playing out the events of the previous evening, parodying the humiliation and distress of the vanquished Kryptonian; whimpering like puppies, crying like babies, cowering and calling "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me! Mommy make it stop!"

Luthor's face radiated a quiet sense of triumph. He had never felt so in control, so powerful, so much the criminal master of the world. The EM deception had worked far beyond his wildest hopes or expectations and enabled him to annihilate his greatest foe, first morally, then mortally. Nothing now stood between him and everything he wanted, which was, in short, everything.

When his wandering found him in the great hall he headed purposefully onto the balcony. Far below, the shadows concealed the bottom of the mine so he could not see but only imagine the detritus that lay there, the wreckage of man and machine.

"Garbage disposal." he whispered quietly to himself, and turned back into his underground lair.

By late afternoon he had eaten alone and worked in solitude for several hours on plans and strategies for expanding his empire in a "post-Superman" world. Occasionally he stopped and mused on the events of the past week, how everything had played out so successfully, and how, with the surprising success of the EM strategy, he had not even needed the seventh night and the coup de grace he had planned.

"A pity in a way," he thought, and chuckled. Things had worked out so well!

As the day drew to an end the entire maze of corridors and rooms was as silent as the grave. Only Luthor seemed still to be astir, and now he was ready to surrender to the tiredness that was engulfing him. As he settled down into his satin sheets and deep pillows, he imagined what pleasant dreams were in store for him. He fell instantly asleep. his smile broadening as his eyes closed.

Is it something about sharing the air in a room with another that makes us aware of their presence even when we can neither see nor hear them? Whatever it is, Luthor knew he was not alone even before he opened his eyes. It seemed no time had passed since he succumbed to tiredness but he was instantly alert in the moment he awoke.

"Who's there?" he asked with just a hint of trepidation in his voice. His men knew not to enter his sleeping chamber without permission but perhaps exceptional circumstances... It was not necessarily anything untoward...

No answer came.

He opened his eyes and the soft blue light of the clock in the windowless room revealed a hazy figure hovering at the foot of his bed, a metre above the ground. In the dim light and without his contact lenses the features lacked definition but the physique was truly godlike. The soft black locks with the kiss curl, piercing blue eyes and strong, square jaw sat above muscular rounded shoulders and arms, and powerful chest. The shadows of his eight-pack rippled down to the slim waist, while the sturdy hips sat either side of the perfectly formed genitals. The sturdy thighs and calves bulged with latent force. The god floated there, silent, looking down on him, observing without expression.

"You could have knocked." Luthor said in as nonchalant a manner as he could manage but wondering what it would be like to be roasted by heat vision. "I see you've gotten over our last night's play."

The god spoke.

"It seems I have."

"You... you did well. My people were very impressed. Very... entertaining."

"I'm sure. The memory has an almost dreamlike sense to it. But I'm sure you can understand why."

"Tell me."

"When I came to at the bottom of the mine my I expected to see my body ravaged and mutilated. But everything was as you see now. The metal rings had fallen away, the wounds had healed, my hair was its normal length. There was no more pain, only a distant memory...

I found the wreckage of the EM machine nearby, That was truly confusing. There was no advanced technology, just a metal box housing some basic circuitry; a light and sound show. It took me awhile to make sense of it. It was just a prop, nothing more. So how did it work, I asked myself, and how was I rendered vulnerable and powerless? Then I realised, I did it to myself, allowed myself to be influenced and led by you. I opened myself to temptation and suggestion and you took full advantage... Something like hypnotism I guess. Am I right? Was that it?"

"Something like that. Well done in working it out." He remained apparently cool and in control, formulating his next moves. If he could survive the next few minutes things might be ok.

"Which explains my survival and restoration. Once I lost consciousness in the hall, the psychic effect on my body lost its effect and my natural metabolism took over again."

"Yes. As I knew it would, of course." He wished he sounded more convincing.

"Of course." The sarcasm was clear.

Summoning his courage, Luthor reasoned it was time to act. Casually he pulled aside the bed clothes and rolled over to sit on the bedside. He slipped his feet into slippers then stood and pulled on a kimono style dressing gown over his silk pyjamas. So far so good. He stood and turned to face Superman again, but he was alone. Was it a dream?

He made his way into the adjoining room, his office. Empty. The reception room. Empty. Where were the guards? Tentatively he opened the door into the main corridor, and there was Superman, still naked, standing and waiting for him. And again, no guards.

"What's going on? I presume you're here to honour your contract, the seventh night.?

Superman looked at him quizzically.

"I already did."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I arrived here at 7pm as agreed. I've been here, off and on, for the last fifteen hours. This is the morning of day eight, around 10am. You slept through the seventh night."


"I've had plenty of time to get a good look at your setup here. It's quite extensive. When you renegued on our contract by not meeting me last night I reasoned I was released from obligation and free to act."

"What do you mean? What have you done?"

"Have a look around. You won't find anyone else. The place is empty except for us."

"What? Where is everyone?"

"Many places. Not here, in custody. It was very good of you to assemble them all here for me. It made it very straightforward for me."

"You took them all into custody?"

"I can work very quickly when I want to." The broad grin spreading across the Man of Steel's face infuriated Luthor. His triumph had turned to complete and utter defeat. His men, his minions, all imprisoned. And now, what of himself? Options were narrowing. He had to think.

"I suppose you want your costume back?"

"I was about to ask. Although, I must admit, now that I am myself again it feels good to be free of any physical restriction. But yes, I suppose so. Where is it?"

"Come with me." He was doing his best to look and sound relaxed but Superman, with his enhanced senses once again in play, was aware of the pounding heart and the perspiration. It could just be the apprehension of impending imprisonment but Luthor was the most wily of foxes and not to be trusted for even a moment.

"Lead on."

Luthor led him down to the very end of the long corridor, past the many rooms he had earlier explored and where he had found so many of his tormentors from the night before, now all trussed up and delivered to authorities around the world. The concealed door at the end of the corridor would not have eluded him had he been focussed on closer discovery and had it not been shielded with lead. It slid silently open with a touch of Luthor's hand to reveal a small lift. The two men entered and it began to descend.

After a few seconds the door opened again to reveal a vast natural underground chamber housing a small circular arena. Bright lamps illuminated the bleachers and central stage but the extent of the chamber itself was hidden in darkness overhead and beyond. At the centre of the arena was a large stainless steel pallet, the size of a bed, not unlike those Superman had seen used at autopsies. From its edges hung chains and manacles and around it was an assortment of strange devices with tubes, electrical cabling and rods of various lengths and thicknesses. A small table alongside carried small hand tools and what looked like surgical implements. On the far side stood a mannequin wearing Superman's costume.

"What sort of unholy place is this?" Surprise, anger and disgust mingled in the naked man's voice.

"We call it the Play Field." Luthor began to walk towards the mannequin.

"No doubt this was to be the scene of our seventh night encounter. This was meant for me, wasn't it?" Superman felt rage well in him and fought down the temptation to incinerate Luthor on the spot. The criminal made no reply but walked steadily across what was clearly intended as a place of torture, and began to undress the mannequin.

Superman was instantly alongside him, his face set in a scowl. Without comment he pushed Luthor aside and began to dress. He wanted only now to finish with Luthor and his lair once and for all. It was the moment Luthor had waited for. Faking a slight stagger from Superman's shove he let his hands fall onto the table which held the instruments. A lead-lined ring-box sat in the corner of table and Luthor flipped it open and quickly grabbed its contents.

Immediately Superman felt a wave of nausea wash across him. He turned as Luthor stepped sharply towards him, thrusting his hand forward and seizing Superman by the hair. He held his other hand up in front of the superhero's face, furiously displaying the ring with the glowing green gem which now sat on his finger. He pulled down hard.

"On your knees, turd!"

Aghast, Superman sank to his knees. The glowing kryptonite hurt his eyes and burnt his face like summer sun. He felt a further wave of nausea and dizziness.

"You thought you'd emptied the world of Kryptonite, didn't you? Well not completely you arrogant fool. I've had this ring since that time eight years ago when I first became aware of the substance. My technical people analysed your responses back then and calculated how much was needed, not to kill you, but to make you weak as a kitten, so that we could have our way with you if we ever got you in here. And yes, this was to be the scene of our final night's play. Things took a different path when the EM machine deception worked so unexpectedly well but now we can return to Plan A. My only regret is that there will be no audience but myself. But don't worry, I'll make sure the video recording gets a good airing when the world starts to ask 'What's happened to Superman?'"

He jerked his still half naked foe to his feet and pulled the blued leotard from his body, revealing its full glory once again.

"Get on the slab!" he commanded. "Now fasten the ankle manacles and lay on your back."

Superman did so and Luthor attached the wrist manacles, and fastened thick leather straps over chest and legs, securing Superman to the metal table.

"Now, let me tell you what is going to happen," he said, holding his left hand with its glowing gem firmly on the bound chest.

"First I am going to take this ring from my finger and shove it as far up your ass and into your body as I can, where it can sit securely and keep you weak and defenceless as I go about my business with your body. A milking tube will be clamped onto your cock, electrodes will be stapled to your balls, and an electrified dildo pushed into your ass. They will run at maximum level, painfully stimulating your prostate and balls to generate every ounce of semen you are capable of, while the tube will stroke and suck spurt after spurt of cum from your beautiful cock. And it won't stop when you're empty, it will go on and on until you feel your balls shrivelling and your lovely cock is rubbed raw and bleeding.

Then we will start with the fucking machine. You see it there? All those rods of different lengths and thickness connected to that motor. We'll start with something more or less human size and run it at, what shall we call it? Jogging pace? Then we'll switch to something longer and thicker, and step up the pace. We'll go bigger and bigger and faster and faster until you are being fucked at sprinting speed by a three-foot dildo as thick as a watermelon. And you know what I like about these machines? They don't get tired, they just keep going and going and going, never tiring, never needing a breather, oblivious to your pleas and screams, until I decide to turn them off, which won't happen until your ass is totally destroyed.

Please believe me when I assure you everything will be carefully managed so that you are kept conscious throughout. I don't want you to miss a thing. We'll move onto more subtle play then, my favourite, much more 'hands on.' These surgical instruments and tools are precision engineered for the finest of cuts. I've always wanted to try my hand at flaying. Not the whole carcass, just a bit here and there. To be blunt, I'm going to fillet your phallus Superman! The we'll start removing some other non-essential bits before opening you up and playing around inside. Eventually I guess we'll lose you to shock and blood loss but we'll hold back for as long as possible. Funeral arrangements are quite simple. Dismembered and fed to my dogs. Any remaining bones will be ground down and baked into commemorative ceramic medallions for my friends, except for the skull. That will forever have pride of place on my desk!

Impressed? Possibly not but never mind, you don't get a say. Your place is just to lie there and scream. Let's start, shall we?"

Superman replied softly, a murmur Luthor could not quite make out.

"Feeling a little intimidated I see. You'll have to speak up. Better get it off your chest now, speaking is not going to be possible for much longer."

Again Superman whispered and Luthor bent close over him to hear.

"Speak clearly fool!"

Again Superman whispered and Luthor went deathly pale. He pulled back sharply but with a roar of rage Superman sat straight up, tearing his bonds asunder and grabbing Luthor forcefully by the shirtfront.


Struggling and yelling in desperation Luthor tried to break the grip but without effect. How could he have been so stupid? How could he, mastermind that he was, miss something so obvious?

"Wh.. what... what is the half... half-life... of kryptonite?" he blurted out.

"Approximately three and a half years!"


"Your ring has less than 25% of its original potency thanks to radioactive decay. Enough to hurt but not enough to weaken me sufficiently for your ends. Nowhere near what your scientists calculated would be necessary to destroy my defences."

"You were playing possum, you cock-sucking creep! Why?"

"I was curious as to how the final night was meant to play out. Now I know you are as vile and disgusting as I thought."

"What are you going to do?"

"First get rid of this!" He roughly seized the be-ringed finger. The green gem burnt into his hand but he gritted his teeth and with quick jerk pulled the entire finger, ring and all, from the hand. With a flick of his hand he sent the bloody digit and its jewel flying out of sight into the darkness. Luthor screamed and clutched the bleeding stump with his other hand.

"Are you going to kill me? You can't kill me. You're Superman. You don't kill!"

Superman pulled Luthor's face in so close that for a moment Luthor thought he was going to bite him.

"Don't count on it Luthor. Don't presume to know anything about me. I've had quite an education this last week, thanks to you. I'm not the same man I was. I think, I know, I'm much more dangerous now!" He glared at Luthor and his eyes began to glow red. Luthor shook with fear and moaned out loud, expecting to be engulfed in a ferocious burst of heat.

"Don't! Don't kill me! Please! Please!"

Superman said nothing but keeping fast hold on Luthor began to rise slowly into the air. His eyes retained their red glow but no heat radiated from them yet.

"I'm not going to kill you," he hissed softly. "I've already made arrangements for you. Your little description of your murderous plans simply reassured me that you deserve what's in store, though, to be honest I think you're getting off lightly. I told you we were alone in this place. That's not quite true, there is one other here."

"W...What? Who?"

"You are going to spend the rest of your life in high security prison, with hard labour and no parole. There's one other participant from the events of two nights ago who also faces severe penalty for attempted first degree murder. He knows he faces imprisonment without release but I have negotiated something with him to ease his fears and give him hope. He's waiting in your library now. His name is Wolfgang."



"So what's the deal? And what's it got to do with me? WHAT'S IT GOT TO DO WITH ME!!!!!?"

Superman did not answer but with a burst of speed and power flew down through the door of the lift, smashed through its roof and up through the dark shaft, grasping tightly onto the screaming Luthor. They hurtled along the empty corridor until they came to the locked door of the library. With a single tug Superman pulled it off its hinges and carried the whimpering criminal inside.

Wolfgang rose from his chair and fell to his knees, his hands locked in supplication.

"Superman! Thank you again for not killing me! I will do anything you want, I promise!"

"Just keep to the bargain we made and you will be a free man in ten years." Superman turned his attention to the bewildered Luthor.
"For once I am allowing myself a little license. This is the deal I have made with Wolfgang and which the authorities have promised to honour. He will share your cell for ten years and the he will be free. While he is in prison however he has been told that you are to be his slave to use and play with for these ten years in whatever way he wants, avoiding serious injury of course. You will be his servant and his bitch. You will call him 'Sir", speak only when you're spoken to, obey his every whim and fulfil his every desire. I gather from the last week that you seem to find this sort of arrangement entertaining. Perhaps you will find it as educating and instructive as I have. Now, greet your new master."

"What? This is utter crap! I'll do no such thing!"

Without speaking Wolfgang stood and stepped towards them, his great bulk towering over even Superman and dwarfing Luthor.

"You will not speak to Superman like that!" And he took Luthor by the shoulders and lifted him high overhead. He held him there and shook him like a doll, harder and harder until Luthor thought his teeth would shake loose from his head.

"Stop! Stop! Please! Enough!"

Then Wolfgang threw him hard down onto the floor where he lay winded and gasping.

"Now, say sorry to Superman."

"F... fuck off!"

Crack! Wolfgang's hand slapped hard across the back of the criminal's head.

"Ahhhh! Sorry!" shouted Luthor, then quietly, "I'm sorry Superman."

"Apology accepted. Now apologise to Wolfgang."

"I'm sorry Wolfgang." he hissed.


"Not Wolfgang to you, dog! I am 'Sir!' You call me 'Sir!'"

"Ahhh! I'm sorry, Sir! Sorry Sir. Sir... Sir..." And he began to cry, first softly, then louder and louder and louder, until the empty corridors and rooms echoed with his total dismay, rehearsing the song he would sing without respite for the many long, lonely and truly instructive years which lay ahead.

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