Lex coughed on his morning coffee as his personal assistant handed him today’s edition of the Daily Planet. He read and re-read the headline not quite believing the words in front of his eyes. ‘The return of Superman?’ read the banner. A large color photo on the front page showed a section of the city skyline with a blue and red streak passing between two skyscrapers. “It can’t be…” Lex muttered to himself.
6 months earlier, the people of Metropolis had been shocked by the sudden disappearance of Superman. The population had become used to his almost daily heroics when, without warning, he mysteriously left without a trace. It had been a bleak time in the city: people felt that their champion had abandoned them. The resulting rise in crime had been a concern to many. But Lex was well satisfied, being able to go about his business without interference from the hero, who had confronted him and foiled many of his nefarious plans. He would have liked to know the fate of Superman but nevertheless felt contented that without his enemy on the scene, his empire was growing.
For Superman, it had been a difficult period. After his total destruction at the hands of the unknown assailant, he kept his head down, focusing on life as Clark Kent, distracting himself from the past by putting his energies into his reporting career. Thinking back to that fateful evening, he remembered the promise he’d made to that young man who’d beaten him into submission; the promise he made to never again assume the role of Superman. He had promised to hang up the cape permanently. And when he had said those words, he had meant them sincerely. But as the weeks passed, the memories of those events grew weaker. His body was as strong as it had ever been. He felt so aware of his own youthfulness and power. To feel forced to suppress his natural abilities was a real frustration. The mysterious power exerted by that youth haunted him. The kid’s knowledge of his secret identity and the video footage he’d taken from their encounter were too much of a threat for Superman to consider making a return.
But Superman’s confidence was growing. His body was strong and lean, his face ruggedly handsome. Even behind the Clark Kent’s glasses, his good looks and his natural power brought him attention and adoration from those around him, from the sycophancy of Jimmy Olsen to the flirtations of Lois Lane. The great hero’s self-belief was returning. He could convince himself the events of that night were a freak incident. He’d been caught off-guard. The nerdy young man had done what he wanted but was probably too frightened to show his face for fear of being punished for his actions. And so, after 6 months, back to the height of his power and confidence, the Man of Steel decided it was time to make a return. He may have been beaten once, but he was invincible once again, and this time prepared for any threat.
The Daily Planet headline was correct. Superman appeared at the scene of a factory fire two days after the story was printed, flying into the flames to rescue each of the trapped workers. Superman’s return was widely celebrated as the hero appeared again and again, capturing criminals and saving people from accidents and disasters. Many of the people called for some event to mark the hero’s return and welcome him back to public life. Metropolis’s mayor, wanting to capitalize on the people’s optimism, began to plan an event. The idea had been suggested to him by a shy young scientist he’d met on a mayoral visit to Star Labs: “How about a ceremony bestowing the keys of the city on the great hero?” suggested the young man. A wonderful idea, the mayor had thought.
But not everyone was overjoyed by the hero’s return. One evening, whilst relaxing in his suite on the top floor of the LexCorp building, Lex saw the figure of the hero land on his balcony. He stepped outside to face the hero. “Although I’ve been away for a time,” began Superman, his muscular arms folded beneath the ‘S’ symbol proudly emblazoned on his chest, “I know what you’ve been up to.” Lex was mute, unable to utter a word in the presence of this young hunk, who, with his poise and power, seemed to have to total control over the scene. “You’ve been expanding your little enterprise, but not by honest means.” As Superman casually stepped forward, Lex found himself backing away. Superman’s attempt to intimidate was working. “I’m back in this city for good, Lex. And I’ll be watching you…” And with that statement the hero launched into the air and, hovering above the balcony, his hands on his hips with the muscles of his strong arms rippling impressively, he said: “you have been warned,” before flying away. Lex walked back into his suite and, in anger and frustration, smashed a priceless vase to the floor.
The following morning, Lex received an invitation in the post. He read the text slowly:”
‘You are invited…
Next Saturday, the mayor of Metropolis will give Superman the keys to the city in Central Square. Your attendance is requested at Conference Room A, basement level, 325, 17th Street, next to Central square for front row seats to the destruction of the Man of Steel….
Lex was intrigued. He didn’t believe the words. He knew Superman was invincible but his curiosity was raised enough to consider attending this mysterious meeting.
The big day had arrived. The preparations for the ‘bestowing of the keys’ ceremony were well underway. In a show of support for the event, many of the citizens had volunteered themselves to help with the preparation, including a young scientist called Jack, who seemed to have a flair for innovation, making sensible suggestions for the set-up and planning of the event. Crowds of people started gathering in Central Square ahead of the midday ceremony. At one end of the public square, a stage had been erected with a lectern, chairs and microphones. Blue banners hung overhead, carrying the ‘S’ symbol of the hero. Large television screens were positioned above the stage and around the square. The city had anticipated large crowds, and the mayor wanted everyone to be able to see the event.
As the time of the ceremony approached, the mayor took to the stage. “Welcome, people of Metropolis,” he boomed to the crowd. “Today marks a special event. The Man of Steel, a hero so vital to the wellbeing of this city will be welcomed and we will bestow upon him our greatest honor: the keys of the city. But before the ceremony begins, Superman will address you.” Cheers went up from the large crowd that now filled the square as the mayor stepped off the stage.
Flying low over the crowd, Superman approached the stage and landed at its center. He stood proudly before the crowd, hands on hips. The excitable crowd was hushed at his sudden presence as they looked upon this proud young man. His strong body looked as impressive as ever, the tight blue material of his suit hugging his muscular frame. The details of his strong pectorals, his toned abdominal muscles and thick toned thigh muscles were clearly visible. His outfit, with his impressive bulge, clad in red trunks, seemed so showy and brash. But the audience loved the spectacle, once again cheering and applauding this young man.
Superman couldn’t hide his satisfaction as he approached the lectern. “Hello Metropolis,” the hero’s deep masculine voice booming around the square, “I feel so honored to be standing before you. Many of you have wondered at my recent absence, but I want to reassure you, I am back and I’m here to stay!” Letting the cheers subside, Superman continued, “I care deeply about Metropolis and it is my duty to protect it. I want to be a beacon of hope and strength to you all.” Superman looked at his public with a superior smile, his face glowing with pride as he lapped up the crowd’s adoration.
Suddenly, the microphones around the stage hissed and whined with feedback. The television screens positioned around the square, which had been broadcasting Superman’s speech, went black. Superman looked over to the organizing team who looked at each other in concern. Huge white lettering appeared on each of the screens “6 months ago…” The TV screens cut to moving footage, grainy and dark, of an alleyway. The footage showed a close up of Superman’s face, which appeared bruised and dirty, his facial expression showing distress and anguish. The top of the hero’s great shoulders and pectoral muscles were bare. “I’ll give up being Superman. I’ll hang up my tights.” The words boomed out across the square. “And what about your compulsion to save Metropolis?” was heard a high nasal voice from off-screen. “I don’t care about Metropolis any more,” replied the hero. The hero, turning to look at the screen behind him, paled. His face betraying a sense of utter shock, he turned to the now silent crowd who were looking on perplexed, his hands gripping the sides of the lectern, his knuckles white. The screens cut back to the image of the shocked hero on stage.
The shocked silence was broken by a piercing high-pitched laugh, a familiar sound to the hero, which made him visibly shudder. A young man with a slim figure and a thin face began slowly climbing the steps and walked onto the stage. In one hand he held what looked like a TV remote control, and in the other a long black bar. Superman turned to face Jack, his heart dropping into his stomach, his full red lips parted in surprise. “No!” shouted the hero involuntarily, his knees weakening and buckling slightly beneath him. Before Superman could react, Jack pressed a button on his remote control device. Quickly and smoothly, thick Perspex sheets rose up around the edges of the platform, completely enclosing the stage. A small trap door opened at one end of the stage and, smoothly rising from beneath, a large green glowing crystal emerged. That familiar feeling of weakness and nausea swamped the hero who staggered backwards away from Jack. “Six months ago, I built a cage for you, big man. Now I have built you a goldfish bowl,” sneered the young man. Superman looked out upon the crowd who still stood in shocked silence, the hero’s words “I don’t care about Metropolis any more” ringing in their ears. The situation was so surprising, no one knew how to react.
Jack turned to address the crowd. “This man who stands before you is no hero. He is a pathetic wimp. This worthless hunk decided just 6 months ago give up on this city. He made a promise to me to give up his role as Superman”
Weakened though he was, Superman couldn’t allow this to go on. He couldn’t allow this punk to poison his adoring public against him. Standing tall with his shoulders broad and his fists clenched, he strode toward the youth. But Jack saw him coming. Just as the hero reached him, he felt his tormenter’s open hand make contact with his throat. He coughed and choked as the young man, with a tight grip on his muscular neck pushed the hero backwards. His huge muscled arms, which had been tensed ready to fight, the biceps bulging within the tight blue fabric, now clawed helplessly at the hand gripping his neck. The crowd gasped at the sight of this slim young man pushing the huge muscled form of the hero who stumbled backwards, his throat still in the grip of this attacker. No one had ever seen the hero weakened or overpowered. The scene was mesmerizing. Superman fell to the ground and looked up at Jack who now towered above him.
Grabbing a chair, Jack sat down in front of the hero and, pulling the hero up by his hair, manhandled the hunk into to position. Before he knew what was happening, Superman found himself lying face down over the young man’s lap. Now tearing and ripping at Superman’s suit, Jack let out the high-pitched laugh that had become such a torment to the hero. Grabbing a fistful of the hero’s red trunks and yellow belt, Jack yanked down Superman’s trunks, exposing the large smooth mounds to the crowd. Jack looked down, marveling at the form of those buttocks, so muscled with dimples at the sides. Now raising his hand above his head, Jack brought down his open palm upon the soft skin of that perfect exposed ass. A loud slapping sound, picked up by the microphones on stage resonated across the crowd. Moaning and groaning, Superman writhed and squirmed, but was unable to break free as the hand made contact with his pink cheeks again and again.
“You have been naughty Supes,” said Jack as he administered the punishment, “you made me a promise. You’ve broken your promise. So you need to be taught a lesson.” The spanking continued and the hero’s ass started to become red and sore. “Now look at your adoring public,” called Jack as he grabbed Superman’s ear and forced the hero to turn his face towards the crowd. Superman appreciated for the first time the shocked and dismayed looks on the faces of the crowd. Yet no one seemed to be acting, no one seemed to be rushing to save the hero from this torment.
“Stop this!” ordered Superman, the pitch of his voice rising in desperation. But Jack took no heed, his open palm finding the buttocks again and again. Superman’s ass was turning red. Each slap stung the tender skin more and more. “Stop!” bellowed Superman wildly. As the punishment continued, the hero screamed in pain and desperation with each new slap.
“All of Metropolis has heard you screaming like a baby…how humiliating for you” whispered Jack into the hero’s ear. He released Superman, who rolled onto the floor reaching for his trunks and pulling them up over is bruised butt. Now crawling towards the edge of the stage, Superman began pounding on the Perspex sheets, trying to break through, but to no avail. The crowd’s shocked silence was giving way to unsettled disapproval. The sounds of shouts and jeers could be heard. “Get him out of there,” came a shrill voice from within the crowd.
Seeming to ignore both the mood of the crowd and the futile efforts of the hero, Jack addressed the audience one more: “let’s see what else Superman has been saying behind your backs.” As Jack flipped a button on the remote control device, the TV screens showed grainy footage from the alley again. This time the image was of Superman’s face and torso, as he lay on his back on the ground, the ‘S’ symbol on the front of his muscled chest rising and falling with his deep, fast breaths. The hero’s voice called out: “Cut off the ‘S’ shield on my chest, rip it off!” Again, a voice off screen calmly spoke: “Sorry Superman, I didn’t hear you, what do you want?” Superman replied, “I want… I beg you… please! Cut off the symbol on my chest!” After this short scene, the video cut to another image, this time a close up of Superman’s face, his bare shoulders and the tops of his exposed pectorals, his skin scraped and bruised. “I beg you master, please fuck me and fuck me hard. I want it!” The recorded voice of the hero carried over the crowd who were once again silenced by the disturbing words issuing from their champion.
Superman, on all fours, stopped clawing at the edge of his new cage, appalled that the sounds of these words had been shared with the world. “Stand up and face me Superman,” shouted Jack from across the stage. Superman suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the position he was in slowly stood up and turned towards Jack, breathing heavily. Jack stood before him with a smirk on his face. He was holding that black rod in his hand “I told you that if you broke your promise, things would be ten times worse for you, didn’t I?” he said. Suddenly, Jack rushed towards the hero and grabbed the front of the hero’s red trunks. With the hero’s balls clenched in his tight fist, Jack pushed the hero backwards against the Perspex wall of the fishbowl whilst the muscled hunk wailed and screamed in pain. Now, in a display of strength, which was a shock to the crowd given his slim build, Jack, tightening his grip on the hero’s crotch, lifted Superman off his feet. Superman threw his head back and screamed as he twisted and squirmed. The red boots kicked back and forth inches above the ground. In his free hand Jack was clasping the black rod. “I tried to tame you before and it almost worked,” said Jack. “Now I’m going to use this cattle prod to help me to bring you into line.” Jack rammed the end of the rod into Superman’s guts. Immediately an electric shock ripped through Superman’s body. He could feel the electricity rippling through his muscles. Again and again, the young man rammed that electrified rod into his six-pack abs, the muscles spasming and contracting with each blow.
Jack backed off the hero who stumbled forwards into the center of the stage. He just about managed to keep himself on his two feet. However because of the shock and the pain of the rod, he could feel himself losing control. He could feel warm piss against his upper thigh. The warm fluid was spreading from his groin crease, darkening the blue fabric and spreading down his thigh. “Oh my god,” screamed Jack with relish, approaching the hero and grabbed him by the ear. “Look at your hero, Metropolis! Look at this great invulnerable hunk! He’s pissed himself. Wet his pants like a little sissy!” The crowd gasped. The cameraman filming the scene for the large TV screen, obviously enjoying the spectacle of seeing the big man demolished, zoomed in on the wet crotch of the hero.
“You’ve dirtied your suit, Supes! That’s no good at all,” said Jack. “It’s time to get you out of that suit.” Superman gasped in horror. The idea of being further exposed in front of the crowd appalled him. He looked again towards his public, expecting them now to be protesting and rioting: doing anything they could to save him from this ordeal. But they looked on with curiosity. The recorded words of the hero denying his identity and begging to be fucked had made an impact. They were stunned but they didn’t know how to react. Even the city’s mayor, standing to the side of the stage seemed transfixed by the unfolding events.
Superman could see some of his fans filming his downfall on their camera-phones, which made him feel sick to his stomach.
Superman dropped to his knees before his tormenter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I disobeyed you. It was a terrible mistake.” Superman’s quietly spoken words were picked up by the microphones and amplified across the square. Jack looked down and smiled. “Please!” begged Superman, his hands clasped together in supplication, “Let me go. I beg you.”
“Pathetic,” spat Jack. “It’s too late for you Supes. Up you get.” Grabbing the hero’s upper arm, Jack hauled the hero to his feet. He grasped the red cape and tugged it hard, ripping it from his body. Now with Superman still standing center stage, he loosened the blue suit at the back. He grabbed a fistful of the hero’s red and yellow ‘S’ shield and with one fast movement, savagely ripped the suit from his body. The crowd gasped at the sight of the hero’s suddenly exposed torso. The perfect shape of those powerful pectoral muscles with a fine covering of hair; the smooth quarter-sized nipples; the rippling muscles of the abs all made quite an impression. Hauling the sleeves off the hero’s thick arms, the perfectly proportioned arm muscles were also exposed. Now as the hero faced the audience feeling dazed, unable to resist, Jack stood behind Superman and, grasping firmly on the hero’s belt, yanked the hero’s trunks and tights down, revealing the genitals to the world. The perfect, large, thick cock and the round smooth balls hanging behind were exposed for all to see.
The humiliation was too much to bear. The once-arrogant hunk felt tears welling in his eyes. He let out a sob as the tears started rolling over his fine cheeks. Jack pulled off the red boots, freeing the blue tights from Superman’s legs. Superman, now completely naked, looked towards Jack. “Now I want you to put your trunks and boots back on!” commanded Jack. The hero obeyed; glad to be able to cover his manhood from the crowd. “Look at this joke!” Jack called out to the audience. “Standing here with his body on display for you in a little pair of red briefs and a pair of red leather boots. He looks like a go-go dancer.” Superman was amazed to here laughter from the audience at this statement. He had thought that nothing could be worse than his destruction 6 months ago, but Jack was right, this public humiliation was a lot worse.
“Now,” cried Jack standing aside the exposed body of the great hero, “I claim this creature as my own possession.” He reached over and grasped the seat of Superman’s trunks, scrunching up the material and pulling it upwards into a wedgie. Superman winced as the material collected in his ass crack, exposing his smooth round buttocks once more. As Jack tugged on the trunks, they tightened around his genitals, revealing the contours of his cock and balls. In a daze, Superman staggered forwards, the stage lights reflecting and shining off his muscled body. But Jack tugged on the wedgied trunks, pulling Superman in a direction of his choosing. As the shocked hero staggered around the stage, Jack used the trunks as a reign, leading the hero to the edge of the stage, dragging the defeated hero down some steps and out of the sight of the crowd.
The version of the story I saved only have until chapter 6, but Rick Henry thankfully sent me another version (whit an ending). I will publish Chapter 7 and the Epilogue soon.