Superman, The Downward Spiral Chapter 3-4
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Superman, The Downward Spiral

Author: Unknown

Revised, edited, embellished, and brought to a reasonable conclusion by Rick Henry, even if not entirely plausible, 03-2022.

Disclaimer: Superman and some characters within are owned by D.C. Comics. This is a work of fan fiction: sexually explicit content for mature readers only. (All artwork credited, and permissions given to use.).

Chapter 3: Bad, Then Worse. 

A few days passed, and the hero was still troubled by the same off and on strange occurrences. Whenever he gazed upon his reflection, no matter how brief, he would see a mesmerizing other inviting muscled hunk, a near twin, staring back into his handsome chiselled face. He would, of course, depending on his location, be wearing at least some clothing, while his other reflection was oddly always completely naked. Superbly built. And man-largely endowed, variedly erect or flaccid.

Actually, that first evening, after his near self blow-job, facing his own reflection, he had again gazed into the mirror in perverse slack jawed glee… as his reflection once more inexplicably reappeared, and pleasured itself to completion… copious white seed going everywhere. And he came in his thong watching it. Super-hot stuff, indeed.

The next day in the weight room mirror (a Saturday, Lois gone shopping)… the vision that the hero saw gazing back at him was practically a carbon copy of himself, naked as the day he arrived from the heavens. This time he/it was on its backside, a tube of lube laid out in front of him. He watched as his reflection coated his left fist with a healthy dollop of the chosen lubricant, and then rocked down onto its back and teased the starfish of his anal cavity with a determined finger to the knuckle; until slowly but surely, then another, until the two digits invaded and began working his long-gone virgin sphincter. He too could have sworn he also heard the reflection moaning and groaning aloud. Then another finger, and another, until his whole left fist was buried inside of him/itself, hammering away with reckless abandon… while his/its free fist hammered up and down on the very potent tool between his legs.

Then, both the MOS and his image—were gone! Wiped away!

Additionally, and more oddly though, the ropings of magma the hero saw explode out of the reflected member was but only a fourth as much as his own delivered. Nonetheless, he gazed down in awe at the puddle, and as he watched his twin-like reflection, he saw it lay down over the milky pool, lower its tongue, and lap most of it up. This excited him immensely, and used his own hand to scoop up a few healthy portions of his own semen, again elicited from him spontaneously, devouring it (nothing really unusual)… before finally getting himself together, and coyly considered this was not the actions of the proud and dignified hero he was supposed to be! Especially if another were watching!! True, his indulgences of before had been simple and brief. But this was getting a bit out of hand! He quickly disappeared into the broom closet again to gather up some helps, and mopped up the shot remains of his thick man-seed, before finishing off his workout in silence. Mentally wondering.

Now as if he’d suddenly fallen into a maelstrom. Not unpleasant, but sharply disturbing. And tried to remember when all this had begun to occur. Shortly after he and Lois had returned from a brief jaunt across the Pacific? Perhaps he had picked up some kind of foul foreign virus that was invading his alien sensibilities? He’d soon have to check out his bloodwork at his Fortress up north. To be sure, finding himself in such an inexplicable downward spiral… from which there seemed no escape, was unnerving.

Things continued like that: the hero masturbating himself sometimes without fully realizing it, until he saw his orgasmic puddle pooling at his naked feet. And he would always find himself talking to the reflection as if he’d become his own more than weak-willed Clark, while the reflection was the ever-all-powerful Superman. Finding it had truly gained a rather hypnotic grip on him. Getting worse and worse.

He even debated about discontinuing his workouts for a while. But his ever-remembered eruptions, shared with another male… had irrevocably ensnared him.

Finally, on the fifth day (after that near-missed chance to suck on his reflection’s erection)—things jumped to beyond a hyper-sonic weird.

As had happened with the first gentle “luring,” the hero was naked in front of his mirror, gazing at his “reflected” penis being stroked, while his hands remained limply at his sides. The reflection had teased him forwards… waggling his/its throbbing, thickly-wet, powered stiffness at him. Superman willingly and eagerly approached. But, as he reached the glass, something truly bizarre happened.

The glass vanished and he was standing face to face with his twin’s reflection, the heads of their desirable, turgid pleasure swords almost kissing. His, of course, the much larger… but of no matter, his wanting to engulf the other. Though his was cut (done as a baby before being sent to Earth), the other’s not, and was eager for docking onto him.


The hero’s lips trembled with excitement, and the handsome embodiment of his reflection gazed at him smiling. The “reflected Superman” reached out, barely caressed at his overloaded, ache-thrusting, beyond large nipples, yet ignoring them (though they tingled crazily at his nearness)… slipped down and handily enveloped over with both hands the hero’s heated  tool. Superman shuddered with pleasure, undone—his dazed head collapsing into the solid shoulder of his glass-reflection’s owner. In full surrender, groaning to be taken. It made no sense that this being had been made flesh. Possible or not, that didn’t change the fact, the hero was receiving a pleasurable act from his own become life-like mirror image! And wanted it beyond wanting…. Not realizing he’d been inadvertently, and very skillfully (momentarily) hypnotized. Again!

All of it only in his mind. Gasping… their glans-heads at last joined, and wetly anchored together.

“Just relax, and let me do all the work.”

The words were music to the Man of Steel’s ears—only his super hearing had failed, all of his senses of warning evaporated. For suddenly the door to the weight room once again opened, startling him. And when the hero turned back, the reflection staring at him was merely again his own. The other gone. Hand on his cock in the midst of pleasuring himself—Superman breathed a sigh that was equal parts surprise… bewildered relief, interrupted disappointment. And super-confusion!

The hero was in trouble, and he knew it.

“Too excited by your own—couldn’t bother to find me?” Lois quizzed sharply.

Having long suspected he was a chronic masturbator, when left to himself alone. Lois figured he couldn’t help it since a boy. Hyper-sexed as he was. Even as a grown man (knowing he was no less in love with himself as Superman)… and had accepted it as part of his alien “strangeness.” Although he had never failed to be aroused by her, nor was he less than a stallion in heat when enjoined. Demure as Clark, a bold titan as the MOS… ever intertwined. The enigmatic rarity, she found completely intoxicating. Yet no less disconcerting.

He thanked Rao for Lois, red-faced, and eased over to her; aware, too, he was wearing nothing at all, partially now softening, and had been caught “playing with himself.” Something that had not happened before, beyond the near other day. Indeed, he was chagrined, and a sight not to be ignored, soft or hard. She reached him midway across the room, and their bodies entangled in a hot embrace.

“Is everything all right?” she soothed. Knowing she had caught him off-guard.

The hero was soon embracing her tighter then normal, and she could feel his phallus risen again, pouring wet, and way up high and close against the front of her blouse, between her welcoming breasts. It pleased her that even after three years of marriage that she could still illicit such ravenous lust from the champion of earth, but it had also caught her slightly off key. Not what she was had been expecting of the moment. Coming upon him like that.

She felt his hard mouth press against hers, and she invited his tongue, parting her sweet lips. She felt her knees weaken, and soon she collapsed under the weight of his impressive nakedness. They both quickly removed her clothes with little preamble, breathing quick and heavy. When he was hot, he was hot; and nothing could stop him. His mouth ever urgent onto and over her nipples every time, always devouring them; the long/thick hardnesses of his own rubbing into her softness, but never allowing her to touch them—just his strangely huge ones grinding into hers, almost frantically…. A difference she accepted. Sometimes noting they did get wet. But said nothing, knowing he would be defensive and refuse to speak of it. Just shrug off. He was Kryptonian: that was that!

She felt the broad crown of his glans tease her vaginal lips, and she kissed him harder, sucking his tongue, wanting to feel him fill her sooner rather then later. Oh, anticipating the glory of his entrance, his tumid fullness. Stretching her almost painfully, always at first…. She threw a leg around the small of his back, and his rigid helmet slid in. Then more—but then something was suddenly different. He paused, inexplicably. As if netted in mid-flight. Shuddered all through him…. And stopped.

Their lips parted and she felt him suddenly softening; still big inside her. A weird panic had filled his face. He began to ease out, then reached down and slowly began to stroke himself back into hardness. Once more she pulled his mouth back to hers, and their lips danced… as his revived glans, and then a few more turgid inches crept past her aching slit. Then a couple more, relief washing over her as a few gentle thrusts followed. He was going deeper, deeper. Hitting bottom, at last. Causing her to writhe and cry out. But not too hard… always being carefully considerate, though he was still inches out from being fully in—which, of course, could never occur, knowing his hugeness and her limits preventing it. But suddenly his invading member was again wilting, going limp… retreated, and the hero was once more worriedly having to manually stroke himself back to rigidity. Not even his infamous will power, which never failed, could seem to aid him. His erection curtailed.

She looked at him, her face a mixture of agitation and confusion. “First, I find you naked in the workout room, admiring yourself, fully ready to go—then when I confronted you, you practically attack me. And now, you can’t keep it hard? What’s wrong, Clark? My tits suddenly not as interesting as your own….?”

Which was almost nasty to say; but not unaware Clark did rather love looking at himself, being a very masculinely beautiful man, and she’d accepted his vanity to both admire himself, have her admire him… and keep his “Superman” image solidly intact. Although this was definitely troubling; and clearly the hero was having some sort of performance anxiety. He looked pathetic to her as his face was glistening with sweat, a shy panic filling his face, his hand stroking his once dominant pleasure pole, now a limp piece of rope. Rather caught like an embarrassed, inexperienced boy trying to make things right… as if it were his first time out. Not the most powerful man in the universe! Which was suddenly laughable under the circumstances.

Super-man, my ass,” she scoffed. And rolled away.

Lois. Please…” begging her to be nice. Mortified beyond comprehension.

Then she rolled back. Looked at him. “Just my little boy, aren’t you? A very big, but still very little boy, sometimes. I love you, anyway. The stallion you are, will always be. Untamed, impossible. Dull as a barn, more exciting than Oreos…” and snickered.

Ran her fingers through his hair. Kissed his cheek.


“Got to go, babe. Do something important. We’re out of coffee—” and grinned. Gathering herself together, re-dressing. Kissed him again, and left. “Better next time, I hope. Happens now and then. Just take it easy on your hands, save some for me…?”

He flushed really red, but said nothing. She’d found him out, and had magnanimously dismissed it.

The hero did his best to take consolation in her words, and the passing mask of concern she’d worn faded as she left… quelling any lingering worries in his sometimes less then intuitive head. He may be the most powerful being on earth, but there were puzzles of the female psyche that even Superman himself, or Clark, was feebly ill-equipped to handle. He couldn’t figure himself out yet. Much less her.

Although cold murder… was silently stalking the halls.


Chapter 4: Problems, My Dear?

Cat went sauntering over to the table in a small café on the edge of Gotham’s swanky downtown district. She had been informed by the voice on the other end of the line to meet at this particular café, if she wanted exclusive rights to the bombshell of all bombshells of a story… concerning someone beyond “super” special.

The voice reasoned that they needed to meet in Gotham, because it would arouse less suspicion than if they gathered at an eatery in the city of Metropolis. The voice was indeed cryptic, which slightly excited Cat more, making her think that perhaps this wasn’t just some crank seeing how far she would go when she first picked up. Not to mention she was to be transported to their meeting by air.

She still had no idea what to expect when she boarded the unmarked small jet she had been instructed to take. No doubt her “source” was quite rich, had something noteworthy to disclose, and wanted to be ultra discreet. But like any halfway competent newshound she was more then a little intrigued by the idea of having “the scoop to end all scoops,” which the voice had promised. She was whisked to Gotham in no time. A waiting limo then carried her to her destination.

She ordered a triple espresso and waited patiently for the embodiment of the hithertofore “cloaked” voice to arrive and fill her in with the details.

She didn’t have time to take but one sip when the door to the dimly lit café opened and in walked a dashing Lex Luthor dressed in a fine Italian suit, a couple of burly fellows in plain looking business suits on either side of him… who then slipped aside to adjoining tables.

Now they had been previously introduced at a couple of dinner parties which he had hosted, but aside from his maniacal hatred for the Man of Steel, which seemed common knowledge, she knew little about him. She never thought much more about nor had crossed business paths with him, to even form an opinion. Knew he was rich, involved in a multitude of enterprises, but seemed bland fodder for “personal” news: her specialty.

He didn’t wait to be invited to sit, and simply slithered into the seat across from her. He tossed a hand over his shoulder, and was passed a dull manila envelope from one of his cohorts, which he dropped on the table in front of them, as one of his other burly fellows disappeared to fetch Lex his whiskey and coffee.

“Well, Miss Grant, so nice of you to accept my invitation.”

“Mr. Luthor! I will say I am surprised to see you here. What do you have to tell me? Especially being my boss, as it is—that couldn’t be spoken of at the Daily Planet any day of the week? Some new discovery… like it’s not a bird, it’s not a plane, it’s really Superman? In girly blue tights, and an ego-maniac costume… showing off every detail of his prized “physique” for all the world to see like a circus clown? Instead of just his no doubt very “personal desire,” to appear only in a cape, and notably well-packed thong—although that might alarm church-goers and well-behaved girl scouts. Though I actually believe, that that dumby Clark Kent and he… might have some severe manly competition to contend about there!”

“Ah, a very observant young lady,” smiled Mr. Luthor.

Experienced,” she grinned. “But only with the dumby—!”

She let out a girlish giggle leaning over the table letting Lex get a healthy look at her cleavage, uncoyly being shown off in an expensive Versace top. A man with his power could not be such an unwelcome alliance, could he? Even personally?

“Yes, I’ve heard our Clark is more man than many of us ever thought. And surely you know about that, my dear….”

“An exceptionally well-built, overly hung rat-wimp, I assure you!” she rasped bitterly. Having missed every quarter inch of his glorious rod and manly physique for ages long passed now. Even if he hadn’t been the most strident and forceful of men; and was at times rather bafflingly coy and demure (for all that chesty muscle and cock)—amazing! Which Lois was now revelling in: the full glory of it, knowing neither she nor any other female could have taken it all! But was on the receiving end, and continuing to savor a big chunk him certainly far better than some other Joe’s twinky nothing! Damn her.

“Well, Miss Grant, I hope you won’t think I’ve wasted your time. ‘What goes around comes around,’ perhaps? Comeuppance where comeuppance is due—for some, who think they are beyond reproach, or unassailable?”

His boast only slightly intrigued her and she crossed her arms taking another sip of her beverage. The burly guard had returned with Luthor’s peculiar brew. He took a healthy nip of each, surveying every inch of her lovely lithe body… which he considered just might soon be on display for him. She was not known for being remote nor intractable.

“Boasts are for liars and fools, Mr. Luthor. But I am very busy at the moment, we are gearing up for our awards season.”

“And so I have been told. Believe it or not, I do keep abreast of what my employees are up to. Which, considered or not, Ms. Grant, you actually are.”

“A fact that is not hard to miss, when we have to walk underneath that gaudy Luther Corp. sign on our way into the building every morning.” A lift to her brows, a smile.

“Of course.”

They were both being playful with one another, something that Cat found herself doing effortlessly with men, and women alike. Although Lex was not conventionally handsome, he wouldn’t be stiff competition in an ugliest man alive contest, either. Not striking or plain, but in-between. Forthrightly masculine. He also had a prominent fit-looking build—and, most attractive of all, he did exude “power.”

She smiled to herself as the sheen of nearby lights bounced off the top of his freshly shaved dome. Lex was enjoying the back and forth with her; she was a veritable fox of a woman, and Luthor fancied himself a connoisseur of the female sex. However, he was not immune to dalliances with notable younger males, either… although those were much less frequent. And while he could say he had been sucked off by some fine-looking men, he had never himself reciprocated, nor been invaded by anything bigger than an inquisitive finger of his doctor’s during his annual physical.

“So how can I help you, Mr. Luthor?”

“Well, Ms. Grant, I believe I am the one who can help you.”

“Surely you know what I do. I gather up and sell the dirt on certain people, which others are only too happy to hear and read about it. Depending on what you have, I can let you know exactly where and when we can best run it. Though being the boss of the outfit, I’m sure you know how to regulate such.”

“Trust me, when the time is right, Ms. Grant, you will be running this story on the front page.”

He opened the seal on the manila envelope and gave it a gentle shug, five pictures slid into view. He quickly spread them out on the faux cherry table and without needing to be told, she gazed at what until that moment only Lex Luthor’s eyes had espied. Her eyes instantly going wide.

The first picture was Clark Kent, going into the cleaning supply closet down a generally unused hallway at the Daily Planet. The next picture, there was Superman in full array. The next two pictures showed a battle-tested Superman obviously coming back from some emergency, and ducking into the closet once again. The last, and coming out, it was a final one of the usually unflappable Clark Kent, well groomed and dressed in his loose-fitting dowdy business suit, glasses and hair all in place.

Lex took a sip of his whiskey, and his swallow could be clearly heard.

Cat’s mouth was slightly agape as she took in the pictures, her mind racing. Her doubts and questions were all put to rest, when she turned her head back to meet the face of one of the most ruthless men alive. The soothing, deadly serious look in his eyes told her that these were the genuine article. The first true pictures of the secret identity of the fabled Man of Steel! Proof Luthor had thirsted for since he’d first encountered this beyond earthly, intrusive alien—finally quenched. And soon the public’s thirst for knowledge of such would be sated at long last.

“You know what this means?!”

“Your former “defective” paramour, and my nemesis—one and the same person.”

“He will be ruined!”

“Justice will have its day. At the very least.”

The sinister smile they shared could have lit the room with its combined heat. Lex swiped the pictures off the table and slide them back into their envelope home.

“Come, my dear, we have terrible plans to hatch for the Man of Steel.”

“He will rue the day he ever crossed me—or us!”

The two conspirators walked out of the dimly lit coffee shop and were on their way back: this time to a well-marked private jet… for some champagne and caviar. Not to mention a closer, more intriguing relationship.

To be continued…

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