Superman, The Downward Spiral
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 6: Not So High And Mighty.
It was a bit more than an hour later, Superman came to. He ached all through himself, the effects of the Kryptonite laced air he had been unwittingly breathing, and Cat’s injection that had knocked him out (along with the horrible heel of her spite)… severely compromising his invulnerability to pain and harm, and inhibiting the use of his impossible strength, otherworldly powers. He checked his watch, knowing he had to get going. The thieves with the secret information long gone, he needed to apprehend them quickly before they could discover the truth of their heist, and perhaps reveal their damaging contents.
A buzz from the GPS device having been left by his side stirred him into action. His head was in a veritable spin of pure grogginess, rarely ever before experienced, and his genitals ached horrifically. Luckily, his leather-lined protective thong, and his largely thick penis had taken most of Cat’s spiked assault, sparing his testicles irreparable harm (if only momentarily), but the pain was still there. He soothed at himself with his hands, knowing he would soon be restored once he hit sunlight. But the idea that she would dare do such an evil thing did not sit well with him, and he regretted ever having touched her, or having shared the glory of his manhood with such an ungrateful, vindictive bitch. The copious seed she had elicited from him, quite a volume of it, he considered a tragic waste… she, no doubt, still gloating at his losses (meaningless to her, but to him part of his soul). And the revelation of his true being—now, to become hers and Luthor’s puppet?! Utterly unreal!
Still woozy, he was anxious to get outside. He took Luthor’s private elevator to the helipad, having noted the address given on the GPS, and launched himself skyward.
Naturally his movements had been observed, and Luthor called his boys to alert them to prepare for his arrival. As instructed, they laid out the welcoming articles: the Ecstasy and Viagra tablets, a small pink aerosol of God-knows-what they were told to spray in his face once he was depowered before them (with the caution to “Use Very Sparingly”)… the notable greenish glowing handcuffs (still contained in a small lead container), a steel-linked throat chain, ankle-cuff restraints, and the two amulets they were to open and use as-of-the-now. (Not to mention Adam’s own surprise for the Man of Steel: his accoutrements for the piercing and containment of those definitely, outrageously large nipples dangling from his equally overdeveloped pecs they’d seen him sporting about in his home gym—which he knew would likely drive the alien half crazy with pain and humiliation—sealing their mastery over him, ever reminding him he was theirs, and Luthor’s slave. All with Lex’s approval, of course. What a coup!)
Stripping themselves quickly completely nude, they then doused each other with the strange adhering powder which was supposed to render their prey nearly senseless, rubbing it over their naked bodies with gusto. Instantly arousing each other, but they knew they had to curb those urges—would soon be able to assault their visitor with them, instead —and were warned not to allow the green powder to remain on their persons any longer than twenty to thirty minutes. Were to shower it off immediately once Superman was snared. Lex had been cryptic about what it was, and while a synthetic mineral, it was guaranteed to reduce the MOS’s power down to next to nothing, and was only to be used judiciously. Initially. And no longer—beyond the time needed to take him down: have him stripped, cuffed and bound, and prepped for whatever pleasures they wished. Once incapacitated he was theirs, and would be for an all-night session, as promised. Lex’s gift to them for their help, plus the forty grand each.
Lex’s prime motive was not their pleasure, but the filming of the forever lauded hero’s degradation. Binding him to him forever. Once able to disarm him, coated in the green substance all over their bodies (but not their faces)—they were to don some cloaking, long white robes, to initially deceive him, to get him “in close” enough to do so. Then, nudely greet him. And he would be had!
It took Superman less than 15 minutes to get there, but he circled the area warily. He was not about to be taken in by another “innocuous” appearing trap. The address revealed a late-model 50’s ranch-style structure in a moderately, but sparsely populated area; wide lots and lawns separated most of the buildings, which looked in the throes of some sort of urban renewal project, if not outright demolition. It was a one-story brick house, sturdy, but nothing other than plain, functional-appearing, though a nice late model black Porsche was parked in front. A dead giveaway something beyond normal was up.
His powers relatively restored, except for a mild headache, tenderness in his privates, he scanned through the building to see if any debilitating obstacles might be found. No obvious chunks of Kryptonite showed up in his perception… though he could determine two rather very well-built young men, from the breadth of their shoulders, albeit strangely “fuzzy-looking,” dressed in some full-length terry cloth robes, and relaxing on a couch watching tv. Why they were fuzzy, he couldn’t understand, chalking it up to some hangover impairment of his previous ordeal, and dismissed it as needing more time to recover from his recent injection. He flexed his biceps tightly, to reassure himself he could still feel his strength, and the size of his arms more than soothed him. Good to go, he assumed. Proud he had such magnificent guns. And more strength in them than any ten Mr. Olympias could dream of.
Not realizing the light synthetic Kryptonite he was unable to detect was any threat, and he was blundering headlong into a well-set trap worse than he could imagine. Once inside, he would never be able to get out, unless assisted. Nor would he ever be able to procure the disc he sought. His fate was sealed.
Rather than make a bold, demanding entrance, he cleverly pounded hard and heavily on the front door with enough to force to alarm any occupants, shouting: “Police! Open up!” knowing they would both rise to cautiously address the problem, gathering any weapons available—while he himself would quickly take himself to the rear, and enter through the back way. Perhaps the rear entrance would be unlocked, or he’d just tear through whatever and surprise them. His plan worked.
But only then as he quietly entered through the back, and the two robed men rose hastily from the couch, and turned in his direction… his fine red cape swirled dramatically behind him, his shoulders proud wide, big chest thrust forwards… for about fifteen seconds—while they equally all surveyed each other in some surprise. Nobody moved.
“Oh, my God! It’s Superman!” gasped Dennis aloud, pausing in mid-step.
“Imagine that!” Adam added, halting beside him, mouth ajar.
The three of them taking another five seconds to absorb who and what they were seeing. And in a co-joined flash, broad smiling, the two men boldy stepping towards Superman, widely opened their robes, displaying themselves before the hero. Not only struck by the sheer beauty of their frontal nudity, but the green covering them—with a startled gasp, the hero instinctively took a step back, throwing up one of his hands in front of him. It was a trap!!
Too late. Their robes slipping off, fully green and nude before him.
The caped titan wavered dumbstruck, immediately curl-clutched at his waist, “Uuhhhh!!” chin dropping forward… his breath caught in mid in-take, stomach swirling, head going funny… the two green figures moving closer. He managed to take about one more faltering step of staggered alarm, half sideways, half backwards, his mouth sagging open, eyes riveted towards them, before he dropped to his knees. “Na, na, nohhhh!! No! Please!”
“Superman, himself!” Adam said. “On his knees. And overwhelmed to see us.”
“Looking a little peaked, too. Let’s help him in,” Dennis offered. “Looks like he’s had a hard trip. Worn out.”
In pure panic—he had been duped, thoroughly stunned—the MOS gasped, tried to struggle, but they were on both sides of him now, got him to his feet, under his unwilling, massive arms, and steered him weakly into the living room. His legs leaden and not too workable. There, they let him go, and he dropped again to his knees in disarray. In shock. His senses aswirl, as much as his cape limply around him. They were indeed covered in Kryptonite; but a rare kind he hadn’t been able to detect. His brain told him it was synthetic, but still as depowering to him as the real stuff. Nevertheless, fear rocketed through him. And he recognized them now as the figures he had seen in his very own mirror at home the weeks before… enticingly taking him apart in a downward spiral, he could not comprehend—perceiving it was happening, but not quite in what way. Nor even how! The whole craziness of it mind-boggling. They had stepped out of his private dream into an unshakeable reality.
He knew now they had been awaiting his arrival. And he knew only one person could have orchestrated this: Lex Luthor. But for what—why? It could not possibly bode well.
His groaning was indistinct, and involuntary. Their nearness hurting him.
He glanced up, and saw two handsome young men standing in the middle of the room, their naked muscular builds and endowments on a fair par, though not nearly as fine as his own… their bodies glazed in green dust. He felt weaker almost instantly. Not only did they pierce into him with their undeniable, remember-ably deep attractions from his home gym, but the factitious Kryptonite was also doing its damnedest.
They had watched his shape-powerful legs and torso buckle. Now, gazing in awe, not ever expecting to witness such a sight, the mighty caped Superman totally floundered before them. A ragged, ultra masculine mass on his knees, as if fighting to catch his breath, clear his head, one hand protectively up and over his brow, as if trying to hide his eyes or shield himself from them. Luthor had surely been right about “the green.”
Moaning softly, disoriented… appearing as if actually afraid. Yet gathering the last of his reserves, the hero struggled to stand, as if seeking some sort of urgent escape, looking around wildly. They advanced closer, their naked bodies, chests forwards, genitals swaying provocatively, covered in Superman’s death element. It was too much. The hero again doubled over, groaning, trying to wave them away, desperate with a flailing arm to prevent their advancement. They stood one on each side of the wrecked-leaning hero reeling on his knees… who was now worse than distressed. He, the ‘Champion of the Earth’—suddenly downed, and nearly finished!! It was so unreal. So impossible. Could not be! Realizing it could only have been a pure set-up. No disc here. Only him, to be made captive… maybe murdered. Would they have mercy?
“What’s the matter, Superman?”
“I-I… am so—so weak. Please, no. Don’t! Spare—! He-help… me.”
Admitting it, a deep blow to his ego. Would they spare, or were they meant to kill him? His desperation, a pure panic overwhelming him… along with the debilitating destructive powder they wore. Corroding his mind, his very being. All of his fabled strength.
Yet “they” were the keys to his freedom, or slavery. Or worse—he was shaking.
“I never thought I would hear such words.”
The blond, more muscled and hung escort, Adam, draped himself over and onto the once mighty hero’s back, smiling… half hugging him. Who would have thought—the great Superman, here and his, for the unalterable fucking. Playing with the cape fasteners at his neck, Adam nodded to Dennis, indicating he should get the pink aerosol: what he heard it might do…. He stripped off and pulled away Superman’s cape, leaving him in a mass of skin-tight, silky blue. It disturbed the MOS, but what could he do? His cape, a true symbol of his status and might. Shorn from him, more vulnerable than before.
The hero was near prone-crumpled to the ground under the nude stud’s weight, his arms and legs frantically reaching, stretching out for safety, weakly trying to stave off the assault he sensed would soon occur. The other “super-impostor,” Dennis, from Luthor’s videos stepped forward, one hand into his hair, and with the other slapped the hero’s face with palm chops, back and forth. Just to be sure he was truly cowed, defeated. The hero mumbled a few “Oh, oh, oh’s!” at the assault, but could do nothing, Adam still clinging to his back.
What was left of his brain, the hero absorbed: these were surely the ones he had seen in his gym mirror back home! Somehow their presence had been designed, rigged, and engineered to get to him, arouse and tease him. How that had been possible, he didn’t know—leading him somehow into this now developing maelstrom of—
A strange, sweetish-like spray hit his face, he coughed suddenly, almost sneezed, had to take in another deep breath, along with another squirt of it practically into his mouth. And in hardly five seconds, a wondrous surge of warmth seemed to penetrate into his brain. Oh, my, this was… was so nice. So wonderful… so, so. He couldn’t describe it.
Yet tears stung the hero’s eyes as his face was carelessly smacked. He tried to block the blows with his hands, but failed. And while he was suddenly beginning to feel a bit very good all over, the slaps definitely, oddly hurt; his fabled invulnerabilities had been breached. He was now merely a pile of massively built muscle, with not even near the strength of someone built as well as he should be, or possess: fucking weak as a teeny girl. And ultra dizzy. The two naked green-coated studs roughly helped the hero to his feet, dragging him unsteadily over to a saddle brown leather sofa. He urgently tried slagging his feet to stop them, but it was useless. Their young, superior power superseded any of his that was left. He moaned apprehensively, groaned in obvious wonderment, a still quickening panic rising within him.
Beautiful as they were, did they really mean to harm him, abuse him? Or…?
Strangely, he was struck with an overwhelming desire to suck them both off—before they knew what might be happening. Knowing if he had the strength to do so, he would have! Render them helpless, and escape! Saving their lives, also, if he could. Taking them unconscious with him. He didn’t want them to be imprisoned (or maybe even die—if he had any inkling of what Luthor might have planned if they failed). Such beautiful young men. Maybe take them off to a “safe-house” of his own, the three of them… ever in rapturous congress with each other… whenever he could get away.
They dropped him heavily onto the couch. He looked up, and saw suddenly Adam, with a hand under his chin, gaze locked into his eyes, with a fist cocked back, ready to send it crashing into the hero’s vulnerable face… when the cell phone began to buzz. Dennis strolled off and over to it, his naked maleness waggling hard between his less muscled, but tapered, smooth-shaved legs. The dulled hero’s eyes followed his naked desirable form. Adam smiled, slackened his ready fist, and also stepped away and to the side… his gorgeous ass tightly curved and firm as he moved to hear. The hero himself suddenly more than aware he had a swelling, throbbing erection, yet hopelessly contained in his briefs—woozy, disoriented as he was, trying to cope with everything at the same time. Sat back, oddly benumbed and quiet, adjusted his phallus unconsciously, which soon softened again to the side of his hip. Waiting. Calm.
Dennis looked at the phone and saw his benefactor’s name displayed on the screen. He answered it.
“So how is our prey doing?”
“Weak as a kitten, Mr. Luthor.”
“Excellent news. Feed him his medication, and go into the desk and pull out the device… to assuredly keep him weak, while you boys go and wash off the Kryptonite.”
“Can’t we have a little fun, first? We just gave him a spray or two.”
“Go ahead and strip him. But no funny stuff! Get him cuffed right away! That will keep him completely corralled. Then, if you don’t get cleaned up, you might kill him. Which we definitely don’t want!! Or yourselves, with that shit—if it gets too well-absorbed into your skin!! Trust me, by the time you feed him his special pills and are cleaned up, he’ll be much more receptive to any type of fun you want to have. Then another spray, and it will be “Oooo-la-la” for all concerned.”
The prospect intrigued Dennis, who opened the drawer of the desk before Lex issued his final order. The oblong lead box with the wrist shackles, and the other stuff.
“Believe me, you’ll enjoy it much more to have a built, hungry Superman to play with. And with his toys so obviously bigger than your own. Great tits, too. Near big as Cat’s. Though she said his nipples overly beat any woman’s she’s ever seen. Beyond cow-like.”
“Yow! Yes, sir! Can’t wait. We’ve sort of already seen a bit of those, the gym videos we did. Why Adam suggested we lock them in.”
“Cool! Once tit-locked—he’ll forever know who his master is. Dressed or undressed, at work or at play. I’ll send a van around by nine in the morning to pick him up, for a more personal, finalized “conference.” Have him dressed and ready. And still cuffed.”
“For sure, Mr. Luthor. Then what?”
“My boys will instruct you after they arrive. They’ll give you the bank info for the deposits to your accounts. And your tickets to Sydney. Sweet dreams….”
To be continued…