The stolen dark red car screeched to a halt inside the rundown warehouse. Two masked teenage boys jumped out. The smaller one hastily ran to the entrance and began closing the huge metal door, miffed that the automatic opener had worked, but the closing part hadn’t. They’d be in big trouble if any further foul-ups occurred! Especially further electricals. I mean heck, their plan was foolproof.
After watching the horrifying tape once more, Lois tried to go to sleep. She tossed and turned in agonies of shame, and she hated to admit to herself, erotic exhilaration.
Next morning, Lois was so distraught, she called in sick to work. It was the first time the conscientious reporter had ever done so, unless deathly ill. She was wringing her hands in anxiety for Superman.
“Those terrible bitches have indeed discovered how to truly de-man, and probably even kill him!” Lois brooded in terror. “And with that Kryptonite, destroying him from within—they just may do so, if that wicked Luthor doesn’t accept their offer!! Who knows? In either case, Superman is on the verge of extinction. Not so indestructible, after all.”
Back in his cell, still naked, with his throbbing hard cock getting fat from the manipulations by his powerful muscled hands, the pervert was replaying his humiliation at the hands of the sexy Caitlin. His mind’s eye replaying in graphic detail, the way Oleg’s muscled body looked, dripping with sweat at Caitlin’s control of his cock.
Superman awoke on the cold floor still naked and in chains, but his body feeling fresh and clean. The last moment he remembered was pouring his cum all over himself in a truly depraved act of perversion.
In his cold cell Superman looked at the massive load of cum that had pooled in his cell, from his most recent orgasm. The cum puddle was big enough for a man to drowned in he thought impressed with himself.
The once proud hero lost control in his jail cell, the cum exploding from the mushroom head of his beautiful circumcised cock. The unblinking eye of the camera in the ceiling capturing the debauched man of steel.
It was all supposed to turn out so differently, Superman thought to himself, as he sat naked on the cold concrete floor of his cell. The cold chain around his neck, the shackles around his ankles, which he couldn’t even break. It was strange the way being naked always made him feel defeated, depressed, ashamed even during sex with Lois. He may have resembled the once proud man of steel, but the man in that cell was super in name only.
They brought him around with a several sharp slaps, and a few cold wet washcloths. Still bound, he looked around in fear, his eyes desperate, trying to assess his situation—suddenly as if sober, and very much in his right mind. The penetrating shock to his system had done that. He must get help. And now! Or sensed he was irrevocably doomed. Must be free of the Kryptonite, the drugs, his captors, what they had done to him! But how?! The searing burn in his breasts was horrific.
He found the package and opened it, while Adam looked over his shoulder waiting expectantly. Dennis simply smiled, and dropped the contents of the package onto the desk. Out spilled a pair of dull, glowing green shackles, neck chain, ankle cuffs, and a small medicine container.
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.