Date: Sun, 1 Dec 2013 15:21:10 +1100
From: Henry Dee <hennnery53@hotmail.com>
Subject: THE SEVEN BDSM NIGHTS OF SUPERMAN  CHAPTER 2

THE SEVEN BDSM NIGHTS OF SUPERMAN

CHAPTER 2: The Second Night

On the second night of Superman's contract with Luthor the massive galena
mine was lashed by savage winds and torrential rain. The powerful
Kryptonian flew through it virtually without noticing the howling gale and
jagged lightning; he was too preoccupied with pondering what was to come...
The evening before had been little more than a lewd child's game that he
had played along with, knowing it was of little consequence to his final
victory and Luthor's ultimate defeat. What would the arch-criminal have in
mind for tonight? With the planet free of kryptonite he could not harm the
Man of Steel, and their agreement would not allow him to cause harm to
anyone else. Superman grinned wryly. Let Luthor have his little games; his
downfall was certain.

Superman's powerful vision penetrated the weather with ease and honed in on
the camouflage overhang and the balcony beneath, now curtained by a veil of
water, a temporary waterfall masking it from all but the superbeing and his
penetrating gaze. With an immaculate grace he alighted on the balcony,
immediately meeting the gaze of his host who stood expectantly within the
large hall, grinning inscrutably. Luthor drank in the vision of the perfect
male form standing before him. No wonder he was the most desired being on
the planet. But Luthor's interest in Superman was not sexual; well, not in
the sense of desire at least. His thoughts turned more to vengeance and
humiliation and he knew secretly within that the time was coming,
inexorably.

Superman met and held Luthor's gaze for a few seconds, then his whole form
seemed to blur momentarily. His exquisite muscle control sent rapid
vibrations throughout his body, and in less than a second he was dry, the
water steaming off in a cloud of vapour.

"Welcome Kal-el." Luthor's use of Superman's birth name was an unwanted
intimacy and intrusion that made no impression.

"Well Luthor, what do you have in mind for tonight? You have me once again
for four hours, then twenty more over the remainder of the week, and then
your criminal reign comes to an end. We might as well get on with it."

"So keen! I guess you must have really enjoyed yourself last night. You
certainly entered into the spirit of things!" Luthor grinned broadly and
gave a low chuckle. He allowed his eyes to wander openly up and down the
tall muscular frame. The cloak draped imperiously down over the broad,
proud shoulders like the robe of a warrior prince. Luthor coveted that
cloak. He suppressed an inner shudder of delight at the thought that soon
it would be his to wrap about himself in triumphant glee.

"Shall we just get on with it?" The tone of disgust and disdain was clear
in Superman's voice. He made no attempt to disguise his attitude to Luthor
whom he regarded as the lowest form of life, a man of supreme ability and
intelligence who had chosen to pervert his natural gifts to the service of
his own ego and personal power. The sooner the world was rid of him, the
better.

"Indeed we shall. You'll find your costume for tonight's entertainment in
there," Luthor pointed at a door further down the hall from the door that
Superman knew led to the kitchen. He was puzzled as he strode towards the
heavy wood and iron door. Hi x-ray vision revealed a small, bare room,
empty apart from a small stool. No sign of any costume. He entered and the
door closed heavily behind him. Closer examination of the stool revealed a
brown leather dog-collar studded with steel rivets. So this was to be his
costume.

"Put it on, Superfreak," came Luthor's voice over a hidden intercom, "and
leave your regular costume on the wall hooks for now."

Gritting his teeth and reminding himself that all of this would soon be
little more than a brief memory, Superman complied. He stripped naked, hung
his costume on the wall hooks, and buckled the dog collar around his
neck. Being naked except for the collar had a weird psychological effect on
the alien hero. Despite his loathing for Luthor and disgust at the
criminal's sick sense of humour, he was oddly aroused, and he felt a
stirring in his lower abdomen as his balls began to contract within their
skin bag and his member slightly lengthened and stiffened.

"Play along, get it over with, then get out of here," he told himself. "Two
nights down and five to go."

On the wall was another exit from the room, a low swing door, hinged at the
top and only a few feet in height. On it was written "THIS WAY" and so he
knelt down and crawling forward pushed the swing door in and up and entered
a narrow low tunnel. It was a tight squeeze for his tall muscly frame and
he had to crawl on elbows and knees to negotiate his way.  After a few
seconds he came to an apparent dead-end but a slight nudge against the
lead-lined end wall showed that it too was a door, sprung and hinged at the
base so that it opened away and down and he was able to crawl awkwardly out
of the tunnel and into another room.

As he did so he noticed high-heeled feet and legs encased in fishnet
tights. She towered over him as he knelt and crawled, and as his head and
shoulders emerged she bent and clipped a chain leash to the collar.

"Stay boy. Good dog," came the husky voice, much deeper than he had
expected, and he felt large hand stroking his hair. He glanced up from his
crouched position, eyes surveying first the long heavy legs, then the
bulging leather jockstrap, the hairy stomach and leather bolero top. "She"
was no lady. A middle-aged bearded face leered down at him.

"Who's a good boy then?"

He stuttered in reply, "I... I suppose I am..."

"BAD DOG!" The end of the chain slapped across his exposed buttocks. "We
don't use words! We're a dog, aren't we? WE BARK!"

Superman lowered his eyes and gave a soft "Yip."  So this was to be the
game. Well, he had survived being a manhandled French maid; he could
survive a few hours as someone's puppy.

"That's better. Good boy." A tug on the chain indicated they were going
"walkies". The leather-clad master led the Man of Steel on the leash,
crawling on all fours. Superman could now see the large room held many
couches and armchairs, all occupied by men of various ages dressed in
leather, from young college aged men barely into their twenties, to
grey-whiskered octogenarians. All smiled expectantly.

"Who wants to inspect my puppy?" asked the grinning master, as he led his
pet into the centre of the room. There were immediate calls of "Yes!" "Me!"
and "Bring that tail over here!"

Superman was led like an obedient and submissive animal on all fours around
the room, from one ogling fetishist to the next, all drinking in his superb
naked form and rippling muscles. Hands stroked across his back, petted his
head, and ran between his legs, feeling the firm inner thighs and massaging
the large pendulous balls. Fingers invaded his ass-crack and toyed at the
rosebud entry to his most private region. His large semi-stiff organ felt
hands wrap around it, tracing the pulsing veins and circumcision scar, and
toying with the piss slit lips moist with the first traces of pre-cum. The
proud Kryptonian struggled to maintain composure. Despite his arousal and
apparent response he had to fight to remain compliant and submit to the
humiliating play of the giggling men in leather. Only by constantly
reminding himself that this degradation would soon be over and was a small
price to pay for the final outcome was he able to supress his urge to
overpower them.

And so the next four hours passed. The obedient "dog" was the pet and
plaything of the leather-clad men, allowing every indignity their wandering
hands demanded and following all of their commands to beg, roll over,
fetch, play dead, and run around the room while being spanked and ridden
like a horse. Especially popular was the instruction to roll on his back
and allow his tummy, cock and balls to be scratched and tickled.

"Still nicely equipped for breeding," observed the bearded master. "Maybe
we'll neuter it later. Those balls would make a nice set of earrings."
Superman met his smirk with one of his own; he knew, as did they, that
there wasn't a knife on the planet that could cut penetrate his
invulnerable skin. He would enjoy putting this pervert behind bars in the
very near future.

After several hours of deviant attention, with the submissive pet
spreadeagled on his back while men crowded around him wiping pre-cum from
the tip of his cock and tasting it ("Mmmm, nice texture!", "Lovely! Just
enough salt!") a door suddenly opened and one of Luthor's burly guards
strode into the room. Without comment the leather men began to exit, the
"master" last of all, turning briefly as he departed and calling "Bye-bye
Bow wow," to the naked Superman, still sprawled on the floor, before
disappearing into the corridor beyond.

Luthor's guard threw the famous red, blue and yellow costume across the
room to Superman, then turned and left without comment. Superman quickly
dressed and walked out of the room and down a short corridor into the empty
silent main hall. The lights had been dimmed and outside the storm had
eased to quiet rain falling softly beyond the balcony.

With a brief sigh he launched himself into the darkness, relieved that his
second night of servitude had come to an end. Despite his humiliating
treatment he felt no sense of degradation. Everything he was subjecting
himself to was without doubt for a greater good. And yet throughout the
next day star reporter Clark Kent was deeply distracted and preoccupied,
his brow furrowed and his thoughts constantly turning to the evening to
come...