Date: Sat, 15 Feb 2014 21:50:19 +1100
From: Henry Dee <hennnery53@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Seven BDSM Nights of Superman, Chapter 7

Disclaimer:

I do not own Superman or related characters and am not making a profit from
this story. The characters are owned by DC Comics.


CHAPTER 7: Finale


The party continued through the night and into the next day.  By midday
most of the guests had found their way to their rooms, or, more often each
others, where in pairs and groups they continued the celebrations in
ecstatic debauchery. Luthor wandered the corridors, kicking aside empty
bottles: Dom Perignon '83, Chivas Regal 50yo, Domaine Romanée-Conti
2005,...

Here and there an unconscious guest or employee lay propped up in a corner
or sprawled on the floor. Drunken laughter and carnal grunts emanated from
some rooms, while from others there was only silence or deep snoring. In
several he found groups of guests and henchmen playing out the events of
the previous evening, parodying the humiliation and distress of the
vanquished Kryptonian; whimpering like puppies, crying like babies,
cowering and calling "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me! Mommy make it stop!"

Luthor's face radiated a quiet sense of triumph. He had never felt so in
control, so powerful, so much the criminal master of the world. The EM
deception had worked far beyond his wildest hopes or expectations and
enabled him to annihilate his greatest foe, first morally, then
mortally. Nothing now stood between him and everything he wanted, which
was, in short, everything.

When his wandering found him in the great hall he headed purposefully onto
the balcony. Far below, the shadows concealed the bottom of the mine so he
could not see but only imagine the detritus that lay there, the wreckage of
man and machine.

"Garbage disposal." he whispered quietly to himself, and turned back into
his underground lair.

By late afternoon he had eaten alone and worked in solitude for several
hours on plans and strategies for expanding his empire in a "post-Superman"
world. Occasionally he stopped and mused on the events of the past week,
how everything had played out so successfully, and how, with the surprising
success of the EM strategy, he had not even needed the seventh night and
the coup de grace he had planned.

"A pity in a way," he thought, and chuckled. Things had worked out so well!

As the day drew to an end the entire maze of corridors and rooms was as
silent as the grave. Only Luthor seemed still to be astir, and now he was
ready to surrender to the tiredness that was engulfing him. As he settled
down into his satin sheets and deep pillows, he imagined what pleasant
dreams were in store for him. He fell instantly asleep. his smile
broadening as his eyes closed.

Is it something about sharing the air in a room with another that makes us
aware of their presence even when we can neither see nor hear them?
Whatever it is, Luthor knew he was not alone even before he opened his
eyes. It seemed no time had passed since he succumbed to tiredness but he
was instantly alert in the moment he awoke.

"Who's there?" he asked with just a hint of trepidation in his voice. His
men knew not to enter his sleeping chamber without permission but perhaps
exceptional circumstances... It was not necessarily anything untoward...

No answer came.

He opened his eyes and the soft blue light of the clock in the windowless
room revealed a hazy figure hovering at the foot of his bed, a metre above
the ground. In the dim light and without his contact lenses the features
lacked definition but the physique was truly godlike. The soft black locks
with the kiss curl, piercing blue eyes and strong, square jaw sat above
muscular rounded shoulders and arms, and powerful chest. The shadows of his
eight-pack rippled down to the slim waist, while the sturdy hips sat either
side of the perfectly formed genitals. The sturdy thighs and calves bulged
with latent force. The god floated there, silent, looking down on him,
observing without expression.

"You could have knocked." Luthor said in as nonchalant a manner as he could
manage but wondering what it would be like to be roasted by heat vision. "I
see you've gotten over our last night's play."

The god spoke.

"It seems I have."

"You...  you did well. My people were very
impressed. Very... entertaining."

"I'm sure. The memory has an almost dreamlike sense to it. But I'm sure you
can understand why."

"Tell me."

"When I came to at the bottom of the mine my I expected to see my body
ravaged and mutilated. But everything was as you see now. The metal rings
had fallen away, the wounds had healed, my hair was its normal
length. There was no more pain, only a distant memory...

I found the wreckage of the EM machine nearby, That was truly
confusing. There was no advanced technology, just a metal box housing some
basic circuitry; a light and sound show. It took me awhile to make sense of
it. It was just a prop, nothing more. So how did it work, I asked myself,
and how was I rendered vulnerable and powerless? Then I realised, I did it
to myself, allowed myself to be influenced and led by you. I opened myself
to temptation and suggestion and you took full advantage... Something like
hypnotism I guess. Am I right?  Was that it?"

"Something like that. Well done in working it out." He remained apparently
cool and in control, formulating his next moves. If he could survive the
next few minutes things might be ok.

"Which explains my survival and restoration. Once I lost consciousness in
the hall, the psychic effect on my body lost its effect and my natural
metabolism took over again."

"Yes.  As I knew it would, of course." He wished he sounded more
convincing.

"Of course." The sarcasm was clear.

Summoning his courage, Luthor reasoned it was time to act. Casually he
pulled aside the bed clothes and rolled over to sit on the bedside. He
slipped his feet into slippers then stood and pulled on a kimono style
dressing gown over his silk pyjamas. So far so good. He stood and turned to
face Superman again, but he was alone. Was it a dream?

He made his way into the adjoining room, his office. Empty. The reception
room.  Empty. Where were the guards? Tentatively he opened the door into
the main corridor, and there was Superman, still naked, standing and
waiting for him.  And again, no guards.

"What's going on? I presume you're here to honour your contract, the
seventh night.?

Superman looked at him quizzically.

"I already did."

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"I arrived here at 7pm as agreed. I've been here, off and on, for the last
fifteen hours. This is the morning of day eight, around 10am. You slept
through the seventh night."

"What?"

"I've had plenty of time to get a good look at your setup here. It's quite
extensive.  When you renegued on our contract by not meeting me last night
I reasoned I was released from obligation and free to act."

"What do you mean? What have you done?"

"Have a look around. You won't find anyone else. The place is empty except
for us."

"What?  Where is everyone?"

"Many places. Not here, in custody. It was very good of you to assemble
them all here for me. It made it very straightforward for me."

"You took them all into custody?"

"I can work very quickly when I want to." The broad grin spreading across
the Man of Steel's face infuriated Luthor. His triumph had turned to
complete and utter defeat. His men, his minions, all imprisoned. And now,
what of himself?  Options were narrowing. He had to think.

"I suppose you want your costume back?"

"I was about to ask. Although, I must admit, now that I am myself again it
feels good to be free of any physical restriction. But yes, I suppose
so. Where is it?"

"Come with me." He was doing his best to look and sound relaxed but
Superman, with his enhanced senses once again in play, was aware of the
pounding heart and the perspiration. It could just be the apprehension of
impending imprisonment but Luthor was the most wily of foxes and not to be
trusted for even a moment.

"Lead on."

Luthor led him down to the very end of the long corridor, past the many
rooms he had earlier explored and where he had found so many of his
tormentors from the night before, now all trussed up and delivered to
authorities around the world.  The concealed door at the end of the
corridor would not have eluded him had he been focussed on closer discovery
and had it not been shielded with lead. It slid silently open with a touch
of Luthor's hand to reveal a small lift. The two men entered and it began
to descend.

After a few seconds the door opened again to reveal a vast natural
underground chamber housing a small circular arena. Bright lamps
illuminated the bleachers and central stage but the extent of the chamber
itself was hidden in darkness overhead and beyond. At the centre of the
arena was a large stainless steel pallet, the size of a bed, not unlike
those Superman had seen used at autopsies. From its edges hung chains and
manacles and around it was an assortment of strange devices with tubes,
electrical cabling and rods of various lengths and thicknesses. A small
table alongside carried small hand tools and what looked like surgical
implements. On the far side stood a mannequin wearing Superman's costume.

"What sort of unholy place is this?" Surprise, anger and disgust mingled in
the naked man's voice.

"We call it the Play Field." Luthor began to walk towards the mannequin.

"No doubt this was to be the scene of our seventh night encounter. This was
meant for me, wasn't it?" Superman felt rage well in him and fought down
the temptation to incinerate Luthor on the spot. The criminal made no reply
but walked steadily across what was clearly intended as a place of torture,
and began to undress the mannequin.

Superman was instantly alongside him, his face set in a scowl. Without
comment he pushed Luthor aside and began to dress. He wanted only now to
finish with Luthor and his lair once and for all. It was the moment Luthor
had waited for. Faking a slight stagger from Superman's shove he let his
hands fall onto the table which held the instruments. A lead-lined ring-box
sat in the corner of table and Luthor flipped it open and quickly grabbed
its contents.

Immediately Superman felt a wave of nausea wash across him. He turned as
Luthor stepped sharply towards him, thrusting his hand forward and seizing
Superman by the hair. He held his other hand up in front of the superhero's
face, furiously displaying the ring with the glowing green gem which now
sat on his finger. He pulled down hard.

"On your knees, turd!"

Aghast, Superman sank to his knees. The glowing kryptonite hurt his eyes
and burnt his face like summer sun. He felt a further wave of nausea and
dizziness.

"You thought you'd emptied the world of Kryptonite, didn't you? Well not
completely you arrogant fool. I've had this ring since that time eight
years ago when I first became aware of the substance. My technical people
analysed your responses back then and calculated how much was needed, not
to kill you, but to make you weak as a kitten, so that we could have our
way with you if we ever got you in here. And yes, this was to be the scene
of our final night's play.  Things took a different path when the EM
machine deception worked so unexpectedly well but now we can return to Plan
A. My only regret is that there will be no audience but myself. But don't
worry, I'll make sure the video recording gets a good airing when the world
starts to ask 'What's happened to Superman?'"

He jerked his still half naked foe to his feet and pulled the blued leotard
from his body, revealing its full glory once again.

"Get on the slab!" he commanded. "Now fasten the ankle manacles and lay on
your back."

Superman did so and Luthor attached the wrist manacles, and fastened thick
leather straps over chest and legs, securing Superman to the metal table.

"Now, let me tell you what is going to happen," he said, holding his left
hand with its glowing gem firmly on the bound chest.

"First I am going to take this ring from my finger and shove it as far up
your ass and into your body as I can, where it can sit securely and keep
you weak and defenceless as I go about my business with your body. A
milking tube will be clamped onto your cock, electrodes will be stapled to
your balls, and an electrified dildo pushed into your ass. They will run at
maximum level, painfully stimulating your prostate and balls to generate
every ounce of semen you are capable of, while the tube will stroke and
suck spurt after spurt of cum from your beautiful cock. And it won't stop
when you're empty, it will go on and on until you feel your balls
shrivelling and your lovely cock is rubbed raw and bleeding.

Then we will start with the fucking machine. You see it there? All those
rods of different lengths and thickness connected to that motor. We'll
start with something more or less human size and run it at, what shall we
call it? Jogging pace? Then we'll switch to something longer and thicker,
and step up the pace. We'll go bigger and bigger and faster and faster
until you are being fucked at sprinting speed by a three-foot dildo as
thick as a watermelon. And you know what I like about these machines? They
don't get tired, they just keep going and going and going, never tiring,
never needing a breather, oblivious to your pleas and screams, until I
decide to turn them off, which won't happen until your ass is totally
destroyed.

Please believe me when I assure you everything will be carefully managed so
that you are kept conscious throughout. I don't want you to miss a
thing. We'll move onto more subtle play then, my favourite, much more
'hands on.' These surgical instruments and tools are precision engineered
for the finest of cuts. I've always wanted to try my hand at flaying. Not
the whole carcass, just a bit here and there. To be blunt, I'm going to
fillet your phallus Superman! The we'll start removing some other
non-essential bits before opening you up and playing around
inside. Eventually I guess we'll lose you to shock and blood loss but we'll
hold back for as long as possible. Funeral arrangements are quite simple.
Dismembered and fed to my dogs. Any remaining bones will be ground down and
baked into commemorative ceramic medallions for my friends, except for the
skull. That will forever have pride of place on my desk!

Impressed?  Possibly not but never mind, you don't get a say. Your place is
just to lie there and scream. Let's start, shall we?"

Superman replied softly, a murmur Luthor could not quite make out.

"Feeling a little intimidated I see. You'll have to speak up. Better get it
off your chest now, speaking is not going to be possible for much longer."

Again Superman whispered and Luthor bent close over him to hear.

"Speak clearly fool!"

Again Superman whispered and Luthor went deathly pale. He pulled back
sharply but with a roar of rage Superman sat straight up, tearing his bonds
asunder and grabbing Luthor forcefully by the shirtfront.

"HALF-LIFE!!"

Struggling and yelling in desperation Luthor tried to break the grip but
without effect.  How could he have been so stupid? How could he, mastermind
that he was, miss something so obvious?

"Wh..  what... what is the half... half-life... of kryptonite?" he blurted
out.

"Approximately three and a half years!"

"No!!!"

"Your ring has less than 25% of its original potency thanks to radioactive
decay.  Enough to hurt but not enough to weaken me sufficiently for your
ends. Nowhere near what your scientists calculated would be necessary to
destroy my defences."

"You were playing possum, you cock-sucking creep! Why?"

"I was curious as to how the final night was meant to play out. Now I know
you are as vile and disgusting as I thought."

"What are you going to do?"

"First get rid of this!" He roughly seized the be-ringed finger. The green
gem burnt into his hand but he gritted his teeth and with quick jerk pulled
the entire finger, ring and all, from the hand. With a flick of his hand he
sent the bloody digit and its jewel flying out of sight into the
darkness. Luthor screamed and clutched the bleeding stump with his other
hand.

"Are you going to kill me? You can't kill me. You're Superman. You don't
kill!"

Superman pulled Luthor's face in so close that for a moment Luthor thought
he was going to bite him.

"Don't count on it Luthor. Don't presume to know anything about me. I've
had quite an education this last week, thanks to you. I'm not the same man
I was. I think, I know, I'm much more dangerous now!" He glared at Luthor
and his eyes began to glow red. Luthor shook with fear and moaned out loud,
expecting to be engulfed in a ferocious burst of heat.

"Don't!  Don't kill me! Please! Please!"

Superman said nothing but keeping fast hold on Luthor began to rise slowly
into the air.  His eyes retained their red glow but no heat radiated from
them yet.

"I'm not going to kill you," he hissed softly. "I've already made
arrangements for you. Your little description of your murderous plans
simply reassured me that you deserve what's in store, though, to be honest
I think you're getting off lightly. I told you we were alone in this
place. That's not quite true, there is one other here."

"W...What?  Who?"

"You are going to spend the rest of your life in high security prison, with
hard labour and no parole. There's one other participant from the events of
two nights ago who also faces severe penalty for attempted first degree
murder. He knows he faces imprisonment without release but I have
negotiated something with him to ease his fears and give him hope. He's
waiting in your library now. His name is Wolfgang."

"Wolfgang?"

"Yes."

"So what's the deal? And what's it got to do with me? WHAT'S IT GOT TO DO
WITH ME!!!!!?"

Superman did not answer but with a burst of speed and power flew down
through the door of the lift, smashed through its roof and up through the
dark shaft, grasping tightly onto the screaming Luthor. They hurtled along
the empty corridor until they came to the locked door of the library. With
a single tug Superman pulled it off its hinges and carried the whimpering
criminal inside.

Wolfgang rose from his chair and fell to his knees, his hands locked in
supplication.

"Superman!  Thank you again for not killing me! I will do anything you
want, I promise!"

"Just keep to the bargain we made and you will be a free man in ten years."
Superman turned his attention to the bewildered Luthor.

"For once I am allowing myself a little license. This is the deal I have
made with Wolfgang and which the authorities have promised to honour. He
will share your cell for ten years and the he will be free. While he is in
prison however he has been told that you are to be his slave to use and
play with for these ten years in whatever way he wants, avoiding serious
injury of course. You will be his servant and his bitch. You will call him
'Sir", speak only when you're spoken to, obey his every whim and fulfil his
every desire. I gather from the last week that you seem to find this sort
of arrangement entertaining. Perhaps you will find it as educating and
instructive as I have. Now, greet your new master."

"What?  This is utter crap! I'll do no such thing!"

Without speaking Wolfgang stood and stepped towards them, his great bulk
towering over even Superman and dwarfing Luthor.

"You will not speak to Superman like that!" And he took Luthor by the
shoulders and lifted him high overhead. He held him there and shook him
like a doll, harder and harder until Luthor thought his teeth would shake
loose from his head.

"Stop!  Stop! Please! Enough!"

Then Wolfgang threw him hard down onto the floor where he lay winded and
gasping.

"Now, say sorry to Superman."

"F...  fuck off!"

Crack!  Wolfgang's hand slapped hard across the back of the criminal's
head.

"Ahhhh!  Sorry!" shouted Luthor, then quietly, "I'm sorry Superman."

"Apology accepted. Now apologise to Wolfgang."

"I'm sorry Wolfgang." he hissed.

Crack!

"Not Wolfgang to you, dog! I am 'Sir!' You call me 'Sir!'"

"Ahhh!  I'm sorry, Sir! Sorry Sir. Sir... Sir..." And he began to cry,
first softly, then louder and louder and louder, until the empty corridors
and rooms echoed with his total dismay, rehearsing the song he would sing
without respite for the many long, lonely and truly instructive years which
lay ahead.