#captured superman

Last week...

Superman was reliving the nightmare of his first encounter with Kryptonite. Yet, strangely, he found himself aroused by the crushing humiliation. Little did he know this masochistic fantasy would become a prelude to the most agonizing punishment he'd ever endure...

Let's delve deeper into the story this week...

Chapter 2: Cruel Punishment

''Ahhhhh!!''

A devastating scream shattered the silence in the Fotress of Solitude. Superman's eyes shot open, his body jerking upright in a desperate, uncontrollable motion as a guttural scream tore from his throat, sharp and frantic.

He eyes quickly scanned the room, still wild and unfocused. Sweat poured down his face and soaked through his clothes, his skin slick with the residue of his panic, as if he feared the nightmare might be waiting for him to fall back into its grip. Or he secretly wished it was happening all over again? The most shocking truth unfolded in front of his face as he looked down on his wetted crotch.

An erection! His penis pushed out below his belt; his cock stood stiff and pulsing. A dark spot could be seen on his red underpants. It's his precum. There was now so much white bubbling across his crotch that it was as if someone rubbed a soap on it over and over. And it made him feel so, so horny and so foolish.

''No! Go down,'' he quickly released something and whispered in desperation, ''go down! Superman can't be like this!''

''Kal-El!'' suddenly, a deep and solemn voice tore through the chamber, reverberating off the crystal walls.

''No!'' Superman almost cried out but uttered an almost inaudible shout, knowing it was too late.

In an instant, the dimly lit room flickered to life, and the familiar, towering form of Jor-El's face emerged in hologram. His expression, typically calm and wise, now carried the weight of deep disappointment and abomination. His eyes focused on Superman, still trembling and lying flat. The sight of his son—weak, horny, and broken—was more than Jor-El could bear.

For a moment, Jor-El said nothing, his holographic form simply observing, staring at the white bubbling stain and the erection that betrayed Superman's hidden secret. The air around them grew colder, the tension thick with the weight of unspoken words. Superman was shaking, his arms trembling uncontrollably as he tried to steady himself, to push himself up. But he was either too weak or too scared to make any move, even his erratic gasps became shallower. It was so quiet at that point, as if the only sound Superman can hear was the burst of presume bubbles on his briefs.  

Then, with a quick, deliberate motion, Jor-El activated the robotic arms as his eyes closed. The cold metallic tentacles reached up under the crystal bed with precision and purpose. Leaving no time to react, they locked onto Superman, grabbing his arms and legs firmly, lifting him from the bed with mechanical strength. Superman heart sunk in the bottom as he clenched his fists but didn't fight back. Of course, he couldn't fight back. He stood no chance of winning over the most advanced technology from his hometown, from the hands of his father.

The robotic then forced his body into an X-shaped position in mid-air. Superman's body hung limply; his muscles seemed like too drained to resist.

''Father...'' Superman's voice cracked, weak and desperate. ''Please... I... I won't be like this anymore. Please... mercy.'' His voice was full of remorse, the words tumbling out in a haze of anguish.

But Jor-El's face remained unmoving, his disappointment heavy in the air. Without a word, he initiated the sequence, sending a surge of electricity through the robotic arms. The current coursed through Superman's body, lighting up his form as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. His muscles spasmed uncontrollably, the pain overwhelming, but he couldn't escape.

''You have failed,'' Jor-El's voice echoed, cold and unwavering. ''Your weakness tarnishes the legacy of Krypton.'' The words cut deep, more painful than the electricity coursing through his body.

Superman's body shook violently, but he held his tongue, his breath shallow as the energy coursed through him.

''Father...'' Superman tried to plead, but before he could continue, a surge of much more powerful electricity shot through his body, cutting off his words. The pain was way beyond overwhelming, so intense that it nearly paralyzed his mind. It was as if every nerve in his body was on fire, and his ability to think, let alone speak, was ripped from him. He couldn't even manage to utter a complete sentence, let alone call out to his father by name. The agony was all-consuming.

Another surge of electricity shot through his limbs, much stronger than the last time. White foam began to spill from Superman's mouth as his body trembled uncontrollably. His lips quivered, but no coherent words escaped.

It was getting worse and worse. Superman started to make unintelligible sounds; his once strong voice reduced to nothing more than desperate, nonsensical muttering. The electricity coursed through him relentlessly with no sigh of stopping, making his muscles seize and stiffen, locking him in a cruel state of paralysis. Soon, his body became rigid, his arms and legs twisted, forced into unnatural positions by the electric current.

Now, his eyes, wide with terror and pain, rolled upward, unable to focus. His pupils dilated, and his once proud, heroic face was twisted with agony as tears slipped down his cheeks, leaving streaks on his skin. The proud symbol of strength, now reduced to a vulnerable, broken shell, trembled under the harsh punishment of his father's relentless force. Despite his superhuman resilience, the torment was too much, and Superman could do nothing but endure the excruciating surge of power tearing through him.

At that moment, Superman's mind was a chaotic storm of images and sensations. Lex Luthor's face, kryptonite necklace, the filthy pool, the sadistic dungeon, Jor-el. The images of Lex Luthor and the fragments of pain, fear, and sexual climax, flashed before his eyes, each one overlapping the next in a swirl of howling. His head throbbed as the memories blurred together, distorting and blending until they formed a formless, slimy, glowing mass in his mind.

Without warning, the mass exploded within him, an overwhelming sensation of pain and destruction flooding his entire being.

In an instant, everything stopped. The excruciating punishment ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Superman slowly came around, feeling an uncanny warmth spreading across his crotch and onto his legs.

''Father...please…I…please.'' Superman groaned like a beat-up stray dog, with his voice dripping with fear and shame. He was terrified beyond comprehension. He has lost the control of his bladder. The white foams on his briefs were now replaced by urine spurting uncontrollably, washing away any trace of precum.

As the robotic arms finally released their grip, Superman crumpled to the floor, collapsing onto all fours in a shallow puddle of yellowish liquid seeping from his defeated body. The filthy water soaked into his suit, darkening the blue fabric at his knees. His chest rose and fell in strained, labored breaths as he tried to piece himself back together. The once-pristine red briefs, now saturated with the foul mix, clung tightly to his battered frame, dripping steadily like silent tears.

Above him, the hologram of Jor-El loomed, his disapproving gaze cutting deeper than any wound. It was a wordless condemnation, a brutal reminder of everything Superman had failed to uphold, and the greatness he had let slip away.

Superman's head hung low, his hands trembling as they braced against the icy floor.

''Look at you, Kal-El. The last hope of Krypton. And yet here you kneel, filthy, battered, and groveling. Is this what the great House of El has been reduced to? A weakling covered in his own urine?'' Jor-El's voice thundered through the Fortress, each word sharper than Kryptonian steel.

Kal-El's lips moved silently, but no words came out. He dared not look up.

''Speak up, Kal-El! Or has your shame choked the voice from your throat? Pathetic. ''

Superman's voice cracked as he finally managed to whisper, ''Father, I—''

''Do not call me that,'' Jor-El interrupted, his tone dripping with contempt. ''You are no son of mine. No true son of Krypton would allow himself to be such a pervert. You crawl here in the Fortress, sullying this sacred place with your pitiful presence. Look at your red briefs, Kal-El. Look at them!''

Superman hesitated but complied, sitting up slowly with his head bowed in shame. His body trembled as his gaze fell to his soiled red briefs, the fabric clinging to him in damp humiliation. What was once the proud bulge of his manhood now lay defeated, softened and curled against his body, as if it tried to hide itself in the cradle of his scrotum. A pitiful shadow of strength reduced to nothing. The wet fabric clung mercilessly, sticky, and smelly, stripping away any last vestige of dignity he might have held onto. His eyes brimmed with tears, a painful mix of shame and despair, but he clenched his jaw, refusing to let them fall.

Jor-El's hologram sneered. ''Those are not the symbol of a hero. Those are the symbol of a coward. A failure. A useless creature. You claim to fight for justice, yet you can't even fight to keep your dignity, or even control your bladder! Let me tell you what it truly represents now: Humiliation. Weakness. Shame. You don't deserve to wear it.''

The words cut deeper than any wound ever had. Superman's body shuddered, falling again on all fours. ''I'll fix this,'' he begged. ''I'll do anything.''

''Anything?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with sarcasm. ''How noble of you. Tell me, Kal-El, how do you plan to fix the fact that you are an embarrassment to Krypton? How do you plan to fix the fact that you have been reduced to a pervert, who squandered every gift we gave you? That you've allowed yourself to become a laughingstock, a broken shell of a sex addict?''

Superman clutched his chest, his fingers digging into the icy floor. ''I'll never do that again,'' he said, his voice breaking. ''It was a dream Father. A dream I cannot control! I would never let myself be consumed by my own desires if I were awake. Father you have to believe me!''

''A dream?'' Jor-El's voice dripped with venom, each word cutting deeper than the last. ''Don't you dare speak of that dream! I've seen it all!''

Tears brimmed in Superman's eyes, threatening to spill. ''No…'' he whispered, his voice barely audible. ''That can't be true…''

''Oh, but it is,'' Jor-El sneered. ''That dream—was it a glimpse into your true desires? Your downfall, your defeat, your humiliation, your stupidity—is that what thrills you? Is that the source of your twisted pleasure? How dare you feel aroused when you are nothing but a fool, a plaything at the hands of your enemy?! You've grown addicted to this twisted sickness. And that, my son, is the gravest danger to a hero. So, congratulations—you've managed to turn yourself into a symbol of mockery and disgrace.''

Superman's head dropped lower, his forehead nearly touching the floor. His body shuddered with silent sobs as his father's relentless words continued.

''You crawl before me like a whipped dog, covered in filth and begging for scraps of forgiveness. And for what? What do you think forgiveness will achieve? Do you think a few pitiful words from me will erase your disgrace? Will they clean the dirt from your suit, the stench of failure from your skin? You reek of incompetence, Kal-El. Even the Fortress itself feels sullied by your presence.''

''Father, I'm sorry,'' Superman choked, his voice breaking as he finally lifted his tear-streaked face. ''I'll do anything to prove myself.'' Superman collapsed fully to the floor, his forehead pressing against the cold crystal as if trying to merge with it and disappear. His sobs echoed faintly in the cavernous space, but Jor-El was unmoved.

''Beg all you want, Kal-El. Cry, if it soothes your fragile ego,'' Jor-El said, his voice sharp and unrelenting. ''But understand this—your tears are meaningless to me. Mercy is something you do not deserve. A hero must stand above any challenges, even to tame your dream!''

Superman's thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning out of control. What would his father think of him now, after witnessing his deepest, most private secrets? The things he sometimes didn't even understand about himself. Was he truly addicted to being dominated, to feeling defeated, humiliated? Or was this just a natural reaction, something inherent in every human — even though, as an alien, he had lived among them for decades? Had he unknowingly adopted their thoughts, their flaws? Was this kind of vulnerability something everyone dealt with, even if they didn't recognize it?

He had never questioned it before, never allowed himself the space to think about it. But now, in the midst of this emotional turmoil, the uncertainty gripped him. What if he was the only one that had this kind of twisted fetish, only him, Superman? No, it mustn't be! It can't be!

But, no matter how this twisted desire conjured in his mind, could he overcome it? Could he rise above this weakness and reclaim his true self? Could he be a hero again?

Jor-El paused, his cold, unyielding gaze drilling into Superman. The weight of his judgment was suffocating, pressing down on the fallen hero like an unbearable burden. Jor-El signed, ''For the sake of our people, however, I will grant you another chance. But first, you must pass a test.''

''What test, Father?'' Superman's head shot up, his voice trembling with hope, though he tried to mask it. It was as though he were clutching at straws, dangling over an abyss. ''Thank you, Father! I'll take it—I'll succeed, no matter the cost. Just give me the test!''

From the icy floor, a crystal pillar began to rise to as high as Superman waist, its smooth surface refracting light in a kaleidoscope of colors. Atop it rested a small red rubber ring, no larger than Superman's wrist. The sight of it left him puzzled, though a deep sense of foreboding began to stir within him.

''Stand up, Kal-El,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice firm and unwavering. Superman rose shakily from the floor, his body still trembling from the overwhelming shame that weighed on him.

''Now, take off your briefs,'' Jor-El ordered without hesitation, his tone sharp and cutting.

The command hit Superman like a bolt of lightning, his spine stiffening as he froze in place. His mind raced with disbelief and humiliation.

''Is there a problem?'' Jor-El's voice carried an edge of impatience.

''N-no, no problem, Father,'' Superman stammered, his voice barely audible as he lowered his gaze. With trembling hands, he reached for his belt, unfastening it slowly. The red briefs slid down his legs and pooled around his ankles, exposing him completely.

Without the support of fabric, his once-proud form seemed diminished. His manhood, peeking out of a rounded hole in his blue-clad crotch, hung low, lifeless and defeated, heavily limp, dangling openly. The last drops of urine still clinging to it. The semi-turgid glans hid within layers of uncut foreskin like a deserter huddled in a trench, weeping silently, wishing that it could disappear into void. His testicles sagged and the veins on his ballsack wrinkled as if utterly drained of vitality, just a pitiful reflection of his shattered pride.

The exposure stung worse than any physical pain he had endured. He felt like he could melt into slime on the spot.

Never had he felt so vulnerable, so utterly debased, displaying of his shattered ego. His father, the holographic projection of Krypton's greatest mind, had surely seen him unclothed before—after grueling battles, in the privacy of the Fortress of Solitude, as he cleaned and recovered. But never like this. Never in such a scenario where he stood as a soiled, defeated figure, his shame laid bare, like a boy waiting for punishment for wetting his own bed. The humiliation was beyond anything Superman could have imagined, and he dared not look up to meet his father's eyes. Every second stretched into an eternity, the weight of Jor-El's silence crushing him even further.

''Now, place the ring at the base of your genitals,'' Jor-El commanded, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, as though he were instructing Kal-El on some mundane tasks. Yet for Superman, it was anything but trivial. The command was so bizarre, so utterly alien, that it momentarily stunned him. ''My…genitals?'' But the thought of disobedience didn't even cross his mind.

''Y…yes, Father,'' Superman murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. With trembling hands, he reached out to take the rubber ring from the pillar. For a moment, he turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. It felt soft and elastic, like rubber, yet there was a faint hardness beneath the surface, almost as if something was embedded within it.

He squeezed it lightly, its strange texture both pliable and resilient. The simplicity of the object belied the weight of the act he was about to perform. ''A ring for…my…my penis?'' But he couldn't linger on the thought. His father's piercing gaze reminded him of the stakes, the expectations he was meant to fulfill.

Taking a deep breath, Superman stretched the rubber ring and carefully slid it down, positioning it at the root of his manhood. It wasn't too tight or too loose, fitting snugly at the base, resting against his balls. The sensation was strange, slightly uncomfortable, but tolerable—at least for a moment. Before he could even think to adjust it, the ring suddenly constricted without warning, tightening mercilessly around the soft tissue.

A jolt of horror coursed through Superman as he felt the unyielding grip around his shaft, the pressure growing unbearable.

Panic set in, the terrifying thought racing through his mind: was this thing going to sever him, leaving him a eunuch of Krypton? Frantically, he clawed at the ring, desperate to remove it, but the more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed. His shaft flushed an alarming purple-red, the pain intensifying with every second.

''Help me, Father! Please, help!'' Superman cried out, his voice trembling with a weary groan of utter despair, his hands desperately grappling at the unyielding edge of the ring.

''Stop, Kal-El!'' Jor-El's voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding.

''I don't want to be a eunuch! Father, I'm still a virgin!! Please!!! I beg you!'' Superman's words spilled out in a frantic rush, great panic evident in every syllable. However, the vice-like grip around his penis didn't seem to cease, with more prominent veins popping up on his super dong. Now, he was at the verge of passing out, or possibly worse.

''I SAID STOP!'' Jor-El's voice thundered like a clap of judgment, reverberating through the chamber. The sheer force of it struck Superman to his core, and without even thinking, he released his grip on the ring.

The moment his hands let go, the ring loosened immediately, rebounding to a form that wasn't crushing but still uncomfortably snug. It began to lose further, and eventually wrapped around the super shaft like a second skin, hugging it while restraining it.

Jor-El's voice remained steady, cold, and devoid of any empathy. ''I am not here to harm you, my son. This is a test—a test of your will, your discipline, and your ability to control yourself. Your desires, Kal-El, are your greatest enemy.''

Superman stood there, his chest heaving as sweat poured down his body, his trembling hands cupping his disciplined manhood. The fear of emasculation several seconds ago still coursing through him left him too stunned to speak.

''You see,'' Jor-El continued, his tone as detached as ever, ''this device is designed to teach you restraint. It will shrink and make you suffer if it detects your hands engaging in any inappropriate activity with your manhood. And if there is any sign of pre-ejaculation or ejaculation—both of which are strictly forbidden—it will activate its core, exposing you to Kryptonite radiation. You will experience the ultimate pain you could ever imagined. Consider it a punishment for succumbing to your animal instincts.''

Superman stared down at his body, his trembling hands hovering uncertainly over the ring. His mind was a haze of disbelief, his eyes fixed and unblinking as the weight of Jor-El's words pressed down on him like a mountain. ''No more masturbation? I will never feel the climax again?'' The stark horror of it struck Kal to the pit of his soul. ''Is it the price I have to pay for being a hero?''

''Now, put your briefs back on and clean yourself,'' Jor-El ordered, his tone cold and devoid of sympathy.

Superman swallowed hard and nodded silently. With a deliberate motion, he tucked his restrained manhood into his red briefs, pulling them snug before buckling his yellow belt. He exhaled slowly, using his super breath to dry the soiled remnants of his once-pristine suit.

Jor-El's hologram sighed audibly, ''I will grant you another chance—not because you've earned it, but because Krypton cannot afford the disgrace of another failure. However, mark my words, Kal-El: this is your last reprieve. Be the hero who deserves to wear that symbol on your chest.''

''Th…thank you, Father. I swear, I'll never fail you again,'' Superman stammered, his voice a mixture of fear and determination.

''No touching…ever…but it will worth it?'' He thought.

''Don't thank me, Kal-El,'' Jor-El replied coldly. ''Save your gratitude for the day you truly honor the House of El. If that day ever comes.''

With those final words, the hologram flickered, then vanished, leaving Superman alone in the vast, empty silence of the Fortress of Solitude.

Superman took an deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, and for the first time since his father's hologram had appeared, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He adjusted his briefs one final time, the weight of the ring still present, but no longer as painful. Now it was just a reminder — a symbol of his failure, but also of the expectations placed upon him. The burden was heavy, but it was his to bear.

''No more touching…yes. Being a hero means a lot… but saving the world means more than my selfish desire of course. You are the last son of Krypton. We don't accept failure, Kal-El.'' He tried to contemplate the consequence of the ring he just had on, but all worries had been washed away by the motto in his mind: nobody is perfect. Almost nobody, but Superman.

He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in another deep breath, letting the quiet envelop him. ''Don't let your father down, Kal-El,'' he whispered to himself, his voice steady, though soft. ''You're the hero people believe in. The one who can rise above any challenge. The symbol of truth, justice… and a better tomorrow.''

His words echoed in his mind, igniting something deep inside of him — a spark of determination and heroism. The crushing weight of shame and self-doubt began to melt away, replaced by the clarity of purpose. He remembered who he was, what he stood for. He wasn't just Kal-El. He wasn't just Clark Kent. He was Superman, and the world was counting on him.

With renewed focus, Superman turned away from the towering fortress that had witnessed his lowest moments, stepping into the vast, cold expanse of the icy tundra. The chill of the air cut sharply against his skin, but it was a welcome sensation, clearing the fog from his mind. Each gust of wind seemed to carry with it the remnants of his doubts, scattering them into the frozen wilderness behind him.

He stood tall, his hands firmly planted on his hips, looking out over the desolate landscape. The silence was deafening, yet in it, he found his resolve. ''Enough,'' he muttered, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the weight of everything he had just endured. ''No more distractions. No more self-doubt. No more weakness. It's time to be the hero I was meant to be.''

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a rare moment of confidence beginning to take root. He bent his knees, gathering his strength. The world ahead awaited him, full of challenges, yes, but also of possibility.

With a forceful push, Superman launched himself into the air, soaring upward, leaving behind the cold wasteland below. The wind howled around him, his cape trailing behind like a symbol of hope itself.

''Looks like a job for Superman,'' he said with quiet conviction, his voice barely above a whisper, but full of determination. As he shot toward Metropolis, the city's gleaming skyline calling him forward, Superman felt, for the first time in a long while, truly like the hero he was born to be.

... How would Superman grapple with his sexual desire while facing such a cruel punishment in his iconic red briefs?

Poor Superman. He had no idea the ring would amplify his suffering beyond anything he could comprehend...

Stay tuned for Chapter 3: Reflection of Shame, arriving this time next week...

Last week...

Superman got the most bizarre gift from his father, Jor-El. He had no idea that this ring would end up changing his life forever—and that he'd fail the test in the most unexpected and miserable way…

Let’s dive deeper into the story this week…

Chapter 3: Reflection of Shame

Metropolis, the city of dreams and ambitions, the city built by its hardworking citizens, the city blessed by its protector, was bathed in the soft, golden glow of early morning light. At 7 a.m., the streets were just beginning to stir. The gentle hum of life filled the air as birds chirped on telephone wires, and the occasional clatter of footsteps echoed on the sidewalks below. Vendors set up their carts, their voices light and cheerful, offering fresh coffee and pastries to the early risers. For a moment, it was the most peaceful time of the day in Metropolis, as the city's usual hustle and bustle had yet to awaken fully.

In a crowded but lively residential area, nestled among the labyrinth of fire escapes and brick buildings, stood a shabby old apartment complex. Its faded paint and creaky staircases spoke of decades of wear. On the third floor, one apartment in particular looked unassuming, barely noticeable. Its windows were wide open facing a dimmed abandoned valley, letting in the crisp morning breeze that danced with the faded cream curtains, making them billow like sails.

At first glance, the room within was ordinary. Modest furnishings—a small dining table, a sofa that had seen better days, and a few bookshelves packed with newspapers and magazines. Nothing special about it that almost everyone would say its occupant led an ordinary life. But then, on a chair near the window, a vibrant burst of color caught the light: a red cape draped casually over the back, its golden 'S' insignia gleaming faintly, attached to a bright blue and red Superman suit. The sight was almost comical in its juxtaposition with the otherwise mundane room.

This was Superman's home, but to most people, known as Clark Kent's apartment, hidden in the heart of Metropolis.

From the bathroom came a faint sound of running water. Clark Kent was showering, the soft patter of droplets breaking the morning stillness. The steam from the hot water curled out through the semi-opened bathroom door, mingling with fresh breeze. Inside, Clark hummed a tune to himself, his voice carrying the cheerful notes of Singin' in the Rain. He couldn't help but imagine himself as Gene Kelly, twirling through rainy streets, carefree and laughing. For a moment, he let himself pretend—pretend he wasn't Superman, but just a regular guy dancing without a care in the world.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of warmth against his face, letting it roll over his broad shoulders, down his chest, and along his legs to his feet. An unalterably, beautiful physique. The mass of his arms, thighs, the staggering breadth of his shoulders, the cut, mounds and curve of his pecs, the narrow hips, and well-rounded buttocks. His fingers couldn't help brushing idly across his incredible, muscular pecs, tightening, caressing them, tracing to his tight abdominal, to his crotch.

But then, mid-thought, his fingertip touched against something unexpected at the base of his half-erected penis—something not quite skin. It was firm, almost rubbery, and definitely not supposed to be there. Clark paused, his humming abruptly cutting off as his eyes snapped open. His smile faded into a puzzled frown as his heart sunk to the bottom.

It was the penis ring—his father Jor-El's warning, his restriction—given just hours earlier in the Fortress of Solitude.

The memory flood back like a raw but forgotten wound getting touched accidentally, shame and anger surging from deep within him from his crotch to his mind. Suddenly, everything felt surreal, blurring the line between reality and illusion.

Just hours ago, he had endured a brutal lecture—emotionally scarring and physically draining—from his father. Now, back home and stripped bare, he still felt uneasy in his comfortable area, his confidence shaken.

He quickly pulled his fingers away from the cock ring, an anxious flicker of fear sparking within him at the thought of accidentally activating it. But nothing happened. The ring remained still—no shrinking, no pain. His penis hung flaccid, long but soft, while his heavy ballsack swayed low, water dripping onto the spaces between his strong toes.

''Okay, okay, all good, Kal. No need to worry. Focus. Be a hero. You can do this,'' Clark muttered to himself, his voice wavering as he tried to summon courage. He inhaled deeply, letting the warm water cascade over him, though his gaze remained fixed below.

''Be…a hero…''

He couldn't help but stare at his manhood—a true marvel even in its relaxed state. Light teal veins traced across the cavernous tissue, and his X-ray vision accidentally engaged as he studied it too intently. Beneath his skin, he saw the frenetic movement of sperm swimming in his urethra and scrotum, a sight he had never witnessed in broad daylight but only been able to take a glimpse through his body, underneath his skin. Yet still, those powerful sources of power were so close and dear to him, even though he had never touched them, felt them, held them, or even tasted them.

Maybe he never will.

The realization hit him hard: his body, god-like in power, felt alien to him. He could never truly control or embrace this part of himself, could never masturbate freely or even ejaculate—not without Jor-El's permission. The thought poured over him like icy water, a suffocating sorrow creeping in. Would he ever experience release? Could he ever truly feel human in this way?

''No,'' he growled softly, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought. ''It's not the time for that, Kal.'' Clark turned off the water immediately. He couldn't bear even one more second staring at the harsh truth between his godly thighs. He couldn't allow himself to be immersed into such hopeless and shameful musings, although he must face it one day.

''Think about the city. Your people. They need you. They love you.'' He stepped out of the shower, forcing himself to focus on brighter thoughts. ''Think about Jonathan. You dad, he loves you. Think about…Jimmy…''

As he dried off, Clark turned on the radio sitting on his cabinet. He needed something, anything, to distract himself and take his mind off the desperate truth between his thighs.

''... Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman! ''

The radio crackled to life, and the familiar opening theme of the Superman radio drama filled the room. It was the crown jewel of Metropolis Radio: The Adventures of Superman. These were imaginative stories lovingly created by fans and brought to life by talented voice actors. Sure, real-life stories of Superman saving the day happened all the time, but you couldn’t underestimate the enthusiasm of his admirers. Kids especially loved hearing about Superman’s daring, heartwarming imaginary stories, which were far more exciting and personal than the stiff reports on the news.

''What's a better way to start the morning than with some fan fiction?'' Clark thought and chuckled, shooting red laser beams from his eyes into the mirror, using the reflected beams to neatly shave off the stubble on his face.

Clark, of course, was also a huge fan of the radio show . He tuned in regularly, though with a hint of amusement and curiosity. He wondered how ordinary people imagined his life, or, whether their version of his adventures was more exciting than the ones he actually lived.

Yet, what Clark wouldn’t readily admit was that he felt a peculiar thrill listening to those heroic tales. He was, after all, the very main character in the broadcast, the lovable figure hailed as the greatest hero, the strongest man on Earth, invincible and the ultimate champion of justice and truth.

Yes, he savored the fiery devotion, the bouquets of admiration and love that people showered upon him. Despite his public modesty—every time he saved the day, he would humbly declare, ''I’m just your friend, a helpful neighbor''—he couldn't deny the immense satisfaction he felt inside when basking in the applause and cheers. His ego was insatiable when it came to praise.

The stories might not have been entirely real, but the adoration they carried was. It fueled a part of him he rarely acknowledged: the part that reveled in being worshipped. It made him weirdly excited, not only in his heroic mind, but also in his little red briefs.

''Yesterday, we witnessed a remarkable moment as Superman's former archnemesis, Dr. Dedalus, chose to turn over a new leaf after Superman’s heartfelt appeal. Not only did Dr. Dedalus provide life-saving treatment to Superman in his time of need, but he also went on to invent a cure for cancer! Has Dr. Dedalus truly become Superman's ally, or is there a deeper, more sinister plot at play? Join us today as we continue The Adventures of Superman!''

Turning up the radio, Clark reached for Superman suit draped across a chair in the corner of his room. The vibrant red, blue, and yellow seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

As the radio played the story of Superman and Dr. Dedalus teaming up to battle underground monsters, Clark donned the suit, pulling it over his powerful frame with the practiced ease of a man who had done so countless times before. Once his little super buddy with its ''cursed'' choker was tugged comfortably right in the cradle of that smooth red briefs, Clark turned to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall.

''Hooray!! With Dr. Dedalus's help, Superman has once again saved Metropolis! The greatest hero in the hearts of the people, the embodiment of justice! It's Superman!''

Meanwhile, the real Superman, dressed in his skin-tight suits, proudly stood in front of the mirror, listening to his imaginary story and people's praise, drinking in his reflection. Clark's eyes scanned the details of his physique, lingering on every muscle, every curve, every detail that set him apart from mortal men.

''I am the hero! I'm Superman!''

A grin reappeared across Clark's face, widening as he struck a pose, puffing out his chest to emphasize the iconic ''S'' shield. He pivoted slightly, admiring the way the cape fell perfectly over his shoulders, then adjusted it minutely for maximum effect.

''But wait! Just as Dr. Dedalus and Superman were examining the remains of the monster in the lab, Dr. Dedalus sneaked up behind Superman and switched on the large green light above him! Oh no! That’s a Kryptonite beam! Superman’s greatest weakness!''

''Kryptonite!'' The word suddenly pulled Clark’s attention back to the radio drama.

Kryptonite. It was the very thing that had appeared in his dream earlier that day, the reason why he had received the cruel punishment from his Krypton father. Superman stood frozen, holding his breath, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Involuntarily, Clark's gaze shifted to his crotch. The outline of his super member on the red briefs slowly began to take shape, swelling and elongating before his eyes.

'' 'I'm h-hhh-hhorribly weakened and... pained... by the rays!... turn them off! Doctor, have y-yyy-you gone out of your mind!'  Oh no! the Man of Steel collapses on the floor! 'You're in super trouble! You fell right into my death trap!' ''

As Superman's pained groans echoed through the apartment from the radio, the intense desire Clark had felt in the shower suddenly surged back again, as if a monster had caught him off guard, seizing his throat from behind and leaving him utterly powerless.

'' 'You...Devil! Ow...ow-ww!  Ow-ww!' Superman, no!!! The greatest hero struggles in vain as Dr. Dedalus straps him to a bench, with bands of metal containing, also, Kryptonite! 'Ha ha! How simple it was to outwit you! Resistance is hopeless, you fool!... Pardon me, while I turn up the power of the rays a trifle!' Dr. Dedalus raises the power in these rays to its full strength, making Superman cry out in agony! Get up, Superman! You cannot give up like this!''

''Why my scream... No, it's not mine. But why does it sound so much like I was in the show...Oh...no...'' Clark thought to himself, breathing heavily. Superman's scream sounded almost like it was voiced by Clark himself, the real Superman.

'' 'Aaaargggh! Stop... oh...no...Please!...It's killing me....Aaaaaargggh!' ''

The scream from the radio crept over Clark, igniting an excruciating urge inside. His gaze fixed on the reflection of his now throbbing erection. He wanted to touch it, his glorious bulge, to tame that howling tiger in his red underpants.

'' 'I was... a... fool... to trust you... Ow-oww... Please... Stop it... I'm begging you!....Stop...'  Oh... How come our hero reduces to this. He is begging his enemy for mercy! Dr. Dedalus claps and cheers while watching our hero suffer a big time! 'Aha! Your skin has begun to turn green as the Kryptonite fever rages within you!'  What a twisted cruel cruel man!''

As the plot thickened, Clark's mind spiraled into a maddening, torturous haze. Catching sight of the faint outline of his ring beneath the red briefs, his rational mind screamed that there was no way he would touch that erection like he used to do. He dreaded that the penis ring would tighten its unbearable constraint once his hand landed on it.

Now, the real Superman was almost as hopeless as the hero in the show.

As the scream from the radio intensified, Clark found himself involuntarily leaning closer to the mirror, his hand hovering just above his reflection. Slowly, he reached out, fingers brushing the cool silver surface of the mirror. They traced his jawline, his lips, his mouth, and then lower—to the powerful bulge beneath the red briefs. Tears welled in his eyes, betraying the raw hunger and frustration simmering within. He wanted to touch, to feel, to be free.

'' 'At last!! After all these years of vainly trying, I'm finally going to kill you, Superman! Your glorious days are over! Now, face your inevitable doom!'  ’’

Clark's whole body quaked as the show reached its climax. Leaning closer to the mirror, his lips met the cold, hard, unyielding surface. His chest, firm and broad, pressed against the glass, the cool sensation stark against his heated skin. Without a second though, his hips moved forward with his glutes tightened, his breath quickened, and his desire only deepened. Finally, his huge bulge touched with the hard surface of his reflection and lust. A strange but overwhelming warmth began to blossom at the core of Clark's wood-stiff manhood, radiating outward like a rising tide.

''Oh, no! Superman turns completely green and his struggles are getting weaker and weaker. He is dying! Dr. Dedalus is killing Superman! ''

As the radio show painted a picture of an imaginary Superman falling into the hands of death, the thought of his own downfall, the death of Superman, sparked a powerful, almost intoxicating rush. It surged through Clark’s body like a current—electric and unstoppable—spreading from his chest to the very tips of his fingers.

''Superman's weakening breath ceases! His whole body is now turning into a glowing green, lying motionless on the bench! Has Dr. Dedalus really succeeded in killing the Man of Steel?''

Those terrifying words were like a giant invisible hand, pressing Clark against the unresponsive cold mirror, and yet he felt something burning in his every cell and every nerve.

''Why does it feel so good... hearing the story of me... dying... helplessly... at the villain’s hands? Oh no...''

Clark couldn't help but tremble, standing slowly on tiptoes, giving his crotch a further push against the mirror to increase the pressure. The warmth suddenly turned into an explosion, as if the blood were rushing in his body at the speed of light. The news of Superman's imaginary death has made Clark burning, dizzy, weak, and helpless, but he knew he could keep doing it until the end of the universe.

The cruel story in the radio continued...

''Is Superman dead? Dr. Dedalus begins to examine the hero's limp form. 'I must make sure Superman isn't just pretending to be dead, to trick me into turning off the rays! Hmmm... this super X-ray disclosed all things in his body. The organs and his blood! All turned green! He is very, very dead! DEAD!'  ''

As the final word echoed through Clark's mind and soul, the warmth in his body turned into an intense surge of flame, like a raging inferno. Clark pulled back slightly to look down, while the bulge stayed pressed against the mirror. His eyes fixed on the growing erection in his briefs—a vibrant and swelling red. It lifted, pressing hard on the mirror, stretching as it’s hardened, thick and full. He rubbed it against the mirror up and down, from left to right, while his hips instinctively pressed with such precision so that the mirror wouldn't break under his superhuman strength, seeking more friction, more connection. Harder and harder.

'' 'I just killed Superman! I've destroyed the mightiest man in the universe!'  ''

While the cold, stiff body of the imaginary Superman lay dead, the real Superman was reaching an unparalleled, earth-shattering climax, unlike anything he had ever experienced. His manhood stood fully erect now, long and solid, straining against the fabric, craving for escape. Superman trembled violently and moaned like a teenage boy masturbating for the first time.

A moment ago, Clark thought he would never feel it again. He thought the punishment, along with the ring, took away his right of self-touching for good, as well as his right of sexual climax. But now he could relive it once again, hand-free, in the illusion of his own imaginary death. Finally, he could have his only private moment without activating that damn dick ring! He wept like a reborn man.

''Superman is dead. There is no way to save him now.'' The narration voice from the radio started to tremble, then suddenly gave way to Dr. Dedalus's chilling laughter as he announced his victory to the world., '' 'People of earth! I, Dr. Dedalus, have killed Superman! This is no hoax! It's absolutely true! Now, I own his dead body. It will be my greatest trophy forever!' ''

''Oh... Why it makes me so hard... What he will do to my body... Oh great Krypton... Cut off my head... make it into a trophy...Oh great Rao...'' Clark couldn't help but think about what the imaginary villain would do to his lifeless body. Meanwhile, the pressure on the tip of his penis had almost reached its maximum. He was ready to release his natural flow.

''Now, my audience, please remain silent for a minute. We mourn the loss of the greatest hero...''

As the room suddenly fell into silence, Clark closed his eyes and pressed his whole body onto the mirror. Suddenly, the ring  began to vibrate. It was shrinking.

Clark let out an agonizing howl, and tiny cracks started to appear on the mirror..

''I don't care anymore! I will die from the radiation on my dick ring. It will kill me, emasculating me on site. But I DON'T CARE! Let me have it, father! Let me have IT!!!''

The surge of precum building up to the tip of his urethra.

But as quickly as he came to the verge of collapsing, the sharp ringing of the phone cut through the quiet, snapping Clark out of his sexual spiral. He jumped back from the mirror and glanced at the desk where the phone sat, but before he could answer, his old answering machine clicked on with a beep.

A voice crackled through the speaker—Jimmy Olsen, his colleague and ever-enthusiastic partner in journalism. But today, Jimmy sounded anything but upbeat.

''Clark! Clark, are you out for work!'' Jimmy's voice was rushed, almost frantic.

''Listen, you've got to get down here right now. Something big is happening, and it's bad—real bad. The East-West arms control talks... they've broken down. Completely collapsed! The President is about to make an emergency address to the nation. It's all over the news, man. The Planet's newsroom is in overdrive. Perry wants everyone on deck! And Clark, the streets are saying something big is gonna happen in our office. Something catastrophic. Just get down here, okay? Hurry!''

Clark jumped towards the desk, almost ludicrously, scrambling for the phone, and said ''Hello,'' hoping to get a hint from Jimmy about details, but he had hung up. He was talking to a dial tone.

Clark's jaw tightened as he stared at the desk, his mind racing.

''Something catastrophic…'' he whispered; his voice barely audible. The words jolted him like a sudden burst of clarity, snapping his thoughts back to reality. The lust and vulnerability that had consumed him moments earlier slowly evaporated, leaving behind a sharp focus. His vision, blurred moments ago from tears and sweat, cleared. His hearing sharpened, catching the sound of streets beyond his walls. Energy flooded back into his body; the sluggishness of indulgence replaced by the vitality of purpose.

In that moment, a warm voice from the radio filled the room once again, ''Well, let's not feel too badly! After all, this was only an imaginary story!... Folks, the chances are a million to one! It will never happen! Just a quick reminder to our audience: all Kryptonite on earth had been collected and destroyed by our government over a year ago! So right now, Superman is probably safe and sound, listening to our show, entertained by our little story! Again, the hero will not leave us! And by the way, just last night, Superman saved three Russian astronauts from a deadly collision between the space station and orbital debris,'' the announcer cheerfully continued, ''The Man of Steel not only repaired the station but also escorted the injured astronaut safely back to Earth. Truly, a hero for all humanity!''

The words washed over Clark, a quiet reminder of the reality, right here, right now.

Yes, there was no way that somebody could defeat him, let alone kill him! The only Kryptonite on earth probably was just that tiny bit in the penis ring of his. He is Superman—the symbol of hope, protector of a fragile world. He is the hero that will always stand against evil. There was no time for indulgence, no room for hesitation. The instinct of a big boy scout surged within him, obliterating the remnants of his earlier misstep.

Without wasting another second, he carefully tugged his Superman suit beneath his reporter's attire: a crisp white shirt, a modest tie, old-fashioned suit trousers, and his signature thick-rimmed glasses. He glanced at the mirror one last time, not as Superman but as Clark Kent—mild-mannered journalist, no trace of the crazy turmoil he'd felt earlier. To his surprise, his body had calmed entirely, his khaki-colored trousers loose and unremarkable, no evidence of his earlier arousal, no trace of that once throbbing bulge.

There was no time to linger. Grabbing his satchel and suit jacket, wearing his hat, he bolted out the door, bounding down the apartment stairs two steps at a time and into the bustling streets of Metropolis.

After Clark left, the apartment returned to its peaceful, serene state. Sunlight streamed in through the wide-open window, casting a glow on the tiny cracks left on the mirror.

Clark never noticed, but those cracks were like an omen. The repression of his hyper sexuality over the past thirty years was beginning to take on an unexpected but extremely dangerous form. From his narcissistic admiration of his own body, to his obsession with the allure of strong male bodies, and then to a secret yearning for pain, torment, and humiliation. And today, after enduring his father's cruel punishment, something inside him had surfaced. It was something darker and more twisted: fantasies of his own death, at the hands of his enemies.

But Clark was too cocky, too full of himself, to realize what the series of events that had unfolded that morning truly meant for him. He was still reveling in the thought of being the strongest hero in the world, completely unaware that this new thing, lurking in the back of his mind, a dangerous fetish, would lead him down a path of irreversible destruction.

Now, the awkward and naive young reporter from the Planet Daily was making his way through the bustling crowd, heading straight for the subway station.

There was no room for distraction. He had one thing in his mind:

The world needed Superman.

What could possibly be waiting for Clark at the Daily Planet? Something catastrophic? Another test from his father—one he’s doomed to fail again?

Last week, Superman seemed to unlock some new, less-than-heroic habits, likely due to his new punishment dick ring... What new challenges will Superman face in his daily life?

The secret about Jimmy will be revealed in this week's story...

Chapter 4: Love in Flight

As usual, the subway station was crammed with people. It seemed to take forever just to get into the station. Superman might have flown, but Clark Kent waited patiently behind a long queue for his turn to buy a token so he could wait to get through the turnstile before waiting for a subway. When he was almost at the turnstile, a train pulled into the station. He knew he wouldn't catch that train.

But Jimmy did. He spotted Clark in the crowd and waved cheerfully at him before hopping onto the subway car.

''Morning, Clark!'' Jimmy shouted.

Clark's hands were full, so he waved back with the hand holding his briefcase, accidentally hitting himself in the head with it and knocking his glasses askew.

Good old Clark, Jimmy thought, watching him through the window of the subway car as it pulled away from the station.

As Clark adjusted his glasses, his mind lingered on Jimmy's smile.

Oh, Jimmy. How could he know that this clumsy, awkward rookie reporter from the countryside had secretly harbored a crush on him for so long?

Although Clark had a fleshy admiration of strong male body for the longest time, his obsession with that youthful and carefree coworker made him somehow realize, for the first time, that he wanted somebody by his side — to share a pizza with on the same couch, to cuddle on a stormy night.

Jimmy Olsen's face and body weren't like those gym jocks Clark had been secretly peeping since high school. Jimmy was just a averaged looking American boy, with a lean and toned body, his messy auburn hair adding to his nerdy charm. His face, with its square jawline and slight freckles, carried a certain innocence that Clark found irresistible.

But it wasn't just his looks. Jimmy was the first person to stand up for him when the whole office was teasing him after he spilled the coffee he brought for everyone. Jimmy was the one who brought him a late-night snack and stayed with him to finish work. Jimmy was also the only one who gave him the first birthday gift—a red tie—apart from his adoptive parents.

As his feelings grew, Clark wanted to give more. So, he let Jimmy have the first ever Superman interview. He always came to Jimmy's aid whenever danger lurked around Metropolis. He even got him a special Christmas gift—a collar pin made from a rare diamond mined on Strum's moon. But that's all he could do for Jimmy.

He couldn't bring himself to confess it. Part of it was not knowing whether Jimmy felt the same way, but there was also the matter of being Superman. He couldn't just blur the lines between his two identities—there was too much at stake. The last thing he wanted was to drag Jimmy into his complicated world, to put him in danger or make things more difficult than they already were.

It stung, sure. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about what it would be like to be with Jimmy, to laugh together walking in central park or watch a movie on a lazy afternoon, it was like a little ache in his chest. But he kept it buried. It was easier that way, he told himself.

It was hard to say whether it was his lack of romantic experience, the suppression of his true feelings, or perhaps both, that had led him to develop an unusual (for a hero, at least) fixation with  being humiliated and punished—or perhaps something even darker. But Clark could never truly admit this to himself. The thought of acknowledging it filled him with dread. All he could do was remind himself, over and over, that he was Clark Kent, the kind but clumsy journalist, and Superman, the greatest hero. Neither of those personas had the time or capacity for love—especially not with someone like Jimmy.

So, he smiled, played it cool, and kept his feelings hidden, even though every cheerful greeting or friendly pat from Jimmy made it a little harder to pretend.

Just like right now. Even though his heart was in turmoil from just waving and smiling on the subway, he was still clumsily repairing his glasses as if nothing had happened.

''What if Jimmy knows I'm in love with him? What if we live together as a couple just like those Hollywood romcoms?'' He couldn't help but wonder.

''Will it save me from the hell of my abnormal desires?''

Squinting, Clark activated his X-ray vision, his gaze piercing through steel and concrete to track the subway car as it hurtled into the tunnel. His focus landed on Jimmy, standing with his headphones on, carrying a gym bag for his early morning exercise.

But then his eyes caught something strange: the train was speeding up at an alarming rate.

It's the engineer, pale and sweating, clutching his chest in visible agony. A moment later, he slumped forward onto the control panel, unconscious, head pressing on the power switch. Clark's breath hitched. The train, now unmanned, barreled down the tracks with dozens of passengers, including Jimmy, in peril.

This was a job for Superman!

Clark ripped off his glasses and ran toward the tunnel. Moving faster than human eyes could see, Clark changed from his pinstriped suit to the iconic red and blue uniform beneath as he followed the subway whose next stop could be catastrophe.

The train roared through the tunnel, its wheels screeching against the tracks. Superman flew alongside it, the confined space forcing him to maneuver with surgical precision. He glanced into the windows, briefly locking eyes with Jimmy, whose expression shifted from carefreeness to stunned amazement. Superman offered him a reassuring wink before accelerating ahead of the train.

Once he was far enough ahead, Superman stopped and turned to face the oncoming subway. He planted his boots firmly on the tracks, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. The headlights bore down on him, brighter and closer with each passing second.

He spotted the so-called ''third rail'' running parallel to the tracks—a high-voltage conductor responsible for powering the train. Superman gritted his teeth. He knew what he had to do, and it wouldn't be pleasant.

Just as the train closed in, Superman kicked his boot into the third rail. Instantly, millions of volts of electricity surged into his body. His muscles tensed as the raw energy coursed through him, his nerves alight with a searing pain that was almost unbearable—but not quite for Superman. He clenched his jaw, arms reaching forwards. Superman could handle this; he had to handle this. The electrical overload caused a system-wide short, halting the train's engines and bringing it screeching to a stop mere foot from where Superman stood.

As the train ground to a halt, Superman staggered slightly, the residual electricity crackling harmlessly off his suit. He straightened himself and approached the train. With a mighty pull, he guided the subway through the now-darkened tunnel to the next station.

Inside, the confused but relieved crowd began to disembark. Superman made his way to the front car, where the unconscious engineer still slumped over the controls. Gently, he lifted the man from his seat and carried him out of the cab. His super-sensitive hearing picked up a faint heartbeat.

To the approaching rescue squad, he said with calm urgency, ''His pulse is weak, but it's there. I recommend using the automated external defibrillator—he may need it immediately.''

As the paramedics moved in, Superman placed the engineer carefully on the ground, ensuring he was stable. Jimmy, now trapped among the crowds, struggled to approach him breathlessly.

''You—you stopped the whole train! That was incredible!'' Jimmy stammered, awe shining in his eyes. As the crowds gave way to him, Jimmy sprawled to the ground, clutching his ankle as he winced in pain.

Superman turned at the sound of Jimmy's fall. Concern flashed across his face as he swiftly crossed the platform to kneel beside his friend.

''Jimmy, are you alright?'' Superman asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Jimmy looked up, his cheeks flushing slightly as he waved off the concern. ''I'm fine, really. Just... clumsy me. Twisted my ankle a little during the sudden braking when you stopped the train, but it's no big deal. You've got more important things to worry about, Superman.''

Superman frowned, his piercing blue eyes landing on Jimmy with care. ''You're not walking on that ankle, Jimmy. Let me fly you to the Planet.''

Seeing Superman leaning forward, trying to scan his injury, Jimmy hid his ankle away immediately. His face turned an even deeper shade of red  ''Don't worry about me. Really…''

''I insist.'' Superman smiled gently and slid his arms beneath Jimmy, lifting him effortlessly.

Jimmy nodded sheepishly ''Okay... if you're sure. Thanks, Superman. You're my lifesaver.''

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around Superman's neck for support. He leaned his head onto Superman's board chest.

Unexpected, Superman felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't think twice about helping out Jimmy but now the closeness between them was waking up something inside him.

His superhuman senses betrayed him; the warmth of Jimmy's body, the way their body touched, the trust in Jimmy's embrace—it was overwhelming. The air between seemed hot and heavy,  and as he felt his penis, throbbing a little in his tights. He felt like his hand ached to clutch it, to do what he now never allowed himself to do. Or he wanted Jimmy to touch it, to do whatever he wanted to do with it. But thankfully, Jimmy's huge gym bag was pressed against his crotch, so he didn't have to worry about the possibility of some awkward revealing.

Focus, he commanded himself silently, pushing down the feelings stirring within him. He tightened his hold just slightly, ensuring Jimmy was secure, giving him a gentle smile, and took off, soaring out of the subway station and into the open sky.

As they took off into the sky, Jimmy let out a soft laugh, his nerves giving way to admiration. ''I've always wondered what it'd feel like to fly with you. It's... amazing.''

Superman looked at Jimmy in his arms, momentarily at a loss for how to respond to his words. All he could do was smile at him with gentlemanly grace. Though they were soaring above the bustling city, Superman couldn't hear any of the noise below. His eyes were fixed solely on the young and adorable reporter before him, held close in his embrace, feeling the rhythm of their heartbeats together.

Jimmy tightened his hold slightly, resting his cheek against Superman's chest for a moment. ''Well, I'm not complaining. I mean, I'm not exactly in danger now—just my usual clumsiness. But... Thanks for looking out for me. You always do.''

Superman hesitated, the words catching in his throat. ''It's more than just my job.''

''You're important to me, Jimmy. You always have been.'' Superman blurted out unintentionally, surprising even himself at how he had let his secret slip. But wasn't it the truth? Clark and Jimmy were practically inseparable everywhere they went. To others, they were the best of friends, but only they knew how their bond and feelings for each other, over time, grew deeper and more inseparable without them even realizing it.

Jimmy blinked, the sincerity in Superman's voice catching him off guard. ''I—wow. That's... I don't know what to say. You're the most important person in the world to so many people. It's hard to imagine you'd think of me like that.''

Superman smiled back softly, his grip steady as they soared higher. Superman held Jimmy even closer in his arms, pressing his chest tightly against Jimmy's face. Jimmy's lips were almost touching his chest, and his warm breath was so near, so tender. How he wished he could kiss him right now and tell Jimmy just how much he loved him.

Within his tights, underneath the gym bag, Superman's penis trembled.

''Your optimism, your bravery—it reminds me why I do what I do. You don't just report the truth. You inspire people, including me.''

Jimmy's heart raced, and he laughed nervously. ''You make me sound way cooler than I am. I'm just a guy with a camera and too much caffeine in my system most days.''

Superman shook his head, a rare vulnerability in his tone. ''You're more than that. You see the good in the world, even when it's hard to find. That's... rare, Jimmy.''

Jimmy tilted his head to look at Superman. ''You know, you're not so different. I mean, yeah, you're Superman, but you're also... human, in a way. You care so much. It's like you carry the weight of the world, but you never let it show.''

''I've never seen the city like this before. It's so beautiful.'' Before Superman could say anything, Jimmy shouted out as he looked down.

Towering skyscrapers and throngs of people bathed in the soft, golden light of the morning sun. Everything seemed to shimmer with a gentle glow.

Jimmy suddenly lifted his head to look at Superman, their faces so close that their lips were almost touching.

Jimmy let go of Superman's neck and then gently placed his left hand on Superman's chest. His fingertips softly traced along the red 'S' logo. ''I wish I could see the world through your eyes, Superman,'' he said softly.

Those words pierced Superman's heart like a bullet, and he felt as though his chest was overflowing with emotion. Yes, he wished Jimmy could know everything about him. He longed for the day when he could share his life with him completely.

Jimmy. His words and his touch seemed electric. Superman could hardly believe what was happening to him. The erection that he had fought so hard to master was threatening to return. And it seemed as if the warmth and proximity and intimacy of Jimmy's words and touch was the catalyst.

Superman's gaze softened, and he murmured, ''But now you see. Jimmy. With me.''

Jimmy's breath caught, the words hanging between them. He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. ''Well, I guess we're both good at making each other blush.''

Superman laughed, a genuine, warm sound that eased some of the tension. ''I guess we are.''

As they neared the Daily Planet, Jimmy's tone grew quieter, more introspective. ''Do you ever wish... you could just be normal? Not Superman, not the guy everyone depends on. Just... you?''

Superman paused, the question striking a chord. ''Sometimes. But I wouldn't trade what I have. Being Superman—it's who I am. But there are moments, Jimmy, when I wish I could just... be there in a simpler way.''

Jimmy's fingers tightened slightly on Superman's neck, his voice barely above a whisper. ''You're there for me. Always. And that means everything.''

Superman wanted to say something but the rooftop of the Daily Planet has already come into view.

Superman landed gently, setting Jimmy down with care. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

Jimmy cleared his throat, breaking the silence. ''Thanks again, Superman. I owe you one.''

Superman nodded, his usual composure returning. Hands crossed against his crotch, hiding the fact that his penis stood stiff and pulsing. ''No debt, Jimmy. Just... take care of yourself.''

Jimmy hesitated, then added with a playful grin, ''Actually... I need to confess something.

Superman blinked, ''W... what? Jimmy''

Jimmy came forward and whispered near Superman's left ear ''I faked the injury.''

Superman caught completely off guard, hands dropped on his sides. ''You... what?'' He paid no mind to concealing his throbbing erection. It's true that he believed Jimmy and didn't even bother to scan for the injury.

Before he could fully process the confession, Jimmy leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through Superman like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Jimmy pulled back, a mischievous grin on his face. ''Just wanted to see if I could surprise the guy who sees everything. Guess I can.''

He stepped back and noticed that remarkable bulge between Superman's thighs.

Before Superman could react, Jimmy casted a playful glance toward Superman's crotch, turned and dashed for the rooftop door, his laughter echoing behind him.

Superman stood frozen. A full minute passed before he shook himself free of the daze, realizing Jimmy was long gone. That fleeting, close moment with Jimmy still vivid in his mind—the shy smile, the touch on his chest, the playful glance. Superman chuckled softly, a sound rare for him, as the unfamiliar feeling settled deeper. Was it happiness? Excitement? Maybe even… hope?

Then reality hit him.

First, he noticed it—his erection, still faintly throbbing in his red briefs. His eyes darted downward, catching the unmistakable outline. Did Jimmy see that? Oh, Great Krypton, what would he think of me?

Second, he remembered his Clark Kent clothes and glasses were still left in the subway tunnel where he transformed. A groan escaped his lips as he imagined Perry White's no-nonsense face when he inevitably showed up to work late. ''How could I forget the most basic rule of being Clark Kent?'' he muttered, running a hand through his perfect hair.

''Nice move, Superman,'' he grumbled to himself before shooting up into the sky to retrieve his things. Yet, as he soared above the cityscape, a flicker of warmth lingered within him. It wasn't the sun's rays revitalizing his Kryptonian cells—it was something more... human.

''Focus, Kal,'' he told himself firmly, shaking his head as if to clear the thought. But the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth told a different story.

*                    *                    *

The scorching Florida sun beat down on the swampy mining site, turning the air thick and sticky. A middle-aged man, chained and begrimed, was shovelling muck from the marshy ooze near a quiet two-lane road.

Two federal marshals leaned casually against their battered truck parked along the shoulder, watching over their unusually chatty prisoner.

''What in the world is that racket you're makin'?'' one of the marshals drawled, tipping his hat back.

''Mozart!'' declared the prisoner dramatically, his chains jangling as he gestured with flair. ''Even this wretched bog cannot silence the brilliance of true genius! While you've been toiling in this foul morass, I've been inspired! You see, life itself began in a primordial pool such as this. And I, Lex Luthor, genius extraordinaire, have conceived a plan to recreate life itself!''

The second marshal looked up from cleaning his fingernails and snorted. ''Better keep shovellin', Luthor, or we'll see how much the 'gators appreciate your genius.''

The other marshal grinned and cracked his knuckles. ''Yeah, Luthor. Quit jawin' and start sweatin'.''

Lex paused, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh. He glanced toward the heavens and muttered, ''Surrounded by Neanderthals… What a waste of intellect.'' But even as he resumed his shoveling, his mind remained elsewhere, contemplating the murky waters and his latest scheme.

The sound of a roaring engine and a cloud of dust snapped everyone's attention toward the road. A sleek white convertible screeched to a halt beside the truck, kicking up dirt.

The driver hopped out—a young man with slicked-back, greasy golden hair styled into a perfect ducktail. Dressed in black leather pants adorned with silver studs and a huge jacket, he looked like he had stepped straight out of a rock concert.

The marshals exchanged a bemused glance, waiting to see what would unfold.

''Yo, Pops!'' the newcomer called out, apparently oblivious to the chain gang. ''Where am I, and how do I get to Fort Lauderdale?''

The first marshal smirked, pushing off the truck and walking over to the convertible. ''Son, you're on the wrong side of the state,'' he said, trailing a finger along the hood. He gave the car an approving nod. ''Now this is what I call wheels.''

''Mind if I pop the hood?'' the second marshal asked, clearly distracted by the gleaming vehicle.

''Go right ahead,'' the young man said, his grin widening. He casually reached into the car and pulled out two silenced pistols from beneath the driver's seat.

Before the marshals could react, the sharp hiss of suppressed gunfire echoed through the swampy air. Both men collapsed in an instant, crumpling to the ground without a sound.

The young man, unfazed, tucked the pistols back into the car and turned his attention to the stunned prisoner. With a flourish, he pulled off his sunglasses and flashed a toothy grin.

''Did I do okay, Uncle Lex?'' he asked.

''Lenny,'' Lex said, ''Took you long enough. I was beginning to think I'd have to teach these swamp rats about culture all by myself.''

Smiling with pride for a job well done, Lenny took a large wire clipper from the car and freed his uncle from the chain, ''Relax, Uncle. I had to make sure the car matched your aesthetic. A genius like you deserves to escape in style.''

Luthor rubbed his wrists with a satisfied sigh, ''About time. These brutes had no appreciation for my brilliance.''

As Luthor slid gracefully into the driver seat, Lenny turned his attention to the fallen marshals.

After two minutes, the sound of splashing water and the faint movement of shadows in the murky depths signalled the arrival of the alligators.

Lenny wiped his hands on his leather pants as he strolled back to the car. ''Got it, Uncle.''

As Lex started the engine, Lenny's phone buzzed loudly. He fished out the phone from his jacket, and answered with a casual, ''Yeah?''

The voice on the other end was gravelly and commanding. ''This is General Todd. Is the extraction complete?''

Lenny smirked, glancing at Lex, ''All done, General. Uncle Lex is free and enjoying the fresh air. You want to speak to him?''

''Put him on,'' Todd barked.

Lenny handed the phone to Lex, who accepted it with an elegant flourish, ''General Todd,'' Lex said smoothly, ''what a pleasure to finally hear from someone who understands the value of true genius.''

''Luthor,'' Todd began without preamble, ''I have received your letter and reviewed your proposal. Your idea of creating a superman loyal to the military-industrial complex is...intriguing. I see significant potential in your vision. That's why we authorized your escape. The resources you need will be at your disposal, but we need results.''

Lex's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ''I assure you, General, my plan is foolproof. However, there's one minor detail we must address first.''

''Destroying Superman!'' Both said at the same time, their voice cold and resolute.