The Nuclear Apocalypse of Superman: Book 1 (Chap. 1)
Hi guys. This is my first time updating a novel on Tumblr, a long fan fiction about Superman and his tragic but arousing experiences. It’s a very long story, and I plan to tell it in at least three books. The first book (which has 12 chapters) is already complete, and the second book is currently in the works. Starting this week, I will be updating a version with images every Friday on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: This is a reimagined fan fiction of the movie Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. While most main characters from the film are retained, the entire plot has been reimagined to suit the nature of this work. It is an erotic fan fiction intended for mature readers, featuring male/male relationships and explicit content. This work is non-commercial. In this story, most of the images are derived from movie. I have tried to use photos from the Reeve Superman movies to maintain authenticity, but there are also some high-quality AI-generated images. I do not own these images.
*You can share or repost but please credit @superslaveman on Tumblr or X :)
Acknowledgments: I’d like to express my gratitude to Rick Henry, author of The Extermination of Superman, and @vincentzeal, author of Superman vs. the Vice Lord. Their writing and body of work have been a significant source of inspiration. Special thanks to Drake Grant for his ideas and help in revising the story.
Chapter 1: An Ominous Dream
Thousands of miles from any place humans could reach, a massive crystalline, pyramid-shaped structure stands in solitude on a vast ice sheet. Surrounded by towering snow-covered mountains that shield it from the blizzards raging in every direction, this immense crystal formation has remained untouched and unknown for years, at least as far as we're aware. Its flawless triangular shape makes it clear that it was not built by human hands. Hundreds of conical crystals, each about 5 meters wide and 40 meters tall, rise from the ground, forming a shell-like wall around the structure. They reflect sunlight and the icy glow of snow and icicles, gleaming like diamonds on a frozen crown.
It's a shame that no man on earth had the chance to appreciate the beauty of it except…
''Agggggh… Hmmm…''
A wet, echoing moan filled the empty crystal palace. The crystal walls reflected a distorted, writhing figure in blurry red and blue, shifting like a kaleidoscope, moving up and down in sync with the rhythm of the moans.
Oh, there he was. A towering 6'4'' man, built like a statue of pure muscle, lay sprawled on a massive crystal bed draped in silver silk sheets. Every inch of his overly manly physique was wrapped in a skintight royal blue spandex suit that stretched from his neck to his toes, emblazoned with the iconic ''S'' symbol on his broad chest. His body radiated power—the fabric clings to him so tightly it outlines every ripple of his chiseled muscles. His chest rises like two sculpted slabs of marble. But not like those steroid-addicted bodybuilders, they are pumped and firm, but still somehow gave you a cuddly and warm feeling. With the spandex clinging so tightly on his chest, even the subtle outline of his firm, two cute nipples were visible beneath the fabric. They sat perfectly cantered on his broad pecs, adding a surprising softness to his otherwise overwhelmingly powerful physique.
His arms were nothing short of awe-inspiring, thick, vascular biceps bulge with raw strength. His thighs were strong, solid, and brimming with power, the spandex stretching over them like a second skin, tracing every contour of his sculpted quads and hamstrings. A pair of glossy, bright red leather boots gripped his calves, ankles, and feet with such precision that even the arch of his soles was visible through the smooth, form-fitting material.
And his red cape. It bunched beneath him, highlighting the sheen of his blue suit and the bulging muscles beneath, a perfect contrast to the crystalline surroundings.
As the crystal walls let the refraction of daylights go inside, a trace of nearly white reflection of polar sunlight converged on his spandex skin stretching from his chest to his instep but being cut off in the middle by a bright yellow belt and a pair of dazzling red briefs. His red briefs, the symbol of hope, the avatar of the greatest manhood. It looked even more luxurious than the fabric of his blue spandex, so silky that can make people mistaken it was coated with a light layer of lubricating oil, so tight that covered every inch of his majestic crotch and cup his splendid scrotum. However, no matter how hard this piece of fabric tried to hide his assets, all it could do was to outline the contours of a 6-inch-long, 3.5-inch-thick, half soft, half hard, alien shaft and two testicles.
As his strong right hand casually rubbed over the glans of this wondrous pillar-like thing through silky spandex, a smile started to appear on his handsome face. His eyes were closed, sleeping, with his eyelashes gently touching the lower eyelid. Even he had a look of soft angel, no less than a boy Venus, it didn't mean that he doesn't have a tall nose, an angular jaw, and a cleft chin like the Greek demigod Hercules or a golden age Hollywood movie star. When his left hand unconsciously moved above his stunning pecs and brushes over the nipples, the hair curl atop his forehead began to tremble with his body quivering. In the crystal mirror directly above him, the image reflected the greatest and most beautiful creature in the world unapologetically wearing a suit of revealing blue tights and bright briefs, sleeping.
In his dream, the demigod muttered ''I am…Superman ''.
Yes, meet Superman, Kal-El. The man of steel. The big blue boy scout. The last son of Krypton.
What was Superman dreaming of right now? No, let's not disturb his sweet time. We can talk about his dream later.
To be frank, it's not every day you get to see Superman shamelessly pleasuring himself while asleep. For many people, it's easier to imagine Clark Kent as Superman than to imagine Superman doing something so animalistic. But even with the former, it's almost impossible to make any connection with the greatest hero on earth with Clark Kent, a kind, righteous, sometimes bumbling even cringey reporter from Daily Planet in Metropolis. Yes, he wears the tights and boots underneath his daily business suit. Unknown to anyone else, Clark had a peculiar thrill when he slipped on his business suit, knowing the bright, tight spandex of his costume lay hidden beneath. There was something oddly arousal about the contrast—how he, the world's most powerful hero, could walk unnoticed through a crowd as just a clumsy, bumbling reporter. He didn't admit it or he probably never would, but cosplaying that clown-like inept wimp did give him a tingle in his pants. Every time he became a laughingstock in public, that boner hidden under layers of fabric told it all. Besides, the thought that no one had any clue that underneath his dress shirt and tie, he was wearing his iconic red briefs and skin-tight suit gave him a secret rush. The Kryptonian suit is so tight that can press his large genital and cause slight discomfort when he must sit through the whole day typing. But somehow, he didn't mind it at all and loved his daily practice, wearing that overly tight spandex 24/7.
You see, it's the only thing he can have for himself. The sensation from the pressure on his crotch.
Superman rarely gave himself a moment to relax, but that didn't mean he wasn't still Clark Kent at heart. He kept that pure, honest soul of a country boy, always kind and true. Still, even with all his heroics, he couldn't ignore the growing stir of desires and needs inside him. They were there, lurking, waiting for a chance to be acknowledged.
Yes, everyone has their own needs for Superman, but when it comes to the needs of Superman, only he knew how hard he had to fight back. Mind-boggling to the human on earth but common sense to Kryptonians, Superman, same as every male on Krypton, has prolific testicles and a reproduction system that could drive any human insane.
Growing up, Clark Kent often felt like the universe had a cruel sense of humor. On the one hand, his Kryptonian father, Jor-El, had left behind a legacy of impossibly rigid lessons about purity of heart and body—no shortcuts, no indulgences, no exceptions. Clark learned, through countless holographic lectures in the Fortress of Solitude, that his so-called ''Supercum'' (a term he'd begrudgingly coined for himself) was the source of his immense power. Enhanced by the Sun's yellow radiation, it was what made him extraordinary. But there was a terrifying catch: if he ever released it recklessly, he risked losing his abilities—or worse, his life. Self-control wasn't just a virtue; it was survival.
On the other hand, Jonathan Kent, his adoptive dad, was just as strict, always going on about self-control and how heroes had to set the ultimate example, even in private. Back to the time when Clark first discovered his true identity and put on the Superman suit, Jonathan caught him standing in front of the mirror in the middle of night, dressed in his boy scout costume, playing with his young bulge, feeling the touch from his own hands rubbing again his own peephole covered under red fabric. That night, Jonathan froze in the doorway, stunned by what he saw. Clark, overwhelmed by shame and tears, crumpled under the weight of his father's disapproval. Clark's shame was instant and so overwhelming. But it wasn't his father's anger or stern lecture on responsibility that left a scar—it was the look of sheer disappointment and disgust in Jonathan's eyes. That moment, more than anything, etched itself into Clark's memory, shaping his relentless quest to suppress his own humanity for the sake of an impossible ideal.
Since then, he was a deeply broken-hearted man. At nearly 30, Superman had never been in love, never had a romantic partner, and was pretty sure he never would. Over time, Superman's constant effort to suppress his desires slowly turned into something else—narcissism. When he had a moment alone, he'd catch himself admiring his own reflection, spending longer than he'd care to admit running his hands over his sculpted muscles. His physique was a work of art, and in a way, it felt like the only thing he could truly connect with. He flexed his arm, he kissed his ''S'' shield, he licked his red shinning boots, and he played his erected alien stick with his firm hands.
This self-admiration gradually grew into something more. He started noticing how drawn he was to other strong, muscular figures same as him—especially the well-built athletes he'd seen in passing. What began as harmless admiration turned into a bit of a lustful crush on strength, muscle, and the young throbbing dicks containing the white creamy substance, which almost took his soul away even he just thought about it. Sure, he'd had his moments of secret voyeurism, flying unseen around the globe, lurking around countless locker rooms and being fascinated by the bodies of college wrestlers, gym enthusiasts, and water polo players. With his X-ray vision, he had a front-row seat to their toned physiques. He'd often linger, curious, watching them without anyone knowing.
Yet, despite his search—across continents and through countless encounters—he never found anyone who could match his own power. No one came close. The yearning for connection, for someone who could understand the weight of his existence, grew more intense with every passing day. But the fear of revealing his desires, of exposing his vulnerability, kept him locked in isolation, trapped between his overwhelming need for companionship and the overwhelming responsibility of defending justice and hope as he carried as Superman.
Over time, Superman's deep ache of desire slowly transformed into something darker, more twisted, and increasingly dangerous.
It was almost like the vision haunting him now in his dream: a thick steel necklace that caught the light in an unsettling, cold way, with a green alien stone attached to it, glowing with an eerie, ominous fluorescence.
Kryptonite.
It was a gift he would never forget. Nearly three years ago, Superman encountered his most diabolical enemy yet: Lex Luthor, the powerful businessman who ran Metropolis's most influential corporation, LexCorp. It was the first time Superman had realized that a simple human, armed with nothing but a small piece of green rock, could actually threaten his life.
Secretly, Lex Luthor had acquired a piece of green meteorite from NASA, claiming it was a terrestrial material from Superman's home planet, which he later identified as Kryptonite. Over the course of six months, Lex brought together the brightest minds on Earth—scientists and engineers who worked tirelessly around the clock to understand the true nature of this mysterious substance. After much trial and error, Lex was able to purify the Kryptonite and, through extensive testing, discovered its true power.
The radiation from Kryptonite didn't just weaken Superman—it altered the very mechanisms of his sperms. Instead of enhancing his strength, the Kryptonite's radiation caused Superman's sperms to turn on him, attacking his organs, draining his energy, and inflicting excruciating pain. If he were exposed for too long, the result would be catastrophic—his cells would begin to break down, leading to the collapse of his body. The potential consequences were more severe and shocking than even Lex had anticipated.
''Your very own necklace, Superman. I bet it's the perfect gift—something that almost makes you feel at home.'' The words echoed, a haunting fragment of memory, as the scene solidified in Superman's dream. It was Lex Luthor's voice, sharp and mocking, slicing through the haze.
In the dream, memories hit him with vivid, unbearable clarity. It was Luthor's dungeon, and there was the Kryptonite necklace placed inside a lead box. He could feel it all again—the sickening nausea spreading through his body, the overwhelming pain that surged with every pulse of his being. He remembered staggering back, his instincts screaming at him to flee, to get as far away as possible from Luthor's trap. But his legs refused to obey, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Fear took hold, paralyzing him as his limbs quaked uncontrollably.
The humiliation was crushing. Desperation replaced his once-unshakable resolve, and a single, shameful thought consumed him: to beg. To plead for mercy. To kneel. Anything to make it stop—to put an end to Luthor's cruel game. His knees buckled, knocking together awkwardly beneath his trembling tights, each step faltering.
''Mind over muscles'', Lex had said, waving the glowing green stone in his hands, grinning as he placed the chain around Superman's neck. Now, he even couldn't tell if it was dream or reality. Although sleeping sound, he literally felt like a bullet piercing through his chest as the Kryptonite necklace touched on his skintight spandex costumes, making him cry out like a salty dog just got run over by a truck. Powerless then, he had felt Luthor's hands all over his body, touching him over his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, like jiggling human-size jello. As the criminal master dragged him along, Superman had sensed that his little Supes in his briefs was howling, growing, and creaming. With no warning, Lex took hold of Superman's nipples, tweaking them through the smooth spandex. A strong pinch made the big boy scout cry out a disgraceful scream. Then, a strong cupping hands wrapped around superman's balls. Almost like a sponge, as Lex Luthor squeezed with his nails sunk into that freaky alien's ballsack, Superman's peehole started leaking precum like a spread of pearls forming on top of the red spandex.
The echo of humiliating moans and agonized screams reverberated through Superman's dream. As the dream unfolded, the scene shifted, growing darker and more vivid. Lex, ever the master of manipulation, gripped Superman's red cape with a sinister smile curling at the edges of his lips. But what fills Kal-El's mind was something else: the overwhelming sensation, the long-awaited gratification he was feeling when Lex played him, belittled him, and toyed him.
Without warning, Lex yanked the Man of Steel toward the edge of a massive, ominous pool. The surface shimmered in the dim light; its contents unknown but exuding an unsettling stench. Superman's pulse quickened, his breath shallow and ragged. Every fiber of his being screamed to fight back, to resist, but his strength was sapped, drained by the relentless presence of Kryptonite.
Suddenly, Lex strangled Superman with his iconic red cape around his neck. As Superman opened his mouth to the fullest, trying to grasp some air, Lex pulled out a 7-inch rob-shaped Kryptonite stone from his back and stuffed it into Superman's throat directly with no hesitation. White foam started to overflow from Superman's mouth as tears running down his face. His fully erect penis was throbbing, pushing against his blue tights and ref brief, the wet patch of precum now bigger and more obvious than ever with white foam bubbling on the shining fabrics.
The faint murmurs filled the dungeon, each sound a grim mix of agony and climax. His body had grown heavy with exhaustion. The struggle to stay conscious became unbearable as the seconds dragged on. His pupils dilated, his vision blurring, and with each passing moment, his strength faded until there was nothing left to fight with.
Then, with a final, relentless shove, his nemesis pushed him forward, a move that sent Superman reeling. He tried to look back, eyes wide with fear, as his heart raced in desperation. But it was too late. Lex's boot connected with his hip, forcing him further toward the edge. With nothing to hold onto, Superman tumbled into the depths of the pool of waste, his body plunging like a stone, sinking into the dark, cold waters below.
… Why would Superman have such a dream? How will his fate change because of it?
Stay tuned for the second chapter, updated at the same time next week...
