Luthor Triumphant!

by PlastiClown

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© Copyright 2017 - PlastiClown - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/m; M/f; M+/m; captive; cuffs; cell; transform; inflatable; punchbag; nightclub; used; transported; hum; mast; sex; climax; revenge; reluct/nc; X


Each invitation came with a small package. The invitations were sent out in the morning by courier to mobsters throughout Metropolis and the surrounding areas. Each recipient was invited to attend a not-to-be-missed party the next evening. Since the invitation came from Lex Luthor, no one was inclined to miss the party, but the contents of the packages clinched the deal.

Each package contained a pair of boxer shorts and, if the mobster had a teenaged son who would be attending, an extra pair for him. The shorts were made of limp, skin-smooth, transparent-white plastic film and came with a note recommending that the recipient wear them under his trousers while he attended the party.

Thus, the next evening mobsters and their sons began arriving at the Boppe-A-Coppe Nightclub in an unprosperous part of Metropolis. The guests enjoyed a fine meal and then the kitchen staff and the wait staff disappeared, knowing better than to linger on the premises once their work was done. Across the dance floor from the tables at which the guests sat a curtain blocked the stage. Now that curtain opened.

Standing front and center on the stage was the host, Lex Luthor himself. Behind him stood what looked like a circular cage three feet wide and seven feet tall. And off to one side of the stage, almost hidden behind the curtain stood an isolation booth, the mirrored surfaces of one-way glass hiding the occupant.

The isolation booth was also soundproof, so no one would hear the screams coming from the woman trapped inside. For the moment Lois Lane was still woozy, barely noticing when the curtain opened. That morning she had gone to meet an informant at a hidden location and a drug dart shot into her butt had taken her down in a few seconds. She had regained consciousness in the isolation booth, lying on an inflated plastic air mattress and had managed to get herself into a kneeling position. She was wearing only her bra, panties, half slip, and camisole and her hands were tied behind her back with a soft cord. Now she watched Luthor through the one-way glass, listening to the party through a speaker in the ceiling of the booth, and wondered what he was up to this time.

Luthor had just indicated the cage behind him to his guests as the solution to one of their biggest problems. From a low pedestal three feet wide bars rose seven feet to support a circular plate that bore strange glass sculptures on its top. Cables snaked away from the pedestal. The bars at the rear of the cage formed a door, which stood open.

As Luthor spoke, the curtains at the rear of the stage parted and the audience saw Superman standing with his wrists and ankles bound in shackles made of kryptonite-plated steel. The chains were short, so Superman was compelled to stand with his hands less than a foot apart at crotch level and he could only shuffle his feet as the two burly young men who gripped his biceps urged him forward. Amid booing and jeers from the audience, the men put Superman into the cage, closed the door, and left.

Unwilling to show any sign of defeat, Superman stood up straight and stared straight ahead. In the isolation booth Lois began crying and sobbing out, "No! No!" over and over. Luthor had taken from his pocket an ovoid that just fit his palm. With his thumb he pressed the button at one end.

The cage abruptly filled with bright red kugelblitz that vanished with a loud "thoomph!" In Superman's place the cage held a gently tapering cylinder with a rounded top and bottom. Made of opaque-yellow plastic film, it stood six feet tall and was two feet wide at its base. The plastic had a wet-skin sheen and on the side facing the audience the bag bore a life-sized image of Superman as the audience saw him when Luthor pressed the button. On the opposite side it bore an image of Superman as seen from behind. Lois shrieked in horror and grief.

Luthor put the ovoid back into his pocket, then opened the cage and put his hands on the sides of the inflated bag to lift it out. He carried the bag to the front of the stage, set it down, and gave it a sharp spank in the back where Superman's buttocks would be. The bag tipped forward, as if Superman were bowing to the audience, and in less than a heartbeat bounced back upright, rocked to and fro several times and came to rest.

Now the men and boys in the audience understood why they were wearing plastic shorts under their trousers. The sight of their most potent adversary transformed into a helpless inflated plastic punching bag gave every man and boy in the audience the stiffest erection he had ever enjoyed. The sight of Superman being humiliated as a toy would have all of them popping the cork on the champagne of victory by the end of the party.

"Behold the solution of our problem!" Luthor declared. "But it gets even better. He's still with us. As long as this bag is fully inflated, the plastic will be at normal human body temperature. And when the plastic is warm, he will be conscious. He can see, hear, and feel what's going on around him. I think we should give him something special to see, hear, and feel. This plastic is soft, but it's also indestructible. So let's have some fun!"

He picked the bag up and tossed it onto the dance floor. The bag bounced several times and rocked to and fro before coming to rest. A number appeared on the screen above the stage and a fight bell rang. The man who had been given that number leaped out onto the dance floor and began punching the bag.

Bawling out her grief, Lois couldn't bear to watch the utter humiliation of Superman, but the sounds came to her through the speaker in the isolation booth's ceiling. She heard the rubbery thumps of fists striking inflated-taut plastic, the hissing swish of the bag's base skidding across the tiles of the dance floor, the grunts of the men and boys punching the bag in three-minute rounds, and the jeers, the insufferable jeers.

"Hey, look at how fast he comes back up!" one man called out. "It's like he can't wait to get punched again!"

At one point the crowd chanted, "Punch him 'til he pops! Punch him 'til he pops!" Luthor laughed.

As the youngest boy took his turn his father called out, "Look out, Sooperman! Here comes Kid Kryptonite!"

For two hours the men and boys bounced the bag around the dance floor. For two hours Superman rocked, rolled, and reeled as Luthor's guests pummeled him. Then the punching ended.

"I hope we gave him a super-bellyache," one boy said.

"Yeah, we beat him like a drum," the last man to punch him said. He lifted the bag onto the stage, gave it a bop to the crotch, and went to sit down.

Luthor stood himself next to the bag. "And now gentlemen," he said. He took from the inner pocket of his jacket what looked like a plastic drinking straw with a flange around the middle and held it up. "Now we get to enjoy one final humiliation of our plastic prisoner. This overblown 'superhero' is about to have a deflating experience. It's a dream come true, gentlemen. I get to let the air out of Superman!"

He knelt down. A stubby, milky-white tube jutted from the yellow plastic between the images of Superman's feet. Luther slipped the straw into the tube and pushed. With a soft "poof" air began whooshing out of the bag. Luthor stood up as the audience applauded and cheered. The bag softened and Luthor pushed it so that it bent over forward, as if Superman were making one final bow to the guests as the bag slowly collapsed.

As the guests got up to leave Luthor gave them one final comment: "Imagine how much fun your wives and daughters are going to have when we capture the girl. My niece, Nasthalthia, is certainly eager to get her new punching bag."

The guests left and Luthor picked up the deflated bag and carried it backstage. Lois had cried herself out and was numb. She was startled when the door opened and she saw Luthor looming over her holding the bag.

"Please!" she sobbed. "Please!"

Luthor dropped the bag onto the floor in front of her. "Here, make yourself useful," he said. "Give your boyfriend a blowjob!" He then closed the door and locked it.

There was so much that she wanted to say to him. So she took the stem of his one-way valve in her teeth, wrapped her lips around it, and began to blow. It took fifteen minutes before she felt the plastic go taut and become body warm. She blew a few more breaths into the bag and then kissed it. She managed to get to her feet, but before she could say anything Luthor returned.

He picked up the bag and told her to come with him, then he led the way to the nightclub's garage, where his van waited. He put the bag in the back, helped Lois get in with it, then closed and locked the doors. Lois laid herself down across the bag, holding it down, and wept while kissing body-warm plastic as Luthor drove the van to his secret estate outside Metropolis. In the mansion's garage, with the door closed, Luthor helped Lois out of the van, picked up the bag, and led the way into the house and far back, into the wide master bedroom.

As she heard the door close behind her with a final-sounding click, Lois noticed that floor to ceiling bars converted one corner of the room into a cage. A single bed and a chair were the cage's only furnishings and the door stood open, an unfortunate invitation.

"Get into your lock-me-tight," Luthor said.

Lois walked into the cage and paused to let Luthor untie her hands. Then Luthor closed and locked the door, picked up Superman, and went into his bathroom, kicking the door closed behind him. In shock, Lois went to the chair and sat down.

In the bathroom Luthor took off his clothes and set them on a special caddy. The last things that he took off were bright, shiny, opaque-red plastic shorts and his wet underpants, the latter of which he tossed into the laundry hamper. By the time he put the bag into his ten-foot wide circular shower stall his penis was fully erect. He got into the shower himself and closed the plastic curtain.

"Ah, at last," he gloated. He bopped the bag, bouncing it off the tile wall of the shower stall. "You're my helpless plastic prisoner. I can do anything I want to you and I've waited so long to do this!" He tipped the bag sideways and put the image of Superman's lips on his penis. With both hands on the back of Superman's head, he bobbed the bag up and down until his penis squirted milky-white fluid onto the bag. Then Luthor turned on the water and bathed the bag and himself.

After he had dried himself and the bag, he carried the bag back into his bedroom. He set it in the middle of the floor with Superman facing his big double bed and gave the bag a few bops. Then he went to the lock-me-tight.

"OK, here's the deal," he said to Lois. "If you let me play with you in bed, I'll let you play with him during the day. Otherwise he goes into the closet."

Slowly, reluctantly, Lois got up out of the chair and took off her underwear, placing it on the bed. Completely naked, she came to the cage door and stood with her head bowed. When Luthor opened the door, she went to Superman, kissed him tenderly, then went and got into Luthor's bed.

Luthor turned out the light and got into bed. Nightlights filled the room with a full-moon glow, so that Superman could see clearly when Luthor mounted Lois and had his way with her. Working quickly, Luthor brought her to a squealing climax in spite of herself. He did it two more times, in an hour, until the jizz-enhancing drug wore off. Luthor's triumph over Superman was complete.

For someone who's supposed to be a genius, Lex Luthor can be remarkably stupid. Stupidity is the inability to appreciate the obvious and the obvious, in this case, is the fact that Superman has a number of friends with bizarre abilities: there's the fellow who can run faster than sound; the guy with the funny ring that squirts green light; the Martian, who, among other things, can become invisible; and an honest-to-goodness witch who dresses like a stage magician's assistant. And who in his right mind wants to face an enraged Amazon princess. And then there are the ones we don't know about, the shy ones who lurk in the shadows like superpowered snipers. Luthor never had a chance.

So once again Superman soars high above Metropolis, guardian of all that's good and decent. The transforming machine and Luthor's notes occupy a room in his Fortress of Solitude, awaiting further study. Some mobsters, despite enjoying watching films of a certain nightclub party, are lying very, very low, desperately trying to avoid drawing any attention to themselves.

Luthor is gone, apparently escaped. The authorities have been unable to find him. Their best efforts have gone for nought. The most popular rumor has it that Luthor had a small spaceship that he used to go to an Earth-like planet of a red star, where Superman can't follow.

With the help of a good psychiatrist, Lois Lane has recovered from her ordeal. One of the techniques that has helped in that recovery involves an inflatable toy. Made of soft, opaque-purple plastic film, it is a gently tapered cylinder with rounded top and bottom. It stands six feet tall, is two feet wide at the base, and bears a life-sized and very life-like image of Lex Luthor. He's wearing only shiny red shorts, has a terrified expression on his face, and is holding up his hands in a fending-off gesture. For half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening Lois punches body-warm plastic, bouncing the bag around her apartment.

Did we mention that Luthor is still missing?


A Letter

Found Among Luthor's Notes

Dear Uncle Lex:

I'm getting so hot just thinking about it. I can't wait to make her my plastic prisoner, so I can punch her pretty little face without making a mess. I'm going to have to restrain myself for two whole days while I've got her in my lock-me-tight waiting for her party. I'll have to think of some nice games to play with her.

While I've got her I'll beat her up a little and record her. Then I can make a special tape so I can hear her crying and begging for mercy whenever I play with her. I might even play the tape at her party.

The kryptonite handcuffs are good and I will certain use them at first. But I actually have something better to keep her weak and helpless for me. My pretty serving girl gets to wear a very special apron. It's a half apron made of limp, smooth, clear plastic. The skirt will fall to mid-calf on her and it has a pretty ruffle around the hem. The ties are long enough that I can bring them around in front of her to tie them: that way she can't untie them and get away from the apron. Across the top of the skirt I have the words "Punch Me!" printed in big, blobbery green letters. The green, of course, comes from the kryptonite dust mixed into the paint. Instead of using the handcuffs, I'll tie her hands behind her back with a silk cord. The apron will keep her helpless for me.

I swear, I am putting more planning into this event than I'm putting into my own wedding. Actually, this is kinda-sorta like a wedding... with a very reluctant bride. Well, she is surely going to get fucked. Hey, maybe I'll have them play the Wedding March when my girls bring her out. Wouldn't that be a kick? I can almost hear the minister saying, "You may inflate the bride!"

I've got a couple of strong girls to soften her up at the party. They'll do some belly-punching exercises to get her crying. When they bring her out I'll punch her belly a couple of times to keep the tears flowing, then the girls will put her in the cage. One of the girls will stick a cattle prod up her butt to make her stand up straight and cry harder. When she has just the right distraught expression on her face I'll press the button.

I hope those plastic panties work, because watching three dozen women and girls beating the crap out of that meddlesome twirp for two hours is going to get me totally hot. And when it's over I get to take her home and play with her. You once told me that I was too old to play with dolls, but I am going to play with this big blowup doll for the rest of my life.

Your Loving Niece,



This fantasy was inspired by two stories that appeared in Superman Comics in the early 1960's.

"The Death of Superman", Superman Comics #149 (Nov '61). In this story Luthor pretends to reform and befriends Superman. Then he lures Superman into a trap and compels Lois Lane, Jimmy Olson, and Perry White to watch while he kills Superman with kryptonite.

"When Superman Lost His Powers", Superman Comics #160 (Apr '63). The cover of the comic book shows Superman slumped in a cage inside a glass booth filling with poison gas while three mobsters gloat over him. When red kryptonite leaves Superman powerless, he is captured by mobsters, who intend to kill him at a party in a nightclub. In the nightclub Superman is put into a glass booth in the middle of the room to be gassed, but through a ruse he manages to regain his superpowers and rescue himself.

At about the same time I saw an ad in the comic book for an inflatable Superman punching bag made by The Plastic Heating Company. Conflating that image with the preceding story suggested a version in which the mobsters turn Superman into a big punching bag that they can all play with.

The lock-me-tight was inspired by a scene in "The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T". In a boy's fantasy a vile villain (his piano teacher) keeps his widowed mother, wearing her peignoir, in a cage in his bedroom. He refers to the cage as the woman's lock-me-tight.


The Sexual Appeal of Taking Down a High-Status Adversary

Why does the image of Superman being transformed into an inflated plastic doll and being used by mobsters as a punching bag arouse sexual feelings in some people? If the reader identifies himself with Superman, it might not be so sexy, but if he identifies with Luthor or the mobsters, then he might want to get some plastic pants of his own.

The basis for an answer to that question lies in the collapse of anxiety. Whether it's a boxer facing a challenger in the ring or someone facing a prospective sex partner, the possibility of being defeated raises anxiety. When the boxer wins the fight or the suitor receives the Big Yes, the anxiety collapses and produces a euphoria similar to a sexual orgasm. In the present case the sight of Superman being led out onto the stage would arouse some anxiety in the mobsters and then his becoming a helpless inflatable toy would collapse the anxiety.

As an aside I will note that turning him into plastic and putting him into the form of an inflatable punching bag brings in the sexual connotations. Many people think of a certain kind of plastic film as sexy, largely because in the 1950's and 1960's it was relatively popular for use in shower caps, household aprons, and pretty, feminine raincoats. It was also used in inflatable toys, which thereby gained a subtle feminine aspect. The inflatable punching bag, basically an elongated plastic balloon with a weight at one end to keep it bouncing upright when it's knocked over resembles an erect penis and thus gains a sexual connotation. Playing with one of those bears a certain similarity to masturbation.

The mobsters certainly seemed to be masturbating when they were playing with Luthor's new punching bag. The humiliation of a defeated foe has a certain sexual connotation: it feels a little like the "conquest" of a woman. We can also conceive the weakening of a powerful adversary, as by turning him into an inflatable toy, as, in essence, the feminization of him.

The greater the anxiety that the foe evokes, the greater the sense of relief that one obtains from the humiliation of that foe. High-status characters evoke the greatest anxiety and so provide the greatest relief, which is translated into sexual arousal. For a criminal to take down Superman, as morally reprehensible as it is, can produce a strong sexual reaction.

Further, the whole event proceeds as a ritual, a caricature of an event, in which certain features are exaggerated. Ritualization enhances the feelings associated with the event through those exaggerations. The ritual also brings in the analogies that make their own contributions to arousing vicarious feelings. Comparing the event to an execution enhances vicarious anxiety and comparing it to a wedding, as Nasthalthia does, implies sexual feelings.

But why do we do this? Many people adhere to Aristotle's theory of Catharsis, the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions (especially pity and fear in Aristotle's analysis). Aristotle applied his theory to the watching of a play, but it can apply equally well to people reading fantasies. Vicarious experience of the emotions with imaginary satisfaction of the associated urges provides the basic mechanism of the catharsis. As we read a story we imagine the events as if we were witnessing or participating in them and we feel vicariously what the characters are feeling. In this way we can experience and satisfy feelings that are more than a little antisocial without actually being antisocial. We can enjoy playing at being evil.

Evil is the diminution of a person and turning someone into an inflated plastic doll is certainly a diminution. It's not something that we would imagine a good person doing. Thus only evil people can be reasonably presented as carrying out the acts of the fantasy. But there is evil in all of us.

We all know how to be evil and there are urges within us that would apply that knowledge if we let it do so. Those urges usually get sequestered in the part of the unconscious mind that Carl Gustav Jung called the Shadow. Thus the Shadow consists of unconscious aspects of the personality that one has rejected or of which they remain ignorant. Those aspects are usually negative, but not always.

Like the conscious personality, the Shadow can arouse various body states corresponding to the emotions. Those body states want satisfaction, so we tell ourselves stories that allow us to satisfy our evil wants without actually doing anything evil. We identify with the evil characters in the story and share their feelings vicariously. In that way we can gain a sexual arousal and release from a fantasy depicting the takedown of a high-status character.




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