“and i guess it's just the woman in you / that brings out the man in me…”
clark kent x fem!chubby!reader
18+ mdni, ao3
original ask <3
summary: you’re finally ready for your first time, and clark is just about prepared to move heaven and earth over it.
word count: 6.8k
contains: smut & fluff. mentions of religious guilt/some religious humor. first time trope. *fingering, cunnilingus, p in v, protected sex. clark softdoms so hard i almost had to stop writing. reader is a bit innocent and very nervous, carries some slight religious shame around sex and only knows the basics, but clarkie is with the times… perv. clark is touchy, a whiner, and a shithead who thinks he’s funny. teasing, praise, use of the pet name bunny (guilty pleasure so sorry), lots of consent/talking/taking care of reader. year is canonically 2006 and clark and reader are in college. *no use of y/n
a/n: This is not my fantasy (she says, red in the face.) enjoy this tooth-rot, @argentinemango!
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Clark had been falling at your feet for months in his head. Of course, he was quite respectful about it– he didn’t know another way to be. But truthfully, he was just dying. He desperately wanted to touch you.
It was slightly perverted, but not on purpose. He was just… enthralled.
When it finally got through your pretty, doubt-prone skull that Clark Kent actually did have feelings for you, every move you made was calculated to monitor the progress of those feelings and track their intensity, so you could best discern how the trajectory of the relationship was going and and at which points new boundaries should be broken. And it was torture. Where you felt like dating was a rulebook, Clark saw it as an open canvas. He just wanted to let whatever happened happen, but he happily compromised for you.
He found you at MetU. He was visiting Chloe and Lana on a weekend, and before he even made it into the building, he tripped over a backpack on the ground beside a bench. Your backpack. As he knelt down to gather up your books and commit a blitz of apologies, he locked eyes with you– looking gorgeously pissed off. Plump cheeks, round hips, tummy stretching the soft cashmere of your sweater. Jeans with rhinestones up the leg. A little military-style cap that was annoyingly artsy and popular for the unusual year of 2006. Your eyes were hooded as they glared down at him, and your pretty blue nails brushed his palm as he handed you your books back.
“Hi,” he smiled stupidly.
“Don’t ‘hi’ me! You got mud on my textbook!”
Clark knelt back on his heels and grinned at you, titling his head as he studied the paper brick. “American Modernists? You’re better off.”
You crossed your arms, but a tiny grin began to betray you. “I happen to like the Modernists, thank you very much.”
“You look like you would,” he chuckled, and he finally stood up. Tall. My God, tall… broad shoulders, mop-hair, the most blue-green in an iris you’d ever seen…
“Strangers don’t typically pick on me.”
“I’m Clark,” he held a hand out. “There. Now I’m not a stranger.”
You hesitantly reached out to shake his hand– huge, huge, huge– and muttered back with immediate yield, “Hi, Clark.”
His fingers liked yours. He blushed a bit and hoisted you up from the bench, making your book tumble to the ground again. He flashed his sharp teeth in an innocent smile and said, “You’re pretty. You wanna tell me where I can find room 314?”
You blushed harder than him, book be damned. “How about I tell you my name first?”
He swindled you into a date that night. Before you knew it, you were swept up into the romantic whirlwind that was lovesick Clark Kent.
He followed every rule for you. He’d do anything for you. He didn’t even try to kiss you until a month had passed– your cheek was fair game, your temple, maybe, but never your lips. Which made him salivate like a dog just to stare at. You had exactly eleven dates before he kissed you, and he did it like a gentleman, on the porch step of your parents’ house in Granville. Albeit, his hands wandered a bit, and you flushed so hard you forgot to breathe. He had to break the kiss just to laugh at how cute you looked, all disoriented like that.
It had been over a year. You’d been giving where you could, but you were a reserved girl. You let him sleep in your bed a few times, consequently letting him see you in pajamas. You permitted sneaking behind a bookshelf a time or two to press you up against a wall and kiss you breathless. But that was really it. He didn’t mind taking it slow, especially since he was so enraptured by the girl you were.
One of Clark’s most cherished parts of your relationship was how much you talked to him. Once you believed that he loved you, you opened up like a music box, leaving behind the tight-lipped concern to let him in.
You told him everything– about troubles with your family, your struggle with your body image, your favorite books. How much you hated church and the way your parents made you feel guilty for not going. The things you loved and hated, the reasons you adored him. All of it. You laughed like an everlasting composition. Your eyes caught the moon in a way he didn’t have the words for. When you got angry with him, you got this little dimple in your brow that he loved to nibble away. Clark knew more about you than he did about himself, and in his customary and slightly unhealthy way, all he ever thought about was you. Every other sentence had your name in it, and it made Chloe want to punch him in his perfect teeth sometimes. He just wouldn’t shut up. You possessed his every thought.
You’d gotten quite physical once he broke your barriers; you loved to cuddle, you loved to let him kiss you until words stopped forming, but the second his hands began to roam… you’d stop. You’d wriggle free and mutter sorries until he promised you it was okay. And it really was. He would never force you into anything. But God, sometimes he just wished you’d let him… it was so hard to keep his hands off you. You wore these jeans that squeezed you like they were glued on when he was taking you out for dates… Jesus. And every so often you wore this dress that he bought you for your three-month anniversary, this little number that had a milkmaid neckline. That was even more dangerous. Half because he got hard just seeing you in it, and half because you looked so happy that he got your size right that he fell in love all over again.
He knew that your fears about sex were abundant; your insecurities were numberable, for one, but you were also raised so religiously that there was an underlying guilt there, even as you grew out of it in college. It seemed no amount of feminist literature could completely strip you of your virginal mindset.
So, yes. It was a little perverted. But Clark was a lover at his very core, and there seemed nothing in the world more special to him than getting to hold you, getting to make you feel beautiful, seeing that look on your face when he tells you how deeply in love he is while he–
He had to shake the image out so the blood stayed rushing to his face and not somewhere else as you laid your head in his lap, watching the old box television in the loft.
It was late. His mother was in D.C. these days, leaving the house mostly to himself, but he still loved his barn. So did you. You had spent hours reading the books on his shelves, leaving little notes in the margin for him to find someday when he picked them up again. On nights like this, when winter wasn’t yet spring but it was tepid enough to let the barn latch fly open, you two would laze on his couch and wait until sleep hit you.
Clark pet his fingertips over the roots of your hair, tracing the jagged line. You seemed a bit tense, eyes wide awake and trained exceptionally hard on the television. In fact, you’d been a bit strange all day since you got here. Spring break was coming to a close, so he thought perhaps you were having habitual anxiety about returning to routine. But when he tried to kiss you earlier, you sort of… dodged it. He put his hand on your back in the kitchen and you shivered. There was something in him, laying deep beside his sexual frustration, that felt a whole lot like guilt. Maybe you could tell how badly he wanted to sleep with you and he’d turned you off of him completely. He hoped to God that wasn’t true.
As he traced your hair, he muttered, “You’re awfully quiet, baby.”
You just grunted in affirmation. “Mm…”
“Is everything okay?”
Your voice caught a bit as you nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
You were, in fact, not fine. Because you’d been having dreams about sex with Clark every night for two weeks.
It wasn’t your intention. You were sort of… wound up, after a date you’d had, and it just took hold of you.
He took you to the Smallville Drive-In to of course do anything but watch a movie, and as he smushed you against the seat of the truck cab and kissed you, his hand did this… thing. Nothing crazy. He just took his palm– that big, warm, calloused paw– and he cupped it under your knee. He didn’t force you down. He didn’t ask for more. He just stroked the sensitive skin with his thumb, holding your leg, and dear Lord if that didn’t make you want to melt between the stitching of the leather.
You dreamed about him hitching that leg up that night and taking what he wanted. And every night after, it went a different way. You and him in the loft, in the truck, in his bed, in the university library. His hand, his mouth, your mouth, much more. You were waking up absolutely tortured, with aching hips and a permanent flush, and it was making you clam up. Every time he touched you, you would get a flashback to something in a dream, and you burned so hot inside that you had to pull away for fear of telling him the dirty things you were thinking about. You were sure he could read it on your face, and you were terrified that after all your prudishness that if he discovered how badly you yearned, he’d think you were a liar– or worse, that you were doing it on purpose. Stringing him out, playing a game or something. You weren’t. But it was as if a switch flipped, and the fears you had about sex were gone– all you had left was the powerful desire to have it, and have it now.
And this was Clark, wasn’t it? Clark, who worshipped you for some Godforsaken reason. Clark, who told you that you were pretty so many times that it more than supplemented anyone who had neglected to do the same. Clark, who listened to your every problem, who protected you from every panic, who loved you when you couldn’t sleep, or when you fought with family, or when you had a paper due and couldn’t stay on the phone long. This was the boy who got you out of the hole which made you think love was impossible for you.
So what in the world were you doing?
“You know what? I’m actually not okay,” you muttered, sitting up slowly. You smoothed down your frizzed hair and slumped back into the couch.
Clark’s expression fell and he sat up straighter, twisting a bit to face you. His hand swallowed yours. “What is it? Is it something I did?”
“What? No!” You chuckled softly, a bit heavily. “No. No, it’s me.”
“You?” As if you simply weren’t capable of doing anything wrong, ever.
God, the look on his face was precious. So concerned. Those thick eyebrows knitting together, and his big eyes swelling with love. Lips parted just enough that you saw the sharp edge of one canine. You wanted to eat him whole.
“I…”
Clark licked his lips. For him, it was because they were dry. To you, it set off alarms in your head.
“You can tell me anything, bunny, you know that,” he cooed, lifting his other hand to brush some hair from your eyes.
Bunny. Oh, you just couldn’t take it.
“I want to have sex,” you blurted, bracing for some divine impact.
Clark blinked at you like a confused puppy, tilting his head as if deciphering a foreign language. That is, until a pretty rose wave washed over his cheeks, and you watched his adam’s apple bob. “You– you do? Like… sex sex?”
You laughed in mortification and nodded, hiding your face in your hands. “I– yeah. Yes.”
“I thought you were waiting,” he asked softly, strong fingers wrapping around your wrists to pry your hands from your glowing cheeks.
“Well, I was, but I just– I–” you struggled, chewing the inside of your cheek, “I’m done waiting now.”
Clark felt like he was getting raptured, maybe. Pulled up to Heaven on strings of love. His smile spread like butter across his face as he inquired, “What made you make up your mind?”
You swallowed nervously and avoided his eyes, instead redirecting to your lap. “Um… a dream.”
“A dream.” He quirked an eyebrow. His hand tested you by sliding up the soft curves of your side, fingertips resting where two rolls met.
“A dream. A-about you.”
“Oh, really?” He purred, and you completely shut down.
Whining in embarrassment, you turned from him and buried your face in the couch, grumbling. “Don’t torture me!”
Clark cackled and gathered your body back until he could press his chest to you, and he nuzzled your neck with his nose. “Come on, you made that so easy.”
“It’s embarrassing,” you flushed, tensing up a bit. Only when his arm wrapped around your middle and spanned your ribs did you melt.
“Nothing is embarrassing with me,” he promised, kissing the patch of skin behind your ear that made your fingers flex.
You wiggled the appendages and felt your skin burn hotter than it ever had before. “I just… I’ve been dreaming about… being with you. And– and I realized that, um…”
“That you can’t hide how horny you are anymore?”
You grumbled and tried to wriggle free. “Clark!”
“I’m just kidding! Kidding, baby,” he laughed, loosening his grip. He waited until you turned around to pout at him, and he used his thumb to play with your bottom lip. “Hey. That’s the look you gave me that day I knocked your book into the dirt.”
You saw how he smiled as if you were the only thing in the entire world that mattered, and it thawed the last of your resistance. You gave into that sheepish smile, because you were beautifully weak against it.
“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” you admitted, leaning your forehead against his.
Clark pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to be. I know how.”
You peeked a suspicious eye open at him. “Oh, do you?”
“Not like that,” he huffed, nipping your jaw. He placed a kiss, and another, and one more, down your cheek. “I just mean that I’m not worried about pleasing you.”
Your heart flipped. “Oh. Um…”
“Are you worried about pleasing me?”
Hesitantly, you nodded. You pulled back a bit to look in his eyes.
“What exactly do you think a first time should look like?” He asked.
The question was far more forthright than you expected– but truthfully, it was very Clark. He never shied from real conversations with you. Of everyone in his life that he’d kept secrets from, you were someone he never felt he had to. That trust was unbreakable.
You played with your nails to try and expend some of the jitters. “Um… like… Well, I don’t know, I haven't really… y’know.” When Clark just gave you an expectant grin, you sighed and kept trying. “All I’ve seen has been in movies. Or in books.”
“Okay. Did any of it sound appealing to you?”
You winced a bit. “This is so–”
“Baby, listen to me,” he shushed you, pressing a thumb over your mouth. The way he said it was soft, but there was an undercurrent there. Firm. Almost… dominant. Something Clark never tried to be. You listened on instinct. “This is your first time. I don’t want anything to be a surprise, or make you nervous or afraid. I want you to know what’s going to happen. I want you to want anything we do together. So we have to talk about it. If you still feel embarrassed to talk about it, maybe you still aren’t ready.”
A soft panic flooded you and you eagerly gushed, “I really want this!”
He couldn’t help the way his cheeks darkened, but he miraculously kept his cool. “Okay, okay. Then just… take a deep breath and tell me what you want.”
You drew in some air, feeling it fill your lungs, and you knew that you just needed a little help. You threaded your fingers through his and murmured, “Can you just kiss me first? Please?”
Clark never needed to be asked. He leaned in happily, slotting his lips against yours nice and slow, and he could feel the kiss sucking your anxiety right out through your mouth. When he departed, he managed to distill your thoughts to only desire.
Against his lips, you divulged, “I don’t really know the terminology for it. I’m gonna sound like an old lady.”
Clark snickered and sat back, tugging you with him until you sort of collapsed across his lap. He brushed your hair back from your eyes. “I can modernize it for you, dork. Just tell me.”
“Fine,” you propped your chin on his chest. “When I dreamed about it, um… you would… y’know, sleep with me, obviously. But you usually did some… foreplay.”
You wanted to die just explaining it. He thought it was adorable.
“Hands? Mouth?”
Your pupils swelled against your wishes. “Both.”
Clark smirked. “Oh. So you just wanna lay down and let it happen to you, huh?”
With a flustered groan you hid in his chest again. “Well, I don’t know!”
He tipped his head back in warm laughter before tugging your hair gently and making you meet his eyes again. “It’s okay. You’re lucky, actually, because I would much rather give than take. Plus, a blowjob might be… a bit overwhelming for you right now. And probably wouldn’t help me last.”
You were both shocked and unsurprised at how easy it was for him to talk about this. “You think so?”
“Yeah. It might take practice, definitely some getting used to, and I’m… um…”
It was your turn to smile, albeit bashfully. “Big?”
Clark choked a bit on his next breath. “Yeah. Yeah…”
You rested your cheek on his chest and took a breath. Good news. Also terrifying news. What if you couldn’t take him? What if it hurt? What if–
“Hey,” Clark could feel your body tense. He stroked your arm and answered so astutely, you were afraid he could read minds. “I won’t hurt you, I’ll make sure you’re ready. And it’ll fit. It’s… biology. You, like, open up for it. If your body wants it. I’m pretty sure, don’t quote me.”
Oh, I definitely want it, you thought. Clark chuckled at the flash in your eyes.
“Alright, how about this, okay? We can go into the house. We’ll go to my room, I can lay you down, and… y’know, explain what I’ll do. You can tell me how you feel. And then we can go from there.”
“Okay.”
Clark kissed between your brow. “Don’t be nervous. It’s me, baby. I love you. I want you to be happy.”
“I know,” you hummed, finally giving up the first unrestrained grin all night.
“There she is,” he praised. Then, without any warning, he hoisted you up off the couch.
You yelped a bit and wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging like a limpet. “Hey!”
“Don’t start,” he prompted, nipping your cheek, “You’re not lifting another finger for the rest of the night.”
That shut you up.
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Clark flopped you down on his old gingham bedsheets and crawled over you, settling his weight between your legs. He grinned at you like a puppy and kissed your stomach. You were red as a rose, but you were smiling. Less afraid. That was all he cared about.
“Okay, blushy. Time for the talk.”
“Okay,” you ruffled his hair, coaxing your fingers through it playfully.
Clark crawled up your body until he was close enough to nudge your cheek, and he anchored himself on his forearms above you. “Let’s get some formalities out of the way, because I know you, and I know these thoughts are seconds away. First, I don’t care if you haven’t shaved anywhere. Won’t bother me. I also don’t care if you haven’t showered, because currently you smell delicious, and you’re very clean, so–”
“Clark,” you giggled.
“What? I mean it! Oh, and I also don’t want you to think you can’t make noise or move, I definitely want you to do whatever comes naturally, do not hold back–”
“Clark!” You covered your face.
He laughed and shoved your hands away, kissing you softly. “What did I say, huh? If you couldn’t talk about it…?”
“I’m ready, I’m ready, I swear,” you smiled, “You just… fluster me.”
“Clearly.”
“Any other rules?”
“No. I think we can get down to business.”
You watched as he smoothed his palms down your thighs and up to your hips again, pushing his thumbs against your pudgy hipbones. You felt your stomach give a churn as he massaged the skin.
“This is gonna be about you. I’ll warm you up first. I’ll finger you and let you get used to that,” he watched how your cheeks nearly throbbed with blood flow, looking so flustered it was picture-worthy, and then he continued. “And when you’re ready, I’ll eat you out.”
Hearing him say things like that made part of you want to curl up from how dirty it sounded, but that part was completely mowed down by the rest of you, which found it brutally hot.
“That’s when you…?”
“Use my mouth,” he smirked. “Jeez, you really are uneducated.”
“Shut up. They didn’t teach us that part in sex ed, and they certainly don’t call it that in the books.”
“That’s because those Fabio books you read are from forever ago.”
“I like them!”
“They’re for old ladies,”
“The guys are really good, though. And the women… like this stuff, without shame. The books make it sound good. Easy.”
“Well, you’re gonna like this,” he promised with a wiggle of his eyebrows. You shoved his face playfully, watching him teeth at your thumb. “Be nice to me. I’m about to take your virginity.”
“I know.”
Clark nips your nose and concludes, “After all that, we’ll do the whole penetration thing.”
With a shaky breath, you tried to remember procedure. “Do you have stuff for that?”
Clark rolls his eyes playfully and clambers off of you to tug open his bedside drawer. He pulls out a trail of foil and picks up a little bottle, but one look at it prompts him to say, “We probably won’t need this.”
“Why?” you chewed the inside of your cheek.
“Because, baby,” he purred, settling in beside you and tipping your head in his direction, “I don’t think you’re going to have much trouble getting wet.”
Your lashes fluttered a bit, and by the near-uncomfortable heat between your legs, you knew he was right.
Clark pecked your chin, and then he pinched your cheek. “One more time for me, honey. Do you want to have sex?”
The answer came easy now. “Definitely.”
The soft enthusiasm in your voice made his heart thump, and he surged forward to kiss you as thanks. You found you didn’t need to try and turn your brain off as his hands mapped your back and sides, it just happened this time. That was proof enough that the time was right.
Clark tugged you by your hips until you were flat on your back and he climbed on top of you, kissing you into the mattress. His knee snuck between your legs as you arched up a bit to loop your arms around his neck, tugging him down until you felt all two hundred and twenty pounds of boyfriend on top of you.
“Someone’s eager,” he teased, mouth taking a detour down your neck.
“Shut up,” you rebutted.
“Never. I’m gonna talk you through it,” he grinned against the slope of your skin, “I’m the talker, anyway.”
“That you are,”
“And you’re gonna use your words for me, aren’t you, baby?”
Your body buzzed. There was that tone again. Commanding and considerate in the same breath.
“Answer me,” he nibbled behind your ear.
“Yes,” you complied.
“Good girl. Not so hard, now was it?”
Oh, God. That was going to be the part of this that did you in, wasn’t it?
Clark was graciously taking his time, and it made you want to explode. He carefully mouthed down your collarbone and left arm, and you thought you might have to tell him to speed it up before you felt a paw pushing your shirt up to reveal your tummy. He lifted his head and raked his eyes over the valley of flesh, supple and soft, and he glanced up at you with the closest thing to a predatory look in his eyes as Clark Kent was capable of.
“I’m obsessed with you,” he grumbled, before bending back down to attack your body with kisses and nips.
You squeaked a bit and laughed as he pinned you down, kissing up your torso until his head snuck under your shirt and disappeared. Your breath hitched as you felt warm presses over the swell of your breasts, and Clark’s hands coming up to cup the cotton of your bra.
“Clark,” you said aimlessly, and you suddenly had the burning urge to rip your shirt off.
Clark nuzzled the dip between your breasts and breathed you in, mumbling into the skin, “Sit up.”
You followed orders, and up he came with you. He made no hurry to lift your shirt over your head, and he laughed a little when it tangled over your wrists. He kissed your embarrassment away and let his hand wander to the clasp around your back.
“How naked do you want to be?” He panted, pulling back.
You smiled at his care, and you shrugged. “I’ll take it all off if you will.”
“Mm, you wanna ogle me, is that it?”
You giggled at his teasing and tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Please?”
“And she begs,” he grumbled, yanking his tee off in one fell swoop before knocking you onto your back again. “That’ll be useful later.”
You felt a rush of heat wrack your body as he started to fuss with your jean button. He wasn’t shaking, he was sure. He was talking so smoothly. This was definitely, definitely better than the dreams.
“I always loved these jeans,” he grunted as he tugged them down your thighs, “But they definitely look best off.”
“You’re bad,” you grinned.
“The opposite, actually. I plan to be very, very good.”
You sucked in a sharp breath as he tugged your panties down with your jeans, leaving nothing to chance. The air conditioning rolled over you as he bared you completely, and you watched how he paused for a second, just to stare.
You felt a small fear begin to grow, but he stamped it out. “God, look at you… Jesus Christ.”
You didn’t know what to do with your hands as he fumbled with his own jeans– this time shaking, but with something excited. You got a peek of his boxers– just black, but they were the tight kind, and you kind of wanted to make him sit there so you could stare at how they hugged the skin of his hips for hours. He pulled them off, though, and then your hands stilled on the bed.
Clark saw the way your eyes immediately dropped, and he stifled a laugh. “I wasn’t trying to be cocky before.”
“My bad,” you muttered blankly, unable to tear your eyes off the look of him. Pink like the lipstick in your purse that was somewhere in his barn and bouncing a bit in anticipation.
Clark was getting a bit embarrassed himself, so he fell forward onto his forearms again and he pressed a much gentler kiss to your lips, taking a minute to trace the seam of them with his tongue and coax you open. Your jaw widened in his palm, he felt the shifting bone. He smiled and breathed in the smell of your makeup, the foundation that had a rose-powder tinge to it.
“I’m gonna touch you, okay, baby?”
You nodded eagerly, mind already reeling with what it could possibly feel like. To your dual delight and expectation, it just felt like fingers. For a moment. Just fingers, warm and a bit rough, brushing over the lips between your hips. It was like a tickle. But then you felt two fingertips breach the surface and drag through the slickness there, bottom to top, and they notched under the hood of your heat to press quite confidently against that bundle of nerves men notoriously struggle to find. Not Clark, apparently.
You gasped and shivered, back shifting. You heard Clark groan, and he mumbled into your shoulder, “Oh my God. You’re so warm.”
Your knees jerked as he drew a circle with his fingers, and he soothed your side with his free hand, lifting up and leaning over you. He watched the way your lips parted as he found a slow rhythm, how your eyebrows tilted so pretty, and he smiled. “Feels okay?”
You struggled to spit out, “Yeah…”
“Good,” he beamed, and he pressed a little harder, rolling your clit between two fingers. As an involuntary moan slipped past your teeth, his eyelids drooped with want. “Oh, there she is… don’t get shy, let it out.”
You squirmed, knees drawing up and flattening out every few seconds. He didn’t restrain you, he only followed your movements so that his fingers never broke contact with you. “Jeez– oh, gosh, Clark!”
“Gosh?” He teased, stroking you frustratingly slow.
“Don’t m-make fun of me right now,” you panted, hips bucking a bit, “Oh, God.”
“You’re doing good. You look so pretty.”
You gnawed on your lip and fisted your fingers in the sheets, trying to hold onto something. Your breath grew short as a buzzing heat built in your gut, and Clark seemed to sense it, so he drew his fingers back. When you whimpered, he kissed your chest. “Shh… you weren’t gonna last, bunny, I’m trying to make it last.” Obviously not long enough, though, because he quickly directed his attention to your entrance, tracing the spot curiously.
“Oh, please!” you pouted, accidentally pulling a corner of his fitted sheet free from the mattress.
“My God, somebody’s strong.”
“Shut up!”
Clark laughed and pressed smooches in a line down to your belly button. “Can I put my finger in?”
“Y-yes, I said please!”
“You did. Good job.”
You let out a pathetic breath as Clark pressed his middle finger inside you, dragging it back out again to feel the way your walls shifted and clenched. He grunted hungrily and started belaboring your hip with kisses before plunging it in again and curling it.
“Jesus!” You exclaimed, hips twitching and toes curling. You could thank the big guy now, since He clearly led you to the one man with fingers long enough to brush your g-spot on the first try.
“Feel that? Right there?” Clark came up for air, and he prodded the spongy bit inside you with a grin.
“Oh– mm-hmm,”
“Told you I knew what would feel good.”
“Mhm…”
“Man, they aren’t joking when they say that church girls are freaks–”
“Mmf- Clark, please…”
Clark watched you for a second as he thrust his fingers diligently between your folds, seeing exactly how much made your face and nose twitch. He called you bunny for a reason. There were a few strokes that came with a hard clench, and he could practically hear your heart pounding, so he smiled and nipped your hip. “I gotta ask you something, lovie, and I need you to answer. Can you answer?”
“Wh…hm?” You whimpered, the pleasure weighing your brain down.
“Use your words.”
You stammered, “I… Y-yes.”
“Good girl. I need to know now before I go too long, do you want to come now or later?”
“Huh?” You swallowed, struggling to focus.
Clark smiled a little softer and took notice, slowing his fingers to a stop. His hand intently moved up the mattress to lace fingers with you, trying to help you pay attention. He ignored your whine and restated, “Do you want to come now, or do you want to wait until I’m inside you, baby?”
“U-um…”
He couldn’t deny that he loved how hard you tried, and how preciously pathetic it was. His poor girl just needed some guidance, didn’t she? “I think you can survive two, yeah?”
You nodded eagerly. You’d do anything. Anything for more.
“Okay. Deep breaths, then.”
You were halfway through taking one before he thrust his fingers back inside of you and began a brutal pace; not rough, but not merciful. Your hand crushed his in an iron grip as lightning bolts shocked your body. “Ah!”
Clark watched intently, admiring how you fluttered around his fingers, and he swallowed a moan of his own. He pushed your thighs apart and pressed a kiss to your mound.
“Gonna–”
“Yes,” you interrupted, thighs clamping around his head.
You felt his lips curling as he drew his fingers out and flattened his tongue against your heat, sealing you with his mouth. An immediate arch of your back followed, pushing you against his face as he sucked your swelling bud like he was starving.
“Good lord, you’re sweet,” he mumbled wetly.
Your hands hesitated above his head, eager to tug but afraid to hurt, and he gazed up your body to meet your eyes. You moaned softly as he winked at you, and he pulled off to rumble, “Touch, honey, s’okay.”
You threaded your hands into his hair as he dove back in, nudging your clit with his nose and swirling his tongue inside you. If you had half a mind to think right now, you would wager this was the happiest he had ever looked.
Clark didn’t let up until your thighs were smushing his cheeks hard and you were bucking into him, crying out and biting on his shirt that was tossed near your head. Only when he knew you were on the precipice did he slow down, just to see what you would do. When he looked up, you almost looked pissed, and he laughed between your legs before pressing a third finger into your entrance and making you stretch for it, lapping at you in tandem. You barely lasted a few seconds, shaking against his face and letting out little wails into the shirt. He worked you through the orgasm, massaging your trembling thighs before unlatching his mouth and gently pulling his fingers out. He grinned as you deflated on his bed, and he wiped his slick lips with the back of his hand.
Your vision was a tiny bit fuzzy as he prowled over you and brushed his mouth to yours, tasting salty-sweet, and you mewled as he tucked his soaked fingers past your bottom lip. A flame licked inside his belly as you sucked on reflex. You always did have gum, or a pen, or at the very least, your finger in your mouth…
“Good girl,” he cooed, “Good girl. How was that, huh?”
“Good,” you purred around his fingers.
“You still up for more? You look pretty beat.”
Your eyes fluttered a bit and you kissed his knuckles, smoothing your palms up his chest. “No… I want to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Clark’s heart pressed against his ribs as he kissed you one more time, whispering, “I love you so much.”
“Love you, too…”
He had to force himself to have patience for this, because he was about to get what he’d been dreaming of since he started dating you. He could only imagine the magnification of pleasure that would come from feeling what he did around his fingers, wrapping around his cock.
“One second, bunny.”
You laid there aching as you watched him grab a foil and tear it open, and you kind of wanted to offer to roll the condom on for him, but he was moving faster than you had the chance. Within seconds he was nestling his hips over yours, letting his length nudge your thigh, and he shuddered. Clark’s hands cradled your head.
“Tell me if it hurts,”
“Okay,” you panted.
Gently, he reached down to line himself up, and you felt the head of his cock kissing you. Like magic, your body just shivered, and as he pressed inside, you opened up like clockwork.
The two of you let out a joint sigh as he sunk into the tightness, and his face fell to your chest. “Holy…”
“Clark,” you moaned.
You were the right amount of ready for him to just bottom out, and he did. All the way. So far in that he felt your spongy muscle throbbing against him. Far enough that you were convinced he was in your stomach. He let out a little whimper and pressed his palm to your chubby middle.
“Nngh– good?”
“Fuck,” was all you could say. But that meant Yes, no pain, so fucking good, I love you.
Clark could barely handle one thrust before he was moaning embarrassingly loud in your ear, slipping his arms around your back to haul you into him, needing as much skin on his as he could get. You locked your legs around his hips and started smothering kiss after kiss on his face, tasting the little beads of sweat forming by his temple and ears.
“Jesus, I’m not gonna last,” he swore.
“Mmf– Clarkie, please!”
“Good girl, Christ, baby, you– you’re taking it so– mmf!” Clark cupped under your knee and hitched your leg up higher.
The move. Oh, fuck.
You experienced a full-body tremor that made you clench tight, and it dragged a guttural whine from Clark. He rutted into you helplessly, fast and shallow and blissful. “You’re perfect, you feel so– mm– so good, bunny, so–”
“Clarkie, I–”
The heat was building way faster than you expected, and the sensitivity in your hips had you tensing and bucking like an animal. So much for making the first time last.
“Baby, I’m– oh, f–!”
You muffled yourself in his shoulder and held on tight as his hips pressed you hard into the mattress, stuffing you with every lurch until he was whining into your hair and stuttering, cock seizing between your legs. A rush of pleasure made you wriggle and rock against him, not as overwhelming as the first, but equally as exhausting. You felt the warmth of something expanding between you, and a slight worry overcame you until you remembered he had a condom on. But then your curiosity peaked, and you gazed down to see soft white rings coating him. You turned beet red and slumped against the bed, feeling his weight pin you down as he caught his breath against the pillow under your head.
Clark muttered hoarsely, “You are so unbelievably hot. Oh my God. You are… wow.”
You fell into a weak fit of laughter which melted into a whine as he gently pulled out, taking some of your mess with him onto his sheets. You flushed and draped an arm over your face.
“M’sorry…”
“No, baby, don’t– don’t say sorry, oh, man,” he grinned, flopping beside you. He shoved you onto your side and jostled you back into a snuggle, and you laughed at his excitement. Clark pressed happy little kisses up your spine and neck. “Was cute. Pretty. Pretty girl, so good at that… mm, what a surprise.”
You couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your mouth. “I…”
“I’m happy, too,” he finished for you.
“That was…”
“Amazing.”
“Clark?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re entirely too energetic,” you giggled, eyes drooping.
“Oh, I wore you out, is that it? I bet you’d hate it if I–”
You squeaked and jolted as he dug his fingers into your hips, tickling you gracelessly. You thrashed and rolled over, trying to escape, but he encircled your thigh with a hand and hauled you back until you were trapped on his chest. He blew some of your hair out of his mouth and laughed, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. Your skin was warm to the touch, eyes all glazed and glassy, and you looked down at him like nothing else existed. You tangled fingers with his palm in the covers.
He asked, “Worth the wait?”
You hummed, “Absolutely.”
“Wanna go again?”
“Clark!”
