Desperate Housewife
Day 19. |Kinktober Masterlist| - pool sex/cheating Summary: neglected by your work-obsessed husband, you find yourself drawn to the new pool boy, Clark Kent. Pairing: poolboy!clark x reader Tags/cw: pwp, infidelity/cheating, light voyeurism/exhibitionism, outdoor sex, light angst (risk of being caught) Wc: 1.1k a/n: this is my favorite one so far, i hope u guys like it :) likes and reblogs are appreciated !!! more parts on my ao3
The afternoons dragged in that mansion. Polished marble floors, gilded mirrors, a bed too big and too cold. Your husband was older, distracted, his love tied up in board meetings and brandy glasses. He never noticed when you slipped into lingerie, never touched you with hunger, never even tried to last longer than a few minutes in bed. But someone else did notice.
Through lace curtains, you’d watch him, the new pool boy. Broad shoulders beneath a damp white t-shirt, jeans hanging low as he bent over the water. His hair curled slightly in the summer heat, and his forearms flexed with each sweep of the net. Clark.
He always kept his head down when you came outside, polite to a fault. “Ma’am,” he’d say, voice low and warm, eyes darting away the moment your robe slipped too far down your shoulder. But you weren’t blind. You saw the way his gaze lingered, just for a second too long. That afternoon, you decided to push harder.
Instead of watching from the terrace, you slipped into a milky white bikini, the kind that barely covered your breasts, strings tied loose on your hips. When you padded out onto the sun-warmed stone, Clark glanced up and froze.
“Afternoon, Clark,” you purred, sliding into the shimmering water with a graceful arch of your back. You surfaced with a flip of your hair, droplets glistening across your chest.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
You swam lazily to the edge, resting your elbows on the tile. “Clark, I told you not to call me that. Makes me feel old.”
His lips twitched, but he kept his eyes on the pool. “Sorry. Habit.”
You tilted your head, watching him with a mischievous smile. “You work too hard. Why don’t you join me? Cool off a little, hmm.”
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s-”
“Please?” you cut in, lips pouting just enough to make his eyes flicker to your mouth. “It’s no fun swimming alone.” He hesitated, but the way you batted your lashes sealed it. With a quiet sigh, he set the net aside, tugged off his t-shirt, and slid out of his shoes.
The sight nearly knocked the breath out of you. His chest was sculpted, tan, muscles shifting under skin that glistened faintly with sweat. Your husband never looked like this. Your husband never made your thighs clench just by breathing.
Clark dove in smoothly, surfacing a few feet away. Water trickled down his jawline, over his throat, down to where his jeans clung to his hips. You swam closer, circling him like a predator with a smile. “See? That’s better.”
He laughed softly, nervous but charmed. “You’re trouble.”
“Maybe,” you whispered, brushing your hand over his chest under the water, your nails skimming his skin. His muscles tensed instantly, eyes darkening.
“Ma’am…”
You pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. Just you and me.” And then you kissed him.
The hesitation lasted only a second before he kissed you back, deep and hungry. His hands gripped your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him, his body already hard beneath the surface. You moaned into his mouth, wrapping your legs around him as he lifted you, pressing your back against the pool’s edge.
“God,” he groaned, lips hot on your throat, “you’re gonna get me killed.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” you breathed, grinding against him shamelessly. Clark groaned, sliding his boxers down under the water, freeing himself. You gasped as the thick weight of him pressed against your core, your bikini shoved aside in one desperate motion. The first thrust stole your breath, hot, deep, water splashing around you as he filled you like no one else ever had.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you cried out, clinging to him. He drove into you again and again, every thrust making waves crash against the tiles. His lips devoured yours between groans, every ounce of pent-up hunger finally unleashed.
The mansion was silent, but out by the pool, your moans and the slap of water against skin filled the air. And for the first time in years, you didn’t feel bored. You felt alive.
Water lapped against the tiles, rippling with each thrust. You clung to Clark’s shoulders, gasping his name, your nails raking down his back as the pool swallowed your cries. He fucked you like a man starved, hips driving into you with strength your husband could never dream of mustering.
Every stroke left you trembling, every groan in your ear unraveling you further. “Clark…fuck-” your voice broke, and he growled low in his throat, pressing his mouth to yours as you came, legs tightening around him, body spasming against the pool wall.
He followed soon after, muffling his groan against your shoulder, burying himself deep inside you as he spilled, water splashing wildly around you both. His forehead dropped against yours, your breaths mingling as the waves stilled.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Clark pulled back slightly, eyes softening, one big hand brushing the water droplets from your face. “You okay?” he asked, voice gentle now, a world apart from the rough edge of moments before.
You nodded, breathless. “Better than okay.” He kissed you again, slower this time, almost reverent. Then he lifted you carefully, carrying you through the water with ease. At the edge, he set you down gently, climbing out and pulling you up with him. You laughed, giddy and disheveled, water streaming down your skin. “We made a mess.”
Clark smirked, brushing a thumb across your swollen lip. “Worth it.”
Inside, he followed you upstairs, toweling you off with deliberate care. His hands lingered as he rubbed warmth back into your skin, draping his t-shirt over your shoulders. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he smoothed the shirt down, tugging the hem so it covered you. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.
Before you could tease him back, the sound of a car crunching over gravel pierced the air. Your heart stopped.
“Shit,” you hissed, eyes wide. “He’s home.”
Clark’s eyes snapped to the window, sharp with alertness. He moved fast, scooping up his discarded jeans and shoes. “Where can I go?”
“Back stairs,” you whispered urgently, shoving him toward the hall. “Service entrance by the kitchen, he never goes down there.”
You shoved him once more, panic and adrenaline coursing through your veins. Clark paused, cupping your face for one last, quick kiss. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised, then slipped away, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. You tugged your robe back on just as the front door opened.
“Honey?” your husband’s voice called, distracted, already half on his phone.
You stepped out into the hall, a smile painted on, the taste of Clark still sweet on your lips. “Welcome home.”
And somewhere in the shadows of the service stairs, Clark Kent slipped out unseen, the echo of your kiss burning hotter than the summer sun.