Mainly reposts of filth, with some dirty thoughts sprinkled here and there Enthusiastic supporter of all fanfiction, and vehement hater of AI I’m 25, she/her
I have followers here for the first time ever, so I guess I should do an intro post!
My name’s Elle. Any nickname will suffice though.
Please minors do not interact with me!
I am very proudly pro-Palestine, pro-LGBTQIA, pro-immigration, pro-abortion, pro-BLM, aka I am a leftist. I will not debate my morals and politics with anyone, and if you disagree please just kindly block me.
I used to use this blog mainly for reposting my favorite fanfictions. I recently got the writing bug back after seven years, so now I also post blurbs of my current hyperfixations. There’s no rhyme or reason to my thoughts, other than the fact that they’re filthy and usually about my current hyperfixation.
All of my blurbs are available to be expanded on. If any of them spark some desire in you, please take my idea and run with it! All I ask is you tag me so I can read it.
I can take any requests, but I won’t guarantee I will write anything good with them.
The hashtag “typhoonthots” will be for my smutty stuff, so just look that up for my nastiness. The hashtag “typhoonthoughts” will be my other ramblings.
I am just a woman who wants to partake in some creative writing, please be gentle!
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), pornstar!reader, rough sex, spanking (light), panty pulling, unprotected sex (within filming context), clark finishes on reader, overstimulation, nsfw language + themes.
don’t want to see this kind of content? feel free to block these tags: #pornstar!clark #kentwiththegooddick #kwtgd #kwtgd kinks
By the time the video picked up, Clark was already fucking you hard enough to make the bed shake. You were face down on the mattress with your ass pushed up for him, bra still on, panties dragged off to one side. The setup was supposed to sell some rushed little quickie, one of those cheap, overused porno scenarios where nobody bothered getting fully undressed because apparently there just wasn’t time.
Clark didn’t care about any of that.
What he did care about, though, was the way your ass kept meeting his hips.
He stood behind you at the edge of the bed, driving into you over and over while you pushed right back, keeping pace without needing to be told. His hands locked around your hips, pulling you onto his cock as your body bounced against him with every thrust. He felt each impact through his grip, but all of his attention remained fixed on the movement beneath him.
Your panties only made everything impossible to ignore. The lace thong stayed crooked across one side of your ass, stretched tight where it still clung to you and twisted where he’d shoved it aside. Each stroke tugged the fabric a little higher, the thin strip shifting against your skin every time you took him deep again.
And you kept doing it.
Meeting him thrust for thrust. Taking every hard snap of his hips and sending your own back for the next one, making it worse. Better. Harder for him to remember there was a camera pointed at either of you. Clark watched as you arched your back for him, leaning forward until your chest pressed deeper into the mattress, opening yourself up for another hard pass. Then another. Your ass lifted higher beneath his hands like you were giving him more room to fuck you, and something about the sight of it made him sink into the moment completely.
His grip tightened around your hips first, fingers digging in as he pulled you back onto his cock. Then one hand lifted.
The first smack cracked through the room. Your ass jolted beneath his palm while his cock stayed buried inside you, the impact making everything move around him. Clark watched it happen, watched the soft recoil of your body, the way your back dipped a little lower like the sting had only made you want more.
So he did it again.
Another sharp slap landed across the same cheek, louder this time. Your body jumped beneath his hand, but your rhythm never faltered. You only pushed back onto him harder, pulling a groan from his chest. Clark did it again without slowing, his palm coming down as your hips kept working against his.
Every reaction pulled him deeper into it. The louder you got, the harder he fucked you, and the harder he fucked you, the more your body gave back. It built between you, each response feeding the next until the control he usually kept so firmly in place started slipping.
His fingers bit into your hips as he drove into you faster, each motion pulling another sound from you until one hand left and caught the lace bunched across your ass. He wound it around his fist and pulled it taut, drawing your thong higher before using it to pull you back onto him. The next one landed heavier, and so did the one after that, each pull bringing your ass straight into his hips while he pushed forward to meet you.
Your voice climbed with the pace, each sound coming quicker as your back arched farther and your thighs tensed beneath you. Still, you kept pushing back, kept taking him, even as the pressure building inside you started to ruin your rhythm.
Clark could feel how close you were in the way you kept tightening around him, gripping harder every time he yanked you back by the lace and buried himself again. And knowing it only made him lose more of that control. His thrusts got deeper, harsher, each one knocking another sound out of you while his fist stayed twisted tight in your thong. He kept dragging you back and pounding into you without easing up, your body winding tighter around him until every stroke pushed you closer to the edge.
He thought the sight before had been bad enough, damning even, but now he knew better. Clark was so caught up in the way your body met his—the way your ass lifted for him, making the fabric bite into your skin as more of it disappeared into his fist—that he almost missed the way your sounds started changing. They pitched higher, grew messier, breaking apart with every movement between you. Then your back arched differently. Your ass snapped back hard against him once before your rhythm broke, stuttering against him as your thighs went tight and started shaking.
You came around him like that, crying out while your pussy clamped down hard enough to pull a ragged breath from him. Still, he didn’t stop. Didn’t miss a single beat. The lace strained across your hips as your body jerked beneath him. Every time you pushed back or tried to move with the force of your orgasm, he pulled you closer without realizing it, keeping you right there on his cock while he drove into you again. He wasn’t thinking about the fabric anymore. Wasn’t thinking about how far he’d stretched it or how much pressure he was putting on it.
He was thinking about the way you sounded. The way your ass kept trying to meet him even while your legs shook. The way you kept squeezing around him, wet and tight and still taking every hard thrust he gave you. Every pulse around his cock dragged him closer until his own movements started getting rougher, less controlled, his hips slamming into you while your orgasm kept working through your body.
Then he pulled you back onto him again, harder than before.
Snap.
The lace gave in his fist, the sound cutting clean through everything before a little yelp jumped out of you. But even then, you didn’t stop fucking him. Your hips kept working, pushing back onto his cock with the torn fabric hanging loose around you, and that was enough to send him over.
Clark started to come with a rough, broken groan, his fist tightening around what was left of your thong as you kept fucking yourself back onto him. His hips lost whatever rhythm had been left, chasing the feeling instead as your body kept meeting every desperate rut. Somewhere in the middle of it, he swore he apologized. Thought he managed a strained, “Sorry,” but it was hard to tell when the word disappeared beneath your sounds and the relentless movement of your hips.
It nearly took him under completely before he remembered the scene. Remembered what he was supposed to do. More through sheer luck than any real will of his own, he slipped free at the last possible second, one hand keeping you steady while the other wrapped around his cock and stroked him through the rest of it.
His groans came out loud and unrestrained as thick, hot cum spilled over your ass. There was more than either of you expected. Some landed higher across your lower back while the rest gathered over the curve of you and slowly slipped toward the torn lace at your hips. The camera moved in close behind you, catching every filthy trace he’d left on your skin. You stayed arched on the mattress, still trying to catch your breath, while Clark stood over you with his chest heaving, eyes fixed on your ass like even now, after everything, he still hadn’t seen enough.
a/n: it's been so long, guys, i'm so sorry. i'm working through my drafts this weekend, so hopefully i can post some more soon. also, not sure how i feel about this one lol. either way, i hope you guys enjoy <3
the cheering from your students made you bite back a chuckle as you stood before your husband in the middle of the training field. the two of you had been pushed into an unexpected position — your second years and his first years betting on who would win in a fight.
whilst you were an experienced sorcerer as well — strong and capable with a powerful technique — you couldn’t act like beating your husband was something realistic. not when your husband was satoru gojo. even though he was very clearly going easy on you (neither of you wanted to hurt each other after all) it was impossible to touch him thanks to his infinity, and as much as you were having fun, you wanted to show off a little more in front of your students. he couldn’t have the spotlight all the time after all.
“c’mon,” you groaned through pants, a small grin still glued to your face because the whole thing really was amusing. “ditch the infinity already you coward.”
the word hit him like a slap to the face coming from you, and like the masochist he was, his expression exploded into something dangerously amused, six eyes gleaming at you like a predator would lock onto prey, blindfold long discarded. you were putting up a good fight so far, and god was he enjoying himself.
“coward, huh?” he snorted, releasing his infinity in the same breath and making the other students hold their breath. “fine. let’s do this fist to fist.”
“that means no cursed energy from you either~”
it was hard to tell who struck first with how fast fists were flying and bodies were moving, your students struggling to keep up with who was doing what. what was clear, however, was how right the two of you were together. where he excelled in brute force and speed, you dominated in stealth and precision, both of you struggling to land punches on each other.
that was when it happened.
you didn’t have time to blink as he faked that sweep and instead grabbed you by your collar before you could gloat about dodging such an obvious attack, your body hitting the ground with a thud after being thrown to the ground face first. everyone fell silent at that, watching eagerly as you tried to get up just to be shoved back to the ground again by a large hand on your shoulder blade and his knee beside your hip, trapping you.
“got you,” he sneered, watching as you squirmed and struggled uselessly beneath him before accepting your fate and falling limp to the ground. “i win.”
as much as you wanted to say something smart in retaliation, the words died on your tongue the second he pressed you down with just a little more pressure, and suddenly you felt a strange heat fill your stomach. it was weirdly thrilling — both of you panting and sweaty while he practically manhandled you to the ground beneath him. your heart was racing both from the adrenaline of the fight and the thoughts swirling into your mind. he was always such a gentle man with you, so this? this was new. exciting.
it was something you couldn’t stop thinking about even hours later when you returned home, darting straight to the bedroom to change out of your uniform. you’d been sweating in it after all. it desperately needed to be washed and so did you.
you weren’t surprised when satoru had entered shortly after you, just as you had peeled off your shirt, revealing your bra to his already hungry eyes. he didn’t say anything at first, just placed his hands on your hips to pull you in for a kiss, huffing like a child when you pulled away. “i’m all sweaty and gross from you pushing me into the ground earlier,” you teased, making him pout.
“you make it sound so cruel,” satoru murmured. “i didn’t push you — i gracefully pinned my gorgeous wife after an epic battle.” he pulled you flush against him again and you scoffed at his words.
“it was far from graceful. you were crushing me. you’re not exactly light you know.” satoru laughed against your lips at that, a low rumbling sound, before he leaned in to nip at your bottom lip playfully.
“crushing you?” he repeated, feigning horror. “i was gentle! delicate even — like i was handling a flower!” to emphasise his point, he fluttered his lashes at you like he was the picture of innocence itself, his heart fluttering seeing you laugh at his poor attempt at a defence.
you leaned in to press a quick pick to his lips. “i wasn’t complaining,” you hummed with a smirk that undid him entirely — mischief masking itself behind such a sweet smile like you know exactly what you were doing to him. “is that so?”
satoru kept his hands on your hips, walking you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed and you had no choice but to sit, leaning back on your hands as he towered over you, a thick air of tension suddenly filling the room while his eyes bore into yours.
“if i’m being honest, i actually liked it,” you confessed, watching the way his lips twitched into a wider smirk. just thinking about it all made your stomach pool with heat. the way his big hands held you down…how easily he had overpowered you..that slightly crazed smile when you’d managed to land a punch on him earlier…
he didn’t miss the way your thighs shifted together in an attempt to relieve that familiar ache between them, his cock twitching in his pants at the knowledge that you’d enjoyed (and were most definitely turned on by) him pinning you down. that you liked his strength. naturally it went to his head. both of them
seeing you like this — cheeks slightly flushed from just the memory alone, both of you still a little hot from earlier, and your lips parted slightly as you looked up at him — he couldn’t hold back anymore, pushing you onto the bed properly while he began lifting his shirt off, throwing it somewhere across the room. “liked it, huh?” his voice was half growl, half teasing lilt, but his eyes were intense, a sign he wasn’t just joking around anymore. the boner he was sporting further affirmed that, brushing against your thigh when he leaned in to press hungry kisses to your jaw, grazing you with his teeth just to hear you make those pretty noises for him.
his breath was warm against you, fingers reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra so he could feel every inch of you. he lived for the way you whimpered when his lips wrapped around one of your already pebbled nipples, groaning at the salty taste of your skin. if anything it turned him on more. “toru…” your body arched up into his without thinking, breathy and needy.
“what is it baby? what do you need, hm?” he released your nipple just to meet those eyes of yours staring down at him with raw want. “want it rough…please?”
and god, how could he say no to a request like that? especially after finding out how much you’d like it earlier when he got a little rough with you. without giving you any form of a warning, he flipped your over onto your stomach, manhandling you so that you were in a prone position with just your ass lifted up a little for him. a gasp left your lips when he tugged your skirt off, throwing it somewhere behind him so he could see your panties, along with the clear wet patch you’d left on them.
“you sure you can take it?” satoru jeered, a final sort of warning so you couldn’t say you didn’t know what you were getting into asking for this. at your desperate nod he reached for the waistband of those black panties, tugging on them until they ripped off of you, making your breath hitch.
“it’s your funeral~”
and he really wasn’t joking.
you hardly knew where you were or even who you were at this point. all you knew was that his hips were ramming into you without mercy, ignoring your whines and the way you were clawing at the sheets beside you. satoru had a hand gripping your hips tightly, nails digging into the plush skin there as he held you down, making you take it while he grunted above you. his other hand was tangled in your hair, keeping your face flat against the mattress where you were already drooling.
“ah-ah, no running,” he tisked, an almost cruel lilt to his voice when he felt you squirming beneath him. he was pounding into you with a pace so relentless you could hardly form any thoughts, let alone beg him to slow down. “you wanted this didn’t you?” still, you tried to say something. a plea for…well..you didn’t really know what it was you wanted. either way it didn’t matter because the moment you tried lifting your head to talk he had shoved your face right back into the sheets, making you moan.
“fuck, you’re so filthy,” he groaned, feeling how your walls squeezed him tighter after that. your body alone told him everything. how much you were enjoying this. “you love being treated like this, don’t you? being held down and manhandled..” the broken whine you let out made his hips stutter for a moment, head tipping back with another groan because this was so fucking hot.
a loud crack filled the room as he let go of your hair to deliver a slap to your ass, an action that made you jerk slightly in surprise, even as another moan was dragged out of you at a second slap. “god, i’m gonna ruin you,” he growled, clearly getting as carried away as you were, a large hand splaying across your lower back, pulling you back against each of his thrusts.
tears began to fill your eyes from just how good, yet how overwhelming everything felt — his cock stretching you out and hitting the deepest parts of you that only he could reach. each dirty grumble of his as he made you take everything. the desperate need to cum already. “don’t cry baby,” he cooed, but you knew better than to think he was serious. “you can take it. you will.”
and something about him saying it like that, like he would make sure if it, had you mewling like a stray cat against the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric with such force he almost wished you were marking up his back with those nails instead. “gonna fill this pussy up…fuck, you want that right?”
both hands slid up your back until they reached the back of your neck, wrapping around it with just enough force to keep you pinned down and restrict some of your air flow, but nowhere near enough to really hurt. as much as he was getting off on this power play he didn’t feel like harming his wife. “you’ll take it all for me, won’t you?”
the noises you were making were sinful as you neared your orgasm, legs shaking slightly as he began to speed up his pace, groans being pulled from his throat more frequently now, and you could tell his orgasm was approaching soon too. a few more strokes was all you needed before you were crying out in pleasure, clamping down around him as you saw white. it was intense and dizzying, hitting you so suddenly and causing your whole body to jerk while satoru continued to grind into you until he found himself cumming too.
you were too tight, too warm, and with a final, deep thrust he was spilling himself inside of you. filling you up just like he said he would and leaving you lying limply against the bed as you tried to come too. you hadn’t even felt him collapse on top of you until he was peppering kisses down from the back of your neck to your shoulder, whispering sweet nothings.
you were utterly spent and probably close to passing out, but god did you love it.
18+ Clark Kent who's insecure about his overly large member
The first thing he mentioned when you two started getting serious about your relationship is his more than average sized cock.
That makes you curious of course. How bad could it be?
Now he's ramming you in with his 8 inch dick, sending your eyes to the back of your head. Drool trickles down from the corner of your mouth as you take him fully.
Pussy throbbing from the big stretch, your claws dig into the mattress, ripping holes to reveal the cotton underneath.
"Fuck, Clark... you're huge," you moan, throwing your head back.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, halting to make sure you're okay.
What a sweet guy.
"Mmm, yeah I'm okay," you look at him with your teary eyes. "Go again please..."
The tip of his dick taps into your cervix repeatedly, hitting the deepest parts of you, sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. Your heart beats faster, blood rushing to your face to taint your cheeks.
You hadn't expected it to feel this good. The stimulation drove you crazy, knots forming in your stomach.
He's thrusting in all the perfect angles, hitting the g-spot that no one's been able to reach. Hips moving along to his rhythm, your whimpers and lewd sounds fill the room.
"Clark please... I need you so bad," you mumble, pliant body twitching and shaking.
He's panting above you, groaning and rambling on about how good your pussy feels tightening around him so perfectly. It's like you were made for him.
It doesn't take long for the knot to untangle right then and there, cumming all over his precious cock that you're conjoined to.
He sends a few more hard, firm thrusts, practically fucking you through your orgasm. He focuses on chasing his high, while your body still squirted and made a mess until he finally fills you up to the brim, womb full of the thick spurts of his essence.
This is like my millionth time reposting this fic omg.
summary: after several long days spent on the kent farm, you and clark are a little…pent up.
tags & cw: 18+ MINORS PISS OFF, fem afab reader, established relationship (engaged), slight breeding kink, p in v sex (protected for once!!), exhibitionism (kind of?), f masturbation, the squeaky ass bed is the villain here
wc: 6.6k
a/n: this is kinda ass ngl. anyway unrelated but how are my fellow kingdon truthers feeling after today…what a fucking rollercoaster. anyways hope yall enjoy!!
want some more clark content? Check out my clark masterlist!
You’d been trying to suppress it all week. Truly, you had. It wasn’t your fault that Clark looked stupidly attractive in flannel, with sweat beading at his hairline and slipping beneath the collar of his t-shirt. It wasn’t your fault that his Ma and Pa had raised him right, that he helped with dinner and folded everyone’s laundry when it was finished drying on the clothesline. You couldn’t be held responsible for what happened between your thighs whenever you watched him complete miscellaneous tasks around the house, fixing whatever appliance or squeaky hinge that had been nagging Ma for the past several weeks like the perfect fucking son he was.
So, really, you weren’t at fault for the way your kisses began lingering a bit longer than what was appropriate for his childhood home. The way your hand regularly found his thigh every night beneath the dinner table, daring to get progressively higher with each passing day.
It was inevitable. A means to an end. A festering desideratum that was growing increasingly difficult to ignore.
It was affecting Clark too, you could feel it. His hugs were longer. He hovered around you more than usual. Clark’s touches were always meaningful, so when he began squeezing your hips or shoulders as he slipped by you in the kitchen or living room, you knew there was intent behind it.
It didn’t help that this was your first time visiting the Kents as his fiance. The knowledge that you were about to be married certainly didn’t help matters. Clark, along with his sweet, endearing, oh-so-oblivious parents had already been teasingly referring to you as “Mrs. Kent”, and it was more than enough to make you insane.
For his parents’ sake, you sincerely hoped your joint desperation wasn’t as glaringly obvious to them as it was to you. Though, if the sly smiles on Ma’s face whenever she noticed the pathetically longing stares you two exchanged was any indication, you weren’t being as subtle as you thought.
Growing up, Ma had very strict rules about Clark’s girlfriends, as he’d informed you previously. She was the sweetest woman you’d ever met, if not a little old-fashioned by way of social standards (Clark’s gentlemanly charm had to come from somewhere). Which of course meant that every partner of Clark’s who spent the night at the Kent household was required to sleep in a separate bedroom.
“As long as you’re stayin’ under my roof,” she had teased, waving a wooden spoon in mock threat. “Those are the rules. No bed sharin’ till you’re married.”
When Clark was in high school and college, that usually meant he took the sofa while his girlfriend took his room. Back then, the spare bedroom in the Kent household had been used predominantly for extra storage, mostly for seasonal decorations and other delicate items Ma and Pa didn’t want stored in the barn.
Recently, though, the Kents had cleaned out the space. Its “restoration” had become a bit of a passion project for Pa, who was always happiest when he had something to keep his hands busy.
Clark had inquired about it once when you were both in town visiting. He’d spotted the cans of paint in the hallway, to which Ma replied with the coolness of a cucumber and the subtlety of an elephant.
“Just preparin’ for when we have kiddos in the house again.”
You choked on your sweet tea, and looked over at Clark to find that his blush had climbed all the way to his ears.
“Ma,” he bemoaned. She only winked.
One of Ma’s friends owned a ranch on the other side of town, and had introduced her to the wonders of Facebook Marketplace. Such began the spending spree that would result in brand spankin’ new (secondhand) furniture for the newly redone bedroom once Pa had finished spackling and painting.
Clark fretted endlessly over the fact that his parents were lugging around heavy furniture on their own, and would regularly speed back to Smallville to help them if he had the spare time. When you came to visit this time around, the guest bedroom was the first place Ma had dragged you both off to, eager to show off her finds.
“Ain’t it beautiful? Couldn’tve cost me more than a hundred-and-fifty some bucks. John’s good friends with Frank down at the hardware store in town, so we got a good deal on the paint, too. What was the shade, hon? Manchester tan, somethin’ or other? Anyway, I think it turned out pretty darn good.”
“It looks great, Ma,” Clark complimented with a genuine smile.
“Don’t it? Figured it would be nice not havin’ to make your poor fiance sleep on that rickety ol’ twin bed.”
There it was—the subtle confirmation that you were still expected to sleep in separate rooms. Which you would, because you respected your soon-to-be in-laws, and it wouldn’t be for much longer anyways.
“It really does look incredible,” you agreed, filling the silence. “The wonders of Marketplace.”
“Trouble now is gettin’ her to stop,” Pa called from the living room. “We got a crap ton of new patio furniture and nowhere to put it all!”
“Oh, hush,” Ma scolded, and you both laughed.
It was on day five that things became borderline unbearable. The Kents had invited some old friends over for a cookout and a bonfire. Some of the older couples’ kids had grown up alongside Clark, many of whom already had spouses and families of their own. Meaning, there were several young children in attendance, which thrilled Clark, who had been honest with you from the start about wanting a family of his own someday.
It made perfect sense—he was incredible with kids of all ages, something you’d known for a while, having seen it secondhand on TV whenever he donned the cape to visit children’s hospitals or homeless shelters.
Experiencing it firsthand, though? Your fucking ovaries were about to explode.
Pa had bought some marshmallows for the kids to make s’mores, and Clark had somehow been designated the role of official stick-gatherer. You watched the kids—ranging from kindergarten to late elementary school age—follow him around like ducklings, giggling and laughing when Clark made a show of climbing all the way up an oak tree to fetch the ‘perfect stick’ for roasting marshmallows.
One of the children, an adorable brown-haired little boy, shyly offered his first marshmallow—which was burnt to a crisp—to Clark, who accepted it with a broad smile.
“Thanks, buddy. Is this for me?”
His head bobbed. “Sorry. It burnt a little.”
“Oh, that’s alright. It’s still gooey underneath. Here, watch.”
You watched as Clark slid the charred, ashy part of the marshmallow off to reveal its perfectly melted, warm center. He sucked the mallow into his mouth, having to double down on his sticky digits as the residual bits clung to his fingers. You politely forced yourself to look away.
The rest of the night, Clark had been seated right next to you as the adults exchanged work stories and life updates while the kids ran around chasing fireflies. Inevitably, there were more than a few prying questions shot in Clark’s direction about his interviews with Superman, which always made you grin, even if only himself and his parents knew the reason behind it.
At some point, Clark’s arm draped around your shoulder as you rested your legs in his lap. With company around, he’d been forced to put on his hypnoglasses, but you certainly weren’t complaining. The firelight danced across his face and in the lens of his glasses, which you took every opportunity to push up his nose with a soft smile, leaning forward to peck his lips every so often.
Mercifully, having both older couples and young children in attendance meant the night was called off relatively early, around 8pm. You both assisted with cleanup before settling in the living room to catch up on the news. Ma and Pa turned in shortly thereafter, pressing kisses to both of your foreheads before vanishing down the hallway.
Feeling particularly greedy, you stole the chance to break the “appropriate distance” the two of you had been sitting on the sofa and cuddled up to Clark’s side with a long sigh.
“Good day?” you ask casually.
“Mhm,” he answers, fingertips brushing up and down your shoulder. You idly watch the TV for a few more minutes, toying with Clark’s fingers in your hand, already imagining the ring that would soon match yours.
The quiet sounds lulled you into a state of blissful exhaustion; his parents doing their nighttime routine, the crickets chirping through the open window, the low conversation from the television, playing a gameshow of some sort.
After a few moments of silence, you snuck a glance over the sofa, peeking to see if his parents’ door had shut yet. Clark followed your gaze curiously, about to ask what you were looking at, when you pinched his chin between your fingers and brought your mouth to his.
A pleasant hum rumbled from the back of his throat as he immediately returned the kiss. His hand cradled the side of your neck, fingers brushing against your thumping pulse as you kissed, deep and slow.
You part for air, and Clark’s mouth trails along your jaw, unhurried and without much finesse, seemingly content just to be touching you. Your eyes once again land on the closed door of his parents’ bedroom, weighing the risk before making your decision and swinging a leg over his lap.
Clark, clearly a little surprised, laughs nervously as his hands find your hips. “Honey,” he warns. “What are you—”
“Shh,” you hush him with a smirk and a finger to his lips, before kissing him again and carding your fingers through his soft curls.
He hums in bliss, grip tightening on your hips before his hands travel up and down your sides. “It feels so good to kiss you,” he whispers into your mouth.
Your breathing hitches, desire roaring to life deep in your belly, demanding attention.
“Yeah,” you agree softly.
You kiss for as long as you dare, tongues slipping into hot mouths and hands staying mostly PG; Clark wisely keeps you planted a safe distance away from his pelvis.
When you finally part, panting for air, you sit there for several long moments. The chorus of sounds has changed, slightly. Clark’s heavy breathing intermingled with your own; the subtle-soft rustle of his palms against your blouse as he caresses you. The crickets still chirp, reminding you of the hour, and you reluctantly open your eyes.
“We should probably go to bed,” you say, though you don’t mistake the sadness in your voice for anything other than it is—a thorn in your side for not being able to do anything other than kiss. “Ma said something about the Farmer’s Market tomorrow.”
Clark’s head tips back against the couch, his blue eyes drowning in a sea of black as he catalogues the look on your face. He licks his lips in consideration, and your traitorous core flips in arousal at the sight.
“Yeah,” he eventually—reluctantly—agrees.
You drag yourselves down the hallway, taking turns in the bathroom as you prepare to weather the storm of spending another dreadful night apart.
The Kent family home is small; a three bedroom, one bathroom ranch that had little room for much more than its Midwestern charm. It was an older house too, built by Pa’s grandfather in the 1920s; it had been refurbished, just enough to keep up with the times, but the bones of the house were old. Creaky floorboards and chipped paint. An extremely temperamental HVAC system. And, of utmost concern to you and Clark, thin walls.
All the bedrooms lined one hallway near the back of the house; the bathroom and his parents’ room on the left, the guest room on the right, and Clark’s bedroom tucked at the end of the hall. Everyone was snug as a bug in a rug, as the saying went.
Lucky you.
The air between you tonight feels inexplicably more charged than usual, and you have a sinking suspicion the make-out session you’d initiated had something to do with it.
“Goodnight,” you say softly, turning to face Clark from the doorway to the guest bedroom.
Clark blinks at you in consideration, before leaning down to give you one final kiss. It’s soft and almost unbearably slow. His hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your skin. Your lips hover, brushing one another before either of you can bring yourselves to pull away. The pad of his thumb tugs gently at your lower lip.
“Goodnight,” he whispers.
And then he’s gone, floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he retreats into his bedroom at the end of the hallway. You take a deep breath, needing a moment to collect yourself before shutting your own door and pressing your forehead against it. Get a grip.
You try to distract yourself by doing some light reading before bed, just enough to make your eyes heavy. Of course, it doesn’t work, and an hour after you’ve put your book down and turned off all the lights, you can’t sleep.
Your mind is consumed by the memory of Clark twisting open a jar of strawberry jam for Ma earlier today, and the how he’d sucked some of the jam off of his thumb. Then it flashes to the effortless way he’d carried several 400-pound hay bales over his head, across acres of farmland, all so his Pa could save some diesel on the tractor as you watched from the kitchen window. Then you remember how he’d immediately gulped down two full glasses of his Ma’s homemade lemonade, watching the condensation wet his fingers and the way his throat muscles moved as he swallowed.
It’s too much. Too much temptation packed into a 1,300 square foot ranch, in the shape of 240 pounds of farm-bred Kryptonian muscle. Five unbearable days with only fleeting touches and lingering kisses, until tonight, when you got a taste of something more. You two had gone far longer without sex—you know this logically—but being in such close proximity and watching him around his parents and interacting with children has done irreparable damage.
Your hand is slipping beneath your pajama shorts without you even making the conscious decision.
Fuck, the way he’d smelled tonight, like burning wood and smoke, his skin warm and almost glowing as a result of spending all day in the sun. Around the campfire, you couldn’t help but caress his five o’clock shadow at any chance you got, imagining the scruff of his stubble chafing your inner thighs.
Clark loved to eat pussy.
Your fingers easily find your aching clit, but the touches are all wrong. Your fingers aren’t rough enough, aren’t large enough, can’t get the right angle.
After tonight, it was impossible not to imagine him with your own children in a very near future. The thought of him cradling an infant in his massive arms; a toddler climbing all over his back, sitting on his equally massive shoulders. You weren’t even sure it would be possible to conceive with him yet, but fuck were you content to imagine it.
You’re dripping already; it was second nature. A Pavlovian response. Your fingers are a poor substitution for the real thing, but it would have to do. He’s so close and so fucking far, and it makes your blood hot.
“Clark,” you fail to bite back the weak moan, your hips shifting around on the bed as you curl your fingers. God, a part of you hopes he’s awake, knowing he could probably hear the way you’re touching yourself, moaning his name, nearly in tears from how much you need him.
It’s when you’re finally on the precipice of a very underwhelming orgasm that you hear the same creaking floorboards and freeze. Your ears hone in on the sound, trying to brush it off as being Ma or Pa getting up to use the bathroom, which wasn’t uncommon. But the gait is undeniably heavier, and far too careful to be either of his parents.
Then you hear the doorknob turn.
You twist in the sheets, hastily pulling your hand out of your pajama shorts. You blink blearily at the door, watching as it creaks open slowly to reveal none other than your 6’4” fiance.
“Clark? E-everything okay?” you call out in a whisper as he carefully shuts the door, wincing at the way it squeaks. You hear a click, and your stomach swoops with the realization that it’s the lock.
He turns to you, a looming, impressive shadow in the darkness of the guest room. He’s at the foot of the bed in two large steps, clambering onto the double-size mattress. The sudden shift of weight makes the mattress groan, a deafening sound in the stillness of night, and your eyes widen in surprise.
“Baby, what are you doing?”
“I think I should be asking you that,” is all the explanation you get before Clark’s lips are back over yours. The kiss is slow, but it’s filthy. Nothing like the ones you shared earlier on the sofa. All tongue and lips and teeth as he hovers over you. Your legs kick out of the sheets, instinctively locking around his lower back, and you barely bite back a moan as he settles some of his weight onto you.
“Gosh, you’re unbelievable,” he breathes into you. “Touchin’ yourself like that when I’m barely a wall away. Could’ve just asked me, baby.”
You shudder, and the arousal is a burn that rips through your body. “Oh god, Clark. We- we really shouldn’t- your parents—”
“I know, baby. I know, I’m sorry. But I couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve been drivin’ me insane all week, sweetheart.” He slid his hands up your chest, groping your tits over your pajama top. “I…I heard you. Jolted me right awake; thought I was dreamin’ at first. But then I heard your sweet little moan, the little wet sounds of your pussy. Your heartbeat, honey. Like a little jackrabbit.”
You tip your head back against the pillow, breathing hard. “C-Clark, god, you can’t say things like that—”
“I know how much you want it,” he breathes, hips bearing down between yours, and shit, he’s fully hard. You haven’t felt him like this in over a week, and it’s overwhelming. “I want it too.”
Dark and quiet as it is, everything feels amplified; despite the very real threat of his parents overhearing, it’s like the two of you are in a vacuum, cut off from the rest of the world. You feel Clark everywhere, and yet it’s not enough to satisfy the insatiable beast that is frothing from between the cage of your thighs, desperate for reprieve.
Of course, wanting what you realistically can’t—or shouldn’t—have has only made matters worse.
“Baby,” Clark pants as you run your hands down his back, slipping beneath his soft t-shirt. “I can- oh gosh, I can s-smell how wet you are.”
“Fucking hell,” you curse, and kiss him again. “I want you so bad, Clark. But this…this fucking bed is probably older than both of us combined, and it’s so loud, I—”
“I know,” he responds between kisses. “I know, honey.”
“I- maybe we could- you could just use your fingers? And I could do the same?” you suggest, though it’s weak, even to your own ears. You know Clark won’t object to anything you offer, but it was crystal clear what he really wanted. What you both wanted.
Clark lets out a whine, low in the back of his throat, concealing it in the crook of your neck. “Mmm. If- I mean, that’s- that’s probably the smart thing to do…”
“But not what we really want,” you finish, brushing your nose against his cheek.
“No,” he agrees, before licking into your mouth. The soft, wet sound of your mouths causes your head to spin, heavy with desire. You can feel the blood rush in your ears, down the length of your neck, flushing the surface of your skin.
“Baby,” you whisper when you part for breath, voice shaking with a mix of longing and crumbling restraint. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling his hips flush against yours. Your fingers pull through his hair as your pelvises build a steady grind, slow enough so as not to cause the bed to squeak but enough to drive you insane as his stiff cock ruts against your clothed pussy. “I- I can’t fucking take it anymore. I need you.”
Clark shudders, mouthing beneath your jaw. “I need you too, honey.” His lips hover over yours, words an urgent, needy whisper. “Wanna give you my cock so much, sweetheart. So, so much.”
“Oh god, Clark,” your voice shatters around his name. Your pussy flutters at the mere idea of having his cock inside you. You need him so bad you could cry. “Seeing you w-with those kids today…”
Clark groans instantly, understanding the implication. “Yeah? Imagining they were ours?”
“Mmm. Yes.”
“I know, I was too,” he admits, sucking a bruise into your skin that you will definitely regret in the morning. “You’d like that, huh? Makin’ a family with me?”
“Fuck, I- you know I would, Clark.”
“Gosh, yes. I’d give it to you in a heartbeat, my love.”
“Please,” you whine, and you truly can’t remember a time where you’ve been this desperate for sex. “I’ll book the fucking appointment tomorrow. Get my—mm, fuck—get my IUD taken out.”
The sound that escapes Clark’s throat is a mixture of pity and pain. “Oh gosh. honey, I- you’re not being fair.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” you whimper.
“We- maybe we can just go slow?” he suggests. “So slow, I promise. Won’t even put it all the way in. It won’t be loud that way, if we go slow. We can be quiet, if we…if we’re careful.”
“I don’t want it slow,” you breathe, and that’s the entire problem, isn’t it? Clark lets out another low-pitched whine, and says your name like a curse.
“You’ve been driving me crazy, too,” you continue, pausing to give him a slow, deep kiss. “I just…I just wanna fuck, Clark.”
Your hand snakes between your flush bodies, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and bypassing his boxers completely. Clark jerks, burying his face in your shoulder with a sharp exhale. The heat and weight of him makes the burgeoning desire in your gut increase tenfold; he’s hot and thick and fully hard. Your goddamn mouth starts salivating like it’s competing with your sopping pussy for his attention.
“W-we…we have to be c-careful, honey,” Clark repeats as he pumps slowly into your hands. That simple movement alone makes the mattress groan with the sound of shifting fabric. “I can…fu- baby, gosh- I can listen to make sure they don’t wake up, but I’ll have to focus. And this bed—”
“Please,” you beg, heart pounding as you listen to his breathing increase the longer you stroke him. Your own restraint is falling apart at the seams; you’re about one Clark-moan away from throwing all caution to the wind. “Forget what I said earlier, I don’t care. I- please, Clark. I need you so bad.”
“Honey, I- oh—” He’s cut off when your fist focuses furiously on the weeping head of his cock.
“Do you want to come on my fist, or in my pussy?” you ask. You know you’re playing dirty, but you need him in you. Now.
“Holy- th-that’s so mean,” he whines.
You mouth at his jaw. “Clark Joseph Kent, if you don’t put your cock in me right fucking now—”
“Good gosh, I- okay, okay.” He plants desperate kisses on your lips, firmly yanking your wrist away from his cock, desperate for a break. “Just- are you-”
“I’m fine, Clark. More than ready. Please just…just fuck me,” you demand, nipping at his earlobe.
“Okay. I- okay, gosh, hold on-”
It’s a frantic tangle of limbs and swatting hands as you both try and wiggle free of as minimal clothing as necessary without jolting the bed too much. The comforter is thrown off the bed. You blindly yank Clark’s sweats and boxers down enough to fully free his cock, while he fumbles for the waistband of your sleep shorts, cursing sweetly as he struggles with the tie. It probably doesn’t help that you’ve started jerking him off again, smearing the resulting bead of pre-cum over his sensitive tip.
“Stupid freaking-”
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter, growing impatient. “Just rip it off, Clark.”
“But you hate when I-”
“Rip it.”
He doesn’t need to be told a third time. The fabric snaps the second his fists close around the tiny strings, and even that small display of his strength makes your clit fucking throb.
His fingers are on you the instant your shorts and panties are gone, rubbing messily over your folds. It’s likely for his own peace of mind, despite your insistence that you were adequately prepared for him. It feels good nonetheless, so you aren’t about to complain.
“Oh, gosh,” he marvels, thick fingers circling your clit as he glances between you. “You’re soaked, honey. Even wetter than I thought.”
“I told you,” you shudder. “Now fuck me.” Your hand, still on his cock, guides him to your waiting pussy, slipping the head through your labia and making you both moan softly.
“Fuck,” Clark curses.
“Clark Joseph,” you gasp, the profanity deliciously foreign coming from his tongue. “Did you just—”
“This is a serious matter,” Clark insists as he thrusts his hips torturously slowly. The head of his cock catches on your clit and another moan slips out of you. “See? That right there.” Your eyes widen when Clark’s palm moves to cover your mouth. “Gotta focus if we wanna be quiet.”
His words only make you whimper, the sound mostly smothered against his hand.
“Quiet,” he scolds again, but then he’s pushing in. The initial stretch burns, as it normally does (you definitely could’ve benefited from some extra lubrication, but desperate times call for desperate measures). However, the flicker of pain is quickly doused with sheer relief, like your body is sighing at the solace of finally getting him inside you.
Clark’s hand abandons your mouth in favor of supporting his weight as he half-collapses onto his forearm. The first thrust of his hips tests the waters; a little overzealous on Clark’s side, succeeding in making the rickety old bed frame squeal once, loudly. You both hold stock-still, allowing you to acclimate to his size and him to listen intently for any signs of life in his parents’ room.
Clark looks down at you in silence. Nothing.
You release your bated breath and drag him into a kiss. “Move,” you hiss, sounding like a total brat, but neither of you seem to care.
Clark obliges, pumping his hips slower this time, the motion more fluid as he disperses his weight across his whole body rather than planting his knees on the mattress.
It seems to be working, the sound of your joint heavy breathing being the loudest sound in the room. That is of course until you shift positions just slightly, and the fucking Marketplace-monstrosity of a bed frame groans loudly in protest.
A huff of agitation escapes you. “Oh fuck that’s— it’s loud, Clark. Why is it so fucking loud?”
“Shit,” he curses desperately. “Maybe- here, pull the sheets up—”
“That’s not going to do anything!”
“Well, I don’t know!” Clark exclaims in a whisper-yell. “I’m trying to help! I- oh gosh, honey, I can’t pull out of you now—”
You lock your legs around him in warning. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m not, I’m not.”
Your head flops back against the pillows in frustration. “Just…they’re still asleep, right?”
Clark pauses to listen. “For now, yeah.”
“So…” you can’t believe you’re about to suggest this. Morning-you is going to be so fucking embarrassed. “…just…just keep going, and stop if you hear them wake up.”
Clark lets out a pained groan. “That’s easier said than done when I’m balls deep inside you, honey. I can’t focus on making you come and listening for the slightest rustle of awareness across the hallway.”
You wiggle your hips, pulling another wounded sound from Clark’s chest. “Please,” you resort to begging, yet again. “Clark, I- I’m so sexually frustrated and I finally have your dick inside me and you’re just fucking- we’re not even- I can’t—”
Clark must take pity on you, because he’s soothing you with quick pecks across your face and neck. “Honey, I know, I know. I’m sorry. Oh, my sweet girl. I’m sorry.” He starts moving again, the same slow, fluid movements as before. The bed squeaks beneath you, but it’s not too loud, you think.
Clark continues, “I wish I could fuck you how you need, baby. But we gotta be quiet. Shhh, shhh. I know. Just try and take what I’m giving you. Want me to rub your little clit? Will that help?”
You nod, only slightly horrified as you feel tears well in your eyes from the sheer frustration of it all. Clark coos praises and apologies into your ear as his fingers gently circle your swollen clit, but it’s not enough.
Sure, it feels good, amazing even, but it’s not what you’d been craving. Not the itch you needed scratched.
“Jus’ a little harder?” you beg, your voice a wet, sultry whisper against his ear as you bury your fingers in his hair. “Please? Please Clark?”
He buries his groan against your chest, mumbling a slew of frustrated, mostly incoherent words that sound something like “gonna be the death of me” and “can’t handle when you beg me for it”. But then, abruptly, the pace changes yet again. The movement ceases, just for a moment. He shifts his weight above you. His hips snap—once, twice, thrice. Still slow, but firmer. Sharper. Deeper.
“Oh—”
Anticipating your moan, his free hand flies back to your mouth, effectively cutting off the incriminating sound. He hushes you gently as his eyes bore down into yours.
The bed is…well, it’s definitely making noise now. The box springs make their presence known, creaking with every forward motion. Unfortunately, you’re too cock-drunk to pay it much attention.
At the very least, it’s not like the headboard is obnoxiously slamming against the wall. Just…if someone happened to pass by the door, it would probably be fairly obvious what was happening on the other side. Which, horrifically, turns you on even more.
Of course, you know Clark would never let something like that actually happen—nor would you want it to—but the thought of it, the risk of it, makes your stomach twist around itself in arousal. The notion that he’s fucking you in his childhood home with his sleeping parents a stone’s throw away has you hornier than you thought humanly possible.
The fingers on your throbbing clit speed up, and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull.
“C’mon, baby,” he pants. “Gotta come on this cock. Know you want to. Wanting me to make you a wife and a mommy in the same calender year, my greedy girl. All with my parents right down the hall, sound asleep. Gonna look them in the eyes tomorrow morning, honey? Knowin’ I snuck into your room just hours prior? That my cum was dripping down your thighs?”
From behind his sweaty palm, a muted chorus of “yeah, yeah, yeah” punches out of you on the crest of every sharp thrust.
Clark smothers you; with his body and his words and his kisses, his tongue just beneath your ear, his forearms caging you beneath his broad frame. Your nails dig into his back for dear life, thighs tense around his hips as every ounce of your focus narrows in on the pleasure.
“Shhh, baby,” he whispers, breath hot and voice shaking. “I know it- I know it feels good, but you gotta be quiet. Can’t let you come if you can’t be quiet.”
You need to come more than you need air to breathe, so you force your shaking body to obey, swallowing your own sounds and digging your nails further into his impenetrable skin.
“Yes, baby,” he praises. “There we go. Nice and quiet. Can I have my hand back, now?”
You nod shakily, breathing fast and hard, as Clark leans in to kiss you. The fingers swirling over your clit make a ‘v’ as they slip down to stimulate your outer lips of your vulva. Your thighs twitch around his hips, signaling your rapidly-approaching release.
“F-fuck, Clark,” you whine into his open mouth. “I- I can’t, I—”
“Yes, baby. Right there. Let it happen. Come on my cock, baby. It’s yours.”
You shatter with a high-pitched whine, one that Clark suffocates against his still-clothed chest as he quickly presses your face into his breast bone. Your pussy constricts around him, spasming uncontrollably as he works to prolong your high.
“I know, baby. I know, I- oh, that- that…I c-can feel you around me, so tight…it’s g-gonna make me come, honey—”
The hand not cradling your head fists into the pillow beside you. His sharp, jagged thrusts—the ones originally intended for your pleasure—change a final time, turning frantic in a way that signals his own impending orgasm. Beneath your writhing bodies, the bed groans and shifts. Surely the headboard rams against the wall at least once, maybe twice. You don’t keep track, solely focused on your hypersensitive cunt as it throbs and clenches around Clark, egging him on.
“C-come inside me, baby,” you plead into his ear, like that’s even a question.
“Did you m-mean it?” he asks suddenly, catching you a bit off-guard. His voice shakes as his hips falter.
“Mean what?” you barely get out.
“What you said about…about starting a family?”
The tenderness of the question hits you square in the chest, and suddenly the emotion in your eyes has an entirely different meaning.
“Yes,” you breathe, kissing the side of his face. “I love you so much, Clark. I wanna make a baby with you, m-make a family together.”
He whimpers, shortly before biting down on your shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. His hips stutter and still, cock pressed as deeply inside your pussy as he can get at this angle. He comes hard, the deliciously bizarre sensation of his cum filling your pussy pulling a final, blissed moan from you. He finally stills above you, struggling to steady his breathing.
“Golly. Sweetheart,” he exhales, and you both let out disbelieving chuckles. He pulls back to look at you, still catching his breath as you feel his cock soften inside of you. “Did we really just…”
“Have sex under your parents’ roof with them sleeping just across the hall? Yes we did,” you say, trying not to let the post-orgasm regret pull you under.
Clark laughs again, kissing you on the nose before nuzzling into your neck. You love it when he tries to tuck his massive frame into your body; it’s adorable.
“Mm. Worth it.”
You can’t help but agree.
You spend a few quiet minutes catching your breath and coming down from your highs. You run your fingers through Clark’s hair, something you know he loves after sex.
“Need’ta pee,” you protest tiredly when you feel him start to go slack above you.
“Mmm. Yeah. Yeah, m’kay,” Clark says slowly, like his brain is still catching up. He rolls off of you and you search blindly for your underwear, settling instead on Clark’s boxers which are the first thing you stumble upon. You carefully slip to the bathroom, cringing a little at the feel of his cum sliding down your inner thighs. You clean yourself up and use the toilet, trying not to think too hard about his Ma and Pa, sleeping soundly in the room next door.
When you return to the guest room, Clark holds up a finger, then presses it swiftly to his lips, eyes closing in focus.
“What? What’s wrong?” you whisper, feeling more awake all of the sudden. You lock the door—just in case—and tiptoe back to the bed.
“I think Ma woke up,” he whispers back as you climb into his waiting arms. “Probably heard you in the bathroom.”
Despite yourself, you feel your cheeks heat. “Well…they get up all the time, right? It’s not uncommon to get up and pee in the middle of the night.”
“No, it’s not,” he agrees with a yawn. “Just…I should head back to my room soon. Don’t wanna fall asleep and have’ta sneak out in the morning.”
You giggle, “god, it’s like we’re in high school or something.”
Clark smiles back. “Yeah.”
You snuggle into his chest, pleased to find that he’d taken off his t-shirt, finally. You always appreciated the skin-to-skin contact when you slept. So does Clark, so you’re not surprised when his own hands reach for the hem of your pajama top and lift it over your head.
He makes a satisfied sound and presses a single kiss to your sternum before you settle back on his chest. Clark lifts the sheets back over you both, fingers gliding down your back in soft lines.
“Love you,” he whispers into your hair.
“Love you too,” you respond.
For now, you’re beyond content to lay in his arms, listening to his soft breathing and the strong thump-thump of his heart.
~
You wake to the sound of the Kent’s rooster, announcing the wee hours of the morning. As you groggily emerge from slumber, a few more things begin to cloud your senses. Chiefly among them, the smell of bacon, wafting in from the kitchen. Mm. Delicious. And the weight of Clark’s arm, comfortably slung across your—
Wait.
You shoot up in bed, waking Clark up in the process, who startles with a sleepy-eyed huff.
“Clark, oh my god,” you gasp.
“Wha- what is it?” he asks groggily, rubbing at his eyes.
“You fell asleep in bed!” you hiss, eyes wide with panic. And from the smell of it, his parents were already awake. Just perfect.
“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. Do you think they noticed?!” you ask urgently, rooting around for your clothes on the floor.
Clark relinquishes a deep sigh, leaning on his elbows as his head thunks back against the headboard in defeat. “Knowing my Ma, definitely.”
“Oh my god,” you repeat, standing now. “She’s going to know that we- that you—”
“Sweetheart, we’re engaged,” Clark reassures you. “And…adults, before that. She’s not that ignorant. And she won’t hate you if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just…a little, well. I guess it is a little, uh, mortifying.”
Your head falls into your hands, and Clark has the audacity to chuckle. “Maybe she didn’t notice,” you say. “Maybe she hasn’t checked your room yet, and you can still—”
As if by divine intervention, a swift knock sounds at the door.
“Breakfast’s ready, honey. Taters and eggs, and bacon fresh from the butcher.”
“Oh, alright! Be out in a few, Ma. Thank you!” you call out, hoping you sound less shaky then you feel. Even if she hadn’t noticed yet, she definitely heard you talking to each other, and there’s no way you could explain that.
Then, with an air of mischief lining her Midwestern twang, Ma adds, “tell Clark there’s plenty for him, too!"
i’m literally BEGGING you, PLEASEEEEE write another scott miller fic!!!!! i just finished reading the one you have right now and it was fucking amazing!!!!! perhaps a series as well??? idc what it is i am just so obsessed and need more
Matters of orgasm quota
Pairing: Scott Miller x Storm Par partner!reader
PSA: I’ve been informed by the lovely @davidcoresnwet that someone has used an excerpt of Lessons on sex to create an AI bot. It's not me and I do NOT consent to my work being used or adapted in AI tools in any form. If anyone is able to, please report it and request its removal, the link will be at the bottom of this post.
Summary: By convincing Scott you were a one-orgasm girl, despite what your one-night stand proved, you thought you'd be letting him down gently. What you didn't expect was how eagerly he'd call your claim "insufficient data" and just how determined he'd be to run the numbers himself...Care to play a game?
Classification: Smut +18 | coworkers to friends with benefits, inappropriate workplace behavior with sexual banter, voyeuristic risk and exhibitionism kink, power dynamics at work, emotionally repressed idiots in love, several smut scenes, rude/arrogant Scott Miller, mention of a breeding kink, protected rough sex, oral sex, mild jealousy, guided (?) fingering, orgasm control, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, dirty talk and condescending praise, groping/nipple play, dom/sub dynamics in bed and mild manhandling.
Word count: 10,7k
You'd been struggling at work lately…just a little and it certainly, definitely, wasn't because you'd finally gotten fucked.
Being dickmatized wasn't a real thing…you were about eighty-six percent sure of that, though the number seemed to drop every morning you woke up thinking about Scott before your alarm even went off.
Your lack of focus had absolutely nothing to do with the way he'd ruined your standards a few nights ago…the problem simply was the men around you. You were back at the office now, which meant instead of dealing with one irritating man, you were surrounded by twenty.
None of them understood the concept of an inside voice, half of them apparently thought deodorant was optional and for reasons beyond your comprehension, at least one of them always felt compelled to announce that his balls itched to whoever happened to be standing nearby. You'd abandoned your desk before lunch and barricaded yourself inside one of the glass meeting rooms, the thicker walls muting the chaos outside without cutting you off completely.
You could still see everyone moving through the office and they could still see you buried behind your laptop, which was enough to keep people from accusing you of hiding, which you were definitely NOT doing. Unfortunately, the spreadsheet glowing on your screen had long since blurred into meaningless numbers. Instead, you sat staring at it while trying to figure out how to fix yourself before weather alerts put you and Scott back on the road together.
Maybe celibacy deserved another shot and maybe one incredible night was enough for another long while. You'd had great sex, you'd been thoroughly fucked and that could be the perfect place to stop, before it got so good it stopped fitting anywhere on your stupid little scale.
You pressed your hands over your face and groaned into your palms. “This can't be that fucking hard,” you muttered, the words muffled against your skin. “Let's not be greedy,” you sighed then, forcing yourself to sit up straighter and look back at your laptop.
The spreadsheet waiting on the screen might as well have been written in another language because every time you tried to focus, Scott found his way back into your head. It had been days and your brain refused to let it go…his hands, his voice, his touch and the way he'd looked at you afterward. The memories barged into your thoughts whenever they pleased, leaving you staring blankly ahead instead of working.
Your eyes weren't even seeing the numbers anymore, they were vaguely fixed on Javier outside the meeting room enthusiastically demonstrating what looked like an attempted backflip to someone unfortunate enough to be watching as a knock against the glass wall snapped you out of it and your head turned so fast your neck almost protested.
Scott stood on the other side, dressed in his usual Storm Par shirt and cap, one hand already wrapped around the handle. He didn't wait for permission before pushing the door open and letting himself in, softly closing it behind him.
You let out a slow breath through your nose and immediately looked back at your laptop, pretending you'd been deeply invested in your work instead of daydreaming about being folded like a Samsung all over his apartment.
“What’s up?” you asked as casually as you could manage, clicking through random tabs and typing complete nonsense onto the keyboard with sufficient confidence to sell the act.
Scott pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. “Nothing.” He shrugged, resting his forearms on the table like this was the most normal visit in the world. “Just checking in.”
Your eyes flicked toward the glass wall briefly as you hummed softly. “You could've done that from outside.”
“I could've,” he agreed easily. “Just wanted to make sure you understood that hiding from me isn't gonna solve your problem.” He motioned lazily toward the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the room. “Especially when you pick the fishbowl office.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter before catching yourself, disguising it with a small clearing of your throat as your fingers kept tapping aimlessly at the keyboard.
“Where are you hiding then?” you asked, finally sparing him a glance. Scott hadn't been around much the last few days, at least not anywhere the rest of the team could bother him, though that wasn't exactly unusual, given the choice, he'd avoid every person in the building.
“My office,” he replied flatly.
“Your office?” You frowned. “Since when do you have an office?”
Scott leaned back in his chair. “Turns out when enough people complain about how snarky you are and the company likes your results too much to fire you, they stick you in your own office.”
You stared at him for a second before giving up on the performance entirely. The laptop clicked shut beneath your hands and for the first time in seventy-two hours, you looked directly into his eyes without immediately finding an excuse to look away.
“You done pretending?” he asked.
“I wasn't pretending.”
“No?” His voice stayed soft, almost conversational but the corner of his mouth twitched with the beginning of a grin. He tilted his head to watch your reaction. “'Cause you've barely been able to argue with me for three days…Doesn't seem to be a problem right now.”
Your eye twitched, God, he was trying to bait you. You refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting the way he wanted, especially not to a man who wore a baseball cap indoors like the sun might suddenly appear over the conference table.
“Those great results you're so proud of benefiting from have another name next to yours at the bottom of every report,” you shot back evenly. “Last I checked, you're not out there watching your own back, no matter how self-centered you happen to be.”
You would've sworn you saw the very corner of his mouth twitch upward again. Damn it.
“My point exactly,” he said quietly, settling deeper into his chair with the smug confidence of a man who knew he'd gotten exactly the reaction he wanted. The same confidence he'd had a few nights ago when he'd been ordering you around his apartment, rewarding you every time you listened.
The memory flashed through your head before you could stop it. Was he thinking about it too? You blinked hard and shoved the thought aside, straightening your shoulders.
“What exactly are we talking about?” you asked.
“My office and your smart mouth. What else?” He paused long enough to let the words hang. “If I started casually talking about how good it felt to fuck you silent, you'd probably throw that laptop at me.”
Your heart lurched so violently it genuinely annoyed you. Your eyes darted to the glass walls surrounding the room to make sure nobody outside could somehow hear him before snapping back to his face. He looked completely unbothered, sitting there like he'd commented on the weather.
“What do you want, Scott?”
“Besides your pussy in my mouth?...” He tipped his head back, lazily rocking his chair as he seemed to remember why he'd actually come in. “Right.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a key and slid it across the table until it stopped between you. “The key to our office.”
You looked down at it, then back at him, narrowing your eyes. “I think I'll pass.”
“It's at the end of the hall, far from the elevators,” he continued as though you hadn't spoken. “Big windows...private bathroom…and its own Wi-Fi router. We could probably fit a couch in there for those midday naps you keep pretending you don't need.”
You let out a quiet scoff and leaned back in your own chair, mirroring his position. “I think all of that thunder finally got to you, Scotty,” you teased, genuinely wondering if the man had started losing his hearing along with his common sense from being exposed to such weather.
“No, but your moaning probably did,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “It echoed pretty well.”
You stared at him for a second before sighing long and steady. “Blame your complete lack of furniture, playboy.” you muttered. “Your apartment needs a rug…It might actually absorb some of the noise and save you the trip to the ear doctor.”
“I can get a rug,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Just need someone to test how effective it is–”
You leaned across the table before he could finish, eyes widening in warning as you pointed a finger at him. “Stop…just stop.” Your voice dropped instinctively as you glanced through the glass wall, checking that nobody outside was paying enough attention to lip-read the conversation.
A few people walked past carrying laptops while Javi argued with someone over a radar image, nobody seemed interested in the meeting room.
You looked back at Scott. “We're at work…You can't say shit like that in front of everyone.”
“You're right,” he admitted with a slow nod, looking almost disappointed in himself for all of half a second, then he tapped the key sitting between you. “Take that and follow me.”
A laugh escaped you immediately as you shook your head. “Scott, I'm not going to a second location with you…We both know how that ends.”
“First time I've heard you complain,” he said, completely unfazed. “Usually ends pretty well. Sure, there's quite a bit of cleaning after and being sore doesn't help…but it’s a small price to pay.”
You snorted and pushed the key back across the table with one finger until it stopped in front of him. “Yeah and unsurprisingly I don't need the whole office hearing about it.”
“So you admit you're loud.”
“I'm not admitting to anything during work hours,” you clarified. “I'm trying to work so we can keep our numbers up. Unlike you...” You leaned forward again, lowering your voice until he had to do the same. “...who's trying to lure me into some dark office so you can fill me up like a fucking Twinkie.”
Scott's eyebrows lifted noticeably. “A breeding kink?” He hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw like you'd presented him with a serious research topic. “Interesting...” He nodded once. “I'll get tested. Can't say I've ever wanted to skip the condom step before but I'd consider making an exception for you.” His fingers slid the key back toward you again. “In the meantime…don't knock it until you've seen it…Big windows, no vis-à-vis and if you're good and quiet, we could have a remake of–”
“I’m not letting you fuck me again, Scott,” you disputed. You weren't entirely sure whether you'd made that decision before he walked into the meeting room or only after he'd spent the last five minutes trying to talk you into following him somewhere with a lock on the door but it was the right one…it had to be.
Scott blinked once, let out a slow breath through his nose, then stood already facing the exit. “Get up.”
Another laugh slipped out as you leaned farther back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest. “No.”
“No?” He turned fully toward you, giving a small, thoughtful nod. “You know, I like to think we've got this communication thing figured out but I feel like I'm missing a few pieces here.”
You nodded as if his confusion was perfectly reasonable. “Sure...uh...” You shrugged innocently. “We're incompatible.”
“Incompatible,” he repeated flatly with enough sarcasm packed into the word to make you roll your eyes. He'd spent the last three days replaying every second of that afternoon in his apartment and there hadn't been a single thing incompatible about it. You two fit like pieces of the same puzzle, one he intended to keep building. “And you know this how?”
“Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence…third time is a pattern.” You counted each point off on your fingers before pointing at yourself. “Celibacy is a choice and it's the one I'm making.”
Scott stared at you for a long second before pulling off his cap and dragging a hand through his hair, looking toward the ceiling like he was asking for patience. The cap went right back on.
“Okay,” he sighed. “Now give me the no-bullshit answer.”
You shrugged again. “That is the no-bullshit answer…but if you'd like, I can make you a graph…maybe throw in a pie chart, some percentages...” You gestured toward the hallway. “It's gonna take a while though, so you should probably wait in your office.”
“Our office,” he corrected automatically, then he looked around the meeting room, motioning toward your laptop, the scattered papers beside it and the whiteboard behind you. “I’m sorry, I figured you already had the presentation ready...I assumed that's what all this was.” He stepped closer and planted both hands on the table, leaning toward you. It forced you to lift your chin to keep eye contact. “Explain it to me like I'm stupid, it’ll save you some time.”
You leaned forward until both forearms rested on the desk, making sure he had nowhere to look except your face. If Scott wanted to play games, then he could deal with the consequences.
“The sex we had was absolutely...” Your voice softened into something dreamy, bait wrapped in honey.
Scott took it immediately. His shoulders loosened, the tension he'd walked in with bleeding out of him as he leaned closer over the desk, one brow lifting. The corner of his mouth almost curled into a smug grin, convinced he knew exactly where you were going.
“Mhm,” he hummed quietly.
“...interminable,” you finished flatly. “Too many rounds for me.”
The grin died before it had the chance to fully appear. His shoulders deflated, followed by a slow blink as the realization settled in that he'd fallen for it. His jaw twitched, eyes narrowing at you with the familiar look of a man who'd just been expertly baited.
“And that matters because...” he asked after a beat, his voice noticeably flatter now. “...you're a numbers person?”
“I don't need to run the numbers to know I'm a one-orgasm girl,” you replied with a careless shrug. “Always have been.”
Scott shook his head slowly. “So the extra two you had...”
“Were just excessive,” you nodded, grinning when his expression darkened further. “See? I knew you'd understand…You're a smart guy, Scott. I've never actually believed your mother dropped you as a child.” You shook your head and flipped your laptop open like the conversation was already over. “Whoever started that awful, tasteless but admittedly very funny rumor around the office should go get fucked.”
“So...you.” he noted immediately. He wasn't stupid, the only person in the building with enough nerve to insult him to his face and behind his back was the same woman he'd spent three days blaming for every inconvenient hard-on he'd had since the storm. “Which is exactly what I've been trying to do.”
You gave another innocent shrug. “It’s just not my thing.”
Scott pushed off the table and straightened to his full height again, looking down at you with that infuriating conviction that usually preceded a terrible idea. “You just haven't been with the right man.”
You couldn't help laughing, even though a small part of you hated that he was probably right. It wasn't the multiple orgasms that bothered you, it was the thought of getting used to someone like him. What happened if this became your new normal? What if nobody else ever measured up afterward? You refused to let some man permanently recalibrate your sex scale.
“Is that you insinuating you've got a magical dick?” you asked, resting your chin on your hand.
“You've seen it...you've felt it...” Scott replied with a maddening grin, his voice dropped, making your stomach tighten. “You tell me.”
You nodded thoughtfully. “Okay...I'm telling you it was a one-time thing. It can't...” You caught yourself, deciding you owed him at least one honest sentence. “Statistically speaking, I hadn't had sex in a very long time, so it was a direct consequence of that. You just happened to cash in on it.” You shrugged and turned back to your laptop, fingers returning to the keyboard. “Should be used to lucky strikes by now, considering your track record at work before we partnered up.”
Scott didn't answer immediately. He simply watched you, piecing your logic together with the same concentration he used to read weather models. “So...” he said after a few seconds. “You're leaving me because you don't think I can consistently make you orgasm more than three times.”
Your hands stopped typing as you genuinely considered it. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”
He looked like he was weighing the offer for a solid twenty seconds before quietly stepping around the desk. Without warning, he pushed your laptop shut, stopping your hands beneath your own surprised stare, then picked it up before you could protest. “We work with probabilities and success rates,” he said matter-of-factly. “I'll just have to prove you wrong.”
“That's...not what I said.”
“Then maybe my parents really did drop me.” He tucked the laptop in front of himself as he headed for the door, conveniently hiding the growing outline in his jeans. “I know just how much you like being right…enjoy it while it lasts.”
You pointed after him, biting back another smile. “Keep rubbing my laptop against your boner and you won't hear the end of it.”
A quiet laugh rumbled in Scott's chest as he kept walking. “Come get it then. Might still be early enough for you to get the upcoming flood under wraps.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, the grin he wore making you roll your eyes before you could stop yourself. You shook your head, laughing under your breath as you reached for the key he'd left on the table. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood, pocketing the key before following him to the door.
“You're actually deranged.”
“You liked it once,” he replied without missing a beat, stepping aside to hold the door open for you. “I'm confident you will again.”
You clicked your tongue as you brushed past him, your shoulder bumping his on purpose. “You smug prick... Are we keeping count now?” you asked, looking up at him just long enough to catch the satisfaction on his face before heading into the hallway.
Scott waited until you were ahead of him before letting the smile spread properly across his face. He wasn't unprofessional enough to put his hands on you in the office, no matter how private it was. If he started, neither of you would stop and he wasn't about to deprive himself of the sounds that had been replaying in his head for three straight days. Your question, though, lodged itself somewhere in the back of his mind.
Keeping count...now that was an idea worth exploring.
The sexual tension around your shared office had become something you were going to have to live with sooner rather than later.
The door stayed wide open from the moment you walked in until the moment you left, partly for appearances and mostly to keep either of you from acting on a bad idea. Your desks sat at opposite ends of the room, separated as much as the space allowed and every time you stood at the whiteboard scribbling down data or arguing over storm paths, you caught yourself turning your whole body whenever you heard footsteps behind you.
More often than not, it was Scott wandering over to look at what you were doing and the sharp look you'd throw over your shoulder was enough to stop him a few feet away, one corner of his mouth twitching before he'd silently retreat.
All that tension had to go somewhere and unsurprisingly, it ended up back at your house, though not for any reason either of you would've admitted to. You sat cross-legged on your bed in an oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of your thighs, wearing nothing underneath but panties because there was no point pretending modesty around a man who had already seen every inch of you.
Across the room, the television you'd impulsively bought to fill the quiet evenings and keep your hands from wandering under the covers to thoughts of him, leaned against the wall while Scott fixed the crooked mount you'd spent an hour unsuccessfully fighting with the day before. He worked with the same concentration he gave everything else, drill humming steadily in his hand as he checked measurements twice before sinking another screw into the wall.
The room was quiet but not uncomfortably so. Ever since his apartment, conversations between you had become strangely careful. The morning after, you'd simply asked him to drive you home, thanked him with a kiss that tried far too hard to be casual and climbed out of his truck like nothing had changed. Since then, your texts had stayed light, mostly work-related, occasional teasing and both of you acknowledging that neither of you regretted a second of it.
The silence stretching between you now felt heavier than any conversation.
“You know I can feel you staring, right?” Scott asked without looking over, the low whir of the drill cutting through the room before he released the trigger and tightened the bracket with one hand.
“Is it only okay when you do it?” you shot back immediately.
"Given it took you two years to realize I was looking at you in the first place...yeah," he replied without hesitation. He straightened, checking the level one last time before wiping his hands down the front of his jeans. Satisfied, he lifted the television with ease, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he guided it onto the bracket until it clicked into place.
Only then did he turn to face you, that infuriating grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You also could've called me for this," he pointed out. "Or texted me sometime between telling me how thoroughly satisfied you were and dodging every question about when I was seeing you outside of work again." His eyes flicked briefly toward the mounted TV before settling back on you. "I'm exceptionally good at screwing stuff."
"I'd rather you weren't," you answered before you could stop yourself, the words escaping so naturally they made you sigh the moment they landed.
Scott caught it immediately. You tried to keep your attention on the television but your eyes betrayed you, drifting back to his arms as he gave the screen a firm shake to make sure it was secure, his veins stood out beneath tanned skin, reaching very capable hands...you looked away a second too late.
He folded his arms across his chest, studying you with the same calm expression he'd worn for the past few days. He still hadn't let the conversation from the office go and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't planning to. "You're not a one-orgasm woman," he said matter-of-factly. "If you think you are, you're only fooling yourself."
You leaned farther back against the pillows, drawing one knee up lazily as you looked at him. "Are you saying you could've gone longer?" you asked. "The living room, the kitchen and then the shower wasn't enough?"
Scott walked to the foot of the bed without answering right away. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he planted both hands against it and leaned toward you. "I've been in a truck with you long enough to know when to quit," he said quietly, his eyes moving over your face before settling back on yours. "We were both exhausted." A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. "That's not the same thing as being sated."
"Isn't it?" you asked, your gaze slipping almost involuntarily from his face to the veined length of his forearms braced against the mattress before climbing back to meet his eyes.
Before you could say anything more, one of his hands wrapped around your ankle and pulled you smoothly to the very edge of the bed, your legs parting naturally to make room for him standing between them. He wasn’t even that close yet but you could already feel yourself growing wet, the slow throb of arousal building low in your belly from nothing more than the way he looked at you. "Weather models aren’t the only thing I read well," he rasped, his voice dropping lower.
"What are you reading now, Scotty?" You teased, fingernails trailing lightly up and down his forearms as you looked up at him.
“That you have more than one…or three meek orgasms in you.” He assured, hands trailing slowly up your legs, the rough warmth of his palms sliding over your skin as he held eye contact. “I just need you to let me show you.”
Your eyes narrowed at his unshakable confidence. “And how are you gonna do that?”
“We’re gonna play a game.” He grinned as he let one finger hook into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down slowly. “Numbers excite you,” he started, eyes lifting to yours for any sign that he should stop but when he found none, he continued pulling the fabric lower, sliding it down your thighs until your glistening pussy was fully exposed to the cool air of the room.
You chuckled under your breath, the sound barely cutting through the charged space between you. “They don’t excite me, Scott. They are part of my job.”
“I’ll put you to work then.” His mouth curved into something faintly amused as he leaned in closer, hands easing the panties off the rest of the way and letting them fall aside onto the mattress. “Condoms?”
You held eye contact with him for as long as you could, whether it was an attempt at challenging him or calling his bluff, it didn’t work. “Bedside table,” you replied, chin tipping slightly in its direction.
The mattress dipped as he moved away and you followed him with your eyes, watching the way his shoulders moved under the fabric of his shirt, every motion unhurried as he reached the bedside drawer and slid it open.
A low chuckle slipped from him as he pulled out the brand new box of condoms, turning it between his fingers. You had bought it after that night in his apartment, unsure if anything would happen again but wanting to be ready. “I don’t know if this is wishful thinking,” he murmured, glancing at you over the edge of the box, “or if I should be worried about competition.”
“Focus on your little game before I dry up,” you shot back with a grin, chin tilting slightly as you held his gaze without blinking.
That earned a short, amused huff from him. Scott walked back toward the end of the bed, the condom foil caught lightly between his teeth as he worked his belt loose with ease, the sound of metal sliding through leather punctuating the silence. He kept his eyes locked on you the entire time, moving with unhurried confidence as he pushed his jeans down and let his heavy cock spring free.
“I am not in the business of droughts, sweetheart,” he said, voice edged with amusement as he straightened above you, tearing the wrapper open and finally discarding it to the side.
“There is a first time for everything,” you replied, watching him with a calm that didn’t quite match the pace of your heart.
He knelt on the mattress between your parted legs as he rolled the condom on with unbroken focus and you moved back a little to give him more space, which he took gladly.
He hovered over you, warmth pressing into your skin before he even fully touched you. “Listen to me,” he started, one hand sliding down between your bodies, thumb beginning to circle slowly over your clit, drawing a sharp inhale out of your lungs as your shoulders loosened against the mattress.
His voice stayed authoritative yet gentle, one hand braced beside your head. “I want you to count every thrust and when I ask you, I want a clear answer…”
Your lashes fluttered as your focus wavered between his words and the way your body reacted against them. “What kind of game is that?” you asked, though it came out uneven, breath catching mid-sentence as your hips shifted slightly beneath him, instinctively chasing the pressure he was already controlling.
He didn’t react to the question beyond a faint shake of his head, like the answer didn’t matter as much as obedience to the structure he was setting. His thumb continued its firm, steady movements over your clit, each pass measured enough to keep you suspended between anticipation and release. “Then you'll count the orgasms too.”
“What happens if I lose count?” you whispered, chest heaving as warmth began spreading through your core, fingers flexing lightly against the sheets as your body started to respond more openly to him.
“Don’t and you won’t have to find out.” When your hips started to roll up into his hand, searching for more friction, he tsked softly, refusing to let you set the rhythm. “Can we start or do you have any questions?”
“Make this quick, my date will be here soon,” you teased, though it barely held its edge anymore, breath catching around the words as your focus kept slipping.
“Never had an audience but it’s not too late to start,” he grinned, eyes drinking in the way your chest heaved beneath the thin fabric of your oversized shirt. Your nipples had hardened into tight, sensitive peaks that poked prominently against the material with every quick, shallow breath you drew. Your lips parted on a soft sigh as your eyes fluttered shut, lashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks while you gave yourself over completely to the steady, knowing movements of his thumb.
The pressure against your clit was exquisite, firm circles that never faltered, gliding smoothly over the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of slick friction. Each rotation sent fresh sparks of pleasure racing up your spine and down through your core, making your inner muscles clench with need.
You could feel yourself growing wetter with every passing second, the warm arousal leaking steadily from your entrance and coating his fingers as they worked you loose. Your legs fell farther apart around his body, thighs quivering with the effort to stay open for him as the tension deep inside you coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring being wound to its limit.
Scott never looked away, his gaze locked on your face and then drifted lower to watch the way your cunt responded to his touch while his free hand rested heavily on your inner thigh now, holding you steady and spread wide so he could see everything. He varied the rhythm to keep you on edge, alternating between those perfect, consistent circles and broader strokes that dragged over your clit before returning to focused pressure right at the apex. The wet, obscene sounds of his thumb sliding through your increasing slickness mixed with your growing moans, filling the bedroom and making the air feel thicker, hotter.
Your breaths came faster, turning into soft pants that bordered on whimpers. The heat in your belly expanded rapidly, spreading outward in heavy, pulsing waves that made your toes curl against the sheets and your back arch clean off the mattress. Every muscle in your body seemed to draw tight as the pleasure mounted higher until it finally broke over you in a devastating rush.
The orgasm crashed through you with breathtaking intensity, starting deep in your core and radiating outward in rhythmic contractions. Your cunt fluttered and squeezed hard around nothing while your moans turned raw and unrestrained, echoing softly in the room while your entire body shook and trembled beneath him, thighs clamping around his hand as the pleasure rolled on and on, leaving you gasping for air and dizzy with satisfaction.
Even as the peak began to fade into warm, lingering aftershocks, Scott kept his thumb moving in gentler strokes, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you were left panting on the bed.
“That’s one,” he announced, using the slick in his hand to lubricate the condom further before fisting his cock and adjusting to push in slowly, the thick head stretching your entrance as you gasped at the sudden fullness. “Isn’t this what you’ve been thinking about?” He teased, giving a tentative thrust out and then back in, letting you feel every inch of him sliding home.
“You’re so full of yourself,” you moaned, the words breaking apart on the way out, breathless and uneven as your body adjusted to the depths he reached.
“Not the one being stuffed at the moment,” he answered with a low grin you could feel more than see as he bent down to press a slow kiss against your jaw and then lower along the sensitive skin of your neck. Against your ear he mumbled, “Focus…start counting.”
His hips began to move then, rolling into a steady rhythm that stole what little composure you had left. His shaft dragged heavily against your still pulsating walls, the thick length stroking every sensitive spot inside you with wet, filthy sounds that filled the room and made the mattress rock beneath you with every impact.
“Count,” he reminded you again, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he maintained that same unbroken rhythm.
You counted under your breath each time his pelvis collided with yours, though you didn’t truly believe there would be any substantial consequence if you didn’t. The steady slap of skin on skin mixed with the slick glide of his dick pumping into your drenched folds, every thrust pushing deep, stretching you open and rubbing perfectly against that spot that made your toes curl. Your inner walls clenched around him rhythmically, still fluttering from the first orgasm as he fucked you through the lingering sensitivity.
The wet sounds grew louder with each movement, your arousal coating his cock and dripping down to soak the covers beneath you.
“I still think about the first time I made you cum,” he grunted between thrusts, voice roughened by effort. “Do you?”
Your breath caught on a sharp whimper as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, knuckles tightening. “Not a good time…”you managed. He huffed a low laugh at that, the sound rolling through his chest and into you where you were already pressed too close to think clearly.
“Good time as any,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “You’re good at multitasking.”
“Uh…it doesn’t–” you started, though the thought trailed off completely as you lost it to the deep, relentless thrusts. His hips snapped forward with controlled force, driving his cock into you over and over rhythmically. You could feel every vein and ridge as he filled you completely, pulling out just enough for the head to catch at your entrance before plunging back in and making your pussy squelch wetly around him.
“Doesn’t what?” He asked, gaze fixed on your face as he noticed the way your thighs tensed tighter around his waist and the way your grip on him changed from holding to clinging.
“Apply to sex,” you blurted out, breath coming fast now, words clipped between shallow inhales. “‘m gonna cum.”
“Mhm,” he hummed condescendingly. “Nobody’s surprised.”
He kept going at the same pace, cock plunging deep and pelvis grinding against your clit with every forward motion until your breath hitched sharply and the second orgasm crashed over you even harder than the first.
Your entire body seized as a guttural cry tore from your throat. Every nerve ending lit up at once with a white-hot surge that radiated outward in concentric pulls. Your cunt clamped around his cock with a strength that surprised even you, muscles attempting to milk him in rapid, involuntary contractions that made his thick ridge drag against your swollen walls with each desperate squeeze.
The moment it hit its peak, he spoke again. “How many was that?” He asked, hips still rolling smoothly to prolong the orgasm, drawing out every shudder as your walls continued to flutter and squeeze him. The wet sounds of his thrusts turned obscenely louder as your slick flooded around his shaft in a gush of warm fluid that coated his pelvis and dribbled down your ass crack onto the mattress. You could feel the way your inner walls fluttered and gripped, the textures of your own flesh squeezing every vein and bump of his length while your thighs locked tighter around his hips, heels digging into his lower back as if to trap him inside you forever.
Your vision swam, the ceiling light blurring into streaks of gold. A sharp, keening moan spilled from your lips, broken by gasps as his unrelenting rhythm continued, even as your peak made your whole body tremble like a plucked string.
“Mmm, twenty seven,” you moaned, hand digging into his forearm as the orgasm slowly subsided, leaving you trembling and breathless. “Second orgasm.”
“Smart and attentive,” he grinned, slowing his pace to allow you to breathe.
You nodded against the mattress, trying to catch your breath as the warm aftershocks of your orgasm continued to pulse through you. “Attentive enough to remember you said–” you swallowed hard, voice still shaky as your chest rose and fell rapidly. “And I quote ‘leaving me’ during our conversation at the office…I thought you of all people would understand what casual sex is,” you grinned, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Can’t leave you if we’re not together.”
“Oh, I am aware…If we were together you wouldn’t doubt your ability to cum more than three times,” he said, immediately thrusting into you with one long, measured stroke. His cock pushed through your still-sensitive walls, making them flutter and grip around him as you gasped in surprise at the sudden overwhelm. “It’d be a shame for that box of condoms to go unused though.”
You grinned despite the way your entire body trembled, your breasts bouncing freely with each thrust as he picked up an uninterrupted rhythm again. The length of his cock stretched you so perfectly, sliding through your soaked pussy with maddening precision.
“It’s okay…my suitors don’t always use them,” you managed to tease, the words breaking into a breathy moan as he drove in particularly deep and ground his hips in a slow circle.
“Funny…” he replied dryly, dark eyes locked on your face as he watched every reaction closely. “Have any favorites?” He asked then, never once slowing the pounding of his cock into your dripping cunt.
You shook your head, trying desperately to keep your voice steady even as intense pleasure sparked through you with every single thrust. “I know you don’t make the list though…you haven’t been–uh…fuck,” you moaned loudly, pelvis tilting back for him to effectively hit target. “Performing particularly well.”
He hummed low and amused right against your ear in response, breath hot and ragged on your skin. “One data point from each category doesn't make for a reliable average…Can’t base a whole hypothesis off two results, you know that.”
“Scott–”
“I’m serious. You called me a pervert just to cum all over my dick? What the hell does that make you?” His hips didn’t slow for even a second. If anything, they found a devastating new pace that made your next protest die somewhere deep in your throat. His cock plunged into you again and again, the heavy drag of his length rubbing relentlessly against every sensitive inch of your walls while the wet slap of his pelvis meeting your soaked pussy echoed through the room.
The pressure inside you built rapidly once more, that familiar heavy warmth spreading through your core as your walls fluttered and squeezed greedily around him.
“This isn’t–” you gasped sharply as he changed his angle slightly, driving even deeper to fill you entirely. “...science. Far from it.”
“Everything is science.” He caught your jaw firmly in his hand, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look directly at him. His expression remained cocky and unbothered, jaw clenched with concentration as sweat glistened on his forehead and along the strong line of his neck. His eyes burned with raw lust and focus as if he could keep fucking you exactly like this for hours without tiring. “If you want accurate data on my performance, you’re gonna need way more trials than this…statistically speaking.”
“You’re an ass–”
“I’m thorough.” His mouth dropped to your neck and you felt him smile against your overheated skin as he continued pounding into you without mercy. His cock slid in and out with slick, filthy ease, your abundant arousal coating every inch of him and dripping messily with every powerful thrust. “Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back…purely for research purposes.” He turned his mouth toward your ear, voice dropping into a low, teasing growl. “Twenty nine condoms left in that box and with the ones at my apartment we should have enough margin for trial, don't you think?” He grinned, hips snapping forward sharply to emphasize his words. “When we run out I’ll just cum inside of you.”
You gasped sharply, your entire body tensing and seizing as another orgasm ripped through you without warning. The pleasure hit hard and deep, making your pussy clamp down around his thick cock in strong pulses as your thighs quivered violently, mouth falling open in a long, broken moan as the overwhelming sensation consumed you completely, leaving your mind hazy and your body pulsing with need.
“That breeding kink of yours is gonna do miracles,” he marveled, voice rough and strained with arousal as he kept moving through your climax.
“Don’t have one,” you whimpered, the words barely forming as the orgasm continued to crash over you.
“Then why does the thought of it make you cum? Might need to notify the rest of your body of that,” he groaned, looking down between your bodies to watch intently as his cock pistoned in and out of you. The sight of his thick, slicked shaft plunging in and out of your swollen, dripping pussy was obscene, your lips stretched around him, plump and glistening, your hole gripping him with every withdrawal, trying to keep him inside.
“Trying to milk me dry…fuck.” He kept thrusting steadily, prolonging the pleasure until your body tensed firmly beneath him. “Number?”
You could barely form words, your head shaking weakly from side to side as you remained lost in the overwhelming haze of pleasure. Your chest heaved with each ragged inhale, your skin flushed hot all over as your pussy continued to flutter and squeeze around his thick cock even as the peak of your orgasm slowly began to fade.
“Irrelevant,” you managed to reply, your voice hoarse and breathless.
He shook his head, pulling out of you with a wet pop. The sudden emptiness devastated you, you moaned loudly at the loss, your hand instinctively shooting down between your legs to cover your sore pussy. Your fingers pressed against your puffy, sensitive folds as if trying to hold in the overwhelming ache, walls clenching desperately around nothing while slick arousal continued to leak out against your palm.
“Think,” he said, voice rough.
You grabbed onto his shirt desperately with your free hand, tugging him closer as you tried to collect your scattered thoughts through the lingering fog of pleasure. At the same time, Scott wrapped his hand around his own cock, giving it a few firm pumps as he hovered over you.
The wet, glistening length looked painfully hard, flushed dark at the tip but after only a few strokes he hissed sharply through his teeth and abandoned the motion. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, rising and falling visibly as he looked down at you with dark and hungry eyes.
The sight of you lying there needy and trembling, one hand cupping your dripping pussy while you stared up at him, seemed to affect him just as badly.
“I want a total,” he pressed, still breathing hard.
“Third orgasm,” you breathed, fingers absentmindedly pressing a little firmer against your sensitive folds for relief.
“Mhm…I’ll congratulate you when we reach double digits. What else?”
Your eyes widened as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, staring at him in disbelief while your body still buzzed and trembled. “Double digits? Scott–”
“I want a number,” he repeated firmly, his voice low and commanding, chest still rising and falling heavily.
“Or what?” You challenged, still trying to catch your breath, hand remaining protectively over your aching pussy.
“It’s basic math,” he tried again, his tone teasing but unwavering as he looked down at you with that heated, predatory focus.
You sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress, your limbs feeling heavy and your pussy still throbbing with sensitivity as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Forty…two?”
“Is that a guess?” He asked, tilting his head as he grabbed the back of both your legs and pushed them closer to your chest, folding you nearly in half beneath him and exposing you completely.
“Am I wrong?” You asked, eyes drifting from his face down to his heavy, glistening cock dangling between your bodies. You gasped sharply as he pushed back inside in one smooth, devastatingly selfish stroke.
“Close enough,” he groaned as he began thrusting again, hips snapping forward with renewed purpose. The new angle allowed him to drive deeper, thick cock stretching your sensitive pussy wide open and rubbing relentlessly against every nook and cranny inside you repeatedly. The filthy sounds of him fucking into your dripping heat grew louder, your arousal coating his shaft completely and leaking out around him in messy rivulets with each thrust. The overwhelming fullness and friction left you moaning helplessly, body rocking beneath him as pleasure built rapidly once more.
You laughed breathlessly between your own broken moans. “You’re so full of shit, Miller…You can’t even admit the fact that you don’t know the rules to your own fucking game.”
“I know what the outcome should be,” he confessed, face twitching with pleasure as every deep thrust pulled fresh, uncontrollable noises from your throat. His cock plunged in and out of you steadily, the heavy drag of his length filling you completely and making your soaked pussy squelch obscenely around him with every movement. “Keep count. If we’re gonna do this more often, I can’t be responsible for our success rate decreasing…I need to know you can function after being thoroughly fucked.”
“I realize now…” you paused, swallowing hard as you tried to focus through the overwhelming haze of pleasure clouding your mind, the erotic sounds of sex making it nearly impossible to string thoughts together. “That you think very highly of your dick.”
“If it’s anything like your…glorious pussy, you will soon too,” he replied, voice low and rough with the effort of holding back while buried inside your tight heat.
“Glorious?” You giggled, the sound dissolving quickly into a breathy moan as he angled his hips just right and dragged the thick head of his cock across your g-spot.
“Never been good with words that aren’t insults…I’ll get back to you on that,” he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ll understand if you want to gatekeep it from me…I’m turning into a fucking addict and I’m not above begging if you keep it to yourself,” he leaned down to press his lips firmly to yours because he knew that if he heard that breathy-moan hybrid once more, he would probably cum right then and there.
You kissed him back to the best of your abilities, one hand pushing off his baseball cap so you could run your fingers through his hair and grip the strands tightly. Your tongues danced messily together, tasting and exploring as his thrusts refused to slow or stop. Each stroke stretched you open wider, filling you completely and rubbing against every sensitive inch of your walls. The slick glide of his thick cock pumping in and out of your dripping pussy created constant wet sounds that mixed with your muffled moans into his mouth. The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body pressed against yours and the taste of him on your tongue all blended into a storm of sensation that left you dizzy and desperate for more.
Eventually, your doorbell rang loudly through the house, the sound cutting cleanly through the heavy breathing and slick sounds of sex. Scott pulled back from your lips to look at you, eyes widening in brief surprise, yet his hips kept moving, driving his cock deep into you with relentless thrusts as if the interruption barely registered. You laughed breathlessly, both hands flying up to hide your face before he could see just how completely undone you had become, your expression wrecked every time he snapped his hips forward just right and ground against your clit. Between your splayed fingers, you watched his eyes flick toward the bedside table, lingering briefly on the box of condoms before returning to you. His brows pulled together, confusion settling across his face as he searched yours for an explanation.
“Were you serious?” He asked. Had sleeping with you that first night somehow triggered some carefully planned rotation of men? He wouldn't be angry and he wasn't exactly hurt, but the reality of someone else showing up at your door while still buried balls deep inside you was unfamiliar territory. Between your hands, your breathy laughter only deepened the crease between his brows, doing absolutely nothing to ease the knot forming in his stomach.
You suddenly gasped sharply, your hands flying away from your face to dig into his arms for support. “Fuck…fuck–fuck!”
“Yeah, I’d rather do it uninterrupted,” he muttered, breathing still uneven as he rested his forehead briefly against yours and kept thrusting into your soaked, clenching heat without missing a beat. “Who’s at the door?”
“Dinner…oh!” You whispered, the words cutting off as another orgasm hit you hard and fast. The pleasure exploded through your body with a heavy throb that made your cunt pulse and squeeze tightly around his cock, as fresh slick gushed out around him and you moaned loudly, the sound echoing through the room so intensely that you began doubting just how soundproof your house really was. You'd ordered pizza earlier as a simple thank-you for helping mount the television, a gesture that had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time but now, as the doorbell rang again, you couldn't help wondering whether it had ever been necessary. Judging by where the evening had ended up, you probably would've let him fuck you either way.
“Should have asked,” he started, voice strained as he forcefully pulled out of you with a loud, wet pop that left your empty pussy clenching and fluttering around nothing. He dropped to one knee, then the other, settling quickly on the floor at the foot of the bed and put his face right between your spread legs, staring hungrily at the sight of your puffy, glistening folds still twitching from the recent orgasm. “Usually like to start off with a sweet drink,” he said with a wicked grin before diving in without hesitation.
You moaned loudly, spine bowing off the mattress as his hot mouth offered sudden, intense relief and new pleasure after the constant stretch of his cock. Your shaky thighs rested heavily on his broad shoulders while his big, veiny hands wrapped firmly around them, massaging the trembling skin there and pulling you even closer against his face. His nose pressed and rubbed deliciously against your swollen clit with every movement, sending sharp sparks of overwhelming sensation shooting through your already sensitive body.
The first stroke of that wet muscle against your oversensitive flesh made you jolt, a high, keening whine escaping your throat as he peppered your soaked slit with slow kisses and gentle, exploratory licks, savoring the taste of your abundant arousal as it coated his lips and tongue. He licked broad stripes from your entrance up to your clit before circling the swollen bud with focused attention, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over filled the room alongside your ragged moans. The warmth of his breath, the wet heat of his tongue and the firm grip of his hands all combined to keep you right on the edge.
His lips sealed around your clit, sucking it hard momentarily before withdrawing solely to speak.
“I am all ears,” he prompted between kisses and licks, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes while you still tried desperately to catch your breath but the longer you failed to answer him, the more indifferent he became, knowing he was gradually losing you to the pleasure again. One of his hands reached up your body, pinching your nipple between two fingers and rolling it firmly, making you gasp sharply at the sudden sting of pleasure. Your hand moved up instinctively to cover his, holding him there as he massaged the sensitive peak and soothed the sting away with slow but firm handfuls.
“Four,” you swallowed hard, voice coming out hoarse after the intensity of your previous orgasms. One hand fisted the sheets, knuckles light, as he alternated between deep, probing licks inside you and teasing, featherlight touches on your swollen nub.
“Mhm…almost half way there. That it?” he prompted, warm breath ghosting over your slick, swollen folds as he remained positioned between your spread thighs.
“Lost count,” you slurred, the words barely coherent as jolts of lingering pleasure made it difficult to focus on anything else.
He hummed in clear disappointment, slowly shaking his head while his eyes stayed fixed on your dripping pussy. This whole thing had become a test of restraint for him, he needed to know he could keep his composure at work, that he could sit across from you in a meeting room, argue over data and not immediately think about getting you in bed. What better way to prove it than by denying you while forcing himself to watch?
He released your breast, fingers trailing lightly down your side before pulling away, expression calm despite the battle he was clearly fighting with himself. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Your lips curled into a tired but undeniably sultry smile, your tone teasing despite how thoroughly spent your body felt. “You’re already down there…and it’s clear we aren’t getting any pizza…so get to licking. I would hate for such a big man like you to go hungry.”
“I’ll stay down here…but you’re gonna put those pretty hands to use. Give me something to look at,” he replied, darkened eyes gleaming with hunger as he watched you intently from his position between your legs.
“You must not want to reach double digits that badly,” you teased, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as your core throbbed with fresh need. You stretched across the mattress with a quiet moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much the denial had gotten to you.
“No, I do…just want you to want it too,” he admitted, gaze dropping down to your glistening, puffy pussy before lifting back to your face. He could see the subtle flicker of disappointment cross your features when he held back from giving you exactly what you craved. “If you saw how I cleaned a yogurt lid, you’d stop playing hard to get,” he grinned, voice dropping into that low, teasing register you were starting to love. “I know you’ve been thinking about it…that night, on your dining table…”
“You could just remind me,” you shrugged, attempting to sound indifferent while your body betrayed you completely.
“You could just earn it,” he shot back, refusing to give an inch.
Once again, you held challenging eye contact with him, the tension crackling between you as neither seemed willing to fold first, though the insistent, needy pulsing of your greedy pussy eventually won out.
Your hand moved lower with shaky determination, fingers inching across your lower belly until they reached your wet and puffy clit, while Scott’s eyes followed every movement hungrily, watching as your fingertips made contact with the glistening bud. Your cunt looked thoroughly used and beautifully plump, the outer lips engorged and parted to reveal the slick, shiny inner folds that still fluttered slightly from your release as clear arousal continued to leak slowly from your entrance, trailing down toward your ass and making everything look obscenely wet and inviting under the bedroom light.
You began rolling your clit gently under your fingertips, the direct stimulation sending sharp sparks of pleasure shooting through your tightly coiled body. A shaky huff escaped your lips as you threw your head back against the pillows, thighs trembling around his shoulders while he drank in the sight greedily, specifically the way your fingers moved in small, unsteady circles over your clit, occasionally dipping lower to spread your abundant wetness back up and make the entire area glisten even more.
Your pussy clenched visibly at the touch, the tight entrance winking and pushing out another bead of slick that slowly dripped down as your breasts rose and fell rapidly with each breath, nipples still hard and flushed from his earlier attention. The visual was almost too much for him, your body laid out open and responsive, fingers working your most sensitive spot while he watched from mere inches away.
He breathed a stream of cool air directly onto your heated flesh as he continued to observe every detail. “That’s it…you won’t have to do this much often, if you agree to just call me every time your fantasies aren’t cutting it,” he murmured, blowing another gentle puff of cool air across your clit that made your fingers falter for a moment and your hips bucked. “Let’s just remember to skip this part during our quarterly partner reviews.”
His eyes stayed locked on every movement of your hand, intense focus fraying as he failed not to lick his lips. This was the last time he'd let himself acknowledge how unprofessional this was. It was purely selfish now, the thought dissolving until it barely qualified as one.
“There you go,” he murmured, voice low and condescending in the most delicious way. “Look at you playing with that pretty pussy just because I told you to. I knew you could do it…and you almost didn’t complain.” He leaned in and puffed another stream of cool air directly onto your heated clit, making a shiver run through your thighs. “Keep those fingers moving…nice and slow just like that. I want to see exactly how you touch yourself when you’re thinking of me.”
Your breath hitched as you obeyed, rolling your clit a little firmer under your fingertips. You could feel his gaze burning into you, watching as your pussy fluttered and leaked more arousal with every circle. Your other hand moved up to squeeze one of your breasts, pinching your nipple as your hips started to rock subtly against your own hand.
“Attagirl,” he praised, the words dripping with smug satisfaction, watching with dark eyes as your entrance clenched hard in response and more slick dripped out. “So fucking greedy. Don’t you worry, I’ll stuff you right after, I promise…I’ll fill you up nice and deep once you cum for me like this. You know I’m a man of my word.”
The combination of his words, his watchful stare and the occasional bursts of cool air had you trembling. Your fingers moved faster, sliding easily over your slick clit as the pressure built heavier in your core, muscles tensing as you chased the frantic crescendo.
Scott’s hands stayed firmly on your thighs, holding you open wide so he could see everything.
“You’re getting close already, aren't you?” he teased, cocky and unbothered. “I can see it, your pussy’s clenching like it’s begging for my cock…but you’re going to cum on your own fingers first, huh?” He puffed more cool air directly onto your clit right as your fingers pressed firmer, the sudden sensation making you moan loudly and arch your back. “Look at that pretty pussy dripping everywhere. Such a good, messy girl for me…I’ll fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days…just cum for me and it’s all yours.”
Your fingers moved desperately now, circling and rubbing your clit with increasing urgency as the pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The slick sounds grew louder with a squelching noise that swallowed the room while your arousal dripped down in messy uncontrollable rivulets.
Scott kept watching intently, occasionally blowing cool air directly onto your hypersensitive folds to tease you, each breath made your hips jerk and your pussy flutter visibly while his praises never stopped, they were a continuous stream of condescending encouragement that pushed you closer to the edge, reminding you exactly who you were coming for.
He blew one final, longer stream of cool air right against your opening just as the tension snapped. Your spine curved like a drawn bow as molten heat spread through your entire body, making your cunt clench and flutter wildly as the internal muscles squeezed tight.
Your hard and engorged clit pulsed rhythmically under your fingers, sending fresh spasms to your nerves that kept the climax rolling. Loud moans spilled from your lips unrestrained as you lost all composure, you weren't just peaking, you were drowning in it, leaving you shaking, chest heaving and gasping for air.
Scott stayed right where he was, eyes fixed on every twitch and contraction of your soaked pussy, watching the way your walls continued to ripple and clamp down even as the intensity began to fade and ensuring he didn't miss a single second of you coming completely undone for him.
He pushed your thighs gently off his shoulders and moved up your body again, keeping his eyes locked on your face as you gasped, still trembling from the intense oblivion. His lips glistened with your arousal and the sight of him crawling back over you, cock heavy and painfully hard between his legs, sent another shiver through your exhausted body. “If I’d known a few orgasms would shut you up,” he said, voice rough with amusement, “I would’ve bent you over the back of the truck the first week.”
You grinned tiredly, chest still rising and falling rapidly as you watched him wrap a fist around his thick cock and pump it slowly over you. The sight was mesmerizing, veined hand sliding along the glistening length as the head flushed dark and leaked into the condom. “You wouldn’t have…otherwise you wouldn’t have discovered arguing turns you on.”
“Not something I’d advertise,” his voice had gone rough, any pretense of composure slipping..
“Too many names on the roster?” you asked absentmindedly, eyes following every stroke of his fist along his cock, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his forearm flexed with each movement.
“None you need to keep count of,” he grinned, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly sinking back into your pussy. The thick head stretched you open once more, sliding deep with a wet, smooth glide that made you moan loudly at the overwhelming fullness. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him, still sensitive and slick from everything he had already put you through. “Except for yourself.”
“That made five orgasms…” you started, smile deceptively soft as you ran your nails slowly up the nape of his neck, threading them through his hair. You took a firm handful and pulled back sharply, your smile turning razor-sharp as he groaned deep in his throat, cock twitching hard inside you. “Every time you make me work for an orgasm is a day I won’t spend in that office of yours…So start earning your quota, Miller.”
He let out a deep chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hips began moving again, driving into you with renewed intent.
Numbers had never been Scott’s favorite part of the job, he was far more a man of action, preferring tornado chases and results over spreadsheets and tallies but if his tasks now included counting your orgasms and hunting something far more thrilling than any cloudburst, all while naked in your bed, he could definitely get behind it…or rather, on top.
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A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
TAG LIST (currently includes people who requested a part 2 in the comments of "Lessons on sex" I’m open to having a tag list for Scott!): @thinchampagne @mxbluess22 @appreciatefics
Description: Clark always wants to be so polite. His girl wants to climb him like a tree. I think he knows.
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT (masturbation, oral [m and f receiving], p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, scent kink, size kink, clark is a horny mf’r for his girl pretty much)
Word Count: 4.1k
A/N: so much for this being a drabble. technically part of a series, but can be read as a stand alone fic
read part 1 here | part 2 right here
Weeks had passed since that first date.
Weeks of feeling like you would positively explode if a gentle breeze blew the wrong way on your skin after being near Clark.
You’d been on a couple more dates, now, ending in those soft, polite kisses. You wanted to rip his clothes off, but he seemed so shy and gentlemanly. It hardly seemed fair to jump him out of nowhere.
Clark, however, was feeling even more impatient than you. Every time he was close, he could smell you. He’d become accustomed to what you smelled like in different moods, and it seemed you really liked it any time he let his eyes linger on you. Or when he kissed you. Or held your hand, or hugged you, or… like, most of the time he was near you in general.
It was making him crazy.
He smiled at you across the table in another meeting at the Daily Planet, noting how you shifted a little bit after catching his eye. He felt his heart flutter every time he saw you react to him in any way. As much as he wanted to be inside of you, he wasn’t some pervert. He actually liked you. A lot. He just also felt hot under the collar any time he thought of you.
It was worse when you got a new perfume. Not that he didn’t like what you wore before, but now? The scent with the natural smell of your skin mixed together was intoxicating. It was also embarrassing. Nearly every time he could smell the trail of scent you’d leave behind you, he was fighting tooth and nail not to get hard; and often failed.
At the end of your third date, he’d kissed you a little harder than he normally would. It made you weak in the knees, and even more needy than you usually were with him. His big hands dipping a little lower on your waist than usual, and the most gentle brush of his tongue against yours. You wanted more, but true to Clark fashion, he just had to be so coy and sweet.
You almost groaned in frustration when he pulled away, his cheeks a little pink as he flashed you a smile.
“Goodnight,” Clark murmured softly. “I… I really like this. Being with you.”
Fuck. You knew it’d be a long night the second you were alone. You swallowed and nodded.
“Yeah. I do too.”
He grinned again, kissing your cheek. “Okay. See you at work?”
“Yeah. See you then.”
He watched you walk inside, letting his eyes trail down your body when he was sure you wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t handle it. Being around you all night, watching you laugh at all his stupid jokes, smelling that gorgeous smell that was all you and the sweet perfume you wore… he needed relief. Badly.
Clark found himself at home within seconds, stumbling into his room in a love-drunk stupor. He ripped at the buttons of his shirt, breathing shaky and excited. He pushed the shirt off, tugging off his undershirt as well. He shoved his pants down in one go, dropping down onto his bed with a hand wrapping around his leaky cock. He let himself picture you.
“Please,” he whispered to nobody but himself, hips starting to jut up to meet his hand.
He couldn’t help but think of how it’d feel if it was your hand touching him like this. How big he’d look beneath your fingers. If you’d use your mouth, your pretty lips struggling to fit him in comfortably. If you’d swallow around him as you tried not to gag, his cock touching the back of your throat. He stroked himself faster, throbbing and pulsing with the need to cum. He wondered if he’d be able to smell you soaking yourself as he came down your throat, and how long it would take for him to make you come on his tongue as a thanks. How you’d move against him, if you’d stay still and let him work or if you’d be so desperate that you wouldn’t be able to help but to grind against his face. He’d be overjoyed with either option.
He reached his other hand down, wrapping both firmly around himself, thrusting up into his fists, pretending it could be you. But he knew it wasn’t the same. He knew you’d be so soft and warm. Tight and cozy and wet around his length as he bounced you on his lap until you were cockdrunk and a little bit dumb. He liked the idea of being the only person who could make it so that you’d turn off your overactive brain for a little while.
He pushed himself into his hands, imagining every possible scenario, certain he could smell you even now. He breathed heavy, murmuring little pleas and whines of your name before he was tensing, hips still jerking as he spilled over his knuckles. It was a full minute of cumming to the thought of his pretty girl. His girlfriend? Maybe he should properly ask, he thought. He wanted you as his.
He glanced down, his own release drenching his hands and thighs. He took a deep breath. Time for a shower.
You saw him at work the next day, his face a little blushy every time he glanced at you. It was sweet, but a little… unusual?
He was generally shy and it wasn’t unheard of for him to get a little red-faced every now and then. But all day? Geez.
“Hey,” you said softly, walking up to him at his desk that afternoon. He looked up with wide eyes beneath his glasses. “I’m finished for the day. You want to go get dinner or something?”
“Oh! I, uh… after work is no good. But maybe later? Dessert? I can bring it to your place?” He offered, glossing over the fact that he was going to be busy with the Justice Gang. He hadn’t exactly let the Superman secret slip yet. “If that’s okay.”
“You want to come over?”
He blinked. “Oh… I, uh—”
“I’d like that,” you offer, smiling at his flustered expression. “I’ll text you my address.”
“Oh. Okay,” he breathed out, his smile bright. “Great. Maybe like… eight? Is that okay?”
“That’s perfect.”
“Great.”
You smiled at him again, then left. You went home, body buzzing in anticipation. It’s not like you planned on attacking him or anything. Just… suggesting more. Also, you figured you should probably let him know that you’d one hundred percent seen him use his super-speed out of the corner of your eye a couple weeks ago. So much for that ‘secret’ of his.
You made yourself a light dinner, then took a long, hot shower. You dressed down, a thin tank top and soft pair of cotton shorts. Nothing overtly sexy, but not covering much. You figured that the hint of a nipple through fabric would probably do the job for someone as polite as Clark. It turned out to be true, judging by the way he tried to not let you notice he was staring at your chest the second you opened your front door for him.
“Hey,” you greeted with a grin.
“H-hiya. Hi.” He swallowed, trying to make sure he kept his eyes on your face. Nowhere else. But gosh, a tank top and shorts never looked so provocative before. He lifted up the small cheesecake in his hand. “Brought dessert. I remember you liked the strawberry cheesecake from the office Christmas party last year.”
You smiled softly. “That’s sweet. Thank you. Come on in.”
He ducked his head, clearly happy that he’d done good. He stepped inside of your apartment, looking around curiously. He toed off his shoes as you took the cake and brought it to the kitchen. He trailed after you, eyes darting between your home and your ass. He was feeling a little hot.
“You have a, uh… a nice place. I like it. Smells good in here.”
“Thanks. I try to keep it clean.”
He hummed once, leaning against the counter as you popped the lid off the cake.
“Not just that,” he said softly, watching your hands as you started cutting into it. “It just smells like— you. Your perfume I guess. Your skin.”
“You know what my skin smells like?” You laugh.
He flushed. “Oh. Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so creepy. You just… you just smell good. You smell like you. It’s nice.”
“It’s not creepy. It’s sweet.”
“Oh.”
“I like you, Clark. Quit worrying so much,” you mention, glancing at him as you lick a bit of the strawberry syrup off your thumb.
His eyes followed the movement, his tongue running over his lip once. “I like you too. A lot.”
You just grin softly. You plate up the cheesecake, handing him both slices.
“Go sit in the living room. I’m gonna grab some wine.”
He faltered for a second. “I don’t really drink much.”
“I know. It’s only one glass, I know you do that sometimes. I don’t intend on taking advantage of you, you know?”
“R-right. Okay.”
You watched as he walked away. God, he has a cute butt.
Two slices of cheesecake and three glasses of wine later, two for you and one for him, you were definitely getting a little cozier. He pretended not to notice how you leaned into his side; you pretended not to notice his hand on your knee.
“Cat totally thought you and Big Blue were hooking up, by the way.”
Clark blinked, looking away from the movie you’d put on. “Pardon?”
“Since you’re always up his ass. She asked me after me and you started dating if you were getting some super-dick on the side,” you mention with a short laugh.
“Super-d—? That’s inappropriate.”
“And hilarious.”
“Oh, please.”
You chuckle, smiling up at him. Despite his verbal protest, his cute little dimples were still poking into his cheeks. He just looked at you, his eyes wide and sparkling.
“I really do, ya know… like you.”
“You said that,” you reply softly.
“I know. I mean it.”
You just look at him, heart fluttering and body thrumming as he leaned in, his lips on yours. It started off soft. Just a few soft, lingering kisses. You snuck a hand into his dark hair, not tugging but definitely gripping. Judging by the shaky breath that left him, you assumed he liked that. Your assumption was proven correct as he deepened the kiss, one strong arm snaking around your waist to pull you into his chest. You took that as your cue, swinging a leg over his hips, settling on his lap and right over the bulge in his pants.
He gasped your name against your lips. “Geez.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, hands running over your hips and waist. “Yeah.”
Clark felt like he could explode, metaphorically and physically, when you started kissing him again. You were aroused. He knew it well. It invaded his senses and made him dizzy, pulling your hips over his before he could think twice about it. He groaned in the back of his throat when he felt the friction against the extremely obvious erection straining to get out. He nearly passed out when you made an equally needy sound.
“I like you,” he breathed out, voice wrecked already.
“I know, Clark.”
“A lot.”
You smiled, rolling your hips again with his instruction. “I know. I can feel how much you like me, you know?”
He whimpered. Full-on, whiny little whimper. He was smart, he knew he was. And strong. He could pull a building off its foundation. But now? With you on top of him, rubbing yourself on him like this? He felt weak and brainless. Every single blood cell that should be in his brain went straight to his cock. The only reason he didn’t feel embarrassed is the fact that he knew you felt the same way, your pretty face glossed over with want. He mumbled your name once, looking up at you with big, wet eyes.
“You done playing gentleman?” you asked teasingly, brow raised.
He pouted. “I am a gentleman.”
“I know, baby. But I am a woman who wants my boyfriend to touch me for once.”
He groaned. Boyfriend. Yay! “Golly.”
You laughed, for a moment. But it was cut awfully short when his hands snaked under your top, cupping your bare breasts. You let out a soft noise, letting him grope you as he kissed down your neck.
“Clark.”
“Mm…”
Clark was in heaven. Clothing strewn all over the floor and furniture, leaving a breadcrumb trail all the way to your bed. He laid between your legs in only his underwear, staring at you bare and spread out for him as he kissed up your legs.
“Y’so pretty,” he mumbled against your thigh, looking up at you with stars in his eyes through his frames. “Smell so good.”
“Clark, please.”
He smiled, licking his lip as he dragged a finger through your folds, watching the slick gather on his fingertip. He spread you open with two fingers, taking in a deep breath. He leaned in, kissing just over your clit, tongue flicking out to taste you.
“Taste even better.”
“Fuck,” you whined, watching him with hooded eyes.
“Mhm. Thank you,” he muttered, diving in again.
Your hands tangled in his hair, gripping tight as his mouth moved over you. He smiled against you, giddy to finally be tasting you. He’d thought about it so many times, if you’d taste as sweet as you smelled. His hips ground against the bed on their own volition, wanting to find any kind of relief from how he was throbbing in response to finally being able to touch you. He’d been so good, so patient, so slow… and it was finally paying off in a big way. He moaned into your pussy, tongue delving into you, practically fucking you on his mouth. His hands wrapped around your legs, keeping you wide open for him.
Your hips moved against him as much as they could, trying hard to get that extra friction. He ate you out like he was starving for it. You wondered if he’d thought about it as long as you did.
He looked utterly ruined, his cheeks flushed and hair a mess. His glasses were fogged. You reached for them, trying to pull them off, but he quickly grabbed your wrist.
“No,” he shook his head, lips brushing against you.
“Why? Wanna see you.”
“I— I need them.”
“You said you were nearsighted.”
He looked up, trying to see you through the fogged lenses. “W-well, yeah, I just…”
“Please?”
“I really can’t.”
You huffed, horny and needy and wanting to see him.
“Clark.”
“Baby, please. You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand about glasses?”
“They…” He paused. How could he say it without saying it? He needed them because he was secretly a space alien who wore his underwear on the outside to fight crime and rescue puppies? Not exactly a sentence that rolls off the tongue. “It’s… they’re a part of me.”
“They’re not surgically attached.”
“No, but they’re, uh…” he glanced down, your pussy still wet and needy in front of his face. He had half a mind to tell you he was Superman just so he could get back to business.
“Quit it.” You pulled the glasses off before he could notice.
He jolted, shocked and nervous and feeling suddenly like he was in deep. Shoot. He stuttered out your name, his heart pounding out of his chest. You’d seen him. His cover was blown. You’d probably freak out and not want to see him again and not let him make you cum and he’d go home with blue balls and a broken heart.
“I’m… I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you, I know. I just didn’t know how to say it, and we hadn’t talked about if we were like actually a thing until you called me your boyfriend today, and… and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Clark.”
“W-what?”
“I knew you were Superman. Now in the nicest way I can say it, shut the fuck up and get your face back down there before I finish myself off instead.”
He blinked in shock, almost ready to protest before you pushed his head back between your legs. He couldn’t argue with that. He moved faster, wanting even more badly to make you feel good. You knew. You knew who he was and it didn’t matter. He could cum right then and there if he wanted to.
You gasped, back arching high as he gained a new fervor he hadn’t had before. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t feel like he had to hold back all the way now. Whatever it was, you didn’t really care. What you cared about was the way he humped the bed and whined against your skin as you came on his tongue.
You were in a haze, the orgasm knocking your feet out from under you. Clark watched you as you came down, chest heaving. Pretty tits and a pretty face and the cutest pussy, his pretty girl. He sighed dreamily, eyes flitting all over you as he pushed his underwear down his thighs.
You blinked your eyes open, mouth watering at the sight of a fully naked Clark Kent and his monster cock. Cat totally owed you twenty dollars, you knew he’d be massive.
“C’mere,” you mumbled, reaching for his hips, trying to draw yourself up to him.
“What?”
“Want it in my mouth. Please.”
“Baby…”
You leaned closer, hand wrapped around him. “Just for a little. Just let me.”
He let out a soft, shaking breath as you touched him. He memorized the way his cock looked in your hand. He knew he was big, but he looked almost scary in your grip. It was insanely hot. His mouth watered as you licked your lips, trying to prepare yourself to take him. He gasped, hand touching your hair softly as you leaned up to brush his tip against your lips. He shifted a little closer on his knees, trying to make it so that you were a little more comfortable.
“So sweet,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. “Sweet girl.”
You smiled up at him, no more of those adorably dorky glasses covering his gorgeous eyes. His lips stayed parted, clearly paying attention to every tiny move you made as you played with him. You let your tongue loll out of your mouth, dragging it against the blunt head of his dick. He moaned outright, hand resting in your hair now, hips jerking as you took him into your mouth.
Your eyes fluttered as you took more of him in, your mouth opening wider to try and accommodate his size. He felt hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. You bobbed your head slowly, taking as much of him as you could. He whined and moaned and made sounds you never expected to hear from him. If only the world knew that Superman was so desperate when he got his cock played with.
He suddenly pulled you off, chest heaving.
“Wait. W-wait. Sorry, honey, I just… I don’t want to cum in your mouth the first time.”
“Hm?”
“Wanna be in you.”
You swallowed, eyes still trained on his length as it jumped in excitement. “Okay. Yeah.”
“Do you have, uh… I didn’t bring any…”
“You want to wear a condom?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. “You should always practice safe sex.”
“That the slogan on one of your educational billboards?”
He frowned. You laughed.
“Just want to be responsible.”
You nodded. “Okay. But, for the record, I’m on a contraceptive.”
You almost laughed at the way he clearly struggled with that though. He knew wearing a condom was still the safe option. He also knew that he wanted nothing more than to finish inside of you.
You giggled as he made his decision, pushing you back on the bed and kissing you deeply. He pushed your thighs to your chest and settled on his knees, brushing his thick tip against your pussy, still puffy and needy from the way he’d made you cum with his mouth. He let out a slow breath, rubbing your clit with it a few times before he pressed at your entrance.
“I know it’s… it’s big. Just tell me if it hurts, okay?”
You nodded, watching as his face tightened in pleasure and anticipation. You forced yourself to relax, letting him press into you slowly. You moaned pathetically as he pushed harder, the first few inches hurting as much as they changed your life.
“Y’okay, baby?” He grunted out, slowly starting to rock his hips in that shallow depth.
“Y-yeah. Yes.”
“Good. You’re taking it so good, baby. Look at you.”
You whined, not expecting the praise. You fluttered around his length involuntarily, drawing another sound from him. He pushed in further and further with each slow, careful thrust.
“That’s my girl. So good for me. So pretty.”
He dropped down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his hips with strong hands, pulling you up onto his lap. You gasped, the new angle letting him fill you to the brim. He thrust into you quicker now, arms pushing you off and on as he moved his hips.
“Pretty baby. Perfect for me, fitting all of me in you. Y’feel this?” He grabbed your hand, pressing it to your lower belly to feel the bump of him hitting you deep with every rock of his hips. “Take me so well. Gorgeous girl. You’re doing such a good job.”
“Baby… baby, please. Clark.”
He smiled. Cocky son of a bitch. “I know, honey. You like it, huh?”
You nodded quickly, brain and body turned to jelly as he rammed into you like you were his personal fuck toy. He breathed heavy, a million little sounds leaving him between all of his praises. His face was buried in your neck, moving faster now. You held onto him as tightly as you could, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand tangled in his hair.
He groaned, trying hard not to cum with every move of your body against his. He’d never felt such a perfect fit, it was like you were two puzzle pieces finally clicking. He shuddered against your skin, kissing down your neck and chest until he found one warm, stiff nipple to pull into his mouth. He sucked, alternating between a steady suction and his tongue swirling and flicking over it.
“M’gonna cum,” you gasped out, feeling deliciously overwhelmed.
“Good. Attagirl. You can finish, baby. You can cum,” his voice rumbled against your skin, switching to the other nipple. “Cum for me. You can do it.”
You whined and whimpered, letting him pump into you a few more times before you cried out his name, legs shaking hard. He moaned in time with you, trying like hell to keep moving in order to let you ride it out.
If he thought you smelled good before, the scent of you like this could rouse him from a coma. He could only move for a few more seconds before he was buried himself deep, grinding more than thrusting as he gasped your name, mouth still open against your tit. You felt him fill you, cock twitching and throbbing inside of you.
“Shoot,” he whispered, kissing up your chest until he settled his face against your neck. “Baby. Thank you. Thank you.”
“God damn.”
“Never felt anything like you.”
You smiled drowsily. “Says you.”
He laughed, rubbing your back slowly, fingers tracing the skin. “I’ve been thinking about that a long time.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“I get half hard any time I smell you.”
“What’s up with you and smells?” you asked softly, leaning back to look at him with sleepy eyes.
“Super senses.”
“Ah.”
“Super smell. I pick up a lot of stuff, and you… you smell extra good when you’re— when you’re wet?”
“That is so gross.”
“Can’t help it. You’re delicious,” he said with his lips against your neck again, voice rumbling in his chest. “Can’t believe you knew this whole time.”
“Not hard to guess, Clark. At least not when I both date you and work with you.”
“Mm… shoulda told me you knew.” He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then cheek, and finally lips. He smiled against your lips. “Dropping that and then pushing me between your legs wasn’t fair.”
You smiled back. “Yeah, well. Also wasn’t fair to hide it. We’re both at fault.”
“Maybe.”
You kissed him again, just once. “So… Superman. Super cock. Super eater. You got super stamina, too?”
(nsfw)......Being roommates with Clark and Lois, not thinking much of being roomies with a couple — that is, until they both start fucking you behind each other's backs.
You never thought much of crashing in the spare room of Clark and Lois’s apartment. They were the perfect couple—him with his shy smile and glasses perpetually askew, her with that razor-sharp wit. Just cheap rent in Metropolis, and you figured the walls were thick enough. Until they weren’t.
It started with Clark. One night, the power went out during a storm. Lois was chasing a lead downtown. You found him in the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, muscles shifting under moonlight. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured, voice low. Next thing you knew, he had you bent over the counter, hands pinning your wrists, dick stretching you open in deep, relentless strokes while he whispered apologies that sounded more like prayers. “Just needed you… fuck, you feel so good.” You came so hard you saw stars.
Three nights later, Lois cornered you in the laundry room. She tasted like coffee and sin, fingers sliding under your waistband while she smirked against your mouth. “Clark’s an idiot if he thinks I don’t notice how you walk after he’s had you.” Then she dropped to her knees, tongue working you until your legs shook, two fingers curling just right while she looked up with those knowing eyes.
Now it’s a delicious, filthy secret. Clark fucks you slow and devastating in the mornings when Lois is in the shower, hand over your mouth so you don’t moan his name too loud. Lois fucks you on the couch some afternoons, nails raking down your chest, whispering how much tighter you get when you’re trying not to get caught.
They still kiss each other goodnight like nothing’s changed. But every shared glance across the dinner table now holds heat—two predators circling the same prey, unaware they’re both already feasting. And you? You’re just trying not to smile too wide when they ask how your day was.
summary: sometimes, it's just too big. but clark knows you can take it.
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!!! clark kent x fem!reader, size kink, mating press, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it folks), snarky!clark, kissing, some praise, use of pet names, clark's a good man even though he's a little sassy, established relationship i guess?, talking you through it i guess? in a way?, no use of y/n. i think that's it!
author's note: quick little thing because i haven't posted in a while, i hope you all enjoy! literally wrote this in my drafts so i don't even have a word count. im assuming it's around 1.5k? anyways, sorry about the lack of content guys - working on a massive multi-chapter fic AND putting some stuff together for 1k. should have some more stuff posted later this week (maybe)! love you all!
"Fuck," you hiss, head tilted back and burying itself into the pillows beneath it. You suck in a stuttered, shallow breath and whine it out. You're unable to take any sort of full breaths, anyway; Clark's too busy taking up all the space in and around your body.
He's got you pressed into the mattress, completely unable to do anything but focus on the way he's fucking you. It's a brutal mating press this time. Your legs are curled up almost to your chest, and his arms are caging you in, and the way he's got his face tucked into the crook of your neck is ensuring that you're feeling all of his weight. Just how you like it.
And although the mating press is brutal, his pace is not. It's slow, and deep, and careful, because Clark knows how much you can handle. Knows you well enough to clock when you need him to take his time. Knows exactly how to ensure that you're enjoying yourself, and, make no mistake—you are enjoying yourself.
But he's just so fucking big. Buried in you so deep. All nine inches of him, hard and heavy and utterly and completely filling. All 6'5 of his height and 240 pounds of his weight pinning you down beneath him.
Sometimes he's too big.
Clark shifts above you. He's still got you in that mating press, but now one of his arms is tucking beneath your waist, moving your hips up just enough to make him push deeper into you. You gasp. It's the first time that you're able to suck in that much air since he's been on top of you.
"Clark!" you whine, loud and stilted and a little strained. You'd been screaming all fucking night. You're surprised you even have a voice anymore.
"S'too big!"
He smiles against your neck. Trails a few soft kisses on the column of your throat before he lifts his head out of your neck and looks down at you. You don't realize he's taken his arm out from beneath your waist until you feel his hand on your chin tilting your face down and forcing you to look into his eyes.
"Did I hear that right? It's too big, baby?"
He punctuates that question by pulling back, almost completely out of you, then pushing all the way back in. Every fucking inch. All in less than a second. A quick, deep thrust, one that punches all of the air out of your lungs for the thousandth time tonight. Your back arches as much as it can with all of his heft on top of you. The shallow excuse of a breath you had frantically sucked in gets shoved out of your chest.
“Yes!” you squeak out. Clark laughs at you; it’s not cruel, but it has your already flushed face burning a little more. He presses his hips a little deeper, a little harder, and your eyes roll back into your head. That ache, that familiar burn with getting stretched open on his cock, is the most confusing thing; feels so good even though he’s practically on the verge of splitting you in half. You throw your head back, and your hips squirm, and your fingers dig into the bedsheets beneath your body so you can try and pull yourself away from him.
It’s no use, though. Clark’s hand leaves your chin and attaches to your right hip, his hold on you tight and sturdy; you couldn’t go anywhere if you tried. Not that you’d actually want to, of course.
“You want me to take it out?” he asks.
That question wasn’t really a question. Maybe it was a threat. Or a death sentence, because taking all of that pain and pleasure away before you can finish might actually kill you. Almost as much of a death sentence as the way he pulls his hips back; this time, he pulls all the way back. Completely out of you. He keeps the thick, blunt tip of his cock pressed against your cunt, though. What a fucking tease.
Your eyes shoot open and, through all your quick panting and pathetic whimpering, you manage to glare at him and cry out, “No!”
He flashes one of those pretty crooked smiles at you. Always so cocky whenever he hasn’t earned the right to be. Just makes him hotter.
“No?” he asks. Then he huffs.
“Thought you said it was too big, honey?”
You start to push out a garbled mess of a protest, but you cut yourself off with a guttural, borderline animalistic moan when you feel him gently glide his length through your sensitive folds. A soft, back and forth rocking that only lasts a couple seconds. The slick sound when he rolls his hips back and forth is nothing but sinful. Makes your pussy flutter and clench around—much to your dismay—nothing.
“Please,” you beg, breathy and whiny and pathetic above all else. You haven’t been able to take a full, deep breath since he’s started fucking you. Unfortunately, the panicking from how he isn’t fucking you anymore has squeezed your lungs like a vice. Can’t take a deep breath without him fucking you, either. All you can do is pant up at him like some sort of bitch in heat, and…well, it wouldn’t be a stretch to classify yourself as one.
Clark picks up on that, judging by the way his hand glides up your stomach and toward your chest. His palm lays over the center of it, allowing his fingers to splay out over your flushed, sticky skin. His hand is, just like him, massive. Proportionate to his gigantic body. The tips of his fingers can reach your collarbones while his thumb is steadily brushing back and forth over the spot just above your heart. He could probably hear it hammering in your chest, just like he can hear every pitiful excuse of a breath you keep trying to suck in.
“Tell you what,” he mutters. “You take one deep breath for me, and I’ll put it back in.”
“Clark,” you groan, a wobbly little pant that you struggled to get out.
“Breathe,” he commands. “Breathe, or you’re not getting what you want.”
Now he’s holding himself hostage from you. Of course.
In true Clark fashion, he teases you while he’s waiting for your response. Continues to gently glide his cock through your folds, letting out a soft, low growl and hanging his head for a moment. He laughs, breathy and a little desperate, and his hips buck. It sends a jolt through both of your bodies; seems like the idiot’s gone and teased himself, too.
“Better do it fast, honey. Don’t think I can last much longer.”
How does one force their brain to force their lungs to manually breathe? In, out, in, out. Seems pretty simple. But your brain doesn’t wanna cooperate, because all you can feel is the tip of Clark’s cock brushing over your clit again and again and again as he keeps rolling his hips. You whimper so loudly that it echoes off your bedroom walls; when your head falls back onto your pillow, you shut your eyes. Squeeze them so tight that you see stars—although that could also be because of the oxygen you’ve been depriving yourself of.
Then, it happens. You do some sort of hard reset. You suck in a big, deep breath, chest fully expanding and bumping against Clark’s.
“Atta girl. I knew you could do it,” he purrs. Leans down to press soft kisses on your chin, and the corner of your lips, and down your jaw while he lines himself up and sinks right back into your cunt. There’s no resistance at all. Your breath hitches in your throat and you tense up, mouth dropping open without any permission from your brain. Although, your brain’s letting you down a lot right now, so…best to not depend on it.
“Give me another deep breath, baby,” Clark whispers, breath fanning out against your ear. He’s buried to the hilt again, voice a little strung out and voice a little shaky. But he’s doing a lot better than you, so who are you to talk?
You can’t breathe again. He’s too deep, and he feels too good, and the angle he’s got you at is keeping his tip pressed right against that spongy spot that makes you shake when he pays too much attention to it. Your fingers, desperate to find something to tear up, meet his shoulders—if he was a normal human being, you’d have left a few deep cuts in his back from how hard you just clawed down it.
But you manage to do it after a beat. To suck in a deep breath, to moan it out, to blubber about how good he’s got you feeling. Or maybe it was just gibberish. Who knows? At least you got the air in. At least you rediscovered how to breathe.
“Just like that, baby. Good girl,” he praises you. Honey-sweet, like he always is.
“You keep breathing deep and slow like that for me, and we’ll go as long as you want.”
ა ˙˖ in which → you have car sex with your biggest op, satoru gojo
frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader
Everyone knows you hate fraternities, especially Theta Phi and it's president, Satoru Gojo
It was a given. The sky is blue, grass is green and according to you, fraternities are the root of all evil.
Which is why when you started fucking Gojo, it was under the condition that this was strictly between the two of you and you'd ruin his life if he told anyone about this.. arrangement.
Here's what not even your closest friends know about you: you had a very high libido and none of the men you were interested in had been capable of keeping up. you tried sleeping with athletes but even they didn't have the stamina to go for more than two rounds and while your vibrators always helped you, you had grown sexually frustrated and needed more.
You started snapping over the tiniest things, losing sleep and even daydreaming during lectures about getting fucked.
This.. arrangement started when you had been assigned to work on a project with Gojo, the arrogant white haired manchild you hated since the first day of uni. Now you were stuck with him for two months, working on a project he cared little about since he was too busy trying to charm his way into not just your pants, but your heart.
As if!
"Fuck, just like that, princesss. Come on, I know you can go faster." Gojo chuckles and grabs onto your hips, spreading his legs wider as he starts bouncing you on his cock so hard that the car is rocking back and forth, windows fogging up as he lifts his hips to pound into you.
You should be working on this project that was due in a few weeks, but instead you let Gojo drag you to the backseat of his car with the promise that this would be quick, something to clear your minds so you could focus on your work without any distractions.
Yet here you were four rounds later with cum dripping down your thighs from his previous loads that started to seep from the condom, body shaking as you neared your fourth orgasm.
"Screw you asshole, how about you get on top you lazy bast- oh!" Gojo lifts you off his cock and flips you onto your knees, awkwardly moving within the limited space until he’s behind you and lining his cock up with your entrance.
"You're so fucking mean to me, I love it." Gojo leans over your body to suck on your neck, one hand holding onto your hip while the other grips the back of the seat as he pushes into you.
"You d-deserve it." You push back against him as he pushes forward, meeting him halfway until he's balls deep inside of you, your cunt hungrily squeezing him for more, eyes rolling back when he starts to slowly move his hips.
You hadn't meant for this to go on for as long as it has. You had been frustrated after a shift at work, then you walked in on your roommate getting her back blown out, and when you went to meet Gojo for a quick study session at the library, it was closed and he smirked and told you his place was around the corner.
You reluctantly got into his car, arms folded across your chest as you stared out the window the entire way there, ignoring his flirtatious comments. It had frustrated you to no end, so who could really blame you when you started drooling after he offered to help you with your little issue?
It was supposed to be a one time thing, a quick solution to your "problem" until you could find someone more permanent, someone you didn't despise.
Only Gojo had matched your freak perfectly, going six rounds your first time and only taking a break once. You didn't want it to be him, did everything to convince yourself that he was actually terrible in bed but your vibrators had turned stale after that night, your mind constantly drifting to how hard Gojo made you cum on his dick and on his tongue.
He was just too good.
You arch your back so he can hit deeper, hands tightly gripping the leather head rest to steady yourself, skirt yanked above your waist, bra and shirt long discarded on the car floor.
You cry out when he hits a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, head spinning from how deep he was fucking you.
Gojo groans and leans forward, grabbing your chin to turn your head toward his, pink lips slamming against yours. The kiss is careless, his tongue fighting yours, you angrily biting his lip because you hate yourself for letting him fuck you when you swore up and down you’d never get involved with a fratboy.
Gojo didn’t care, savoring the taste of his blood mixing with the spit you both traded.
When he pulls away, your brows furrow from the way he's staring at you, white hair falling into his face, lips slightly busted from your bite, a foreign feeling twirling in your belly. This was just sex, you wanted nothing more from him so why was he staring at you like he wanted to tell you something that would ruin your current agreement?
"Look at you.” He whispers too softly. “Letting me fuck you like a slut in my car. Anyone could walk by, you know? See how good I fuck you, how well you take me. You want that?"
When you try to turn your head, he tightens his grip on your jaw and smirks, slamming into you as he thrusts grow sloppy. The sound of your wet pussy squelching filling the car has him dizzy with need.
"You don't have to answer, your moans are telling me enough." He kisses you one more time before letting you go and pulling back.
You don't have a chance to dwell on what he was implying before he was gripping your hips and pounding into you at a pace that had you crying out as the coil in your belly tightens, your puffy walls gripping around Gojo's cock.
"M'gonna cum again!" You whined as his tip hit your cervix perfectly, fat tears escaping your eyes while your mouth dropped open in a silent cry.
You try to fuck him back, really you do but your legs are noodles at this point and the only thing keeping you up was Gojo's steady hands on your hips, euphoria coursing through your body and making your head dizzy with need.
“Come on, princess. Give me another one, yeah? You can do it, such a good girl f’me.”
You hate him so much, hate that he knows exactly what to say to push you over the edge, that he was way too in-tune with your body as if he had been created to please you.
Gojo pulls you up against his chest and you let your head fall on his shoulder. He wraps one arm around your waist and squeezes you flush against him, his other hand moving around your body until he’s rubbing circles on your clit and you’re lazily bucking back against him.
“Feels so good Toru, haah, don’t stop!”
The car reeked of sex, windows blurred from the breathy moans falling from yours and Gojo’s mouths as you both rock into each other. Anyone walking by would know what was happening inside. You thanked god it was late and the parking lot had been empty.
“Really? Thought you hated me, pretty girl. Who knew- fuck, who knew you had such loose morals?” He laughs in your ear, hand pushing on your back to arch it even further while he split you on his cock.
“F-fuck you, oh im close!”
Gojo laughs and places a kiss on the side of your head that lingers longer than it should before pushing you back down to get a better angle and his next slam sends you over the edge, your orgasm tearing through your soul as you squirt all over his seats and cry out his name.
This was better than porn.
Gojo doesn’t laugh this time, doesn’t make any snide comments because he can barely breathe with the way your cunt is pulsing around his cock, your juices dripping down his thighs and he thinks he’s going crazy because he’s never had pussy this good.
The fact that you hated him made this even better for some reason, motivated him to fuck you until you finally admitted that this was more than just casual sex. That he wasn’t delusional in thinking this could be something deeper.
He squeezes your hips tighter, pushing as deep as he can as he pumps his third load into the condom, eyes rolling back and a strangled groan escaping his lips as thick hot cum drips from the latex and into your warm pussy.
Gojo can feel it slipping it off, can feel your heat and gummy walls on his half free cock and it has him feral as he picks up his pace and fucks another load into you, his balls tightening and pulsing because you had never felt this good.
“Shit, princess. You’re so fucking wet, so good, s-so perfect.” He drops against your back, still holding you up as his hips stutter and slow, pushing the last of his orgasm out while you both catch your breath.
He stays there for a moment, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips as you both come down from your high. You can feel his cum leaking from you and down your thighs and you hate how it awakens something primal inside of you. And when the thought to push it back in had formed, you blamed it on your disheveled state.
In any other instance you would have pushed him off you already, huffing that it was only sex and would never happen again even though you both knew that was a lie.
Something about Gojo had you coming back for seconds and thirds. Every fuck session was somehow better than the last, making you forget that this was supposed to be a one time thing, something to hold you over until you found a more suitable partner.
Only you were starting to realize Gojo might be the best you ever had. It made you hate him more.
You gasp when he slowly pulls out, pussy overstimulated and swollen from the multiple rounds you went in the span of an hour. Both of you sitting on the cushion, one of your arms draped across the seat, Gojo’s throw over his eyes.
You sneak a look at him, heart thumping at how attractive he looked. His hair was all over the place, cheeks red from exhaustion, and his pants and boxers were still halfway down, cock still free and housing a half on condom. Your skin tingles at the sight of his abdomen and white pubes wet with your release.
He looked as fucked out as you felt.
Not one for awkward silence, you lift your hips to pull your panties back up and your skirt down, stretching your body to reach into the front seat for your shirt, ass in the air and you almost have it, your finger literally grazes the blue fabric before Gojo grabs you and pulls you down.
“Gojo! Oh my god, let go you freak.” You’re fuming, trying your best to wiggle out his grip but he just tightens his arms around your stomach, pulling you against him and lowering his head onto your back, littering it in soft kisses that burn through your skin.
"Go on a date with me. Please?"
This again. You told him multiple times before that this was simply sex, two college students helping each other out and nothing more. No feelings outside of helping the other get off. His stubbornness would only hurt him in the end.
"God no, I don't date frat boys."
"What if I left?"
You freeze against him, a lump forming in your chest. "Aren't you the president? You can't just leave."
What a cruel joke. Not that you wanted him anyways but even if you did, Gojo would never leave his fraternity. Certainly not for you. You two weren’t lovers, weren’t friends and we’re barely acquaintances given the fact that he was your number one op.
You remembered the time in sophomore year when he publicly called you an uptight bitch because you told him his party sucked. You lived different lives, it could never work. He would never change and you would never see him as more than a quick fuck and your unfortunate project buddy that you’d go back to ignoring once this was over.
"I can do whatever I want sweetheart, did you forget my last name?" He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder this time, goosebumps forming on your arms. Of course, he always tried to fix everything with money and status, which is another reason why you hated him.
You sit there quietly, lost in your thoughts.
You couldn’t seriously be with someone like Gojo, right? He was brash, had an ego out of this world and was a bratty nepo baby that flirted with anyone with a hole.
"So?" he asks, hopeful. HIs fingers gently dig into your belly to keep you from moving away, one hand coming up to grip your chin and turn your head back to him.
"So?" You repeat, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you lose yourself in his eyes.
For all of his.. lack of good qualities, he never failed in the facial department. Perhaps that was another reason you disliked him, because no matter how many insults you can throw his way, ugly wasn’t one of them.
Satoru Gojo was sculpted by the Gods themselves, which was unfortunate, because no one with a face like that should have a personality so catastrophically irritating. You can’t help but to let your eyes. traitorous things that they were, linger.
He notices because of course he does, and the smile that spreads across his face lacks any of his usual arrogance and for a second you imagined what life as his girlfriend could be like.
The thought came uninvited, images of him giving you sleepy morning kisses nad taking you on dates vivid enough to make your stomach twist.
Absolutely not.
Satoru Gojo was many things: powerful, insufferable, unbearably handsome, but he was not boyfriend material.
"Will you go on a date with me if I leave the frat?"
"No."
You answer too fast and Gojo is once again left heartbroken as you pull away to finish dressing yourself, refusing to spare him another look. He could understand why you hated him, but if you would just give him a chance to prove he could be different, he knew he wouldn’t disappoint you.
He would just have to keep trying, keep working for your favor because he would make you his if it was the last thing he did. He was competitive to his core and that wouldn’t waver just because he had finally met his match.
On the contrary, it only motivated him more. He saw the way you looked at him, how you were starting to let him touch you longer than you would have when this first started.
He was slowly breaking your walls down and it was only a matter of time before he made you his.
❦ lisa's note: this will be a series! I'll post the masterlist for it soon but lemme know if you wanna be tagged! 😋
I never knew I needed sheriff clark so thank you for awakening that in me
you’re so welcome, anon 😌 i’m glad i could be of service with sheriff clark...
imagine him using his handcuffs on you at home after you’ve been a bad girl… spread out on your bed, wrists locked in his sheriff-issue handcuffs and fastened to the headboard above your head. clarks still half in uniform—shirt unbuttoned, pants shoved down just enough—towering over you with that dark, hungry look in his eyes. "been teasing me all day,” he murmurs, voice low and rough as he pushes your thighs apart. “now you’re gonna keep those hands right there while I take my time with you.”
he fucks you slow and deep at first, then harder, the cuffs rattling against the bedframe with every thrust. no matter how much you squirm or beg, you can’t touch him. you’re completely at his mercy while he grips your hips, sucking marks into your neck and growling against your skin, “that’s it, sweetheart… look so pretty cuffed to our bed for me.”
Sheriff!clark who loves playing this little game with you on quiet summer nights when the backroads are empty and the moon hangs low over the cornfields.
He tails you for a mile or two, those bright red and blue lights finally flashing in your rearview, painting the dashboard in slow, pulsing color. Your heart kicks up the second you hear the crunch of gravel under his boots as he approaches. When you roll the window down, there he is—hat tipped low, jaw tight, that star pinned to his chest catching the light like a warning.
“Something wrong, Mr. Officer?” you ask, all soft and sweet, batting your lashes like you don’t already know exactly how this ends.
Clark doesn’t smile. He just hooks a thumb in his belt and rumbles, “Step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”
The second your feet hit the dirt he’s on you, spinning you around and pressing you front-first against the warm trunk of your car. His big hands are everywhere—sliding up your thighs, squeezing your hips, palming your breasts through your thin sundress while he leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your neck.
“You know how fast you were going?” he growls, voice low and rough like gravel under tires. One hand slips between your legs, cupping you possessively, fingers teasing just enough to make your knees weak. “Reckless driving. Gonna have to write you up for that.”
You bite your lip, arching back into him. “Is there… any other way I can pay for it, Sheriff?” The smirk you feel against your ear is pure sin.
Next thing you know, he’s got you in the back of the cruiser, door barely shut before he’s yanking your dress up around your waist. The leather seat sticks to your skin as he settles between your thighs, uniform shirt still buttoned but pants open just enough. He fucks you hard and deep, one hand braced on the roof of the car, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks you’ll trace tomorrow with a secret smile.
Every thrust rocks the whole vehicle. Your moans fog the windows while Clark’s voice—husky, wrecked—keeps up the game between kisses and bites along your throat. “Bad girls get what’s coming to them… that’s it, sweetheart. Pay for your ticket like a good girl.”
When you finally come undone around him, gasping his name (and “officer” for good measure), he follows right after with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt like he never wants to leave.
Afterward he’s all soft kisses and gentle hands again, fixing your dress, brushing your hair out of your face, murmuring how much he loves his pretty little criminal. You just smile up at him, dazed and glowing, already thinking about which road you’ll “speed” down next week.
Divorcée!Simon Riley just hates when he hears his ex wife!Reader is going on a date.
It was all supposed to go perfectly. Your friend had set you on date for Friday night, Simon had the kids at his place because it was his weekend. Kelela blaring from your speakers as you fixed your makeup in the mirror, large rollers in your hair, a nice dress freshly ironed layed on the bed.
Simon absolutely ruined it.
Petty argument that was laced with every bit of jealousy, spiraling into you on your hands and knees, getting your back blown out by your massive ex husband who was stretching you desperate spasming pussy out in the sluttiest way imaginable.
Your slick dripping onto fabric of the dress who worked hard to buy. Sobbing at how good you felt while Simon railed into, using your hips as leverage, practically bruising them. He grunts, “This what you’re doin now? Hm? Hah- thinkin about cheatin
“Fuck- fuck you- mmmph- we’re not- aangh- were nooot-“ you can’t even finish your own sentence, broken moans escaping your mouth, your head falling and toes curling as your ass kept rippling against his pelvis every time Simon bottomed out.
“-We’re not wot? Huh? Wot was tha again?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, slamming his hips into your harder, only earning more keens of his name and curses. You walls quivering around his hefty girth, tears burning your eyes. Then you feel the sting of his hand come down on your rear end, “I’m expecting words from you, that brain on?”
No- probably not- all you knew it was so much- a good much- taking over your entire body. Your hands grinned the headboard of the bed, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold.
“Awww,” the blonde condescendingly croons, dragging your hips down to the base of his member, “Mama can’t take ‘er husbands cock.” He hikes himself deeper inside you, hissing as your nails vlaw as his thigh. “Can help you remember swee’art, ‘s what ‘m ‘ere for.” His arm snakes around your neck, calloused hand around your neck and guiding your hips back into his, the filthy smack, smack, smack! filling the bedroom with every pound of his cock into you.
Simon has you cumming and cumming, endless as a car pulls into your driveway. Simons eyes are nodded over, holding you so close and tight as he grinds into you, “My dear wife,” the military man’s stomach tightens, jaw clenched as he rests his head on your shoulder, sloppy thrust after sloppy thrust in your your oozing pussy, slowing filling with your mix of cum. “pretty fuckin wife, love you so- shit- sooo much dovie” he slurs out, leaving more little bruises up your neck, breathless and sucking your ear as he empties his creamy load into your perfect cunt, “where else would I be without you, baby, bloody hell-“
It’s those screams you’re letting out that has your date thinking your calling out bloody murder that makes the guy rush in your unlocked house. The noises are louder with every step he man makes up the steps the bed threatening to break with every brutal thrust. And you’re there, on the bed, legs over Simons broad shoulders, while he pistons into your slipper pussy, balls smacking against your ass. Your ex husband is pushing you down by your plush thighs, feet flat on the bed and drilling into you without a care in the world. Simon whips his head around, the stranger gobsmacked in horror.
A sinister smirk grows on Simons face, “Guest ‘f honor is ‘ere dovie, don’t you wanna great ‘em?”
Your heat only clenches, only thinking about your husband- the father of your kids, love of your life— Simon, Simon, Simon, Simon-
“So cockdrunk yer speakin out loud,” he lowly snickers, pushing your knees up to your earlobes, smooshing his strawberry cockhead against your cervix, pushing his fingers in your mouth for you to shut up, but you only moan at the sensations he’s giving you. Both mouths stuffed, both set of puffy lips drooling in delight.
Simon cracks his neck, staring holes into your ex date, “If you could close the door on your way out, her husbands taking care of ‘er now.”
a/n: he holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars, this is all I think of
Which sounds crazy considering you’re dating Clark Kent. But you rationalize it like so; Clark Kent and Superman are the same body, but different people. Different personalities. And both make your clit throb. Clark Kent is sweet and kind in a fumbling way. All droopy eyes and shyness and soft tones, pulling his shoulders so he takes up less room. He’s more comfortable in Smallville. Superman is kind and caring in a… different way. His shoulders go back. Eyes switch from kicked puppy to strong and silent. His jaw is tense, smiles become smirks. His voice grows louder, deeper.
Clark is very good at separating work and personal life. He never takes out his frustration from a lost battle onto you. He’ll share emotions but from a distant observation. He won’t even touch you that hard. Which really sucks since you want Superman to fuck you into the mattress.
As you brood over this issue, you pass a street cart. It’s one of those carts with cheap merch, meant to draw in tourists. No self-respecting Metropolitan would stop at one unless something was dire. But this particular cart had some merch that lit an evil fire in your eyes. So you purchase it and speed home. After washing and drying your purchase, you get into it.
“Alright, ok…” You lay across the couch and pick up some book, just in time for Clark to walk in.
Your boyfriend freezes. “Darling, what are you wearing?”
You look down. “Clothes?”
“These aren’t your normal lounge clothes, hun. You wear sweatpants and ratty Tshirts, not… that.”
“Do you not like it?” The crop top barely covered the fat of your tits, and the thigh highs cut just enough into your thighs to show off their plump smoothness. You knew Clark loved leaving a hickey right where the thigh highs cut off. The matching panties were a sheer mesh, some frilly lace on the waistband too. But the kicker was that the set was Superman blue, with the red lace and logo emblazoned across your chest finishing off the racy merch. “I got a set from a street vendor. Support small businesses and all.”
“So you… bought… lingerie?” Clark chokes out. He wanders closer as if he’s hypnotized. “You look… golly darling…”
But right before he gets to you, you plant your foot on his sternum. “Sorry, this set is for Superman, see?” You cup your breasts and press them together, shifting the logo. Clark follows the movement needily. “I don’t see Superman here.”
“But I am Superman!” Clark whines. He doesn’t move. “Baby please! I can see her, she wants me!”
You shake your head. “Nope. Sorry. Tonight I’m Superman’s.”
“I dunno how I feel about my girlfriend wanting Superman and not Clark Kent…” Clark grumbles, walking to the bedroom with a dejected look. He closes the door to the bedroom.
A minute passes. Then five. Suddenly your smirk fades a bit. Maybe you went too far and made him upset. As soon as seven minutes hit, you get up to apologize to your boyfriend with sweet words and some head. But there’s a knock at your balcony door.
“Hello, ma’am. I heard some strange noises, came by to check it out.” Superman is floating right outside, cape and all.
The giddy squeal that left you had Clark trying to suppress a smile. Instead, he schooled it into a serious frown. “May I come in? Investigate the place, make sure it's safe for you?”
“Yes sir!” You squeak happily, pushing open the door. Superman lands.
“You expecting anyone?” He says, voice deep in that tone that has you wetting the mesh gusset. You shake your head.
“No… live alone.” You murmur shyly. “Sorry for the getup… wasn’t expecting company.”
Superman slowly paces around the apartment, his eyes often falling to your body with a lustful look. His gaze traces how your chest heaves with excited pants, how each step has your thighs rubbing together with lust. But he still stays in character, peering into cabinets and even the laundry room. “It’s alright ma’am… didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Maybe the noise came from the bedroom?” You suggest. You lead him there, swaying your hips. Clark suppresses a groan and follows.
He prowls the bedroom, looking at the armoire and closet. You lay across the bed in what looks like a suitably seductive pose, but you know your excited grin isn’t that seductive.
“So… you’re a big fan?” Superman asks, nodding to your getup. His hands clench momentarily.
“Yes, I am. Really, thank you for all you’ve done, and checking up on me too.” You purr softly.
Clark swallows again, jaw working. “It’s nothing I need thanks for, ma’am. Just want to make sure a civilian is safe. Which it appears it is here.” He pauses at the end of the bed, eyes focused on yours.
You crawl slowly towards him. “You’re so kind, not even needing thanks… but still, you’d appreciate it right? Everyone deserves to feel appreciated, especially you.” You kneel in front of Superman, slowly tracing your hands up his torso. “Maybe… I could show you my thanks?”
SUperman’s breath hitches as you gently push the suit bottoms down, just enough to free his cock. You’ve seen in hundreds of times already, but each time you’re still taken aback at just how heavy and thick he was. His cock was flushed an angry red at the tip, precum spurting out in pearly ropes. The veins throbbed against the palm of your hand.
“You’re so big…” You breathe, but your nose scrunches just a tad. Too pornstar-y. And Clark’s little soft grin at you says he agrees. “C’mere-”
He doesn’t have to be told twice, rushing to kiss you. Superman presses you into the mattress as your lips move together, his tongue exploring your mouth while he paws at your body. His hands grasp your tits, squeezing and flicking your nipples until you arch into him. One hand snakes down to your panties, and with no force at all rips the gusset of your panties open. You let out a whimper. Clark had never done anything but undress you like the finest porcelain, and here he was tearing your clothes apart.
“Such a dedicated fan I have.” Superman growls. He kneels on the bed and yanks your legs up and draped over his thighs. One calloused finger dips into your cunt, strings of arousal coming away with it. “All this for me, ma’am?”
“Uh-huh…” You mumble, pussy clenching around his finger. He slides one more inside, crooking them both and grinding the tips against your spongy walls. In time with his fingers thrusting in and out, his other hand flicks at your rapidly hardening nipples. “F-fuc- m’gonna-“
He withdraws his fingers.
“I- Clark!”
Superman just gives you a firm smirk. “This is for me, isn’t it? Thanking the hero of Metropolis?”
He flips you over onto your stomach, groaning at the sight. Your slick drips down your thighs, leaving spots of wetness on the socks. The shirt’s all mussed too, tits spilling out. “What a pretty girl…”
Superman slowly presses the blunt head against your pussy, pushing in. The girth has you twitching and moaning, filling up every crevice and nudging against your soft walls. His chest presses against your back. “Go-golly….” He thrusts forward, seating himself fully. Usually Clark gives you time to adjust, some soft kisses and reassurances.
Superman does none of that, immediately pulling back. Your pussy clings to his length. “Don’t worry girl. M’gonna fill you up.” He growls, and thrusts back in harshly. Superman sets a hard and fast pace, pelvis smacking against your ass. There’s no time to breathe, little wails of pleasure knocked out of you. Your hands scramble for purchase on your sheets. Each movement smushes a pretty kiss against your cervix.
“Fuck- fuck! Cl-Clar!” You babble helplessly. Suddenly, Superman does something Clark’s never done before. His free hand grabs for a fistful of hair and yanks you up. “Agh!”
“Who’s Clark, hm? That’s not me. Who- gosh- who am I? C’mon, darling.” Superman pants into your ear, nipping the earlobe. He releases your hair only to smack one of your tear-streaked cheeks lightly. The motion has your cunt clenching around his cock. “Oho, pretty girl likes being treated like a whore? C’mon then. Say my name.”
“Su-superman, m’gonna- please- m’gonna!” You sob helplessly, limp in his arms. His thrusts somehow get harsher. He’s practically slamming into your poor pussy, free hand tracing circles on your clit.
Your orgasm slams into you, body thrashing in his arms. But all Superman does is hold you tight on his length, grinding up into your g-spot as your cunt chokes his cock.
Barely giving you time to breathe, he lays you onto the bed, face and hips pressed into the sheets. “Gonna collect my thanks now, gosh- your pussy’s so perfect.” Superman moans as he begins to thrust once again. The new position as you screaming into the mattress. Clark had never done pronebone before with you, too worried his cock would be too big in this position. But that concern’s far from his mind.
His hips slam against your ass again and again as he chases his orgasm. He’s almost too big, but the pleasure is mindmelting. Your mouth hangs open, drool spotting the duvet.
“My- perfect- girl, love you so much- gosh- m’gonna cum, oh- golly!” Superman shouts as his hips stutter. His cock twitches and spurts out ropes of hot cum into your folds. Each spurt has you twitching.
As Clark comes down from his high, he blinks away that lust-filled haze. “Oh… oh no…. Darling! I’m so sorry I got carried away! Are you ok?! Do I need to take you to the hospital!?”
You lift your face from the duvet just enough so he can see the utterly cockdrunk smile on your face. “Best… purchase… ever…”
Pornstar!Simon who’s been told he can’t fuck you anymore because the way you sound when he’s inside you makes every other costar you’ve had in the past look bad.
The Director pulling him aside with the footage still looping on the monitor, voice low, telling him it was obvious your moans dripping out wet and broken were real in a way you’ve never given the cameras before, obvious now that every gasp and whimper you’d faked with the others was thin and breathy and hollow compared to this and your former costars were bound to complain.
Said it made the lads before him look like they couldn’t even get you properly wet, let alone fuck the sense out of you. Said pairing you with Ghost again was asking for trouble. Too risky. Too fuckin’ real.
Swinging the monitor around to show Ghost the way he had angled his hips so the camera caught his cock stretching your silky cunt half an hour before, thick enough that your walls flutter around him without any acting, slick spilling out around the base every time he bottomed out.
Your fingers scrabbling along the bed every time he ground himself down, too fucked out to really run from the pleasure the way you wanted to, body shaking brain reduced to static goo.
You having a hard time remembering the scripted words you were given, eyes rolling in your sockets, little whimpers and moans punched out “hn-hn-hn-“ every time his hips met yours and the head of his cock kissed your cervix.
Ghost cooing down at you when you miss your cue for the third time, hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other kept your thigh shoved wide, voiced amused when he asks “wha’s amatter? Cat got your tongue, dove?”
Ruined any possibility of you answering when he fucked you deep, making your cunt visibly pulse around him on the monitor, arousal drooling down his balls.
You tried. You really did. You mouth opened, some broken attempt at the first word, but it dissolved into another punched out moan the second he angled just right, letting the camera see the way your eyes rolled in their sockets.
His thumb stroking once over your clit, almost gentle, almost fond. “Tha’s it,” he murmured, “take it. Fuckin’ take it.”
Another missed cue. Another low, rough chuckle. He didn’t really give you room to think. Just kept you pinned and full and dripping while the cameras roled and the script stayed forgotten on the floor somewhere behind the lights.
The director was still talking but Ghost wasn’t listening, instead, just reached over and rewound the tape instead. Watched the part where you tried to speak again. Watched the way your body gave out for him and only him. Watched his own hand on the screen, thumb stroking your clit.
He hit play once more. Let it loop. Thumb hovering over the button, already deciding he didn’t give a fuck what the director had to say about it, he was gonna fuck you again no matter what.
what could possibly be hotter than waking up in bed being bracketed by two, hulking men, eager for your attention. that’s what lazy mornings with bruce wayne and clark kent would look like.
being lifted with ease onto clark’s lap where his morning wood presses at the soft fabric of his sweats. a quick adjustment of his thighs slide you further down so your clit catches his hard on. being sleepy still and bruce coming up from behind you to rub your clit, encouraging you to grind and soak clark with your arousal.
the man behind you, places open mouthed kisses down your pulse as he’s tugging at your shorts, “take em’ off. let him feel you taking what you need.”
clark stiffens beneath at bruce’s words, eager to feel your heat directly on him as you dry hump yourself into an orgasm. “n-need these off,” he’d whine pathetically, pulling the waistband of his sweats down. feeling you twitch on him, without any barriers, it felt so potent that his hands snap to your hips. sliding up your torso to cup around your clothed tits.
