M/M sexual content, for mature audiences only; Superman fan fiction, rights owned by D.C. Comics.
CLARK KENT’S SECRET ADMIRER
Revised/enhanced/embellished and expanded by Rick Henry (email@example.com), 04-2021.
Original story by CA172.
Chapter 1: For God’s Sake, Sneeze Or Cough!
Clark Kent had a secret admirer, his landlord Stewart Martin.
Stewart was in his mid 30’s, very attractive with blonde curly hair, blue eyes and a good physique, which he kept in shape by working out in his home gym that he had in his basement, 4 to 5 days a week. He often got looked at lustily by both men and women, but it went right over his sun-bleached head. He wasn’t vain in the least, he was what he was, and never gave it much thought. Well, truth be told, he never gave anything much thought. It wasn’t that he was dumb, he just didn’t care. Though well-endowed, good looking, and built… he often moved through life like an automaton. He had failed out of medical school, entered a because-she-was-pregnant marriage, and thus rumbled through life with not much steam. Though he did like to see himself in his mirror, since his wife was uninterested; only pleasing himself didn’t turn out to be terribly gratifying, if no one else ever saw his cock or his biceps close up. Only him. Oh, well. And self-sucking was getting to be a strain on his back as he got older. But it was better than nothing. His wife certainly wasn’t going to do it. It felt good. It was quick, easy, and okay… and didn’t mean much. As with the rest of it all.
He was married to his high school sweetheart and had three beautiful little girls, yet had never once even thought about cheating on her. When he married his wife he didn’t love her, it was just expected of him to marry, since they had dated for so long. And with his thoughts of “women being women and men being men”: neither one stirred much of anything in him. He did love his three precious little girls though, and without them, there would be no light in his dull life. A friend of his talked about sex non-stop every time they met. He had told him about finding a glory hole where you could go and get your dick sucked by a “faggot.” Whoa!!
But this didn’t interest Stewart in the least. Just the thought of finding another man sexually attractive had not really with any regularity crossed his mind (except when he’d had his own lips around his own cock… but something about that just didn’t seem normal, so he surely dismissed it; he wasn’t a fag, just by being able to have personal oral masturbation, which was something quite different, than all that other stuff). So, in the main he was routinely happy… dead. The idea of allowing another man to touch him down there, or he them, in general: yugh! “No, I don’t think I’m interested in your glory hole, Howard,” Stewart had said with a grimace. And wondered why some people were so strange.
He had neither played around with the other boys when he went through puberty, although he knew that most of his friends participated in mutual jerk off sessions, it never interested him. Yes, Stewart was happy… happy, happy Stewart, or at least as happy as anyone in a mundane marriage could be. He had listened to all of his male friends on his bowling league bitch and complain about how their wives wouldn’t put out, wouldn’t give them head, wouldn’t blah, blah, blah, and the list went on. Mostly morbid, uninteresting jabber, to him.
Sex had never really played a major role in Stewart’s life. That isn’t to say he didn’t get horny occasionally. When he did his wife would spread her legs, lay there like a listless mannequin and tolerate it for the three to eight minutes that it would take for Stew to get his rocks off. Then they would both sigh, say g’night, roll over, facing in opposite directions and go to sleep. Though more often than not he slept alone on his rollaway couch in the basement, and jacked off as much as he pleased. Stewart thought that everyone’s sex life was just like his, colorless and boring. And he knew that his wife could just as easily live the rest of her frigid life without sex, and not be bothered. Everything was going along day-in/day-out, the same.
But that was about to change… the new tenant moved in. There was something about this man that puzzled him. He first noticed this weird fluttery sensation in the pit of his stomach when he showed him around the apartment. Why did he keep staring at his ass? Even though he was wearing a respectable suit, tie loosened, jacket crooked in his fingers, tossed over some truly wide shoulders. Yes, he unmistakably had what one could call a bubble butt; but he was a guy! When the new guy had agreed to take the apartment, Stewart got a faint hint of excitement, and he noticed that his heart rate had increased.
This is so strange he thought, what was this and where was it coming from?
When Clark Kent was moving in days later, Stewart had stepped outside to see if he needed any help with moving the boxes. Clark was bent over, and Stewart caught himself staring at that very muscular ass with the deep cleavage. God, I don’t think he’s wearing any underwear Stewart thought with a shudder. His mouth went dry and he found that he had a hard time speaking.
“Duh… uh… uh…” Stewart mumbled.
Staying bent over, but looking back Clark said, “Oh, hi Stew, did you say something?”
“Uggggggggh… yeah, ggguuhh… do… do you need any help with those boxes?” Stewart asked as sweat broke out on his upper lip. Holy shit, this guy was built all over the place, from his ankles to his ears. And everything he wore looked like wet paper stuck to his form. Or seemed like.
“Gosh, I sure do, Stewy; grab that box over there, man.”
When Clark called him “Stewy,” Stewart’s stomach did a flip.
“Shit… what is wrong with me… am I coming down with an intestinal flu?” Stew wondered with a frown.
Stewart had never felt anything remotely like this in his life, and couldn’t even imagine what it was.
“Listen, I’m sorry Clark, but the elevator went out last night. It trapped Charley who lives in 49A inside for over an hour. We had to call the paramedics since he was clutching his heart and saying something about it rupturing his cockles. He was kicking, scratching and clawing until the guys strapped him down on the cart. I’ve never seen anything like it.” he said with a chuckle. “So, we have to take the stairs, I’m really sorry about this Clark, but it should be fixed by this evening.”
“That’s no problem, Stew,” the tenant said as they started up the stairs. “I think these guys can handle it,” his thighs, looking a bit like trimmed tree trunks from the park, in his shorts. “Yours?” Clark asked… noting his helper’s, whose appeared in marathon shape, nonetheless.
“Mine, fine. Yeah, fine. Strong enough,” kind of grunting with his load of pots and pans in the box.
Stewart was staring from behind at Clark’s sculpted fine rear, as it stressed and strained the material of his thin almost transparent linen drawstring shorts, taking two stairs at a time. Oh my God, I can see his dark crack through the material of his shorts, Stewart mulled as his hands kind of trembled.
By the time they had reached the top floor, Stewart’s cock was so hard it was aching. He kept the box covering his crotch as they stepped inside.
“Here, I’ll take that,” Clark said with a grin. Handing him the box, Stewart quickly turned his back to Clark and informed him that a guy who went by P.R. was in the apartment right next to him. “I think you’ll like him, he’s a literary critic for the Daily Planet.” Looking over his shoulder, but not turning around he told Clark that he had to go, and quickly descended the stairway. He certainly didn’t want Clark to see the hard bulge, or the large he knew wettening spot on the front thigh of his jeans! (After all, he was a juicy one, just normally; didn’t take much to unleash rivers of his flow—if ever torqued well. Which was not all that often, except when alone….)
Oh, this is going to be fun teasing him, thought Clark. This just fed into the exhibitionistic streak that he had. He just loved toying with guys like Stewart, whom he knew for some reason seemed to just flip out over the sight of huge, huge muscles. Which he vainly possessed, and loved to luxuriate in. He also loved wearing the skin tight blue spandex and red briefs which accentuated his “other” major bulge. Yes, Clark, boy, this will be fun! Knowing he was so well built, and ever on display to both men and women, gave him an exalted sense of satisfaction, not only rubbing in the fact that he was exceedingly superior to most. And made him feel even more powerful than they could suspect. They couldn’t help it if they were earthlings. Nor he, that he was so spectacular!
(Sometimes, though, it made him cum in his own briefs, thinking about it; but he usually was able to curb those thoughts in public. But not if undressed, flexing in front of his own mirror—no, no hands needed. Just happened. Which was distressing in a way. Kind of wondering what was going on? After all, he did have Lois to dick with…. Just raised his eyes when it happened. Frowned. AND FELT SOOOO GOOD. Heck, he was alien. Guessed that’s why he was so different.)
Stewart, in the meantime, went in search for his wife. Oh, God I hope she coughs or sneezes while I’m fucking her, he thought. Forgetting that she and the kids were out at the market, and he’d have to do himself, once more: cock to mouth. This time it was truly… wonderful! WOW! Swallowed every drop he could get. Twice in a row, non-stop.
Chapter Two: Three Silky Thongs To Go, Please.
Stewart lay in bed with a smile plastered all over his face, later. Susan, his wife had gone to work at the library. His kids were in school and he lay there basking in his own brilliance. Yes, Stewart was very proud of himself and very satisfied. Last night was THE best sex that he’d ever had. Funny, it had started out as usual with Susan lying there like an Egyptian Mummy. “Egyptian Mummy,” he giggled. The thought of it as gross as it was comical.
All of a sudden he’d gotten a brilliant idea. “Susan, don’t move, but there is a HUGE HAIRY SPIDER right by your left ear, and it looks poisonous!”
With that said, Susan went all out crazy bat shit. Stewart rode her like a bucking wild stallion. The only thing that he could think of was that he wished he had on a pair of spurs. Surprisingly when he came, what he was picturing in his mind… was him riding Clark Kent’s wonderfully muscular back, and being deep into his superbly rounded ass. He came so hard he thought he’d ruptured one of his nuts. The only drawback was after, to cover, he spent an hour, naked on his hands and knees, looking for an imaginary spider underneath the bed with a flashlight. But, by God, it was so worth it.
He was wondering how many times he could use this pretense until she became suspicious, when his phone rang.
“Hello, Stewart speaking.”
“Hey, Stewy, this is Clark in 77B.” Stewart caught his breath, perplexed. Man, why did he get all tingly when Clark called him Stewy? And remembering last night—why did I think about his damn ass? I’m not queer. Nor is he.
“Stewart, are you there?”
“Yes, Clark, sorry. I yuuuhhhh, just uuuuhhhh… dropped the phone. Yeah, I almost dropped the phone. What’s up?”
“Well, Stew, I was getting ready to take a shower and the drain is plugged up. If I had a plunger, I could probably fix it myself, but I don’t.”
“Okay, Clark, let me throw on some clothes and I’ll be right up.”
“Could you hurry it up, Stew. I know it’s early, but I’m nearly already late for work.”
“Okay, be right there, Clark.”
Putting down the phone, Clark just smiled to himself, he had plugged up the drain on purpose using candle wax. It wasn’t that Clark/Superman was gay, far from it. He just liked to tease and exhibit his body. He would often think back to the looks on these guys’ faces as he would slowly flaunt his muscular body as he passed them, arms around her; them also knowing he was screwing Lois Lane. It just made the sex later so much sweeter. Though not always fun. Hell, since he was so big, he was never truly that satisfied… only halfway in her. (She couldn’t take it, and that was frustrating. So much he wanted to be free, feel his balls banging her raw ass instead of the bed. Knew flesh to flesh would be so much better than scrotum to cotton.)
He also had thought about why it was just men, and straight men at that, that he liked most to mess with, and it was something that he just couldn’t figure out. He personally didn’t care. He was Superman and he could do whatever he wanted to… well, that is in the disguise of Clark Kent, and get away with it. Kind of fun being such a monster dick about it, too. No one who ever dared turn the tables, either. Not even when he was backstage “reporting” on a “Mr. Famous Man” contest; them well able to see he was not exactly a “puny” newspaper gook under a baggy suit, with a truly more than sizeable hammer curving out from the front of him, putting most of their developed muscles, and all their soon-erected tiny posers to shame. Something about him that did that to men; always a mystery. But he shrugged it off with a smile, kept on scribbling his notes. And funny, how some of them started stammering if he got too close—realizing many of them were gay, anyway. Or self-induced, phony believing bi-sexuals.
Stewart not thinking, and in his haste, just slipped on his jeans, shirt and shoes quickly, and was on his way. Knocking on the door, Clark opened it up—AGH! all he had on was a silky white kimono that just scantly came down below his butt cheeks… barely covered the prodigious bulge of his bared holstering thong from his front. Stewart immediately turned red. Clark’s smooth chest was gaping, and generously displayed: dark silky areolae hugely wide as cucumber slices, sporting overly thrusted male “nubs.” Not shy at his overloaded genital exposure, either. The muscles moving as he closed the door. Stew could only stand there staring into Clark’s face, yet he wanted to look all over and down at that Olympian God’s shredded cut phenomenal body; but he couldn’t with Clark looking at him.
“Good, you got here so quick,” Clark said with a killer smile.
In fact, Stewart hadn’t even waited for the elevator, which had been fixed, but mindlessly ran up the stairs carrying his plunger and tool kit. So he was worse than breathless. Now, this!!
“Yeah, uggggg-aahhh,” and he held out the plunger, not being able to say another word. Smiling again Clark said, “Ok, Stewy, let’s see if we can’t get that mean old drain unclogged.”
With that Clark turned and started walking towards the bathroom. With the morning light coming in from the open windows, it made Clark’s robe completely transparent as he became bathed in sunlight. Stewart could only stand and stare at Clark’s towering, wide-tapered back, and those narrowed, but plump fantastic gluteals that were now being so erotically revealed to him. Clark had on such scant undergear which well-framed his muscular ass to perfection, he could almost have been naked. Only a thin white string up his divided cleft… and that was it.
Stewart stalled, paralyzed.
Turning in the bathroom doorway, for a prolonged instant, revealed the silhouette of Clark’s largely-long frontal curve, mounded over his huge, must be more than, avocado-sized balls, and said, “Stewy, aren’t you coming?”
“Oh, yeah. Okay, Clark,” and with that he hurried into the bathroom.
Pausing to get his bearings: “What I was thinking Clark, was it may just be a hair plug; so, I, uh, thought we could use this Draino.” With that, he poured the crystals into the bathtub drain which still had the water standing in it. “We’ll let that stand a few minutes, then I’ll try the plunger.”
“Okay, Stewy, you’re the boss.” Clark winked at him. (Or did he just imagine it?)
“While we’re waiting, I’m going to have to shave.” He turned his back to Stewart, slipped off his robe nonchalantly, and started to lather his face. As he did so, the dense flare of his abnormally spread back, and the plunging slope to the comparatively miniscule, but hard as a rock roundedness of his bared ass cheeks were on full display. Not to mention the almost “cantaloupe” thrust of his front pouch against the sink edge. Stewart made a gurgling sound in his throat.
His mind went star-crossed into another galaxy.
“Did you say something, Stewy?”
“No, no Clark. I was ju-just clearing my throat,” having to lean against the door jamb for his much- needed support.
After Clark was done shaving, he bent forwards to rinse his face, exposing more of his ass than was ever designed nor could be contained in the sheer thong he had on… his heavy, wondrous pecs shimmying loosely. And Stewart could see the hard rods of his nipples that were maybe two inches long, erect in the cold. Beyond normal men’s, for sure. Hitting something deep into his guts….
“Oh, my good God,” Stew said.
“What did you say, Stew?”
“Oh, ugggggh—just that I-I… well, that, that robe really hid a lot! And you, you-uhh… really have so much to show. Wish I had one; like yours. Goes kinda well with… with good physiques.”
“You look kind of good yourself. I noticed…. What 190, to my 240? Almost the same height.”
For some reason Stewart flushed all over. “192,” he said. “But, nowhere the same.”
“Oh, okay. Got some muscle though, I can see. Next time I’m in Macy’s, I’ll pick you up one. Would you like that Stewy, a robe like this one?”
“Uhh, I’m not sure, Clark. My, my wife might not like it. She doesn’t seem to appreciate… too much of me, things like that.”
“Shame. Fine as you are.” And gave him that “I know” grin, we’ll keep it a secret—but bet you are nicely hung, too. (Without asking.) “Well, Stewart, tell you what, you can wear it whenever she’s not here, how’s that? We’ll have a boy’s night, together… you and I, after you’ve worked out, all pumped up. And just wear our robes.”
“Gee… you—you’d… okay, Clark. Uuggggh, we’ll see.”
“I’ll even pick you up a thong or two, too. Ok? Small, medium, or large? Or extra-extra-extra large, like mine? To keep things… rightly wrapped.” Clark was grinning from ear to ear as he watched Stew turn a rushed, rose-red, blowing his mind.
“Really?!” Wide-eyed for sure. “Mu-maybe, uh… an extra large, ‘d be nice.”
“Thought so. I can usually tell when my men are in fine shape.”
“Your men?” almost a gasp.
“Just teasing, man. I’m straight. So, we could pop in a few movies, something cool. See where it goes? Some wine, snacks?”
“Uhh, uhh, okay. I guess,” still dumbfounded. “Tue-Tuesday nights are best.”
“It’s a “date,” then. Next Tuesday. Wanta see Monica Does Miami, or Lucy Sinks The Team On A Rowboat? Or Ben-Hur?”
“Nu-not really my style, much. Rat Race is pretty good—”
Turning, concerned, Clark looked into the drain and said, “Nope, it’s not working, Stew. And it’s getting late.”
Back to earth, “Yeah, you’re right, doesn’t look like it is, Clark. I may need to use the snake.”
“You know, Stew, I’m probably a bit stronger than you, let me give it a try.”
Taking the long thin cord from Stew’s hands, Clark bent over and after removing the guard, began to slide the snake into the drain. When he bent over, his undergear really tightened up, exposing the fine hair-lined cleft of his ass, yet from the front was overtly loosened, and the bare skin of his massive balls from underneath was no longer hidden. Good God, they must weigh a pound and a half apiece! Knowing a bag of sugar weighed four. Seeing this, Stewart became so weak that he had to sit down with a plop onto the commode lid.
Clark in the meantime had used his heat vision to melt the ball of wax. Standing up he announced to Stew that it was working. Seeing how flushed Stewart was, he asked him if he was alright. Stewart just said that it was hot in this tiny space, and he sometimes got dizzy.
“Here, let me help you.”
Clark stood in back of him, with his arms wrapped around his chest and his crotch pressed up against Stewart’s ass. Very much liking the feel of his hard, finely home-toned body with each move… and as he shift-walked him forwards, Stew could feel Clark’s impressive, down-curved cock pressed deeply along and almost into his crack. And fuck, the man was “big!”
“Oh, my God!” Stewart felt himself shudder. While proudly masculine himself, his knees however became even weaker, and Clark was ending up supporting practically his full weight. The feel of his tenant’s huge, muscle-enormous arms around him—well….
Clark’s right hand had slipped down frontally, purposely, to where it was pressing up against the swollen rise of Stew’s notable dick. “Oh God, no!” Stew quaked. And with that he came so hard, he couldn’t stand at all; and Clark held him, big hand pressed up against his firm, mounded-pulsing manhood a few lingering, breath-deep moments. No question surely feeling the surge and sudden warm damp. Having felt his friend shudder involuntarily—and actually somehow happy he’d made Stewy so happy. It stoked his superior ego, big-time.
(Inexplicably, feeling his own pendulous cock lurching suddenly. Kind of a shock, that….)
Although Clark knew what had happened, and beamed like a Cheshire Cat, a satisfied smirk on his face. Clark thought yeah, he’s “straight” alright! Still knowing that really any man can be had, if in an appropriate situation. After he came, Stew looked down stricken, trying to compose himself… a large wet streak of cum extending down his left leg.
“Clark, I gotta go,” and with that he was out the door, hoping that Clark hadn’t noticed that he had cum, or the evidence that was left. But how could he not have—hand having been all over him?
Hollering after him, Clark said, “Are you sure that you are alright there, little buddy?”
Just waving his hand and not turning around, Stewart hurried out of the hall and down the stairs, confused and embarrassed at what had just happened.
“My, my, look at this, he left his plunger and tool kit. I’ll make certain he gets it.” And with that, Clark turned back to the bathroom whistling, doing a jaunty, shimmery little dance step. “Yep, this is turning out better than I thought. How I can affect so many of them!! But, this guy’s not bad, got a really nice build. Felt kinda good—. Impressive man-pack in my hand, too…. Bet I can get him to blow not even touching him, Tuesday.”
Chapter 3: Gillette Razors Give The Closest Shaves.
If you said that Stewart was confused, it wouldn’t even begin to describe how he felt. There was something about Clark that excited him, excited him even more than his frigid wife ever had, even in the beginning of their relationship. He had never gotten aroused just looking at her. Maybe it was because of her lackluster attitude towards sex? Her rather no-breasted chest? No, that couldn’t be it! Even an Audrey Hepburn type he thought was rather alluring. Yet no other woman or man for that matter had affected him like this. Well, there had been a bit of a crush he had on that undeniably good-looking Steve Reeves; those old movies, triggering his interest in bodybuilding. But that was just boyish admiration from afar. Only this dude was too close and up front in his face. Unsettling, to say the least.
No… there was something else and he was gonna find out why. He didn’t care for this helpless feeling he had. He had always been able to control his emotions. Having an orgasm while being held by another man?! Preposterous! Well, no, it wasn’t—it had happened!! Oh shit, how was he ever going to be able to face that muscle-horse again? So fucking built… and hung!! Though he was no small potatoes, himself; something he’d just accepted and lived with… after all his wife didn’t seem to care or notice, just rather “tolerated.” And took “most” of what he had to offer rather willingly, if not enthusiastically. (Though this whopping-muscled Clark sure did place him a bit on the smaller side. Damn—pecs wider and thicker than garbage can lids!!) And he was sure Clark knew what was going on, just as sure as he knew that the guy was sexually teasing and humiliating him. Making a “game” out of him.
Well, bigger he may be, but he was not going to be bullied!!
No, he just wasn’t going to stand for it. He would do what he always did in impossible situations: ignore, avoid, and act like it never happened. That was Thursday, the incident. He didn’t have to see Clark again for a whole month. His wife could collect the rent. He would only talk to him on the phone, and then only if he had to. Yep, matter settled; he pushed it to the back of his mind. Not even a thought of the next Tuesday thing: he’d have… a stomach ache.
It was finally a Saturday and his wife was working at the library. She worked every other weekend, thank God. He was suddenly sharply starting to feel trapped in a loveless marriage. And angrily found he’d never felt such passion before as he had… with Clark, another man! But he’d already cancelled out last Tuesday. Even when Clark said he had the robe waiting for him, and three silky thongs: one black, one blue, one wine-colored… bet he’d look terrific in them, too! Right, Stewy? Certain he was being led on, only to be humiliated again. No way!!
“Sa-sorry, Clark. Can’t. Can’t even hold water, goes right through me. ‘Nother time, maybe,” and hung up fast. But the idea wouldn’t leave; the pair of them in packed thongs, under those clinging soft kimonos, all that ripped muscle underneath them, ready to be shown. Clark had even hinted, said “Maybe we could flex, pose a little. Show each other what we’ve got…? Be nice, between breaks in the movie. Could maybe give you some pointers—?”
Even on the next Tuesday, he’d said one of his daughters had a fever. Didn’t want to pass anything around. Had to stay home. But inside this Saturday, wife gone, last thing he wanted to get his mind around was that weirdo, Clark. And thought he’d also ignore one neighbor’s concern of having somehow heard a rushing, strong wind-sound coming from his balcony at two in the morning, but couldn’t see a thing? And he wasn’t going to call Clark to check on it, no sir!
God, I can’t think of this any more: those overly huge, beautiful globes hanging so loose and full out of his thong that morning—what’s wrong with me!! Wanted them in my mouth so bad. WHAT??!!—STOP!!!!! His children were at his sister-in-law’s for the weekend. Thank God, he’d gotten out of that one. Sixteen kids screaming at a birthday party just wasn’t on his agenda. He was going to sit down in front of his computer, and watch some big breasted babe getting fucked (with a dick as big as his own niner)—OH, YEAH! ‘Bout time he grounded himself.
Just as he found the site, was getting ready to slide his boxers down his legs, there was a knock on his door.
“What the fuck,” he groaned. Pulling up his briefs and slipping on a pair of cover-up shorts, he went to the door.
Opening it: guess who was there? Bulging pecs and thick nipples, popping out over a tiny waist, with silly gigantic shoulders and arms blasting aloud through a tight tee… the bold Mr. Tease-Man, himself.
“Oh, hi Stew, glad I caught you,” Supes said with a stunning smile. “Listen, I’m hanging curtains on those floor-to-ceiling windows, and I need you to steady the ladder. I’m really clumsy, and believe it or not, a little afraid of heights. I don’t want to lose my balance, fall through the window and go splat, you know? A few stories down.”
With that, Clark gave Stewart the most charming smile Stew had ever seen. And couldn’t help himself—beyond lust-aching—to also want his mouth to fasten onto and chew over the guy’s grape-thrusting nipples… notable indeed. And practically bursting off those mountainous pecs! Oh, wow!!
“Oh… okay, Clarkie, just let me slip on a shirt.” His own nipples unconsciously hardening nearly three-quarters of an inch out himself, at the sight of him.
“No need, Stew. Got a fine set of knockers yourself, too; stay proud. Nice ones!! It’s so hot in my apartment, the air conditioner isn’t working. I thought you could check that also while you’re there.”
(The MOS wondering why he did find this lesser man’s pecs something he, too, wanted to gape at. Touch? They were superbly shaped. Really. Albeit a miniature match to his own, but… attractive—what the hell?! And covered with such sweet blond hair.)
Grabbing Stew’s arm, he pulled him out into the hallway, just allowing him enough time to close his door. A firm grip, that caused Stewart to wonder. His face almost into that giant chest. Proceeding rather quietly up the elevator, just some rather shy, tightly self-conscious grins. Hard swallows between them. If he wasn’t losing his mind, he for once thought the guy was shyly side-ogling his chest. How could he be thinking his were of any interest? Must be part of “his game,” Stew thought.
Floored, when Clark out of the blue said, “I like blond hair. On your chest, looks good.” And nothing more for minutes after. (… Must be trying to set me up, Stewart mused.)
The ceilings in the top floor apartments were high cathedral type. There was a step ladder, curtains and the rods all laid out. And of course, a nicely shallow alcoved balcony. Not much of a danger falling through the windows, if not near the outer balcony’s edges.
“Just, I don’t want the neighbors across the way able to look in and see me walking around nude,” Clark said with a grin. “I normally don’t wear clothes, once I get home from work. You—ever go around naked, Stew? Impressionable body you have….”
“Not around my wife and three girls,” he said. “Can’t. But have when I’m alone, sometimes. Nice kinda, to let your boys hang out, feels good.” Damn—why’d I tell him that? he thought; and started to blush, which extended up from his neck to the roots of his hair. A tight smile.
“Hey, it’s just us guys, make yourself comfortable.” And with that Clark dropped his shorts, revealing an overly packed, dark orange thong, which barely fit like a tight skin. In fact, his oversized genitals could not be fully contained, and were glorious in their pressuring largeness to be free of all constraint, great swatches of his skin showing. And he knew their effect…. God, thought Stew, you couldn’t even class those things as underwear—just a nearly stretched to breaking pouch, a string up behind and between his smooth, shapely muscled glutes, and a bulge of heaven a porn star could have cried for, breaking the front. Jeezy Peety!!
Then he began to struggle out of his tee. “Help me, Stewy. Please. It’s so tight.”
Like a little boy caught in a trap. Stewart had to step close to him, nearly skin to skin, as those great arms went up, over his head, tugging the fabric over his goliath chest and shoulders; and oh, fuck, those gorgeous big nipples nearly now in his face… as he helped him wrench free. But he had steeled himself for such a flagrant display, figured it was coming. And those abdominals!! Stew had a nice set himself, as his host had also noticed. But Clark’s were like cobblestone wonders from an ancient medieval city. Breathtaking. He wanted his hands and mouth all over them!! NO WAY!!!! Had to back away.
“Sure don’t make them like they should, for us big guys, right?” Clark grinned. “Thanks.” Tossing the shirt aside, kicking the discarded shorts with it.
And for his audience, flexed his massive pec mounds once or twice, just to be nice. Show Stewart how much he appreciated him setting him free. To enticingly preen as planned…. His victim right there. Though his thong was already about half full at his unplanned-for arousal, which both annoyed, and somehow thrilled him. MOS that he was. Stewart still less than arms’ length close.
“God, I hate to shave, don’t you, Stewy? I have to shave at least twice a day; depends if I have an evening engagement. Tough face. And I also shave my chest, sometimes… love the satiny feel; here, feel how smooth.”
With that he grabbed Stew’s hand and rubbed it onto and against his impossible, smoothly hard chest. A heated, silky wonderment. His eyes geared into Stewart’s reaction: the definitely appreciative hand, lightly testing over the warm striations. Even wave-flexed a time or two, seeing the man’s breath get a little crazy…. Who swallowed fiercely and forcefully had to pull himself away.
Oh, how he wanted to grab onto those incredible, olive-lush nipples and squeeze. Put them in his mouth! Chew them till this muscle-head screamed, udderly desperate! Turn the tables. Milk-suck this giant dry… frantic and helpless. Himself totally in control.
Tongue-tied. “Maybe you should use those new, four-bladed Gillette’s, Clark. I, I hear they give you the closest shaves.”
“Why? Did I feel stubby?”
“No, no. Smooth… as silk. Yeah, real smooth.”
“I prefer the creams. Quicker. Use with the blades, too. Washes off good in the shower…. Glad you liked them. The pecs, I mean.”
“Uuhh, yeah. Yeah. Super. Not many… near as fine. Manly.”
“Manly, yeah. Haven’t won any trophies, though. Think I should try?”
“Why not, Clark. You do have a set. Arms, shoulders. Everything.”
“Pretty fine, yourself. Even if not near my weight. Nice; really nice. Like your leanness.
“Th, thanks…” turning red.
“Maybe we should be lovers—?”
The ultimate tease.
He saw Stew’s mouth drop open. And close quickly. Hands clenched.
“Work-time.” Clark laughed, shrugged. Walking over to the ladder, told Stew to hold it for him as he climbed, a long rod in hand. Stop riling the guy, he considered. But, what the heck?
“C’mon Stewy, don’t be bashful. Climb up a couple of steps behind, and hold me around the waist. I promise not to faint. Might be too heavy to catch, though.”
Stew reluctantly went up a few steps and lightly put his hands on Clark’s waist. Fucking hell, the guy was in all reality practically naked in his arms. Really stretching his tease-quotient to the max!!
“Tighter Stew, I’m not going to break.”
Stew clamped down and around firmer on Clark, still shy. My God, my face mere inches from his silky ass Stew thought. Lord Jesus, look at those mounds, so tight and hard.
Stewart was soon forgetting his reluctance as he stared at Clark’s small melon-paired rump. Moving his leg up one step, Stew could look between Clark’s legs and see again his large pendulous balls being loosely held in the scant undersling. Fuck, look at the size of those babymakers, Stew thought. Clark pretended to wobble on the ladder.
“Stew, could you hold me more by the hips please, don’t be shy, I almost fell.”
Stewart, in an otherworldly daze, lowered his hands onto Clark’s hard ass. Oh, sweet Mother Mary, he thought. So fucking beautiful a man…. If dreams ever came true.
Unconsciously, he hands began to slip, softly caress, knead over and onto Clark’s ass.
Oh, really—that, that doesn’t feel half bad, thought Clark. Slightly taken aback. Well, he’d teased the poor fucker enough, hadn’t he? What’d he expect… pushed him a little to his limits? Though he more expected to have had him unload in his levis actually minutes before, with the thong- only presentation, the whole close to his pecs shirt business. Maybe the guy’d gotten tougher since the plugged bathroom drain issue? Let him have a little fun, too….
Stewart, forgetting where and even who he was, was getting more caught up in the moment and began rubbing the beautiful ass more firmly. Taking his left leg Clark brought it up to the same step his right foot was on. Oh, my god… he was!! Stewart was sliding his hand into his cleft, spreading him! Good grief! NOW—oh, Gods of Krypton!!!—probing a finger into him!! WHAA—?!! Supes was now seeing swirls of stars from another nebula. Something other-worldly clicked in his brain… he truly, uncharacteristically, found himself begin to unconsciously slightly rock his pelvis back and into the massage. Squatting down more, Clark then brought his ass down almost rubbing it in Stewart’s face. Stewart could hear Clark let out involuntary moans. This only encouraged him to start kneading the hard muscular ass, and give him light slaps on his round buttocks.
God, that’s good, a surprised Clark thought. Who would’ve thought I’d like to have my ass spanked. Touched, fingered. Licked…?
The slaps got harder and both men were getting more into it. Clark began to pant and even groan. Pushing on Clark’s rump, indicating to him to stand up straight, Stewart grabbed the waist band of the miniscule cock-sling and pulled them down to Clark’s knees. Pulling him back down into a squatting position, Stewart began rubbing his face all over Clark’s ass. Spreading Clark’s ass cheeks wider apart, and there lay the prize, a tight dark pink rose-knot that clenched and unclenched. Silently telling him, “I’m yours. Take me.”
“My God, would you look at that,” Stewart breathed aloud.
Clark only grunted and acquiescently bent over more.
Curling his tongue into a sharper point, he began to slowly lick up and down the coarse, lightly haired trench. And when at last Stewart concentrated his attention on the rosebud, Clark clenched his face, gripping the ladder more fiercely and growled. He growled deep from the bottom of his sexual being.
“God, Stewart, what the fuck are you doing to me—ya, yu, you’re killing me slowly, man. Ohhhh, ohhhhh! Stew-Steeewy…” which became not so much a protest, as a near submissive wail.
Clark had never felt anything as intense as this in his life. In his wildest sexual fantasies, he never would have dreamed that he could feel this way.
“Oh, God, Stew, stick your tongue in deeper. Please. Oh, baby, deeper, deeper!” His powerful Superman persona all shot to hell. Defenseless. Overcome. And knowing it.
Stew had dropped his shorts and his cock was standing up hard and rigid drizzling precum. A beautiful tool of conquest. Nine by six and half inches. Bold and sure. He heard the curtain rod clatter metallically onto the floor. Knowing the pliable, (subdued) built man above him was his.
“C’mon, Clark… a couple of steps down, so I can get at your ass better.”
“Oh, yeah, Stewy—love, love you eating my ass, man. Yes, Stewy, baby, take—shove that hot tongue up my ass deeper, man! Deep, deeper!! Fingers, too.”
Stewart used one hand to hold the base of his cock, capturing his balls, and the other hand to test for Clark’s reaction by reaching around and finding Clark’s fully huge man-stretcher, more than erect, at least an inch and half thicker and three inches longer than his own! and rivering like a fool!! A confirmation that Clark was lost and captive—all his magnificent muscle down, and enjoying the process as much as he was. He lightly then worked at him. Hearing his sounds of pure acceptance.
But Stewart had other plans, if Clark wanted deeper, Stewart was going to give it to him “deeper!” Adding to his own, and taking from the mad-flowing juice of Clark’s superior phallus, he cupped a handful of it into his man’s cleft, onto the glans of his own hard cock, then pressed the mushroomed tyrant against Clark’s pucker. Before Clark knew what hit him, Stew had his cock prying at the portal of his welcoming, yet virgin-resistant ass. His glans shockingly somehow sliding in, as if a door had swung open somehow… wanting him so much—and then in a turgid rush, buried himself truly, suddenly, halfway up and into his manly ass! There was a moment of incredible surprise, a stunned aloud cry, his mouth quavering, and pain and shock all over Clark’s face. His whole great body jolted nearly upright. As he wailed, and started stammering: almost begging—a pleading little boy:
“STEWART!!” Clark gasped in panic. In shock. “For God’s sa-ay-aake… ugggh… get… your… ugggh… fucking… uggggh… ca-cock… outa… my, my uggg-ahhhh—!!”
But no, the prize was his. This fucking overbuilt muscle-tease was going to get his just due! Big time!! As if possessed–though Stewart never in his wildest dreams would have dared thinking of such—his domination of this howling, tremoring, whimpering, proud-ass was now ratcheted up into a full and determined cock-powering machismo: ALL HIS!! He was going to FUCK the bastard, and teach him a well-deserved, HARD lesson on one-upman-teaseship! All the way to his belly button!!
Stew began sliding his rock-stiff cock in deeper and pulling it back out, then slamming it in again.
“Ohhh-OOO-AAhhh…MMMPH!!!!” gasped Clark. “UU-AHHHH!!!” In near mortal fear. Having never been so violated or controlled by any human on earth. Pierced to his very core. Or otherwise.
Stew’s cock then, had just hit his prostate, causing a blinding nut-crunching electrical shock to course throughout Clark’s entire sinewy body. Oh, dear God! He had been had!! And IT WAS GLORIOUS!!!!
“OH, SWEET BABY!! DON’T—DON’T YOU FUCKING STOP!!” Owned and destroyed. In a matter of moments. The great Man of Steel melting into a jithering fool. All that wonderful blond hairy torso of his master, ingrained into/onto his very back. Oh, Powers of Krypton—the feel of him!!
Stew too, had his face scrunched up so tight, he was unrecognizable. A veritable demon. For good measure, reaching around to his victim’s front—found and possessed, pulled and jerked at the MOS’s fully loaded nipples. Causing them to cum and shoot in little spurts of overwhelming ecstasy.
Clark’s mouth was open, eyes desperate and wide, stunned and shocked, and he looked like a fish flopping around out of the water. All his great muscles useless as soft spaghetti. Moaning. Gurgling strangely. Beginning to go into triple eruptions, from his cock and his teats. Stewart having taken total, complete control over him.
Stewart yelled, “This one”… slamming his cock in hard… “is for”… pulling out and slamming in again… “teasing me”… slamming in… “so much”… pulling all the way out… “you fucking pervert”… slammed in… “cock-tease!! I’m… fucking… your muscle… tight ass, you… weird son of a bitch! Giving you the… cock… your queer hungry hole… has begged for! Over and over and over!!”
Clark, however, in his conquest, as if fallen into an unknown alien automatic stupor, had started to hopelessly cum… and as he did so, his muscular ass and its manhole began working on Stewart’s cock like a natural milking machine. Craving him more and more, deeper and deeper. In a stratospheric nirvana. His essences and strength pouring out of him. His howls almost catastrophic.
Stewart felt as if Clark’s gluteals were going to suction his nuts out through his cock shaft, as if suddenly trapped, himself, unable to escape his rising climax! “God, I’m dying! Oh God, I’m dying!” he jabbered, while he slammed his dick all the way into Clark’s ass to his root, and came like he’d never come before. As Clark continued his own monumental eruptions, spraying the window with an amazing amount of his seed, spasm after spasm after spasm. Nectar from his breasts all over his front.
After a few minutes, collapsed one on top of the other, supported by the step ladder, they both started coming around. Stew was lying on Clark’s sweaty back with his cock still firmly planted in his man’s ripe and home-found ass.
“Uh-ummmmmm, yes, Clark.”
“UUUMMmmmmmm, yes, baby… don’t wake me till 7.” Totally in another world.
“Stewart!” And with this, Clark straightened, stood up, and Stewart slid to the floor as his still hard cock plopped out of Clark’s rear.
The expended manager now had the biggest grin on his face he’d ever had. Lying there in a state of true requited bliss. Cock still proud and unwaning.
Not quite believing what he was saying, Clark finally got out, “Stewart, you just fucked me in the ass.”
“UMMMMMMM, yeah, I know.”
Then, his eyes opened wide of a sudden, when he realized what he had just done to Clark.
“Stewart,” Clark said again, “I can’t believe you just fucked me in the ass. I have your cum dribbling down my legs. And, and mine… all over the window glass. My, my tits, too—.” Trying to absorb it all. Looking like a lost traveler without a passport. Hands in amazement rubbing across his copiously wet torso. Blank as a post.
Standing up, Stewart, naked, his dick now starting to droop soft and re-sheathing, just looked at him and smiled. “I know. I did, didn’t I!?!”
Like a truth or dare contestant. Smug, yet wondering. It really happened!
Chapter 4: What The Fuck?
“Oh, my God, Stewart, my God, I can’t believe it!” Clark was like losing his mind, huge built mass that he was: disoriented beyond comprehension. (After all, he, “the great Superman,” had been ass-fucked by a mere Earthling half his size! No Kryptonite. No power against him used.)
As he was talking, mumbling, was walking around the apartment, still naked with cum running down both legs. “I, I just can’t believe it—what, what just happened. I only meant to, to tease you… nothing more, Stew, honestly. I never, didn’t think that THAT—could ever happen.”
Clark began holding his head as he was weaving around in circles. Like a staggered bull, hit in the head with a hammer. In essence he was. His big genitals flopping loose in front of him. Incomprehensible, he’d been fucked like a willing, wailing little girl. His invincibility, his machismo all shot to hell.
For some reason Stewart was calm, he was calm and happier than he had ever been. But he knew that he had to calm Clark down, seeing how unreasonably he was starting to panic.
Clark kept walking, and talking to himself.
“CLARK, look at me!!”
With this, Clark stopped.
“Clark, no one was hurt, were they?”
Clark shook his head no, but his eyes… dang, this monster muscle man in front of him… his eyes remained big and shiny like he was going to cry. Astonishing. Such a big, powerful adult male who looked like he could tear a hole through any wall—on the verge of tears??!!
“Who will ever know what happened, big guy?? Will you ever tell anyone?”
Again, a shake of his head, no.
“Listen to me Clark, I have more to lose than you.”
Clark gave him a questioning look.
“Yes, I do. I’m married with kids. What if my wife found out what I did to you?!”
Clark just stared at him.
“I fucked you, Clark.”
With these words Clark winced, and once again shuddered, began holding his head.
“No, Clark—look at me. I got you all excited and sexually aroused, then I took advantage of you.”
Clark looked at him, and gulped.
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Clark I did, and you want to know something?”
Clark just stared.
“I’m not sorry.”
There was a brief shift to his chin, a flash of ire in Clark’s eyes.
“You want to know why, Clark?”
He shook his head yes, tightening his lips like a rattled boy scout.
“Because with you, man… it, it was the best sex that I’ve ever had in my life! I could die tomorrow Clark, knowing that me, Stewart Martin, has had the best sex in his life. You want to know something else, Clark?”
Clark nodded, with widening eyes.
“I bet that there are only a few people in this entire world, who’s experienced what we did. And BOTH of us, shooting at the same time! Clark, don’t question it, or mess it up with too many thoughts. To me, it-it was beautiful; and you, you are beautiful. And right now, I could crow like a rooster, I’m so happy. You’ve made me happy, a truly happy man, Clark.”
Clark wet his lips and swallowed. Seemed to straighten a bit, shoulders on the rise. Then smiled, rather chagrined and sheepishly. He was slowly starting to calm down, and he didn’t feel that bad anymore. Surely this would never happen again. No one on earth ever needed to know. He felt he could trust Stewart’s sincerity. It would never happen again, and he could just chalk it up to having another of life’s experiences. (He’d certainly had some odd ones!!) Something that many people maybe actually did at one time; but never again. It was cool, he guessed.
“Look at you, man,” Stewart laughed. “You’re a freaking mess. Ahem… not to mention those windows!”
Looking down, then up, face a little red, Clark began to laugh also. Rolled his eyes, gave a playful frown.
“C’mon Clark, let’s get you showered and cleaned up. Say, would you like a beer?”
Clark again quietly nodded in the affirmative. Appeared more settled than before.
“Okay, Clark, let’s get cleaned up. Then, I’m going to take you down to Flirty Freddy’s of Fifth Ave., and buy you the best beer of the house. OK?”
Clark smiled real big as they walked to the bathroom. After adjusting the water temp, Stewart urged Clark to get in. Stepping in, in back of him, Clark then looked at him with a touch of alarm in his eyes.
“It’s okay, you big brute, I can’t hurt you. Can’t do anything to you, you can’t handle. Just look at all those damn muscles, you could throw me through the wall if you wanted to. I’m the real pussy, here.”
Again, Clark smiled.
“Here Clark, let me wash your hair. When I was a kid and got hurt, my mom would wash and clean me up, then make me my favourite dinner, Mac & Cheese. Would you like for me to make you Mac & Cheese, would that fix your “boo-boo?””
This brought on another smile. Slowly Stew washed Clark’s hair, and he could tell that the big guy was almost purring. With that, he began washing his back working up a good lather.
“Hold up your arms, Clark.” Clark held up his arms like a little kid. (Good God, the feel of those giant arms was about to drive him crazy.) Reaching around him, with his front pressed up against Clark’s back, he slowly washed his chest then on down to his abs and pubic hair. If Clark felt Stewart’s swiftly hardening cock against his curved cheeks, he didn’t say anything. Making sure he gave Clark’s large nipples a thorough, oh-so-fine a caressing over…. And he could tell the effect, as Clark’s much larger cock began to respond. But he wouldn’t acknowledge it.
He was going to let Clark decide what to do about it. It was no longer the same game, but they were definitely in the same ballpark; and close up together.
Stepping back, Stewart began washing Clark’s glutes and the inside of his thighs. He knew his hands were onto dangerous territory.
“Yeah, Clark, you needed this, get you all cleaned up.” As he said this, he gently began washing Clark’s crack. Finding his hole, he gently inserted the tip end of his middle finger. Immediately, though not unexpectedly, Clark tensed up. “Stewy—!!”
“Relax Clark, I’m just trying to make sure all that cum I shot gets cleaned out of your hole.”
With that said he slowly began sliding his soapy finger into Clark’s hole. And then, in and out. And in and out. He heard the soft moans. Knowing exactly what the fuck he was doing. Having gotten this far, he knew he was in on the win.
“Yes-siree, we gotta make sure you are nice and clean back here. How does that feel, Clark, am I hurting you?”
Clark shook his head. A quaverable stuttering, “No. Nu-na, no.” Seeing his big lats expand, his taking in of greater, deeper breaths.
“No, Clark. I’d, I would never hurt you, man. I really like you, and want to take care of you. You believe me, don’t you, Clark?”
By the time he’d said this, he was working two then three fingers up and into Clark’s ass. Clark had already been stretched out so it was easy going. Clark was once more like silken putty in his hands, literally purring like a cat. Deep guttural sounds rising from within him. Talking softly, their heights nearly the same, his chin resting on Clark’s right shoulder… he slowly eased his primed cock up and into Clark’s ass. Clark was groaning softly as Stewart nuzzled his ear and blew gently into it. Clark was sighing, as if in a stupor. “Yes, yes, yes,” in whispers almost unable to be discerned. With small, jerking whimpers actually as if reaching back, pulling him into him. Stew slowly, very easily started working his manly weapon in and out of Clark’s ass. Clark was standing there, his stance widening to accept him, bent slightly forwards, like he was in a trance. Stewart’s hands going up and around his front, making sure he sporadically squeezed on Clark’s more than long, hard-thrust nipples. Hearing him coo, and groan, and felt his ass as if begging to swallow more of him.
“Yeah, from now on Clark, you have nothing to worry about. Stewy is going to take really good care of you. We are going to become best buddies, you and I. Yes, really good buddies.”
Reaching forwards, he grabbed onto Clark’s overly erect, couldn’t get his hand around it longly-thick phallus with one hand, as he gently fondled his loaded tangerine-sized balls with the other. My God, Stew thought, his dick must be nearly a foot long, as well. And I thought mine was prime meat! Clark was slowly rocking his pelvis, fucking his ass back onto Stew’s cock as he push-thrust his magnificent cock along and through Stew’s servicing hands. God I can’t rush this, this is just too good, too fucking, unbelievably good.
“Let me rinse, and dry you off, then I’ll lay you down on the bed, and give you an incredible massage. Whad’ya think, buddy?”
“You mean… we, we got to stop… a minute. Must we? OOhhhh… Stew, please. Please?”
“Yeah. Can’t get the sheets wet, now. More room on the bed—.”
“Right. Right… oh, yeah, sounds so good, Stewy. On, on the bed.”
After rinsing and drying Clark off, he led him to the bed and lay him down. Clark was like in a very other, starry-hazed sexual stupor. When Stewart began to kiss, then suck those wide, huge nipples on his great pecs… Clark about went la-la crazy, was even more than submissive. Moaning, “Yours, yours, yours. Forever. Whatever you want. Please, please… suck my cock. Take me, take me, man. I, I know I’m big. Try…”
“Here, good buddy, put your legs on my shoulders so I can get between them and massage your torso better. And maybe hit more on those whopper tits?” Placing his legs on his shoulders, with the lube Stew found in the bedside stand, he placed his dick once again at Clark’s pucker, and pushed in only partially, as he knead-caressed the muscles on Clark’s chest, pulled at his lengthening big swelling nipples, while the conquered man beneath him started going a little more than wild, thrashing and frantic. Bending Clark almost in half, Stewart started to nuzzle and kiss him from his big tits all the way up onto his neck. And slowly cored his fine nine, by six and a half incher, balls deep into his friend’s submissive ass, kissing Clark’s ears almost tenderly.
“Unh, unh, unhhh, unnnhhhh!” was all he heard. Silencing him with his lips. From there they began French kissing. At first, Clark only slightly opened his mouth as if afraid, never having known the firmness of another man’s lips engaging him… but they were soon strong-swording with their tongues, trading spit and saliva. Even sometimes breaths. God, I love this fucking guy—and “fucking him,” thought Stew. And he’s as hungry for it as I am to give. What a prince!!
“Oh Clark, I love your ass, man. You are the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
Looking into Stewart’s eyes Clark said, “My God, Stew, this… this may be wrong for two men to be doing this. But, I gotta tell you man, your dick feels soooo, soooo good inside me—so, soooo good! Never… have known such—oh, God, Stewy, how you move!!”
Clark then slowly started to gyrate his alien superior hips as Stewart fucked him, lovingly. Knowing this was more than just sex. And when Stewart’s mouth, also capped over and drank from his ever-rivering glans, the MOS knew he had met a man among men, and would be steadfastly his whenever possible. Something he suddenly determined. If a man could ever love another man….
While Stew thought, man, I don’t have to use no “spider gag” on this guy. He’s wild to have me … appreciates every quarter inch of me. Like no one ever has.
“Oh, baby, I love your sweet, tight hole,” moaned Stew, “I just can’t get enough of it. Maybe next time, we can trade positions and you can fuck me? Would you like that, love?”
The idea of his muscle stud’s whopping horse cock, surely eleven-plus, moving inside him, as well, was really getting him wound up. Considering, of course, the “idea” of it might be a bit more than the possible reality. It would surely take time, effort and practice. But in the meantime, with that mountain of Clark’s so glorious muscle all his… and in his fingers, his arms, under his mouth, he knew he might cum six times a day thinking about him, when they were apart. Hoped Clark would think of him as dearly, too. Would he?
“Oh yeah, Stew, I want, I will, man. But for right now, just shut up and kiss me—let’s suck and milk each other… fuck me with that hot rod of yours. Take my man-tits, chew them raw. Never in my life did I believe anything could be so good. And the way you are with them. With me. Inme….”
Later, when it was dark, Clark hung the drapes himself; didn’t use a step ladder, either.
* * *
And that, dear readers, is just what he did, he fucked Clark long and hard. That was over a year ago. Stew’s wife had been having an affair behind his back with an undertaker. She admitted this to him as a matter of fact that very weekend. The undertaker, Barney, loves it when she just lays there. Barney has three nuts, yeah gross, huh? Odd, but dull. (If he ever blew them, it was not even a quarter teaspoon full, whereas Stewy, now, after ingesting so much of Clark’s, was beginning to pop nearly half a cup every time. Which, naturally, he and Clark drank from each other like maniacs.) The three girls nonetheless love their second daddy. Lackluster as he is…. And he and Clark get the girls every third weekend. Though often Clark has to surreptitiously be out of town. Long haul missions, etc.
Clark finally told Stew that he was Superman, which totally blew him away. Then Superman did “that” to him, literally. Stew loves it when Superman’s on his knees sucking him off wearing his costume. Stewart also loves to occasionally fuck and be fucked as they are flying over rural Metropolis. Another favorite position is when Superman is flying upside down, they suck each other in a snug 69. Even though his is smaller than Supe’s, he still knows he can get the big muscle guy to nearly gag on his thickness… rather takes his breath away. (With Supe’s not that easy to handle, either!) Not to mention those roller coaster highs and spins while doing so. So much so the addled MOS loses all track of what they’re doing. The last time they almost ran into a 747, so since then they make sure they are out over a desert away from any air traffic. Two guys in suck heaven I can understand, even if one is built like Mr. California, and the other really fine, but not near as big. Oh, well, I’ve always heard the bigger they are, the more they like to be “fucked.” And if they trade off now and then, it’s really a mutually desirable deal. Even if the smaller one can always make the bigger one whimper like a baby…. Who would have thought? A now grown bigger twelve-incher by eight, topped by his mate’s only newly solid ten by seven, and totally helpless under him—the way he uses it. Making him purr like a huge muscled cat. Wow! The things one hears in the alleys.
A story Lois never got hold of. Only once Clark told her he just couldn’t handle the strain of being an alien, linked with an earth-woman any longer, always wondering if he might create some kind of genetic mutant offspring; and it was better if he found a companionable male-pal, instead of a German Shepherd (not puny Jimmy Olsen), so she took it with a grain of salt, never all that thrilled with massive muscle anyway, and married a flat-chested Congressman.
Though carefully, Supes tries hard to only fly at night with Stewy, and not when it’s raining. And also not over populated areas, so they don’t drip on anybody. It’s only courteous and wise to be considerate, no matter what one does. – Don’t you think?
And since I’m the only friend Stewart ever told this to, let’s keep it quiet. Really quiet, okay…? Wouldn’t want to damage anyone’s reputation. Just wouldn’t be cool. Not cool at all.