CHERRY

he keeps his hand in your hair though, forcing you upright despite knowing that your legs are close to giving out beneath you "c'mon pet...don't hit the concrete, 'm not gonna stop if you fall." he doesn't have the decency to slow down either, if you looked down you were sure you'd see the tip of his dick poking through your stomach. "that's it, stay up straight.. good girl, not as dumb as you look, huh?"

Thinking about how Clark Kent has a high sex drive he’s so embarrassed about. It’s abnormal before you consider the fact that Clark isn’t actually human, he merely appears as one. His genetic makeup is entirely different from yours, though his behaviors are human enough, he’s exceptionally needier than the average person. It doesn’t matter if he’s spent the morning rutting into you, body flat against the mattress while his hips hunch to drive his cock into the warm velvety walls of your flitting pussy from behind, heavy weight holding you down as your wriggle and writhed through each orgasm, he’s insatiable. It’s almost instinctual, the way he paws at you, large frame crowding yours, his fingers not to subtly slipping beneath the loose hem of your untucked blouse. His hold doesn’t relent even when you lightly chastise him, still settled beside your desk at the daily planet, surrounded by your collective colleagues. It’s hard to mask the large figure shadowing over you beside a vacant supply closet, slipping with little discreetness beyond the narrow door. The pitchy shriek that breaks past your lips is muffled by the slip of Clark’s tongue into your open mouth, swallowing the sound as his hands hoist you up with his hands under your grappling arms against the rattling door, feet completely dangling above the ground. The firm weight of his body molds to yours, grip replaced by the wide expanse of his body pressing entirely against you, heels dangling helplessly as his clothed cock ruts pathetically against the pencil skirt hugging your thighs. “Clark—someone’s going to hear—” he hushes you with an indignant groan, tongue sweeping behind your teeth, large palm slithering between you both to grope your tits, buttoned shirt creasing between you both. “I know—I know, ‘m sorry. Can make it quick. Just need you to be quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, “And don’t make a mess on the floor. Though, historically speaking, the latter might be a bit of a problem for you,” his lips twist into a charming smile, fingers delving under the tight hem of your skirt, lips moving to nip at the arch of your throat when you hit his shoulder.

‘sunshine’ from remember the titans….oh my godddddd