N

Luigi thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen in these campgrounds, which feels almost unfair given what you’re wearing. The denim skirt hugs the curve of your hips in a way that definitely isn’t intentional – it can’t be – but from where he stands, it looks painted on. The stiff fabric curls at the dip of your lower back and lifts a bit when you lean deeper into prayer, the hem brushes your calves, trying to remain modest even as the shape of your ass beneath says otherwise.

The polo doesn’t help either. A camp issued white, a size too small, and damp from running around all morning. The top button gapes a bit near your collarbone, a fine sheen of sweat glows in the hollow of your neck, and the next few buttons strain gently, tugged outward by the soft fullness of your tits. A small silver cross glinting around your neck whenever you bow your head, and he has the ridiculous thought that if holiness had a face this morning, it would look exactly like you.

You’ve been a counselor here for a few years. Like long enough that you know which cabin has the squeaky top bunk, the shower that with no amount of fixing does not run hot, and the screen door that only closes if you lift and jiggle the handle first. Because you’re the most seasoned, they paired you with Luigi this summer.

Camp gossip did what it always does. By the end of week one, you’d heard the same story three different ways. That he came from a wealthy Italian family in Baltimore, that the parish absolutely adored the Mangiones, and that a very generous donation had solidified his position on the staff. Nobody seemed to care enough to question his genuine devotion after checks cleared. Like any Christian woman, you told yourself rumors were dirty and unholy. Still, you noticed things, though.

Sometimes during morning worship, he looked like he was only half repeating whatever the rest of you were singing. His eyes barely skimmed the songbooks, his mouth moved a beat behind when reciting “amen” at the end of prayer, unlike the rest of you. When the staff took turns sharing testimonies, he never volunteered. He’d flash his signature toothy smile, shake his head, murmur ‘you go ahead’, and let the silence linger until someone else decided to fill it.

With the younger campers’ Bible study, he was agreeable most times. You’d lead with a verse about patience or purity, and he’d echo your point with a gentle “Exactly,” nodding along as if agreement were the same as belief. If a kid asked a tough question, he’d reroute it back to you with a, “That’s a good one, what do you think?”

You just assumed it was nerves or awkwardness. Possibly, he was shy. Plenty of good men were quieter about their faith. And if he seemed a little detached sometimes, well…some people just needed longer to warm up. You decided to assume the best.

─

By mid morning, the chapel was full of sneakers and sleepy eyes and the projector humming behind you. You stood at the front with your lanyard and notecards, voice clear, hands holding tight.

“Abstinence isn’t about shame,” you told them, “it’s about patience and self respect.” You clicked to the next slide where you’d placed the verse in big, readable text. “For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each of you know how to control your own body in holiness and honor.” (1 Thessalonians 4:3-4)

You talked about choosing your future husband or wife with intention, about honoring God with your body, about how strength sometimes sounds like “not yet.” As awkward as it is teaching this to pre teens and teens, you smiled through it like you always did.  Beside the cart, Luigi watched. He’d been doing this just long enough to clock you. Yes, your voice was steady, but also your thumb fidgeted with the corner of a card, your breath paused just a bit before sanctification, like the word was snagging on something inside you.

Do you really believe all of it? He wondered, not entirely unkindly. Or just enough to say it out loud?

You kept going, talking about saying no as an act of strength, about guarding your heart and saving your whole self for a promise that means something. The kids were listening – some of them anyway. Luigi wasn’t; he was focused on you.

When you reached the line about “waiting honors God and each other,” you glanced over, barely for a minute, just long enough to check if he was keeping pace with the slides. He was, and he was also wearing a small, unhelpful smirk.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth for a split second.

That was all it took, really. His smirk deepened with victory and curiosity because now he knew. Maybe you believed it, or maybe you wanted to, but not enough to keep your mouth from giving you away, and definitely not enough to stop that reflex when his eyes were on you only.

─

You cracked your cabin door at the first knock that night.

The hall light caught you in a thin little night gown and your silver cross, the chain in a neat loop around your throat. Luigi thought it was adorable how you even wore the cross to sleep, like it could ward off the thoughts that surely always found you after lights out. He smells like a hint of weed and cologne, and he’s holding an old bible in his hands.

“Bible study?” he asks, casually, like he’s ever made it past Genesis without skimming. You don’t even know that, though, and don’t really want to bother asking. You just notice the faint red rimming his eyes, and that is enough of a reason not to let him in, but you step back anyway and open the door wider.

─

You were even more sure it was a bad idea the second he sat down. He chose the middle of your narrow bunk, close enough that his thigh pressed warm against your bare one. The Bible lasted all of 15 seconds before he tossed it aside to move along your blankets, palm smoothing over the sheet as if to make space for you. Then he leaned in, unhurried and with intent, and his mouth found the pretty chain at your throat. The kiss was soft at first, then surer, the cool cross tipping against his lips as he breathed you in.

You squirmed, a small sound catching in your chest. His hand slid to your thigh, thumb drawing a slow line that scattered all your rational thoughts. Long, thick fingers eased under the hem of your nightgown, the pad of his thumb pressing just inches away from where your pulse jumped.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, voice a sinful whisper as he nips your collarbone. “God’s got more important things to do tonight.”

You tried to answer, to be good, but the words broke apart when his mouth found the soft place just below your jaw. He kissed there once, then latched gently, sucking slowly until you felt heat bloom under your skin. You stuttered, and your hands hovered uselessly at his shoulders.

“L-Luigi–”

He hummed against your throat, unhurried, like he had all night to turn you into putty. Another kiss, a longer pull, the faint scrape of teeth. You felt the marks forming, and your brain leapt ahead to tomorrow morning – having to pop your collar in the heat, tugging the polo higher, maybe even wearing a turtleneck if such a thing could exist in July – just anything to hide the proof of what he was doing to you right now.

“God– God sees everything," you blurt, the words tumbling out wrong, useless. You scramble for more, something stronger, something that might actually stop him– but your mind goes blank, pulse thumping in your ears.

He kissed lower, slower. You swallowed and managed, softer, “N-no sin is worse than another.”

He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t believe that,” he murmured. He moved back, his teeth closing lightly on your earlobe with a nip, and it tore a small, shocked sound out of you.

No, you don’t believe that. There’s war, disease, corruption, murder – real evil. And God would hate you for letting a boy touch you? There was no fairness in that.

You give the smallest shake of your head, looking more dazed than decisive, but Luigi takes it as a ‘go ahead’ anyway. His hand moves higher, and your breath breaks when his fingers find the warm seam of your pussy between your thighs. He traces it through the cotton, and a low sound slips out of you before you can swallow it.

“Holy shit,” he breathes into your neck, like praise, but you’re sure the angels watching are condemning you. “Already this wet, huh?”

A blush overtakes your face. His thumb settles over your clothed clit and begins to rub, small, slow circles that steal your breath. Every thought about sin and purity slips from your mind.

“What happened to waiting, sweetheart?” he mocks softly, the rhythm never faltering. “So much for God’s plans, huh?”

His hand slips higher, and then he hooks a finger into the edge of your panties and pulls the cotton aside. Cool air hits you first, then his warm fingertips, and your breath stutters.

And the worst part – as your tummy flips, you become certain that maybe this was God’s plan, because the second his touch meets you properly, it feels divine. Like a man’s whole religion could live between a woman’s thighs.

One thick finger traces your slit, gliding easily through slick heat. He follows the shape of you with a patience that leaves you trembling, teasing the quivering muscles at your entrance, slow, circling, learning you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place his finger touches. Then he looks up and flashes that toothy grin – cocky and hungry.

Then he pushes in slowly and deliberately. His thick finger sinks into you inch by inch, and your hips jerk forward with a broken gasp. The way your walls clamp around him drags a curse out of him.

“Fuck–” he breathes, stunned. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me already.”

Your lips part, shaking, and he studies your face as he works deeper. “You ever let someone do this before?” he asks, voice rough.

You start to shake your head–

He doesn’t wait for the full answer. His grin widens, now wicked and knowing.

“No, of course not.” His fingers thrust just a little, letting you feel the width of him. “You’re really fucking tight. Just my finger feels huge in this tiny little cunt, doesn’t it?”

Your cheeks burn instantly at the word cunt – still not used to the casual obscenity of it and the way he says it like it’s nothing. Honestly, not used to him like this because up until now he’d done such a passable job pretending to be a clean-cut God-loving church camp counselor. Not entirely a good job, but good enough.

This version of him…the real version…is filthy in a way that makes your pulse thrum.

Then his finger curls. Just a slight crook of it, and it drags right against a soft and tender spot inside you. A place you hadn’t known existed, and white heat shoots through your belly and down your thighs.

A desperate, broken little whine rips out of your throat, and Luigi’s eyes flick up immediately, dark and sharpened with interest.

His mouth skims your throat. “You ever do this to yourself?” he murmurs, thumb stroking your sensitive nub. You shake your head fast – like even thinking of doing such a thing is a sin.

“No?” His breath warms your skin. “You really are the perfect little angel, huh?”

Heat blooms low in your belly as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing slowly. While he brings a second fingertip to your entrance. The first press stings unfamiliarly, and tears bead at your lashes. He goes slowly and gently so you can get used to it. “Breathe for me. That’s it.”

You exhale, and your body relaxes. He eases deeper inch by inch, stretching you until both thick fingers are seated to the knuckles. He looks down at you, and that smug smile breaks with dimples and all. “Atta girl.”

He starts to work you open in a steady, ruthless rhythm, until each deep pump has your cunt squelching obscenely around him. He’s slick to the wrist, knuckles glistening as he coaxes you higher, his thumb catching your clit on every pass.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, and then you can’t as heat lashes through you so fast it blanks your thoughts. The edge rushes up and hits before you can warn him.

Your cry breaks free, too loud for a sleeping camp, and he clamps his other big hand over your mouth, holding you there as you shudder. “That’s it,” he grits, fingers driving you through it. “Take it – good girl – take it.” Your eyes flutter, roll back, your thighs lock around his wrist, your walls flutter and seize until the pleasure rips through you in hot, pulsing waves.

He slows only when you’re shaking, easing the thrusts, thumb soft now as he milks the last tremors out of you. He slides his fingers free – wet strings breaking – and lifts them to his mouth without looking away from you. He sucks them clean, a pleased sound low in his throat. “Sweet,” he says.

Warmth floods you everywhere, but the moment his fingers leave, a hollow ache takes over. Your core is still throbbing with aftershocks and a shocking, new need that doesn’t feel sated at all.

“Come on,” he murmurs, spurring you on. “Ask for it.”

Your throat bobs as you meet his gaze and can’t make the words come. He takes your hand instead, wraps his fingers around your wrist, and brings you down to his lap.

Your breath catches as you feel his heat and the solid weight under the denim. He nudges you to press, guiding your palm along the thick line straining against his jeans. A ragged groan punches out of him, his hips buck into your touch.

“Will it… hurt?” you whisper, breath catching. “I’ve read…in books…that it hurts.”

His brows pinch as he guides your fingers higher, down again, showing you the pace he likes. A low sound rumbles out of him when you squeeze, his hips giving a helpless nudge into your touch.

“It’s gonna feel good,” he says, voice rough. “Like my fingers did, but better. You’re already soaked, baby.” His mouth ghosts your cheek. “It’ll be a little stretch, just like before.”

Just a little stretch. You bite your lip, palm still cupping him, and even through the denim you can feel the thick length and the way it pulses like it's got its own heartbeat. Two of his fingers had felt huge, but this wouldn’t be the same. But you also know you can’t exactly resist.

“Okay,” you breathe, lip caught between your teeth. “I…want it.”

His mouth skims your jaw. “It?”

Heat floods your face. “Sex,” you whisper.

Then, in a few deft motions, he’s easing the straps from your shoulders, tugging the night gown up and over your head. The cool air kisses your skin, his hands are warmer as his big palms cup your plush tits. He groans at the weight of you, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they pebble, then bows his head to kiss across your collarbone, down the soft line between your ribs, and the curve of one breast.

“Back,” he murmurs, guiding you, and you lie down on your tiny twin bed, your cross necklace tapping your sternum as you settle. He steps away only long enough to strip, and you can’t look anywhere else. His shirt goes first, revealing a softly toned stomach and a faint line of hair heading downwards, then the buttons of his jeans pop, and you’re met with strong thighs dusted with dark hair as he shoves the denim to the floor. The waistband of his boxers rides low on his hips, the trail of hair disappearing beneath, and when he hooks his thumbs and pushes them down, you forget to breathe.

He’s completely naked now. Thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. His dick stands out from a dark nest of curls. You see it pulse just under the velvet looking skin, and he wraps his fingers around the base and pumps as his jaw flexes while he watches your eyes go wide.

He revels in the way you stare and slows his strokes just to make you track every inch of movement. The slick slide of his wrist, the thick pulse in his hand, the way his breath roughens when his thumb drags over his leaking tip. He lets you see all of it, eyes fixed on your face like your awe is everything.

“Gonna make it good for you,” he says, voice low. “All you have to do is relax for me.”

He comes closer, knees to the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. One broad palm skims up your calf, over your knee, then nudges gently until your thighs fall open for him. He slots in low between them.

“Breathe,” he coaxes, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw. “That’s it.”

He wraps his hand once more around himself, bringing the flushed tip down to you, rubbing lazily through your slick. The contact steals your breath – soft glides from your clit to entrance and back again, gathering you on him. He groans at the feel, shoulders dropping, eyes going heavy. “Perfect,” he says, almost to himself. “So soft.”

His free hand cups the back of your thigh and lifts, angling you open another inch to accommodate him and to make room for the length you were just holding minutes ago.

“Good girl,” he says as he circles the tip of his dick over your clit once, then drags down to your entrance, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he starts to push in. Just a little stretch was an understatement. You whimper as his dick sinks in, and he groans as your pussy grips him, making it hard for him to move.

But he seems to manage as one hand cups the back of your thigh to keep you open as he rocks a fraction, lets you take him, waits for your body to relax, then presses deeper. You clutch his shoulders. “Fuck,” he grits as he fights the urge to drive in over and over again. He inches deeper until your hips finally meet, and his dick is all the way inside you.

“Gonna move okay? Just a bit.” He groans softly. It’s really the best he can do while you squeeze him so tight.

You nod, breath shaking. It doesn’t hurt. You’d braced for punishment, for something painful and ugly, God’s way of slapping your wrist for wanting, but it’s honestly not that. It’s strange for a beat, and then it’s… good. Like really fucking good.

He eases back an inch and slides in again. The drag of him against your walls pulls a gasp out of you, and another shallow stroke makes your toes curl. You moan softly when the coarse hair at the base of him catches your clit on the next glide. The friction sparks, and your hips tilt to meet it without thinking. He feels the change and angles his pelvis, giving you that brush again on the way in, a little firmer and deeper.

You can’t hold it in. “Oh, Jesus–” spills out on a gasp when he thrusts deeper and ruts right into that sweet spot inside you. Heat blooms low in your belly, spreading and tightening. He feels the way you jump and smirks, breath ghosting your mouth, then slips his fingers between your bodies to find your clit. The rough pads circle once perfectly, and your voice breaks again. “Oh God–”

He tsks, amused, never losing his rhythm. “Not my name, pretty.” His thumb is dragging tighter circles while his hips roll deeper. Then, he shifts and grabs behind both your knees and pushes your legs up and wide, folding you open like you’re meant to be offered to him. This angle knocks a loud cry from your throat as he sinks in deeper until your vision blurs.

“Yeah,” he pants, settling his knees wider, hovering over you as he starts pounding into you. “Keep this pretty pussy open for me.”

Your tits bounce with every snap of his hips, and he watches them shamelessly. You can’t stop the noises spilling out of you, each moan higher than the last, trembling around him as he ruts into that gummy spot again and again. Your hands scramble at his forearms, and your head tips back into the pillow.

“Look at you,” he groans. He thrusts harder and deeper than before. “You think God’s watching, baby?” He growls, leaning down to your ear. “Hope he sees me worshipping his greatest creation.”

Your eyes roll back. The words are so filthy, so blasphemous, so dirty that it snaps something inside you. The pressure coiled tight in your belly explodes.

“Lu–” Your voice breaks into a sob as your orgasm hits you violently, your body arching and squeezing around him so fiercely he chokes on a curse.

“Jesus fuck–” he snarls, losing his rhythm for the first time. “You’re – shit – so tight–”

He tries to keep thrusting, but your cunt milks him, clamps around him, pulsing in waves that drag a groan straight from his chest.

He pulls out fast, breath shattered. “Fuck–fuck–”

And then he’s stroking himself hard, desperate, and thick ropes of his cum paint your pussy, warm as they stripe your folds, your clit, the trembling seam where he was just inside you. His hips jerk as he empties himself over you, panting like he’s never come this hard in his life.

He groans low, almost sounding pained, and steadies himself on the mattress, eyes locked on the mess dripping over your swollen slit.

You don’t last long after that. Luigi wipes you off with some old hand towel, muttering something in between praise and tease that you’re too dazed to process. He tugs your night gown back down and presses a lazy kiss to your forehead, and tells you to sleep.

You do. You’re out almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Not even registering whether he leaves or not.

─

Morning comes with the chirp of birds, alarms, and a dull, sweet ache between your legs. You hiss under your breath in the showers, carefully angle yourself away from the mirror as you dab concealer over the worst of the hickeys, and pop the collar of your polo as high as you can get away with.

By the time you step toward the dining hall, campers are already milling around in bright shirts and mismatched socks. You wear your usual smile and start directing the traffic of kids with your clipboard in hand.

Then you see him.

Luigi’s by the steps, talking to another counselor, curls still damp from his own shower. The morning sun hits him just right, turning the edge of him gold and even more beautiful. You’re about to look away like you always try to do when something at his throat catches the light.

Your silver cross.

It hangs against his chest on your familiar chain, gleaming above the edge of his staff lanyard like it’s always been there.

He feels it instantly and glances over. His eyes dip to the pendant, then back up to yours, and one corner of his mouth curls in a slow, knowing smirk, just for you.

Your heart lurches, and you look away first.

The bell rings for breakfast, kids rush forward, and you let them pull you along, the weight of your necklace and him on top of you missing and suddenly feeling very, very real.

“What does that mean? Like a different brand?”

You chuckle and pet his hair, going to ash it before Clark stops you with a hesitant little wait.

“Can I… can I try some?”

You can’t hold back your grin at him any longer, almost snorting through an uncontrollable fit of laughs before shrugging and handing him the smoke, red still burning at the tip.

“How do you do it? Just… suck on it, or—“

“Yeah genius, you suck then you breathe in. Not too hard though, s’what makes you start to cough,” you answer, having your drink in hand ready to give him in case it overwhelmed his throat.

With amusement buzzing behind your red eyes, you watch as he furrows his brows like this is the most he’s ever been focused in his life, pouting those cute lips to wrap around the end before pulling in a decent hit and immediately coughing harder than he thinks he ever has before.

“O-Oh, oh my god,” he stutters. Pats his chest and gets red in the face while you hand him your drink, to which he snaps up out of your hand and desperately guzzles it down.

“Feel alright, Kent?”

Clark’s whole vision seems to zone out, everything moving at a slower speed as he nods slowly, a grin pulling at his face while he takes another sip.

“You’ve never even known anybody who’s done this before, have you?”

“Except you? No.”

“Thought so,” you laughed.

-

You learned through your (more or less reckless) journey of shedding Clark’s innocence, specifically the parts that don’t know much about sex or drugs, that especially when he’s high as a kite he is always looking to explore and experiment with new things. With his adorable, naive sense of both honesty and curiosity.

Now he always aims to make time to come over on the weekends and smoke with you just to finally feel the weight of his world lighten off of his shoulders for a little bit. He even offers to pay you for all of it, not that he even knew how much any of it would cost.

The second time he smoked with you he took more than four lungfuls of hits, making him float to an easy breezy cloud nine of carefree living. Smile plastered on his face, speaking his mind more freely with less filters and barriers of self consciousness in the way. He playfully grabbed your ankle while you both lied down on the couch passing a joint back and forth, pestering you for another toke. His tolerance had gotten a little higher, not by too much, but he’d gotten used to the feeling of his body after the first couple hits.

And after the first couple hits, Clark gets touchier when he’s high high.

While he’s usually reserved when he’s smoke-free and sober, he didn’t touch you all that much unless it was totally, strictly necessary. Grabbing your shoulder to gently move you out of the way if someone in the hall was coming behind you. Brushing off a piece of lint from your sweater if it’s not right on a place that would be too inappropriate for him to touch. He’s a softie and a gentleman, always has been.

Now, smoked out and giddy in your apartment on Friday night through Saturday morning, he finds courage to be bold with touches. Like little brushes so your hair is out of your face, always complaining in a petulant, playful tone that he can’t see you when your hair’s in your face. Or if you tell him a corny joke that goes along with a stupid story, he’s throwing his head back and slapping your knee instead of his own like your story was the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

It’s a new side of Clark you’ve experienced this past few weeks. You never thought in a million years that your clean cut, nerdy and innocent buddy slash co-worker would ever put anything like this in his lungs, and would never laugh and touch you the way he has.

The blush he normally hides behind his hand at work is now on full display, spreading to his ears and even his neck and he loosens the tie of his collar and raises two fingers in a come hither motion to signify he wants it to be his turn to smoke. You blow out your last hit before passing it over, getting the remnants of the cloud in his face. Not that he seems to mind — in fact he starts to breathe it in deeply, eyeing you with a whole world behind his gaze that you couldn’t begin to decode or comprehend.

He sticks the joint between his lips and inhales slow, still keeping his eye on you as he blows it out, going for your shared drink as always to help soothe his throat.

“I haven’t told you I’m a virgin before, have I?”

The second the words are out of his mouth you can’t help but let out a delayed choke, trying to blame it on the weed but it was truly only his surprising confession.

“Uh, no. No you haven’t,” you answer with as much casualty as you can muster. “Hasn’t come up before.”

“Mm,” Clark hums to himself. He’s high high, you can see it in the glazed over eyes, the boneless way his limbs rest. He’s more relaxed, more comfortable than ever before. Comfortable enough to even give you a random personal fact about the state of his sex life (or lack there of?).

“I get really pent up, you know? It gets like that when you haven’t been touched before. It’s… it’s different when people get to think about the experiences they’ve already had, but I mostly just like, like jerk off to… I dunno, imagining what all of it’s like.”

It’s your turn to get red now, slowly licking your lips in deep thought even in your haze of smoke still fluttering around your brain, making you dumber in these types of social situations. Maybe it’s done the exact same thing to Clark. Maybe when he wakes up tomorrow he won’t even remember what he’s opening up about to you.

“Why are you… a…”

“A virgin? Inexperienced?”

“Y-Yeah. I mean you’re… you’re so good looking, Clark. You’re sweet and a gentleman, and I can’t imagine no one having their hands on you yet.”

Clark looks down at his lap to try to keep his smile from blooming on his face, dimples still showing as he scratches the back of his neck and takes another sip of your drink.

“I’m just shy I guess. Maybe picky, but I get pretty flustered about the idea of getting — getting naked in front of somebody. I feel self conscious,” he confesses. Glasses slipping about a centimeter down his nose, to which he pushes them back up with his pointer finger and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

“You don’t sound shy now,” you point out, cheeky while licking your lips and sucking another hit in and blowing it out above you. When you hand Clark the joint back, he blushes even more tasting the subtle hint of saliva you left around the butt end of the smoke, gladly pulling his lips around it to taste what you’d leftover.

“Cause I’m… you know. I’m just high.”

“Are you high enough? I can put this out.”

“No! No I want—I want more.”

Clark eagerly leans back in to fetch it from you, ignoring your surprised laugh while he sucks in another long hit. He holds it in longer than you’ve ever seen before, almost ten whole seconds passing by with your eyes widening at him. Of course it ends in a delirious fit of coughs, him covering his mouth as if it’ll muffle anything, fanning himself out with the neck of his shirt and going in for another drink.

“I just wanted to, you know. Tell you. You’re so easy to talk to. I might still get nervous sometimes, but I know I can trust you.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah. You’re not like anyone else. It’s a relief.”

Clark’s words ring in your ears over and over again the following day at work when he leaves a bagel with a sticky note attached that says thank you. You’re not entirely sure what he could be thanking you for when he started paying for most of the weed, you just roll it up for him. You want to be the one to thank him for trusting you with such tender information, personal details like his libido and his lack of experience with women. If he came in with a camera and yelled that you’d been pranked and that you’re being recorded live on MTV, you would’ve bought that more than his virginity still being in tact.

Clark even comes over to your desk and massages your shoulders for ten whole minutes, asking how you’re doing, if you need any help, if your work load has been manageable. Of course you have everything taken care of and under control, but his sentiment still tickles you. And his big, careful, diligent hands that cradle your shoulders and worked out your tense muscles were so hard to forget they could’ve made you lose your focus the whole rest of the day.

When the weekend rolls around again and your routine with Clark is settled in, he swings by with some weed in some gray sweatpants and a hoodie, looking comfier than usual. Glasses still atop his nose, hood pulled up over his head while he looks to be a more zombie-like version of himself. Bags under his eyes, a bit of a pale complexion. He looked like he wanted to smoke for some relief and zone out from the world that burdens him.

“You doing okay?”

“Hm? Oh I’m fine. I’m good, just. You know.”

You raise a brow at him while you’re licking the paper up so it stays wrapped up and closed, eyeing him up and down as he avoids looking at your face all together.

“Wouldn’t be asking if I knew, Clark. You can talk to me.”

He sighs and shakes his head, quietly avoiding your investigative question before gladly taking the joint from your fingers and taking the very first hit. Then two, then three. When it gets to four, you laugh out loud to him and ask if he’s ever planning on passing it over.

“I can roll my own too. That one can be all yours,” you offer, hoping something will cheer his spirits up to his more regular self again.

“No, no. I’m sorry. Here,” he passes it over, giving you that million dollar smile you’ve been missing. “I like sharing with you.”

“You don’t have to though,” you remind him. He shoos your proposition of rolling up another joint away and pulls his lips in tight. A long arm of his reaches over the back of the couch to rest before his hand comes up to pull some hair falling down your face.

“You’re the prettiest girl that I think I’ve ever seen,” he breathes. Getting so serious all the sudden. “ever will see,” he corrects himself.

You could try and make some fantasy up that he’s joking, that his sense of humor has somehow morphed into calling you pretty even if he doesn’t mean it from how high he’s smoked his brains out this time. Already reeking of the weed on his breath, and his eyes less wide open than normal.

“I still can’t believe I get to spend this time with you,” he goes on. Scoots closer. Then the next thing you feel is his nose ducking down into your shoulder, sniffing you like you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever gotten to smell and experience.

“What’s up with you tonight, huh? What, I’m beautiful all the sudden?” You try to laugh off.

“Not all the sudden. All the time,” he corrects. Doesn’t lift himself off of you to answer, muffling it into your upper arm while he rests his face there. “Is this okay? Am I too close right now?”

“You’re perfect, don’t worry about that.” you assure. Sweet Clark couldn’t make you genuinely uncomfortable even if he tried to.

“Mmm. You’re perfect too,” he says dreamily. Digs his chin up and into you some more. You hear him breathing you in even deeper as you take your last hit, blowing it out with a shy bitten lip at how lovey dovey Clark had started acting.

“You’re so perfect. I just never wanna be away from you.”

“Is this strain like, fucking you up or something?” You tease, grabbing his jaw to tilt his head up only to see him sheepishly dive his head right back down. “You’re not usually this much of a lover boy.”

“I wanna, I wanna ask you something. And I wan…wanna tell you it’s okay to say no to me, you should if it’s not—“

“Just ask me, dork.”

Clark sighs long and hard, licking and nibbling on his lower lip before taking a long hit of course, leaving you in a bubble of anticipation as to what he could possibly be asking you.

“Would you wanna t-take my—my virginity?”

It stumbles out. He isn’t sure how he could muster the courage without at least an entire joint to buzz inside him first, anxiously looking off in the corner and occasionally searching for some kind of readable expression on your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Forget I said anything, I can go and I can just—gosh, I don’t know, I don’t have to bother you at work or here anymore—“

“Hey, hey. Shhh, settle down, simmer down. Come here,” you take the back of his head and bring it into your neck, a little reassuring hug only to find that he’s started shaking.

“Don’t be scared. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you in this world, Clark. You hear me? Nothing,” you hush in his ear. Rocking his head back and forth in small sways that seems to soothe him, feeling him calm as he leans in and scoots even closer. Thighs crowding yours as he herds you with his head bowed like a dog.

“I was surprised you even told me you’re a virgin in the first place. But I can show you, I can show you baby, just relax. For us, for me.”

Clark nods his head and wraps his gigantic arms around you to nuzzle in, suddenly a helpless puppy that looks like he just wants to find his way home. He doesn’t try to show it when it does, but he melts just at the sound of you calling him that. Baby. Baby, just relax. For us. For me.

He’d do anything if it was asked of him in that same voice, that distinctive sweet tone of yours.

“I feel so lonely, and I—I wanna know what it’s like,” he stutters. “But don’t say yes if you don’t want me like that. You can tell me to… to piss off and just leave you be, and I will, honey. I’ll never bother you with it again.”

“Shh, I know. I know, you’re a gentleman, Clark. You’re the sweetest thing.”

The way you coo in his ear, the gentle praise, the rubs on the back of his head. He’s a goner.

His dick is already begging for mercy, and it’s not being hidden very well in those gray, thin sweatpants. He would normally run away to the bathroom or just run off home if his erection got to be too much for him to bare.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Clark, you’re not gonna need to worry about a thing.”

Clark shudders like the very words alone had seeped in and satisfied him somewhere deep.

“You’re too sweet to be this nervous, Clark,” you smile at him playfully. Combing four of your fingers through his unkempt curls. “And way too pretty yourself, too.”

Clark whips his head up and still looks high as a kite, in the same state as you, as he dips his head in to yours to meet your lips in a hurried kiss that feels like he’s been waiting patiently to do this entire time. He has his head tilted to the side, humming into your mouth and tasting more shared breath and spit consisting of what you’ve just smoked together. Clark doesn’t seem to mind at all, licking down on your bottom lip and breathing you in through his nose while he pulls you in. One hand on your back, the other on your waist. Getting effortlessly yanked up onto his lap in seconds.

It’s exhilarating to see him take charge, to feel his lap and how he can’t hide how apparent it is that he’s excited for you all the way down to his crotch.

Even with the simple way he’s handled you, with gentle force that shows he knows where the healthy line sits between being careful while still maintaining this strong sense of want that clouds his vision. However shy or inexperienced he may be, he’s the most eager you’ve ever seen to prove himself.

A subtle grind starts to form involuntarily between both of your hips, slowly creeping in to meet each other in the middle. Clark can’t help but whimper and sigh into your kisses as he feels it.

“Your lips taste even better than I pictured, still can’t believe it,” Clark’s voice cracks.

“Thought about this a lot?”

Clark breathes while he comprehends your question, the gears in his brain moving slower than usual.

“All—All the time,” he finally musters. “I get high then I just can’t hide it.”

“Take off your sweatshirt.”

Clark obeys quick like he’s in the navy, ripping it off over his head and throwing it carelessly off to the floor before pulling you back in so deep your noses almost ram together before he swiftly tilts his head to the side and snatches your lips up in a possessive kiss.

“I’ll take off anything you want.”

Clark is so obedient. So willing to bend over backwards at your word, and fuck, you’d guess if you asked him to stop and do fifty push ups right now with you on his back he’d still get down and follow your command to please you.

Running your hands over the taut muscles that flex and bulge on their own through his tank top is a glorious experience. Clark hums and closes his eyes, mouth a little bit open while he relishes in the attention you’re giving him still softly grinding in his lap. He runs his palms over your shoulders and down your back to your hips, squeezing you when a place you’ve touched feels extra good.

“Time to take off these sweatpants sweetheart,” you whisper down his eardrum. Marveling in the shiver and the goosebumps that his body naturally reacts with at your command.

You swing a leg off to give him room to fiddle with them to get them off, not expecting him to whine and hurry even faster once you do. Lack of physical contact seemed to be a big motivator for him, dangling over his head with need. Clark’s shoved his sweats down to his ankles now, bashfully keeping his tented boxers on while they’re so clearly straining up against him.

“You’re gorgeous, Clark. One of a kind.”

He seems to duck his head and smile at your praise, shaking his head with playful denial before leaning in to kiss and nibble on your jaw.

“S’pposed to say that to you, angel,” he remarks. Bunches up the fabric of your shirt in a silent plea to feel more of your skin, but still submitting enough to know it isn’t guaranteed that he’s getting his way the entire time. “Want to… touch and feel you…”

“Touch and feel me then, baby,” you encourage.

Clark makes a sound that rattles roughly through his throat, sniffing along your neck before planting a hundred kisses. His hands explore you with more fervor, smoothly tracing down to your hips and your ass. Squeezing, pressing.

“S’it still lit?” he mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“Should I light it again?” he chuckles.

You bend back to retrieve the goodies, taking it out of the ashtray and thumbing the lighter until the tip is glowing and burning again. You take a long inhale in, sucking on it good to have enough to share. Only seconds later you grab Clark by the back of the neck, tapping his jaw to get him to open up. His mouth falls open immediately, slack and nearly sticking his tongue out for you too as you began blowing the smoke out carefully into him.

He breathes it all in so deeply, eyes almost fallen closed as he lets the shared hit get lost in him from your mouth to his. Just a moment later and he’s blowing the recycled smoke out, only coughing a little before meeting your eye again and kissing on your collarbone.

Clark couldn’t find the words that could accurately describe how hot it made him, how sexy you looked on top.

He took a turn shotgunning a couple times into your mouth, lips touching and grazing as he blows it in to you and then goes in for a needy makeout right after you’ve exhaled it out.

The room has a pungent cloudy haze that would disgust any non-smoker, the clouds you’ve shared still floating about in the air. Clark licks into your mouth and squeezes your ass incessantly, never getting enough touch from you as he lets out steamy little whimpers.

“F-Feels so good…”

“You ready for more?”

“Yes,” Clark heaves.

He doesn’t know what to expect next. Certainly not the move you’re in the midst of pulling on him now.

His eyes widen with a breathy woah as you get down on the floor, ashing the smoke for now in the tray before your head is in his lap. Palms running up and down his muscular thighs. Those sweatpants of his still bunched up at his ankles now get pulled all the way off his feet by your hands, tossing those aside with the rest as you dip in to nuzzle your head near his impressive bulge. Bursting at the seams, begging for your affection.

“Mmm, what are you doing down there baby?”

“What do you think I’m gonna do down here?” you tease back. Without any other prompt warning you’re mouthing at his base right through his boxers, tasting the cotton and feeling the veins on the brick of his hard on pulsing with his heartbeat.

“Oh… oh my…”

“Mmmhm, I know. Just enjoy it. Make as much noise as you need, I wanna hear it all,” you smile. Watching him gulp and fist the arm of the couch.

You nose along his outlined package that’s left next to nothing to the imagination, boxers so tight around him you’re wondering if it physically hurts. It’s so cute the way he’s already leaking, little dollops wetting through right where his tip strains as you go in and lick it up.

“Mmmmph—oh that’s so hot—“

His words are snatched right out from his brain as you suckle right on the head, still right through those poor boxers. He whines outright, throwing his head back as you suck and hum, gripping the thick of him and sliding the palm up and down all the inches of him. Which looked like a lot. You could’ve guessed he’d be a big boy, but you weren’t prepared for this.

“You’re so big, Clarkie,” you marvel. Kissing on the base.

“Sorry, I’m really sorry, I know I’m n-not as normal—“

“That was a compliment baby, most girls really like them big. Fills us up, reaches more places,” you explain. “Ah, you’re so nice and thick too.”

Clark is so beat red it could’ve appeared like somebody smacked him right across the face.

“Girls… girls like it? So you like it too?”

You pull his waistband down just enough for the prize to come flopping out, slapping up against his stomach with a thwap. Your eyes light up like he’s got the whole universe tucked between his thighs, tugging his waistband down so his ballsack is free.

“Don’t just like it, fucking love it,” you breathe. Diving back in to get a real taste of his skin, feeling him bob up towards your mouth excitedly. Almost reaching out to your lips like it knows he has to be there.

Clark gasps and stubbornly keeps his eyes peeled open to keep looking, watching as you take the bare mushroom head right in your mouth and swirl around it with your magnificent tongue. Humming vibrations that make him leak.

“So you’ve never fucked but have you ever been blown before?”

“Bl-Blown? No, no this hasn’t happened yet, ohmygod that’s so good—“

You chuckle around him as you pull off the head to go in to the side, licking along to trace those tasty veins. It’s hard to imagine someone as sweet as Clark packing a dick this ridiculously good and never having anyone else at least play with it before.

Your cheekbones hallow as you slurp his head back up in your mouth again, little dips downward with your head, getting your saliva to drip all the way down to his balls. Of course, those balls. How could you forget to pay attention to those?

Clark’s whole body shivers as he moans right when your hands gently reach up to cup them, feel the heavy warm weight, sat so prettily in a pink pair in your hand. You can’t help but indulge yourself and him with a little dash of your tongue to glide around the globes of them, swiveling your tongue side to side and then mouthing up a whole ball into your mouth. Your hand doesn’t ever quit a steady gentle pace jacking his skin up and down, and you see his unwavering excitement start to pearl up at the pretty slit of his head.

“This feel good baby? You needed to be licked so bad, didn’t you?”

“Mmmmm, mmm—uh huh, yeah, yeah I needed it so bad,” he hurries, leaking a little more under your teasing while he spreads his thighs out a little wider for more open access.

“You’ve only had your hand this whole time.”

Clark stutters and swallows a pool of spit on his tongue. “Y-Yeah. Only had my hand to help… him,” he finished shyly. Feeling silly to even be talking about his own cock.

“Now you’ve got more to help play with him,” you hum. “My hands, my mouth, my pussy….”

Clark actually curses at that, humping up once into your touch while you chuckle at him, bemused. You hardly hear him curse in the first place, so loosening him up so much that even his own word bank is rendered fuzzy and distant in his head now.

You lick along the head like he’s a big ice cream cone, melting just for you. Humming along the fat you manage to take in and slurping on it, getting drool slathered all over his cock and his balls as he whimpers above helplessly.

“God…. God that’s…. you’re perfect at that, angel, you’re making me feel so good,” he whines, voice cracking.

You nod along to his praise and meet his eyes as you gulp him down, jacking what you just can’t fit, with your other hand also busy cradling and fiddling with those poor, aching, heavy set of balls.

“Driving me so crazy up here, baby,” he tries to chuckle, interrupted by his very own moans once again. “That’s gonna make me cum f’you keep going,” he warns with sudden seriousness that sharpens his tone.

“Wanna taste your cum.”

“But—But I wanna—“

“Shh, just relax Clarkie,” you soothe him. He’s visibly sweating.

“—I wanna save my cum for your pussy,” he retorts back, sounding genuinely concerned.

Stopping your kitten licks to answer him, your hand keeps pumping as you coo up from your place down in his lap. “You have plenty of cum for me, you don’t have to get so tense, wanna calm you down.”

Clark sighs and whimpers in defeat when you get back to sucking the life out of him, feeling how he violently throbs and moves in your mouth with every movement of your mouth and tongue. You make sure to keep both hands occupied on him, giving him all the stimulating tenderness he’s needed and craved for so long.

You have a good feeling that he is dangerously close, toeing the line between holding his orgasm in for dear life and getting ready for the ribbon inside to snap.

You assure him again once you’re pulling up off of his dick with a sloppy suck as drool strings connected to your lips. “You can cum baby, know you’re holding it in but I want you to stop that and just let it all go.”

Clark almost cried, nodding his head vigorously once he has your explicit permission, muscles tensing and balls tightening as his body gears up to let his nut flow free.

You suck once, twice, three more times with slick bobs of your head, feeling it in your palm when his balls unleash and then comes the cry that he screams.

You hum and lick up all that flows out. Every thick rope. Every slather of every cumshot, thick enough to gargle in your throat as the sheer speed and quantity of it was enough for you to hurry and get to swallowing it up. You didn’t have time to let it sit on your tongue, to flash your tongue out to him with a mouth full of milk to show him what he’d given you. That’ll have to be next time.

It was so much for Clark to drain, still curling his fists and biting down on his knuckles as he groaned and just kept on cumming so prettily down your throat.

“O-Oh gosh, you’re making me cum so hard baby girl, I can’t…”

You give up swallowing the rest of his mountainous load, pulling off of the head for a breather as another cumshot spills out and dribbles out so warm and thick. It spurts down your lips and your chin, dripping down to his still throbbing cock.

It was almost unbearable how dick whipped you’ve already been turned. Your pussy throbbed just as hard, unabashedly leaving a nice wet spot on the crotch of your panties from how hard you’ve been clenching while his cock was on your tongue.

You don’t even try to hide how your hand goes in to start touching yourself, rubbing the bud of your desperate clit with a spaced out sigh. Clark watches you with a hundred percent of his attention, not missing a second as you peel your panties and your own bottoms off all in one go to add to the pile on the floor.

“You look so pretty touching yourself like that,” he heaves. One hand of his coming up to paw at your hip, still in a glowy haze so fresh he wasn’t fully aware of what would happen next. Clark drools when he gets the first glance at your bare naked pussy, swallowing before his mouth is agape. “Are you gonna let me lick you?”

“I’ll teach you how to eat my pussy later, have to get on top of you now.”

Though Clark was anticipating his mouth on you to return the favor and taste everything he’s been dreaming about, he is more than on board with you getting so eager that you couldn’t have anything else besides his cock inside you. He braces himself with a few long breaths as you get back in his lap, stray cum marks still battered up on his body as you mount him like he’s your fuck doll. There’s nothing else Clark wants more in this world than to be just that.

He whimpers while you slide yourself, your bare pussy lips all over the pole of his length. Clark never went soft in the first place, even after cumming his brains out. You close your eyes and work yourself on him so good, so pretty while you indulge yourself on his cock. Your hand scurries down to take him and point him parallel up to where he needs to go, spreading yourself with your other hand as you sink down in one swoop.

By the sound of it, Clark could’ve been punched in the gut.

“OH, oh my, that’s—that’s so damn wet,” he whimpers.

Your pussy was more than ready to be filled, wet and open with little to no friction stopping him from entering. You hum and moan appreciatively at how well he goes in, deliciously drilling your walls as you start with little bounces up and down. Clark’s hands fly to your hips and squeeze down, mouth permanently in an O-shape as he graciously takes and enjoys everything you give him.

“Oh Clark, this cock is perfect,” you writhe. Thighs shaking as he grazes certain spots as you bounce, only going down about halfway until you felt so stuffed he could’ve been lodged in your stomach by now.

Clark weeps. He tries to hold on, never feeling sensations as overwhelming as this before. Even your mouth felt so different from your pussy, both so heavenly in separate ways that he doesn’t know what to do with himself while you fuck him. He can’t believe that right now, at this very moment, this exact second, he isn’t a virgin anymore. You’re fucking him like you own him, like he’s a dildo made specifically for your own pleasure, and it couldn’t have pleased or turned him on more.

He’ll never get this image out of his head. You, your body bouncing up and down with your head thrown back in a daze as you get just as high off his cock as you did off smoking your weed.

Clark is delirious as he pulls you down for a desperate kiss, tasting leftovers of his cum while your tongues mesh — another fact that he can’t control himself over. He hums loud in your mouth, pulling you down with some strength so you get split open by even more of him, sliding and fucking in deeper.

“Clark! Fuck!”

He can’t help but feel proud of himself for pulling such a reaction out of you, lifting his hips up off the cushion of the couch to hump into you and take over some of the pace. You gratefully let him take on the rhythm and do the work, going limp as he shoves the last remaining inches you hadn’t taken yet all the way inside. His tip kisses a part you swear goes farther than your goddamn belly button, slipping all the way out until just his head is in and then pulling you down until he’s stuffed perfectly right back in.

“Mm, I love how it feels to be deep,” he murmurs. Focused with furrowed brows as he continues fucking up into your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you’re so deep in me, you’re fucking me so good baby,” you cry out, holding onto his broad shoulders for some semblance of balance.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you like this since I first saw you.”

“Y-You could’ve fucked me when you first saw me, would’ve pulled my panties down right then and there,” you answer, hearing his light snort of a laugh.

“Should’ve. Always knew I wanted you to be the one to teach me,” he breathes, stilling as he’s lodged all the way inside you, holding you down and playfully brushing your nose with his. He bites your bottom lip, tugs on it gently before licking it and sloppily kissing you once again, saliva being shared and exchanged as you both breathe heavily throughout.

“Show me how it feels when you cum, I wanna feel it all over me,” he mutters.

“Oh I’ll show you in about five seconds,” you grin, your hips going back to grinding up and down on him. Clark hums and looks down, watching him pushing in and out while your puffy clit throbs every time it meets his groin. He notices then visually just how wet it’s gotten, how your pussy is making a beautiful mess of him, creaming along the girth as you clench and ride it. It’s almost too much beauty for him not to bust another fucking load right then and there, but he takes deep breaths through his mouth and holds out until you have your nut first. He tries to help speed it along with more anxious thrusts of his hips lifting up again, selfishly wanting to watch as it slides all the way inside. Until his balls are pressed up against your ass.

“Please tell me you’re cumming, please angel, cum on me! Cum on me, I can’t hold it—“

“Oh baby I’m cumming right now, yes.”

Your clit throbs as he ruts right up against it, nudging immaculate spots inside you that have you tightening in beats, wet sounds now even more utterly obscene. Your cum gets down to his balls and in his trimmed pubes, marking him as much as he’s marking you.

Clark’s triggered by the very start of your orgasm. Balls dropping as he’s milking out an even heavier load just for your pretty fucking pussy. He’s crying and writhing with incoherent words that sound a lot like your name while his nut starts to seep and spill out from the rim. It’s scolding hot and wet, thick in your womb as you both buck into each other to ride out the matching highs.

You’ve both now drifted off to fairy tale land, catching up to the wild thump of your hearts. Your head is buried in his shoulder and he nuzzles the top of your head with his chin, taking all of it in, relishing in how it feels to have his own cum leaking back down on him as he stays perfectly snuggled up and buried in your walls.

Clark checks in and gently asks if you’re okay, pulling all your hair to one side with a kiss on your forehead.

You lazily nod and only lift your head up to meet his lips.

He holds you close while reaching over to grab the leftover joint that sat unattended, lighting the tip up again after sticking it in between his lips.

Here you were, cockwarming Clark Kent with his cum still leaking out of you, adding to the already filthy mess. He’s lighting up to smoke some more after having just lost his virginity right after getting his dick sucked and milked.

You’ve corrupted Clark, tarnished his boyish innocence at maximum — but judging off of that fucked out grin still plastered on his face while he offers to shotgun some more smoke into your mouth, followed by sheepishly asking if you’re too tired to start on round two — it’d be pretty foolish to think of this new version of him as being such a ‘bad’ or ‘unholy’ thing.

-

so I love high kent I just know he would be such a sweetie