#dark superman

a tear runs down your cheek as you open your mouth to let him aim. he takes himself from your hands and strokes it once before putting the tip in your mouth and letting it rest heavy against your tongue.

"better not waste a drop, honey, or i’ll have to spank you raw."

you nod and close your eyes, more tears falling as he moans your name loudly, stroking the back of your head as he relieves himself.

"good girl," he groans lowly "that’s it."

his other hand strokes his shaft as you swallow, face flushed in humiliation. he instructs you to take more of him in and hisses as you nurse his tip, suckling gently.

"oh hell," he groans, stroking his shaft faster. "my perfect girl needed this, didn’t you sweetheart? been waiting to give it you all day."

he eventually stops and pulls out, slapping his tip on your tongue.

"open," he says. "need to make sure you got all you needed."

your mouth stays open as he inspects it, running a thumb over your tongue and pressing down gently. he was making sure you swallowed like he wanted.

"tongue felt so good, honey," he praised. "felt so good when you practically sucked it out of me. so desperate for your pa, ain’t cha?"

you nodded and held back a sob. the belt was still within in his reach.

"c’mon now, show your pa. no need to be shy."

you stood up and took your panties off for him, giving him the soiled pair which he happily pocketed. you sat horizontally on the couch next to him and opened your legs, using two fingers to spread yourself open for him. clark pushed his glasses up to rest in his curls as he leaned down.

"so gorgeous, ‘course the prettiest girl has the prettiest pussy," he cooed. "lookin’ good enough to eat, honey."

he pressed a thumb to your hole, causing you to bite back a sobbing whine.

"just as i thought, soaked for your me," he chuckled "you loved that, didn’t you?"

he pressed a kiss to your clit and groaned in satisfaction.

"i can still taste you" he sighed "remind me to take a drink next time you’re ready, no more thigh time for you."

clark maneuvered you to be spread eagle on the edge of the couch as he stood up to tower over you. still pumping himself up to a full erection.

"bet she’s needing me, too," he chuckled "needing my lovin’."

clark pumped himself for a few minutes before releasing his spend all over your wet cunt. he moaned your name as he did, giving you a deep kiss with his tongue on your lips.

"give her what she needs, honey," he whispered against your lips. "show her she’s mine and mine alone."

you cried as you nodded, shakily holding his now soft cock as you lined him up with your dripping hole. clark screwed his eyes shut and moaned again as he began to relieve himself once more, flushing his spend right off of you.

"good girl," he whined "take it honey, it’s all yours."

you moaned softly at the friction before clark took himself back in his hand. he aimed right at your clit and you whined at the pressure, screwing your eyes shut as he shook himself while finishing the stream. clark tucked himself back in his pants and got down on his knees, licking a long stripe up your ruined cunt.

"let me get you cleaned up now."

“—enough.”

The voice cuts through the chaos, low yet even. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. The shift in the air gives him away first, the faint ripple of wind that follows his landings. Then the red and blue at the edge of your vision.

Superman.

Three of them are already down, slumped unconscious against the brick, and the last one’s wheezing under your boot. You press a little harder, just to hear the sound he makes.

“Thats enough,” he repeats, stepping closer now. He furrows his brows, condemning your actions without a word. “They’re not going anywhere. You can stop.”

You glance over your shoulder at him. “They were moving weapons, military grade. You want me to ask them nicely to stop next time?”

“I want you to show some restraint,” he says, calm but firm. “You’ve already made your point clear.”

But you don’t stop. You never stop. The guy beneath your boot groans, tries to crawl, and you kick him square in the side, sending him sprawling into the utility poles against the building with a clang. His scream echoing down the alley.

Thats when he moves.

It’s quick, in a colorful blur. One moment you’re reaching for the next target, the next his hand is wrapped around your arm, iron and unmovable.

“I said enough,” he grows, and then you’re airborne, weightless for a heartbeat before the brick wall slams into your back.

The impact knocks the air out of your lungs, and you crumple to your knees, gasping.

“I don’t take orders from a prick like you.” you spit.

By the time you pull yourself upright, he’s already taken out the last of them. Its ironic, the single punch that drops the man like a rag doll. The alley is silent once more, except for the hiss of rain against the asphalt and the ragged sound of your shallow breaths.

Superman turns back toward you, steps slow. Water beads along his jaw, tracing the sharp cut of it as he closes the distance. There’s something different in his eyes now, not the warm glow metropolis loves him for.

The gleam is darker. Heavier. Something humming beneath the surface, untamed and dangerous.

“You really don’t know when to stop,” he says softly, and the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile.

You begin to realize, with a shiver crawling up your spine, that the fight might not be in your favor this time. And yet you push yourself up from the ground, rain pouring off your suit, already fully healed.

The scrapes that had burned along your forearms? Gone. Your knuckles, split and raw a moment ago, are smoothed over. Even your ribs, the ones that should be bruised, ache only faintly.

“Cute trick,” he mutters when you square your stance again. “But thats enough for now.”

“You keep saying that stupid shit,” your tone steady. “And yet, here I am.”

You launch first this time. Pivoting on your heel, elbow hooking, and he blocks easily. But you’re not backing down now, you can’t. Another jab, swing, and knee to the side. He grunts when it lands, more surprised than hurt. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you swing while he’s stunned. A sickening crunch rings through the space as your fist connects with his nose. 

His head snaps to the side when you come down, blood already gushing from the break. Concrete cracks under your boots, and the faint hiss of displaced air follows your movement.

The surroundings still for a moment, before a punch sends you skidding through a puddle, knees scraping agains the ground. You rise without hesitation. Another catches your jaw, splitting your lip, his eyes widening as it seals before he blinks.

“What are you? Another meta human?” He breathes, half to himself.

“Yeah, and Im everything you’re too afraid to be,” you snap, driving forward.

For a moment, he just stares, chest heaving and pupils blown. Then the world narrows again. You duck beneath a swing, pivoting, and landing a hit across his cheek. It’s clumsy and desperate, but enough. He turns his head sharply, and when he looks back at you, there’s a thin streak of red tracing the corner of his mouth, joining the blood from his nose down his lips.

He pauses, then raises his hand to wipe it off. Dark red streaking across his palm. His eyes follow the smudge, filled with something unknown. Not anger or surprise. Intrigue. Hunger.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

You don’t get time to process it. His next blow is faster, heavier, and you can’t dodge. The world slips sideways as you hit the ground. Your skull cracking against the pavement, a sharp, sickening sound, and light bursts across your vision.

Air rushes from your lungs. Your limbs feel distant, uncooperative.

“—hey.” His voice is closer now, lower, but not gentle. Hands grip your shoulders and then he’s on you. Weight pressed through his knees into your stomach. You gasp as the pressure pins you, your body too sluggish to respond.

Your arms twitch, trying to rise, but they’re too heavy. Your fingers curl uselessly against the wet ground as his shadow loons over you, and his gaze, the same dark and fascinated gleam, pins you even harder than his hands are.

“So you don’t break,” he says quietly, almost in awe. “But you do bleed.”

He comes closer, pupils blown wide until the blue around them is just a thin, trembling ring. 

“I like that,” he murmurs. Not threatening, and not promising either, something in between.

The rain above you two pours harder. His weight is surrounding you now, palms braces on either side of your head as he leans in, gaze dragging over every feature. The rise and fall of your chest, the twitch of your jaw, the way your pulse kicks hard against your throat but doesn’t falter.

You taste iron on your tongue, and before you can think twice you spit, and a dark wet streak hits the line of his jaw and runs down the column of his neck.

For a moment, it’s silent. Then a low surprised sound slips from his throat, a deep, rough laugh.

“Still fighting,” he says, almost fondly. “Good.”

“As if id give up on you, asshole.” You scoff.

He drags a thumb lazily across your mouth, collecting the mingled rain and dried blood staining your lip. The pad of it presses forward, past the soft give of your lips, brushing against the edge of your tongue. Instinct takes over, and your teeth catch lightly around him. You suck once, slow and carefully, metal filling your mouth.

His eyes shine, a bit surprised, and wanting more.

“Up.”

His word is low and commanding, but not a demand. He waits. And even though your limbs feel heavy and your vision pulses faintly around the edges, you push yourself up to your feet. He doesn’t move to help you. He doesn’t need to. This is still a fight, after all.

“Good,” he says when you steady yourself, chest puffing in and out as you control your breathing.

You swing first, a quick jab aimed for his face. He blocks it without effort.

“Thats better”

Another hit, this one sharper. He twists away, sending a fist in your direction, and lets the momentum spin you off balance before nudging you back into place with the flat of his palm. Every blow you throw feels heavier, slower, like he’s wearing you out on purpose. Your lungs burn. Your muscles scream. And still, you keep pushing yourself.

“Perfect.”

It’s almost mocking, his voice echoing throughout the alleyway, as though he’s savoring every second you refuse to back down. You launch one more strained punch, and this time it lands. A clean hit across his jaw that forces his head back slightly.

Before you can register the small victory, his hand closes around your wrist. With a sharp yank, he pulls you forward, and you stumble into his chest. The world narrows to the space between you. His breath hot against your cheek, the hard, steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

The kiss happens like another punch. Sudden, rough, and inevitable. There’s no warning, no gentle lead in, just the crash of his mouth against yours with too much force, the sharp sting of his teeth catching against yours and lips dragging against each other. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his suit, and his on your skin. Both desperate for leverage, for something to anchor to in the storm of the moment.

It’s not soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s a challenge, a continuation of the fight disguised as a kiss. A battle fought breath to breath in this dark mucky alleyway.

You push forward, trying to claim it, to bend him to your will, and he pushes back, harder. You tilt your head to depend the angle, but he shifts and takes control before you can. It’s dizzying and infuriating, yet you’re addicted. You tug at his suit, and his hands pull you closer. Every time you think you’ve gained a bit of ground, he’s there, matching you, overwhelming you. Turning your defiance into something he can mold against you.

And through it all, his hands never still. They map you slowly, snaking up the sides of your ribs, grazing the back of your neck, anchoring at your mandible. They guide, they coax, they hold, but never trap. Every touch is a reminder: you could pull away. You can end this, swing at him once more. He’d let you.

Yet you don’t.

You pull him closer, the struggle intensifying. Each breath stolen from each other, each press of your lips against his, teeth and tongue drawing another line, another boundary blurred. Until you let your strength falter. Your knees buckle, your body sways closer, and an arm wraps around your waist. Much to your silent objection, he holds you effortlessly and your back hits the wall, jagged brick pulling at your top.

A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, the dull gritty pressure digging through your clothes and into your skin. The strength at which he pushes you back burns, but it hurts so good. The small tears in your skin pulling together faster than you can process. It makes your heart slam against your ribs, how much you love losing. How much you crave it.

He cages you there without even trying, a hand braced at the side of your head, breath fanning over your lips.

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me,” the words brush against your mouth like another kiss. “Do you know how rare that is?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Your pulse is too loud in your ears, too fast. Instead, you tilt your chin up, and he slides his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing gently until it’s past your teeth. The taste of rain and copper lingers there, and you bite down just enough for him to feel it. a wordless surrender.

He exhales, the sound almost a growl, and his mouth finds your throat. the first kiss is soft, the next not so much. Teeth scrape against your skin, a sharp little sting that pulls a moan from you. Another follows, a bite that lingers just long enough to draw a bead of warmth from the surface before his tongue soothes it away.

Your body buzzes at the feeling. The rough brick against your back, the weight of his body pinning yours, the steady thrum of your heart against his chest, the heat slowly spreading through your abdomen. The dizzying feeling that for all the danger coiled between you, you haven’t once thought of running.

But maybe you should.

You’re supposed to hate him, or at least what he stands for. He’s the golden boy of Metropolis, the face of a justice system you’ve spent years undermining from the shadows. You’re a ghost in the alleyways, not waiting for permission to stop crime, and not withholding any force when necessary. 

But you stay, the air between you is filled with energy. His tongue smooths over the tear in your throat as blood pools in his mouth, savoring the taste of you. 

Your hands find the back of his neck, fingers threading into his damp curls, and you kiss him. Reckless, hungry, trying to burn away everything you’re supposed to be. The sudden surge of need makes him pause for a moment, his breath catching as he didn’t expect you to fight back with this kind of heat.

Something shifts. The restraint in him, the little control he had left. It snaps. His hands tighten where they grip you, grinding his hips into yours. You let out a moan against him, tugging harshly at the hair wrapped around your finger.

He lets out a groan, and grabs your wrist. The suddenness makes you lose your grip, and thats when he has you. Before you can protest, he spins you to face the wall. Your forehead knocks against the stone and sends a flash through your vision. 

His hands pull at your suit, easily ripping the thick material. You jump from the sudden coldness. 

“Hey—!” You toss over your shoulder. He pays you no mind, tugging off the bottom of his suit.

His length presses against your bare cunt, and your eyes widen. The abruptness of his movements is making you lightheaded, but you have no room to fight it. He wraps a hand around the base of your skull, tugging your neck to the side and sinking his teeth in. His bite is hard, teeth tearing the skin on the side of your throat and drawing blood quickly. 

It burns brighter. A stinging sensation quickly following as he slips into you. You gasp from the sudden intrusion, hands pushing back to stop the strain. But he doesn’t let you. His hand grabs your wrist and pins it harshly against the wall, pushing in further to the hilt. You gasp as he buries himself in you, walls fluttering around the stretch of him. 

“You think you can run from me?” he murmurs. But he doesn’t wait for you to answer. His breath fans over your pulse, leaving a sting that would mark you long after the night was over. His laps at the bite mark, tongue following and drinking up the blood pricking on your skin. You knock against the wall as he starts moving, hips snapping against yours, stone scraping against your temple.

His hand presses against the wall next to your head, fingers digging into the crumbling brick as if were soft. The wall trembles, and so do you.

“Thought you could take me?” He asks, and though his voice is a whisper, it’s heavier than the ground beneath your feet. “I can hear the flutter of your pulse every nigh across the city. Do you understand what that means?”

You want to spit something back, a curse, a challenge, but the words tangle in your throat as he pushes closer, driving his cock up against that gummy spot inside of you. You moan instead, the sound breaking as it leaves your chest. His other hand catches your chin, forcing your head to the side to meet his eyes.

“Im not giving you mercy,” he continues, head dipping until his breath brushes your ear. “i’ve run out of patience for you.”

His lips hover above the mark he’d left on your neck, skin knit together but bruised. He doesn’t touch, simply letting the warmth of his breath remind you who holds the power here. Your body starts screaming at you to push him away, but your hands betray you, pressing weakly against the stone as you try to hold yourself up against his pounding. Anchoring yourself to the danger you should have feared.

His hips snap against yours, harder, rougher, hands gripping your sides as he pulls you to meet them. Tears swell in your eyes as his fingers dig into your skin, grinding his cock into your cervix. 

Moans slip past your lips, the sound reverberating through the alley and into his ears like a song. He wraps an arm around your front, feeling for your bud amidst his thrusts. You go slack as he finds it, adding to the pleasure rippling through your core. 

Your lips part, breath gone, and whines catch in your throat as he forces your orgasm from you. Your walls spasm around his length, milking him for all he’s got. His hips sputter, and he presses his full length into you with a groan. He pins you against the wall, and the stone digs into your cheek one last time as his mouth finds yours.

His teeth prick your lip, blood invading his mouth in a quick spill, tongue lapping over it as he pulls sounds from your lungs. His hips rut into yours, riding out his orgasm as his fingers still circle your clit. Your legs twitch, and your hands push back against him, sensation becoming too much. 

He doesn’t stop, hips pulling back and resuming their motion as you arch your back from his chest. 

“Fuck— this is too much fun,” his hips snap against your ass, sending a wave of pleasure through you.

The sensation walks the line of pain and pleasure, the drive of his cock head against your walls sending sparks through your lower half, and his fingers against your clit adding overstimulation.

“You feel that?” He asks, palm pressing against your stomach. His tone makes the hair on your arms stand.

His words coil around you tightly as his hands are, sinking beneath your skin. The rain clings to your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but the heat of him presses closer, communing your thoughts, contradicting everything you stand for yet you can’t tear yourself away from it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, cheek nudging against yours as his hips still. “All that defiance you wear… and now you’re trembling at the sound of my voice.”

His hands aren’t gentle, but not exactly cruel. His hips are pounding, snapping against the fat of your ass with deliberate force, reminding you who dictates the rhythm, the shape of the moment. Even as your body shakes, he holds you still, denying you the change to pull away now, to hide the storm pooling in your abdomen as you reach your peak.

“Pathetic,” he whispers, and yet there no hatred in the word, only something dark and heavy. “You swore you hated me. Swore you’d never let me close. And now?” His mouth hovers near your ear, a ghost of smile pulling at his words. “…now you need me to finish what we started.”

The rain still fell in waves around you, but it might as well have been miles away. His presence was the only reality left. Too close, too consuming, filling your focus. Beneath the chill in his voice, was something filled with desperation. His hunger not satisfied by control alone.

“Here you were, thinking you could resist me…” He asks laughs softly, voice threaded with possessive obsession that made your chest tighten. “you’re mine, you hear me?” It’s a whisper meant for only you, heavy and immovable. “And don’t think for a second I’ll let you forget it.”

The admission wasn’t mercy, it was another chain, another weight anchoring you to him. And even as the last of your strength faded, he stayed unrelenting. Hips snapping into yours as your second orgasm ripped through you. He watches every shudder, every breath, as you come undone under his dominion. 

You grind your hips back against his, begrudgingly, sweet sounds spilling from your throat as pleasure courses through your veins. His thrusts don’t stop, chasing his own end once more. The wall scraps against your soft skin, cold against the warmth of him inside you.

When it was over, when the storm of tension and heat inside you reached its peak, he didn’t relent. Not immediately. Instead, he held you there, cock twitching inside as his heat filled you to the brim, sending it far into your womb and claiming you as his. He watched it, savored it, as if the outside world didn’t exist. Then, with a tilt of his head and that faint, predatory smirk, he stepped back just enough to move. Giving you barely a moment to catch your breath.

Then he was gone.

It isn't easy with your ankles bound, wrists too. Not as you can't stop shaking enough to steady your feet. Your hands ache from the cold, your toes too. Your pantyhose aren't close to enough to ward off the temperature.

Your teeth chatter as your muscles ache. The longer you sit in the cave of crystalline ice, puffing out clouds from your nostrils, the more than pain fades to numbness. You won't survive if you stay.

A whoosh and a flap startle you. You look at the only opening you can find in the place. A shadow ripples through before a dark, towering figure.

As he turns, the light glowing across the ice illuminates his features. Blue eyes, square jaw, black hair. He's so familiar for a moment you can't believe it's him.

The red cape, the blue suit, the emblem on his chest. It's that hero, Superman. That's not what surprises you. How did you not see it before? You guess you never looked close enough at the TV.

"Clark?" You try to say around the gag.

"Yeah..." He strides lithely across the floor, as if he's floating. "No time to change. Not a lot of time for much, huh?"

He stops in front of you and looks down at you. He bends his knees and comes down closer to your level. His thighs are thicker as they strain and he leans his arms on his knees, his biceps stretching the blue fabric.

Bruce goes still at the Fortress Supercomputer, body stiffened like a statue. Clark begins unwrapping his doll, licking his lips in anticipation, erection bulging obscenely in his costume.

He massages and kisses warmth into each piece of bared flesh, teasing himself by humping every inch of his dolls body, precum marking it as his once more. Those little pebbling nipples catch his foreskin. He rewards them by leaving them soaked with pre. He opens his dolls warm mouth, pulling out its tongue so he can rut into every centimeter of that hot mouth. He paints his lips too, swollen beautifully from his attentions.

When he finally makes it between his dolls legs, pleased to see slick building between his plush lower lips, he ruts against the winking little button hidden inside. His doll makes a mess of them them both, inner walls still quivering as he spears it womb deep.

He settles them in the computer chair, just soaking and enjoying its warmth as he instructs it to complete its work without acknowledging Clark at all. He enjoys exploring the small internal reactions from each stimulus. Twisting its nipples squeezes his cock nice and tight. Rubbing its clit massages him with pulsing ripples.

A bit of collected slick and slight change of position gives him access to its ass. He rubs his own cock through his dolls thin walls, finding a spot that makes it practically vibrate and attacking that spot relentlessly. Delightfully, it seems the sweet spot doesn't make his doll cum, just get wetter and more desperate. It barely has returned to its resting pose before Clark is slowly lifting it up his cock with just the 4 fingers he has impaled in its ass. He adjusts its position just perfectly, and then he lets him drop.

His fleshlight practically vibrates as it slides right back down. Clark hums happily as he controls the ride to maximize his own pleasure and his dolls painful overstimulation. He tugs it up by its tits, pinching and pulling at its nipples, making sure its clit scrapes every inch of his cock on the way down.

With a harsh slap of flesh on flesh, his balls beating the already bruised clit and he's being milked by his doll. Clark moans biting into his dolls shoulder, deeply satisfied. He briefly considers keeping Bruce like this, making him act like a dumb pet when he's not being used for his true purpose, but he reluctantly sends him into sleep instead.

🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫🤫