#lenoreworks

💌: obsessed with the idea of clark cumming on your pussy and using his dick to smear it all over your folds and clit

cw: established relationship, cum play, teasing, dirty talk, allusions to prior sex and pussy slapping

wc: 0.4k

"gosh... i can't tease you anymore, baby. look at you." his voice had gone rough, that gentle politeness cracking under the weight of how wrecked you were. he stroked himself once, twice, thick fingers squeezing the base of his dick as he lined up the swollen, flushed head right against your dripping slit.

the first hot stripe of his cum hit you with a wet splatter — thick, heavy, and pulsing across your swollen folds in rhythmic spurts. you gasped at the sudden heat of it, the way it painted your pussy in messy, obscene ropes. clark groaned deep in his chest, jaw tight, eyes locked on the sight of his spend coating your pretty cunt.

"that's it," he rasped, voice hoarse with satisfaction. another thick pulse landed directly on your clit, making your hips jerk sharply. the wet sound of it was filthy, almost louder than the earlier slaps — sticky and warm, dripping down over your entrance in slow, pearly trails.

he didn't pull away. instead, he pressed the broad, still leaking head of his cock against your cum slick folds and started to smear it. slow, deliberate circles. the fat tip dragged through the mess he'd made, spreading his release over every inch of your swollen pussy, gliding slick and heavy over your clit, then down to nudge against your twitching entrance, only to pull back and paint it all over again.

"listen to that," he murmured, almost reverent, as the lewd, squelching sound filled the room with every lazy stroke. his cum mixed with your own slick, turning everything glossy and obscene. he tapped the head against your clit once, twice, watching the way the pearly fluid clung and stretched in thin strings before breaking. "so messy for me. my pretty girl dripping with my cum."

you whimpered, back arching, fingers twisting in the sheets as he kept working the sensitive head in unhurried figure eights over your folds. every pass nudged your swollen clit, sending sparks through your overstimulated bundle of nerves. the heat of his release, the smooth glide of his cockhead, the way he watched it all with dark, hungry eyes — it was too much and not enough all at once.

clark leaned down, breath hot against your ear, voice low and a bit smug again. "you feel that? how slippery you are now? that's all me, honey. gonna rub it in nice and deep so you remember who exactly you belong to."

he dragged the tip up one last time, pressing it firmly against your clit and giving one final, slow grind, spreading the last of his cum in a slick, filthy sheen that left you throbbing and whimpering beneath him. his grin returned, soft and dangerous.

"perfect," he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your trembling thigh. "i can do this all night, baby."

clark’s cure

summary: sometimes the best medicine is an orgasm

18+, established relationship, pussy eating, soft filth

you had told him it was just a migraine, but clark kent looks at you like he can see through the lie.

and technically, he can.

your apartment door swings shut behind you with a soft click, the sound barely registering over the incessant pounding in your skull. you barely manage to kick your shoes off before crumpling onto the edge of your bed with a long, breathy groan. the room is warm and dim, lit up by the city glow leaking through your blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the sheets.

clark's still standing near your bedroom door, shifting on his feet like he's not sure what to do with his hands. there's something tight in his jaw, something about the way his eyes sweep over you like he's memorizing every little tremble in your fingers, every shallow breath, and every twitch of discomfort.

"you're sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" he asks, voice low and soft. concern weaved into every syllable. "this looks like a bad one."

"it's just a migraine," you manage, fingers dragging over your temples. "it's nothing, it'll pass."

clark lingers.

you can feel him linger. the air shifts with his presence, always a bit different when he's near. charged? maybe a little electric. you can hear his breathing behind you, the faintest hitch in it when you wince and flop back against your bed.

you don't see him move, but you feel the dip of the mattress beside you a second later. he's close enough now that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

then softly, "...you smell like ozone."

you blink open an eye, sluggish. "what?"

clark's looking at you like he's fighting himself. his brows pulled low, lips parted. he's flushed at the neck. that perfect button down is slightly wrinkled at the sleeves from where he rolled them up. his tie is loosened, the top button undone. he looks rumpled, a bit warm, and just a little...guilty.

"i—um," he clears his throat. "i've read that...sometimes an orgasm can, uh. help relieve pain."

your breath catches.

the words roll off his tongue so earnestly. like it physically pains him to offer that kind of thing out loud. like he's afraid you'll laugh or tell him to leave or think he's making a move on you when all he truly wants is to make sure you're not in pain anymore.

you tilt your head, a small smirk just barely pulling at your lips. "you've...read that?"

"i mean, not like just now—i wasn't looking it up or anything," he stammers, tripping over his words as the tips of his ears go red. "i saw it in a study. about like hormones. it's science."

you bite back a laugh. barely. "and this is your scientific solution?"

clark stiffens. for a second, you think he's going to bolt. but then he meets your gaze with a heat that surprises you and even makes your stomach dip."

"let me help," he says, quiet but firm. "please."

there's a beat.

and then he's moving.

clark leans over you, his fingers ghosting down your sides like you'll break if he touches you wrong. he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. then your jaw. then the soft skin of your throat. featherlight touches that somehow burn.

"just let me take care of it," he murmurs, lips brushing your soft skin. "let me take care of you."

then he sinks to his knees.

he spreads your thighs like they belong to him—gently, as if he's done it a thousand times. like he's imagined this or even longed for it.

his hands stroke the backs of your thighs, warm, big, and trembling slightly. he kisses the inside of your knee, and then higher, and then higher still. until he's peeling down your panties and he's staring at your wet, aching pussy. until he's so close that his breath ghosts against your folds and makes you whimper.

clark glances up at you once—checking. making sure you're okay and that you're sure. when you don't move, he devours.

he kisses your pussy like it's holy. as if you're something sacred, and he's on his knees praying. his big tongue is hot and firm as it slides up your slit and circling your clit, then dipping lower to taste your arousal straight from where you're dripping.

he groans like he's starving. like you're everything he's ever wanted.

"you're dripping," he growls, pulling back just far enough to catch his breath. his chin is wet and lips swollen. "gosh, baby. you're so wet."

"clark—oh, fuck—“

"sweetheart..." his voice is ruined. "you're pulsing. are you close already? just from this?"

he goes right back in. messier and hungrier now. he licks in tight, focused strokes, and the second your hips buck he moans into you. loudly. like he's the one losing control and getting you off is the only thing keeping him grounded.

you rock against his face shamelessly now, desperate, and his big hands spread your thighs wider. his thumbs keeping you open for his tongue to fuck deeper, for his mouth to cover every inch of you.

"baby, i wanna feel you cum on my tongue," he pants, breath wet against your clit. "please. wanna make you feel better."

and then you do.

your orgasm slams into you and your whole body tightens, then shatters, spasming against his mouth as he groans and eats you through it. and he doesn't bother stopping.

"good girl," he huffs, tongue flattening against you, licking up the slick you've mad. "that's it. just like that. give it to me, baby."

your hips stutter, your thighs tremble, and you're already floating when the second one hits.

this time it's messier and louder. you cry out, and his name is all you remember.

and when you come down, just barely, you find his cheek pressed against your thigh, eyes fluttering closed, swollen lips damp with your cum. his voice is so soft when he finally speaks that you barely hear it.

"still got that headache?" he whispers.

you can't even speak. you just whimper.

he smiles and kisses your inner thigh like it's a reward.

"didn't think so."

yk that scene where bella and edward r on their honeymoon and he grips the headboard and literally breaks it … what if something like that happened to clark after he “lets off steam” bc reader offered to lighten his load after seeing the stress on his face from being a superhero and all….……

stress relief

18+, PIV sex, size kink, coworkers to lovers, big dick! clark, mild age gap, creampie

an: gosh i'm sorry this took sooo long to write! was trying to figure out a plot for days and it turned out super long, but i hope you enjoy!

you notice it before he even reaches the elevator.

clark’s usually pretty good at hiding it with his big shoulders pulled back, easy smile, the same shy little wave in your direction every time you pass his desk. but tonight his tie is loosened, his glasses are smudged, and his posture is crushed in on itself as if the weight of metropolis is sitting on his back. 

you’re stuffing your notebook and other files into your bag, pretending not to look, but you fail.

he rubs a hand over his face, long fingers pressing into his brow like he’s trying to push a headache back into his skull. most of the lights on the floor are off, perry’s door is shut, and it’s just the two of you left in the red glow of the exit sign.

“long day?” you manage despite your heart pounding.

clark startles a little, and then gives you that soft, apologetic smile that makes your stomach do somersaults. “oh, hey. sorry, i didn’t realize anyone else was still here.” his voice tired, but still gentle. “and…yeah. you could say that.”

off the record

summary: clark lets you interview superman

18+, established relationship, riding, recording during sex

you're bouncing on superman's dick.

sort of slowly. a bit rhythmically and sort of trying to sound like you're not.

the recorder is blinking red beside you, catching everything from the creak of the couch to the slap of skin under your skirt and the occasional gasp — and clark kent is trying very hard to maintain eye contact like he isn't stuffed all the way inside you.

"superman," you say, steadying your breath with more effort than you were willing to admit, "did you consult with the president before entering boravian airspace?"

he shifts under you.

you moan. quietly.

"mm—n-no," he replies, voice higher than usual, hands planted on your thighs. his knuckles are white and his button up is rumpled.

you wiggle your hips.

he jolts.

"gosh," he whispers under his breath.

"what was that?" you ask, bouncing once — harder.

he flinches. "i said no. to the president. and, um, no to the secretary of defense too."

you hum and tuck that information away in your head while trying not to moan with every motion. you can feel him twitch inside you every time he bottoms out and every time you tighten.

"you seem...tense," you offer, just saying nonsense now. "do you usually walk around this worked up, or is it just me?"

"i'm not tense," he lies. he's breathing hard. you clench once more. he swears — “golly!" — and clears his throat, shifting so that your clit grinds on his pelvis.

you slap his thigh.

"i'm doing my job," you say, trying not to gasp. "can you take this seriously, please?"

"i'm trying," he hisses, trying to look anywhere but where your skirt is hiking up over your hips, giving him a slight glimpse of your overstretched cunt on his dick. "you're the one bouncing like you're on a—“

"i'm conducting an interview," you snap.

he mutters something under his breath. you're pretty sure it's 'i'll give you something to conduct.'

"did you inform any u.s. official before taking matters into your own hands?" you ask, voice breaking a little on hands because you drop your hips fast and hard and his dick hits so deep that it leaves you breathless.

"no," he grits.

"no, what?"

"no— i didn't inform anyone," he bites out, "because there wasn't time."

you bounce again. a bit too eagerly, evident with the slick squelches between you.

"then what were you representing? the united states? your own moral code?" you ask, panting now, heart racing as your thighs start to ache. "some sort of god complex?"

"i wasn't representing anyone," he says sharply,

"except myself, and, and—golly, sweetheart, if you don't stop doing that—“

"stop doing what?" you ask innocently.

he looks at you with a twitching jaw. "interviewing me like that."

"this is professional, clark," you murmur, voice breaking into a whimper as you bounce a little faster, the glide between your thighs now wet and messy. "we agreed. i get a real quote and real answers. and a full length interview. just because i'm sitting on your—“

"my lap," he replies quickly.

"right," you pant. "lap."

you bounce again. hard. then again. his dick throbs inside you. the couch shift slightly.

"people on social media say you're hiding something," you manage to say, hips stuttering, thighs on fire. "they're calling you a liar. superspy. supershi—“

"—supershit," he finishes, gritting his teeth. "which, by the way is rude! and very hurtful!"

"tell that to twitter," you mutter, hands sliding along his shoulders to keep yourself upright. the bounce is rough now with his thighs flexing under you, guiding your pace whether you like it or not.

he exhales like he's losing his mind. "is this all on the record?"

you gasp when he thrusts up once, deep and slow, and your entire body shudders.

"yeah," you whisper. "but i don't wanna stop."

his voice breaks. "good golly."

you barely hear him over the squelch of your cunt gliding up and down his dick, over the breathy whimpers slipping from your lips, over the way your body loses rhythm to need.

"okay," you pant, "changing topics. what do you know about your—mmph—your biological parents?"

he leans in suddenly, lips brushing your ear. "you wanna ask that while you're riding me, sweetheart?"

you moan softly.

"that's what i thought," he mutters, and slams his hips up into once, twice.

you nearly knock the recorder off the arm rest of the couch.

"clark," you whimper. "be professional."

"i'm being very professional," he hisses, gripping your hips. "i haven't even—golly—i haven't even touched you."

"you're inside me!"

"and yet you're doing most of the work," he says smugly.

you stare at him, lips parted, sweat beading at your brow.

you grind again. sloppier now and frantic.

"okay, i'd like to change the subject," you gasp. "if i could."

"go ahead."

"let's talk about what you're doing to my insides."

he grins. "off the record?"

"clark—"

"i think you're dealing worse than i am," he says, cupping your ass now and helping you rock yourself on him. "but i mean, you wanted the interview. you're gonna have to take it all the way through."

"i hate you," you whisper.

"you love me," he breathes.

then he grinds your clit against the base of his big, thick dick and you cry out, full body tensing as your orgasm hits you.

the mic definitely picks that up.

you're still shaking when he holds you down and fucks up into you, hard and deep, groaning through gritted teeth as he fills you. it's all hot and endless.

"god—i mean—golly," he pants, rutting through it. "you take me so well, sweet thing..."

you're a mess in his lap. breathless, slick almost everywhere, and thighs trembling hard. he pulls you against his chest as he clicks off the recorder.

"we can cut some of that, right?" he murmurs.

you press your forehead to his neck. "you mean the whole thing?"

likes, comments, and reblogs are sooo appreciated!!!

established relationship, big dick! clark, pussy slapping w/ no plot, size kink, dirty talk

you could hear it. the lewd, wet smack echoing through your bed room every time clark tapped the fat head of his dick against your clit. louder than it had any right to be, every slap making your pretty thighs twitch further apart, shame curling in your gut at how much you wanted more.

"too much?" he asked, almost sheepish, though the smug tilt of his mouth gives him away. his dick was in his hand, long fingers wrapped loosely around the thickness of it, and still he lifted it to drop down on you again. thwack. the noise had you gasping, little pussy dripping down onto his sheets.

"clark—" your voice broke, his name spilling out as more of a plea than warning.

"god, baby..." he bit down a groan, eyes stuck on the way your hips jerked every time his heavy cock smacked your swollen clit. "i can feel it bounce off you. you hear that too, don't you? so wet."

"sweet little thing getting all messy just from me playing with you," he teased, dragging his pretty dick down your slit. he pressed the swollen head against your entrance, just enough to stretch you open--then pulled back with that grin, slapping it down on your clit again. "such a greedy pussy...can't decide if it wants me in or on it."

another slap. you whimpered, hands scrambling for purchase, for the sheets, clenching them tight. the sound was obscene, wetter with each hit. your cunt ached, desperate, begging without words for him to give you more than teasing slaps.

"you're gonna bruise me just doing that," you moaned, voice wrecked.

"then i'll kiss every mark better." he dragged the broad head up your slit, slicking himself in your mess, before letting it fall again with a brutal clap that had you moaning out. his grin faltered, shifting darker and hungrier. "but i think you like it, sweetheart. you like that sound."

he was right, and you hated it. your body betrayed you, clenching around nothing, dripping slick down your thighs. the noise filled the room like thunder, filthy and shameless, until he had you dizzy with want.

dividers by @uzmacchiato. hi! i'm a new acc and if you've read this far, leave a like or reblog i'd appreciate it! i'm looking for moots <3!!!! - lissi

18+, established relationship, porn w/o plot, spanking, backshots, sorta rough

you didn't mean to say it.

not out loud at least—not with the way your cheek was pressed into the pillow, your hips up high, thighs shaking, and clark thrusting inside you slow and steady from behind, like he was trying to savor every second of your tight pussy wrapped around his thick cock.

but the sting had felt so good. that soft little spank he gave you earlier, almost by accident, when he adjusted your hips and his hand came down a bit too fast.

you'd moaned, louder than you meant to, and now, here you were. sweating, needy and gasping it out again between ragged breaths.

"...do that again. clark, baby—“

everything paused.

his thick cock stilled deep inside you and his hands stopped where they gripped your hips. his breath caught.

"what'd you say?" he asked, voice quiet, as if he needed to hear you again to be sure he heard you correctly.

your face burned and your voice barely came out. "do it again. please."

he didn't say anything for a second. you could almost hear his heart pounding behind you while yours pounded in your ears, and then:

slap.

a sharp crack echoed in the room, and you shivered.

his hand stayed on your ass cheek, soothing the sting. "gosh," he breathed. "you really like that."

you nodded, breath hitching. "yes."

his hips drew back slow, dick dragging along your soaked, gummy walls before pushing back in with a firm, deep stroke that made your legs tremble.

"didn't know you liked it rough, sweetheart," he murmured, the softness in his voice curling into something darker. "you're always so sweet with me."

he spanked you again. firmer.

you whimpered. your fingers curled tight into the sheets.

he groaned behind you, low and drawn out. "gosh, baby. you just clenched so hard. are you—did that make you wetter?"

you nodded again. you just couldn't help it.

slap.

you whined and tried to push back onto him.

"well, i'll be," he whispered, voice hoarse. "look at you. sounding all pretty just from a little spanking." his thrusts picked up, each one met with a wet smack as your soaked cunt gave him everything he wanted. "you're so, so good for me."

you sobbed into the sheets. you just couldn't hide it. couldn't hide how much you loved it, how your body was quivering with every spank, every thrust, every sweet awed phrase that left his lips.

"you gonna finish for me, sweetheart?" he rasped. "just from this? oh gosh, i can feel you getting close—you're squeezing me real tight—“

his hand came down one last time.

smack.

you broke.

hips bucking, mouth dropped open, pleasure crashing over you as your body shook around him. he held you through it, with his voice soft in disbelief and love.

"that's it. there you go, honey, just like that..."

he didn't even last ten second more. he sank in deep with a soft groan, forehead dropping to your back, snd you felt him pulse inside you with a quiet, aching moan of your name.

cw: mentions of p in v, doggy, missionary, scratching/marking, allusions to big dick! clark

wc: 0.5k

it's the kind of august that sticks to your skin. the air's thick, the cicadas won't shut up, and everything feels a little too slow.

you've known clark your whole life. known the way he ducks his head when he's embarrassed, the way he says "ma'am" so politely, the way he's always been so careful with everything.

he hasn't been careful with you.

not this summer.

it started small — lingering touches, hands brushing a little too long, the kind of looks that make your stomach flip. sneaking out to the barn, to the fields, to anywhere no one would think to look. both of you pretending you didn't feel it building, even while you kept coming back for more.

and clark... god, clark learns fast.

way too fast.

by the time august rolls around, he's not tentative anymore. he's sure. steady. the kind of sure that has him on top of you in the back of the old truck, fucking you deep in missionary with slow, heavy thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs. he's so thick it borders on too much, stretching you open every time he bottoms out, and you end up clawing at his abs just to have something to hold onto while he grinds against that spot that makes your legs shake.

or when he bends you over hay bales in the loft, one hand fisted in your hair, pounding into you from behind so hard the wood groans underneath you. you reach back blindly, nails raking down his stomach because you can't do anything else — not when he's hitting so deep it feels like he's rearranging you, your cunt clenching around him while you cum with your face pressed into the scratchy hay.

you don't mean to leave marks. you really don't.

it just happens when he fucks you that good.

so now it's late afternoon, golden light spilling through the kent house, and martha's calling for the two of you to hurry if you're going to the creek you two frequented as teenagers before supper.

you're already there when he comes barreling out from his childhood bedroom, hair damp at the edges, t shirt clinging slightly from the heat. he's laughing about something his pa said, easy and bright —

until he pulls the shirt up over his head.

and you see them.

faint red lines dragged low across his stomach, just above the waistband of his swim trunks.

ma kent notices first. of course she does.

there's that soft, startled little gasp — “clark joseph kent, what on earth—“ — and he freezes, ears going red as he fumbles for an excuse.

"just... caught on some fencing down by the field," he says too quick, rubbing the back of his neck. "chasing that loose calf again."

jonathan gives him a long look over his iced tea, but doesn't push. martha just sighs and shakes her head, already turning toward the kitchen like she's decided it's better not to ask too many questions.

"well, be more careful next time, honey," she says gently.

clark goes even redder.

and for a second, jusstttt a second, his eyes flick to you.

you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. all while heat crawls under your skin, pretending you don't already know exactly how those marks are going to feel under your fingers tonight...

no seriously because how much restraint will that huge hunk of man have when he can't do anything but watch his girl get off without him???

18+, established relationship, porn w/o much plot, light bondage, orgasm denial, big dick! clark, subby! clark, use of toy, female masturbation, edging

you honestly didn't need to tie him down.

he would've let you do anything — kissed your feet, begged sweetly just to touch — but you did it anyway. two sets of fuzzy pink cuffs around each thick wrist of your boyfriend, clark, binding him to the headboard, those broad shoulders flexing instinctively when the click echoed through the bedroom.

and now he was watching you. completely bare — no shirt or boxers, just thighs spread, thick dick resting against his abs and already drooling with precum. the tip twitched every time you so much as breathed near him.

he couldn't stop squirming. "wha-what are you doing, honey?" he asked, voice breathless.

"taking my time," you purred, circling the bed slowly. "you get to watch. that's all."

he whimpered. "i don't-" he paused, swallowed. "i don't know how long i can last if you tease me like this."

"that's the point."

you flicked off the bedside lamp so only the warm glow from your vanity lit the room, golden and soft, casting you in silhouette. he couldn't take his eyes off you when your fingers reached for the hem of your shirt and you started to pull it up, inch by inch, revealing soft skin.

he groaned, hips twitching. "goodness," he whispered, "you're so pretty."

you smiled as your bra hit the floor. "you're not even ready for the rest."

and you meant it, because when your hands slid down, your hips began to sway, soft at first, then more meaningful. you danced for him, rolled your hips, gave a slow turn, then bent down low to slide off your panties. clark's breath hitched so hard it sounded painful.

"oh golly..." he gasped, head dropping back before jerking forward again as if he couldn't not look at you. "i-i didn't know you could move like that."

he looked wrecked with his chest rising fast, dark curls clinging to his forehead, lips parted as he stared between your thighs while you climbed up onto the bed and sat back on your heels.

you picked up the toy off to the side, it was already slick and glistening with lube as clark's jaw dropped. you dragged it slowly through your folds before easing it in. inch by slow inch while your gummy walls stretched, swallowed, and sucked it in. your head fell back with a soft moan, and when you opened your eyes again, clark was completely silent — frozen, like even taking a single breath might make him cum.

you grinned.

"you like seeing me take it, huh?" you whispered, your own voice a bit breathless as you started a steady rhythm, hips rocking lazily against the silicone. "is that why you're leaking like that, baby?"

clark groaned, the tip of his dick twitching violently. precum beaded and rolled down his length, wetting his stomach. his thighs trembled, the muscles in his arms flexing against the restraints.

"yes, sweetheart." he choked. "i-i'm trying not to-golly, i'm trying not to cum."

you let out a soft moan, hips jerking as you pressed the toy deeper. "no, not yet, clarkie. m'gonna cum first."

he whined like you'd hit him, his blue eyes wide and tortured as he watched the toy move in and out of you and heard how it squelched inside you. it had his thick dick jumping as the lewd sounds echoed in the quiet room.

"poor thing," you panted. "look at you. so red and hard. can't even touch yourself and you're so worked up. from just watching me fuck myself?"

his head dropped back to the pillows, a grunt tearing from his throat. "sweetheart, please. i don't know how long i can-oh gosh-“

"you're gonna watch me cum," you interrupted, your free hand trailing up your body, fingers tugging lightly at your nipple. "keep those pretty eyes open and see what you're missing."

you began fucking yourself harder and faster, rockling into the toy with reckless rhythm, legs trembling, voice pitching higher. you could hear how wet you were, the mess slicking your plush thighs, the base of the toy glistening a milky white, coated with your arousal.

clark looked destroyed.

"hun, please," he begged again, eyes locked on the toy sliding in and out of your cunt, spit glistening on his lower lip. "let me touch you-let me do it-i can't-i don't wanna finish like this, i wanna be inside when you-when you-“

you moaned as your orgasm built, spine arching, thighs twitching, and when you came with a cry, legs trembling around the toy buried deep inside you, clark came just from watching.

you didn't even get the chance to touch him. just the sheer, needy sight of you unraveling in front of him did it.

he grunted your name as hot cum spurted across his belly in thick, wet ropes while his chest heaved. he was nearly crying, red faced and soaked in sweat. still tied down.

you leaned over him, brushing your nose to his cheek.

"aww, baby," you whispered sweetly. "you made such a mess...i didn't even get the chance to untie you."