OFFICE QUICKIE💋 ★ 💋 ★ 💋 ★
househusband!clark kent x fem!ceo!reader
content: sub!clark, minimal plot, mean!reader a wee bit, praise kink (reader receiving this time), degradation kink kinda, reader & clark still being lovey-dovey, established marriage, second person, no y/n use
⊹★a/n: srry for not uploading in a bit, was busy with finals but we’re so back!
wc: 1.5k
꒰๑꒱──────────────★ ˚ ̟ ⊹ ♡
You massage your temples, an attempt to soothe your frustration after a heated phone call. You just blew a major business deal over the phone. You don’t want to even begin to think about what the rest of the board will say. You normally keep your composure, but you couldn’t stay silent when a stupid, chauvinistic pig was undermining your work in this industry simply because you are a woman. Thus, the most reasonable course of action was cursing him out. Oh, well! You like to keep your pride intact.
Your office phone rings again, the most aggravating noise in the world right now. Without hesitation, you snatch the phone off the hook and yell into it, “I thought I made myself clear, but I guess fuckwads such as yourself lack comprehen—
“Madam, your husband’s here. Mr. Kent. Is now a good time to send him up?” Amanda, the front desk receptionist, asks with a squeak. She feared you.
You clear your throat, a little embarrassed. You can’t let it show in your voice; you return to your usual stern tone. There’s a reputation to uphold at this empire. “Um, yeah, sure, send him up. Thanks,” you say rather curtly.
“You’re welcome, madam, he’s on his way.”
You’re first to hang up, of course, and lie back against your grand, brown tufted leather chair. You hook your fingers together, and your mind is consumed by the dreadful announcement you’re going to have to make at tomorrow’s board meeting. You’re so deep in thought, you barely notice your husband entering the den.
It’s not a literal den; you’re just a figurative lion to all your subordinates. Your office is so grand and opulent, perfectly suited for a boss like you.
“Hey, hon! We’re having lunch together today, ‘member?” He comes in beaming, typical Clark. He’s so excited to see his beautiful wife and can’t wait to show you what he made. Hint: it’s your favorite with some Kent embellishments.
Suddenly, you’re up and marching towards him. He can’t help but admire your form in the impeccable suit you don. The crisp suit jacket and matching pencil skirt, plus the black stockings, goodness gracious, Clark thought you looked so hot.
“So, I made yo—
“Shut up.” You push him back against the wall, or more like he lets you push him. You roughly tug his tie, pulling him down towards your lips.
He mumbles into the kiss, “Whoa, happy to see m—
“Shut up.” You ignore him and pull apart to leave hectic kisses on his neck.
“I missed you too—
“Shut up.”
“You smell so go—
“Hush.” You say through gritted teeth before removing his tie and unbuttoning his top with haste, moving down to his exposed collarbone.
“Sweetpea, your lunch—
“Oh my God, Clark, stop talking,” you groan, then kiss his lips again.
You grip his shirt and pull him towards the leather loveseat. He gently places the lunchbox down on the coffee table as your frantic hands discard his white button-up.
He breaks apart, “But, honey, it’s gonna get cold.”
You skillfully unbuckle his pants without looking down since you’re glaring into his eyes instead.
“What did I say about talking?” You palm him through his briefs.
“Honey, I want you to eat first,” he says as his breath hitches.
Oh, Clark, your over-worrying husband who just wants to make sure his hard-working wife is properly nourished. He hates knowing you work long hours without eating when you’re caught up in back-to-back meetings or whatever it is you do; he isn’t privy to all the details.
“Zip it.” You push him until the back of his knees hit the loveseat. Your eyes glaze over him; he looked so pathetic while half-naked for you.
You lean down and pat his thigh, making him lift up so you can say bye to those tightie whities.
Finally, you wantonly shove off your pencil skirt and mount his beefy thighs. The sight of your lacy black garter belt and stockings makes his brain short-circuit. He wonders how he got so lucky to have a woman like you, so out of his league, like this. His hands unhesitatingly find your waist as you grind on his growing hard-on.
“My goodness, babe—
You press a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him. “As a man, you have no right to fucking speak.”
His brow furrows, thinking about what he could have done to upset his wife.
“So tired of you weak men thinking you’re above someone like me,” you mutter, grinding harder on bare cock.
Clark finally gets it, but lets you talk to him like this. He has no issues with his gorgeous woman expressing her frustrations through sex. A bit unhealthy, but why would he argue with you? He supports all your rights and wrongs.
He whimpers at the feeling of your clothed cunt rubbing against him. He watches you, eyes full of pure admiration as his big hands caress your smooth skin.
“You all think you’re so fucking smart. So capable of running the world."
"Mhm," he hums without thinking, and you halt all movement.
"Are you seriously agreeing with me right now?"
"Wait--no, ma'am, um, you're so right; I could never do what you do," he sputters.
"That's what I fucking thought." You scoff when you feel that all-too-familiar dampness down there. "That fast? Jesus Christ, you men are so easy."
He blushes and proceeds to watch you in awe as you dry hump him, already so lost in the feeling of you when he's not even inside yet.
Clark whines when you stop again, unashamed of how desperate he is now. Suddenly, you spit into your hand before gripping his girth. With your other fingers, you push your panties to the side and sink down on him.
"Goodness, honey!" he blurts out.
You set a steady, normal pace, bouncing up and down his cock as if he were your own personal toy.
You tut, "Don't even think for a second this is for you. All I need is this cock right here."
He whimpers at your harshness, living for you being rough with him.
"Just use me, sweetheart , take all you need," he begs, and you roll your eyes.
"You make me s-sick." You moan while lifting your hips up, then slamming back down again.
You fumble with your own buttons; the heat was becoming too much. You shrug off your jacket and the rest of your useless clothes, giving your husband the perfect view of your bouncing chest.
His mouth falls agape, babbling all kinds of incoherent nonsense at your gummy walls, clenching him and your fat breasts practically begging to be touched.
You chuckle when he reaches for them. "Can't help yourself? You’re all so predictable. This all you ever think about right? You only think with that dick of yours?”
Nonetheless, you let him fondle and squeeze your tits as you ride him to your heart’s content. Clark holds you tighter against him, big hands splayed across your back so his mouth is mere inches away from them.
You melt when he kisses a tit before swirling his tongue around your sensitive nip and sucking on it. Arms wrapped around his neck, your hitched breathing like music to ears. You’re in an embrace with silver bullets forming on your skin.
“What man in this business works harder than me? Huh? Who has more degrees—shitt!” you moaned while your fingers became entangled in his messed up curls. The vibration of your voice sent a shiver down his spine. Paired with your God-sent cunt and your beauty, Clark could feel himself nearing his peak.
He lifts his head, “you’re the most hard working woman—gosh!—I know, baby!”
“Who became a billionaire in their twenties? Hmm? None of those other fucks that’s for sure—ugh!” you cry out when Clark pulls your hips down harder, burying himself even deeper. You let his take of control slide for the moment, too drunk on the sensation of him filling you up like this.
“T-that’s right, sweetie, you’re better than all of them! They all wish they could have half the mind you have!”
“Damn right! Ah, fuckkkk, Clarkie—Unghh!”
The nickname slipping out was enough to bring him over the edge. He holds you firmly against his chest once again and you nuzzle into his neck, muttering all kinds of profanities.
“May I, sweetheart? May I, p-please?” he pleads.
“Just do it!” you yelp, already knowing what he was asking.
His movement stills as he unleashes his heavy load in you, moaning your name so loud you’re sure the whole building hears. You cling to him when you cum at the same time, breathless when the pleasure washes over your body.
The only sounds in your grand office are the sounds of you and Clark panting as you both come down from the quick high.
Chest still heaving, he asks, “you feel any better, hon?”
“Much better.”
───────── ☆
© beatificwrites 2026
