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Clark entered his son’s room in silence. His face didn’t show anger, or even disappointment—just confusion.
“How long has this been happening?” His voice was calm, but the weight in it made Jon’s stomach clench.
Jon swallowed hard, sitting stiffly on his bed, his hands locked together in his lap. “A little more than a month.”
Clark let out a low groan, pained enough that Jon flinched. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His tone was vulnerable, almost tender. “You’re my son. I could’ve helped you. You know I’ll always keep you safe, don’t you?”
Jon nodded faintly, though his fingers twisted tighter. His body burned after a week without Kon, raw and restless. Every night his cock throbbed, refusing to soften no matter how hard he tried to handle it on his own.
He drew a breath, his chest shaking, and forced himself to look at his father. “I… I need help,” he murmured, ashamed at how weak it sounded.
Clark moved closer, sitting beside him. His large hand landed on Jon’s thigh, steady and firm. The heat shot straight through Jon’s spine, leaving him trembling.
“Of course. What do you need?”
Jon’s lips trembled, the words barely slipping out. “I need you.”
Clark nodded, ready to comfort him, ready to speak about family bonds—until he froze. His hand brushed over the bulge in Jon’s lap. The sound Jon made was more a sob than a moan, his throat tight, face burning.
Clark pulled back slightly, staring at him, before letting his hand press there again. Jon gasped, clenching his teeth against the shameful whimper that tore out anyway. Clark’s pupils dilated, his throat working as he swallowed.
“How do you want my help, son?” His voice cracked with something dangerous.
“I want you to make the heat stop… make the pain go away.” Jon’s eyes dropped toward his hard cock, straining against his pajama pants. “It won’t go down. Not since Kon left.”
Clark’s jaw tensed. He glanced toward the door, then the walls, as if listening to the house. He could hear Lois and the grandparents still in the kitchen. No one would help here.
He stood, forcing his voice into something light, normal. “Lois, I’ll take Jon for a walk. He needs to burn off some energy.”
His mother called back immediately, warm and kind. “Be back before dinner!”
“Have fun!” Grandma shouted.
“And don’t break anything on the way!” Grandpa teased.
All their voices sounded soft, trusting, nothing like what Clark was about to do. He turned back to Jon with a voice stripped of warmth. “We’re going to the Fortress.”
He didn’t wait for Jon’s reply, just shot out through the window, leaving him behind.
Jon slapped his cheeks with both hands, breathing fast. “You can handle this,” he muttered to himself, even as his body shook. His throat felt tight, already raw from trying not to moan.
Heat crawled under his skin. His stomach twisted with nervous hunger as he leapt out the window and followed. Straight toward what waited for him.
The doors of the Fortress slid open, and Jon followed Clark inside. Guards gave them brief nods, then turned back to their posts. Clark’s stride was calm, heavy, almost like he was a perfect father again with others watching.
Jon’s chest ached at the contradiction. His dad could look so controlled in public, yet Jon’s cock was already stirring just walking behind him, knowing what would happen once those doors closed.
The deeper they walked, the colder the air grew. Jon’s breath fogged white, his arms folding across his chest as the chill cut into his bones. Another door hissed shut behind them. Clark didn’t even look back, his eyes fixed ahead.
The chamber opened in crystal white, machines humming around them. Jon froze as the image struck him: Kon, naked and shuddering under the grip of slick tentacles, arms and legs bound wide, one forcing his mouth open, others driving mercilessly inside him. His cock spasmed under Jon’s stare, his eyes rolled back as another tentacle stroked him raw. Cum burst violently from him, spilling across his chest—yet the tentacles never slowed, pounding him harder.
Jon’s body shook, his throat tight, cock pressed painfully against his pajamas. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.
Clark ruffled his hair almost gently, the touch sparking a jolt through him. “Kon needed a break,” Clark said evenly. “The stage he’s in isn’t easy for us.”
Jon’s lips parted, his chest struggling for air. “…Me?”
Clark exhaled, almost disappointed. “I hoped not. I thought being half-human would spare you.” He clicked his tongue, gesturing back at Kon. “But it seems Kryptonian blood speaks louder.”
The next door led them into a warmer chamber. A massive bed stood in the center, guards positioned around the walls, their eyes on every movement.
Clark’s voice stayed calm, almost clinical—public voice, fatherly tone. “Sex can turn violent if there’s no control. Even if I restrain myself, you could pass out, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come.”
Jon obeyed instantly, crawling onto the mattress, skin prickling under the guards’ stare. He wanted to hide himself, to cover his cock that throbbed shamelessly—but Clark’s presence pinned him down harder than their eyes ever could.
“There are rules, Jon.” Clark lifted his fingers one by one. “Tell me if something hurts. Communicate with me at all times. And pain is not pleasure.”
Jon swallowed, his throat raw, saliva thick in his mouth. He nodded quickly.
“And you tell me when it’s enough,” Clark added.
Jon gave another nod, his chest tight.
Clark stood and stripped his shirt off, muscles shifting under his skin. Jon’s hands shook as he scrambled to undress too, desperate not to fall behind. Their clothes disappeared piece by piece until they were both bare.
The guards didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. Jon’s skin burned with the shame of being seen naked, but Clark didn’t give him space to hide.
“Go to the center of the bed.”
Jon crawled backward, heart hammering, his eyes never leaving his father. Clark followed slowly, crawling forward until he loomed over him. He pressed their lips together in a kiss that felt less like affection and more like claiming property.
Jon gasped, the sheer weight of Superman above him unbearable—yet safe in a way that only deepened the contradiction tearing him apart.
Clark crushed his mouth harder, saliva spilling from the corners of Jon’s lips. His tongue shoved deep down his throat, fucking it until Jon gagged. His throat scraped raw, his moans breaking out around the intrusion.
When Clark pulled back, Jon coughed, chest heaving, his lips swollen and wet. Clark brushed his thumb along Jon’s jaw. “Breathe.”
Jon’s face burned, shame colliding with the desperate heat between his legs.
Then he turned him over, smooth and sure, pressing him face-down against the sheets. “Colors,” he murmured, close to his ear. “Red, I stop. Yellow, I ease up. Green means keep going.”
Jon tried to answer, but only a hoarse whimper came out. His throat stung, already abused.
“With words, Jon.”
Jon swallowed hard, tried to speak. “Green,” he rasped.
“That’s it.” Clark’s palm slid over his hip, anchoring him in place. “Stay with me.”
Clark gripped his ass, kneading until Jon’s body trembled. The friction of skin against sheets drew a raw sound from Jon’s throat, half-moan, half-plea.
Clark leaned closer, his breath steady. “You’re losing yourself already,” his voice dropped low, mockery. “My son, begging like this for his father’s cock.”
Jon clawed at the sheets, body straining against the wave of shame and lust. Clark’s hands worked him harder, squeezing, shaping his ass until Jon cried out.
The heat built too fast, unbearable. A guttural moan ripped free as he came onto the bed, semen splattering across the fabric. His body shook, but his cock never softened, throbbing angrily against the sticky mess.
Clark kissed his shoulder. “Still burning,” he murmured. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it.”
Then his breath warmed Jon’s rim, slow and steady, before his tongue pressed in. The first touch made Jon jerk violently, a strangled cry spilling from his throat. The wet muscle worked deep, patient, drawing obscene, helpless sounds from him.
“Dad—” Jon gasped, his voice wrecked, his whole body trembling. His cock twitched, leaking across the ruined sheets.
A thick finger joined the tongue, stabbing inside until it struck his sweet spot. Jon screamed, collapsing into the mattress as semen spurted again, sticky and filthy. His body convulsed, chest tight, heart racing, while Clark’s tongue never stopped and that finger kept hammering at him in rhythm.
Another finger shoved in, stretching him wider. Jon sobbed, hips bucking up to follow. His throat ached from the broken cries, but his body begged for more, clenching and twitching around his father’s fingers.
Clark thrust them faster, rougher, his control thinning with every frantic sound Jon made. The pressure spread Jon open mercilessly, forcing his hole to loosen, shaping him to take more than fingers.
Clark finally pulled back, his fingers dripping wet. He positioned himself at Jon’s entrance, cock heavy, swollen, the head pressed firmly against the tight rim.
Jon didn’t move—he lifted his hips in offering, trembling but eager. His ass stretched tight around the blunt head, resisting, burning as if it might split.
“Son,” Clark growled low.
“Green,” Jon gasped, his voice rough and broken. “Green.”
Clark eased in slowly, spreading him wider. The thick cock pushed past the clenching ring, and Jon sobbed at the brutal stretch. His gut clenched as if something too big was splitting him open. Clark groaned, savoring the tightness, his hands anchoring Jon’s hips.
“That’s it,” he whispered, breath hot against Jon’s back. “You’re doing so well. My son, opening for me like a perfect whore. You shouldn’t take this so well.”
Jon shuddered, saliva slicking his lips, and managed to choke out, “More… more…”
Clark bit his lip, sliding in halfway. Jon convulsed, his cock jolting hard before spilling across the sheets again, another messy release. The room stank of sex, cum soaking everything beneath him.
“My cock’s too big for you,” Clark murmured. “But you’re begging to be torn apart, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” Jon cried, hoarse. “Shove it in—tear me—just don’t stop!”
Clark groaned, his grip bruising Jon’s hips. His self-control cracked. He thrust deeper, inch by inch, until Jon’s stomach bulged from the intrusion, the cock stretching him beyond reason. Electricity shot through his body, his eyes rolling back as he moaned incoherently.
“So small, so tight,” Clark purred, thrusting slowly. “Look how you swallow your daddy’s cock.”
“All yours,” Jon gasped, his voice shredded, throat aching. His body yielded with each thrust, clenching and loosening around the thick shaft.
Clark slammed forward, burying himself deep. The stretch was unbearable yet intoxicating—Jon’s walls dragged raw, but every brutal stroke hammered his prostate, ripping pleasure straight through him.
His belly bulged with each thrust, the thick head grinding mercilessly at the end. Jon sobbed into the sheets, choking on his own cries. His throat burned raw, every sound leaving behind scratches that would linger.
Clark leaned over him, one hand sliding up Jon’s chest. His fingers pinched a nipple hard, twisting until Jon screamed, his balls tightening before another hot stream spurted across the sheets.
“You’re a kid still growing, son,” Clark mocked, tugging the nipple hard. “Maybe I should take you to Kon. Both of you could enjoy Dan’adan’s affection.”
The thought struck like lightning—tentacles holding him down, forcing him open until it hurt. His cock throbbed violently, and another torrent of semen erupted in heavy spurts. The fluid splattered across his sticky chest, mixing with the mess already staining the sheets. The ropes clung together, turning everything beneath him into a slick ruin.
He didn’t stop. The climax ripped through him, his cock refusing to relent, his balls desperate to empty themselves completely.
“You’re already ruined by your father’s cock. Do you know how pathetic that is?”
Jon’s mind recoiled, humiliated—but his body betrayed him, his cock jerking violently, spilling more cum.
Inside, his walls clamped hard, milking Clark’s cock. Clark groaned, thrusting even rougher, rutting like an animal. With a final growl, he slammed deep, heat flooding Jon’s insides. Thick semen gushed, pounding his walls, spilling back out over Jon’s thighs.
Jon collapsed, chest sticky, voice gone raw. His body trembled violently, his skin marked and sore, throat aching from too many screams. He turned his face weakly toward his father, lips cracked, eyes glazed.
“I want Dan’adan.”
Clark chuckled, shaking his hair loose. “Later, son. For now, rest. You should drink water before we start again.”
Jon only nodded faintly, his body destroyed but still pulsing with need, shame and hunger tangled until he couldn’t tell them apart. When his eyes closed, the darkness didn’t bring rest—only the phantom image of cold limbs wrapping around his wrists, slick pressure prying him open.