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Bruce had a problem, a small, totally not weird or all consuming problem. It was so normal, and not creepy. It's not like he wanted to eat his best friend alive and ride him into the sunset. That would be weird. And he's not weird, he's so. So. So normal.
God he's such a freak. Bruce didn't know when it happened, maybe it was always there. As far as he knows, one day he and Clark were just best friends, the next, Bruce couldn't touch himself without wishing it was the other man. He's fucked his own brains out so many times he has the IQ of 4 and a half eaten grape. He was almost 40! He shouldn't have this kind of libido anymore, he definitely didn't before. But it's like Clark is the fountain of youth and he's reverted back to a horny teenager.
He's spent hours riding every dildo he has, just because Clark fucking smiled at him. He's hopeless. And it doesn't matter who else he has sex with, men, women, a damn superman impersonator (he was desperate ok?), nothing satisfies him anymore. Any progress he makes towards getting rid of this fetish, all big blue has to do is look at him and it's gone. He's even resorted to looking at his blood to see if he inhaled something Ivy made.
He's hopelessly craving Superman's cock with no way to get it. Its not like he can go up to his best friend and say 'hey buddie, you mind bending me over and fucking me until I can’t remember my own name?'. Yeah that will go over swimmingly. He's just stuck with getting more questionable dildos to complete his alien fantasies and then die. Thankfully, he's not depraved enough to look up what equipment his friend actually has, even though he has access to all the Kryptonian data. That's a line he can't cross, he knows once his obsession has been validated there is no going back.
Even more thankfully, Clark is too trusting to suspect his perverted thoughts, unknowingly fueling his dark fantasies with all his innocent touches. Why the hell does he have to be so tactile, he's not even that touchy with anyone else, just him. He must feel a certain level of comfort with him, and Bruce turns around and jerks off because of it.
Bruce doesn't know how many times he's come to a meeting in the Watch Tower, or one of their bi-weekly meet ups where his hole is stretched out and leaking excess lube. He's considered wearing a plug but the thought of Clark looking him over for injuries and seeing that. He doubts Clark even knows what one is, and he will not be the one to explain that. He needs to get this under control.
Bruce is currently in the Watch Tower and actively dying. They've got one of the big quarterly meetings where everyone and their mother shows up and talks all day about what the traffic is like. In all actuality, it's probably important information but it's one ear out the other since his best friend decided that he wanted to stand directly behind him. The man even has his head on his shoulder, apparently bored out of his mind. He's been fidgeting with the bats utility belt for the past 20 minutes, figuring out what's in each compartment. And Bruce has been achingly hard for the last 30 since Clark first stepped behind him.
"Hhmm... did'ja get a new cologne?" Clark whispers in his ear, his accent shining just a bit. His cock twitches at that. Bruce thinks back to this morning but doesn't remember putting on anything other than his usual so he shakes his head no. And... Clark.. He presses his nose into the junction of his neck and takes a deep breath. He doesn't know what the man can actually smell underneath his armor, "Ya smell good today," he states. Mm yup, new fantasy. That shouldn't even be sexy, this isn't fair. Bruce just hopes he can survive this meeting.
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God he wants to fuck bruce into the mattress, it takes everything in him to not just speed out of this dumb meeting with him and do just that.
Clark thought it would be a fun little bet with himself. See how long Bruce can hold out before he caves and jumps him. Apparently Clark forgot who he was dealing with, because Bruce is nothing if not determined. It's cute really, seeing the older man rile himself up, his pretty cock getting so hard. He thinks he's accidentally pavloved the man, he just has to smile at the grump and the sweet smell of arousal flows through the air.
Clark is confident that Bruce doesn't know that he knows. His bumbling farmboy reporter acts seemingly having an unintentional side effect. Said reporter has overheard many mumblings of 'don't be creepy', 'he doesn't think like that, and 'he's your best friend, don't be a freak'. Which is all very silly considering Clark has definitely crossed some lines of what is considered polite behavior. He can't help it, after spending so many years pinning over the man, he suddenly starts blushing and smelling like that? The heady scent of arousal and cherry lube is addicting, Clark can't even eat cherries anymore without having to fuck his fist.
He doesn't know what more he can do outside of just bending the man over, and it's not like he clings to anyone else and touches them for half ‘n’ hour. As cute as it is watching Bruce pretend to not be a little flirt, he needs to get balls deep into that ass. They've got one of their dinners tonight, and it might finally be time to just bite the bullet. He squeezes Bruce a little bit more trying to not drool at the thought of fucking him full of his cum tonight. After properly woo'ing him of course. He's not an animal.
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Bruce needs to stop messing with his suit or he's going to wrinkle it, he's being so dramatic. The elevator to Clark's apartment is a long and mildly concerning ride, he needs to take care of that. He's wearing a black on black pinstripe suit with a white button up. The first few buttons are undone to be casual, and he's also got his pearl necklace as well as matching earrings. To most it be too much for a casual dinner amongst friends, but Clark deserves the effort. He also has something else on, finally caving to the lizard brain just slightly.
Panties.
Well, panties with stockings and a garter belt, might as well go the full mile. They're in a sweet baby blue shade that complements his pale skin deliciously. He's sure the delicate lace is going to be ruined by the end of the night due to his crying cock. But god it was too good to pass up, even if he feels like a whore. Especially if he feels like a whore.
Taking a deep breath, he knocks on Clark's door. It takes only a second for it to open and he's greeted with Clark in a button up and slacks. Elevated from his everyday clothes, fitting him in ways that should be illegal. The shirt isn't buttoned all the way and his sleeves are rolled up, he's even got some jewelry on that Bruce has bought for him over the years. Namely, a nice gold and ruby watch from a craftsman in France, and a simple gold chain necklace. Both complement his skin tone, making Clark feel more sun-kissed.
"Hi.. You clean up nice. Forget you have clothes that actually fit." Bruce ribs, making sure he doesn't just stand there panting like a dog. He gets invited inside and Clark takes his overcoat like the gentleman he is. The feeling of the reporter's hands brushing against his shoulders and neck make him shiver slightly.
"You're very funny mister, you look good too. I love when you wear pearls, you look so pretty with them," Clark flattered. Bruce huffs, but can't bring himself to say anything. Would he think the panties make him pretty too? Would he call him pretty when he cries his mascara, choking on his cock? His barely there makeup is really completing the fantasy right now.
Clark guides him to the kitchen and... hands him a bouquet of white lilies, his favorite. Bruce's face flushes at the thoughtfulness, It's such a small thing but the butterflies in his stomach say something else. He gives Clark a quiet thanks, feeling very flustered.
The taller man even pulls out Bruce's seat for him, polite as ever.
The food before him smells divine, a simple but hardy dinner. Vegetarian Shepherds Pie and some fruit, all cooked to perfection. Ma Kent definitely taught her son well in the kitchen, showing in the bountiful flavors.
The two make pleasant small talk, updating on life, kids, and work. While they talk a lot in between the two weeks, it's nice to have a slow and thorough conversation. For Bruce, he does his very best to ensure he maintains this friendship well because outside of his children, Clark is the most important person in the billionaire's life. He won't just stand by and let it fall to the wayside.
When they finished the small feast Clark made, they both worked together cleaning it up and dealing with the dishes. Normally a frustrating task, but with their easy banter, it's simply another bonding activity. These nights are one of the few times he can truly let loose and relax, smiling and laughing freely.
"You look very beautiful when you smile B, I don't think I tell you that enough." Clark flattered, making Bruce in turn flush slightly.
"Oh hush you flirt." Bruce dismissed quickly, trying to keep himself from going insane.
"No really, it makes you blush too, can even see it on your neck... I wonder how far it goes down.." Clark declared with an easy smile. And woah. Where did that come from? That's a little, actually a whole lotta flirty. Is Clark coming on to him? There's no way. But while he's distracted, absent minded in drying a bowl, trying to come up with something to say, Clark steps up behind him. Not touching yet, just.. hovering. His breath teasing the back of his neck, making Bruce shiver.
"Ya know... I've noticed, you let me get away with a lot. I can touch you, lean against you, whatever I please. I wonder how far you'll let me go before you say something..." Clark confessed. His hands barely grazing his sides, a ghost of a touch. "I mean, at this rate it feels like you're just asking me too. To simply take what I want"
Bruce's hands clenched against the counter top, trying to keep his breathing under control, which is harder than it normally would be. Now, stripped of his armor, he can feel all of Clark against his back. The heat coming from the alien is tantalizing, making him feel like a lizard basking in the sun. Both of the younger man's hands are surrounding his waist, almost encompassing it with Clark's large hands and Bruce's smaller than average waist.
Can the other feel the garter belt underneath his shirt, the delicate lace versus hands that can shred steel? Would he trace the fabric teasingly, torturingly slow to take it off. Or would he rip it off, showing off his strength? Or would he simply leave it all on, panties included? Just pushing them away when he slowly fucks into him… The thought alone is getting him to twitch in its blue confines.
"Hmm.. There's that smell again, it's so delicious. I just want to take a bite." Clark breathed, his voice a low purr that made Bruce's head spin. What does that mean? Bruce can't smell anything new, and while looking around there isn't anything that was obviously causing it. But that's when he felt it, Clark's hand oh so slowly going south. The fingers barely brushed him, until they hit his belt in which he.. oh. His hand dips under the belt, just an inch, to grab at his shirt and pull it up. Once the fabric is freed from its leather confine, those hands start to wonder across scared flesh.
Bruce feels himself gasp at the touch, hips bucking slightly. He feels so pathetically needy, wanting the fingers to venture down even more. But Clark finds the lace hidden under his suit and lets out a noise of his own, pulling Bruce further into his body so he can peer over his shoulder. The button up is yanked up to Bruce's chest while his filthy little secret is on full display, body trembling.
"My..My..My. What do we have here? Did you have plans after our dinner? Or.. Is this all for me?" Clark drawls, pressing his smirking mouth against Bruce's neck. The detective has a choice to make. Save his dignity and lie, or jump into the unknown and possibly get something out of it. And the way the other man is tracing the lace, he's more willing to take the risk.
"Maybe... Do you like it?" Bruce squeaks out with a blush, and even with all of his escapes of the past, he feels like a teenager asking a girl to prom. He's supposed to be this suave playboy, he's supposed to be the one making the moves. But instead, he's pressed to a counter, with a behemoth at his back, playing with his lingerie. And god he just wants to be ruined, he wants to be nothing but a hole for superman to use at his will. A pretty slut, dressed in the finest fabrics and beautiful jewels, just to be made into a mess of cum and tears.
"Like it? Oh sugar, I love it. You make such a pretty girl," Clark purred, leaving Bruce to gasp in protest. He shouldn't like being called that. A girl. Hes the Batman for fucks sake. But his thighs are clenching and he's achingly empty. "Oh don't try to hide it now, I can smell how turned on you are. You poor thing, has no one satisfied you? Is that why you start leaking like a whore the second I give you any attention?" The larger man cooed teasingly as he continued to play with the lingerie.
Fuuuckk.
A pathetic whimper escapes Bruce. Since when could he talk like that? And he could smell him?? So every time he's come by, hard and wet, the man has known? It's humiliating. It's degrading. It's the hottest thing he's ever heard.
Apparently sick of the cat and mouse game, Clark picks him up bridal style and carries him to his bed. They haven't even started and Bruce has never felt so debauched, shirt askew, legs open, and his cock visibly showing his excitement beneath his slacks. He feels like prey in the jaws of his predator, and he's never been more turned on.
Clark starts to slowly unbutton Bruce's shirt, taking his time to remain delicate. Once he's shed that it's folded and put aside, he moves to his pants. The man doesn't ask permission, he simply does as he wants like it's his right. And that's because it is. His leather belt is pulled though it's the loops, his pants are unzipped, pulled off and neatly placed where his shirt is. Bruce is left bare, save for his undergarments. The garter, panties, and stocking on full display. Clark's hands start touching his body, exploring every part of him. Looking like a king preparing for a feast.
"Such a pretty thing, fit to be wife in this little number. I had fantasized about you in something like this, never thought you'd just waltz in my apartment with em. Such a good girl, gettin all dolled up for me." Clark purred. Like actually purred. Bruce can feel the vibrations from his chest, which is such a juxtaposition. A noise associated with calm and then filth coming out of his mouth.
"..fuck." Bruce whined. Which was very quickly followed with a smack to his ass, making Bruce let out a yelp. He... he just got spanked?!
"Now, now. If I'm going to make an honest woman out of you, you'll know better than to have a foul mouth Missy." Clark chided. Which A) how dare he, Bruce Wayne is one of the most, if not the most, powerful man in the world. He can swear if he damn well wants to. And B) Bruce is developing kinks at supersonic speed. While he may be in a very compromising position, he's not going to just roll over and show his belly. With a sharp look in his eyes, he juts his chin out.
"The fuck are you gonna do about bitch?" Bruce growled, defiant. The other man is far too soft to do anything seri-Bruce's world spins as he was moved at speeds he couldn't comprehend. The next thing he can understand is he's laid across Clark's lap, face down and a sharp slap to his behind. Helpless to the gasp that ripped out of him, he tries to squirm which only makes the other man give him another.
"Always needed to push at boundaries don't you? Don't worry sweetheart, I'll make sure this lesson sticks. We'll start with ten, then see how you behave." Clark taunted, and Bruce just knew the man was smirking. Who wouldn't be, with a multi-billionaire across your lap. With no preamble, his large hand came down across his cheeks. It was slow and methodical, ensuring Bruce felt everything. Chocked off moans and whimpering escaped his mouth at the overwhelming feeling. Each viciously sharp slap lets a humiliating noise echo in the room, the reporter showing no mercy.
He's sure there will be bruises with the pattern of lace in his flesh by tomorrow. Bruce is confident he won't be able to sit properly, likely not for days. Trying to get through a board meeting with a striking display of ownership, he might as well just sit on the floor like a good dog.
When they get to the number 8, Clark decides that he wants to switch it up. He grabs the thigh facing away from them and pulls it to spread his legs. And then-
"FU-hmng oh- oh godd. Clark!" Bruce keened. His slap hitting his cock and balls, the sharp tingling feeling making his legs shake. A dark chuckle escapes the curly haired man. One more. And this one hits his aching hole directly. The moan Bruce let out could only be described as whorish. He can't imagine what he looks like. Bent over a man's lap, in thousands of dollars worth of jewelry and lace, ass bright red, and tears in his eyes. He's never felt more beautiful.
"There. Anything you want to say Bruce?" Clark hinted, his hand soothing over the tender flesh he just abused. Feeling such satisfaction at the sight before him. It takes a couple seconds before the trembling man can collect himself enough to speak.
"..I’m..hm! I'm sorry. For. For swearing..th-thank you for.. correcting me.." Bruce uttered, pathetically. He could feel his neck burn with embarrassment, but it felt like the right thing to say. And by the look on Clark's face, he was right. Bruce is put back into the bed, thankfully at a normal speed, though still on his stomach. His hips are hiked up into his knees, making the billionaire feel exposed and vulnerable.
Clark then pulls the blue panties to the side and gives a long slow lick to his hole. He doesn't know if he's glad he didn't prep himself or not. While he desperately wants that cock inside him now, being able to feel himself be licked and finger fucked open will feel so delicious. The tongue continues to circle his opening, lathering it in spit. Clark sucks and bites at the rim of his entrance, trying to make it puffy and sensitive.
Eventually, the tongue plunged deep, deep inside him. Apparently a Kryptonian tongue, extended fully, is the size of a small to medium cock. A good 4 inches are inside of him, and he can't even grind against it due to the iron grip Clark has on his hips. Bruce can only softly cry out his name and try not to cum. The length and width hitting that special spot over and over again, his eyes are starting to roll back into his head.
Fingers start to join the tongue, stretching him out even more. 1 finger, then 2, then 4, all with the tongue. He's going to be so loose, Bruce doesn't even know if he'll be able to clench around Clark when he finally does enter him. Clark's teeth scrape against his rim, feeling much sharper than they looked like 10 minutes ago. His whole body is tensing so he doesn't cum early, even though his cock is likely purple with his need growing every second.
Finally Clark seems to have mercy on him and pulls out, letting Bruce gain his breath. His trembling thighs and aching, sloppy hole only made every sensation more intense. Bruce can hear the rustling of fabric behind him, knowing it was Clark undressing. Instead of simply mounting him on his knees, Clark manhandled the bat until he's flat on his tummy and the super is straddling the back of his thighs. Kal teases him by pressing his cock head against his hole but with the fabric of his panties keeping him from sinking in.
Bruce lets out a pathetic whine, wiggling his hips which earns him another slap. His arms are around one of the pillows, tears welling up in his eyes out of sheer desperation.
At long last, the lace is pulled to the side and that thick cock slides home, though he never got to see the gorgeous thing inside of him, which explains his shock. It's not the smooth velvet he was anticipating, no, it had ridges all down the length. Each bump popping against his rim, only driving him more insane. The alien's cock head is also much thicker than a human's would be, and at the base of it just before it meets his hips, there's a small bump. Every aspect adds more to the experience, and when Bruce slides his hand under his tummy he can feel the tip of the alien's member. Liquid pleasure rushes up and squirts from his cock, ruining the panties. Gutural moans clawing their way from his throat as his body clenches up and eyes roll completely back.
He doesn't know how long it takes for him to calm down from such an intense high, but when he does, he's shaking with tears streaming down his face. He looks back at Clark and is greeted with fire red eyes, the man looks dangerous. He smiles slowly, barring very sharp fangs that weren't there earlier.
"Does my cock feel that good sweetheart? So good your little clit makes a mess of those pretty panties? Don't worry baby girl, the surprises aren't over." Clark growled with a wolfish grin. He lowers his torso to press against Bruce's back, one arm going under and hand grabbing his throat, the other wrapping around his chest. Every sense Bruce had was entirely encompassed by the alien.
The sudden fast pace of thrust had Bruce gasping for air, and he feels more like a sex doll than a person. The feeling of his stockings rubbing against Clark's legs, the hand squeezing his neck, his prostate being abused with every slam of his hips. It's all too much and it wasn't enough. His mouth was hanging open, drool flowing freely.
The weighty cock stretches his rim with every pull, the bumps make it almost unbearable. Every time those powerful hips meet Bruce's ass, it feels like another round of spanking. The damaged blood vessels are already making him sensitive, but the pleasure and pain mixing together is delicious. Each time the cock is slammed home, Bruce's walls contract in anticipation of the extraterrestrial cum.
The hand around his neck squeezes more, cutting off his airway for a few moments in a rhythmic pattern. Leaving Bruce light headed and floating, in absolute ecstasy. He's ruined, no other being will ever be able to compare to what he's being subjected to now. Even if he never gets the chance to do this again, he'll just become celibate to curb the devastation. He can feel Clark's mouth at the back of his neck kissing and sucking, but when he feels those sharp fangs sink into his flesh he screams. He must be a masochist, because the feeling of blood riveting down and his neck throbbing just makes him whine and moan more.
Suddenly, the hand around his throat leaves, grabbing his thigh and pulling it up until Clark could hook his forearm in the crook of it. The angle opened him up, allowing the cock to push further inside, making the bulge in his stomach more obscene. His special spot was constantly being simulated due to the ridges and bump stretching him more. If he wasn't so cockdrunk he might have been able to notice that said bump was larger than when they first started. But currently, Darkseid could walk into the room and all Bruce would do is drool and cry on the cock impaling him.
The grunts in his ear are only stirring him on, making his own cock twitch back to life.
"Mhm sweetheart, your cunt feels so good. So tight and wet. I should just keep you here. Just to be fucked and bred." Clark cooed, the heavy slaps of his hips punctuating his words. His unrelenting pace not faltering for even a second. The Kryptonians hands are leaving purple welts from how tight his grip is, giving more evidence of his ownership for days to come.
"Pluh- pleasee, I need-mhm! More. Please, please." Bruce croaked, senseless begging. He's long past gone into oversensitivity, but even with his brain leaking out of his skull, he still wants more. His greedy... cunt. He needs more. Bruce desperately wants to feel Clarks cum filling him up.
"Yea baby? You need more? Yea, I'll give you more," Clark hissed in the older man's ear. Only then does Bruce finally become aware of the bulb at the base of the alien's cock, popping in and out of him with every forceful thrust. And it's getting bigger, fast. It stretches his rim to lengths Bruce didn't know it could, an indescribable feeling. It only takes another few thrusts before it pops inside for the last time, roughly the size of a baseball, which was now pressing obscenely against his prostate, leaving Bruce to frantically scramble for purchase on something. All the while, the cock is spilling its seed inside of him, so much more than a human would, thicker too.
He thinks he's babbling something but he can't think, he can't breathe. It's so big. He's never had anything like that inside of him, never felt so out of his mind in pleasure. And then, he can feel something moving inside of him, traveling? He doesn't know how to describe it, brain still shutting off due to Clark grinding that monster inside him. But the feeling moves and moves until it.. leaves the cock and bullies its way inside him. It's the size of a duck egg. ...Is that an egg? Fuck.
"So good, so good princess. Taking my eggs so well. You're going to look so perfect with all of them inside of you." Clark purred. More? More. Yes, yes yes, yes. All of them. He loses track of time after that, feeling like he's floating away. He doesn't need to think, he's just a hole. Somewhere warm and safe for Clark to keep his eggs, he's just an incubator. He just needs to lie still, while feeling each plop make his tummy bigger and bigger.
He doesn't know how long it is before he comes back to Earth, trying to take stock of what's happening around him. The first thing Bruce notices is how utterly full he is. If he stood up he would most likely look 3 months pregnant. There must be at least a dozen eggs inside him. Secondly he must have cum again at some point, feeling more wet now. And third, Clark is laying against his back, apparently he's on his side, and his knot is still plugging up his hole. He has never felt more satisfied in his life, completely addicted to whatever this experience was.
"Hi handsome, you with me now?" Clark called out softly. The hand that was giving him beautiful bruises now gently rubbing against his engorged stomach. Bruce lets out a broken but affirming hum, far too tired to speak. "You did so well, how do you feel? Any pain?" He quizzed, wanting to ensure the other was ok. And Bruce simply shook his head no, he never felt so content. The Kryptonian murmured something about a bath, gently pulling out the softened knot, and he floated back off to lalaland.
Eventually he was picked up and brought to the tub, and laid inside with Clark pressed against his back. He let the man wash him, his body wouldn't cooperate if he tried to help. He let his eyes close, feeling the soft hands brush every inch of him in reach. When did his lingerie come off? He feels so heavy, but also like goo. Clark should be careful, he's going to melt into the water.
"Sweetheart? Hey? Hi. It's time for the eggs to come out." Clark warned.
"Fuck."
Kal cooed in sympathy, feeling a little bad about not actually discussing everything with Bruce before going head first. Clark scooted down further to have both of them at more of an angle, and then pulled the billionaire's legs until they were resting on the outside of Kal's. Leaving Bruce spread wide, and the hands behind him sliding past his large stomach and prodding at his sloppy hole. The eggs have shifted down, now pressing against his entrance. Every bump of each object stimulating his prostate, making his poor cock twitch to life. God, is he going to cum a third time? Can he?
With a deep breath, he clenches his abominable muscles, slowly pushing the offending object out. When it is, the rest reorganize inside, pressing against that special spot in a new way and making him jerk at the feeling. Feeling his ruined hole spread around each egg, the fat base of each only making the process harder. Bruce is panting with exertion, every muscle quivering at overuse. He's fairly confident his inner walls and rim are bruised as well.
He repeated the process again. And again. And again. Until he was on the last one. His abs were sore with all the pushing and flexing, his hole felt used, and he was so close to cumming again. His thighs were shaking, and his eyes were rolling back into his skull. The razor edge of oversensitivity coming back with a vengeance, making every movement a monumental task.
Bruce kept trying to get the last egg out, whining constantly but no dice. He would contract and push at the object, it would press out against his puffy rim, and just before it would finally be free it would get sucked back in. In a normal context it would probably feel good, but he's cum twice and is pushed to his limits. Eventually he looked back at Clark, flushed face and tears flowing freely, mumbling out a quiet plea for assistance.
Fingers gently prodded at his aching hole, three pressing into the last knuckle to gain perchance on the egg. Once the man had a good grip he, as gently as he could, pulled it out. The billionaire tried his best to remain loose, but his body was betraying him and continued to clench. Once it popped free of Bruce's rim, his pretty cock squirted what little cum it had left. Even after two organisms, the third was just as intense and mind blowing.
Within Clark's arms, face tucked into his neck, Bruce finally fell asleep. Thoroughly fucked and taken care of, he smiles at the thought of what future had in store.