Confused, Flattered, But Wants To OK It With Lois First

In all of her battles with the Man of Steel, Blaze had seen him grim, determined, heroic, pained, occasionally even ****—yet she had never seen his bony cheeks redden and flush, his body tensing slowly—and some instinct had her lean over and place her hand on his thigh, and yes, there was something hard as steel there.

"It feels like a part of you wants to," Blaze said, batting her pure white eyes slowly.

Superman took a breath...but he didn't brush aside her hand.

"I...think we should ask Lois, first." He gave a sad smile. "You two are together now, right?"

"Well, we're not joined at the hip," Blaze gave him a little squeeze—but it was like trying to squeeze a chunk of rebar, if cold metal could throb and pulse. "But yes, I get your meaning."

They finished their drinks in peace and quiet...and not too quickly. The scarlet succubus could almost feel the nervous excitement emanating from him, and for the first time wondered what it must be like to be Superman—the last son of Krypton, a idol of millions, held up as a paragon of virtue, afraid of disappointing his adopted parents, of being able to openly...experiment.

She thought too of that tight, muscular ass contained in those little red shorts...and that made a part of her harden too.

But he is right, Blaze admitted to herself. I really can't go around offering to fuck every super-himbo, at least not without some kind of mutual agreement on the nature of the relationship.

So they went to Blaze's boudoir—Lois had put on Blaze's red silk robe, which was too long for her and the chest fell very low, exposing a delicious sliver of cleavage down to her belly button, and threatening to expose her breast with every rigorous movement. Blaze took the lead...and then Superman, blushing so furiously that his ears reddened, explained his own part of it...and they presented their case to Lois Lane.

"So...do you want to fuck him?" Blaze asked. "Together, I mean."