Superman

Metropolis was smoking crater. He had leveled what remained of the world’s greatest city nearly a month ago, but the fires still hadn’t gone out. A thick cloud of toxic smoke blocked out the sun, and with it, their last remaining hope. Batman’s last **** gambit ended with hardly a whimper, just like the man himself, Hawk-Girl recalled.

“We have to keep moving.” Poison Ivy tugged at her sleeve, sixteen days of total darkness had weakened her body, but not her resolve. “My children tell me he’s still searching for anyone involved. Even the RaoSworn are being questioned.”

“Fucking quislings. They wanted his ‘mercy’, let them **** on it.” Hawk-Girl snarled. She softened for a moment. “Batman-

“Is dead.” Ivy looked her straight in the eye. Pain, fear, anger, all of buried under the sheer terror their fellow Dissidents had been living with for what seemed like an eternity. Shiera long since stopped counting the days. Did it even matter? Her life would be divided into two parts now; the few precious moments she still had before the end, and then, what came after…

As Ivy led her back to their well hidden refuge, she ignored the frantic, hopeful gazes she saw in her fellow Resistance members, instead her mind traveled back, as it so often did to the beginning. For months they had fought an open war, a losing war, giving ground and lives every day, hoping against hope their leaders could find a weapon to turn the tide. The days of brutal. They fought an invincible foe that only grew stronger with each passing moment. The nights were worse. With sleep came the dreams, and the memories of that camp, her friends… no one deserved that fate. But was she truly better off?

Hunted by her own teammates. Reviled by the citizens she’d once shed blood to defend. Trapped on a world that had embraced one man’s madness. How had it come to this? Earth’s greatest defender, the hero so many of her kind had tried to emulate, had become its iron first ruler. She knew many in the old world had worshiped him, had seen the discomfort writ large on his face, when they called him the ‘man of tomorrow’. So how? When? Why?

Why had Superman done this?

Much could be speculated on what caused Superman to change so completely, to abandon the principles that were every bit as titanic as the man’s legendary powers. Some said it was an alien nanovirus. Other’s claim a red Kryptonite infection or a wicked spell gone wrong. No one could say for sure and perhaps it didn’t matter. But on July 22, 2013 Superman became … different.

Clark just couldn’t stop starring at her ass. It was irritating at first, like a tiny cut on the roof of your mouth, that you couldn’t stop rubbing your tongue over. It became strangely compulsive next. His eyes snapping to the rounded globes of her bottom every time she left the room, only for her to grimace and tear his gaze to the floor. He tried justifying it to himself, logically reasoning the world’s most powerful woman would of course have its more mouth watering posterior. This just led to him recalling a slew of adjectives to describe it as he starred. Bountiful. Well-rounded. Apple-shaped. Perfect heart. How he longed to take a bite-

Clark slammed the walls of self control down again. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t some hormone crazed teenager, and if he was, he had Lois, whom he shared a perfectly healthy sexual relationship with… He ground his teeth as he tried to **** the thoughts to become reality, and instead it only reminded him that Lois hadn’t given him any pussy in weeks. She was always ‘too tired’ or ‘too busy’, someone needed to remind her that her place was at his side and in his-

“Kal-El?” Diana looked at him curiously, her eyes bright with concern. It was then that he remembered where he was. Seated around him with various looks of curiosity at the Watchtower’s conference table were the rest of the Justice League. Batman, Green Lantern, Mera- filling in AGAIN for her absent husband, Hawkgirl, Flash. Looking at the others was scarcely better, it was a casual meeting, so no one but Batman had remained in costume, but still Mera and Hawkgirl were distractingly beautiful even in sweats, and of course, Diana, his princess, his-

“No!” Clark barked, his hand slapping down on the table like a war drum. The rest of the League looked at each other in shock and confusion. He swallowed hard. It was getting worse. He could feel his cock start to swell inside his worn khakis, bulging obscenely against his thigh. Had to leave. Had to get away. “Excuse me friends. I’m not feeling well.”

He rose and staggered away from the table, a low chorus of whispers chasing his heels, and due to his superhero, all to audible.

“Big S getting sick?”

“I thought Kryptonians were immune to Earth illnesses? We Thanagar certainly are.”

“If Superman is unable to fulfill his duties, perhaps I should take point operations. Temporarily, of course.”

“We’ll see.”

He had just rounded the corner when another voice called out, all too close and all to familiar to him.

“Kal-El!” Her voice was like velvet. It soothed the rasps on his soul, even as it threatened to make his flesh boil. He was nearly bursting from his casual jeans when she grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. The empathy, the love that poured from her gaze sickened him, he didn’t want that. Not when he couldn’t stop undressing her with his eyes. She had worn a thin white tank top, struggling heroically to contain her large breasts, and only the tiniest hint of modesty from the red hoodie hanging loose around her shoulders, his gaze fell lower, to the blue jeans stretched tight around her rounded hips, her curved ass.

“Are you unwell, my friend?” She asked as Clark dragged his gaze back to her face, not that that was any chore. High cheekbones and warm brown eyes on a heart shaped face perfectly framed with locks of dark, wavy hair. He wanted to kiss her, he realized. And more. So much more. If she touched him again…

He was spared by the most unlikely of sources.

“The indignity! You have insulted the Lady Maxima, Queen of Almerac yet again, fools!” Shouted a gorgeous redhead as she stalked towards them. Her bright green armor and diaphanous cape marked her as a warrior, but the haughty attitude and oozing arrogance promised she was a royal as well. Maxima, ruler of the planet Almerac was unhappy. Again. “It is bad enough I must endure the shamefully bare accommodations you call ‘guest quarters’, bad enough you’ve given me no servants, but now you wish me to- how did you put it? -patrol with you?!?”

The redhead had a way of putting Diana’s back up like no one else. Clark wasn’t sure what was scarier, the prospect of the two women fighting, or how much his cock hardening as he imagined it. He put himself between the two. “We simply are a bit shortstaffed at the moment-

“There are seven billion peasants down on that mudball you call a planet, bring one hundred of your finest slaves up here and I shall whip them into civilization.” Maxima drawled. With an actual whip, no doubt. “This is not a fitting boudoir for a ruler.”

“Former ruler.” Diana corrected, letting only the tiniest satisfied smirk cross her face.

The Lady of Almerac flushed red, with anger or embarressment or both. She opened her mouth to scream, only for Clark to pick her up and haul her away like an angry heifer, leaving Diana safely at their back, laughing softly at the sight. Maxima thrashed and yelled all the way back to her quarters. It was impressive really, she was just as mad when he set her down as when he’d picked her up. Only now he was the target of her rage.

Her slap cracked across his face like a thunderclap. “Do not touch me without permission again.”

“I was only-

Another slap. “Do not speak to your queen, unless she gives you permission.”

“You’re not my-

Her hand swung again, only to be caught millimeters from his cheek by his own. And all of of sudden something snapped. Clark had simply… had enough. Enough of being mistreated by uptight, snobby space royals. Enough forever delaying or denying his own needs, his own desires. And most importantly enough being teased by scantily clad sluts who called themselves ‘heroes’. He took in Maxima from head to toe. Big tits, thin waist and he would bet the farm she was a screamer. Well, he was about to find out. He dragged her into her lavish quarters, far more opulent and furnished than any of the League members’ own and shoved her away from him.

“How dare you! I am Maxima, Queen of Almerac!” Maxima’s chest heaved with emotion, and yet all Clark only had eyes for the steady rise and fall of her heavy breasts in that stupid slutty attire she had named ‘imperial vestiments’. “On my world, it is **** by slow **** to lay hands on your Queen-

Clark ignored her words, batted aside her pathetic punches. He simply grabbed her stomach baring chestplate and tore it apart like it was made of tissue paper. He savored the brief look of shock on her majesty’s face before destroying her armored shorts with a quick tug and then she was bare before him. A well trimmed tuft of red hair, perfectly matching her head greeted him at the juncture of her thighs as she squirmed under his gaze, still too shocked to bother covering up or to stop him when he bent her over his knees.

The creamy globes of her ass smiled up at him and he smiled back. Maxima had just enough time to realize what was about to happen before his first bare palm hit her buttcheek. CRACK! Her scream could have woken the dead. Unluckily for her, the rooms were completely soundproofed. CRACK! He hit the other cheek. Another scream. He could hear the pain in her voice, the fury, but most of all, the shame. She was being spanked, perhaps for the first time in her entire life, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Stop!” She cried out, as Clark examined his handiwork. There was a bright red handrpint on forming on each cheek. A good start.

“Or what, Maxima, Queen of this room and nothing else? You’re not even ruler of your own body, I am.” He punctuated this lesson with another pair of spanks, just as hard, stealing sweet cries from her once more.

“You must stop!” It was not a command anymore, but half a plea and part question. He hit her again. Savoring the glowing red of her ass. She wouldn’t be able to sit for a week without thinking of this moment, and of him. He decided to make it a month. He pinned her squirming legs and delivered a swat that made her bottom wiggle deliciously. He was all too aware rampant erection jammed against her wriggling hips, she must have felt it too, but said nothing.

“I will… you… someone will come!” Maxima finally said. She craned her neck to look at him, eyes red with tears as she searched for the mercy she could never bring herself to beg for. That was when he felt it. The wetness, the searing heat of her dripping sex. She was getting off on this.

“Someone will definitely cum.” He smiled in agreement before forcing her creamy thighs apart with one hand then delivering the first gentle slap to her swollen pudendum. She gasped when he made contact, then cried out as he spanked her pussy again and again, clamping her legs shut around his hand when the sensations grew to be too much. Clark laughed and reached over with his other hand, giving her a warning slap to her already swollen and bruised posterior.

Slowly, Maxima spread her trembling legs once more, receiving the next few slaps with little more than a whimper until she came suddenly and with a sharp scream. She was still shuddering with aftershocks when she managed to speak again in a voice raw from screaming.

“You will release me, now.” Even she didn’t sound like she believed it. She didn’t even bother to look up from the floor, or try to get away. Maxima knew she wasn’t in charge, but she didn’t understand how to to be ‘not in charge’.

Clark laughed again and pressed his thick middle digit against the slick swollen lips of her vagina. A single push, and he slid into her shocking tightness, stealing a moan from the broken Lady of Almerac as he pressed his finger deep inside her. He used his thumb to stimulate her sensitive clit, circling and rubbing the little nub as he finger fucked her into a coma, spanking her sore ass occasionally to keep her on her toes. It didn’t take long before she was on the edge again, twitching and tightening around him, moaning in confused pleasure even as more slaps fell on her tired cheeks. He took her right to the edge of completion and stopped. She shuddered, squirmed. Twitched and cried in frustration as he held her on the brink, but kept her from falling over.

He finally spoke. “Who rules you, mind and body Maxima?”

“Yo-you d-do, my Kiiiiiing!” She screamed. Her own submission setting off another, much harder orgasm as she clenched furiously around his thick digit. As she contorted and writhed in the midst of her climax, Clark dumped her on the ground, held her in place by her hair and began to pump his own nearly vibrating cock. It didn’t take much, a handful of stroke and he showered her in his cum.

When he was finally empty he let go, Maxima dropped bonelessly to the floor, sticky and exhausted. Murmuring in her sleep as Clark slid a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket.

“...****…. get you for this, my king… my husband…. my love…”

Clark just smiled and walked out the door. He had enjoyed the appetizer, but his hunger was far from sated.