With Lois wanting to get away from him in every aspect of their lives, Clark was left without his usual desk neighbor in the bullpen. Somehow, Steve Lombard had taken over that role, and now Clark found himself playing Goofy to the seedy (and gone to seed) jock's Pete.
"Here's the thing, Kent. You can't be too surprised the Lois Lady dumped you. She used to date Lex Luthor! She had Superman sniffing around! How's a mere mortal like you supposed to compete?"
"How indeed?" Clark replied with long-suffering patience. He could tolerate most anything, but Steve Lombard was like aural Kryptonite. There were ultrasonic frequencies that Clark could block out with greater ease.
"I'll tell you how," Steve continued, falling in love with the sound of his own voice all over again. "Core strength. Now, you take a shot of apple cider vinegar before bed—"
The elevator dinged as it arrived on their floor. Grateful for the reprieve, Clark cast his superhearing out to scan the car. He caught, surprisingly enough, the firm superhuman heartbeat of Karen Starr, lifting a little at the prospect of seeing him as she stepped out through the opening doors.
A pair of red shorts hugged her womanly hips, slung so low on them that her belly button was exposed, and leaving bare all but the last inch of her muscular thighs. The pants were tight to the point of sheerness, barely blunting her pubic mound and stretching between her firm buttocks to leave a bare expanse of taut material only slightly relieving the plunging valley between her asscheeks.
Her legs were nude down to a falling pair of socks and the chucks that she wore over them. Her waist was similarly naked, not so much as a bead of sweat obscuring the sweet taper of her hourglass figure or the subtle lines flexing across her belly to indicate her strong abdominal muscles. Seemingly at the very bottom of her cleavage, a crop top shirt began, holding in her ample breasts with such a strain that the fabric was practically painted across the two globes. A slash ran down the neck of the shirt, stopping right between her breasts. It could've been the first defeat the material was suffering in trying to constrain such bounteous tits, as Clark could've sworn he heard the rip tearing and chafing with every long stride and heaving breath that Karen took.
In her hands—and this truly could've taken Clark long minutes to get to, if he weren't already so intimately familiar with the details of Karen's truly epic physique—was a brown paper bag, the top rolled down and scrunched up to seal in whatever she was delivering.
"There you are, Clarkie! Oh, you have such a nice desk!"
She walked toward him, her clothing making every step a production. The voluptuous jiggle of her ass left nary a wrinkle in all of her shorts, while her cleavage shifted and swayed to peek out of the rip in her top, leaving no doubt that as exposed as her clothes left her, it was truly nothing compared to how she would look naked.
"You forgot your lunch, sweetie. You're lucky I was going into the city anyway. I'd hate to leave you going to some fast food place just to keep from starvation!"
Heads were poking up out of their cubicles like a colony of prairie dogs, men and women alike simply
gazing
while Karen bent her Amazonian six feet over Clark to deposit his packed lunch down on his desk. As she did so, her ass jutted out directly at Steve Lombard. The man looked like he was having a coronary as he saw almost entirely through the thinly stretched fabric, able to make out that there was not even a thong underneath—and that on the other end of Karen Starr, Clark Kent of all people had a corresponding view down her cleavage as she smiled and winked at him.
"I know you have a
big appetite,
Clarkie, but this'll just have to tide it over until dinner. You will be making it home for dinner, won't you?"
Clark had to cough to clear his throat, shocked that even Karen would make such a spectacle of herself. But then, he supposed that when you wore a costume like hers, you got comfortable with stares very quickly. "That I will," he said, almost wheezing.
"
Good.
The only work I want
you
doing after dark is on
me—"
As if that artillery burst of a pronouncement wasn't enough, she leaned in to his personal space. Not to kiss him on the cheek or even the lips, but to
lick
him from his jawline to his temple, moaning slightly as she caught some of the sweat she'd provoked to his brow.
Then she straightened; with Clark still seated, he was at eye level with her groin, and he could've swore he felt the heat coming off it to prove her attraction to him was no joke, only a little played up for the cheap seats. She turned on her heels, displaying the profound roundness of her ass, and sashayed her hips for him as she walked away. Clark had to marshal all his self-control—the kind usually deployed to hold up a battleship—to keep the jump of lust he felt in his manhood from growing so erect that it ripped right out of his slacks.
Steve was almost as broadsided as Clark, just from watching. "You—you and her—who was—she's—and you—"
Clark picked up the bagged lunch. "I should eat this before it gets cold."
He managed to just barely keep himself to a hasty walk until he was out of view, then he flew at Mach 7 to where Karen had disembarked from the elevator and found her way to a supply closet. He could hear from her heartbeat that showing off for him and arousing his lust so thoroughly had been as exciting for her as it was for him.
"Oh, Clarkie, I got all turned around—" she said, her voice making a breathy production of faux-innocence. "I just got off the elevator... is this where I'm supposed to get off?"
He caught her in a heated kiss, devouring every single moan, sigh, and grunt he could get out of her. Karen one-upped him, as usual, jumping up and wrapping her long legs around his waist, tightening them almost to the point of pain. It was all Clark could do to throw open the door to the supply closet and wrestle Karen inside before the urge to throw her down and ravage her on the floor became impossible to resist.
Her broad back met a shelf of cleaning supplies, rattling several of them from their proscribed placement as he continued kissing her and fondling her overwarm body. She made to rip his shirt open, but Clark grabbed her wrists and forced them up above her head, knocking more spray bottles and chemical jugs loose as he pinned her hands in place. He couldn't afford to go back to work looking like he'd just been through a hurricane.
"So what was the big idea there?" Clark asked her. He was playing her game, teasing her and tantalizing her before the big finish. Karen just had to smile rakishly as the tables were turned on her. Her hips were in a constant slow roll, trying to tempt him out of asking questions and into joining her in christening the floor.
"I think you
know
what the big idea is," Karen retorted. "And you'd better let it out before it pumps out so much precum that your costume smells like a body pillow."
"I never gave Maxima the time of day," Clark said. "I think I can hold out here. Besides, just looking at you in that outfit is pretty fun on its own."
Karen rolled her eyes even as she smiled fondly. "Fine. I just didn't like the idea of everyone seeing you as a dateless loser. So I decided to give a little hint of how much you're enjoying life."
"And Linda?"
"College girl is in class. Which means I have you all to myself." Karen leaned in to whisper in his ear. "But if you're so set on having more than one hole, you can use all three of mine. How about it, Supes? Now that I've brought you lunch, how about working up an appetite?"
In a flash, Clark had taken her up on her offer, not that Karen was making a fight of it. He plopped Karen down on her heels, spun her around, and shoved her against a water heater so fast that she barely managed to get her hands up to catch herself in time. Karen cooed at his roughness, swaying her hips deliciously to show that not only did she approve, but she found it all quite arousing as well.
"It's funny how you've chosen to date the one man who can overpower you," Clark said, running his hand through her hair, down the nape of her neck, over the strong muscles of her back, and down to the thin covering of her shorts. It was all so tempting—as much as his hand would've loved to stay and linger on any one portion of her anatomy, the rest of it called out to him irresistibly.
"But you never would." Karen twisted, looking up at him over her shoulder before rising a little ways to kiss his chin. "Unless I asked nicely..."
There was such a wealth of options available for Clark to enjoy that it was impossible for him to make his mind up. He could only decide, finally, on simply choosing whatever way of fucking her seemed most likely to please Karen, in thanks for the generosity of her sharing her perfect body with him.
And judging by the way she was still snapping her ass from side to side, rolling it slowly to draw the eye to the exuberance of its curviness through those shorts that clung to her round buttocks like the skin of an orange...
Clark bunched his fist in the seat of her pants, jerking it down around her thighs with a sharp motion. Exposed, Clark couldn't help but be amazed by how the inner curvature of her buttocks was even sweeter and more succulent than her tight clothing had made it appear, a peach that cried out in all its juiciness to be devoured before it lost one bit of its ripeness. He ran his fingers over the firm flesh, squeezing, rubbing, and Karen cooed, her teeth snapping animalistically as she quivered in his hand.
Even for as considerate a man as Clark Kent, it took him a moment to realize Karen was staring pointedly at him. The look and feel of her ass tended to drown out other considerations. He made eye contact with her again, giving her ass a firm pat as he did.
Karen grinned at his audacity. If any other man had touched her that way... "Just so you know," she said. "I'm not Lois Lane. I don't want to be made love to. I want to be fucked. I wanna be
yours."
