Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thirty minutes after meeting with the Secretary of Defense, genius billionaire Lex Luthor is pressed against the wall of his ultra-modern office, arms pinned behind his back and cock straining semi-painfully against the fabric of his sensible cotton briefs. His tailored grey dress pants are crumpled around his ankles, belt thrown to the side. Late afternoon sunlight highlights the silhouette of the form behind him, engulfing his own shadow entirely. 

Lex isn’t a small man, but the Kryptonian clone towers over most humans. A seven-foot wingspan for the amazing flying man. It makes him want to vomit and, infuriatingly, sends a flash of bone-deep need throughout his body at the very thought of it. 

There’s nothing gentle about this, nothing loving. They do not kiss, do not make eye contact, do not speak soft, lovely words to one another. The clone’s grip on Lex’s wrists is tight enough to bruise. They had conducted tests, of course, thousands upon thousands, measuring grip strength and top speed; all the tedious statistics that could be reported to the Department of Defense. Height. Weight. Blood type. Even the length of his cock, flaccid and erect, although that particular figure was not relayed to the DoD. 9.2 inches. Lex had smashed a few mugs upon receiving that data back. He remembers feeling a disconcerting mix of envy and hunger when he’d first seen the clone in the nude, every limb wrapped in thick muscle. Cock hanging heavy between its legs, substantial even while soft. Shame burns his cheeks at the memory of what occurred immediately after, mind conjuring a vivid flashback of furiously stroking himself to completion on the floor of a storage closet. Like a common whore. Even now, an acrid tang burns the back of his throat as desire radiates through him. 

They hadn’t been able to train the clone in fucking the way they’d done with fighting, of course. If Superman does have a superharem, an unknown that Lex chooses not to ponder, there’s no surveillance footage of the copulation. A carefully selected and trained team of nanotech behavioural engineers worked to program in all the moves deemed necessary. The particulars of this process remain unknown to Lex by design. He had requested more ‘human’ trigger phrases to make the process less clinical, but heavily implied a black market application; millions of dollars for sex with Superman.

There would be none of that.

All that matters to Lex now is that the clone is all his, perfectly tuned to his every need and want. Well, his and the United States Department of Defense’s. The ghost of a wry smile flits across his face. What would those bloated-ego men in suits say if they knew that their newest weapon was also Lex Luthor’s personal fuck machine? The idea of their horrified faces sends a new wave of heat through his core, reminding him of where he is. He feels a small flash of gratitude that the clone doesn’t whine and go on the way Eve does when he drifts off during sex. It just waits until he’s ready for…

“More,” Lex murmurs, grinding back against the clone’s massive bulge. Its hands shift obediently to his hips and pull their bodies flush, this new abundance of sensation sending ripples of gooseflesh across Lex’s body. His cock jumps, spilling a sticky spot of precum. Kryptonians don’t appear to run warmer than humans in any statistically significant way. Still, the clone feels like a bonfire pressed against his back, muscles like chiseled stone somehow molding to the sinuous curve of Lex’s spine. He can feel every hot pulse of its erection. If the clone truly finds him attractive or the actions it takes stimulating, he’s unsure. It seems to, though, he mulls as he presses back forcefully and is rewarded with a jolt.

Biting back a groan, Lex reaches down to tug on the edge of the clone’s shiny black glove. This unspoken signal is understood and followed instantaneously, and another small spurt of precum adds to the stain on his boxers at the sound of leather hitting the floor. His breathing is heavy and quickened. Thick callused fingers leave trails of fire along his sharply defined hipbones, deftly sliding beneath the elastic waistband. Lex’s undergarments are removed in a single unceremonious motion as a burning hand wraps around his cock.

“Fuck,” The words come out in a hiss as Lex’s knees buckle slightly, black spots dotting his vision. His hips roll pathetically to match the painfully slow pace the clone has set. Every scorching stroke sends mind-numbing waves of pleasure across his flushed skin. The world narrows down to rough palms and deft fingers. Lex rocks into the clone's fist mindlessly, all the day’s stress melting off his shoulders like candle wax. It’s like having a particularly reactive sex doll, and he relishes a lover who will bend to his every whim and follow any instruction he gives. No arguments in the middle of these trysts.

Lex’s breathing has quickened to near hyperventilation as the hand wrapped around his cock continues its ministrations. He’s balanced on the knife's edge of pleasure and pain, ready to tip over into either one. The clone’s thumb abruptly presses into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves, and his knees cave again, nearly giving out.

No more foreplay. Lex Luthor needs something inside him now.

“Prep,” He manages to gasp out, then nearly weeps as the clone's hand lifts from his prick. There’s the small pop of a lid, an obscene squirting sound, and then a single finger is brushing against his entrance. 

The Kryptonian knock-off’s skin is still radiating heat, but the lubrication Lex had strategically placed in a hidden pocket is cool and slick. He lets out a low whine and pushes back against the intrusion. The clone’s fingers are nearly twice the girth of his own, an impressive tool all on their own. It pushes in agonizingly slowly, all the way to the base, before adding a second thick digit. Lex shakes and lets out incoherent sounds as his monstrous creation works him open, swallowing a scream when it brushes his prostate. Like a drone focusing in on a target, the clone shifts to apply direct pressure to the spongy patch of tissue, massaging tight circles. He comes dry and shivers through the aftershocks.

Everyone in LuthorCorp must be very appreciative of the state-of-the-art soundproofing built into all executive offices, Lex thinks wildly as lewd noises echo around the room. The clone’s movements are languid but not sloppy. It draws lube-slick fingers in and out of his wanting hole slowly now, focusing solely on preparation over pleasure. Rough calluses create a rasping sensation that has his eyes rolling back in his head. 

It’s overdoing it, really, but this is Lex Luthor’s one concession to frivolous self-indulgence. He allows a few more deliciously stretching pumps before reaching back to tap the clone’s wrist twice. 

“Now,” Lex’s words are spoken through clenched teeth, forehead pressed against the cool steel wall for stability. They’re barely above a whisper, but superhearing allows for that. A swelling balloon of hatred in his chest is swiftly popped as the head of the clone’s cock bumps against Lex’s entrance. The heat that was building drips down to his loins as sizzling liquid need. Inhumanly strong hands wrap around his hips, holding him in place as the silky tip presses ever forward; finally, blessedly, broaching his tight hole. A strangled gasp punches out of Lex at the immediate fullness. No matter how often this occurred, he wasn’t confident he could ever get used to the sheer girth of the clone’s shaft. Forget the length.

Every nerve in Lex’s body is alight, rim clenching desperately, swallowing the mushroom head and craving more. He pushes back just a tad and moans helplessly as another inch sinks into his wanting heat. The clone takes the hint, shifting its position and pulling back just a bit before plunging all the way to the hilt. Lex screams, punches the cold wall, furiously blinks away the hot, salty tears that threaten to drip down his face. It’s torturously good, stretching his inner walls to the limit and then some. He can’t find it in himself to be furious about the unbelievable size of the metahuman’s member when it’s buried inside him. There’s simply no room in the human body for hatred and nine inches of cock.

“More,” Lex begs pathetically. His own prick is deep red and weeping, jumping with every brush of his trained lover’s cock against a sensitive bundle of nerves. The hands around his waist tighten impossibly as the clone obeys, drawing out in a delicious drag and then sinking back in. Its movements are measured but build speed slowly, growing incrementally faster in a way too mathematically perfect to be truly human. Each thrust sends stars across Lex’s field of vision. His cock begs for relief, but he keeps his hands away and focuses on the feeling of being filled repeatedly, pace increasing until the clone is pounding into him. Without any conscious action, his hips have begun to buck to match its rhythm. Loud slapping noises fill the office and ricochet off the walls. 

A fire is building in Lex’s gut with every thrust, pleasure so intense it borders on making him ill. Sweat runs down his temples and drips into the hollows of his collarbones. He suddenly realizes he’s been biting his lip as tangy metallic blood bursts across his tongue. Clenching his jaw a little tighter, he lets out a low moan at the bright spasm of pain. 

Lex shifts his hips, gritting his teeth to stifle a wail as the angle changes. Now the thick, blunt head of the clone’s cock is hammering his prostate. The burning flame nestled in his pelvis flares like gasoline has been poured on it, and he comes untouched for the second time in half an hour, vision going white and knees giving out completely. When Lex comes back to himself, one of the clone’s massive hands is splayed across his stomach, keeping him upright even as his upper body sags against the cool steel wall. He takes a deep breath and, ignoring everything in his body screaming at him not to, pushes the clone out of him with one hand. 

“Sit,” Lex’s eyes don’t meet the clones as he roughly pushes it towards a sleek black office chair, a salacious smack bouncing around the room as its bare ass hits leather. He allows himself a moment to appreciate the glorious specimen of cock before him. It’s thick and long, circumcised (by request), with a long vein running up the side that just begs to be teased with the tip of a tongue. Lex considers it for just a moment before the dull ache between his legs decides for him. Turning around, he braces one hand on the chair’s arm and guides the fat head to his well-stretched hole. 

Lex slides down on the clone’s cock glacially slow, still unsure if this is torturous for both parties or only himself. The thick member pulses inside him as he takes the final inch. This is how he always chooses to finish things, with him in control, guiding the pace and pleasure. He pauses for a full minute with the clone’s entire length inside him, adjusting and squeezing, relishing the twitches and jumps he’s rewarded with. The clone itself does not move any more than to adjust their combined weight so they don’t topple, but its cock is not so unresponsive. 

Placing one hand on each of the arms of the chair, Lex raises up until only the tip is still inside him and then slams back down, a half-cry punching out of him. The clone’s mammoth cock may well be pressing against his lungs, he thinks, and laughs out loud. There’s no response from the creature behind him, no question or gentle concern. It’s wonderful and deeply disconcerting. 

Lex rides faster and faster, grinding on the clone’s prick, stroking its massive sack with long, spindly fingers. Pleasure is mounting in his pelvis again, but he’s suddenly determined to make his creation come first. His hands fly to the clone's thighs, fingernails digging in for leverage. He begins to slam down wildly, no doubt bruising his ass in the process, squeezing the member inside him with every toe-curling thrust. It’s been longer than any human could last (and likely any typical metahuman). Lex wonders if it would have released into his guts long ago were it not for the conditioning. Perhaps it had wanted to for some time now, deep in the recesses of its hijacked mind. He tips his sweat-slick head back to rest on the clone’s broad shoulder and whispers a final command. 

“Come.” The words are abided so quickly that Lex can almost delude himself that the clone had been holding it back. There’s another jerk, and then load after load of hot superhuman seed begins to pump deep into his bowels. Lex’s hand drifts to his own cock, purple and swollen, and drags slowly from base to tip. It only takes a few pumps for him to come apart for the third time, moaning and squirming and impaled, creamy white spunk spraying across his thighs. He lies against the solid chest of the clone, panting, for several minutes before clambering off its deflating cock and cleaning himself with a single-use packet of wipes.

Redressing himself, Lex looks back at the clone, sitting pantsless in an office chair with drying ejaculate smeared all over its thighs. Its chiseled face is handsome and impassable in the waning light. 

“Clean yourself up,” Lex says sharply, swinging the door open and closing it firmly on the way out.