This is a gay sex fan fiction of Superman as portrayed by David Corenswet.
I hope you like it...
(If its forbidden please remove but don't ban me, I don't know the rules about Celebrity sex fan fiction)
The wind was sharp that night, the same kind of wind that had nearly ended Harry’s life weeks ago. He stood on the rooftop, the city lights glowing beneath him like scattered stars, waiting with his heart in his throat. When Superman landed behind him—cape fluttering, presence immense—Harry felt smaller than ever, yet strangely safe.
“I know this is probably lame,” Harry said, fumbling with a rolled canvas under his arm. He unwrapped it with trembling fingers, revealing a painting: Superman silhouetted against a crimson skyline, heroic yet solitary. “But I… I made this for you. As a thank you.”
For a moment, Superman was silent, studying the painting as if it were some alien artifact. He’d been hailed, worshipped, feared—but never thanked like this. His chest tightened.
“It’s beautiful,” Superman said softly, his voice a low rumble against the wind.
Harry smiled, relief flooding him. “You saved me. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all… name it. Please.”
“There’s no need,” Superman replied, instinctively modest. But Harry stepped closer, his expression unshaken.
“There must be something I can offer you. Something you’ve never asked for.”
Superman’s throat went dry. For years, an unspoken desire had lingered in him, something he had buried beneath identities, duty, and the weight of expectation. As Clark Kent, he feared what people would think. As Superman, he feared what it might mean for his image as the world’s savior. But here, alone with this earnest young man who owed him his life, the temptation stirred.
He hesitated, cape catching in the wind like a living shadow. “There is one thing,” he admitted at last, voice almost a whisper. “But… I don’t know if I should.”
Harry’s eyes were steady, unwavering. “Name it. It’s yours.”
“Come here,” Superman said, voice low, commanding yet smooth, the sound carrying through the wind.
Harry stepped forward, every nerve awake, his eyes tracing over the towering figure of the hero. Up close, Superman was almost overwhelming—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his suit, the sculpted lines of muscle leaving no doubt of the strength beneath.
“On your knees.” The words rolled from Superman’s mouth like an order he was used to giving. His gloved hand brushed over the front of his suit, and Harry’s breath caught as a thick outline stirred to life beneath the fabric.
Harry’s lips parted, anticipation warring with disbelief. He had never thought of himself as the type to want this—yet the chance to be this close, to see him stripped of legend and reduced to something carnal, was irresistible.
Superman’s hand found the discreet seam hidden in his uniform, tugging it open until his arousal was freed into the night air. Harry’s eyes widened—what revealed itself was heavy and thick, veins rising along its length, the kind of raw power that seemed to mirror the man himself.
“Suck it,” Superman murmured, a command cloaked in hunger.
Harry leaned in, breath warm against him before his lips wrapped around the heat of Superman’s flesh. The size was almost too much, stretching his mouth as he tried to take him in, but he pushed himself to please, savoring the taste, the weight, the impossible reality of it. Every sound, every gasp of effort was swallowed by the night sky as he gave himself over to the moment.
Harry worked his lips around him, every motion filled with effort and want. Superman’s hand stayed at the back of his head, not harsh but steady, guiding him into a rhythm that matched the quiet power in his stance.
The taste of him was heady, raw, and Harry could feel the heat building with every pass of his tongue. His jaw ached, his lips stretched wide, but the sound that broke from Superman’s chest—a low, guttural vibration—pushed him to keep going.
Above him, Superman’s body was taut, cape shifting with the wind, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths that betrayed the tension underneath. He looked down at Harry with eyes that glowed faintly in the city lights—eyes that saw everything, yet in this moment, were fixed only on the man kneeling before him.
“Good,” Superman murmured, a faint growl riding beneath the word.
The thick weight filled his mouth again and again, saliva slicking his lips as he tried to take more, deeper. His hands clutched at the suit’s unyielding fabric, pulling himself closer, desperate to give everything he could. Superman’s body trembled faintly under his control, the faintest shudder betraying just how close the edge was.
Harry’s mouth worked desperately around him, lips slick and swollen as he pushed himself to take more, to give more. The weight of Superman in his throat made his eyes water, but he didn’t stop—he couldn’t. Every muffled gasp he made only drew another deep, rumbling sound from the man above him.
Superman’s grip tightened in his hair, no longer guiding but holding, his composure cracking under the relentless heat of Harry’s mouth. The tremor that rolled through his body betrayed the control he fought to keep, muscles straining as though holding back the world itself.
Harry moaned around him, the vibration making Superman’s head fall back, jaw set, chest rising harder now. The city seemed to disappear, nothing but the night wind and the wet rhythm of Harry’s devotion between them.
“Don’t stop,” Superman growled, voice sharp, almost dangerous in its hunger. His hips began to move, slow at first, then deeper, pressing into Harry’s mouth with an urgency that left no space for doubt.
Harry clutched at him, nails biting into the suit’s unyielding fabric as he let himself be used, throat working to take everything offered. The sheer size was overwhelming, raw, but the taste of Superman—the heat, the impossible weight of him—drove Harry further, past hesitation, past thought.
Superman’s body shuddered, a sound low and guttural tearing from his chest as the edge hit him. His hand in Harry’s hair held him firm, every muscle drawn tight as the release took him, powerful and unstoppable, like the man himself.
Harry pulled back, gasping for air, lips wet and swollen, his chest rising fast as he looked up at the hero towering over him. Superman’s body still trembled faintly from release, but his eyes—dark, burning—said it wasn’t enough.
He reached down, hauling Harry up effortlessly, their faces close, his breath hot against Harry’s cheek. “I’m not finished with you,” he said, voice low and rough, a promise more than a warning.
Before Harry could answer, Superman turned him, pressing him against the cold concrete ledge of the rooftop. The cape fell around them like a curtain, shutting out the city. Harry’s palms braced against the stone as he felt the solid weight of Superman’s body pinning him there—unyielding, immovable.
“You said anything,” Superman growled against his ear, his hands sliding over Harry’s hips, gripping them with a strength that bordered on overwhelming. “I’m taking it.”
Harry swallowed hard, his pulse hammering, torn between fear and a thrill so sharp it made his knees weak. The raw heat pressing against him left no doubt what Superman wanted.
With a single movement, Superman pushed the last barrier of fabric aside, baring Harry to the night air. His own arousal, already hard again despite the climax he’d just had, pressed firmly against him—thick, insistent, demanding more.
Harry’s breath caught, his body tensing, but Superman’s hand slid across his stomach, anchoring him, grounding him. “Breathe,” he murmured, though his own restraint frayed with every second.
The tip brushed against Harry, slick, hot, and the shock of it made him bite his lip hard. He looked back over his shoulder, meeting Superman’s eyes—those impossible eyes that seemed to burn straight through him.
Then Superman pushed forward.
The stretch was sudden, intense, Harry’s body straining to take him. A broken sound escaped his throat, half gasp, half moan, as the sheer thickness filled him. Superman’s hands gripped tighter, holding him steady, his breath ragged against Harry’s neck as he buried himself deeper.
Harry’s hands braced against the cold ledge, fingers digging into the concrete as he leaned forward, chest pressing toward the city below. The wind tugged at his hair and clothes, whipping around them, carrying the scent of the skyline and the faint, sharp tang of Superman. His mouth was parted, lips slick with saliva and remnants of the first taste, breath ragged as his body arched instinctively with every movement.
Superman pressed in deeper, steady but unrelenting, his hands gripping Harry’s hips like iron. Every thrust drove Harry forward, closer to the edge of the rooftop, the city lights flickering beneath him like stars he could almost touch. The height, the sharp drop, the dizzying expanse of buildings stretching into the horizon made every motion feel magnified, rawer, sharper.
Harry gasped, chest heaving, eyes catching the gleaming skyline, neon reflections dancing over his skin. Each surge of Superman’s body was a wave of pressure and heat, muscles straining, the rhythm merciless yet intoxicating. He could feel the sheer force, the almost inhuman strength, but there was a strange tenderness in the way Superman adjusted his hands, making sure he didn’t slip, guiding him even as he drove them both closer to the edge of control.
The mixture of exhilaration, fear, and need twisted inside Harry, sending shivers down his spine. Superman’s voice, low and guttural, rumbled in his ear, a constant reminder that he was being claimed, tested, pushed. “Hold… steady…”
Harry’s breath came in short, sharp bursts. He felt every inch of him, slick, stretched, trembling under the intensity. The city below, the wind, the dizzying height, and the relentless motion of Superman’s body all collided, heightening everything, raw and overwhelming.
Every push, every deep, calculated motion left Harry teetering on the edge—heart hammering, mouth parted, and entirely exposed to the sheer, unrelenting power of Superman.
Superman’s grip on Harry’s hips tightened, pulling him flush against the firm weight pressing from behind. Each thrust was merciless, driving deep and unyielding, filling Harry in a way he’d never experienced. The sharp edge of newness—this being from behind, completely exposed, completely taken—sent shivers of both shock and ecstasy racing through him.
Harry’s fingers clawed at the ledge, nails scraping the cold concrete as his body arched, trembling against the force. The skyline stretched endlessly before him, lights blurring in his vision as the wind tore at his hair, but he barely noticed. Every push from Superman felt like it split him open, a delicious tension between pain and pleasure that left him gasping, moaning, teetering on the edge of control.
His mouth hung open, slick and tasting himself and Superman, every ragged breath drawing in the sharp night air. Heat pooled low in his belly, spreading through him like wildfire, overwhelming every rational thought. His body was on fire, wide open, aching in ways he hadn’t known possible, every motion of Superman’s body stretching him further, testing limits he hadn’t imagined existed.
“Harry…” Superman’s voice was rough, guttural, a low growl vibrating through him. Every word was punctuated with another relentless thrust, each one deeper, harder, driving him closer to madness. Harry’s knees threatened to buckle, but the hero behind him was immovable, holding him perfectly, guiding him even as every sense screamed in overstimulation.
The blend of sheer physical intensity and the dizzying height of the rooftop made Harry feel untethered—like he was teetering between two worlds, one of raw, aching desire and the other of vertigo, danger, and absolute surrender. His moans grew frantic, high-pitched, almost desperate, as his body trembled, wide open and quivering under the impossible strength of Superman.
Superman’s hands clamped onto Harry’s hips like iron, holding him steady as each thrust drove in with decisive, unstoppable force. Harry’s body felt stretched to the limit, every nerve alive, every muscle trembling under the unrelenting power. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, pain so sharp it was almost pleasure—and it sent him spiraling into something he’d never known: madness wrapped in ecstasy.
He gasped, then cried out, head thrown back, mouth open and slick, saliva and remnants of the first taste dripping as his body shuddered violently. The skyline before him blurred, the dizzying heights of the rooftop and the city lights beneath them turning into streaks of neon as every thrust pressed him closer to the edge of sanity.
Superman didn’t relent. Each motion was precise, decisive, testing limits, pushing him further. Harry felt impossibly full, stretched wide open in a way he’d never imagined. The sheer depth of Superman inside him made him shiver uncontrollably—like he could be split in two by the force if the hero wanted. And somehow, that thought only drove him wilder.
“Ah!—Superman…!” Harry’s voice broke, a mix of pain, pleasure, and a delirious kind of surrender. His knees dug into the rooftop, fingers clawing at concrete as every motion tore through him in waves that left him gasping for air and begging for more.
The pace picked up, hips slamming harder, faster, relentless. Superman’s body, taut with control and raw need, moved with a power that left no space for resistance. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, sending Harry teetering on the brink of losing himself entirely, his moans high-pitched and frantic, a soundtrack to the overwhelming chaos of sensation.
Harry’s world narrowed to the force driving into him, the wind whipping around them, the impossible vertigo of the rooftop, and the intoxicating, inhuman heat of Superman. Pleasure and pain fused, creating something maddeningly exquisite, and Harry surrendered fully, helpless to the raw, unrelenting strength that held him and consumed him.
“Good…” the word came rough, guttural, as Superman pressed in fully, leaving Harry trembling, spread wide, claimed by something far beyond human.
Harry’s body went completely slack, a ragdoll in Superman’s iron grip. Every nerve was aflame, his mind melting into nothing but the relentless motion driving through him. His legs trembled uncontrollably, hips pushed forward again and again, and he realized only belatedly that he had already reached his own peak, soaked in the aftermath of his pleasure. The shock of it hit him, a hot, sticky reminder of how utterly consumed he’d been, yet he barely had time to think—Superman’s body didn’t allow it.
Each thrust sent sharp jolts of heat and pressure, the inhuman depth of Superman inside him stretching him further. The hard weight of Superman’s body pressed him forward, hands gripping his hips like anchors, while the slight slap of his balls against Harry’s ass added another layer of raw, tactile sensation that made him shiver helplessly.
His mouth hung open, breath coming in ragged bursts, eyes rolling as the skyline blurred around him. Harry was lost—completely surrendered, utterly claimed, a body that belonged entirely to the impossible hero behind him.
Superman’s own breath came in deep, ragged gasps, every muscle taut and trembling, driving them both closer to the edge. Harry felt the building tension in the hero, the sharp, controlled power coiling inside, and he had no choice but to brace himself, wide open, a conduit for the release that was coming.
With a final, powerful thrust, Superman let go, his body shuddering violently, hips pressing deep into Harry as he climaxed with a force that left them both trembling. The sensation was explosive, every nerve in Harry’s body quivering from the combined intensity, the impossible strength, the raw, unrelenting pleasure. Harry sagged completely against the ledge, sweat and heat mingling, utterly spent, utterly surrendered, a ragdoll in the arms of the hero who had claimed him entirely.
Harry’s hands rose instinctively, tracing along himself, fingers lingering over the stretched, sensitive space Superman had claimed. “Was… was this enough, sir?” he asked, breathless, voice trembling with a mix of awe, exhaustion, and lingering heat.
Superman’s eyes softened for a brief moment, a hint of something almost gentle beneath the raw, commanding presence. “Thank you,” he said simply. Then, with the same unstoppable grace that had carried him across the city countless times, he turned and left, cape fluttering behind him, leaving Harry sprawled on the rooftop.
Harry tried to rise, wobbled, then staggered forward awkwardly, legs weak and trembling from the intensity, his movements uneven, the taste and heat of the encounter still lingering as he walked strangely across the rooftop. Every step was a reminder of what had just happened—how utterly he had surrendered, how completely he had been claimed, and how impossible it was to forget the weight and force of Superman pressed against him.
The city lights stretched endlessly around him, a silent witness to the raw, consuming, and unforgettable night.
![IMG_20250823_225916.png]( "IMG_20250823_225916.png")
I hope you like it...
(If its forbidden please remove but don't ban me, I don't know the rules about Celebrity sex fan fiction)
The wind was sharp that night, the same kind of wind that had nearly ended Harry’s life weeks ago. He stood on the rooftop, the city lights glowing beneath him like scattered stars, waiting with his heart in his throat. When Superman landed behind him—cape fluttering, presence immense—Harry felt smaller than ever, yet strangely safe.
“I know this is probably lame,” Harry said, fumbling with a rolled canvas under his arm. He unwrapped it with trembling fingers, revealing a painting: Superman silhouetted against a crimson skyline, heroic yet solitary. “But I… I made this for you. As a thank you.”
For a moment, Superman was silent, studying the painting as if it were some alien artifact. He’d been hailed, worshipped, feared—but never thanked like this. His chest tightened.
“It’s beautiful,” Superman said softly, his voice a low rumble against the wind.
Harry smiled, relief flooding him. “You saved me. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all… name it. Please.”
“There’s no need,” Superman replied, instinctively modest. But Harry stepped closer, his expression unshaken.
“There must be something I can offer you. Something you’ve never asked for.”
Superman’s throat went dry. For years, an unspoken desire had lingered in him, something he had buried beneath identities, duty, and the weight of expectation. As Clark Kent, he feared what people would think. As Superman, he feared what it might mean for his image as the world’s savior. But here, alone with this earnest young man who owed him his life, the temptation stirred.
He hesitated, cape catching in the wind like a living shadow. “There is one thing,” he admitted at last, voice almost a whisper. “But… I don’t know if I should.”
Harry’s eyes were steady, unwavering. “Name it. It’s yours.”
“Come here,” Superman said, voice low, commanding yet smooth, the sound carrying through the wind.
Harry stepped forward, every nerve awake, his eyes tracing over the towering figure of the hero. Up close, Superman was almost overwhelming—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his suit, the sculpted lines of muscle leaving no doubt of the strength beneath.
“On your knees.” The words rolled from Superman’s mouth like an order he was used to giving. His gloved hand brushed over the front of his suit, and Harry’s breath caught as a thick outline stirred to life beneath the fabric.
Harry’s lips parted, anticipation warring with disbelief. He had never thought of himself as the type to want this—yet the chance to be this close, to see him stripped of legend and reduced to something carnal, was irresistible.
Superman’s hand found the discreet seam hidden in his uniform, tugging it open until his arousal was freed into the night air. Harry’s eyes widened—what revealed itself was heavy and thick, veins rising along its length, the kind of raw power that seemed to mirror the man himself.
“Suck it,” Superman murmured, a command cloaked in hunger.
Harry leaned in, breath warm against him before his lips wrapped around the heat of Superman’s flesh. The size was almost too much, stretching his mouth as he tried to take him in, but he pushed himself to please, savoring the taste, the weight, the impossible reality of it. Every sound, every gasp of effort was swallowed by the night sky as he gave himself over to the moment.
Harry worked his lips around him, every motion filled with effort and want. Superman’s hand stayed at the back of his head, not harsh but steady, guiding him into a rhythm that matched the quiet power in his stance.
The taste of him was heady, raw, and Harry could feel the heat building with every pass of his tongue. His jaw ached, his lips stretched wide, but the sound that broke from Superman’s chest—a low, guttural vibration—pushed him to keep going.
Above him, Superman’s body was taut, cape shifting with the wind, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths that betrayed the tension underneath. He looked down at Harry with eyes that glowed faintly in the city lights—eyes that saw everything, yet in this moment, were fixed only on the man kneeling before him.
“Good,” Superman murmured, a faint growl riding beneath the word.
The thick weight filled his mouth again and again, saliva slicking his lips as he tried to take more, deeper. His hands clutched at the suit’s unyielding fabric, pulling himself closer, desperate to give everything he could. Superman’s body trembled faintly under his control, the faintest shudder betraying just how close the edge was.
Harry’s mouth worked desperately around him, lips slick and swollen as he pushed himself to take more, to give more. The weight of Superman in his throat made his eyes water, but he didn’t stop—he couldn’t. Every muffled gasp he made only drew another deep, rumbling sound from the man above him.
Superman’s grip tightened in his hair, no longer guiding but holding, his composure cracking under the relentless heat of Harry’s mouth. The tremor that rolled through his body betrayed the control he fought to keep, muscles straining as though holding back the world itself.
Harry moaned around him, the vibration making Superman’s head fall back, jaw set, chest rising harder now. The city seemed to disappear, nothing but the night wind and the wet rhythm of Harry’s devotion between them.
“Don’t stop,” Superman growled, voice sharp, almost dangerous in its hunger. His hips began to move, slow at first, then deeper, pressing into Harry’s mouth with an urgency that left no space for doubt.
Harry clutched at him, nails biting into the suit’s unyielding fabric as he let himself be used, throat working to take everything offered. The sheer size was overwhelming, raw, but the taste of Superman—the heat, the impossible weight of him—drove Harry further, past hesitation, past thought.
Superman’s body shuddered, a sound low and guttural tearing from his chest as the edge hit him. His hand in Harry’s hair held him firm, every muscle drawn tight as the release took him, powerful and unstoppable, like the man himself.
Harry pulled back, gasping for air, lips wet and swollen, his chest rising fast as he looked up at the hero towering over him. Superman’s body still trembled faintly from release, but his eyes—dark, burning—said it wasn’t enough.
He reached down, hauling Harry up effortlessly, their faces close, his breath hot against Harry’s cheek. “I’m not finished with you,” he said, voice low and rough, a promise more than a warning.
Before Harry could answer, Superman turned him, pressing him against the cold concrete ledge of the rooftop. The cape fell around them like a curtain, shutting out the city. Harry’s palms braced against the stone as he felt the solid weight of Superman’s body pinning him there—unyielding, immovable.
“You said anything,” Superman growled against his ear, his hands sliding over Harry’s hips, gripping them with a strength that bordered on overwhelming. “I’m taking it.”
Harry swallowed hard, his pulse hammering, torn between fear and a thrill so sharp it made his knees weak. The raw heat pressing against him left no doubt what Superman wanted.
With a single movement, Superman pushed the last barrier of fabric aside, baring Harry to the night air. His own arousal, already hard again despite the climax he’d just had, pressed firmly against him—thick, insistent, demanding more.
Harry’s breath caught, his body tensing, but Superman’s hand slid across his stomach, anchoring him, grounding him. “Breathe,” he murmured, though his own restraint frayed with every second.
The tip brushed against Harry, slick, hot, and the shock of it made him bite his lip hard. He looked back over his shoulder, meeting Superman’s eyes—those impossible eyes that seemed to burn straight through him.
Then Superman pushed forward.
The stretch was sudden, intense, Harry’s body straining to take him. A broken sound escaped his throat, half gasp, half moan, as the sheer thickness filled him. Superman’s hands gripped tighter, holding him steady, his breath ragged against Harry’s neck as he buried himself deeper.
Harry’s hands braced against the cold ledge, fingers digging into the concrete as he leaned forward, chest pressing toward the city below. The wind tugged at his hair and clothes, whipping around them, carrying the scent of the skyline and the faint, sharp tang of Superman. His mouth was parted, lips slick with saliva and remnants of the first taste, breath ragged as his body arched instinctively with every movement.
Superman pressed in deeper, steady but unrelenting, his hands gripping Harry’s hips like iron. Every thrust drove Harry forward, closer to the edge of the rooftop, the city lights flickering beneath him like stars he could almost touch. The height, the sharp drop, the dizzying expanse of buildings stretching into the horizon made every motion feel magnified, rawer, sharper.
Harry gasped, chest heaving, eyes catching the gleaming skyline, neon reflections dancing over his skin. Each surge of Superman’s body was a wave of pressure and heat, muscles straining, the rhythm merciless yet intoxicating. He could feel the sheer force, the almost inhuman strength, but there was a strange tenderness in the way Superman adjusted his hands, making sure he didn’t slip, guiding him even as he drove them both closer to the edge of control.
The mixture of exhilaration, fear, and need twisted inside Harry, sending shivers down his spine. Superman’s voice, low and guttural, rumbled in his ear, a constant reminder that he was being claimed, tested, pushed. “Hold… steady…”
Harry’s breath came in short, sharp bursts. He felt every inch of him, slick, stretched, trembling under the intensity. The city below, the wind, the dizzying height, and the relentless motion of Superman’s body all collided, heightening everything, raw and overwhelming.
Every push, every deep, calculated motion left Harry teetering on the edge—heart hammering, mouth parted, and entirely exposed to the sheer, unrelenting power of Superman.
Superman’s grip on Harry’s hips tightened, pulling him flush against the firm weight pressing from behind. Each thrust was merciless, driving deep and unyielding, filling Harry in a way he’d never experienced. The sharp edge of newness—this being from behind, completely exposed, completely taken—sent shivers of both shock and ecstasy racing through him.
Harry’s fingers clawed at the ledge, nails scraping the cold concrete as his body arched, trembling against the force. The skyline stretched endlessly before him, lights blurring in his vision as the wind tore at his hair, but he barely noticed. Every push from Superman felt like it split him open, a delicious tension between pain and pleasure that left him gasping, moaning, teetering on the edge of control.
His mouth hung open, slick and tasting himself and Superman, every ragged breath drawing in the sharp night air. Heat pooled low in his belly, spreading through him like wildfire, overwhelming every rational thought. His body was on fire, wide open, aching in ways he hadn’t known possible, every motion of Superman’s body stretching him further, testing limits he hadn’t imagined existed.
“Harry…” Superman’s voice was rough, guttural, a low growl vibrating through him. Every word was punctuated with another relentless thrust, each one deeper, harder, driving him closer to madness. Harry’s knees threatened to buckle, but the hero behind him was immovable, holding him perfectly, guiding him even as every sense screamed in overstimulation.
The blend of sheer physical intensity and the dizzying height of the rooftop made Harry feel untethered—like he was teetering between two worlds, one of raw, aching desire and the other of vertigo, danger, and absolute surrender. His moans grew frantic, high-pitched, almost desperate, as his body trembled, wide open and quivering under the impossible strength of Superman.
Superman’s hands clamped onto Harry’s hips like iron, holding him steady as each thrust drove in with decisive, unstoppable force. Harry’s body felt stretched to the limit, every nerve alive, every muscle trembling under the unrelenting power. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure so sharp it was almost pain, pain so sharp it was almost pleasure—and it sent him spiraling into something he’d never known: madness wrapped in ecstasy.
He gasped, then cried out, head thrown back, mouth open and slick, saliva and remnants of the first taste dripping as his body shuddered violently. The skyline before him blurred, the dizzying heights of the rooftop and the city lights beneath them turning into streaks of neon as every thrust pressed him closer to the edge of sanity.
Superman didn’t relent. Each motion was precise, decisive, testing limits, pushing him further. Harry felt impossibly full, stretched wide open in a way he’d never imagined. The sheer depth of Superman inside him made him shiver uncontrollably—like he could be split in two by the force if the hero wanted. And somehow, that thought only drove him wilder.
“Ah!—Superman…!” Harry’s voice broke, a mix of pain, pleasure, and a delirious kind of surrender. His knees dug into the rooftop, fingers clawing at concrete as every motion tore through him in waves that left him gasping for air and begging for more.
The pace picked up, hips slamming harder, faster, relentless. Superman’s body, taut with control and raw need, moved with a power that left no space for resistance. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, sending Harry teetering on the brink of losing himself entirely, his moans high-pitched and frantic, a soundtrack to the overwhelming chaos of sensation.
Harry’s world narrowed to the force driving into him, the wind whipping around them, the impossible vertigo of the rooftop, and the intoxicating, inhuman heat of Superman. Pleasure and pain fused, creating something maddeningly exquisite, and Harry surrendered fully, helpless to the raw, unrelenting strength that held him and consumed him.
“Good…” the word came rough, guttural, as Superman pressed in fully, leaving Harry trembling, spread wide, claimed by something far beyond human.
Harry’s body went completely slack, a ragdoll in Superman’s iron grip. Every nerve was aflame, his mind melting into nothing but the relentless motion driving through him. His legs trembled uncontrollably, hips pushed forward again and again, and he realized only belatedly that he had already reached his own peak, soaked in the aftermath of his pleasure. The shock of it hit him, a hot, sticky reminder of how utterly consumed he’d been, yet he barely had time to think—Superman’s body didn’t allow it.
Each thrust sent sharp jolts of heat and pressure, the inhuman depth of Superman inside him stretching him further. The hard weight of Superman’s body pressed him forward, hands gripping his hips like anchors, while the slight slap of his balls against Harry’s ass added another layer of raw, tactile sensation that made him shiver helplessly.
His mouth hung open, breath coming in ragged bursts, eyes rolling as the skyline blurred around him. Harry was lost—completely surrendered, utterly claimed, a body that belonged entirely to the impossible hero behind him.
Superman’s own breath came in deep, ragged gasps, every muscle taut and trembling, driving them both closer to the edge. Harry felt the building tension in the hero, the sharp, controlled power coiling inside, and he had no choice but to brace himself, wide open, a conduit for the release that was coming.
With a final, powerful thrust, Superman let go, his body shuddering violently, hips pressing deep into Harry as he climaxed with a force that left them both trembling. The sensation was explosive, every nerve in Harry’s body quivering from the combined intensity, the impossible strength, the raw, unrelenting pleasure. Harry sagged completely against the ledge, sweat and heat mingling, utterly spent, utterly surrendered, a ragdoll in the arms of the hero who had claimed him entirely.
Harry’s hands rose instinctively, tracing along himself, fingers lingering over the stretched, sensitive space Superman had claimed. “Was… was this enough, sir?” he asked, breathless, voice trembling with a mix of awe, exhaustion, and lingering heat.
Superman’s eyes softened for a brief moment, a hint of something almost gentle beneath the raw, commanding presence. “Thank you,” he said simply. Then, with the same unstoppable grace that had carried him across the city countless times, he turned and left, cape fluttering behind him, leaving Harry sprawled on the rooftop.
Harry tried to rise, wobbled, then staggered forward awkwardly, legs weak and trembling from the intensity, his movements uneven, the taste and heat of the encounter still lingering as he walked strangely across the rooftop. Every step was a reminder of what had just happened—how utterly he had surrendered, how completely he had been claimed, and how impossible it was to forget the weight and force of Superman pressed against him.
The city lights stretched endlessly around him, a silent witness to the raw, consuming, and unforgettable night.
Last edited:
