by Kirsten Sea
We Grow Stronger in Sin
Getting fucked by Whitney was an uninspiring experience at the best of times. Lana lay on her back and made the appropriate noises, but there was only so much you could do with a guy whose idea of a good time was missionary. She moaned and groaned and pleaded for more, but the steady movement of his cock in and out did nothing to get her off. Afterwards she rested her head on his chest, traced patterns around his nipples while she considered taking her act out on the road. Of course she'd stop by in Smallville, shake her ass in the air and open a few eyes along with her body. They'd throw disgust in her direction, but she'd only care about Whitney. "Look," she'd say, "I only care what you think, Whitney," and she'd be proper little Lana Lang for just a few seconds longer, until it became clear his outrage turned her on. He'd hit her then, maybe once, maybe twice, and he'd ask her why: "Wasn't I enough?"
She'd think for a while. "You couldn't tell when I was faking," she'd finally say. "I'm not your toy, Whitney. Buy a rubber pussy if all you want is a fuck."
Five years of Whitney, all through high school and into college, and it was building for a long time before the words came tumbling out. Lying on her bed studying erotic art for class, Lana was surprised when Whitney's arms came around her and pushed her back against the covers, lifted up her skirt and pulled off her panties without so much as a God, you look hot today. She didn't resist so it wasn't anything to cry about, but it didn't feel good when he opened her thighs and pushed inside her, when he started to fuck her, hard and deep. She was angry when she saw his open eyes staring at the wall behind her, pissed beyond belief when he pushed her legs up and apart and bared her completely, and she kept her mouth closed and her body still and just let him do her, faster and harder and deeper.
It didn't take him long to finish, not that it surprised her, but it took him a while to let her go. He liked to look at her full and fucked. Sometimes Lana liked to let him even though it made her flush, but this time all she did was glare.
"You look good," said Whitney.
"Get the fuck off of me," Lana snarled, and shoved at his chest with her hands.
Whitney fell back with gaping mouth and stared as she pulled on her panties. "What? What's wrong?"
"It's over," she said, and felt vicious prickles of pride down her spine as his eyes grew very wide. "You couldn't tell when I was faking," she added. "I'm not your toy, Whitney. Buy a rubber pussy if all you want is a fuck."
The next day Lana went to class and listened and took notes, saw her friends for lunch in Mocha Joe's and told them about Whitney.
"That's sad," Tina said, patting Lana's hand. "Are you okay? Come over later. We can bitch about men. I'll give you chocolate, ice cream, Maid in Manhattan. Anything you want, Lana."
"I have to study tonight." Lana sipped at her coffee. "And I'm really not too cut up about it. Thanks all the same, Tina; maybe some other time?"
"Sure," Tina said, and her eyes fell down to the table.
"I thought you two would last forever," Chloe said, crumbling her muffin into smaller pieces, all the better for eating. Something a little wistful in her tone of voice, maybe, and Lana felt the urge to comfort.
"Whitney only has one move," she said. "And it got old a long time ago. But if you're interested, go ahead. No psycho ex-girlfriend act - there's nothing in him worth the stress."
The next day Lana went to class again, and listened again and took some more notes. And the day after that and the day after that and the day after that, and then it was Saturday and she had time to hit the library. She settled in a corner and surrounded herself with books, books and books, books of life, books of love, books of lust and hurt and pain, wrapped herself up in the knowledge of ages and imagined it seeping into her skin. Don't make the same mistake again, the books seemed to counsel; a sin at sixteen doubles in price when repeated at twenty-one.
Sunday passed with more books and maybe more wisdom, and then Monday came and Lana went to meet Tina at the chem lab. She stood outside while she waited, hoping to avoid lab-stink and lab-nerds, but she could almost feel the stink seeping into her clothes and her skin, and the nerds were a given, strolling around her, laughing at nerd-jokes only funny at an elemental level. Just keep smiling, she ordered herself, even though it made her face hurt.
The lab door opened and the class came out, non-nerds pale and pained, smart kids cool and relaxed. Lana leaned away from them and looked around for Tina, saw her waiting to speak with the professor. It made Lana smile a little, Tina with her serious face and her earnest ways. Tina turned around and caught her eye, and Lana laughed at the grimace Tina mugged, but then she caught sight of the guy standing behind Tina, and Tina turned away.
Tall. Bald. Wearing jeans and a dress shirt under his labcoat. Odd combination, and no books in his arms, but answering questions from stragglers. Grad student, Lana decided, and she licked her lips at the knowledge in his eyes.
He was hot, in a science kind of way, with long, slender fingers that plucked at his labcoat lapels. Nervous habit? Perhaps, but Lana figured he was the type of guy to really focus on his subject. Narrow focus, narrow cock, and when did she get to speculating about that? Maybe the same moment he began to fondle a test tube with his long, slender hands, talking to Tina now, urging her to the front of the line. Phallic in the dorkiest way, but Lana wasn't going to worry over something as petty as that. Not when it looked so pretty, fine clear glass caressed by careful pale-skinned thumbs.
She watched him finish up the line, weeding out the pressing issues and turning out the rest. Efficiency, Lana decided, was one hell of a turn-on.
"Hey," said Tina, finally creeping up beside her. Lana smiled, said hey, kept her eyes on the science guy.
"Who is that?"
Tina rolled her eyes and glanced over. "I don't know," she snapped. "Some guy. Science. Never got laid in his life. You know the type."
Virgin. Lana licked her lips. "There's a type?"
"Lana," Tina sighed. "Sometimes it's like you don't see what's right in front of your eyes."
Lana spotted him endlessly after that, almost like fate pushing them together, the way the meteors took her parents and sent her spiralling on the path to MetU. She tried not to stare whenever she cruised by him in the corridor on her way to French class, but he was too good to resist, especially those times he wasn't wearing a labcoat. Almost like seeing him naked, and that made her laugh even though it was true. The labcoat was a tease, a boastful cloak to hide and conceal. Without it she could see the way his jeans clung low to his hips, and his ass was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.
One night she dreamed about taking him over her knee and slapping her palm down onto his naked ass, over and over again until he begged to go down on his hands and knees. She kept beating him while he cried, because he made such pretty noises and she liked the way her hand looked with dominance cast about it, but eventually she stopped liking the sting in her fingers and let him get down on the floor. He was hard and dripping pre-come while he watched her gear up, and when she got behind him and told him to spread his legs he put his face to the ground and groaned out, "Yes."
"I'm gonna dick you so hard," Lana said, and slapped his ass again, pushing two fingers inside to make sure he was ready. "You're a good boy," she said, enjoying the slick tight heat of his body. "Maybe you'd like my whole hand up there," she mused aloud. "Would you like that, baby? My whole hand stretching you wide open while you beg for it like a bitch?" and he groaned again and pushed back against her hand, moaning, "Yes, yes, yes."
She teased him a little, stroked the sweet spot inside him, listened to him beg and plead for it, yes, please, your whole hand, Lana, please, please fuck me like that. She let him work himself up before she laughed and told him, "Not today," pulled her fingers out and put her cock inside him slowly, took him like a girl giving it up for the first time, watched his ass eat her up inch by delicious inch. "You're so tight, baby," she whispered into his ear. "So sweet and all for me. My sweet little virgin. Such a sweet virgin hole."
He moaned and pushed back into her rhythm, went down on his elbows, his ass high in the air, and she put her hands on his hips and fucked him good, fucked him hard with her big, thick cock. Pressure building in her pussy and clit while she fucked him, getting off on the motion, the in and the out, over and over, over and over, using him, abusing him, closing her eyes so she didn't even have to see him, just her and the heat in her cunt, her, just her, and she shuddered and came and shuddered some more, and kept her eyes closed until she stilled.
He was still hard when she opened her eyes and looked down at his ass, red from the spanking and the pounding from her hips. Sweat glistened along his pale, pale back, and she leaned down and licked the damp from his spine until he shivered.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, Lana, I can't stand it, please fuck me, let me come."
"Shut up," she said. "Put your face down," and she pushed at his head until his face was pressed into the floor. "Put your hands behind your back," she ordered, and smiled while he reached behind himself and crossed his wrists, and she snapped cuffs around them, making them tight, making them hurt.
Then she pulled out and put a dildo in his hole, and slapped his ass again, again and again, breaking him into a thousand lesser pieces. He begged again, and she listened for a while and then stopped.
Stood up and looked down at him. Her work of art, because he was beautiful, broken and begging and hard, so hard and so desperate for her and her hate. She liked him that way, past the edge of sanity and reason and into realms of passion and fire, where she could keep him quiet and tame for as long as she wanted.
"I don't think you get to come tonight," she said, and left him kneeling like that on the floor.
But that was just a dream, Lana reminded herself, and forced her eyes away from his ass.
A few weeks later she bumped into him in the corridor on her way to French class, and the clash sent her books and his test tubes clattering and shattering to the floor. She got something on her sweater, right between her breasts; it smelled a little like vinegar.
"I'm sorry," he apologised immediately, and Lana smiled to hear his voice, quiet and smooth and focused, focused on her, and she smiled to see his eyes fix on her chest.
"Something I can help you with?" She kept her voice light, wanting to tease him gently, ease him into it slowly, make it good for him, this conversation with a strange girl who dreamed about slapping his naked ass.
"Um." His eyes jerked up, and Lana wanted to laugh when he blushed but found herself caught up in the blue in his gaze. Such a pretty ocean grey-blue, and it went so well with the roses in his cheeks. "Um," he repeated, and waved a long, slender finger at her body, awkward and uncertain and pure. "You should probably take off that sweater. This stuff can be nasty on skin," he told her, and he flushed a deeper shade.
Enchanted, delighted, Lana licked her lips and sighed. "But I'm not wearing anything else."
"Oh," he said. "Um." He frowned, forehead creasing up into a little line between his brows, and Lana thought about licking him there, swiping at that concentration with her tongue. Sometimes she wondered if he tasted salty, although she liked to think he tasted fresh.
"Take this," he said, shrugging out of his labcoat. "You really shouldn't get that on your skin."
He's lovely, Lana thought, and pulled off her sweater, right there in the corridor, ignoring the stares and staring at his pretty eyes instead, watching the way they widened and looked at her naked breasts shifting as she shrugged into his labcoat. It was warm and it smelled like the chem lab, chemical smell trapped in the fabric masking something else, something hotter, something that belonged to him and only him, and she was glad to wrap herself in him instead of books, if only for a while.
She didn't fasten it immediately, let it swing open just a touch so only he could really see, let him look at her while she gathered her books together. She heard him swallow and held back a smile, and when she had everything in place she reached out and touched his arm.
"Sorry," he said, looking back up at the ceiling. "Sorry."
"You're sweet," Lana absolved him, enjoying his stammered apologies far too much. She let herself caress his arm, fondling lean muscles beneath the silk of his shirt. She mused upon the silk for a moment, imagining riches and luxury, before slipping her fingers under the fabric to touch his skin, and it was tender as the skin of a new born babe. "How can I get it back to you?"
"Er," he said, staring at her fingers now, and Lana gave him a finger show, twirled the silk and stroked him softly and scratched him a little with his nails, pleased to hear his breath quicken. She thought maybe she'd go down on him right there if there weren't so many people about, people still staring and pointing at Lana, shy and quiet Lana Lang kneeling in front of a guy with her bare naked titties out in the open, while he shifted and squirmed and spread his legs a little in response.
She let go of his arm and flipped open a notebook, pink with paler pink flowers printed on the cover. There were pens clipped in the pockets of his labcoat, and she took one and pulled the cap off with her teeth, scribbled her address and tore out the sheet. He took it with a shaking hand, and when she capped the pen again and handed it to him, he dropped another test tube.
"You know where that is?"
"I - yeah," he said, and his quiet smooth voice was hoarse.
"You should come by tomorrow night," she said, and leaned into him just a little, so that her nipples brushed his chest while she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll have everything waiting for you," she whispered into his ear, and he shivered and hitched a little breath.
She left the labcoat unfastened and stood up. She held her books against her breasts, and she could tell he liked the way they pushed her flesh about. "Come at seven," she said, and he didn't complain at the order it was.
He was still kneeling like that early the next morning, hands cuffed tight behind his back, rubber dick in his ass. He was such a good boy, and she told him so as she crouched down in front of him so she could look at his face, touch his raw bitten lips and stroke away the blood and the tears.
"You're so pretty like this," she said, and ran her hand over his head. He closed his eyes and moaned, pushed into her touch, and she leaned down and kissed him there, licked and nibbled until new tears fell. "You're so sweet. You were made for this, baby, made for this hurt. Did you think I'd leave you lying here forever?"
"Lana," he whispered. "Please."
"All mine," she said, and reached down to touch at the dildo, moving it slowly, gently, tiny rocking motions against the sweet spot inside him that had him panting again fast. "Just like this. Open your legs some more," she said, and moved until she knelt behind him, and the view of his back arched and contorted to support his weight made her wet. "Just like this, baby," she crooned, and didn't touch any part of him, using the fake cock in him to get him off. He shook and moaned and begged, and he couldn't move unless she let him, couldn't come unless she let him, and he belonged to her, was owned by her, and she was a merciful owner at last, he should be thankful, stroking inside him with that extension of herself until he shattered and fell, and she smiled to see tension in his beautiful muscles as he came all over the floor.
She let him kneel a little longer and then unfastened his cuffs, and sat back so he could pull up onto his hands and knees. She listened to his joints pop, enjoyed his whispered complaints, and then sent him to the shower to clean up.
Lana took herself back to bed and touched her clit until she came. She kept her legs open so he could settle between them, which he did a few minutes later, still damp from the shower. Between her open thighs was a good place to keep him, she decided, stroking his head when he laid it down near her shoulder, and she pulled the comforter up over them both, holding him close in the warmth.
"You're mine," she said aloud, watching the walls. She groped until she found a nipple to twist and toy with, and he whimpered a little, still fragile, still raw. "You'll never be able to leave me," she whispered into his ear. "I won't ever let you go."
Another night of dreams and Lana woke up wet. She lay in bed and pushed down the covers, spread her thighs and let her hand wander over her belly and thighs, let her fingers curl through her pubic hair and carefully tug, until she was hot and ready and aching, but it was a morning for anticipation and savoured pleasures, and she pulled her hand away, licked her fingers clean and closed her legs, and rose to start her day.
Task one: mail a letter to a friend in France, another smalltown girl, Sandrine more familiar with the boulangerie than the likes of Fordman's hardware store, but cow-stink's the same all over the world and nothing brought people together like a common foe. Both of them back in hickhell now, but that was no reason to forget the bright city lights. Lana sent a photograph, the two of them together under la Tour Eiffel, two pretty girls beside a big metal leg. It seemed bitter to Lana now, perceiving cold male hardness straining up to the sky through her brand new don't-fuck-with-me eyes.
Then she went to French class, take more notes. It was interesting but made her sleepy, language easier and more fun to learn in practice than in theory. Task the third saw Lana eating salad in the cafeteria with Chloe, Tina off doing strange little Tina things, whatever Tina did whenever Tina was alone. Chloe had a date that night, not with Whitney.
"Me, too," said Lana. "I don't know his name yet, but I will."
Chloe smiled, laughed a little, her eyes wide and big. "Can this be Lana Lang? Or are you some strange pod person from outer space?"
"Well, you should know," Lana said, and Chloe's smile disappeared and her eyes got very bright. That was a forbidden topic, no mention of his name should cross their lips.
Chloe pushed her salad away and Lana didn't protest. "I'll see you later," Chloe muttered, and Lana clasped her hand.
"I'm sorry," Lana said, and Chloe hesitated then nodded.
"I know," Chloe said. "Good luck with the date," she added, and Lana let her go. Patched up but never perfect, and Lana often cursed Clark for breaking them into pieces all those years ago.
Task the fourth involved nothing more than going home and getting ready for Mister Hot Spanky Ass. Lana wandered across campus wondering what to wear. Dress for seduction was a given, friendship not even a speck on the horizon, not even a place on the other side of the world, the solar system, the galaxy or the universe. Sex and only sex, and Lana knew she'd probably have to go slow, but it'd be so hard.
She decided on a little black dress as she put her key into the lock. No point pretending she wanted something she really didn't; she didn't want to pull a Whitney impression on her first date in five years. She waxed her legs, then took some time and lounged in the tub, water scented with jojoba, with rose, and washed her hair with the same. She touched her nipples every now and then, her clit more often, but remembered her anticipation desire and stopped before it got too wild.
She lay there and thought about condoms. At the bedside? Nah. Whitney didn't fuck around, that was for certain, nobody else would have him, and he'd been her One True Love for five ridiculous years. And her date was a virgin, and she took the pill so what was to worry about? It'd all feel twice as bad, and that could only be good.
She towelled off and dried her hair, made it smooth with potions and her body soft with lotions and motions meant to soothe and relax. She pulled on her dress last of all, left her underwear in her dresser. He'd like that, probably, guys often did, and science nerd didn't mean really different, especially not on that level.
Guys were all the same. No reason Lana shouldn't get a little for herself.
Tentative knock at the door, seven on the dot, and that was good, that was sweet. Obviously he knew how to take an order, and that thought had Lana biting her lip as she answered the door. Maybe a little too Siren-like, but he didn't seem to object. Lana knew she looked good, her little black dress dipping low over her cleavage, nipped in at the waist for the illusion of curves. Hooker dresses had their virtues, and Lana smiled to see his cheeks flush pink.
"What's your name?" she asked, and his blush faded, and he frowned and looked suspicious. It was a good look for him, but just about everything was.
"Lex Luthor," he said. "You're telling me you don't know that?"
"Should I?" A touch of something big edging at her mind, but she pushed it aside. It couldn't be important in comparison to this, her sex jaunt with this almost-stranger dressed in silk and low-slung jeans. "Come on in, Lex," she invited, and she husked a little over his name.
He did so, suspicious frown still in place. "You're Lana Lang," he said. "I remember you. Time magazine. Front page news. Heartbreak in the heartland for Miss Fairy Princess."
Lana paused. Closed the door and turned around, folded her arms across her chest. "Take off your shirt," she said, to her surprise he did just that.
He was deliciously naked, bare in a way she hadn't imagined. She reached out and touched his body, then leaned in and licked him, made him hot and wet from sternum to neck. He was smooth, so smooth, and the big thing edging at her mind pushed again, and it all came together in an instant.
"Smallville made a big impression on all of us," she said, looking up at his face to see his flinch, to capture it in her memory for future enjoyment, for self-pleasure fantasies of making him hurt. "Why did you come here?" she wondered, if he knew what it would bring back.
"You have my labcoat."
"There's no need to pretend." She wound her arms around his neck, brought him down to her for a kiss, lip to lip. He tasted of apples, of cinnamon, of warm chocolate and sugar. She'd feed him sweet things, if that was what he liked. "We both know what this is," she whispered.
He nodded, and his blush came back.
"Don't worry." Lana smiled. "I won't make you say it just yet. Take off your clothes, Lex. I want to see you naked."
Lex frowned at her again but did as he was told, slipped off his sneakers and toed off his socks, unfastened his belt buckle with hands that barely trembled. His zipper came down with a scratch, and he let his jeans fall, and he was naked, no underwear to fuss with. He stepped out of the denim, pushed it aside with his foot, and Lana licked her lips and twirled her finger, and he turned on the spot, still flushed, and more than a little hard.
She asked: "Have you ever fucked before?"
He shook his head no.
"Why not?" She stared at his lean muscles, his strange, innocent skin.
He shrugged. "Work. Science nerd. My father. Other stuff."
"I don't want you for the other stuff."
He looked away, stared at the wall. "We'll see."
Lana felt a little hurt, but she couldn't say no pretending and then pretend she didn't mean it. She nodded instead and went to the bed, lay back and pulled up her dress and opened her legs. "Come here."
He knelt between her thighs and rested his hands on her hips, thumbs rubbing little circles, around and around. Lana shifted a little and reached out, hooked a hand around her neck and brought him close. "Put your hand between my legs," she murmured, and sighed when he did so. He was smart, he figured it out, and she gasped when his fingers found her clit and began to rub, slow, a little too soft. "Faster," she urged, wanting to get off good and quick, her day of waiting and anticipation dropping away to harsh real-time lust. "Harder," she moaned, and he bit down at her neck and her jaw and kissed her lips, and she scratched her nails down his back and grabbed at his ass, finally, his beautiful ass, and the thought of her hands hitting his beautiful flesh made her eyes roll, her body buck, and he kept rubbing her until she cried out.
"Stop," she gasped eventually, and his obedience made her want him even more.
She shivered through the aftershocks. He draped his body over her and she loved the weight of him, the strength of him, and the power he hadn't ever bothered to exercise. She'd be his first, and he'd always be hers, and he could have had anyone, but he'd chosen her and that knowledge was power in itself.
He was hard against her hip. She shifted back and slipped out of his grasp, gestured for him to lie on his back. He grinned at her, a little smug, and Lana shook her head. "I won't stand for that," she warned him, and he stretched back and opened up to her, let her see his shark smile. That was a secret, she could tell, all his will just waiting to be unleashed, but she'd shackle him before that could happen.
She teased him, straddled his body and rubbed herself against his stomach, moving back a little at a time, watching and laughing to see the tension building in his face. "Condom?" he asked, and she shook her head.
"Don't need one," she said, and reached back and taunted him with soft nail-touches to his balls, with words that made his dick twitch. "You want to get inside me, don't you, Lex? You want to fuck me good and hard, make me hurt tomorrow and the next day so I won't ever forget your cock was there."
"Yes," he groaned, and it happened then, that thing she'd dreamed, and she closed her eyes in something like bliss as he whispered, "Please, Lana. Please let me come."
It made her want all over again, and she rose high on her knees and took hold of his cock, teased him a little more as she aimed him right at the core of her. "You're all mine," she told him as she sank down, slowly, slowly, rose up again and down, up and down, fucking herself on his cock, making him pant and moan and groan. "All mine, Lex. You'll never get away from this."
"Fine," he gasped, and his fingers bruised her hips as he rocked out a thrust. "Whatever you want, Lana. Just. Just. Jesus, please let me come, please let me fuck you."
"Okay," she said, and he groaned and rolled and then she was on her back with her legs in the air, and he fucked into her hard, fucked into her deep, and he didn't last long but it was good, more than good, more than amazing and shattering and destroying when he reached down with his fingers and rubbed at her clit, when he lowered his head and licked and bit at her breasts, her neck, her jaw and her lips. He'd already found a comfortable path, she recognised through the sex-thoughts in her brain, but she'd break him of all his habits before she let him do this to her again.
The next morning Lana woke up with her legs wrapped around him, his bare head sweet by her shoulder. He was warm and soft, and he looked smug even in sleep. She lay and stared at the ceiling, fingered the semen dry in her hair, stroked his head and the nape of his neck, and thought of the innocence she'd taken, the innocence they'd fucked out of each other all through the night.
It was hard not to see the bottom, the rock bottom getting closer and closer, the buzz all faded away.
He opened his eyes a little after ten, blinking in sunlight muted by curtains. He smiled up at her, pressed a kiss to her collar bone. She stared back, and he had to see her sadness, her longing and want, because his smile dimmed a just a little.
"We could pretend in some things," he offered.
How he knew her. It wasn't perfect, but it was innocence, in its way.
Lana smiled. "My sweet little virgin," she whispered into his ear, and slapped her palm down onto his ass.
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