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It was 12:23 AM, most of America was sleeping, or at the very least settling down. But not you, you were wide awake, and definitely not your Supe boyfriend.
Your nimble fingers worked urgently to get the shitty, grainy laptop webcam to be at the perfect angle. You grasped the laptop monitor with a sense of haste, undertones of anxiety not going unnoticed by your partner standing a few inches away. Homelander watched you perform your intended execution; find the best angle to record a sex tape.
His arms were folded over his chest, as if he were a child being denied. “Is this really necessary babe? I mean, c'mon, it’s not like anyone is gonna watch it.” He stated matter-of-factly, his eyes devoid of any emotion. But you knew he wanted this from how he acted the day leading up to the act; more touchy, more possessive, as if the knowledge of what was to come heightened a sense of ownership over you.
Any disinterest he showed in this moment you knew was fabricated. Being a Supe yourself you had heightened senses, and the sweat dripping down his forehead coupled with his rapid heartbeat made you blatantly aware of his want, his need to be so intimately claimed by you.
You plopped yourself on Homelander’s black leather couch to see the view of yourself in the webcam. “God, with how rich this company is, you'd think they could afford technology with better quality than this shit.” You rolled your eyes while checking yourself out, flipping your hair to the back to get a good view of your clothed breasts.
Once again Homelander scoffed at your actions, this time at you caressing your own breasts, especially now that your peaked nipples were so painfully obvious to him. “I thought this was supposed to be our sex tape, not yours.” He grabbed your body with ease, not setting you down until he was seated in your previously occupied position, and you in his lap.
“You’re right babe, this camera angle does suck,” he paused, moving your hair from one side to the other to begin peppering kisses down your neck. “Barely fits us both, which is crazy considering how fucking small you are.” Homelander shuffled forward, unintentionally teasing himself in the process when his semi-hard on rubbed against your clothed crotch. He reached in front of you to angle the monitor up to a point where it caught a glimpse of both of you, your lightly flushed face and his eyes dark with need.
His fingers danced up and down your arm, slowly creating goosebumps in their wake. “When you asked me to do this the other day, I thought you were fucking crazy,” he said, huffing out a small laugh against your shoulder blade. “But now I know I was the crazy one for not thinking of it sooner.”
His earnest tone made you release a small whimper of need, forged from the desire to be wanted even more by him. Homelander let out yet another chuckle against your back, this time adjusting to where he was sitting up straight and you sliding further down his lap.
“You know,” you began, pausing to bite your lip to suppress another whimper when he began rubbing your thigh, “Ashley is gonna kill us if this gets out..”
He pulled back, scoffing with what you couldn’t tell was actual annoyance or not. His blue eyes, now tinted with a shade of black from his blown pupils, bore deep into yours on the screen–you thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest. Homelander’s eyes trailed down after a moment, beginning to rub your thigh again. “Fuck Ashley,” his eyes snapped back up to meet yours in the computer screen, “and fuck everyone else that isn’t you and I.”
Truthfully you were ready to start recording ten minutes ago, but now your hands inadvertently rushed to hit the record button, earning a small smothered laugh from your partner. “Oh baby, you really are desperate aren’t you.” Homelander said with a newfound deep, husky tone; he was a natural.
As if he could sense your rapid heartbeat, he took control to save you the trouble. His gloved hands maneuvered your body to twist in a somewhat uncomfortable way, but it became worth it when your lips locked. The two of you collided like animals, teeth almost clanging together from how bad you wanted the other; but truthfully, you both needed each other, in more ways than one.
Whimpers and muffled moans spawned from your throats, you sang together as if you were doing a duet you’d done a hundred times. Sex with Homelander was passionate; rough when needed, but always creating a sense of bliss whenever you both came together. The two of you had an unspoken dynamic, something you shared about who controlled the power during these moments; it was a matter of whoever grasped that power first, and it seemed he had this time.
Homelander forced himself to take his lips off of yours by pulling your hair, forcing you off as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it alone. “Face the camera honey, don’t be greedy. Show ‘em how sweet you are to me.” He doted, rubbing your cheek as he faced you back towards the camera.
When you hadn’t moved after a moment, he let out a low grumble that resembled a growl. His fingers pulled on the hem of your shirt, beginning to tear it in half before you grabbed it from his grasp and pulled what remained of it off. “That’s a good girl,” he praised you, fingers teasing your pebbled nipples through the lace material of your bra.
He leaned back against the couch, slightly out of the camera's view, to admire the set you wore for this occasion. You felt his cock grow under the confinement of his suit as he realized the colors resembled that of his own personal brand: red white and blue. Fuck, he thought, hand rubbing up and down the exposed skin of your sides, drinking in the view in front of him like he couldn’t get enough.
“Ladies and gentleman, America’s favorite whore.” He bestowed that title on you as if it were a royal position, then sitting up and wasting no time unclasping your bra as if it were a lock hiding buried treasure.
He continued addressing the nonexistent crowd–one that would hopefully never exist–as he kept his eyes on you. “I don’t know why she insists on wearing this unnecessary thing all the time, a slut like her should always be ready for me. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”
You were in a daze, staring at Homelander’s face on the screen– it seemed as if the only thing keeping you from zoning out was the flashing red button that signified the ongoing recording. Homelander got tired of waiting though, despite how stupidly cute he thought you looked, and he grabbed your jaw with his glove, an act he knew you loved.
“I asked you a question,” he flashed his canines to the camera, “and I intend on getting an answer.” He especially knew you loved when he was mean.
You spoke for the first time since the camera began recording, finally setting it in stone that it truly was America’s most beloved Supe couple about to have raw, unedited sex right on camera. “Mhm, fuck,”
Homelander hooked his thumb in your mouth, a taste of rubber flooding your tastebuds as you desperately tried to suck it, “‘m such a slut for Homelander..”
Homelander’s free hand palmed your left breast in response, the other still held in your mouth because he just knew it was causing a pool down in your panties. And he’d be right, like always–you’d be a fool to think he didn’t know your body better than you did.
You began to grind slowly on his lap, careful not to set too fast of a pace, lest he deem you too greedy and halt your movements altogether. Homelander wasn’t an idiot, he could feel your slow movements whether you tried to hide it or not, and your erratic heartbeat was a dead giveaway, anyways. But he didn’t mind, instead his hand occupying your breast came down to roughly grip your thigh, urging your movements to gain speed.
And you did just that, gasping whenever your clit rubbed against his equally needy cock. You knew that your boyfriend’s superhuman strength would be the cause of the bruises that would appear on your legs soon, but you didn’t care–in fact you loved when he would mark you up and make you his, you craved ownership just as much as he did.
“Look at you,” Homelander vocalized as if he were singing a song to you like a bird. His right arm came down, taking his thumb with it, and pulled you flush against his chest. His eyes met yours for a brief moment as your bodies collided before turning back to the camera, “getting my suit all wet, humping like a bitch in heat. Some might say she wants to be watched.”
You let out a loud moan at his words, choosing an even faster pace than the one you went at before. Homelander stopped speaking, instead choosing to sit in silence and drink in the sounds you gave him. He could tell you were getting close from how desperately you began to grind in his lap, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn’t getting close to that point himself.
Both your eyes and his met again, longer than just a brief moment this time. He held you there without a word, you knew that he was forcing eye contact with you and breaking it would result in a punishment. “I know how bad you wanna cum on my lap,” Homelander took pride in the fact that he could get you off practically without touching you, all he had to do was maneuver his hips into a perfect angle that could grind against you until couldn’t take it anymore. “I know baby, I know–but we’ve got an audience to impress.”
He gave you no time to react to the fact he was unbuckling the golden belt that hung around his waist, having to arch your back in order to act with one hand, his other too busy forcing you in place by a rough grip to the shoulder. Despite your attempts to look back over your shoulder and watch the way he prepped himself to fuck you, it was to no avail. “Keep your eyes forward, honey.”
You threw your head back in a fit as if you were a child being told no. A small whine of impatience slipped out, earning you another breathy chuckle from Homelander. He gave your attitude no attention, instead rubbing small circles on the flesh of your ass, creeping closer to the lingerie seemingly vomited on by American patriotism. It was in these moments you felt your relationship with your Supe boyfriend become the most aflame; his possession, need and want to claim you whole.
You wouldn’t be surprised if he devoured you one day.
Homelander’s fingers, still gloved, slowly moved the lacey material of your panties to the side. One hand rubbed teasingly up and down your soaked slit, the other jerked his cock slowly. Not only was teasing you, but he was teasing himself. “Look at the camera, sweetheart, I want you to tell them why you think Homelander should give you his cock.”
It was an interesting request, the man spoke as if he really was convinced this would get out. “H-Homelander should–fuck,” you were cut off by the tip of his finger shoving its way inside you, not all the way, but just enough to make you ride it as if it were the best thing you’ve ever felt. Clearing your throat, you continued, “Homelander should give me his cock cause I’m his good girl, his good slut.”
Your response must’ve satisfied him based on how he picked you up as if you weighed nothing and turned you to face him. He wasted no time maneuvering your body to an angle in which the camera could watch his cock slip inside achingly slow, his head falling back against the couch in pleasure. You both let out loud moans in responses as if you were teenagers again, lost in the feeling of the first time.
Once sheathed fully inside your cunt, he waited til the first pulse of your walls to begin moving. Homelander’s hands gripped the fat of your hips and moved you himself, not giving you a chance to contribute to move on your own. He was groaning–growling even at that point, you knew his possession of you peaked during these moments, it was a high.
“Look at the way your pussy grips my cock, like she was fucking made for it.” His eyes met yours, now ignoring the audience that never existed in the first place. “Maybe you were made for it baby, what do you think? Not made to be a Supe, no, not even to save the world.” His pace began to increase, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his large penthouse. “Just made to sit pretty and take it.”
Homelander licked his lips, thumbs rubbing circles to make up for the rough grip he had. The movements of his arms had you bouncing up and down on his lap, and his eyes were fixated on where your cunt swallowed his cock, it was like where the ocean met the sky, a renowned beauty. You knew he was obsessed with how he’d trained your body to act under his command, something he didn’t even have to try to do.
It came easily, being Homelander’s.
His hand gripped the base of his cock and pulled it out achingly slow, earning a whine from you in response. He clicked his tongue at your obvious need. “Turn around, angel,” he commanded. You were quick to oblige him, flipping to have your back flush against his chest in a flash. You loved being a Supe.
His hands rubbed on your sides, and you could feel the heat from his body radiating through his suit on your back. He flashed a smile at you on the screen, to which you smiled back. He kept your eyes there, fixated on the sight of his messy appearance as he slid back inside you. He watched on the monitor as your mouth went agape, but all he did was laugh; he mocked you; eyes wide, lips open and an overly exaggerated moan. To anyone it might have spawned embarrassment, but it only stirred you on, made you moan again.
That must’ve ignited some nasty, primal urge in him, the fact you got off on him lowering you to stare of inferiority, the way your half lidded eyes locked on to the sight portrayed on the screen. He made sure to show the camera each and every time your cunt swallowed his cock full. Homelander felt so full of himself here, he basked in the knowledge you were addicted to the feeling only he could give you.
His gloved hand wrapped around your throat, sparking you to grind your hips faster on his lap in an attempt to reach your peak. Nothing but a gentleman, Homelander was set on always making you cum before himself. Of course, there were times he failed–he blamed it on the fact your pussy was just too made for him–but he paid it back tenfold, giving you as many orgasms as you could take.
But at the end of the day he was human, too, and you could both tell you were getting close. “Cmon baby, fuck, I know you’re getting close, I need you to show ‘em how you cum on my cock.” He panted out, expression now seemingly dazed too at the way you tighten when he squeezes your throat. You loved watching black spots dance in your vision, a stark contrast between the abundance of pleasure you were receiving.
You nodded. “Yes, let me show them,” you choked out with all the air still left in your lungs. Your ears began to ring, blood trying its hardest to keep you conscious but alerting you to its incoming failure.
Sensing your impending asphyxiation, he let go; but Homelander had no intention of giving his girlfriend time to bask in the new air now swarming in your lungs, instead bringing that same hand down to rub harsh figure eights on your puffy, swollen clit. It was almost as if he was in a rush to get you to cum, knowing the new sensation would bring you to that place.
And he was right, your head fell back on his shoulder as your body shook upon your orgasm. He fucked you roughly through it, hips still snapping at the same pace as your evident release began to coat the fabric of his suit. Your shaking hands found their way onto his cheek, moving your head slightly to the side in order to pull his lips to your own. It felt like grabbing a table to avoid falling, and he was your anchor.
The kiss kept going while he finished inside you. His hips slowly began to stammer, only stopping completely when both of you whined in oversensitivity. Instead of slipping out, Homelander kept you locked in a kiss, only breaking it to touch foreheads with you, a silent way of asking if you were okay. You’d nod, smiling.
He’d pull away after a few moments, turning his attention back to the screen as if he’d just remembered it was going. “Well folks, I hate to cut it short but I’ve got to go fuck Miss America–again,” he spoke as if he were a goddamn talk show host. “But this time all for myself.”
You giggled, burying your face into his neck as he stopped the recording. Of course, you knew Homelander wasn’t bluffing, he never lied about when and where he’d fuck you. After taking you once again on the couch, he’d take you in his bed, once, twice, until you both fell asleep.
A nice slumber; your naked, sore body wrapped in the sheets with his. The room smelled of sweat and sex, but you loved it. You’d even argue the sleep afterwards was the best part of it all…
…until a frazzled redhead practically beats the door of Homelander’s penthouse down, screaming about how your naked bodies are now plastered online. Oops.