Envy was a terrible thing. Especially between a husband and wife.
“Clara, it’s time for your injection.”
Wordlessly, Clark bent over the desk, lifting her skirt to expose her plump rump. Louis Lane filled the syringe, pressing the kryptonite-tipped needle against the butt cheek. It slipped within the steel-hard flesh with all the resistance of silk.
“I liked you better as Clark,” Louis hissed in her ear, her aging, wrinkled mouth twisting in distaste. She jabbed down on the plunger vindictively, pumping a torrent of potent estrogen into Clark’s bloodstream. “But I love Clara even more.”
Their marriage had started lovingly, thirty years ago. Then she'd been young, beautiful, ambitious - a glittering career laid out before her. Clark had revealed his secret identity on the wedding night. It had been a shock, but she’d coped. Yet, as the years passed, as she aged and her career stalled, things had soured. Clark’s charm had always been his mild manners. Smallville, she’d nicknamed him - a bumbling, hapless country boy who could never hope to match up to her.
After being overshadowed by the men in her career, it was a power dynamic that had made her fall in love with him. Not the unassailable god that was Superman. Just her luck to marry a man who overshadowed her in every way, physically, mentally, and moreso with each year. That was what she hated most about Superman - she kept getting older, and he stayed the same age.
“Good girl." She slipped the needle from Clark's ass and stroked a thumb over the hundreds of tiny needle-marks that adorned his cheek.
“Thank you, mistress,” Clark said softly.
It had taken decades to break her husband. He was one of the smartest men alive, certainly, but emotionally just as vulnerable to manipulation and gaslighting as any other. He’d become her life’s work. By the end, even he believed himself to be trans, as she coaxed him into a persona she knew would never eclipse her. ‘Do it for me’, she’d crooned. ‘Don’t you love me?’
The ageless blonde bimbo she'd changed him into delighted her. The sight of his shrivelled nub of a manhood was all the joy her marriage gave her.
“I thought I say some dicks unsucked today at the Daily Planet,” she chided her husband. “That new intern hasn’t yet felt your lips around his cock. That won’t do at all, will it? You’ll spend tomorrow morning beneath his desk, making up for it.”
“Yes, mistress,” Clara said, hanging her head in shame.
"And Jimmy has scheduled your ass over his desk in the afternoon. Please him, and there'll be a promotion in it for me.”
“Yes, mistress.”
She studied Clark’s rear. It stirred no lust in her - she wasn't a lesbian, and the sight of Clara’s feminised body disgusted her. But she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to stretch his hole out, to put him in his place. She tugged his panties to the side to expose his tight asshole. Reaching into the table drawer, she pulled out the 22-inch black dildo, strapping it about her waist. He kept his bent over posture obediently, taking the thick rubber tip inside himself without objection. Even after 30 years of marriage, she’d yet to discover the limits of length that his kryptonian body could take within himself, only the limits of her strength to plow it inside him.
Behind every great man is a great woman, she sniggered silently to herself, as she filled his insides with the entire length of the strap-on, his flaccid penis twitching pathetically beneath his skirt at its intrusion.