Two Blondes update (Patreon)

If Clark was shocked by how they expected him to dress, he was downright stunned by how they had changed their costumes. Linda now wore a blue bandeau top barely big enough to hold the S-shield, the undersides of her breasts clearly visible beneath its hem. A red micro-mini skirt hugged her hips, so short that it made a walking panty shot out of her long legs. Her cape was short too, coming down only to the dimples of her back, leaving a completely unfettered view of her pert buttocks. The skirt outlined them in full—almost, but not quite, reaching the backs of her thighs. Clark could see her white panties whether he was looking at her from in front or behind. They were, naturally, as scant as could be, embracing her pubic mound, obscuring it only as a provocation for a man to rip it away and enjoy seeing—or touching—it remorselessly.

Karen was slightly more modest, but only slightly. Her long-sleeved leotard was mostly still there, but only because Karen had more to show off. The cut-out window in the front had expanded, so big that her enormous breasts now fully protruded through it. There was barely any hang to them and no shrinkage at all—it was obvious that her awe-inspiring chest was all hers, with no trickery required to make it look bigger or more gravity-defying than it truly was. Her costume had shrunken at the bottom, though. The seat that had once comfortably covered her plump ass was now a strand of fabric reminiscent of dental floss, lacing between her girthy cheeks to barely cover her pubis. It expanded, somewhat, as it rolled up her lower belly, covering her waist as always, but traces of pubic hair were evident to either side of the strip over her sex.

Either one of them alone was enough to make a saint yield to temptation. Clark was no saint. And the present state of his costume absurdly showcased just how much of a sinner he was. His growing, throbbing endowment ripped its way free of his red trunks, so thoroughly shredding them that they dropped to his ankles, leaving Clark absurdly bare save for cape and boots.

He remembered—with a small, fond bit of regret—how many times he’d seen Lois adorned in nothing but his cape. He wondered if seeing him like this had a similar effect on Karen and Linda. They certainly licked their lips and bit their cheeks enough for him to believe they found nothing funny about this risible sight.

“I wrecked your new costume,” Clark said—even he couldn’t sound apologetic about it.

Karen put an arm around Linda’s waist, startling her into motion; she returned the gesture, wrapping her one arm around Karen’s midsection herself. “That’s okay,” the taller, more voluptuous, more naked blonde cooed. “You can make it up to us.”

“That’s right,” Clark said, before blurring at the edges. An old trick he’d learned from the Flash. A little harder for him to pull off, but nowhere near impossible.

By rushing to the left and the right at superspeed, posing and then rushing back to resume his original position, it appeared to the girls that there were three of him in the same place at the same time. All of them, naturally, hung like the man they loved.

“We can make it up to you,” the three Clarks said as one.