The bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive was dim, the early morning light seeping through heavy curtains, casting a muted glow over the sparse furnishings—a sagging bed, a chipped dresser, and the tattered mattress that had once been Clark Kent's prison in the cupboard under the stairs. Clark, known to this house as Harry Potter, stirred from a restless sleep, his emerald eyes blinking open, a faint Kryptonian glow flickering in their depths. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and submission, the silence broken by a soft, wet sound that sent a jolt through his body. Petunia Dursley knelt between his legs, her lips wrapped around his thick cock, her blonde hair falling in disheveled strands around her tear-streaked face, her movements slow and deliberate, a silent offering to the man who'd claimed her.
Clark groaned, the pleasure hitting him like a wave, his cock hardening as Petunia's tongue swirled around the head, her lips sliding down his shaft, her throat constricting as she took him deeper. Fuck, she's good, he thought, his head tilting back, his muscles tensing under the threadbare sheets. Her mouth was a furnace, hot and slick, her humming vibrations sending shivers up his spine, her slobber coating his length as she bobbed her head, each motion practiced, submissive, desperate to please.
"Morning," he groaned, his voice rough, laced with satisfaction, his hand twitching to grab her hair.
Petunia took the cue, her eyes flicking up to meet his, a silent acknowledgment before she deepthroated him, her lips stretching around the base of his cock, her nose buried in his coarse pubic hair. Clark's eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping as her throat constricted, her tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft, the sensation overwhelming. She's mine, he thought, his Kryptonian power humming, his control absolute. Her humming intensified, her throat vibrating, making his balls tighten, his body trembling on the edge.
"Petunia," he warned, his voice strained, his hips twitching upward, urging her to slow down, but she didn't stop.
She sucked harder, faster, her slobber dripping down his cock, pooling on the sheets, her hands gripping his thighs for balance, her nails digging into his skin. Clark's breath hitched, a tingle sparking at the base of his spine, his orgasm building like a storm. "I'm coming!" he shouted, grabbing the back of her head, forcing her to meet his gaze, her green eyes wide, glazed with submission as he erupted, his cum flooding her mouth.
Petunia moaned, the sound muffled, her throat working to swallow the thick ropes of cum, her eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed by the volume, the taste salty and bitter on her tongue. Clark gasped, his vision blurring, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, his cock pulsing as he pumped more into her, her mouth overflowing, cum leaking from the corners of her lips, dribbling down her chin. Her throat contracted, choking slightly, but she didn't pull away, her devotion absolute, her body trembling with the effort to please him.
When he finished, Clark released her, his chest heaving, his cock still hard, glistening with her saliva and his cum. Petunia fell back, gasping for air, her chest rising and falling, her lips swollen, her face flushed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a drop of cum falling onto her chin, and Clark leaned forward, rubbing it into her skin with his thumb, a possessive gesture that made her shiver. She's broken, reshaped for me, he thought, his smirk dark, his power over her complete.
He stood, reaching for his clothes—a faded t-shirt and jeans, the fabric clinging to his toned frame, his muscles rippling as he dressed. Petunia watched, her eyes lingering on his cock, still hard, aching for more, her body trembling with unspoken need. "Do you want to cum again?" Clark asked, his tone teasing, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"Clark—" she began, her voice a plea, but he cut her off.
"It's fine, Petunia," he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, the gesture deceptively tender. "But if you want to cum, you'll have to suck me off again."
Petunia whimpered, her body aching, her pussy wet with unfulfilled desire, but she obeyed, dropping to her knees, her hands reaching for his cock, her fingers trembling as she gripped him. Clark watched, his smirk widening as she began sucking, her slobber coating him again, her tongue swirling, her lips stretching around his girth. Fuck, I love this, he thought, his balls tingling, his body tensing as she worked him, her submission fueling his dominance, his control absolute.
"Harry?" a voice called, weak and trembling, shattering the moment.
Clark looked up, his eyes narrowing as Vernon Dursley stood in the doorway, his fat face red, his jowls jiggling as he took a step back, his eyes wide with shock at Petunia on her knees, Clark's cock buried in her mouth. "G-get out," Clark growled, his voice a low threat, his Kryptonian power flaring, a warning in his gaze.
"S-sorry," Vernon mumbled, his voice pathetic, his bulk retreating, but it was too late. The interruption pushed Clark over the edge, his cum exploding into Petunia's mouth, his groan loud as he grabbed her neck, forcing her to swallow every drop, her throat working frantically, her eyes closed in submission.
When he finished, Clark leaned back, watching as Petunia stood, wiping the cum from her face, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed, her body trembling. "That's a good slut," he said, his voice dripping with approval. "If you want breakfast, you'd better go down and make it for me."
"Yes, Master," Petunia nodded, her voice soft, obedient, her body moving automatically to obey, her mind reshaped by his dominance.
Clark dressed fully, his mind buzzing with excitement, the power coursing through him intoxicating. It's going to be a good day, he thought, heading downstairs, the scent of bacon and eggs already wafting from the kitchen, Petunia's obedience a testament to his control.
The dining room was pristine, the table set with military precision, the morning light filtering through lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the polished wood. Clark took his seat, his smirk sharp as Petunia approached with a plate of bacon and eggs, her movements careful, her eyes downcast, her robe clinging to her trembling frame. She placed the plate before him, leaning down, her lips brushing his ear. "Please," she whispered, her voice thick with desperation, her eyes pleading for release, for another chance to please him.
Clark considered it, his hunger for food warring with his desire to cum again. He glanced at his crotch, his cock stirring, and nodded. Petunia crawled under the table, her hands deft as she freed his cock, her mouth enveloping him, slow and deliberate, her tongue tracing the vein along his shaft, her lips sucking softly, building his pleasure with every motion. Clark ate, the bacon crisp, the eggs perfectly cooked, his balls tightening as Petunia worked, her slobber coating him, her nose buried in his pubes, her eyes closed in devotion.
Vernon sat across the room, his fat frame slumped, his mouth hanging open, his eyes fixed on the scene—Petunia sucking Clark off under the table, her face coated in slobber, her lips stretched around his cock. He's seen it all, Clark thought, amused, recalling Vernon's earlier shock at Petunia's submission, her pussy filled with his cum, her mouth now claiming him again. Vernon's hand twitched toward his own crotch, a pathetic attempt at arousal, his shame palpable.
The sound of the mail slot echoed, and Petunia moaned around Clark's cock, her sucking relentless as he pushed her head down, thrusting into her throat, her gag loud, her choke desperate. Dudley stumbled in, clutching the mail, his piggy eyes widening in horror as he saw his mother, lips wrapped around Clark's cock, her face a mess of slobber and cum. He dropped the mail, stumbling back, his voice shrill. "What the hell was that? Why were you sucking him off, mother?"
Petunia groaned, unable to respond, her mouth full, her body trembling. "Shut up," Clark snapped, standing, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, Petunia slumping against the wall, her face smeared with blood from a bitten lip, her eyes glazed.
Clark grabbed the top letter, his heart racing as he recognized the address—Hogwarts. He tore it open, scanning the words:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Professor McGonagall
Clark laughed, the sound sharp, triumphant, his eyes glinting as he faced the Dursleys. "I'm going to Hogwarts," he said, his voice ringing with certainty, his destiny unfolding.
Dudley stepped forward, his face red, his hand shaking. "You—you'll never get in," he spat, laughing nervously. "You're nothing but a freak."
"Petunia," Clark hissed, his tone a command.
Petunia crawled across the floor, her body trembling, her lips meeting his cock again, cum still dripping down her chin. Clark smiled, her obedience absolute, her sucking harder, faster, her throat constricting as she took him deep. "Good slut, yes, were you saying something?" he praised, his eyes locked on Dudley, whose face paled, his words dying.
The Dursleys were speechless, Vernon's jaw slack, Dudley's fists clenched but powerless. Petunia sucked harder, her moans loud, her submission a spectacle, her body trembling with each thrust of Clark's cock into her throat. The letter fell to the table, its words—Harry Potter, welcome to Hogwarts—a beacon of his future, a world beyond this house of cruelty.
Dudley lunged, his meaty fist raised, roaring, "You'll never go, freak!" but Clark's power flared, his smirk unwavering. Dudley slammed back against the wall, pinned by an invisible force, his howl angry but impotent, his body squirming against Clark's Kryptonian strength. "No," Clark said, smiling. "No one ever gets in the way of my dreams, Dudley."
Dudley's tears streamed, his fat body trembling, but Clark didn't care, his gaze cold, triumphant. Dudley slumped to the floor, the thud heavy, Petunia jumping, rushing to her son, her body shaking, her loyalty torn but her submission to Clark unbroken.
"Go—get me some clothes," Clark ordered, his voice calm, final.
Petunia nodded, her eyes wide, struggling to her feet, Vernon watching helplessly as she left. Clark smirked, amused, ignoring Vernon's pathetic presence, his mind on the letter, the promise of Hogwarts, a world where his power would reshape everything.
Petunia returned, clutching clothes—a tight shirt and jeans, the fabric stretching over Clark's hard muscles as he dressed, his fingers running through his dark hair, his smile sharp. He left the house, stepping into the yard, the cloudy sky above, a warm breeze brushing his skin. Hogwarts awaits, he thought, his power humming, his vengeance sated for now, Petunia's submission, the Dursleys' defeat, a prelude to the destiny he'd forge, unstoppable, unyielding, the master of Privet Drive and beyond.