Flying over Havenridge
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 9
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Danny soared high above Havenridge, the city sprawling beneath him like a glittering toy set built for ants. From this altitude, the skyscrapers looked like fragile glass needles, the streets like glowing veins pulsing with insignificant life. He tilted his head back and laughed—a deep, resonant sound that carried on the wind. Contempt curled his full lips into a permanent smug sneer. He had always known he was better: smarter, more beautiful, stronger, destined for worship. The meteorite hadn’t given him powers; it had simply made reality catch up to his self-image. Now it was fact. Undeniable. Irrefutable.
He experimented with flight, delighting in how intuitive it felt. A subtle clench and shift of his powerful, rounded glutes sent him banking left, then right, carving smooth arcs through the night sky. Pulling his arms back like a swimmer streamlined his body and triggered an explosive burst of speed—he rocketed forward so fast the city lights blurred into streaks. “Oh, this is delicious,” he murmured, voice dripping arrogance.
He began acrobatics: lazy loops that transitioned into tight corkscrews, then sudden stalls where he hung motionless before plummeting like a golden meteor, only to pull up at the last second with a casual flick of his hips. Each maneuver grew more creative—barrel rolls while flexing both biceps, mid-air splits that showcased the obscene width of his shoulders and the dramatic taper of his waist, slow backflips during which he admired the metallic-gold hair whipping around his androgynous face. He chuckled smugly after every flourish. “Mortals pay fortunes for roller coasters. I am the ride.”
Eventually he leveled out, hovering motionless above the glittering downtown core. His golden eyes narrowed on the city’s most prestigious residential skyscraper—the Pinnacle—and he focused. X-ray vision sliced through concrete, steel, and glass like they were tissue paper.
Bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms flashed past his gaze until—
There.
A luxurious master suite on the 42nd floor. Steam still clung to the glass shower enclosure. Inside, three women—wives of hedge-fund titans and tech billionaires—lounged naked after their evening spa ritual. Curved hips, full breasts, long legs glistening with lotion. They laughed together, oblivious, toweling off slowly.
Danny’s massive cock twitched and hardened instantly, thickening to its full, obscene length against his abs. A boyish, wicked grin spread across his dominant yet delicate features—the same gleeful expression he used to wear peeking into girls’ locker rooms back in high school, only now magnified a thousandfold by godlike power. He licked his lips slowly, long narrow tongue gliding over the plump lower one. “Look at you, princesses. Still playing at being special… while I watch from heaven.”
He descended silently, landing feather-light on the rooftop of the neighboring Gatorade Tower—a brutalist monolith of glass and steel that offered an unobstructed view of half the city’s elite residences. Crouching on the edge like a golden gargoyle, he scanned again.
Another apartment. A voluptuous brunette in lingerie posed in front of a ring light, arching her back for OnlyFun content. Her curves jiggled enticingly as she adjusted angles. Danny’s hand drifted to his throbbing shaft; he stroked lazily, savoring the velvet-steel texture, the thick veins pulsing under his long, manicured golden nails.
He kept looking—methodically, hungrily—zeroing in only on beautiful women: a redhead reading erotica in bed, fingers trailing between her thighs; twin blondes practicing yoga in matching thongs; a petite Asian influencer applying lip gloss in nothing but heels. Each sight made his cock leak silvery pre-cum in thick, slow beads.
Then his gaze landed on a brightly lit studio loft.
Cameras. Lights. A director barking orders. Naked bodies writhing on satin sheets in choreographed ecstasy. A full-scale porn shoot.
Danny threw his head back and laughed—loud, cruel, delighted. “Only a fool pays for porn,” he drawled smugly, settling onto the rooftop ledge with legs spread wide. “When the best seat in the house is free… and infinite.”
He gripped his enormous cock with both hands and began masturbating vigorously—long, firm strokes from root to glistening tip, twisting at the head on every upstroke. His golden eyes never left the scenes below. Sweat—thick, sticky, rubbery—poured down the deep valleys of his pecs and abs. His breathing grew ragged.
Splurge
Spluurge
Spluuurge
He slammed his left palm over the swollen head just in time. Thick, metallic-silver cum flooded his hand in heavy, warm pulses, overflowing between his long fingers. He lifted the glistening palm to his mouth, tongue lapping greedily, savoring the rich, addictive taste—moonlight and power and himself. He sucked each finger clean with lewd, deliberate slurps, moaning low in his throat.
His gaze drifted to another skyscraper, higher-end, more discreet. Penthouse level. X-ray pierced straight through.
A man in a tailored suit—mid-fifties, slicked hair, the face Danny vaguely remembered from news headlines: senior banker, accused of embezzling nine figures, currently out on bail. The man was alone, pacing nervously. He stopped at an air vent near the ceiling, unscrewed the grate with trembling hands, and shoved a black duffel bag inside—stuffed so full the zipper strained over neat bundles of cash.
Danny’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.
He launched off the rooftop, a streak of golden muscle slicing through the night. He landed on the banker’s private balcony with the grace of a ballerina—silent, weightless, perfect. Long golden nails—sharp as razors yet elegantly manicured—slid into the seam of the sliding glass door. A gentle twist and the lock popped without resistance. Stealth was more fun than smashing through walls.
Inside, the apartment smelled of expensive cologne and fear. The banker had already left for some late-night meeting. Danny glided to the vent, nails making quick work of the screws—again, no noise, no mess. He extracted the heavy duffel with one hand, feeling the satisfying weight of stolen money.
He closed the vent, re-locked the balcony door from the outside using a fingernail to flip the latch back into place, and stepped off the edge into open air.
The bag dangled casually from one hand as he ascended once more, vanishing into the clouds.
What Danny do now?
1. Danny is especially horny; he's looking for someone to fuck and sees a drugged prostitute in a quiet apartment.
2. He flies back to his apartment.
He experimented with flight, delighting in how intuitive it felt. A subtle clench and shift of his powerful, rounded glutes sent him banking left, then right, carving smooth arcs through the night sky. Pulling his arms back like a swimmer streamlined his body and triggered an explosive burst of speed—he rocketed forward so fast the city lights blurred into streaks. “Oh, this is delicious,” he murmured, voice dripping arrogance.
He began acrobatics: lazy loops that transitioned into tight corkscrews, then sudden stalls where he hung motionless before plummeting like a golden meteor, only to pull up at the last second with a casual flick of his hips. Each maneuver grew more creative—barrel rolls while flexing both biceps, mid-air splits that showcased the obscene width of his shoulders and the dramatic taper of his waist, slow backflips during which he admired the metallic-gold hair whipping around his androgynous face. He chuckled smugly after every flourish. “Mortals pay fortunes for roller coasters. I am the ride.”
Eventually he leveled out, hovering motionless above the glittering downtown core. His golden eyes narrowed on the city’s most prestigious residential skyscraper—the Pinnacle—and he focused. X-ray vision sliced through concrete, steel, and glass like they were tissue paper.
Bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms flashed past his gaze until—
There.
A luxurious master suite on the 42nd floor. Steam still clung to the glass shower enclosure. Inside, three women—wives of hedge-fund titans and tech billionaires—lounged naked after their evening spa ritual. Curved hips, full breasts, long legs glistening with lotion. They laughed together, oblivious, toweling off slowly.
Danny’s massive cock twitched and hardened instantly, thickening to its full, obscene length against his abs. A boyish, wicked grin spread across his dominant yet delicate features—the same gleeful expression he used to wear peeking into girls’ locker rooms back in high school, only now magnified a thousandfold by godlike power. He licked his lips slowly, long narrow tongue gliding over the plump lower one. “Look at you, princesses. Still playing at being special… while I watch from heaven.”
He descended silently, landing feather-light on the rooftop of the neighboring Gatorade Tower—a brutalist monolith of glass and steel that offered an unobstructed view of half the city’s elite residences. Crouching on the edge like a golden gargoyle, he scanned again.
Another apartment. A voluptuous brunette in lingerie posed in front of a ring light, arching her back for OnlyFun content. Her curves jiggled enticingly as she adjusted angles. Danny’s hand drifted to his throbbing shaft; he stroked lazily, savoring the velvet-steel texture, the thick veins pulsing under his long, manicured golden nails.
He kept looking—methodically, hungrily—zeroing in only on beautiful women: a redhead reading erotica in bed, fingers trailing between her thighs; twin blondes practicing yoga in matching thongs; a petite Asian influencer applying lip gloss in nothing but heels. Each sight made his cock leak silvery pre-cum in thick, slow beads.
Then his gaze landed on a brightly lit studio loft.
Cameras. Lights. A director barking orders. Naked bodies writhing on satin sheets in choreographed ecstasy. A full-scale porn shoot.
Danny threw his head back and laughed—loud, cruel, delighted. “Only a fool pays for porn,” he drawled smugly, settling onto the rooftop ledge with legs spread wide. “When the best seat in the house is free… and infinite.”
He gripped his enormous cock with both hands and began masturbating vigorously—long, firm strokes from root to glistening tip, twisting at the head on every upstroke. His golden eyes never left the scenes below. Sweat—thick, sticky, rubbery—poured down the deep valleys of his pecs and abs. His breathing grew ragged.
Splurge
Spluurge
Spluuurge
He slammed his left palm over the swollen head just in time. Thick, metallic-silver cum flooded his hand in heavy, warm pulses, overflowing between his long fingers. He lifted the glistening palm to his mouth, tongue lapping greedily, savoring the rich, addictive taste—moonlight and power and himself. He sucked each finger clean with lewd, deliberate slurps, moaning low in his throat.
His gaze drifted to another skyscraper, higher-end, more discreet. Penthouse level. X-ray pierced straight through.
A man in a tailored suit—mid-fifties, slicked hair, the face Danny vaguely remembered from news headlines: senior banker, accused of embezzling nine figures, currently out on bail. The man was alone, pacing nervously. He stopped at an air vent near the ceiling, unscrewed the grate with trembling hands, and shoved a black duffel bag inside—stuffed so full the zipper strained over neat bundles of cash.
Danny’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.
He launched off the rooftop, a streak of golden muscle slicing through the night. He landed on the banker’s private balcony with the grace of a ballerina—silent, weightless, perfect. Long golden nails—sharp as razors yet elegantly manicured—slid into the seam of the sliding glass door. A gentle twist and the lock popped without resistance. Stealth was more fun than smashing through walls.
Inside, the apartment smelled of expensive cologne and fear. The banker had already left for some late-night meeting. Danny glided to the vent, nails making quick work of the screws—again, no noise, no mess. He extracted the heavy duffel with one hand, feeling the satisfying weight of stolen money.
He closed the vent, re-locked the balcony door from the outside using a fingernail to flip the latch back into place, and stepped off the edge into open air.
The bag dangled casually from one hand as he ascended once more, vanishing into the clouds.
What Danny do now?
1. Danny is especially horny; he's looking for someone to fuck and sees a drugged prostitute in a quiet apartment.
2. He flies back to his apartment.
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June 13
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