Horny Danny
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 10
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Danny Vos glided through the night sky above Havenridge, the stolen duffel bag of cash clutched loosely in one massive hand like a trivial accessory. The city lights twinkled far below, a pathetic mosaic of human ambition and frailty. He smirked smugly to himself, golden eyes gleaming with dark promise. The possibilities unfurled in his mind like a conqueror's map: he could topple governments with a casual flex of super strength, incinerate armies with heat vision, or enslave cities by freezing them in super breath blizzards. Why stop at Earth? He could shatter moons, dominate the stars. None of it boded well for the planet or its scurrying inhabitants—mere insects to be crushed under his golden-nailed feet. "They'll learn soon enough," he murmured, voice carried away on the wind. "The age of Danny begins."
The chill of the high-altitude breeze caressed his naked, godlike form—whipping through his metallic-gold hair, tracing icy fingers over the deep valleys of his colossal pectorals, teasing the thick veins snaking across his shredded abs and down to his Adonis belt. Combined with the raw power surging through his veins like electric fire, it ignited a ferocious horniness. His enormous cock—thick as a forearm, veined and heavy—stirred and hardened against the wind resistance. He reached down with his free hand, wrapping long, feminine fingers around the shaft, stroking lazily mid-flight. The sensation was electric, but he stopped abruptly, growling in frustration. "Not enough. Jerking off like some mortal loser? No. I need conquest. A woman on her knees, begging, adoring every inch of me while I fuck her senseless. I want screams, praise, worship."
He scanned the city below with X-ray vision, piercing buildings and shadows. Hundreds of thousands of women dotted the landscape: sleeping in beds, dancing in clubs, walking streets. Choices endless, yet problematic. Exposure now would draw eyes—cops, cameras, heroes if any existed. He couldn't risk the chaos yet; his reign needed planning. Nervousness flickered unusually in his chest, a rare crack in his ego, but the pressure in his groin built like a storm—throbbing, demanding release. "Fuck... need something now."
Then he spotted her: in a rundown tenement in the slums, top floor, a dingy one-room apartment with peeling wallpaper and flickering neon from the street below. A beautiful young prostitute, early twenties, with raven hair cascading over pale skin, full lips, and curves that screamed invitation even in repose. She lay sprawled on a threadbare mattress, half-asleep, eyes glazed—drugged, by the sluggish pulse of her heart he sensed with super senses. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey nearby confirmed the scent of alcohol wafting up. Danny had never needed prostitutes; women threw themselves at him pre-transformation. But now? Discreet, disposable, perfect for his needs.
He descended silently, landing on the rickety balcony with ballerina grace—bare feet touching weathered wood without a creak, his 450-pound frame defying gravity. Ducking through the small, unlocked sliding door (a gentle super-breath puff nudged it open), he stepped inside, the room's stale air thick with smoke and desperation. He set the duffel bag down quietly near the wall and loomed over her like a golden colossus.
Her eyes fluttered open—red-rimmed, unfocused from whatever cocktail of pills and booze coursed through her. But even in her haze, her mouth dropped open in raw shock at the sight: a 7'0" androgynous god, muscles hypertrophied to perfection, skin milky and flawless, metallic-gold hair framing a face both dominant and delicately beautiful, golden eyes piercing her soul. "What... who...?"
Danny's smug grin widened, boyish charm masking the predator. "This is your lucky day, sweetheart. Because I'm really, really horny. And you've just won the lottery."
She blinked slowly, brain fog parting just enough for awe. "Are... are you an angel?"
He chuckled playfully, tilting his head. "Yes. Fallen straight from heaven to fuck you into paradise."
With effortless super strength, he scooped her up—one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back—like she weighed nothing. She gasped, but melted against his chest. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, wet kiss—lips crushing hers, his long narrow tongue pushing inside, exploring, dominating. She tasted of whiskey and surrender, her body going limp then eager, hands clutching at his massive shoulders.
She yielded immediately, drugged haze turning to desperate need. "Please... angel... take me."
Foreplay was a symphony of control—Danny's dominance amplified to godlike levels. He laid her back on the mattress, his long golden nails tracing feather-light paths down her neck, over her breasts, pinching nipples until she arched and moaned. She worshipped him in return: hands roaming his shredded abs, lips kissing the thick veins on his biceps, voice breathy with praise. "You're perfect... so strong... so beautiful... fuck me, please, angel." He savored every word, every touch—teasing her clit with precise fingers, sucking her neck until bruises bloomed, all while holding back his full power. He realized quickly: one unchecked thrust could snap her spine. "Easy," he murmured to himself, ego thrilled by the restraint.
Finally, he positioned himself—his enormous cock, slick with pre-cum, pressing at her entrance. He penetrated carefully, inch by throbbing inch, her walls stretching around him. She screamed in ecstasy from the start. "Oh god—angel—yes!" He fucked her hard but controlled—deep, rhythmic thrusts that rocked the bedframe, super senses attuned to her heartbeat, ensuring he didn't break her. She clawed at his back, legs wrapping around his narrow waist, screaming maniacally: "More! You're divine! Fuck me forever!" He brought her to orgasm three times—waves crashing through her, body convulsing, eyes rolling back—before his own peak built.
With a growl, he pulled out just in time.
Splurge
Spluurge
Spluuurge
Thick ropes of metallic-silver cum erupted, splattering across her body, the walls, the floor—soiling the apartment in sticky, gleaming arcs. The acidic variant sizzled faintly on the cheap carpet, dissolving patches; the sticky ropes clung to furniture like webs.
She shuddered one last time, whispering "Angel..." before losing consciousness, overwhelmed.
Danny stood, breathing steady, sweat glistening on his milky skin. He rummaged in the duffel, pulling out a few thick wads of bills—tens of thousands—and tossed them carelessly onto her limp form. "Payment for services rendered. Consider it a divine tip—though honestly, you should be paying me."
Danny...?
1. Danny feels liberated and flies back to his apartment.
2. Someone heard them fucking and he breaks into the apartment.
The chill of the high-altitude breeze caressed his naked, godlike form—whipping through his metallic-gold hair, tracing icy fingers over the deep valleys of his colossal pectorals, teasing the thick veins snaking across his shredded abs and down to his Adonis belt. Combined with the raw power surging through his veins like electric fire, it ignited a ferocious horniness. His enormous cock—thick as a forearm, veined and heavy—stirred and hardened against the wind resistance. He reached down with his free hand, wrapping long, feminine fingers around the shaft, stroking lazily mid-flight. The sensation was electric, but he stopped abruptly, growling in frustration. "Not enough. Jerking off like some mortal loser? No. I need conquest. A woman on her knees, begging, adoring every inch of me while I fuck her senseless. I want screams, praise, worship."
He scanned the city below with X-ray vision, piercing buildings and shadows. Hundreds of thousands of women dotted the landscape: sleeping in beds, dancing in clubs, walking streets. Choices endless, yet problematic. Exposure now would draw eyes—cops, cameras, heroes if any existed. He couldn't risk the chaos yet; his reign needed planning. Nervousness flickered unusually in his chest, a rare crack in his ego, but the pressure in his groin built like a storm—throbbing, demanding release. "Fuck... need something now."
Then he spotted her: in a rundown tenement in the slums, top floor, a dingy one-room apartment with peeling wallpaper and flickering neon from the street below. A beautiful young prostitute, early twenties, with raven hair cascading over pale skin, full lips, and curves that screamed invitation even in repose. She lay sprawled on a threadbare mattress, half-asleep, eyes glazed—drugged, by the sluggish pulse of her heart he sensed with super senses. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey nearby confirmed the scent of alcohol wafting up. Danny had never needed prostitutes; women threw themselves at him pre-transformation. But now? Discreet, disposable, perfect for his needs.
He descended silently, landing on the rickety balcony with ballerina grace—bare feet touching weathered wood without a creak, his 450-pound frame defying gravity. Ducking through the small, unlocked sliding door (a gentle super-breath puff nudged it open), he stepped inside, the room's stale air thick with smoke and desperation. He set the duffel bag down quietly near the wall and loomed over her like a golden colossus.
Her eyes fluttered open—red-rimmed, unfocused from whatever cocktail of pills and booze coursed through her. But even in her haze, her mouth dropped open in raw shock at the sight: a 7'0" androgynous god, muscles hypertrophied to perfection, skin milky and flawless, metallic-gold hair framing a face both dominant and delicately beautiful, golden eyes piercing her soul. "What... who...?"
Danny's smug grin widened, boyish charm masking the predator. "This is your lucky day, sweetheart. Because I'm really, really horny. And you've just won the lottery."
She blinked slowly, brain fog parting just enough for awe. "Are... are you an angel?"
He chuckled playfully, tilting his head. "Yes. Fallen straight from heaven to fuck you into paradise."
With effortless super strength, he scooped her up—one arm under her knees, the other cradling her back—like she weighed nothing. She gasped, but melted against his chest. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, wet kiss—lips crushing hers, his long narrow tongue pushing inside, exploring, dominating. She tasted of whiskey and surrender, her body going limp then eager, hands clutching at his massive shoulders.
She yielded immediately, drugged haze turning to desperate need. "Please... angel... take me."
Foreplay was a symphony of control—Danny's dominance amplified to godlike levels. He laid her back on the mattress, his long golden nails tracing feather-light paths down her neck, over her breasts, pinching nipples until she arched and moaned. She worshipped him in return: hands roaming his shredded abs, lips kissing the thick veins on his biceps, voice breathy with praise. "You're perfect... so strong... so beautiful... fuck me, please, angel." He savored every word, every touch—teasing her clit with precise fingers, sucking her neck until bruises bloomed, all while holding back his full power. He realized quickly: one unchecked thrust could snap her spine. "Easy," he murmured to himself, ego thrilled by the restraint.
Finally, he positioned himself—his enormous cock, slick with pre-cum, pressing at her entrance. He penetrated carefully, inch by throbbing inch, her walls stretching around him. She screamed in ecstasy from the start. "Oh god—angel—yes!" He fucked her hard but controlled—deep, rhythmic thrusts that rocked the bedframe, super senses attuned to her heartbeat, ensuring he didn't break her. She clawed at his back, legs wrapping around his narrow waist, screaming maniacally: "More! You're divine! Fuck me forever!" He brought her to orgasm three times—waves crashing through her, body convulsing, eyes rolling back—before his own peak built.
With a growl, he pulled out just in time.
Splurge
Spluurge
Spluuurge
Thick ropes of metallic-silver cum erupted, splattering across her body, the walls, the floor—soiling the apartment in sticky, gleaming arcs. The acidic variant sizzled faintly on the cheap carpet, dissolving patches; the sticky ropes clung to furniture like webs.
She shuddered one last time, whispering "Angel..." before losing consciousness, overwhelmed.
Danny stood, breathing steady, sweat glistening on his milky skin. He rummaged in the duffel, pulling out a few thick wads of bills—tens of thousands—and tossed them carelessly onto her limp form. "Payment for services rendered. Consider it a divine tip—though honestly, you should be paying me."
Danny...?
1. Danny feels liberated and flies back to his apartment.
2. Someone heard them fucking and he breaks into the apartment.
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June 13
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