Smugglers
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 14
by
copier
· original author:
an188
The weekend before the bodybuilding competition dawned crisp and silent over the Havenridge Mountains. Danny Vos stood barefoot outside the cabin in nothing but a pair of minuscule metallic-gold boxer briefs that strained heroically—and failing—to contain the obscene thickness of his cock. The fabric was already soaked dark at the front from the steady drip of pre-cum that leaked from him almost constantly now.
His entire body had been coated that morning in a thick layer of deep orange-bronze body paint, the kind stage competitors used to accentuate cuts and vascularity under bright lights. Except Danny had applied it himself with lazy swipes of his golden-nailed hands, letting it dry unevenly so that every ridge of muscle gleamed like molten metal in the morning sun. He looked less like a man and more like a living bronze statue that had stepped off a plinth and decided the world was its playground.
He wrapped long fingers around the trunk of a mature pine—easily three feet thick—and pulled. Roots tore free with a sound like ripping canvas; the tree came up in one smooth yank. He twirled it overhead like a baton before slamming the top end into a granite boulder twenty feet away. The rock split in two with a thunderclap. Danny laughed—low, smug, satisfied.
“Monday they’ll hand me the trophy,” he murmured to the empty forest. “Then the sponsorships. Then the magazine covers. Then the world realizes the rest was foreplay.”
Cum dripped steadily from the swollen head of his cock, soaking the gold fabric until it clung transparently to every veined inch. He was half-hard just from the casual display of strength, imagination running wild with visions of the stage: lights hot on his bronze skin, judges speechless, rivals shrinking into irrelevance.
Then his super senses flared.
Several miles east, deep in the old logging trails: five distinct heartbeats, accelerated. The metallic tang of gun oil, the chemical bite of cocaine sealed in plastic, the sour stink of unwashed male fear-sweat. Voices—low, tense Spanish and English mixed.
Danny’s golden eyes narrowed. A slow, predatory smile spread across his androgynous features.
“Well, well. Delivery boys in my backyard.”
He crouched once, thighs like coiled pythons, and launched skyward. Flight came as naturally now as breathing. He skimmed the treetops at just under Mach 1, scanning the forest floor in X-ray bursts until he locked on: five armed men in tactical vests, black duffels slung across their chests, rifles in hand. Moving single-file along a dry creek bed.
He didn’t need X-ray and super nose to know that they were smuggling cocaine—kilograms of it, pure and uncut, wafting up like cheap perfume.
Danny hovered silently above them for a long moment, cock twitching at the thought. He had always avoided drugs; they dulled the edge he needed for training. That limitation was dead. Now he wanted to feel bullets flatten against his skin. More than that—he wanted to feel what it was like to end lives. To snuff out consciousness the way one might crush an ant. Morality, conscience, humanity—they were ghosts he had long since exorcised.
He dropped.
The landing was deliberate: knees bent, one palm slapping the ground hard enough to send a shockwave rippling outward. Trees swayed. Birds exploded from branches. The five men froze, weapons half-raised.
Danny straightened to his full 7'0" height, bronze-painted muscles gleaming, gold briefs soaked and obscene. He tilted his head, metallic-gold hair falling across one eye, and gave them his most devastating boyish smirk.
“Evening, gentlemen. You seem lost. Or maybe I’m the one who’s early for the party.”
The nearest man—a wiry guy with a scar across his cheek—panicked first. He screamed something in Spanish and opened fire. Full-auto burst from an AR-15. Bullets hammered Danny’s chest, abs, shoulders—sparking off skin like hail on granite. Not a mark. Not even a bruise.
Danny threw his head back and laughed—a rich, megalomaniacal sound that echoed off the ridges.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” He spread his arms wide, inviting. “Come on. Really try. Make Daddy feel something.”
The rest joined in. Pistols, shotguns, another rifle. A cacophony of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted wildly—some pinging off his pecs and burying themselves in trees, others flattening into lead mushrooms against his abs. The gold boxer briefs shredded at the seams from stray impacts and friction; scraps fluttered away like golden confetti. Danny didn’t even glance down. His cock—now fully exposed—bobbed heavily with each ricochet, dripping thicker ropes of silver pre-cum.
When the magazines ran dry and silence fell, broken only by panicked breathing, Danny stepped forward.
“Pathetic.”
He moved.
First man: grabbed by the throat, lifted one-handed. “You shot first. Rude.” A casual squeeze—neck vertebrae popped like bubble wrap. Body dropped.
Second: tried to run. Danny super-sped in front of him, fist driving through the sternum in a clean punch. “Going somewhere? The exit’s behind you.” He yanked the heart out still beating, held it up like a trophy, then crushed it. “Oops. Spoiler alert: you died.”
Third: swung a machete. Danny caught the blade between thumb and forefinger, bent it into a pretzel shape, then drove the crumpled metal through the man’s throat. “Improvised tracheotomy. You’re welcome.”
Fourth: dropped his gun, hands up, babbling pleas in Spanish. Danny tilted his head, smiling sweetly. “Begging already? We just met.” He placed one palm on the man’s chest—gentle—then pushed. Ribcage caved inward like wet cardboard. “Consider that a participation trophy.”
The last smuggler sprinted toward the trees.
Danny raised one hand. A thick, silvery lump of cum shot from his cock—expanding mid-air into a sticky net that wrapped the fleeing man’s legs and torso, yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, cocooned, struggling uselessly.
Danny strolled over, cock swaying, bronze paint gleaming with sweat and blood flecks.
The man sobbed. “Por favor… mercy… I have family…”
Danny crouched, golden eyes glittering. “Family? How quaint.” He pressed one long nail against the man’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “Tell you what. I’ll make it quick.”
He stood, placed one bare foot on the cocooned chest, and pressed down. Bones cracked. A wet crunch. Then silence.
Danny exhaled slowly, savoring the stillness.
He ripped open the duffels. Bricks of cocaine—pristine, unmarked. He tore one open, scooped a thick line onto the back of his hand, and snorted it hard. The rush hit instantly—sharp, electric, amplifying every sensation. His pupils dilated to black pools rimmed in gold.
He laughed again—wilder, darker.
Then he gathered the bodies in a rough pile. Stepped back. Aimed.
A thick stream of acidic cum jetted from his cock, sizzling as it struck flesh. Skin bubbled and melted. Muscle dissolved. Bone softened to slurry. Within minutes the pile was unrecognizable—then gone entirely, leaving only a shallow, steaming depression in the earth and the faint chemical reek of dissolved humanity.
Danny stood over the spot, chest heaving, cock still dripping, bronze paint streaked with dirt and residue.
He licked his lips.
“First time’s always special.”
1. A drugged Danny goes on a destructive rampage in the area, risking exposure.
2. The day of the competition has arrived and Danny is ready to reveal his new body.
His entire body had been coated that morning in a thick layer of deep orange-bronze body paint, the kind stage competitors used to accentuate cuts and vascularity under bright lights. Except Danny had applied it himself with lazy swipes of his golden-nailed hands, letting it dry unevenly so that every ridge of muscle gleamed like molten metal in the morning sun. He looked less like a man and more like a living bronze statue that had stepped off a plinth and decided the world was its playground.
He wrapped long fingers around the trunk of a mature pine—easily three feet thick—and pulled. Roots tore free with a sound like ripping canvas; the tree came up in one smooth yank. He twirled it overhead like a baton before slamming the top end into a granite boulder twenty feet away. The rock split in two with a thunderclap. Danny laughed—low, smug, satisfied.
“Monday they’ll hand me the trophy,” he murmured to the empty forest. “Then the sponsorships. Then the magazine covers. Then the world realizes the rest was foreplay.”
Cum dripped steadily from the swollen head of his cock, soaking the gold fabric until it clung transparently to every veined inch. He was half-hard just from the casual display of strength, imagination running wild with visions of the stage: lights hot on his bronze skin, judges speechless, rivals shrinking into irrelevance.
Then his super senses flared.
Several miles east, deep in the old logging trails: five distinct heartbeats, accelerated. The metallic tang of gun oil, the chemical bite of cocaine sealed in plastic, the sour stink of unwashed male fear-sweat. Voices—low, tense Spanish and English mixed.
Danny’s golden eyes narrowed. A slow, predatory smile spread across his androgynous features.
“Well, well. Delivery boys in my backyard.”
He crouched once, thighs like coiled pythons, and launched skyward. Flight came as naturally now as breathing. He skimmed the treetops at just under Mach 1, scanning the forest floor in X-ray bursts until he locked on: five armed men in tactical vests, black duffels slung across their chests, rifles in hand. Moving single-file along a dry creek bed.
He didn’t need X-ray and super nose to know that they were smuggling cocaine—kilograms of it, pure and uncut, wafting up like cheap perfume.
Danny hovered silently above them for a long moment, cock twitching at the thought. He had always avoided drugs; they dulled the edge he needed for training. That limitation was dead. Now he wanted to feel bullets flatten against his skin. More than that—he wanted to feel what it was like to end lives. To snuff out consciousness the way one might crush an ant. Morality, conscience, humanity—they were ghosts he had long since exorcised.
He dropped.
The landing was deliberate: knees bent, one palm slapping the ground hard enough to send a shockwave rippling outward. Trees swayed. Birds exploded from branches. The five men froze, weapons half-raised.
Danny straightened to his full 7'0" height, bronze-painted muscles gleaming, gold briefs soaked and obscene. He tilted his head, metallic-gold hair falling across one eye, and gave them his most devastating boyish smirk.
“Evening, gentlemen. You seem lost. Or maybe I’m the one who’s early for the party.”
The nearest man—a wiry guy with a scar across his cheek—panicked first. He screamed something in Spanish and opened fire. Full-auto burst from an AR-15. Bullets hammered Danny’s chest, abs, shoulders—sparking off skin like hail on granite. Not a mark. Not even a bruise.
Danny threw his head back and laughed—a rich, megalomaniacal sound that echoed off the ridges.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” He spread his arms wide, inviting. “Come on. Really try. Make Daddy feel something.”
The rest joined in. Pistols, shotguns, another rifle. A cacophony of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted wildly—some pinging off his pecs and burying themselves in trees, others flattening into lead mushrooms against his abs. The gold boxer briefs shredded at the seams from stray impacts and friction; scraps fluttered away like golden confetti. Danny didn’t even glance down. His cock—now fully exposed—bobbed heavily with each ricochet, dripping thicker ropes of silver pre-cum.
When the magazines ran dry and silence fell, broken only by panicked breathing, Danny stepped forward.
“Pathetic.”
He moved.
First man: grabbed by the throat, lifted one-handed. “You shot first. Rude.” A casual squeeze—neck vertebrae popped like bubble wrap. Body dropped.
Second: tried to run. Danny super-sped in front of him, fist driving through the sternum in a clean punch. “Going somewhere? The exit’s behind you.” He yanked the heart out still beating, held it up like a trophy, then crushed it. “Oops. Spoiler alert: you died.”
Third: swung a machete. Danny caught the blade between thumb and forefinger, bent it into a pretzel shape, then drove the crumpled metal through the man’s throat. “Improvised tracheotomy. You’re welcome.”
Fourth: dropped his gun, hands up, babbling pleas in Spanish. Danny tilted his head, smiling sweetly. “Begging already? We just met.” He placed one palm on the man’s chest—gentle—then pushed. Ribcage caved inward like wet cardboard. “Consider that a participation trophy.”
The last smuggler sprinted toward the trees.
Danny raised one hand. A thick, silvery lump of cum shot from his cock—expanding mid-air into a sticky net that wrapped the fleeing man’s legs and torso, yanking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, cocooned, struggling uselessly.
Danny strolled over, cock swaying, bronze paint gleaming with sweat and blood flecks.
The man sobbed. “Por favor… mercy… I have family…”
Danny crouched, golden eyes glittering. “Family? How quaint.” He pressed one long nail against the man’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “Tell you what. I’ll make it quick.”
He stood, placed one bare foot on the cocooned chest, and pressed down. Bones cracked. A wet crunch. Then silence.
Danny exhaled slowly, savoring the stillness.
He ripped open the duffels. Bricks of cocaine—pristine, unmarked. He tore one open, scooped a thick line onto the back of his hand, and snorted it hard. The rush hit instantly—sharp, electric, amplifying every sensation. His pupils dilated to black pools rimmed in gold.
He laughed again—wilder, darker.
Then he gathered the bodies in a rough pile. Stepped back. Aimed.
A thick stream of acidic cum jetted from his cock, sizzling as it struck flesh. Skin bubbled and melted. Muscle dissolved. Bone softened to slurry. Within minutes the pile was unrecognizable—then gone entirely, leaving only a shallow, steaming depression in the earth and the faint chemical reek of dissolved humanity.
Danny stood over the spot, chest heaving, cock still dripping, bronze paint streaked with dirt and residue.
He licked his lips.
“First time’s always special.”
1. A drugged Danny goes on a destructive rampage in the area, risking exposure.
2. The day of the competition has arrived and Danny is ready to reveal his new body.
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June 13
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