An abandoned experiment
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 7
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Cherri’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since they’d left the apartment. She kept replaying the drive in her mind—how she’d stuffed Angel into the trunk of her beat-up hatchback, covered him with a blanket and lab equipment crates, then driven through the campus gates like her life depended on it. The security guard had waved her through at first, but then he’d leaned in, flashlight sweeping the back seat. “Late night, Miss Wilde?” She’d forced a laugh, babbling about a forgotten experiment, sweat beading on her forehead. He’d stared a second too long—long enough for her to imagine the trunk popping open, Angel unfolding like a furious pink spider. But the guard shrugged, handed back her ID, and the gate lifted. She’d almost crashed the car accelerating away, pulse roaring in her ears. One wrong move and it would’ve been over—cops, questions, the end of everything.
Now, in the empty lab, she locked the door behind them. Angel emerged from the cart with a dramatic stretch, pink shirt clinging to his narrow frame, tiny black shorts riding high. He stared at the machine, eyebrows raised.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” he drawled. “You weren’t bullshitting.”
Cherri flushed, hands twisting. “It’s… experimental. Cosmic radiation exposure. In theory, it rewrites cellular structure—amplifies strength, density, resilience. But the side effects… they’re unpredictable. We’ve only tested on lab rats. One got tumors. Another—”
Angel waved a hand. “Spare me the science fair speech. How do I use it?”
She swallowed. “Stand under the arch. I’ll calibrate the dose from the consoles. Low exposure first—”
“No,” he cut in. “Full blast. I don’t do half-measures.”
Cherri’s eyes widened. “Angel, please. I don’t even know if—”
He stepped closer, towering over her despite being the same height. “You promised, Sugar Tits. You said you could make me a superman. So do it. Or admit you’re full of shit.”
Inside, Angel didn’t believe a word of it. There was no machine—not really. This was just another layer of the game he’d been playing since he arrived: push, humiliate, watch her squirm. He’d cornered her into inventing this fantasy, and now he’d force her to admit it was all a lie. The final crack. The moment she broke completely and accepted she was nothing without him.
She trembled, but nodded. “Okay. Stand under it.”
Angel sauntered to the gate, hips rolling. He struck a pose—arms out, head tilted back—like a diva awaiting applause. “Hit me with your best shot, baby. Make me unstoppable.”
Cherri moved to the consoles, fingers shaking as she typed commands. Screens flickered: waveforms, radiation graphs, vital signs. She hesitated one last time, glancing at him. He blew her a kiss.
She hit enter.
The machine woke with a low, building hum. Lights along the arch flared violet. Energy crackled—visible arcs dancing between electrodes. Angel laughed. “This is ridiculous. I look like I’m in a bad sci-fi porno—”
The beam struck.
A surge of raw power slammed through him. His back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream that quickly turned into a guttural moan. Pleasure—white-hot, overwhelming—flooded every nerve. His cock, already half-hard from the adrenaline, throbbed violently. It swelled instantly—lengthening dramatically to a monstrous size, thickening to the width of a wrist, thick veins snaking across the shaft in pulsing, rope-like ridges that throbbed with every heartbeat.
He came instantly, violently—splurging in thick, ropy jets that splattered the floor beneath him.
His eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out, cheeks flushing crimson. The orgasm didn’t stop. It intensified, wave after wave, cum dripping in heavy strands that thickened mid-fall—viscous, sticky, turning custard-like. The ropes grew denser, heavier, no longer liquid but semi-solid, piling up in front of him in glossy, gelatinous coils that quivered and held shape like warm taffy. A solid cum pile formed at his feet—jagged, pearlescent mounds that stacked higher with each pulse, the scent sharp and musky in the sterile air.
And then the growth began.
His legs lengthened first—bones creaking, muscles swelling beneath porcelain skin. Thighs thickened with corded power, calves bulging, yet the lines remained impossibly slender, feminine. Prominent veins snaked across the newly carved quads and hamstrings like rivers of blue lightning. The tiny black shorts stretched, seams ripping with sharp pops as his hips widened fractionally, ass rounding fuller, waist cinching tighter in contrast. The pink shirt tore next—buttons flying like shrapnel as his torso expanded upward. Ribs stretched, pectorals inflating dramatically: they ballooned outward into massive, firm swells, mimicking exaggerated breasts while staying taut and defined, nipples hardening against the shredded fabric. Thick veins crawled across the surface of each pec, pulsing with every heartbeat. The shirt ripped down the middle, hanging in tatters from his broadening shoulders.
Abs carved themselves deeper—eight-pack emerging like sculpted marble, each ridge deepening as his core thickened with raw power, veins threading over the surface like delicate blue filigree, yet the waist stayed narrow, creating an extreme hourglass that screamed impossible femininity. Arms elongated, biceps surging into thick, peaked mounds that flexed involuntarily—veins wrapping around the peaks like ropes—triceps horseshoed out, forearms corded with sleek muscle. His nails lengthened—growing longer, sharper, perfectly manicured even in transformation, gleaming like polished glass.
His neck lengthened, jaw sharpening further, cheekbones rising higher. Lips plumped subtly, eyes growing larger, lashes thickening. White hair grew longer, wilder, cascading past his shoulders in fluffy waves. The overall effect was even more feminine, more androgynous—height and power wrapped in delicate, doll-like beauty. He rose—six feet, six-three, six-eight—until he towered at seven feet, body still unmistakably Angel, but now an impossible, godlike version of himself.
The energy peaked. One final, shattering climax tore through him.
SPLURGE…
SPLUURGE…
SPLUUURGE!
Each syllable was a guttural, ecstatic cry—voice deeper, richer—as his monstrous cock pulsed again and again, adding fresh, custard-thick ropes to the solid pile at his feet. The cum quivered, glossy and obscene, a testament to the power now coursing through him.
The machine powered down with a dying whine.
Angel stood there, breathing hard, cum still dripping in slow, heavy ropes from his now veined, thickened length. A solid pile of it quivered at his feet, glossy and obscene.
Cherri stared, mouth open, face pale. Then her expression shifted—shock melting into raw, helpless lust. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, breath hitching. Heat flooded her core; she felt herself grow slick, nipples hardening painfully against her shirt. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the towering, godlike figure he’d become—still Angel, still hers to worship, but now unbreakable, veins pulsing across every swollen muscle, cock hanging heavy and obscene. Her knees weakened. She wanted to drop to them, to crawl, to beg for whatever scraps he’d give.
Angel looked down at her—from his new height, she seemed tiny—and smiled slowly, wickedly.
“Well, fuck me,” he purred, voice deeper, velvet-edged. “Looks like you weren’t lying after all.”
Does Angel got superpowers?
Now, in the empty lab, she locked the door behind them. Angel emerged from the cart with a dramatic stretch, pink shirt clinging to his narrow frame, tiny black shorts riding high. He stared at the machine, eyebrows raised.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” he drawled. “You weren’t bullshitting.”
Cherri flushed, hands twisting. “It’s… experimental. Cosmic radiation exposure. In theory, it rewrites cellular structure—amplifies strength, density, resilience. But the side effects… they’re unpredictable. We’ve only tested on lab rats. One got tumors. Another—”
Angel waved a hand. “Spare me the science fair speech. How do I use it?”
She swallowed. “Stand under the arch. I’ll calibrate the dose from the consoles. Low exposure first—”
“No,” he cut in. “Full blast. I don’t do half-measures.”
Cherri’s eyes widened. “Angel, please. I don’t even know if—”
He stepped closer, towering over her despite being the same height. “You promised, Sugar Tits. You said you could make me a superman. So do it. Or admit you’re full of shit.”
Inside, Angel didn’t believe a word of it. There was no machine—not really. This was just another layer of the game he’d been playing since he arrived: push, humiliate, watch her squirm. He’d cornered her into inventing this fantasy, and now he’d force her to admit it was all a lie. The final crack. The moment she broke completely and accepted she was nothing without him.
She trembled, but nodded. “Okay. Stand under it.”
Angel sauntered to the gate, hips rolling. He struck a pose—arms out, head tilted back—like a diva awaiting applause. “Hit me with your best shot, baby. Make me unstoppable.”
Cherri moved to the consoles, fingers shaking as she typed commands. Screens flickered: waveforms, radiation graphs, vital signs. She hesitated one last time, glancing at him. He blew her a kiss.
She hit enter.
The machine woke with a low, building hum. Lights along the arch flared violet. Energy crackled—visible arcs dancing between electrodes. Angel laughed. “This is ridiculous. I look like I’m in a bad sci-fi porno—”
The beam struck.
A surge of raw power slammed through him. His back arched, mouth falling open in a silent scream that quickly turned into a guttural moan. Pleasure—white-hot, overwhelming—flooded every nerve. His cock, already half-hard from the adrenaline, throbbed violently. It swelled instantly—lengthening dramatically to a monstrous size, thickening to the width of a wrist, thick veins snaking across the shaft in pulsing, rope-like ridges that throbbed with every heartbeat.
He came instantly, violently—splurging in thick, ropy jets that splattered the floor beneath him.
His eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out, cheeks flushing crimson. The orgasm didn’t stop. It intensified, wave after wave, cum dripping in heavy strands that thickened mid-fall—viscous, sticky, turning custard-like. The ropes grew denser, heavier, no longer liquid but semi-solid, piling up in front of him in glossy, gelatinous coils that quivered and held shape like warm taffy. A solid cum pile formed at his feet—jagged, pearlescent mounds that stacked higher with each pulse, the scent sharp and musky in the sterile air.
And then the growth began.
His legs lengthened first—bones creaking, muscles swelling beneath porcelain skin. Thighs thickened with corded power, calves bulging, yet the lines remained impossibly slender, feminine. Prominent veins snaked across the newly carved quads and hamstrings like rivers of blue lightning. The tiny black shorts stretched, seams ripping with sharp pops as his hips widened fractionally, ass rounding fuller, waist cinching tighter in contrast. The pink shirt tore next—buttons flying like shrapnel as his torso expanded upward. Ribs stretched, pectorals inflating dramatically: they ballooned outward into massive, firm swells, mimicking exaggerated breasts while staying taut and defined, nipples hardening against the shredded fabric. Thick veins crawled across the surface of each pec, pulsing with every heartbeat. The shirt ripped down the middle, hanging in tatters from his broadening shoulders.
Abs carved themselves deeper—eight-pack emerging like sculpted marble, each ridge deepening as his core thickened with raw power, veins threading over the surface like delicate blue filigree, yet the waist stayed narrow, creating an extreme hourglass that screamed impossible femininity. Arms elongated, biceps surging into thick, peaked mounds that flexed involuntarily—veins wrapping around the peaks like ropes—triceps horseshoed out, forearms corded with sleek muscle. His nails lengthened—growing longer, sharper, perfectly manicured even in transformation, gleaming like polished glass.
His neck lengthened, jaw sharpening further, cheekbones rising higher. Lips plumped subtly, eyes growing larger, lashes thickening. White hair grew longer, wilder, cascading past his shoulders in fluffy waves. The overall effect was even more feminine, more androgynous—height and power wrapped in delicate, doll-like beauty. He rose—six feet, six-three, six-eight—until he towered at seven feet, body still unmistakably Angel, but now an impossible, godlike version of himself.
The energy peaked. One final, shattering climax tore through him.
SPLURGE…
SPLUURGE…
SPLUUURGE!
Each syllable was a guttural, ecstatic cry—voice deeper, richer—as his monstrous cock pulsed again and again, adding fresh, custard-thick ropes to the solid pile at his feet. The cum quivered, glossy and obscene, a testament to the power now coursing through him.
The machine powered down with a dying whine.
Angel stood there, breathing hard, cum still dripping in slow, heavy ropes from his now veined, thickened length. A solid pile of it quivered at his feet, glossy and obscene.
Cherri stared, mouth open, face pale. Then her expression shifted—shock melting into raw, helpless lust. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, breath hitching. Heat flooded her core; she felt herself grow slick, nipples hardening painfully against her shirt. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the towering, godlike figure he’d become—still Angel, still hers to worship, but now unbreakable, veins pulsing across every swollen muscle, cock hanging heavy and obscene. Her knees weakened. She wanted to drop to them, to crawl, to beg for whatever scraps he’d give.
Angel looked down at her—from his new height, she seemed tiny—and smiled slowly, wickedly.
“Well, fuck me,” he purred, voice deeper, velvet-edged. “Looks like you weren’t lying after all.”
Does Angel got superpowers?
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June 13
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