Bye, bye Chazwick
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 21
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Angel laughed—low, sadistic, and utterly evil—his voice rolling through the ruined apartment like thunder wrapped in velvet. Chazwick’s pathetic whimpers only made the sound sweeter.
“Oh, listen to you, Herpes the Clown,” Angel cooed, licking his plump lips as if he could taste the servility dripping off the broken man. “Begging already? Darling, we haven’t even started the foreplay.”
He reached down with one massive, delicate hand and closed his fingers around Chazwick’s throat—lifting him off the floor as though the man weighed less than a feather boa. Chazwick’s legs kicked uselessly, toes scraping air, face turning purple.
“Look at you,” Angel sneered, tilting his head so his white hair cascaded like a shampoo commercial gone demonic. “So small. So weak. So utterly pathetic. I’ve seen more impressive dicks on a Ken doll, and trust me, sweetie—I’ve played with a lot of Kens.”
He tossed Chazwick back onto the sagging couch like discarded laundry. Before the man could scramble away, Angel pointed his still-hard, monstrous cock and fired a thick, glistening rope of cum. It wrapped around Chazwick’s wrists and ankles in an instant—sticky, flexible, steel-strong. The ropes hardened, pinning him spread-eagle to the cushions.
Chazwick sobbed openly now, snot bubbling, tears streaming. “Please… Angel… I’m sorry… I’ll do anything… just don’t—”
Angel rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. “Anything? Honey, you couldn’t handle ‘anything’ if I wrote it in crayon and held your hand. But fine. Let’s have some fun.”
He snatched the remote off the floor, flicked through channels until he found one of his old porn classics playing on some late-night premium cable slot. There he was—pre-transformation Angel Dust: skinny, curvy, androgynous perfection, writhing on silk sheets, touching himself with slow, sensual arrogance. The camera loved him then; it worshipped him now.
Chazwick’s tiny cock twitched and hardened instantly against his will.
Angel cackled. “Oh my god, look at that sad little wiggle! I always knew you were secretly in love with me, Herpes. Couldn’t stop jerking off to my scenes even after you tried to ruin me. Pathetic.”
He flexed one enormous bicep right in front of Chazwick’s face—the peak rising higher than the man’s head, veins throbbing like blue lightning. “Start stroking, toots. Or I’ll use this arm to redecorate your skull.”
Chazwick cried harder but obeyed—hand shaking, jerking his pathetic dick in pain and terror. He came in under thirty seconds—weak spurts that barely reached his stomach.
Angel clucked his tongue. “Already? Darling, that’s not even a warm-up. Keep going.”
Chazwick whimpered, exhausted, hand slowing. “I… I can’t…”
Angel’s smile turned vicious. “Oh, you will.”
He gripped his own monstrous cock—thick, veined, glistening—and began to stroke—slow, deliberate, pornographic. “Watch and learn, Herpes. This is how a real star jerks off.”
His hand blurred—speed inhuman—pleasure building like a tsunami. He threw his head back, moaning theatrically, pecs bouncing, abs flexing into razor-cut perfection.
Then he came.
Gallons—literal gallons—of thick, sticky, custard-like cum erupted from his cock in powerful jets. It splattered across Chazwick’s body, soaking him, pinning him further to the couch, filling the room with the sharp, musky scent of god-tier release.
Angel sighed in bliss. “Mmm. Nothing like a proper finish.”
He reached for a book of matches on the coffee table—struck one with a flourish—and held it up, flame dancing in his cyan eyes.
“Bye-bye, Chazzy. Thanks for the memories. They were terrible.”
He flicked the match.
The cum-soaked couch ignited instantly—flames roaring up in cheerful orange waves. Chazwick screamed—high, broken—as fire licked across his skin.
Angel stepped back, watching with sadistic glee as the fire spread—crawling up curtains, devouring carpet, licking the walls. The porn still played on the TV, looping his old moans like ironic applause.
He turned on his heel, stilettos clicking, and strolled out through the hole in the wall—naked, flawless, untouchable.
An hour later he was back in Cherri’s apartment, submerged to the pecs in the hot tub, water steaming around him like a halo. Cherri—naked, hair damp—pressed herself against his side, one small hand lazily circling a thick, hard nipple with her long nails.
The TV murmured in the background—local news.
“…breaking: a massive fire in the Elmwood Avenue tenements tonight. Authorities believe it started in apartment 3B. One fatality confirmed—identity pending. Investigators suspect arson…”
Angel tilted his head, fake sorrow dripping from every syllable. “Aww, such a sad story....”
Cherri raised an eyebrow—half amused, half wary. “You sound so torn up about it.”
Angel shrugged, pecs bouncing dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a sensitive soul.”
Cherri snorted despite herself, then leaned in and kissed the side of his neck.
Angel sighed in contentment, sinking deeper into the water.
The city burned quietly behind them.
And he hadn’t even started yet.
Option 1: Angel gets bored at home and decides to create a fake identity for himself to walk around the street.
Option 2: Angel decides to continue hiding and looking for people to take revenge on.
“Oh, listen to you, Herpes the Clown,” Angel cooed, licking his plump lips as if he could taste the servility dripping off the broken man. “Begging already? Darling, we haven’t even started the foreplay.”
He reached down with one massive, delicate hand and closed his fingers around Chazwick’s throat—lifting him off the floor as though the man weighed less than a feather boa. Chazwick’s legs kicked uselessly, toes scraping air, face turning purple.
“Look at you,” Angel sneered, tilting his head so his white hair cascaded like a shampoo commercial gone demonic. “So small. So weak. So utterly pathetic. I’ve seen more impressive dicks on a Ken doll, and trust me, sweetie—I’ve played with a lot of Kens.”
He tossed Chazwick back onto the sagging couch like discarded laundry. Before the man could scramble away, Angel pointed his still-hard, monstrous cock and fired a thick, glistening rope of cum. It wrapped around Chazwick’s wrists and ankles in an instant—sticky, flexible, steel-strong. The ropes hardened, pinning him spread-eagle to the cushions.
Chazwick sobbed openly now, snot bubbling, tears streaming. “Please… Angel… I’m sorry… I’ll do anything… just don’t—”
Angel rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. “Anything? Honey, you couldn’t handle ‘anything’ if I wrote it in crayon and held your hand. But fine. Let’s have some fun.”
He snatched the remote off the floor, flicked through channels until he found one of his old porn classics playing on some late-night premium cable slot. There he was—pre-transformation Angel Dust: skinny, curvy, androgynous perfection, writhing on silk sheets, touching himself with slow, sensual arrogance. The camera loved him then; it worshipped him now.
Chazwick’s tiny cock twitched and hardened instantly against his will.
Angel cackled. “Oh my god, look at that sad little wiggle! I always knew you were secretly in love with me, Herpes. Couldn’t stop jerking off to my scenes even after you tried to ruin me. Pathetic.”
He flexed one enormous bicep right in front of Chazwick’s face—the peak rising higher than the man’s head, veins throbbing like blue lightning. “Start stroking, toots. Or I’ll use this arm to redecorate your skull.”
Chazwick cried harder but obeyed—hand shaking, jerking his pathetic dick in pain and terror. He came in under thirty seconds—weak spurts that barely reached his stomach.
Angel clucked his tongue. “Already? Darling, that’s not even a warm-up. Keep going.”
Chazwick whimpered, exhausted, hand slowing. “I… I can’t…”
Angel’s smile turned vicious. “Oh, you will.”
He gripped his own monstrous cock—thick, veined, glistening—and began to stroke—slow, deliberate, pornographic. “Watch and learn, Herpes. This is how a real star jerks off.”
His hand blurred—speed inhuman—pleasure building like a tsunami. He threw his head back, moaning theatrically, pecs bouncing, abs flexing into razor-cut perfection.
Then he came.
Gallons—literal gallons—of thick, sticky, custard-like cum erupted from his cock in powerful jets. It splattered across Chazwick’s body, soaking him, pinning him further to the couch, filling the room with the sharp, musky scent of god-tier release.
Angel sighed in bliss. “Mmm. Nothing like a proper finish.”
He reached for a book of matches on the coffee table—struck one with a flourish—and held it up, flame dancing in his cyan eyes.
“Bye-bye, Chazzy. Thanks for the memories. They were terrible.”
He flicked the match.
The cum-soaked couch ignited instantly—flames roaring up in cheerful orange waves. Chazwick screamed—high, broken—as fire licked across his skin.
Angel stepped back, watching with sadistic glee as the fire spread—crawling up curtains, devouring carpet, licking the walls. The porn still played on the TV, looping his old moans like ironic applause.
He turned on his heel, stilettos clicking, and strolled out through the hole in the wall—naked, flawless, untouchable.
An hour later he was back in Cherri’s apartment, submerged to the pecs in the hot tub, water steaming around him like a halo. Cherri—naked, hair damp—pressed herself against his side, one small hand lazily circling a thick, hard nipple with her long nails.
The TV murmured in the background—local news.
“…breaking: a massive fire in the Elmwood Avenue tenements tonight. Authorities believe it started in apartment 3B. One fatality confirmed—identity pending. Investigators suspect arson…”
Angel tilted his head, fake sorrow dripping from every syllable. “Aww, such a sad story....”
Cherri raised an eyebrow—half amused, half wary. “You sound so torn up about it.”
Angel shrugged, pecs bouncing dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a sensitive soul.”
Cherri snorted despite herself, then leaned in and kissed the side of his neck.
Angel sighed in contentment, sinking deeper into the water.
The city burned quietly behind them.
And he hadn’t even started yet.
Option 1: Angel gets bored at home and decides to create a fake identity for himself to walk around the street.
Option 2: Angel decides to continue hiding and looking for people to take revenge on.
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June 13
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