#1st STORY: A Day at the Gym [silentguy36] | #Mini-GTS

[silentguy36]

[Hey guys, this is my first time submitting a story here. I written some junk in the past, but this is my first serious attempt at a short story. Posted below is about half of what I feel would be the complete story. Hopefully I get around to finishing this, I have a history of letting my incomplete stories die. Appreciate any feedback, and if things go well, maybe I will revive some of my old works and finish them for this site.]

#Mini-GTS

A Day at the Gym
by silentguy36
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I was intrigued when I received a text from Deborah asking to meet me at a nearby gym. Deborah was never one who was big into fitness. I know for a fact that she tries to visit the gym once in a while, but it was a far cry from the girls that goes for a bit of muscle. I imagine she often goes for a bit of the treadmill and play with a bit of the lighter weights.

I reach the address in the text. It was a really quiet neighborhood, and the it would seems that the gym is located in a nondescript single-story building. That was another thing that surprised me. I would have thought that she’s one that goes to a fancier place, one of those chains that specifically caters to women.

Shrugging off all of these thoughts, I turned the knob of the plastic door that had “ENTRANCE” printed onto it and stepped in. The cool breeze of AC provided relief from the afternoon sun. My eyes immediate start to acclimatise to the soft lights of the white fluorescent fixtures across the gym’s ceiling. First thing I noticed is that the gym screams “average” to me. It was a normal run of the mill gym, not fancy, not hardcore, just a gym with all the standard equipment a regular gym member would expect. Floor to ceiling mirrors cover certain walls within the gym, and for those walls that are not covered, they are painted an industrial white color matching that of the finish of the gym machines.

One would expect a gym this size to have a number of users at any part of the day. It was surprising to me to find that there was no one in it. Well, almost no one. Random clinks of metal clashing on metal can be heard distinctly. I followed the sounds and found a lone female working out at the free weights section - Deborah. Or at least I think it’s Deborah. As I stared at her reflection in the mirror, the overall tone of her body was quite surprising.

Last I saw Deborah was about three months ago. We do not meet very often, but try to catch up once in a while for coffee. She always had a skinny flabby physique, the kind girls get when striving for a beach body and thinking it can be done with half-hearted jogging or cycling. The Deborah that stands in front of me is so different. Deborah looks like she can actually make it onto Buffyshot. Though, not muscular, she has a toned physique with a distinct outline. Sweat dripped profusely from her slightly bronzed skin, an indication she might be spending some time in the sun as well, as last I saw her she had her normal pasty white complexion. Her long raven black hair was tied in a top knot which reached down to her upper back. Yet another surprising improvement was her rather pert bust. Though she is not big, I always remembered Deborah looking rather “flat”. Then again, it could be the purple sports bra that she was wearing, but in any case, it draws a rather attractive outline to her already impressive body.

“Hey,” she said, breathing hard but not sounding tired. “do your own thing for a moment, would you? I got to finish this set.” She stares down herself in the mirror as she concentrates on doing dumbbell curls in perfect form with 20 lbs weights. And does she look ever so slightly more pretty than I last saw her?

I shrugged and went on to do my warm up. I came in my gym clothes so I was ready to go. Not wanting to embarrass myself in front of the girl, I started my warm up with 25 lbs. They are not necessary difficult to handle, but I usually start my warm up with 20 lbs, especially when I am lazy.

After three sets of curls (guess she meant a group of sets), Deborah slammed the weights back onto the rack, stared into the mirror and went into a double biceps pose. I never knew her to be into muscles, but she look rather proud of her new arms, and I got to admit, they look rather impressive for a girl who before previously hardly even stepped into a gym. “So how long have you been working out?” I asked while casually putting the 25 lbs back onto the rack. I can’t say I really focused on my warmup or that I remembered how many reps I did.

“Oh, I came 2 hours ago,” she replied, paying very little attention to me, moving from looking into the mirror to inspecting her arms directly as she tensed them in front of her. I drew a sharp breath as her breasts bounced a little on her torso instinctively flexed with her arms.

“Haha,” I tried to chuckle casually even though my mind was swimming by how hot Deborah looked. “I meant how long have you been lifting weights seriously?”

Finally, for the first time ever since I came into the gym, Deborah looked at me directly, a puzzled look on her face. “What do you mean? This is the first time I came to a gym ever since we met the last time.”

Now my mind is reeling from the impossibility of that statement. “Well, have you been working out somewhere else or working on something different? You definitely look much more toned than when we last met?”

She looked down at her body, pausing for a while to stroke her flat tummy. A distinct line runs down the middle of her abdomen, many girls I know will say that’s perfect and call it a day. She looks back at me, shrugged and said, “nope, this all happened today, I think. I thought you were supposed to get ‘pumped’ at the gym?”

Pumped? The incredulity of it all threatens to make my brain explode.

“Oh wait, I’ll show you,” Deborah suddenly said, turning around and heading to a nearby bench where she put some of her belongings. As she bent at the hip to pick up her phone, I question how did I missed that perfect looking butt when I found her. Even wrapped in a layer of yoga pants, I could tell that her ass is toned, and the pants really helped to accentuate the beautiful round shape of her cheeks. 

She turned around holding her phone, tapping and swiping on it trying to look for something as she walked towards me. As she came up to me, she shoved the phone to my face, “Here, this was me yesterday. Normal, right?” As she cued me to, I took the phone from her to have a closer look. As I tapped on the picture to inspect the timestamp, Deborah was going towards a rack of barbells seeking her next challenge. I wonder whether this could be an elaborate ruse, but Deborah was never one for this type of playful humor. But then, if that is the case, how do I explain what is going on in front of me right now.

A small grunt took me out of my stupor, as I saw Deborah, once again working on bicep curls. This time, she was doing close-grip curls with a 45 lbs barbell. Once again, her form was perfect - her shoulders were pulled back slightly, her chest was puffed out (did her breasts grew again?), her upper arms were held closed to her torso which seem to have grown wider along with the rest of her muscle. Her biceps look ever so slightly bigger than before as she performed her curls and forearms seem to be starting to take on a razor sharp definition to it. Beads of sweat started forming on her skin again, evidence of her pushing her muscles. Enthralled, I could only stared at her exercising, completely forgetting my own. I doubt she ever noticed what I was doing (or not doing) ever since I got here, as she seems totally focused on her own workout.

After a series of tough reps, Deborah placed the barbell back onto the rack as the clanking noise resounded through the entire gym. She stretched out her arms to her sides, as if she is trying to reach as far on both sides as possible. I felt that there is no denying that her breasts is really larger than before, but that wasn’t the only change. Overall, her muscularity seemed to have increased. Small signs of traps seem to be forming, her shoulders from nothingness is starting to take on its own distinct shape, her biceps seem to swell larger than ever, with the triceps following suit from below. Also, her shoulders seem to be wider apart, and her abdomen though retaining almost the same size, started to show the early stages of a four-pack.

A loud exhale signals the end of her short rest as she moves towards the rack again to pick up a 65 lbs barbell. As in the situation could not get any crazier, the formally sluggish Deborah is now a muscle powerhouse who is close to outlifting me. Anxiety starts to boil in my heart as I see her lift the bar to her chest again and again. Her form was impeccable as she has been throughout the day, the weight mind-bogglingly does not seem to slow her lifts, yet provide the same intense challenge as the weight before. Deborah was sweating profusely when she racked the 65 lbs. She walked towards the bench where her stuff is placed and picked up a towel to dry the perspiration off her face and neck. The seemingly larger girth of thighs paradoxically seems surprising and unsurprising at the same time. She turned around and started to eye me keenly. She smiled coyly and walked impossibly sultry with her powerful physique. As she stood before me, she once again put up a double biceps pose. I start to realise that although she was building muscles at an impossible speed, she was still an amateur poser. Though her impressive bicep seem to puff up, I can tell that she lacks that certain twist in her wrist to really make it pop. That being said, I start to realised that despite not maximising the full potential of her biceps, they were looking threateningly big, I worry that they will get any bigger, yet somehow know within my heart that they will get bigger pretty soon.

Any point of concern, I suddenly realised, was how close the bicep was to my face. Not because of the size of it, but because, in yet another impossible feat, Deborah seems to be much taller. I am used to being about seven and a half inches taller than her, but somehow, through the course of the workout, she seem to have shrunk that height disparity. It was clearer to me when I saw that her eyes are at the level of my nose, and I distinctly remember through the years of knowing her that they were (probably) never above the level of my chin.

“Impressive, right? I’m getting such a pump!” her voice brought me back to reality, if you could really call it that. Right, she still think this is a “pump”. Somehow when people work out, their muscles grow two to three times their size, they gain height, they can’t stop lifting and for girls, their boobs get bigger.

“Erm,” was probably all I could mouthed off before she lost interest with me and went on to find her next workout. I was pretty sure my eyes were going to jump out of their sockets when I saw her stop and stare at the pull-up bar. Part of the reason for that was that I cannot fathom what pull-ups will bring her muscle to, and another part was that I did not notice the mountainous display her back has become. What was puzzling was how her sports bra seems to show more back that I had previously remembered.

“I remember being abysmal at this,” she said innocently, seemingly not understanding the power she wields in that constantly evolving physique of hers. “Well, might as well give it a try,” she quipped as she hopped up and grab the bar effortlessly. I was pretty sure that she powered her heavy-looking body a feet into the air with just a flick of her ankles, her calves jutted out into two muscular teardrop shapes.

When her palms grabbed onto the bar in an overhand grip, Deborah’s arms were bent as if she was in the middle of a pull up. I was expecting her to straighten her arms almost immediately to get to the starting position. Instead, she held onto that position for a good thirty seconds (I reckoned), silently studying her hands and arms, as if she could not comprehend the feeling of weightlessness. Finally, she started moving down, but at a snail’s pace. The only time I seen someone with so much muscle control was when I saw this clip of a guy called Frank Madreno doing slow motion pull up. With as much muscle control, but in a much chunkier body though, Deborah was powering up and down at slow motion, without so much quiver in her arms. I begin to suspect that she is not doing the same calisthenics tricks that is so popular with Madreno not because of the lack of ability, but because the thought never occurred to her.

She did thought to work her abs while she’s up on the pull-up bar though. Still maintaining the slow pace, she stop in the middle of her way and brought her legs up before continuing her rise. Once again, fitting the theme of having perfect form, her legs rose perfectly straight and perfectly side by side, even her toes were pointed out. Her legs will form a perfect L-shape with her torso, and by a perfect L-shape, I mean that her torso was perfectly straight, with her lower back curving slightly inwards as per perfect back posture. Her tummy was also tucked tightly in, as if to achieve the maximum amount of effort from this already titanous task. With the perfect form, I can see that her back has thickened considerably. From the side, her torso seems to have the classic superhero proportions. I moved from her side to directly behind her, knowing that her back is almost definitely more defined and more muscular than before.

I reached the perfect vantage point just as she reached the apex of the pull up. He back was enormous. Her traps were starting to envelop her neck. Her shoulders are starting to look like boulders and took on a life of their own. And her impeccable form extended to the apex as well. Her shoulders were spreaded, and her elbows reached out at a 45 degrees angle that spreaded her lats out and visibly challenged the inner part of her back as it threatens to swallow the back of her sports bra. Her back muscles made the mountains from before look like molehills as I pondered and believed that I could actually go rock climbing on her insanely defined back.

Each of Deborah’s painfully slow pull-up stretched at least across a full minute, and after a few, her pull-up would evolve. First, she would add an impossible tilt to her torso that turned the L-shape into a V instead, causing her back muscles to explode at the apex even more. I am not sure what the effect of this exercise would have on her core, but from the back, I could see the sides of her abdomen tightened further. After a few more, she added a new twist the exercise. At the apex, she would slowly move both legs to one side, then after a short pause, move them to the other, like a windshield wiper on a car. Then after bring both legs back to the neutral position, in an ultimate act of flexibility, she would spread them apart perfectly opposite to each other. As before, her legs stayed perfectly straight throughout the exercise. Of course, from what I observed, it was impossible to find a single straight line on her legs, as they bulged with powerful-looking muscles that were not there before she started her pull-ups.

After thirty minutes of pull-ups, Deborah dropped from the pull-up bar. Despite her increased muscularity, she landed so softly I did not hear her feet hit the ground. Ignoring me and not offering any commentary, she went back straight for the dumbbell rack. My initial thoughts that she planned on going back to work the biceps were refuted when she promptly went back to the pull up bar, this time carrying a pair of 65 lbs dumbbells. Though she was not curling them, I could tell that the dumbbells are not proving any more difficult that the 25 lbs she were using. She placed the dumbbells standing on their sides, on top of each other just below the pull-up bar, then proceed to hop up to the bar again. Lowering herself, she used her feet to hook onto the top dumbbell, and proceeded to continue with her pull-ups. This time, she was lifting herself up with an additional 65 lbs of weight at a 30 degree tilt, stopping in mid-pull, bringing her legs up perfectly to form the V-shape, while maintain perfect straightness on her legs and torso. She then completed the pull-up, and proceeded to do the windshield wiper move with the 65 lbs dumbbell hanging off her feet. All the time throughout this impossible feat, and the twenty more that followed it, her body did not so much as trembled or show any sign of weakness.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Hey man, great first chapter! Really enjoyed it, it seems Deborah has incredible potential to grow bigger and stronger in as little time and with as little effort as possible. That kind of thing is really hot to me, especially if she has nearly infinite room to grow! Here's hoping that this is the first of many parts! K+!

[phil123]

Very cool!  Thanks! Imagine Deborah uses all the equipment in the gym.
K+

[silentguy36]

I'm alive! Wrote a second part. Third most certainly will be final, and I am aiming to complete it by the end of this week. Show some love and encouragement please. Then I am aiming to work on something with more story (and slower growth).

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After another thirty minutes of controlled pull ups, Deborah finally stopped. She was at the bottom position of her insane controlled pull up routine. I wondered whether she was going to drop the weight down but instead, she blew my mind with another act of strength. She lifted and folded her legs to bring the weight towards her torso and proceeded to grab the free weight with her right hand like a goblet, holding up the immense muscular mass of her body plus the 65 lbs free weight with just one hand and what seemed like very little effort. Letting her legs fall down, she then proceeded to land lightly, more so than someone her size should be able to do so. She then bent down to put the dumbbell on the floor gently.

As she straightened herself, she reached forward with her arms, seemingly and understandably stretching her back muscles. Even while stretched, her back is wide and thick. I have no doubt that her two shoulder blades were further apart than the widest part of my shoulders, and I thought I was reasonably fit for a guy. It was then that I realised, somehow her sports bra had turned ever more sheer, showing as much of her back as the garment could possibly can. She then pulled her arms back for a double biceps pose, this time showing more finesse than her previous amateurish style, as she instinctively had flexed her back muscles as well. The definition of her back was mind-blowing. Her muscles were thick and defined. Her back rippled with knobs of powerful looking muscles separated by deep looking grooves. So extensive was the network of muscles on her back that it painted the visage of a terrible, angry demon grimacing. It was equal parts awe-inspiring and terrifying.

As I stood slack-jawed at the image, she released the pose and nonchalantly picked up her dumbbell, holding it with her arm bent perpendicularly just like she would hold a ten-pounder, her muscled torso not even slightly slanting from the weight. Why did I think of the dumbbell as “hers”? It dawned on me that it was a strange thought. But at this part of the workout, it feels like she is in total control now. The entire gym was her playground, and I was but a spectator to her untamed evolution.

Deborah placed the dumbbell back onto the rack and came up to me. I had to slow my breath to avoid trembling being close to her body. She looked like one of the female bodybuilders I had sometimes seen on the covers of the fitness magazines. There was no doubt that she bigger than me in every way. Her dainty little head sat on a bullish neck that was surrounded on both side by powerful looking traps. These traps then led down to shoulders that only started where mine seemed to end. The boulders of striated muscles stood out either side of her, wider than my entire body, and it was no wonder that they were so wide - hanging from them were the largest arms I had ever seen on a woman and nearly so for all men. If her shoulders were as wide as mine, they would no doubt create a claustrophobic discomfort for her torso. But they were not, they are wide enough for her magnificent arms to hang free. That was not to say that her torso isn’t trying to reach out to them. Her lats peeked out from behind her arms, making it possible to see behind her through the gap of her body and her upper arms.

Her breasts had seemed to grown with the rest of the body. They were large like two tantalizing watermelons that called out to me to touch them. But they sat on a rack of pecs that are both wide and deep, with striations so angry as if warning me that touching the breasts would lead to bad consequences. Her sports bra has now turned to a tube top, only protecting a sheer amount of modesty as her supple breasts stuck out at the top and the bottom. The workout she just did also did a number on her abs. Her abs seemed like something that even the master sculptors from ancient Rome could not fathom. She was sporting the most perfect eight-pack abdomen I have ever seen on anybody. Each chiselled ab stood out and pushed against each other that I could not see the bottom of the relief between each ab. What was also amazing was the symmetry of her abs – each abdominal muscle lined up with its neighbour from the top to the bottom in perfect synchronisation. From the sides, her obliques reached diagonally downwards like sexy fingers of muscle. I have also started to notice the ripples in her muscle when she breathes. Deborah now breathes deeply like a powerful beast, as if each breath powers her muscles and their growth (though I suppose that is how breathing works). And while most parts of her body seemed to expand and recede during her breathing cycle, particular her chest and those tantalizing breasts, the muscles on her abdomen show no signs of slacking, providing unceasing protection to her stomach.

“I think it’s time to get serious,” she suggested innocently.

What was it that she just did at the pull-up bar then? Was that feat of strength not a challenge enough for her?

“I have not sweated in a while, maybe I need to push myself harder.”

Being a bit of a fitness buff, I know sweating does not account for much during a workout. While it may be an indication of hard work, some people just perspire more than others. I have seen really developed athletes who never seem to sweat much in the gym. But still, how do I correct the results that were standing before me?

“Ooh, a leg press machine. I think I should train my legs!” she said enthusiastically. “Help me load this machine would you?”

I gulped nervously when I look at her thick muscle thighs looked completely different from before her stunt at the pull-up bar. Nevertheless, I made myself useful by helping her with the weights. I never knew until this moment that they produce 100 lbs weight plates. It took me both arms and a bit of labour to load one of them, while Deborah was literally grabbing two per trip and making each trip faster than me. When we were done, I counted the plates and wondered whether she really meant to press the 1,600 lbs of weight (not adding the default) that’s on the machine. This is way heavier than the largest guy at my gym does.

The machine that Deborah was on was of a larger size than I had expected. I doubt she would even fit into the squat machine at my gym. As I stood behind the seat, the scenery was breath-taking. From above her head, I noticed that the volume of her traps do not allow her head to rest on the cushion. I wonder whether that powerful neck of her ever gets tired or sore. Then were her large bowling ball shoulders that reached far away from even the wider than normal seat. Actually her shoulders were larger than bowling balls now. I tried to imagine a ball of the size of her shoulders, but the musculature of them had me thinking of large kettlebells, or some ball too heavy to be used in any kind of mainstream sport. Then there were her breasts, and the thick pecs where upon they rest. My god, between these two parts of her anatomy, I doubt that Deborah can even see her abs at all.

I looked beyond the breasts, a feat truly hard, and my eyes fall upon the thickest, most muscular, most powerful legs I have ever seen. As they push the unimaginable weight up and down, several phenomena are made known to me. Where at the start of the exercise, Deborah was breathing hard and sweating profusely, she seemed to be breathing fine (but still deep), and her sweat were in the process of drying up. Secondly, her legs which are most definitely much large before, are seemingly moving faster and faster. Where I remembered them shaking at the start of the exercises, I could imagine it takes Deborah more effort not to launch the sled to space with one push of her monstrous thighs.

Lastly and perhaps the most inexplicable thing, was that in her seated position, with her leaning back and her legs pushing upwards diagonally, the part of the sled where her feet is resting upon is seemingly reaching the height of my chest. Now I fancy myself a decent math student who knows his trigonometry, and even given the six-inch boost from the height of the seat, that somehow suggested that Deborah might be way taller than me right now. Just as I was trying to figure this out, a loud clang rang out as the sled was lowered to its resting place. Deborah sat upright on the seat and lowered her legs to the floor, an act that created reverberations through the ground. Her thighs were massive, easily larger than the size of my torso. Her lower legs matched the impressiveness of her thighs. Calves that alone were thicker than my thighs, and looking as hard as granite. I never did know that shins could have muscles, but somehow, hers does. She sat on the seat for a while, stretching her legs forward, parallel to the ground. They seemed like they reached miles upon miles. They looked powerful, indomitable. I wondered if I jumped on them, would they even lower an inch.

Pulling back her legs, Deborah turned towards me and stood up rather suddenly from her seat. I felt a pressure on my face for a split second and before I knew it, nearly blacked out. Maybe I did black out. When I regained my consciousness, I felt a throbbing pain on my face like I took a punch on my entire face. I sat on the ground, my arms held my torso above the ground barely. I twitched my legs to make sure they were still working. They did, but I felt no rush to stand up as of yet. I still had no idea what happened to me. Deborah was standing above me, bent over with her hands on her knees. Her whole body seemed to block the ceiling from my sight. Her two massive arms, looking bigger than my legs, pushed her beyond-prodigious breasts together. Her breasts! That was what hit me. I suddenly remembered in slow-motion, she turned towards her me, got off her seat and assumed a squatting position seemingly to stretch her outer thighs and her glutes. Even in this position, the massiveness of her entire body is evident. She then straightened her legs, while her torso was still in the bent over. So hypnotised by her bountiful bosom, I did not notice that as her legs start to straightened, these breasts were already close to my face. Then in one swift motion, she brought her torso up and nearly caved my face in with her breasts.

Her sniggering brought me back to reality, as she stood straightened again. The ratio of her legs to her body seemed to have increased with the round of squats. Her torso itself seemed to have grown a big longer and put on a lot more muscle. She must have been eight feet tall. From so close to the ground, she looked absolutely gigantic. I was not ready to stand up to face our height disparity, I have not even yet begun to accept the difference in our size. Her legs look one and half times as big as the biggest of male bodybuilders, with definition that cannot be compared with even somebody in competition mode. They lead to hips that had to be wide enough to allow space for these legs to move. Somehow, the yoga shorts she wore earlier had evolved to a skimpy hot pants which fiercely clung onto her like a second skin. She is now sporting an array of eight-pack on her abdomen, which is framed by equally impressive obliques, which evolved from sleek sexiness to thick and powerful lusciousness. As impressive as her lower torso is, I could not help but noticed the forearms at the side were as thick, if not even thicker than my calves. They looked impossibly dense as if they could block a baseball bat without any harm. Even the wrists looked powerful enough to tear a pair of handcuffs apart with just a flex.

Deborah’s frame flares outwards as my gaze travelled up, courtesy of her winged lats. Plumped muscles that reached out from behind her to support massive shoulders that looked as large as beach balls yet so defined that I could see the striations on them. From these shoulders, hung two arms that were easily as thick as my waist. A bloated bicep that would put to shame any comic book hero adorned each of the arms. In the middle of it all, were the breasts that walloped me. Just slightly bigger than her shoulders, her breasts were bigger than I seen on any porn star. Then again, I doubt any woman would be able to support the weight of normal breasts that size, let alone whatever those dense orbs of flesh weigh. Each breast was perfectly round with the smooth skin giving off a reflective sheen from the gym lighting. They were truly gravity defying, because despite their size and their weight, they hovered above her abdomen. Instead of pushing downwards on their own weight, they seemed to push ever so forward, as if wanting to take another shot at me. From my angle close to the floor, it was difficult to make out her pectorals, but where the underside of her breasts meets her chest, I could see a thick layer of muscle separating the breasts from the stomach. Peeking from the valley created by her breast, I see her petite head, sitting on top an impossibly thick neck that seem to have lengthened a bit, giving more space for her growing traps which continued to inch towards her ears.

“Are you okay? Did my breasts just floor you?” Deborah asked, giggling, as she grabbed one of them with one hand and squeezed playfully. The tit was squashed by the whim of her fingers, one of the same tits that nearly knocked me out. I swore that they had the hardness of medicine balls, or something heavier. But she was playing with it as if it was a fluffy pillow. Just how powerful was her grip, I thought incredulously.

She reached out her other hand, refusing to take the groping one off her breast. I hesitated to take that hand, unknowing whether it would just rip my arm out of the socket of my shoulder. She furrowed her brow, seemingly displeased with my rejection. I quickly grabbed onto her hand, not daring to anger her. To her credit, she was surprisingly gentle with her grip, only firmly clamping down on my relatively tiny hand before pulling me up with ease. On my part, it felt like I was holding onto a marble statue, grabbing as hard as I could on her hand, I was unable to dent even the surface layer of her fingers, yet her skin was so smooth to touch. I was finally on my feet, my arm a bit sore pulling up the weight of my own body. Deborah looked like she barely registered any effort in pulling me up.

“Ooh, I should do some bicep curls!” She said enthusiastically. Far be it for me to remind her that she was already working that body part when I came. She walked sultrily to the squat rack, probably knowing the dumbbells would not provide enough challenge for her humongous arms. Her walk has changed to a very deliberate step, like that of a model’s. Her powerful wide hip would lift the entire leg off the ground, bringing the upper leg almost perpendicular to the ground, while the lower leg would attempt to tuck underneath the upper leg, as the thick muscles of her hamstrings and calves pushed against each other. As she leans forward she would place the raised feet down, balls of her feet stepping firmly. I noticed that even as she is not wearing any heeled shoes, the heels on her feet are not touching on the ground. This would cause her calf to flex obscenely, like someone stuffed an entire leg of ham underneath her skin. The forward leg would then tense up, all its muscle bunching up as it pulled the entirety of her titanic body forward while the other leg was raised to repeat the process. Despite her large size, her walk was smooth, like the entire part of her above her hips was gliding through the air effortlessly.

Deborah stopped at the squat rack. There were four 45-pound plates on the Olympic bar, two on each side. That would be a regular weight for squatting, but quite impossible for anyone to curl, I imagine. I know better by now to think Deborah of just “anyone”. The Olympic bar was still on the rack in a position for squatting, putting it somewhere underneath my shoulders (I would actually start one notch lower), but just a breast-level for Deborah. She placed her hands on the bar and put an overhand-grip onto the bar. Not the most orthodox of bicep curl grips, and one, that I know from experience, that adds significance difficulty to the exercise.

Deborah then raised the weight up, her forearms and shoulders tensing up. Still, it was hard to register any difficulty in her part. She took her step back from the rack with the bar in tow. Still in an overhand grip, Deborah proceeded to curl the weight swiftly and smoothly, her torso absolutely showing no body English. Even her upper arms were hardly moving, just expanding and contract as the bar was lifted up and down repeatedly without slowing. There were two parts of her arms that really drew my attention at this point, her biceps and her forearms. First, her forearms were understandably flexed from the curling the heavy bar in an overhand grip, but the definition of them were at a level that I previously thought impossible. Her forearms at their thickest point were probably thicker than my thighs. I have never seen any bodybuilders flex their forearms in particular, but hers looked like they deserve their own segment. But as impressive as her forearms were, they were overshadowed by her reality-defying biceps. I have seen huge biceps on YouTube while researching how to up my gym game, but Deborah’s really put even male bodybuilders’ to shame. I honestly believed that her biceps now were larger than my torso. They were approaching her thighs in girth. She reminded me of Voltron, one of those robots that combine from five different robots, with legs and arms essentially the same size.

The definition of Deborah’s biceps deserved its own paragraph. It was hard to describe her biceps because something like it never existed before. Along with its impossible size, her biceps were so cut that they looked like coins could be lost in the crevices between her muscles. They looked like if one took the chunks of muscle from a regular bodybuilder and condensed it into a single body part. If a professional bodybuilder would actually have laid eyes onto Deborah’s biceps, or her entire body for that matter, actually, maybe just her biceps as they out-evolved the rest of her body (while not being comically out of proportion), this bodybuilder would have fallen on his knees and wept there and then. And although not immediately so, it was evident that her muscles were still growing with every lift.

[Jeremy Lightning]

Another great read, I enjoyed this chapter a lot, especially the muscle descriptions, you're really good at those. I love seeing a girl do a workout for reps with more weight than a really fit, muscular guy can handle. k+!

[maxflax]

OMG so good *___*
Please continue!!
I'm always searching for great gym-growth related stories, escpecially if they're well written!! And I may stepped into a gold mine with you

[snowman7]

Great stuff!  Hope you don't wait until 2017 to continue.  Love the big muscles....and the fact that they're still growing!

[Abdominator]

Excellent stuff, I loved the continuous teasing that she makes! Can't wait for part three!

[silentguy36]

Hey folks, sorry haven't came back to this. I actually finished the last part a while ago but hadn't the time to come post it.

Been trying to work out a tip account, but I can't find one that offers anonymity (because, you know, the subject matter) for my region.

Anyway, without further adieu, here's the last and final part (by the way, is there a way to insert a vertical line?):

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Deborah stopped her lift with the bar at the top position. I wondered whether she was finally tired but thought that that was highly unlikely. She deliberately racked the Olympic bar on the rack. I noted that not many people do bicep curls on the squat rack, and even fewer of these people would rack the weight at shoulder level when done. Deborah then went to each side of the bar to unload the weight. With impossible ease, she gripped the side of both of the plates at each side, and slide the weights off the bar with the control and ease of handling five-pounders or ten-pounders. Even after unloading the plates, she just held all four plates at shoulder level while walking to the weight rack, as if the plates are so light that she did not even care to lower it down. I looked at the hands accomplishing this impossible task of power and control. Her hand was large, having grown with the rest of her body. It looked like it could wrap itself around my neck. The skin on the hand looked silky smooth, the kind of complexion every girl dream about. Veins, feminine and gentle, traversed her forearm up to the back of her hand. As female as her hand looked, the power in the grip that held the two 45-pounders in the air looked all too real.

But that was not the end of the show. As soon as she put away the 45-pounders, she went for the hundred-pounders again. This time, she slid two fingers into the handle hole of two plates at a go. With just those two fingers, she smoothly pulled the weights off the rack. Now, having gone to the gym for a while, I knew that weight plates, especially the heavier ones tend to be a bit difficult to get off a bar or the rack. The trick was to lift the weight off the bar, but not so much that the weight press against the upper side of the bar. It was hard enough pulling out a 45-pounder with one hand. Sometimes, even the biggest of gym-goers used both hands as a matter of convenience. To pull out two hundred-pounders is crazy even for all I had seen tonight. With veritable ease, Deborah carried four hundred pounds to the bar, making another trip to mount a grand total of eight hundred pounds. That was the kind of weight that only the largest guys squat or deadlift. I was pretty sure in the history of mankind nobody has curled this absurd amount of weight.

Deborah hoisted the bar off the rack. The heavy bar creaked a little, but what astonished me was that it did not immediately sank down from its weight. Deborah was holding the bar up deliberately as she took a few steps back away from the rack. Once she was far enough, slowly, she let the weight go down, her giant arms pumped from the negative effort. I noticed a little tremor, like she actually needed to exert some effort for once. Then, the bar was at the bottom of the movement. Her torso barely moved as her biceps started to lift the bar, her movement slightly smoother, slightly faster. Then down, then up, then down, then up. I sort of lost count of the number of reps. Despite displaying unfathomable control over the insane weight, Deborah was not rushing through the motion, her arms looked like they could crush a car in a bear hug now. Once again, I noticed that her body had holistically grew during the exercise. Her back was so wide that I could only see a foot of the bar from each side of her. The girth of her triceps now seemed to eclipse my own body.

“You mind helping me put a little resistance on this?” she suddenly asked.

I walked over, not really sure what to do. Deborah was holding the bar at the bottom position. At her height, the bar rested at my chest level. I looked up at her, her face peeking out between her gigantic breasts. She was not paying me much attention, looking over me and focusing on her own reflection in the mirror. I put my hands on the bar and pulled downward, putting most of my weight on it. I might as well be pulling on a pullup bar. I am not quite sure whether Deborah was feeling any additional resistance from my efforts.

“Are you ready?” she asked suddenly, rather rhetorically as she started lifting upwards.

If my additional weight was giving Deborah any difficulty, she hardly showed it as she curled the bar steadily upwards. As she reached the apex of the motion, my feet were already being lifted off the ground. I had to tiptoe to maintain contact to the floor, but more concernedly, was how holding on to the bar brought me towards her mammoth breasts. They were at least twice the size of when I was punched by them minutes ago, yet somehow they seemed so rightly proportionate to the rest of her body. The added size scared me more than her muscles did, to be honest. I felt as if the slightest brush with them would send me flying towards the wall like I got hit by a freight train.

Meanwhile, Deborah continued with her curls, seemingly oblivious to my weight, and slowly but surely I knew she was getting taller from the fact that my entire feet would leave the ground for moments within the rep. I could not say I minded it much, I was just focused on the insane roller-coaster ride I was on. Starting from the bottom of the motion, I was treated with the sight of her abs. Thick, chunky abdomen muscles that seemed to outsize and out-depth my pecs. The rest of her torso was just as muscled. In fact, her lower abdomen looked like an anatomy chart, muscles pushing against muscles, all covering up her stomach, like a plate armour without a weak spot. I noted that I could not see Deborah’s head at all from this angle, it being totally obscured by her gigantic breasts. From underneath them, I did notice that the pecs that propped them up seemed even thicker than before. It looked like two-inch thick plate of dense flesh pushing out a roundish, beach ball-sized breast that looked deceptively less dense than the pec below it.

Moving up the ride, a good portion of the scenery would be the breasts that I cannot seem to get away of, or stop thinking about. Somewhere where the bar reached near the level of where her nipples blatantly challenged her bikini for dominance, I start to see Deborah’s face emerging from between her breasts. She was always focused on the exercise, staring straight at her reflection in the mirror, and I was not sure whether she noticed me there, almost helplessly hanging from the bar. As the bar reached the apex of the movement, ending at the level of her collar bone, she would hold the position for a few seconds, pulling back at her forearms and providing her biceps with maximum tension. It was scary that I could almost feel like hear the sounds of her muscles growing, like a faint, alien-like, fleshy sound.

Deborah had already grown to the point where at this position, I was hanging with my toes an inch or two off the ground. And as I was hanging there, I looked around my surroundings and noted a few things. Firstly, her whole body was so wide now that it would probably be impossible to actually do squats on the squat rack. Even with her legs close together, her thighs were now threatening to touch the support bars of the squat racks. Her shoulders had long passed the threshold of the rack itself. Throughout the exercise, she had been moving her hands outwards to maintain a more natural grip to the bar. Speaking of her hands, they are of monstrous size now. I had no doubt that she would able to encapsulate a boxing glove with her fingers. I could see her forearms despite her gigantic breasts. As oblivious she was to me, she must have pushed her elbows forward a little so as to not have me bumping on her torso. It was hard to describe the size, thickness and definition of her forearms. They have long past the thickness of a football. Each forearm looked to be half times longer than mine, and thicker then my thighs. They also looked frighteningly dense, like the rest of Deborah’s body. I imagined that if we were locked in an arm-wrestling match, which would be difficult in the first place due to the length disparity in our arms, if her forearm was over the middle line by just even a millimetre, she could easily crush me by relaxing her entire arm and letting gravity act on the forearms weight.

Despite the weight of the bar, Deborah continued the curling for several minutes mechanically, not increasing nor slowly down, just exhibiting complete control over the motion. Unfortunately, I was not subjected to the same immunity of fatigue, even though I was just hanging by the bar. At first, I lessened the resistance I applied on the bar when my feet were on the ground, relieving some of the tension for a while. After some time though, I gave up on applying any resistance whenever I stepped on the floor. I started to look forward those little moments of reprieve, with the realization that those moments got shorter as time passed. Suddenly, the movement of the bar stopped. I thought that Deborah was holding the bar at mid-position as part of her exercise. I heard a giggling from above.

“You want to turn around and check the mirror?” Her voice came from above, though I knew her face was blocked by her breast above.

I was puzzled. Hand over hand, I turned around still hanging from the bar. I gasped, surprised even from all I have seen today. In the mirror, I was hanging from the bar, my toes a few inches from the ground. The bar was at Deborah’s groin level, the bottom of her bicep curl position. She must be close to fifteen feet tall by now. The squat rack now looked like a barbell rack compared to her size, and I looked absolutely tiny.

She bent over, seemingly with the intention to finally mount the Olympic bar onto the rack. Her torso casted a shadow all around me, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic. I let go of the bar without hesitation, stepping towards the mirror and turn around to take a direct look at the giantess. She was holding the bar at arm’s length as she laid it on the top hooks of the squat rack. The pivotal weight of the bar did not seem to tax her muscles at all. There was eight hundred pounds of weight of the Olympic bar, placed on the top most hook of the squat rack. I was pretty sure the next person would have thought someone was pulling an extremely inconsiderate prank on the gym.

Deborah stepped back from the rack, admiring herself in the mirror, smirking satisfyingly with what she saw in the mirror. She bent one of legs sideways outwards, flared her lats and went into the most insane double biceps pose in the history of mankind. I felt like I was looking at a statue of a goddess that a mythical society of warrior woman worshipped. She was larger than life itself. At some point of time, her clothing has now morphed into a skimpy purple bikini, one that barely covered the necessary areas. Deborah has never been one that flaunts her body, but she did not seem ill at ease with her attire. If anything, she was brimming with indomitable confidence.

Her face still looked like Deborah’s, but where Deborah was moderately-attractive previously, her face had evolved subtly, looking more vibrant, more youthful, much easier to be attracted to. This face was attached to a human sized head, a note worth distinctively mentioned, as it was attached to a sturdy looking neck and supported by traps that reached upwards towards her ears, and past this neck, everything was the size of a behemoth.

Her shoulders stood out as much as her traps did, totally eclipsing her head in size. They were subsequently eclipsed in size by her biceps, which reached to a height that was just past the tip of her head. Her triceps, though not flexed, looked thick and meaty. Her entire upper arm, more than twice the length of normal human being’s, looked like someone cut them opened and stuffed about ten of full-size pillows in there. But instead of the softness of pillows, her arms took on the likeness of impossibly hard marble. Elbow to elbow, I was pretty sure that she was wider than I was tall. That means it would be inconvenient for her to press me overhead, I thought randomly. A gruesome vision of her easily tearing my body in half like a twig, then proceeding to use the halves to do dumbbell overhead presses suddenly went through my mind. Each of her forearms were now easily thicker than my two thighs put together. They end at delicate feminine oversized hands that looked like they could wrap around my head entirely and squash it like an egg.

Her breasts had now grew to the size of beach balls. They too retained a soft feminine look to them. The smoothness of her skin over her breasts created a sheen where the gym lights shone on them. Despite that deceptive image, I would not be surprised if she could bring down brick walls by simply swinging her breasts into them. Her pecs underneath finally started to outgrow her breasts. They were each as wide as my entire chest. Standing far enough, despite the height difference, I was able to see over her breasts and observed the overdevelopment in her pectorals. They were ripped and striated and look as if they could withstand an armour-piercing bullet. Her meaty lats reached out from behind, easily giving an idea of how wide her back is without even needing to be behind her.

Her upper body tapered dramatically to a comparatively thin abdomen, though it was hardly thin by human standards. I doubt that if I were to hug her waist, my two hands would be able to touch each other. I guess that to support a titanic body like that, her waist did have to grow a bit as well. Not only did it grow in circumference, it had kept up with the muscle growth and then some. If her arms looked as dense as marble, then her abdomen might be harder than diamonds. She sported an eight-pack across her stomach, framed by rows and rows of obliques. Instead of muscles jutting out, her abdomen looked like someone took a big chunk of stone, shaped it to the shape of a human trunk, and just carve deep lines into the stone. Her core was basically muscles pushing against each other, forming a protective shield over her waist, one without an inch of vulnerability.

Her hips started to flare out from her waist, perhaps because they were linked to her massive legs. For a moment I wanted to think that they were the thickest legs I have ever seen on a human being, but comparing anything about Deborah to human beings was inane.  One single thigh was thicker than my torso, and could possibly be heavier than my entire body. Thick, meaty cords of muscles ran down from her waist, crossing and overlapping each other creating bumps and ridge of reality defying definition. They connected at knees that looked like a silky satin-like skin wrapped on a solid chuck of rock. Downwards from the knees were two sturdy looking shins with insane calves sticking out from behind them. Her diamond-shaped calves were sharp and angular. They reminded me of booster rockets on the legs of those Japanese robots. Oddly enough, her feet, though larger than mine and fed with veins that travelled down her lengthy legs, still look somewhat feminine. She was standing on the balls of her feet gracefully, and as she moved about, enamoured with her reflection going through multiple poses, she never seemed land on her heel, as if she was wearing a pair of invisible high heel shoes. She was truly a goddess in the making.

“I think… I should so some cardio,” said Deborah after a few minutes of posing. I was surprised she still wanted to exercise, given that we had been working out for a few hours and she already broken every single human limit imaginable.

She walked off with huge strides thanks to her powerful legs, walking with the same grace as before, except this time, her heels never touched the floor. I wondered whether this is a permanent evolution of Deborah as part of superhuman growth. I had to skip a little to keep up with her. I wondered whether she meant to do the treadmill or elliptical machine, knowing full well it was impossible for someone her size to even step on any of the machines without smashing it to bits. Instead, she went off to a corner of this huge gym that I did not noticed before. It was a big open area, where people may do cross-fit or some martial exercises. What was shocking about this area was that the ceiling must have fifty feet above the ground. I did not remember the gym being so big to begin with.  In one corner of this area, there hung several punching bags. But these punching bags were huge.

The smallest of the punching bags hung about three feet off the ground and reached up to Deborah’s eye level. That made it at least twelve feet long from bottom to top. Emblazoned on one side of the punching bag, in a font large enough to cover half the bag and about three quarters of its length, were the characters “2000lbs”. I never knew punching bags could be this heavy. Deborah started letting her fists fly into the bag. Immediately, it was obvious that the punching bag for all its impossible weight, was not heavy enough for Deborah. It was flying all over the place after a few punches. I was worried that her next punch would detach the bag from the ceiling and sent it flying, quite possibly towards my direction. Deborah quickly and wisely stopped her punches. With unbelievable eased, she reached out, grabbed the bag and brought it back to its neutral position. I noticed that despite the impact of her punches, her hands, especially her knuckles, looked surprisingly unmarked without so much of a scratch on them.

Deborah started looking about again and immediately locked her eyes on the biggest of them all, a mammoth of a punching bag. There it hung, about five foot off the ground, looming over the titan Deborah herself. It must have been at least thirty feet long, and was as wide as Deborah. Across the bag, in the same design as first, there were characters emblazoned into one side “10000lbs”. Deborah grinned satisfyingly, relishing the challenge, one that I suspect she would soon conquer like everything else today.

As she walked over to the larger punching bag, I took the chance to inspect relatively smaller one. When I first touched the bag, I noticed that the fabric was not leather. Instead, the bag was covered in a tough synthetic material, like what I imagine Kevlar might be like. I poked the bag with my index finger until my finger hurt, and subsequently tried with my thumb. I could not even create an indentation, and any minute depression I might have made would immediately disappear when my digits left the surface of the punching bag. Fearing for my knuckles, I forewent trying to punch the bag, opting to see how I fare pushing it with my entire body instead. I might have moved the bag a little, I could not be sure, but overall, it felt like I was pushing against a concrete pillar. I was starting to sweat from the exertion, and my feet had not even left the original position I planted them at when I begun pushing. Resigned, I stepped away from the punching bag and went to see how Deborah was doing with hers. As I walked away, I gave one last look at the punching bag, and saw high above me, where Deborah had punched the bag, a myriad of fist marks peppered the fabric of the bag.

As I came to where Deborah was, she had just started laying punches onto the bag, and throwing some kicks for good measure. I stood a good fifty feet away from the action, fearing for my safety. First, I felt like I may have been a bit paranoid. Each punch Deborah laid on the punching bag sounded like a race gun going off, but the bag did not sway far from its neutral position. Seemingly pleased with the situation, Deborah started punching and kicking faster. It wasn’t long before she started building up a sweat. Still, she showed no signs of slowing down, which started to worry me. Not surprisingly, I begun to notice that the impacts of her blows on the punching bag were starting get louder. Soon enough, her punches sounded like the heavy timpani in an orchestra, her kicks sounded like two cars crashing into each other. The force of her blows was such that I had to squint my eyes in anticipation of each punch and each kick.

Deborah went on and on, adding more power into her fists and legs. When one of her kicks sent the ten thousand-pounds punching bag flying, at one point almost being parallel to the ground, she started focusing only on her punches. Still, gradually, her punches started to swing the bag more and more, she stopped sweating long ago, and the cadence of impossibly hard punches now sounded like cannons firing. One fateful punch hit the bag so hard, it eclipsed the feat of her final kick minutes ago. The punch hit the bag and it sounded like one of those pile drivers at the construction yard. The bag flew in the opposite direction, restricted by the thick chain linked to the ceiling, it travelled in and arc upwards. It passed the mark where the punching bag was parallel to the ground, and floated up a bit more. I shuddered at the thought of the momentum of the bag coming down, which must rival that of a wrecking ball. And as the bag levitated in the air for a split-second, I held my breath.

Just as fast as it flew up, the bag came rushing down following the same arc. While I took my eyes off her for the moment to follow the movement of the punching bag, Deborah had dropped her fighting stance, instead taking up one of the classic superhero, with her hands on her hips, her powerful chest puffing outwards, pushing her colossal breasts forward. As the punching bag started coming down, she was still as a rock. There seemed to be only one conclusion to this scenario, but my brain could not process it at that time. Time, however, would play out the scenario for me. As the punching bag came rushing down, I was still sure that Deborah would reached out and stopped the punching bag with her hands, but she didn’t. As foreseen, Deborah allowed the humongous punching bag to crash right into her waiting chest. The outcome was almost comical for a moment. There was the sound of the impact for a nanosecond before it was muffled, surely by her breasts, into quiet “poof”. Of course though, the immense kinetic energy of the punching bag must go somewhere. As Deborah breasts backed by her impossibly muscle body absorbed this kinetic energy, failing to move her at all, the energy travelled through to the floor, resulting in a miniature earthquake that shook the entire gym.

After I recovered from the tremor, I looked over to Deborah only to realised that she had grown once again. Her head now peeks over the top of the punching bag, making her taller than thirty feet right now. Despite the huge gain in height, she looked proportionally wide as she was minutes ago. Despite all the muscles and veins that fed them, her skin was unbelievable smooth, with an unearthly sheen to them. The five-ton punching was nestled between her breasts. Despite the great momentum it gained, the punching ball did not even seem to make it through one-third of her chasm-like cleavage. Deborah stood still, staring at the punching bag, a veritable image of triumph. I wondered whether I should approach. I also wondered what was in her mind. She was standing deathly still. Is she thinking of what her next physically impossible feat would be?

As I stood there looking at the behemoth of a woman, I begin to notice a creaking noise. It sounded like a person rubbing on a balloon, but the sound was louder and lower in pitch. I looked around trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. Did that tremor damage the foundation of the gym? Is everything going to come crashing down on me? Then I realised, the noise was coming from the punching bag caught between Deborah’s breasts. And I also understood what she was trying to do. But that would be impossible, I thought. Given that she was more than thirty feet tall with more muscles proportionately than any human being in history, there is no way she can possible break that punching bag just by flexing her chest. Given that the punching bag was five times as heavy as the one I try to dent, the fabric of this one must be thicker by quite a bit. She could possibly punch it to smithereens I reckoned, but there is no way her breasts, as tough as they were, could deliver such a crushing force, could it?

The creaking sound persisted. I stared at Deborah and the punching bag wedged in between her mammaries. To my eyes, she was still motionless, and I could not detect a hint of movement in her breasts. I started to notice, though, a slight tremble on the surface of the punching bag. It was still withstanding the compression force of Deborah’s breasts for now, but is it actually succumbing to her crushing power? My question was soon answered in a flurry of interlinked events. First, the creaking noise spiked in volume, and then from a tremble, the bag started to violently shook. The parts of the punching bag not in contact with Deborah’s breast expanded quickly as a tearing noise started to emerge from the bag. And then, an explosion.

The bag exploded in a shower of metal beads. I was kind of surprise to see the filling of the bag are these metal beads, as I read somewhere that filling of a particle nature such as sand will settle to the bottom rendering the punching bag overly heavy. I could not even feel these beads when I was handling the other bag. Is this how tough and tight the material is? And Deborah just caused the bag to explode just by flexing her boobies. As some of the bead landed near me, I picked up one and was surprised by the density of it. It was only slightly bigger than a ball bearing, but weighs heavier than a marble. I was glad I stood a safe distance from the bag, knowing that if I get pelted by just a few of these, I might just risk injury. I dropped the bead onto the ground, and it landed with a loud clack. I expected it to roll away, but it moved only a short distance from the landing point – another proof of how heavily dense the bead is.

I looked over back to Deborah, there standing in all her glorious muscular magnificence. She was not moving much, just standing there staring down, perhaps admiring, her breasts. It was then I noticed that her breasts were bobbing up and down from her breathing. She was breathing rather heavily, even though she did not seem tired at all. I could tell her breathing was powerful, though, from how the beads at her feet rolled speedily away with each exhalation. As she stood there, her breathing started to grow heavier with each breath, and soon, I felt a momentary breeze with each of her exhalation. I was still standing fifty feet away. As she carried on, the breeze started to become a strong wind, then a gust. She was not breathing straight at me, and I was already having trouble standing my ground. As I considered finding cover from the increasing wind, the winds stopped.

I looked over to Deborah, and saw that she turned around to look at me, smiling cheekily. She seemed rather pleased with herself. She gave me a flirtatious look, and I was not sure whether I should feel scared or aroused. She pursed her lips, and brought her hand to them. It was ridiculous how large her hand is compared to her head. But then the revelation of what she was doing hit me and my eyes probably grew as large as saucers. Before I could react, she lowered her palm and blew me a kiss. I flew like a kite and for a split-second, I marvelled at the feeling of soaring in mid-air. Then I hit the wall and all turned to darkness.

I was jolted awake by the sound of my alarm going off. The back of my head hurt slightly and I realised I have fallen out of bed and landed flat on my back. It was weird how dreams sometimes incorporate reality instinctively. I laid there on the floor of my bedroom pondering what went on in that weird dream. Noise from my phone broke my thoughts, I had a message. I climbed on top of my bed gingerly and reached for my phone on the bedside table. I tapped on the message icon to go to the new message, there were a couple from Deborah.

<Hey, do you want to go to the gym with me today?>

The second message was a very familiar address although I could swear I never been to this place before.

[snowman7]

Wow, great chapter.  Love the detail behind your descriptions of super strength and massive muscle flexes.
While i am not a fan of giantess growth or the hands growing so large, both certainly fit with the fantasy of the protagonist.
Overall a fantastic read!

[Jeremy Lightning]

Yeah, I loved this story, despite me not being a fan of giantesses and major height growth, the shows of muscle and strength more than made up for it! k+!