Despicable Men

[giantgirl7foot2]

First time attempting to write a story. I can't make any promises about being able to finish it—but I'll do my best. In any case, publishing it in chunked parts seems like a better way to stay motivated, so here I go with the first part.

Warning—while it contains young characters, they will not engage in any explicit sexual activity until they are at the age of consent.

Don't like the characters or the story? Don't read it.

Like it, but have feedback or suggestions for scenario's or scenes? I'd love to hear all about it!


Despicable Men

“Daddy, I’m ready!”

My life used to be normal. I married a gorgeous woman and together, we raised a lovely young girl. Playful, bright and extremely driven to accomplish the things that she wanted to pursue. Whether it’d be drawing, studying or playing a new sport, once she set her mind to something, she wouldn’t rest until she achieved a satisfactory level of competence. We had an incredible time as a family and couldn’t be prouder as we watched our daughter, our little girl, grow up to be the best she could be—all while retaining her childish playfulness.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. One tiny moment of fear, a high-pitched screech, a loud bang and a sudden ending. Five years ago, when Sarah, our daughter, was eight, she was walking home from school with my wife. She just wouldn’t stop talking about how well she played in some football game. My wife, the caring mom that she was, was all ear. She loved listening to Sarah’s stories. A little bit too much, it seems, because she only noticed the robber when it was too late. In a desperate attempt to get Sarah to safety, she started crossing the road—without looking. In front of our eight-year-old daughter, a car hit the love of my life at full speed and she was instantly killed.

Sarah was crushed. It took a few weeks for her young mind to fully comprehend what had happened. But even after those weeks, she’d never fully recover. My old, perfect little girl was no more. Dedication made room for sorrow. Love was buried by hate. She hated the man that caused her mother to act on such impulse. She hated that her mother had to be afraid of that man. She hated being afraid, and she hated men.

During those weeks of hate, she barely even spoke to me. I was crushed about my losing my wife, but I was absolutely destroyed by the idea of having lost my daughter as well. It wasn’t until six weeks after the accident that she voluntarily came out of her room. I was so overjoyed that I barely heard registered question, being ready to give in to anything she’d ask me if that meant she’d talk to me again.

That morning, Sarah had woken up and decided that it was time to change something. Sobbing in her room wasn’t going to bring her mom back—nothing was. The only thing left to do was make sure her mother didn’t die in vain. That was morning she decided she wasn’t going to be afraid of any man, ever again. Surprisingly, when she went downstairs to ask her daddy—the only man she didn’t hate—for some weights, he didn’t even question her. He was so absent minded that he didn’t realise that he ordered the largest weight set on the website. Sarah didn’t mind, of course, realising that she’d need everything she could get her hands on to help her become stronger. That morning, eight-year-old Sarah had decided to become so strong, that she’d never have to be afraid of anyone, ever again.

It was only when the delivery men arrived, that I realised what I had ordered. An even one thousand pounds of plates, accompanied barbell bars of all sizes. It was too late to have them exchanged, but more importantly, Sarah seemed a bit less sad for the first time in weeks. I could only hope she’d be careful. She’d been into gymnastics at some point and clearly had a healthy young body, but she was still a little girl. She was still my little girl. 

After that, it seemed like I was slowly getting part of my daughter back. It wasn’t that I saw her more often, but when I did, at least she showed signs of appreciation of her father. She also seemed to have regained part of her old spirit back. For hours a day, I could hear the sounds of clunking metal and couldn’t help but wonder what she was up to. But, not wanting to jeopardise regaining her trust, I kept my curiosity to myself, guessing that I’d find out sooner or later anyway. Strange, how what just seemed like a pile of metal to me could reinvigorate the spirit of a young girl. But I was more than overjoyed that it did. If only I’d known back then.

Without really knowing what she was doing, Sarah just started lifting weights. She’d seen some fitness advertisements on tv and just tried doing what they did. She loaded the smallest dumbbell with as much weight as she could do a “single arm lift thingy” with, not realising that she was doing an almost perfect bicep curl with 12 lbs—not bad for an eight-year-old. When she couldn’t lift it anymore, three reps later, she removed some of the weight from the bar and repeated her exercise. Half an hour later, she was struggling to lift only the bar and decided that should be enough for the “big upper arm muscle”. But there were other parts of her body that could still move. She took a bigger bar, loaded up some weights and started doing what she’d later find out to be a squat. And then deadlifts, and bench presses, and lunges. None of the movements were entirely correct, but none of them were wrong. For three hours straight, she was pushing her young body to its absolute limits. She could feel all muscles in her body burning, almost unable to move any of her limbs. But, thinking of her mother, she refused to register this burning sensation as pain. She was ready to do it all again, the next day.

And so, she did. And the next day. She didn’t miss a single day of torturing her young body with as much weight as it could handle, until it simply refused to move any more. After a week, she noticed that the initial weight with which she loaded the bars became easier to lift, so she added more. And she kept adding more. It was working, she was getting stronger. Without realising it, she was up to 19 lbs for dumbbell curls, 35 lbs for barbell curls and even 80 lbs for squats. But she didn’t pay attention to the numbers on the plates, little Sarah was simply happy that every once in a while, she could add a little more metal to the bar.

Getting stronger, however, wasn’t the only thing that she noticed. She also noticed that she could see that she was getting stronger. Previously, she used to always wear her favourite zebra onesie at home—they were inseparable. But now that she was becoming stronger, she figured it’d more appropriate to dress like the hunter, not the hunted. And thus, she asked her father for a tiger onesie instead. He didn’t ask a single question and Sarah had it the next day. “Good daddy” she thought—not yet realising the extent to which innocent thoughts like this would shape the girl she was becoming.

[bigfbbluver]

I really like how this is starting. Can’t wait for more. 

[seldom]

This is aces! Keep it up!

[Lupus753]

This looks pretty good.

[giantgirl7foot2]

From then on, whenever she was training, she wore her new predator onesie. Until this particular day. Feeling hot from the exhausting workout she was putting her body through, for the first time since she started training, she removed her cosy attire. It came as quite the surprise when, as she lifted the weight to do a barbell curl, saw two almost tangerine sized bulges appear on her upper arm. For all subsequent reps, she couldn’t pry her eyes away from her arms. Watching the surprisingly sizeable ball of muscle expand and contract every time she curled the 35-pound barbell had a hypnotising effect on the young girl. Sarah liked seeing her muscles move like that, she thought they made her look strong, strong like the men from the movies. The same happened for her legs, where funny looking bulges were appearing above her knees whenever she performed the “almost sitting down, but with weights” exercise (squats). As she proceeded to do sit-ups, little blocks appeared on her tummy. For the remainder of her workout, whenever she did an exercise, she would closely watch which parts of her body started moving. She was mesmerised by the sight of these muscles—her muscles—moving as she tortured them with weights girls her age should definitely not have access to, left alone repeatedly lift.

Sarah loved how she could see new newly discovered muscles move as she continued her workouts for the following weeks. She loved how they expanded as she was using them. Biceps were her favourite: she loved how the bulges on her upper arms would grow as she curled the weight. At the end of every exhausting workout, even though she could hardly move her arms, she would always try doing the “muscle” pose she saw people on TV doing. Seeing the sizeable ball of muscle come to life made her happy, because it made her look strong. Stronger than the kids at school—even stronger than the boys.

Sarah knew that because she looks at them during gym class. Carefully covering up her own body—she didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing yet—it made her feel good to look at her classmates from third grade. She liked seeing that their muscles were significantly smaller than her own. Every time she saw the bare arm, legs or abs of one of the boys from her class, she’d be comparing to her own body in her head. At some point, she thought her arm even looked twice as big as one of the smaller boys’ arms and she let out a small squeal.

Not many days later, after her own gym class, Sarah saw a bunch of sixth graders get ready for gym class and—much to her disbelief—she was almost certain that she was bigger already. Not only her arms looked bigger, her legs definitely looked thicker, as did her shoulders, and her tummy was definitely tauter. “I’m definitely stronger than these guys”, Sarah realised. The young girl was absolutely ecstatic, her whole body filling with a tingly feeling that she simply couldn’t describe. But it wasn’t enough, she wanted more.

She was not stronger than high schoolers, she was not stronger than college kids and she was certainly not stronger than the man who was responsible for the death of her mother—yet. Thinking of him replaced ecstasy and tingles with anger, sadness and hate. Feelings that the clever young girl had learnt to put to her advantage. She rushed home, added an additional 4 lbs to her dumbbells and started working out with an intensity that professional bodybuilders would be envious of. She didn’t even notice that she hadn’t bothered to exchange her school uniform for her predator onesie. Until one particular sound could be heard in between two grunts—*rrriiiippp*.

[seldom]

Yay! So glad you're continuing this. I love Sarah's journey.

[jimjones]

Really promising story! Keep it up

[caino]

yes, I'm in...
K

[Maestro]

Great job! K+

[dixon145]

Hope you keep writing this story

[phil123]

Like the growing.
So I hope for more

[giantgirl7foot2]

Takes quite some time to write a short piece of story—I'm not a native English speaker and it takes quite some iterations as I'm not easily satisfied.


The fabric of her non-stretchy shirt ripped along the peak of the right bicep that was pumped up heavily from curling a 24-pound dumbbell. Along with the ripping sound, Sarah was overcome by a rollercoaster of emotions. First up was surprise as she tried to realise what had happened, followed by amazement of what her young arm was capable of, then there was fear of what her father would say and finally came stress over how she’d go to school tomorrow. Only one of these feelings stuck out like a sore thumb, that dreaded feeling of fear—fear of a man. 

This was the first time that the growing girl realised that, if she kept up with her goal, she would become stronger than her daddy. Right now, he was still the man that she’d looked up to all of her life. Soon, however, he’d just be a man. A man that would have to listen to her and not the other way around. The eight-year-old girl actually liked the idea of being stronger than her father. "Watch out, daddy”, she thought, “I won’t be your little girl for long anymore”. With that thought, the tingly feeling returned as a second realisation hit the bright girl. She wasn’t only going to become stronger than her daddy, she was also going to become bigger. “Much bigger”, she thought, as the saw the fibres in her engorged bicep contract through the rip that they’d created as she kept curling the 24-pound weight with a satisfied look on her young, pretty face. The clever girl had just thought of a perfect solution to her shirt problem.

She quickly manoeuvred the dumbbell to her other hand and, much more quickly than before, vigorously pumped it up and down until her left sleeve also tore. The second time, only one thought raced through her young mind as she flexed every one of her surprisingly strong and sizable muscles—"fuck yeah”. After exhausting her second harm, she quickly took of the shirt and rushed to her father’s bedroom. He wouldn’t be home for half an hour or so, which was plenty of time to look for one of his old, white, linen shirts that she could wear to school. She could always tell the teachers that her daddy bought it too large for her. After all, he’s just a man.

[phil123]

Very nice seeing her growing bigger than her father and outgrowing and ripping his shirts

[Bigred81]

I like this story so far! I would love to read more biceps and pecs workouts... And some good muscle descriptions of her Keep going!

[ame3cv62]

Wow love this story,more pleasr