A Strong Wife (Story edit, rewrite, and addition)

[taoschild]

Several people have asked me to add to the story A Strong Wife. Now that I finished Submission Training You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login I'm going to take a little break before I continue DnD and edit this story and add some to it in segments as they come to me. I will also add reader's polls to see which direction you'd like to see the story progress. Here is the original should you want to read that one instead: You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login

A Strong Wife  Part I
by mscllver - edited and added to by Taoschild (Richard Greye)
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When a housewife begins working out, she becomes the stronger spouse
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Several years ago, as I sat down at my breakfast table for my usual egg, toast, and bacon meal prepared lovingly by my wife, she threw me a curveball. Laid out next to my place was the paper, as usual, but it was folded in quarters and opened to the advice columns. An entry entitled “Strong Wife” was circled with a red sharpie.

“What’s this?” I asked, my interest piqued, but surprised nonetheless.

“Just read it,” she said abruptly, cocking her head in expectation.

 “Okay,” I responded, putting on my readers and focusing on the letter.
Dear Abbey, My wife and I have a healthy sex life and like to fool around physically but oftentimes, when we do, it becomes a test of strength. Invariably, she wins.  Many times I have seen her demonstrate a physical strength that I cannot match.  In fact, there is no doubt in my mind that she is clearly the stronger of the two of us and if wrongfully provoked; she could probably make mincemeat out of me.  I don't know what to do...please help! 
-String Bean

Abbey’s response wasn’t very sympathetic and I kind of felt bad for the guy despite the fact his situation hit all too close to home.

Dear String Bean,
Why do you feel that your wife, who you purport to love and enjoy being physical with, might hurt you? If you evaluate your feelings without prejudice you might find that you’re displaying either misogynistic views about women who are strong as your wife or some personal insecurities. Perhaps you should evaluate your own pre-conceived notions regarding women rather than judging your wife’s fitness level.   

“Well,” her eyes furrowed into a scowl.

“Well, what?” I shot back.

“Did you write it,” she sang as if the question were obvious.

“No, I’d never…”  I assured her despite the fact, I’d recently arrived at a similar realization about my relative standing in our home. The initial defensiveness I’d experienced with Carol, followed by a deep sense of inferiority after losing a fight with her, eventually ended with the realization that a strong sexy wife is a blessing rather than a curse. The stronger the better.

*  *  *

Carol and I were high school sweethearts who ultimately found our way to the altar.  She wasn’t necessarily my type physically, as I preferred fitter women. A picture of some fitness models and Madonna graced my walls in high school. Still, our dynamic was great, and the way she carried off a sort of Rubenesque appearance in a curvy and sleek fashion, enhanced by the way she wore tight clothing always piqued my sexual interest. Her buxomness certainly filled out any sweater or shirt and provided the right kind of balance to her appearance.

Carol completed two years at the local community college and jumped right into a dental hygienist program supporting us while I strived for my law degree.  We married in my third year of College. Prior to the wedding, she became a maniac about fitness, hitting the gym and determined to get firm and lose some weight to look good in a dress. Her wide back, curvy legs, and overflowing bosom filled her wedding dress perfectly. It was framed by her sandy blonde hair and big brown eyes and made me the envy of many men at our wedding.

 We lived together in a student apartment while Carol worked at the university and I continued concentrating on my studies.  Carol was unbelievably supportive of my education and continued to be the main breadwinner for the next 5 years until I received my law degree.  Graduating near the top of my class, offers came pouring in from different law firms. We both agreed to an offer with a large Oil Company's corporate firm. When we moved South to Batton Rouge, I swore she would enjoy the life of leisure she so richly deserved.  My starting salary and other options were so lucrative that there was no need for Carol to work. She became the housewife, getting me prepared for work, and got into gardening and a number of other hobbies. By the time I got home, exhausted from my grueling time at work she had dinner waiting and took care of things in the bedroom as well.  Within six months, Carol announced she was pregnant.

Carol gained almost 50 lbs during pregnancy and I had to bite my tongue to avoid some smart-alleck quips. Her quick weight gain did increase her leg strength though and one night she wowed me by smashing a watermelon between her powerful thighs. I still remember the combination of awe and sexual attraction I felt. Minutes later I was between those glorious muscles suckling the sweet liquid of the watermelon and her own candied hole. It was the sign of things to come, by I didn’t know it yet.

After the birth of Mike, Jr., she had trouble shaking those last fifteen. It really didn't matter to me. She was a great mom and though I liked fit women, I was also a chest-man, and now there was so much of it. She sported a 44DD bra before childbirth and found herself having to move up in size when her milk-filled breasts overflowed the cups of her pre-pregnancy bras.  If she didn’t have such a round caboose and thick curvy thighs It might have been comical how top-heavy she could have been. As it was, Carol was a good wife, mother, and continued to support me emotionally as I was putting in 60-hour plus weeks. The time I put in was not in vain. Within four years, things were progressing nicely for me and I was promoted to vice president the same day Carol announced she was pregnant again. 

Soon Mary was born, but this time no comforting words from me could shake Carol's depression over her own post-delivery weight.  I honestly didn't care that Carol now weighed over 200 pounds.  She wore all the right clothes and I loved the way she felt in bed.  Her chest and powerfully muscular thighs, and thick calves, which carried her on a daily basis, aroused me to no end.

However, I could tell that Carol was upset when we went to office parties and she saw the thin, well-dressed female professionals or the other trophy wives who seemed to have the time to shape themselves to perfection.  Even some of the more amply endowed females seemed to have slim waists that took away any consolation Carol may have felt in mentally comparing chest sizes.  She knew I was a chest-man, but truly believed it would only be a matter of time before she would lose the advantage her breasts gave her over other women.

“Did you like, Jenny’s body?” she asked after one New Year's Eve party.

“Which one was Jenny?” I knew exactly who she was. Jenny’s firm, tanned body with legs that seemed to never end were complimented by a perfect pair of, likely fake, but wonderfully shaped tits.

“You know!” She replied exasperated. “The one in what you might call a blue dress. Jacob’s wife.  To call it a blue dress was a bit of an exaggeration. The navy, nearly sheer fabric hugged the woman’s curves and ended at her upper thighs.

“I guess she was attractive,” I replied, knowing I couldn’t admit to having noticed her.

“You guess!” She exploded. “She was a goddam model.”

“What do you want me to say?” I asked, feeling cornered.

“Nothing, I’m sorry. I just need to lose weight, start working out, and get into shape. Can I hire someone to watch the children and get in shape?”
“Sure, whatever you need. And I can talk to some people about a trainer and get you whatever you need.” The idea of being her sugar daddy while she built her physique fluttered through me and charged me sexually, but I didn’t really expect much.  Although there was no doubt in my mind that once she embarked on something she could accomplish it, I never could envision what would follow.

*  *  *

[jhunter]

Great to see a story get better, and see an author's growth. Keep up the good work.

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work. This first part is really good. I can't wait to see where the story goes next.

[taoschild]

Hmm, I edited a little more and then Qbikk informed me that there is already a conclusion to this story.  Perhaps I will spin it in another direction when I have time.. For now, more of the edits:
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I still remember the aerobic workout videos, the exercise mats, the special diet foods, and food scales, etc that became as much a hallmark of our household as much as the toys, playpens, diaper bags, and other symbols of a young mother. She and her trainer, Sven, had a “system,” that she maintained rigorously. It wasn’t just the early morning workouts that she did while I remained asleep, but a sitter would come over during the kids’ early afternoon naps so she could do her “at-home finishing workout” on the obtrusive stationary bike and old weights had their place in the basement. Years before I’d put them years before when I swore that I would stay in shape.

It was all part of the system. Even in between activities for the children she’d find ways to do planks or use the children themselves as weighted resistance.  Although it was hard to miss how fast Carol was getting in shape, I simply had no idea.

In February, the company notified me that they were responding to bids for several oil leases in Qatar and needed me to head up the legal team at the location.  What started off as only a one-month separation from my family, soon turned into six months as the Company's goals expanded.  This was certainly a major strategic move for our company, and the rest of my team and I were assured that our sacrifices would certainly be rewarded.  We did get to go home for a couple of days each month and though I noticed Carol's appearance immediately, I never realized to what extent her "toning" was taking her.

The first sign of the changing relationship came the first weekend after my return when Carol said she wanted to go bike riding.  She was tired of the stationary bike in the basement and wanted to really go out on some of the bike trails in the local area.  I had not been on a bike in years, and I was exhausted from the work and jet lag but somehow told her it “sounded like a good idea.” 

Our neighbor Ellen watched Mike Jr while Carol placed Mary, who was now 18 months, in a child carrier behind her, and off we went.  After about 15 minutes, I found the ride taxing on my legs and the hills were certainly challenging my stamina.  Carol, however, riding far ahead of me, looked like she was out for an afternoon stroll.  Again and again, she’d have to slow down or stop while I caught up.  Continually riding behind her, I noticed how dense and chiseled my wife's calf muscles had become. I guess it made sense given she was once heavy and had lost weight, but they hadn’t lost any size. They looked less like biking calves and more like a bodybuilders -- certainly bigger than my own. I watched them flare and contract as I rode behind in fascination. 

She was wearing clinging bike pants that ended mid-calf and although her thighs still filled them out perhaps a little more than she would have liked, the image was now of a woman with a strong set of legs rather than someone who was overweight.  At one point, we embarked on a hill with a stiff incline, and Carol, with Mary in the seat behind her, put on a burst of speed that brought her quickly to the top.  Halfway up, however, I had to get off the bike and walk it up the hill. I just couldn't make it. 

When I finally got to the top, Carol frowned and asked, “are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” I responded, a bit unsure of myself. “I think it’s the jet lag and the fact I haven’t been on one of these in ages.”

“Are you sure?”

I was sweating bullets and huffing and puffing while she looked like she hadn’t started. My eyes scanned her body. There was still a thickness to her, but it looked like it had settled differently. Her curves and V-taper were more pronounced and there was obviously power in her now. I guessed that losing some of the weight after years of being overweight came with a few physical advantages. I imagined the physical power of her legs scissoring me in the bedroom and a jolt of electricity shot through me. It was strange.

“Mike?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. I’m okay, I might just need to rest up for a bit.” While the idea of a physically fit wife was somehow thrilling, there was the other side of the coin too.  For the first time in my life, a woman had physically challenged me and I had lost.  I don't think Carol thought she was physically challenging me, but in my mind, my inability to keep up in a physical endeavor with my wife was troubling.  I decided to get serious about jogging and working out on that stationary bike. That thought lasted for only about a day.

*  *  *

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work.

[taoschild]

As Summer’s end neared, Carol continued to remind me of my promise to build the backyard barbecue area.  We stood together on the patio looking across the long grass to the place where we had plugged a gas pipe, but had never gone further than the prep work. A pile of cinder blocks, bricks, and concrete lay unused, collecting dust in the garage. “Labor Day is coming soon and that barbecue pit won’t build itself,” she smiled. 

Given my travels and work schedule, I was less than excited about starting the project before I headed back to the Middle East. “But it’s such a nice day.  Couldn’t we just sit back here and have a few beers while the kids are at your mothers and then have some fun?” I winked. Carol, however, was relentless in her pleading.

“Look, we’ve put this off long enough. I’ll even help you if you tell me what to do and I promise I’ll reward you tonight,” she winked. I had run out of excuses and so we began.  If you have never lifted cinder blocks, let me tell you; they are heavy.  I picked one up in each hand and lumbered into the backyard.  Immediately, my forearms felt like they were screaming and I considered setting one down despite doing the math on how much longer the project would take.

Looking back at Carol, I changed my mind. Walking right behind me she was squeezing together two of them with another couple stacked on top. Four, and I’m struggling with two. The amount of strength required to perform the lift... I just couldn't fathom it. Immediately, for some reason, I went into defensive mode. “Honey,” I complained, “be careful.” If you drop them they will break and you might strain yourself.”

“Nonsense, I’m okay,” she said as she maintained a fairly leisurely pace in her walk. She strode up next to where I clumsily dropped mine and gently bent and put hers down beside mine. Her biceps bulged beneath her long white long sleeve shirt, stretching the lycra so tightly that I could see a massive pencil thick blue vein through the material. Her gardening shorts that I remembered being loose on the ‘thunder thighs’ she developed during her pregnancy, now seemed glued to her skin as well. Emerging from underneath the shorts near her knee caps were two hard bulges of muscles on each leg resembling teardrops. In all, three distinct muscles rippled on each leg as she squatted down and popped back up.  I blinked and shook my head trying to comprehend what I was seeing.

“What?” she asked, smiling excitedly that we’d finally started the long-overdue project.

“Um, nothing.” I managed before turning and returning back to the garage taking out two more while Carol again brought out four.  Although she never said anything, I felt that the mismatch in the effort was unfair and so on my third trip, I decided to pick up four also.

Yup. you guessed it. As I bent over to pick up a stack of four in my arms, out went my back and the tumbling cinder blocks nearly fell on my foot. 

“Uhhh,” I groaned, in obvious pain as Carol returned.

“Honey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I thought I was warmed up and I tried to pick up six."  I know. I lied, but my pride was on the line and the small white lie seemed to salvage some of it -- even though I felt a bit guilty. "I guess I’m more out of shape than I thought. I began to shuffle over to the interior door leading to the house; still in a bent-over position. I just couldn't straighten up.  Carol came over to me and tried to help me stand, but the pain was too intense. Finally, she got up underneath me, stuck her shoulder into my midsection, and hoisted me up onto her shoulder. 

“Sweetie,” I groaned. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

She giggled, “haven’t you heard of how mothers get extra strength when their loved ones are hurt.  Don’t worry about it.” Here was my 5 foot, five-inch wife, carrying me on her shoulder, holding me in place with one arm while opening the interior door with the other.  Through the house, she carried me and then up the stairs. 

Judging from Carol's brisk gait, her theory appeared to hold sway.  She laid me in bed, rubbed some heat cream on my back, and asked if she should call a doctor. 

“No, I should be okay with some rest and maybe a hot bath would ease some of the pain.”

“Your wish is my command,” she smiled and ran off into our adjoining bathroom.  She ran the bathwater for me and helped me get undressed and then picked me up in her arms in a cradle hold and lovingly deposited me into the bathtub. 

“There. You take care of yourself,” she said as she opened the window. “Shout if I need anything. I’m going to finish moving the cinder blocks.  When she came back about an hour later, she had finished the job. I realized that she had carried out 96 blocks to my four.

We both laughed at her bedraggled appearance. Her dusty hair and sweat-caked face made it look like she was a Halloween goth gone wrong. Minutes later when she stripped to take a shower and unveiled the twisted muscularity rising from her frame I managed to sputter just one word, “woah.”

Everywhere her body swelled up into skin-splitting peaks and even though she was exhausted from the intense workout, she oozed raw power. While Carol’s legs were understandably impressive, with thick striated thighs sweeping outward and down into mighty teardrops, her hamstrings were striated so that each individual muscle was clearly defined. The great channels that criss crossed her legs looked like fissures in the earth itself. While I half expected strong legs after the years she spent overweight, her traps, pecs, and arms would have humbled the freaky bodybuilders who resided on those magazines I saw in the airport.  Her biceps seemed to bunch up into a bigger than softball-sized mound and were literally swimming with veins.

“What?” She asked, still smiling before she stepped in the shower.”

“You're strong,” I managed, the six Tylenol and pain meds I’d taken seemed to be messing with my brain. Everything was becoming fuzzy.

I heard her respond, “I’ve worked hard to become so,” and then I passed out.

The next morning, I was still in pain but was able to move around a little better.  Carol insisted that I rest my back in bed though because she knew I had an important business meeting the next day.  I looked at her, half remembering the unveiling the previous evening but she didn’t look much different than usual. It must have been the drugs I concluded, but if I could manage sex with her tonight, it would be with the lights on for a change.

As usual, she served me breakfast with the newspaper, but this time in bed, and basically catered to my needs all day.  In between, she got pointers from my neighbor Jim on mixing cement and proceeded to finish the barbecue pit herself.  At one point I looked out the window and watched as Jim instructed my wife on using a level.  Of course, Jim wasn't helping her carry or move anything. He simply didn't do any physical labor if he could avoid it.  But as I looked out the window, it sure seemed to me that he was admiring my wife's butt and how she looked as the sweat poured down her shirt a little more than he should have been.

On Monday morning I was well enough to drive. As I left for work, Carol, who was always up at the crack of dawn working out, had already made my breakfast and was getting ready to go downstairs to the basement because she hadn’t quite finished. 

“You know, this is kind of a warning for you,” she said before she closed the door and went downstairs. You’re probably eating too much junk food and not working out when you’re abroad.”

“Guilty as charged,” I admitted.

“Well, you could do some sit-ups and planks to strengthen your core and to just get into better shape. It could prevent another back injury.”

I nodded, but after she began lecturing me about lifting with my legs and not my back I tuned her out and began reading the sports page.  “You’re right, honey,” I said, ending her scolding.  On my way to work, however, I couldn't help but think about how feeble I must have appeared to her over the weekend.  Meanwhile, she was clearly in great shape and if Jim was any indication, other men were checking her out and not just for her breasts.

As the week progressed, my back felt better and better, and by Saturday, I had convinced myself to begin working out in earnest.  I slept in a little longer than I wanted -- probably avoiding the workout as much as I could, but finally, I got up and headed downstairs.  Carol was in the kitchen and had already finished her workout but said she would join me shortly for a “second serving and do some cardio.” 

[ArkhamAsylum]

An awesome addition. Carol seems to have a lot of potential for building muscle and strength. Great work.

[taoschild]

An awesome addition. Carol seems to have a lot of potential for building muscle and strength. Great work.

I wish I could take the credit but it's musclvr's work - I'm just smoothing it out, editing, and adding dialogue up to this point:
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When I got to the basement, I figured I would start with the exercise bike.  Right off the bat, I realized how much was separating my leg strength and Carol's.  I could hardly turn the pedals and then realized that the tension gauge was set at 7.  I needed to turn it down to 3 to attain a comfortable resistance and set the timer for 10 minutes.  When I finished, I hopped off the bike and returned the knob to the 7 positions. I didn't want Carol to know how low I needed to reset the tension.  As I surveyed the assortment of dumbbells, the one barbell, and the exercise bench, I realized I didn't know what I was doing.  What kind of exercises should I start with? How do you do the exercises? How much weight should I be using?  I was just looking around when Carol came downstairs.

"Haven't finished yet have you?"  She asked.

"No, just deciding what I should do next." I giggled nervously.

Carol got on the bike and with the gage at 7, set the timer for 30 minutes and began to pedal away.  Oh my goodness I thought, look at her go.  She caught me staring and smiled at me.  “I’m really happy you decided to start working out. It was certainly one of the smartest things I’ve ever done, next to marrying you,” she added. 

“Aww, you're sweet,” I responded, going over to and kissing her softly. The salty taste of her sweat reminded me of sex and while I put the notion on the backburner, somehow it stayed with me the entire workout. A minute later, I sat on the bench and stared at the dumbbells while Carol kept up the chatter.  Suddenly, I wished I had rebuffed her offer to workout with me since I faced the same dilemma with the weights that I had with the bike, only now she was here to witness it. 

I made my excuses before I began. “I probably should take it easy when I’m starting so I don’t throw out my back again.”


“Totally,” she agreed. There were 50 pounds on each bar.  Okay, Mike, I thought, don't be a hero. If you need to take off some of the weight, just do it.  While I began unscrewing the cap, Carol mentioned how much she liked the bicycle work and how it made her leg muscles burn. 

She then laughed and said: "Lord, I was pathetic when I first started. I had to set the tension dial to four to be able to handle a simple 15-minute effort."  Great, I thought, emasculated before I even began.

I started working with the dumbbells and had left 30 lbs on each, but immediately knew this was too heavy.  Of course, I didn't want to take any more weight off and find myself unable to work out with less than half of what Carol was obviously doing, but it became apparent soon enough that I was struggling. 

Whatever form I may have had in the beginning had completely evaporated and as I struggled to curl my arm for the 6th repetition, it was obvious I was doing the exercise incorrectly. 

Carol hopped off the bike and said, "No, No. dear, you're doing that wrong. Your elbow should be resting inside your thigh. Here, let me show you."  And with that Carol took the dumbbell from me and began to demonstrate the right way to do the one-arm curls.

Oh Lord, I thought, this is embarrassing, but from somewhere anger welled up in me as well.  I don't know if I was more embarrassed by the fact that my wife felt the need to teach me the proper technique in working out with weights or by the fact that her 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th curls were as effortless as her 1st. 

But maybe the real feeling of discomfort was in seeing her bicep begin to swell in size with each repetition to a degree that I could not fathom. What I’d seen a few days before hadn’t been an illusion. While all of these thoughts jumbled through my brain, Carol had continued instructing me on technique. As she changed arms, she continued instructing me, “and it’s important not to take too long a rest in between sets.” She proceeded to knock out 10 more with her left arm.  By this point, I was only half-listening as I watched her left bicep swell and I fought the urge to reach out and touch it.  A prominent vein snaked across the top of her bicep and as she brought the barbell up for the eighth time, I couldn't believe the softball-sized muscle that easily formed on her upper arm.  Down went her arm again and the veins in her forearm jumped to even greater prominence.  Her forearm flared with the motion and before I could fully comprehend its width, she raised the dumbbell again and her loose-fitting tee shirt no longer seemed so loose. Her bicep filled the void causing the fabric to pull and pucker.  Down went her arm again and when it came up this time, her sleeve clung to the middle of her bicep but then gave way as it slid off the muscle and fully exposed the majesty of her arm. 

When she switched back to her right hand I finally snapped, “I get it” and took the dumbbell from her.  She blinked her surprise but remained quiet, but by the 5th rep this time I was struggling and Carol interjected quietly, "Maybe you've got too much weight on the bar... try taking off about 10 lbs".

I just sat there and stared at the ground when Carol came over to my side and placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Mike, it’s okay. It doesn’t make you less of a man. It’s just that you haven't worked out since who knows when and I've been doing this for a while. Look, I started with 5 lbs and worked my way up from there. Don't get discouraged on your first day." 

But I was discouraged and it doubtlessly showed on my face.  When Carol went back to the bike. I pushed aside my pride and reluctantly removed 10 lbs from the dumbbell. After gutting through a few curls I realized that even the 20 lbs were more than I could handle for three full sets.  Carol watched me struggle and then mentioned that she had her original starter set over in the corner.  As I looked at the 5 and 10 pound pink and red dumbbells, I couldn't believe that the state of affairs had come to this. 

Sheepishly, I dropped the weights and started with the red 10 pounders. Carol, in the meantime, finished her bike work and loaded the dumbbells, and commenced curling up to 50 pounds.

“Holy, hell,” I called, trying to be the bigger man about it.

“I know, I should be doing more, but I did back in my first workout and my arms are a bit fatigued.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant. I just meant… you’re strong.”

“Thanks, honey. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Our joint workout continued for another hour, but my attention was split between not wanting to make a fool of myself and watching my wife throw around weights I couldn’t come close to matching.  What I had witnessed when she was demonstrating proper technique with the dumbbells was only a prelude to what the rest of that session would bring.  As I messed around with shrugs and bench presses and other lame attempts at putting together a routine, Carol had stayed pretty mum.  Perhaps she had sensed my embarrassment at having my wife show me what should have been a man's thing or perhaps she simply reasoned that I would figure it out on my own as she had months before.  My thoughts became consumed with watching her, and I think she knew it. 

Did she really work out with 200 lbs on the bench press all the time?  Could she really do more than the fifties or was she performing for me? Am I still the man of the house if she can lift more than I do? And, much to my surprise, I was also experiencing an intense sexual reaction to my wife's muscles. Why?

[taoschild]

I sat back against the wall and just stared at her as she stood in front of the weight bench and lifted the 200 lb barbell over her head and then lowered it to her shoulder.  I didn't know if this was harder or easier than the bench press, but from my point of view, it was just as stimulating to watch.  During the bench press routine, it was her breasts that screamed for attention. She was drenched in sweat, causing the Lycra top to cling to her mighty chest, which now appeared to be full D-cups of solid unyielding muscles. Her hard nipples stung against her sweaty t-shirt.- but now suddenly, the main attraction for me was her bulging biceps and sweeping thigh muscles. 

Her thighs never looked so muscular as she supported the 200 lbs, but it was her biceps that amazed me the most.  I thought they looked big when she worked with the dumbbells, but perhaps that was just my initial reaction to recognizing that she even had a muscle.  If I wanted to see big, what I was looking at now was an understatement!

When finally she put the bar back in its cradle, I could no longer hide my infatuation. She oozed sex. Raw, brutal sex and the atmosphere in the crowded basement now screamed it. I had to feel her arms.  She was toweling herself off when I approached her and asked her to make a muscle. 

She seemed reticent. “Oh, you want to see it, do you?”  Perhaps she was perceptive enough to realize that somehow she had bruised my male ego earlier and she didn't want to further compound the problem by showing off a bicep that was clearly larger than mine.

But when I virtually demanded, "yes" she nodded, rolled up her right sleeve, and flexed the largest bicep I had ever seen. 

“How?” I sputtered, studying the massive mound of muscle that rose from her already swollen arm. 

“I just kind of took to it. The system you know? A lot of hard work and supplements, and…” I reached out to feel it, mesmerized, and didn’t hear her final words. Tentatively I probed it as if it was a mirage. I squeezed and found it had no give at all. I could tell she was enjoying the attention. She flexed a few more times to draw every centimeter of height from her swelled arm as she could.  I then tried to wrap both hands around her arm where my thumbs and middle fingers would connect, but her arm was inches too big.  I asked her to do both arms and just as she was ready to comply, a thought crossed her mind that simply was the icing on the cake.  She removed her shirt and now stood before me naked to the waist and then blasted into a double biceps pose.

Thigh cords of muscle erupted everywhere resembling chiseled blocks of rigid power. She was all woman, but explosive, and powerful. I couldn't help but reach out and touch her arms, her pecs, her everything. Everything was unfathomably hard. As I moved into a kiss and worship her body, she interrupted me.
“Can you make a muscle?”  What was I to say?  Why would she even ask?  There was no way my arm could even compare to the mountainous biceps she was flexing.  At first, I declined, but as she came up close to me, sticking her chest into mine and standing on her tiptoes to kiss me, she repeated in her best schoolgirl voice

"Please Mike, I want to see your muscles too."  Okay, I figured I had just worked out and my arms were a little pumped, and considering that as a man, I started out with bigger bones and more of a natural foundation in the bicep department than she did, I complied.  And as I stood in front of the mirror flexing my biceps as Carol had asked, she walked behind me and slowly flexed her arm. 

When her arm reached a 90-degree angle, the top of her bicep started to come into view in the mirror as it rose behind mine.  By the time she had finished flexing, and with her arm now in the classic let me see your muscle position, the difference was amazing.  Her muscle simply dwarfed mine as it rose like a mountain behind some foothills. 

I was absolutely blown away and embarrassed by the view.  As I started to lower my arm, she stopped me. “Hold it there for a few more seconds.”  With her chest now pushing hard into my back, perhaps a gratuitous move on her part to remind me of her softer side, she grabbed the top of my muscle between her fingertips as though she were somehow handling a delicate fragile object. 

"Yup, needs some work,” she said as her grip flattened my arm.  I put my arm down and turned to look at her.  She then went into a double biceps pose again and looked magnificent.  We both became aware of the bulge that was involuntarily forming in my pants, and then she said the words I will never forget.

"Ooh, Papa Bear likes Mama Bear's muscles, doesn't he?  He likes how big and hard they are. In fact, when Papa Bear touches Mama Bear's muscles, he knows they are very, very hard!   But when Mama Bear touches Papa Bear's muscles, alas, she has to say that they are too soft.” The words 'don’t push it Carol,' edged to my lips, but I was too stupefied to speak and she kept on going. “Ah, but when Mama Bear feels the muscle between Papa Bear's legs, she says this is juuuust right."

And as she reached down and grabbed my manhood, the urge to cum was already overwhelming.  What was going on?  I had just, for all intents and purposes, been humiliated in the classic battle of the sexes, but somehow it only left me turned on and waiting for more. My own brain betrayed me as well with a refrain began playing in my head, you're the weak one now and you like it. Weak...weak...weak. And when the hardness of the brutal mass of her two-headed biceps mountains of muscle erupted from her arms beneath my chin, it teased, she's the strong one, strong...strong...strong... and admit it, you love it.

[lurker1000]

Can't thank you enough for continuing this story! You are doing an excellent job, keep it up.

[taoschild]

Can't thank you enough for continuing this story! You are doing an excellent job, keep it up.

You're welcome.  The updates are going to come less frequently as I try and bare down to finish DnD over the next month and continue with the secret as well, but if people would like it, I'll work on this too.  Here is another small edited part to tie you over.  I added quite a bit of muscle description here too.
-----

We held each other and joined in as sensuous and passionate a kiss as perhaps we’d ever had.  It was almost mind altering.  I held her in my arms and she felt strong, powerful, and comely.  Muscles twitched under my steady prodding and inflamed me further. Pressing against my shoulders and drawing away she told me, "Mike, don't give up. You need to work out too. Don't you want your muscles to be as big and hard as mine?"  Lord, she kept repeating things that should have hurt worse than if she had hit me. Reaching down she pinched my swollen cock. “After all, you need to be able to keep up with me in the bedroom.”

As much as the realization of her physical superiority hurt my pride, Carol was right.  I had gotten soft, other than in my warm crotch, while she had gotten hard.  I had become flabby and out of shape while Carol was in the best shape of her life.  I knew I had to stick with the exercise regimen and put my body and self-respect back into shape.  However, I wasn’t a morning person and knew that to stick to my office schedule I would have to get up an unbelievably early hour to exercise the right way.  I figured I would join a club near the office and workout during lunch.  "Um. yeah. You're probably right."

"Not probably, honey -- for sure. I don't know what it is, genetics of what, but my body just took to the weight. It's almost like I can feel myself getting stronger after every workout and it's addicting.  When I'm home with the kids I find myself lifting, pulling, flexing and stuff like that," she laughed. "I mean I just can't stop. But this doesn't have to be my journey alone, we can do it together."

I nodded and as if to prove the point, she curled her hand into a fist and flexed. A mound of dense power arose from her arm like a volcano and I found my fingers moving toward it almost involuntarily.  Soft, delicate skin, and the impossibly hard dense muscle just beneath it produced an almost unworldly feeling and drew me in. As I kissed her bicep, she rhythmically flexed and unflexed her muscle, simultaneously hypnotizing me even as I entered a state of delirium. Mindlessly I began to worship it with my lips. "Don't you want an arm like this too."

"Mhmm, yes." I mumbled back through kisses.

"Then make it happen, Mike."

Initially, her performance motivated me but after a few months, pop-up meetings on my schedule and other work issues prevented me from going to the club as often as I wanted.  I tried working out in the evenings on days that I had not done so at work, but all too often I was too exhausted and my goals slipped.  Over the course of four months, I can't say how many times I had worked out, but the slight gains I made dwarfed in comparison to her continued progress.  After the unveiling and how turned on I obviously was by her muscle Carol regular workouts entered overdrive.  When I entered what had become her lair, in the basement, I noticed that where there were 50 pounds on the dumbbells previously, there were now 60 pounds.  Where there had been 200 pounds on the barbell, now 250 regularly rested on the bar.  While Carol's capacity to lift was increasing at a good pace, I was still not lifting much heavier than when I first started. 

Unfortunately for me, as though being chided by the little cartoon devil that sits on your shoulder and begins filling your head with bad thoughts, I began thinking that Carol’s progress was unfair. It was largely due to the fact that she just sat around the house all day and had time to workout.

I knew Carol had the kids, but Mike Jr. was now in school and was not underfoot for most of the day and how hard could Mary be to take care of when she already could entertain herself with her toys, TV, videos, etc.  Yes, I reasoned, if I had all that time on my hands, I too could work out and put myself into the kind of shape Carol possessed.

Over the next few weeks, I became sullen as I wrestled with my own ‘unnatural sexual attraction to her strength’ and feelings of doubt about my standing in the house.  Now I must admit, to this point, Carol had not "bullied" me or in any way tried to exert a physical dominance over me.  She remained the loving wife that always had my dinner ready no matter what time I came home, who always had the house in immaculate condition without ever asking for a housekeeping service (even though we could now easily afford one), and who was doing a great job raising the kids. 

Still, she began playfully kidding me now and again reminding me who was the stronger, and it scarred my psyche to no end.  It was probably due to the hope that her teasing would encourage me to workout more, but I admittedly took the teasing badly. On one occasion it was when I couldn't open the olive jar and was prepared to bang the lid a little with the back of a knife, Carol simply came over, wrapped her enormous muscles around my body, and effortlessly unscrewed the cap. 

At least she could have faked putting some effort into it, but she quickly opened it and handed it over to me with a knowing smile on her face that clearly conveyed she knew she had once again demonstrated her muscular superiority.  A few weeks earlier when we got a flat tire, again she earned my ire.  With the kids out of the car and Carol standing off to the side of the road, she watched as I struggled to remove two of the five lug nuts off the wheel. When I went back to the trunk to find the can of Wd-40 that would help me loosen the nuts, she quietly walked over to the wheel and twisted off the nuts with her fingertips. 

I immediately realized what she was doing when I heard the screeching of rusted bolts being loosened by brute force.  Roots of muscle rippled, contorted, and bulged in the muscle bellies of her forearm as she applied pressure. I completed changing the tire and when I had finished tightening the bolts, she asked, “are they tight enough.”

“Yes, I know what I’m doing,” I assured her as I put a final effort into each turn.  She held out her hand demanding the lug wrench without a word. Angrily, I slapped it into her hand and she tightened each one almost an extra turn completely. 

When we got back into the car, I was actually a bit perturbed and showed it with my silence. 

Sensing my anger, she said, "Don’t give me the silent treatment. You know those nuts need to be tight or they might fall off."

“I’ve been changing tires since I was 16 and never has a nut come loose.”

"Well, I was just making sure. Why are you so mad?"

I hesitated and then said softly so the kids couldn’t hear, "Because you did it in front of the kids to show off.”

“They didn’t even notice,” she bellowed back.

“And because I don't know if I can get them off now that you have tightened them so much!" 

I heard her snicker and then say "Oh stop it, quit being so melodramatic."

But later that evening, as she saw me futilely trying to loosen the bolts, she realized she had tightened them beyond my ability.  She came over, tapped me on the shoulder, held her hand out again for the tire iron, set it down, and quietly proceeded to loosen each nut with her fingers. I knew she’d done it to prove her strength and it was a challenge. A network of fat blue veins swam across the surface as she grimaced with the effort.  After each turn, she looked at me until my eyes looked back to her in hurt. Each turn was like another twist in my emasculation.

Finally, I got up and walked away in disgust and heard her breathy voice say in remorse, “I’m sorry Honey.”

The list is even longer than this, but you get my point.  And then came the Saturday that will probably go down as the defining moment in our now altered relationship, I truly blew it that fateful day. 
_________

[Dan_D]

Love this story - one of my all-time favorites.  You're doing a great job with the rewrite, so here's a vote for you to continue with it! Thanks.

[ArkhamAsylum]

I agree. Your additions to the story make it even better. I would certainly like to see it continued.

[taoschild]

I agree. Your additions to the story make it even better. I would certainly like to see it continued.

Why, thank you. I think the story slows down after the beating scene so I may have to come back to this later. I'm enjoying The Secret and DnD and putting the finishing touches on a short story anthology I'd like to put out before Xmas.  So...maybe one more sequence on this story if there is interested until the new year...  Please support my work on Amazon You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login  and Smashwords if you get a chance and leave a review!
-----

Things started going from the sublime to the ridiculous as events occurred that offered Carol the opportunity to demonstrate her muscular superiority. Constantly it seemed we would find ourselves in situations where Carol's superior strength saved the day and I was made to look like some weak bystander.  However, the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back occurred one particular Saturday.  It started in the morning when I was reading the newspaper and Carol was cleaning up the breakfast dishes.  She was going to take the kids shopping for school supplies and was finishing up her morning routine, while I was getting ready for a restful day of football on TV.

Before she left, I saw an article about some couple in a nearby town that had returned home and surprised an intruder.  The intruder apparently beat the husband senseless and raped the wife.  When I read parts of the article to Carol, she continued with the dishes and matter-of-factly indicated that if something like that happened to us that she would protect me.

“What makes you think that I would need protection? I can protect our family?”

"Well, I'm not saying that you would always need protection dear, but if an intruder was getting the upper hand then I would never let anyone hurt you. I would protect you - that's all I'm saying," Carol replied.

"What does that mean?  If I couldn't protect myself, would you have to come to my rescue?  What makes you think that if I couldn't handle the intruder that you could?" I asked with a little annoyance in my voice.

"Well c'mon Mike," Carol said. "It's not like it's any big secret that I'm the stronger between us"  And with that, she put the dishwasher detergent in the holder, wiped her hands on her apron, and flexed both her arms. Even unpumped, they rose like dough in the oven, filling the space between her deltoid and elbow with solid, hard mass.

“See? Look at the size of those babies. even I'm amazed at how big they have become".   At that moment, Mike, Jr came into the room and said, "When are we going to the store Mommy? Wow Mom, those are big muscles!  Can I feel them?"

Carol bent over slightly and flexed her right arm and as her muscle grew into a bulge far greater than a softball pushing the material of her blouse for all it could stretch, Mike grabbed onto her upper arm.  His small hands seemed even smaller when compared to her bicep.  She then stood erect lifting Mike's 80 lb body into the air.  With his feet dangling a foot or so off the floor, Carol spun around several times giving Mike a great ride and Mike loved it.

Finally, Carol stopped and put Mike down. “Sorry, Mommy is getting a bit dizzy.”

"Can I see your muscles too, daddy?" Mike asked as he dropped off his mother's arm.

"Yeah Mike, let's see your muscles," Carol added to Mike, Jr's urging.

Caught in a no-win situation,  I flexed my right arm as hard as I could, I already knew it would not compare to what Carol had already displayed.  Nevertheless, I gave it my best shot and as Mike Jr. grabbed on, I too attempted to pick up his body and had to bring my other arm over to carry the weight.  Almost immediately, I dropped him back to the floor.

"That's pretty good Dad, but Mommy's arm is much bigger, and harder!  Mommy, when I grow up I want to be as big and strong as you!  I can't wait to tell the kids at school. Jimmy Smith is always telling everybody that his Dad could beat up any kid's dad in the school, but I'll tell him that his dad probably couldn't beat up my mother!"

"You don't need to be saying that!" Carol said.  "Adults don't think about beating each other up unless it’s an emergency.”

As Mike, Jr left the room, it was as though Carol's last remarks had not even registered with me.  I picked up the discussion where we had left off.

"So you're saying that if I couldn't beat up the intruder and you could that therefore you can beat me up. I mean there is more to fighting than just strength, Carol"

"C'mon Mike, you sound like your son, but he's a child and has an excuse.  I didn't say anything about my ability to beat you up, but now that you mention it, maybe we could give it a go later in the bedroom. I'll throw you around the room a little and after I've made you cry uncle, or should I say, aunt, a few times, I'll stand on the bed in a victory pose and let you hang off my arms also, we'll call it foreplay!" My cock liked her idea as it swung to attention but my pride was ablaze.

Carol smiled as she said it and jokingly came over and gave me a soft tap on the chin.  I stared at her and thought with my pride. Just because she is stronger doesn’t mean she could beat me up.  After all, there is an art and a science to fighting.  The ability to take a punch and not panic at the sight of blood.  The ability to get someone in a hold and render them defenseless.  These were all things tied up in fighting and I doubt Carol had had any experience in this area.  Perhaps this was the way I would convince her that I was still the man of the house?  Did I have to have a fight and impress her? 

However, before I could say anything, Carol said, "I need to get some new shirts; my old ones are beyond too tight in the arms.  With that, she flexed her right arm several times to get a pump. With each flex her muscle seemed to grow until she held the last one until the material, now drawn tightly around her bicep, began to slowly tear, rips forming along the top and bottom as her bicep’s peak split and grew against it.  At first, it was slow, but as Carol continued to flex until her arm shook, I watched as the entire row of stitching near her muscle gave way.

“You see? It’s time to size up. I’m already a size up from you. Who knows where this will end?” She smiled playfully. “The other day, I reached over to scratch my left shoulder, and the shirt I was wearing simply gave way right down the middle of my back.  I felt like She-Hulk breaking out of her clothes."

I sat there speechless for a minute and then turned and walked away.  As I was walking up the stairs to our bedroom, Carol shouted after me, "When you go upstairs, tell the kids to wash their hands and get ready to leave. And don't try to lift them up. I wouldn't want you to hurt your back. Leave the heavy lifting to me,” she snickered.

[wowser1016]

I really love this! You have done a wonderful job in the rewrite and addition. Hopefully you will continue this story. K+!