Muscle Wife *not my story just want to share*

[JoeBozo]

I do not in any way claim to have written this story, it was written by reggieiv on g w m but not many people read there so i thought i'd bring it here to share with everyone
Here is a fictional story about a strong wife. My Strong Wife part one

I was a college athlete, granted it was soccer and track which did not require a lot of upper body weight lifting, but I had always been strong and taken pride in my fitness, which is why it was somewhat surprising when my wife challenged me to arm-wrestle at my son’s twelfth birthday.

My skill in soccer was minimal, but I was fast and had endurance, which is why I ended up running middle distance in track, 400 meters up to the 1500. I excelled in those because I had speed and desire. I did not make it to the Olympic trials, but I was all league and ran some good times, and the same skills I had developed on the track catapulted me to immediate success in the corporate world, so much so that when my wife and I began to have children, she did not need to work.

My wife was somewhat athletic in high school, from what she says. She hasn’t told me much about it, but I think there was a smattering of gymnastics and cheerleading. She might have taken some fitness classes in college; I don’t know. She was two years behind me at a different college. A drop-dead knockout with flowing brown hair that fell in waves just below her shoulders, a sexy smile, and just enough of a fitness level to look great in her clothes and out of them. She was 5’5” tall, and rarely shared her weight, but I would say she was probably a smidge over 130. However, having three children in relatively quick succession did a job on her figure, and raising three of them while I worked allowed little time for exercise or self. She began wearing bigger and bulkier clothes to cover the extra weight, and by the time John Junior turned ten, she had a closet full of them.

That same year, our youngest started 1st grade and was at school every day. Julie announced that she was going to go back to the gym to do aerobics and yoga and start getting her figure back. I was happy for her, and encouraged her to do so, and for the next two years, she went to the gym a few times a week and seemed much happier with herself. She continued to wear the bulky clothes, though, so I assumed she had made little progress. I asked her during those two years, are you still enjoying the gym membership, and she said, “yes, why do you ask.”

I did not want to say, “because you seem to be the same size you were when you joined,” so I kept my mouth shut, as long as she was happy, I was happy too. As the saying goes, “happy wife, happy life.”

So there we were two years later supervising John’s birthday party; it was his first co-ed birthday party since 1st grade. Knowing how awkward these parties can be, we planned a number of fun activities, but they ran through them quickly and started doing their own thing.

At one juncture, they started arm-wrestling each other, and established a winner, Wayne, who had beaten all the boys and after a short struggle had beaten the strongest girl as well. After that, he was strutting like a peacock, and John, who never liked Wayne that much, suggested he go against me.

“Don’t hold back, Dad. He’s an ass hole, whispered my son.

I raised my eyebrows at his choice of words in front of me, and then winked at him. Our match took all of about eight seconds. I let him start, and he pushed with everything he had and did not budge my arm. I steadily forced his arm to the table.

“Now you should arm-wrestle Mrs. Thorndike,” chirped one of the girls.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” I said.

“Why not?” my wife chimed in. “It might be fun.”

“Well, I don’t see the point,” I said. “I just took down the strongest boy in the seventh grade. It’s nothing to brag about, but I doubt you are as strong as he is.”

She gave me a look, and I relented.

When she took off her sweatshirt, I saw that her arms, far from being jiggly and fat, had gained some solid heft that I had not noticed, and there was a noticeable bulge to her bicep muscle.

We put our arms on the table, and all the kids gathered around. One of them took out his phone and started to film just in case something interesting happened.

John put his hands over ours and said, “Start when I raise my hands off of yours.”

I decided to use the same strategy I had used against Wayne. I sat back and did not push at first, evidently she used the same strategy, so I started to push harder, trying to make it look like I wasn’t working hard at all. Her arm did not budge. The kids started giggling.

“Looks like Mrs. Thorndike is stronger than you expected, huh Mr. Thorndike.”

I just smiled and said, “Just giving her a false sense of confidence.” but I was beginning to worry. Then I started to push in earnest. My face was turning red, and yet she showed no sign of effort. I glanced at her bicep and was astounded at what I saw. It bulged in an obvious way, and had that vein going over the top that bodybuilders get. I was sputtering and breathing faster, trying everything to gain energy and strength for a final push. She reached with her other arm and grabbed a glass of water and sipped it while she held my strongest effort seemingly without any effort on her part. Then, putting the glass down gently, she said, “Time to end this little match,” and then inexorably pushed my arm down to the table top.

“Woah, this is going on You Tube tonight,” said the obnoxious kid with the camera. “Hey Mrs. T, make a muscle for the camera.”

With that, she stood up and peeled her sleeve back to produce a bicep that absolutely intimidated me and turned me on at the same time.

“Oh My God,” the kids shouted. “Look at Mrs. T’s muscles. They’re huge.”

To Be Continued

[JoeBozo]

My Strong Wife Part Two

“Oh My God,” the kids shouted. “Look at Mrs. T’s muscles. They’re huge.”

Fortunately, the party was scheduled to end right about that time, and some of the other parents began to show up. Julie had put her sweatshirt on and was helping me usher the children out of the basement. Within fifteen minutes, all the kids were gone except our own, whom we quickly ushered to bed.

Later, as we cleaned up in the basement, I asked Julie where she had gotten her strength.

“Honey, I have been going to the gym for two years; you knew that.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were doing aerobics and yoga”

“Oh, that’s right. I was planning to do that, but I met this charismatic woman in one of my yoga classes who was, and still is, built like a bodybuilder. She was gentle and kind and smart, but she looked strong enough to, I don’t know, play football in the NFL. I asked her how long it had taken to get that way, and she said, “Why? Do you want to gain muscles like these?”

I told her “Yes. I have always wanted to be strong and to look like it,” so she started me on a different program than I had intended to be on. I have gotten really strong, stronger even than I showed you tonight.”

This turned me on and intimidated me, a little. “Just how strong are you?” I queried. “I really want to find out.”

“Well, the kids have gone to bed, I guess I can show you,” and with that, she began to disrobe. She took off her sweatshirt, and I noticed the biceps and triceps dancing as she used her arms to disrobe. She shimmied her loose-fitting pants off and then took her T-shirt off. And there before me stood a five foot five inch dynamo of solid muscle. She had always been a bit thick waisted, but it seemed he waist had gotten narrower. On the other hand, her shoulders had gotten wider and more shapely. The vein over her biceps disappeared under her deltoids, and her chest had some depth to it. Her abs showed a defined eight pack, striated and veiny. The greatest change was that her legs had greater size and shape than I had ever remembered, and as she moved around, I could see that her glutes were round, protruding and powerful.

“I never told you this,” I said, “but I always wanted to be with a muscular woman.”

“I know,” she said. “You weren’t the most careful about hiding the websites you visited.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, realizing I had probably hurt the woman I loved most in this world.

“Don’t be. I was hurt a bit at first, but it gave me the motivation to get this way. And now I am happy to be this way just for my own self esteem.” A devilish grin took over her face. “You want to wrestle?” Who was I to say no?

We took our stances and danced around. I dived at her legs, but she rebuffed me and then grabbed me around the chest and picked me up. The next thing I knew I was upside down in her vicelike grip. She turned me sideways, let go for a brief moment and then spun me so she was grabbing my torso from the front. I could do nothing but flail my arms. Then she brought me down hard on my back and put my head in a vicelike leg scissors. I tried to do the same, but her arms overpowered my legs, and I tapped out.

“Nice move, but I think that was a little fluky,” I said.

“OK, two out of three she said. … I’ll give you an advantage. I’ll start on my back and you begin on top with your knees on my arms. If you can hold me there for three seconds, the next one will be the rubber match.” We got in position, and I said, “ready set go.”

The next thing I knew, she had extricated her arms from beneath my knees and pulled them away from the handhold I had on her wrists. She stretched her arms over her head and got into a position that gymnasts call a bridge. The amazing thing was, she held this bridge with all my weight sitting on her abdomen. Then she lowered the bridge and burst back into it so quickly that I flew off her body. Before I knew it, she had me in a headlock with one arm, and was grabbing one of my arms with her free one. Before I knew what had happened, I was immobilized and on my back. I tapped out again. I was coming to the realization that she was stronger than I was, and it wasn’t even close. I had a raging erection from feeling her strong muscles dominate me, and from looking at her gorgeous muscles without her clothes on. She noticed the effect and said. “I have another surprise for you. … Did you know I took it easy on you in the arm-wrestling match at John’s birthday party?”

“Let’s go again,” I said. I think I can do better.

“Maybe you will, because I am going to let you use both arms.” Then she struck a double bicep pose that made me stand even more strongly at attention.

I knelt down at the sturdy coffee table in the basement. We put our arms up and I put my left arm up on top and started pushing at 3/4 strength, pushing with the right and pulling with the left. Nothing happened.

“Start when you want to,” she said. I didn't tell her I already was.

“OK Go!” I said, and with that, she pulled my arms down almost all the way. I cheated and used leverage on the table, and could not move it an inch back up, and finally, mercifully, she put me down, both arms. I was defeated.

She stood up and started doing a posing routine for me. She worked her biceps hard, and they danced on her arms. Then she did a “most muscular” pose. Every muscle stood out in ways I thought were impossible. I was coming closer to climax, just from watching. Then she turned her back to me and did a butt cheek dance and then leaned over to display her hamstrings to their greatest effect. She must have had seven or eight different muscles, each of which stood out. She shifted her weight to right and left to make the muscles of her legs and but squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax.

The next thing I knew, I was cumming like never before, five six and then seven squirts ejaculated into my shorts. I groaned with sexual satisfaction.

She turned and smiled. “I could never have made you climax before without foreplay and various types of physical stimulation. Now look at you. Totally exhausted in a heap on the floor.

Then she did another double bicep pose; I started to get hard again.

“But I already came,” I said.

“Yeah, well I didn’t, and I want to get you good and hard for my own enjoyment. Want to head upstairs?”

With that, we retired to our room for some more conventional physical communication. She liked it; so did I. I was happier than I've ever been.

[JoeBozo]

My Strong Wife, Part Three " Trip to the Gym"

A few days later, since we had been walking on pins and needles for a while, I asked Julie if she intended to continue her growth in strength and size or if she intended to maintain. (after all, even if you are totally enraptured with the look and feel of muscles, the idea of having a wife who is much stronger than you is emasculating and intimidating)

“I haven’t really decided yet. I have been going religiously for the last two years and have been growing in both size and strength, a little bit at a time, since I started,” she said. “I really like it. Getting strong gives me a sense of accomplishment and power.”

“Yeah, I see that,” I said, but there was enough hesitation in my voice that my wife looked momentarily sad. Then she brightened. “You should come with me and I can get you started. You were always strong and driven. You can gain muscle too.” What she did not say but was hidden in the tone of her voice was, “You’ll never be as strong as me, but you can feel better about your weak assed self.”

“It’s ok if you don’t, though. I will always love you as my husband, as the man I fell in love with, and as the family provider and the father of our kids.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” I said. “There is something attractive about the idea of me getting back in shape. Let’s make a date for Saturday afternoon.”

“That’s perfect. All three of the kids have playdates. I was going to be at the gym anyway.”

So Saturday we got our workout clothes together and drove to the gym. I had not counted on seeing people we knew there, and when we saw some acquaintances, I began to get cold feet, but it was too late.

We started with a short warm up of the pulley weights circuit. She set the weights at the five or six plate level for both of us, and I was able to do everything she was doing, so I felt pretty good about it. Maybe, when she physically dominated me in wrestling and arm-wrestling, I had simply been weak and worn out from the stresses of the workweek.

Then we went into the free weights room. We started with the squat rack. Julie put a thirty-five pound plate on each end of the bar and demonstrated how to get under the bar and put it on my shoulders behind my neck. “How much does this whole thing weigh?” I asked.

“The bar itself is forty-five pounds, plus the seventy that I put on. It comes to One hundred and fifteen.” She helped me lift it off the rack and walk slowly back to where I would do the squats. The bar bit into the bones at the base of my neck, and the whole thing felt heavy and awkward. “Now bend your knees and squat down as low as you can go.”

I started to bend my knees and wondered how far I should go. I did not even reach parallel before I felt I had to stop and stand up.

“You should try to go lower,” Julie said. “Look, I’ll stand behind you and support you. This is hard the first time.” So she stood behind me and put her arms around my waist. It was comforting to have her strong arms supporting me. This time I went slightly past parallel and then forced the weight up with her help.

“You try to do the next one without my help,” she said. “I’ll be here, but you provide the muscular push.” I squatted low again and started to push. I pushed and nothing seemed to be happening. “Breathe in on the way down and then exhale on the way up.” She said, “Now push!”

I managed to do three more with a minimum of her help and finished eight with her strong assist on the last few.

“Good!” She said in that patronizing way. Then she took the thirty-fives off and put a forty-five on each end.

“What are you doing? I can’t do that much; I could barely do one hundred and fifteen.”

“I’m putting my weights on the bar,” she said, and she put a twenty-five pound plate on each end as well. Then she slid under the bar, shouldered it and backed up to do her squats. I did a little calculating and realized she was doing one hundred and eighty-five pounds compared to my one fifteen. Then she squatted down low and paused a moment. She took a deep breath and exhaled as she slowly pressed the weight up. Then she repeated this movement. Her form and pace were the same, only she made it look easier with each repetition. She did not stop until she had done ten good reps with this weight. “Do you want to do another set?” she asked. “No, I’m good!” I said, sheepishly, as I saw her take the twenty-five pounders off and replace them with another forty-five and a five-pounder on each end. “I do three sets of ten reps, and I increase them by fifty pounds each time,” she said as she knocked off another set of ten strong reps, this time with 235 pounds on the bar.

She had another surprise in store for me as she finished her second set. “I’m feeling strong today,” she said. “I think I’ll do three wheels on each end.” With that, she replaced the two fives with two forty-fives. She was about to attempt 315 pounds, exactly 200 pounds more than I had essentially failed at. At this point, a small crowd had gathered to watch a woman who was attempting “three wheels” for the squat.

Julie scooched under the bar, raised it up, and then stepped back a few small steps to begin her reps. Once again, she squatted down past parallel, took a deep breath and pushed herself up. It was definitely harder for her than the first two sets, but she completed ten good reps, racked the wrights and then jumped into my arms. “Honey, that’s my PR. I do so much better when I’m with you.” Then she kissed me on the lips and hopped down to her feet.

To Be Continued

My Strong Wife, Part Four " A Trip to the Gym" (cont.)

The next exercise was also at the squat rack. It was one-legged squats. I put one foot, extended, on a bench behind me and used one leg to squat the bar. This time we each did only one set, but I did it with sixty-five pounds, and she did it with 185. Then we did the leg extension machine. I exercised with seven plates for ten good reps. I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then she did something she called a drop set, in which she did eight reps with the entire stack of twenty plates, eight more with a mere eighteen and then eight more with sixteen plates, all without any rest.

“The problem with this machine is that it has a limit. You can’t go any heavier than twenty plates,” she complained. Then she had an idea. “Honey, can you stand on that bar right there and brace yourself by putting your hands on my knees?” She got in the seat and set the weights to twenty plates, and I stood on the machine, adding my 170 pounds to the total. Then I got a ride. She pushed out a total of sixteen reps with the stack and all my weight. She then held the last rep at the top of the extension for about ten seconds before letting it down slowly.

She hopped off the machine and said, “God my legs feel like jelly,” and she shook the muscles before she clenched them. I looked at her legs and was astounded. They looked as if they were twice the size of mine; they probably weren’t, but they were huge and sexy as hell.

“Can I get my legs to look like that?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said, “If you work out four times a week for two years like I have and start taking the right supplements and eating the right foods. It doesn’t just come like magic. You have to work at it.”

She did not mean this in a nasty way, and yet it stung a little. She had earned every inch of her muscles and every ounce of her strength through hard work, and no amount of my manly testosterone was going to make up for that work without a lot of effort on my part.

The pattern continued as we went through the weights. Among the more impressive strength feats was her twelve wide grip pull-ups with ten extra pounds hanging from a belt. Then she did two one armed pull-ups with each arm with no extra weight, We ended with biceps curls. She did a series of exercises for this muscle group, and I began to see why her biceps were so strong, strong enough to beat me so easily in arm-wrestling. She started with the preacher bench. I did the preacher bar with ten pounds on each end for ten repetitions, faltering only a little at the end. She put twenty-five pound weights on each end plus two tens. “Why don’t you just put forty-fives on each end,” I asked.

“You’ll see,” she said. And clicked off ten reps with ninety pounds plus the eighteen pound Olympic EZ bar. Then she quickly removed a ten from each end and repeated the reps with the lighter weight, and then repeated it with twenty fewer pounds. Thirty reps with almost ne rest. Then she stretched and rested two minutes before repeating the preacher curl drop set.

By this time, her biceps were filled with blood and swollen beyond belief, but she did not stop. She grabbed forty pound dumbbells and 32.5 pounders and twenty-five pounders and did drop sets to failure of something she called concentration curls.

She did a few other exercises for the biceps before concluding at the cable cross-over machine by grabbing a handle with each hand and doing bicep curls in the mirror with her arms stretched out as if she was doing a double biceps pose. The swelling of her arms from the previous exercises and the action of performing this exercise made her arms swell to huge proportions. They looked as big as anybody’s I had ever seen, and the vein on the top was throbbing with blood with which to fill the muscle tissues.

When she finished, she quickly grabbed a cloth tape measure from her bag and measured them. “They look bigger than ever,” she whispered to me.” I just have to measure them now, while they are huge.”

I helped her and was astounded at what I saw. “Is that number for real?” I asked.

“You measure them,” she said. I want to make sure I did it right. So I stretched the tape tightly over the thickest part of her biceps. “Yep,” I said, “Seventeen and a half inches. Pumped. That is simply amazing.”

“Well, they won’t be that way later. They will lose at least an inch, but they have never been bigger than sixteen and three quarters before. Now do you see why I want to keep growing and getting stronger? There is a total sense of self confidence that comes with setting goals and achieving them.”

Then she whispered. “Let’s go home so I can give you a muscle show and some other extracurricular activities before the kids come home.”

That we did, with similar results to last time. I was coming to realize there were tremendous benefits to having a wife who was that beautifully and sexily built, that strong, that motivated and who could give me that much sexual pleasure.

“Sweetheart, you can get as strong and as big as you want. I’m so proud of you I can’t stand it.” Then she did another posing routine for me, waking up my suddenly very attentive soldier who stood firmly at attention, and we made love for the third time that afternoon.

The kids didn’t understand why we were both in such a good mood when they got home. We just smiled and Julie said, “because we remembered why we had you children in the first place.”

(More to come.)

My Strong Wife Part Five

Now that I knew definitively that my wife had gotten stronger than I was, I decided to do something to change that. If she could get stronger at the gym, so could I, and so I hired a personal trainer.

“What brings you to the gym?” he asked. “What are your goals?”

I couldn’t very well tell him that I wanted to be as strong as my 5’ 5” wife, without revealing my weakness, so I said. I used to be in good shape in college, and I want to get it back. Plus, I have never really worked the upper body muscles much, so I want to fix that.

“We can do all that,” he said, and went about the business of training me. It was easier taking instructions from him than it was from my wife, whom I was supposed to be able to dominate, well if not dominate at least beat in basic tests of strength. After an hour we had done a fair amount, and I was feeling tuckered out.

When I got home, I was very tired, and I told Julie, “I’m gonna sit and relax for a bit. I’m plumb tuckered out after my workout.” She said, “OK, but I was hoping to start moving that pallet of cinder blocks and bricks to the back. We have to do that before we build the patio and the new permanent grill.”

“Not today, honey, I am totally beat.”

It occurred to me that I had spent a little over an hour at the gym this afternoon but that she had been there for three hours in the morning, so I shrugged and sat in the easy chair and turned on the YES network to watch my beloved Yankees. As the game progressed, I was aware that I could not hear my wife puttering around the house, and I looked out the window.

Julie was carrying the cinderblocks to the back by herself. Feeling guilty, I joined her.

“Why aren’t you using the garden tractor and the trailer?” I asked.

“I found it is faster this way,” she said. “The trailer can only hold six cinderblocks before the tires seem to give out, and it only goes three miles per hour. I can carry eight and go faster.”

I looked at the cinder blocks and picked one up. It felt heavy. Then I saw on the label, net weight about 32 pounds, 8” x 8” x 16”.

I watched her stack four next to each other and then four on top of them. She picked up the bottom course, squeezed them together, lifted and then started walking, well semi-running.

I put one course of four together and tried to do what she had done with eight. The middle two simply fell. I could not exert enough force to lift four of them, and she was doing eight. Almost immediately, she reappeared and stacked eight more together. I lamely picked up two, one in each hand, and walked to the back. While I walked, she passed me with eight more in her arms.

After a short while, we were finished. I had made eight trips with two, and in the same time, she had made twelve trips with eight. I looked at my beautiful wife. She wore a pair of tight exercise shots and a sports bra, and she was glistening with sweat, which brought out the size of her shoulders and arms.

The pressure she had exerted on the cinderblocks to hold them in place had required a lot of pectoral strength. I looked at her chest. It seemed her breasts had gotten smaller but that her chest had gotten bigger.

She caught me looking and squeezed. I saw the size of her pecs seem to grow. Then she said, “John, you should see what I can do with these pec muscles. It’s pretty cool. I have never thought of doing this before. She squeezed the right one and made it pop, and then, as she relaxed that she squeezed the left and made it pop. She went alternately back and forth a few times and created sort of a dance. Then she squeezed them both in a way that created a ripple effect. As she did this, I saw her look at my protruding member in my shorts. She smiled.

“I’m glad I have this effect on you,” she said. “I think I can make you cum by squeezing your dick between my pecs,” she said sotto voce. “You wanna go inside and try?”

“Why not?” I said. “The Yanks are losing anyway.”

Then we went inside and had delightful sex in which she made me come close to orgasm four times before allowing me to release. As a form of foreplay, she got on the floor to do pushups and asked me to lie down on top of her.

“Those will be difficult, I may only weigh 175, but those will be had to do.”

“You want to bet?” she challenged? “You cook dinner tonight and do the dishes if I can do twenty.” “You’re on,” I said.

Then we got into position. She pressed up one, and then another. She began to slow at seven, but then she pushed through it. Eight, nine, ten. “Oh, I’m not sure I can make it. Can we scratch the bet.”

“No,” I said, “In fact, lets raise the bet. I’ll do food and dishes for a week.”

“I was hoping you would fall for that.” Then she increased her pace and clicked of fifteen more with almost no increase in effort. “Never underestimate the power of your wife,” she said. And she picked me up in her arms and took me to bed.

By this time, I was so thoroughly aroused that I thought I would cum in my pants. She squeezed my erect dick so hard it hurt, and then proceeded gradually to bring me back to the verge of orgasm. She lowered herself slowly to put me inside of her and then squeezed her vagina muscles, bringing me to a level of ecstasy I never knew existed. From that superior position, she continued squeezing her vagina and did a double bicep pose that made me see stars. Then she kissed each bicep, and smiled at me as if to see, I am your dominatrix. It seemed to excite her as much as it did me. Finally, we both shuddered and exploded in the greatest orgasm of our lives. I collapsed on top of her.

I looked at her and said, “What would I do without you?”

"Probably jerk off to those dumb websites."

I was embarrassed and did not know how to respond. "Well, I'll never have to do that. You are all that I need."

"That better be the case." Then she flexed a double bicep pose, and I knew she wasn't kidding.

My Strong Wife Chapter Six part one

When I went downstairs to breakfast, there was a list on the counter of groceries to buy and the menu for the week, Julie wasn’t wasting any time. “Pick these up on your way home from work,” she said. “I want to get to the gym for an extra-long workout, so I left before you got up. These workouts are paying dividends, don’t you think? (Smiley face)”

An extra-long workout? What did that mean? She was already spending more time at the gym than I did, and I was the one trying to catch up. But I had testosterone on my side. I wasn’t too concerned.

I looked at the list and was surprised to see what it included. Two turkey breasts, some very lean cuts of beef, a bag of sweet potatoes, a bag of brown whole grain rice, and tons of greens. I guess the woman she had met at the gym, who was heling to train my wife, was even having an impact on her diet. Gone were the potato ships, the chicken wings, the cheese and crackers and the ice cream. I also noticed, she did not include her wine on the list either.

I had a good day at work, went quickly to the gym afterwards, and then got the groceries and made dinner. Later that evening I got a head start on some of the menu items for the week. It seemed I could cook the roast turkey breast ahead of time, the same for the brown rice and the roasted sweet potatoes. The greens would take no time at all, so the time for cooking would be ok on a daily basis, and I would have time for my own workouts. Cool. I would catch up in not time.

The days passed. I was definitely getting stronger, and was pleased about that. Every morning I would flex in front of the mirror to see if I could detect any growth and to admire that, growth or not, my muscles were more evident than before. I felt I was becoming, “jacked.”

In those weeks, we finished the patio and the built in grille behind out house. I was proud that we had designed and built it on our own, without the cost of expensive landscapers and construction people. It was helpful that I had spent my college days as manual labor for a company that did that. It was also helpful that I had a beautiful wife who was now strong enough to help with some of the heavy lifting involved. We even got our twelve year old to help with the tamping of the sand and gravel and the mixing of mortar. Although, watching my wife work back there in her shorts and her tank top was such a turn on, I had to think of very unsexual things when my son was with us, just to avoid embarrassing myself. Julia noticed the same thing.

“Honey,” she said. “The next time John Junior helps us out, I think I’ll wear one of your work shirts.” I agreed that would be a good idea, as it would cover more of her body.

She had always liked wearing my old T-shirts, and when she weighed 130 pounds, they had always been baggy on her. Even when she had gained the pregnancy weight and only lost some of it, the shirts had hung loosely on her. As the summer progressed, especially during the three weeks it took us to complete this project, it seemed those shirts were shrinking. In fact, she was just getting wider in all the right places, and it was most noticeable when she got a hard workout from working on the patio. Because I was the skilled worker of the two of us, I would be the one measuring and laying the bricks or cinderblocks in place. She would be the one carrying them over, and bringing the 80-pound bags of sand, concrete and mortar to the work area. On top of that she was working out all the time.

On the day we finished the project, I looked over at her as she swept the patio, and I noticed that the shirt that still fit me just right, was not able to contain her shoulders. The T-shirt sleeve that fell mid bicep on me had slid up on her so that half her curved and massive delt showed below the sleeve of the shirt, and her bicep bulged below it. The cut between the biceps and the delts was pronounced, and there was a definite line between the long and short brachii of the biceps. The huge vein, which went over the top of her bicep, was the thickness of one of my fingers. Further, the logo of the Bills was stretched out by the width and thickness of her shoulders and chest. The lower end of the shirt hung as loosely as it ever had, but the upper part was tighter than all get out.

She saw me looking and knew what I was marveling at. “Isn’t this cool she said. My muscles are stretching out a shirt I used to absolutely swim in.” Then she smiled a devilish smile and said, “I’m going to try something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that statement, she started to flex her arms and chest and shoulders and then relax and flex again. The fabric of the shirt started to stretch further and further, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing and stitches popping. She flexed her biceps, which had little effect, since the shirt no longer covered them, butit turned me on because her arms had gotten so big and meaty. Then she flexed her chest and shoulders, and that did the damage. With each flex, the shirt stretched and stretched to the point of breaking. Soon my favorite old Buffalo Bills T-shirt was in tatters on the ground and I was looking at a beautiful Aphrodite with the body of a muscular Hercules.

I would look at her face and still see the cute little woman I had married; then I would look at the body and see huge muscles everywhere. Her skin was still as soft and supple looking as it had always been, but the muscles looked as if they belonged on a male bodybuilder. With a final flex of her torso, she burst her sports bra too.

Suddenly, we were both aware that the neighbors might see us. I quickly tore my loose t-shirt off, and she put it on as quickly as she could. It was as tight as the previous one had been, but it managed to cover her body without ripping. Then she stopped flexing, swept me off my feet, and raced upstairs with me in her arms.

(To Be Continued)

My Strong Wife Chapter Six Part Two

... Suddenly, we were both aware that the neighbors might see us. I quickly tore my loose t-shirt off, and she put it on as quickly as she could. It was as tight as the previous one had been, but it managed to cover her body without ripping. Then she stopped flexing, swept me off my feet, and raced upstairs with me in her arms.

“I am so turned on by that,” she said, “and I can tell you are too. Take me now.”

With that she flexed again, destroying a second of my T-shirts, and posed for me. Now I could see that the one narrow part of her body, her waist, had indescribable abs. To call them washboard abs was to give too much credit to the washboard. The ridges on her abdomen looked like a topographical map of Pennsylvania, deep valleys surrounded by great ridges. “Punch me.” She said.

I came over and gave her a light punch that would make an ordinary person wince. Her abs were incredibly hard and did not give at all. Nor did she flinch.

“No, PUNCH ME! That didn’t hurt in the least.”

So I reared back and punched hard enough to knock the wind out of a normal fit person. My hand hurt from the contact. “NO!” She said. “Really punch me!”

“I can’t punch any harder without breaking bones in my hand,” I told her. “Then kick me there.”

“You mean, like in martial arts?

“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean,” she said somewhat exasperated, as if asking your husband to kick you as hard as he could was a normal request.

A little miffed at her tone I gathered myself, took as step towards her and kicked, hard. Her body lifted off the ground a bit and she landed on her feet with her hands on her hips, smiling.

“God, I amaze even myself,” she said. “That did not hurt one bit.” Meanwhile, I was rubbing my foot, which I thought was going to show bruising the next few days. Julia had become amazingly strong in every part of her body. She started posing again, and that brought the predictable reaction from my loins.

“I may have more muscles than you now, but you have great size in the muscle that counts!” she said with a devilish grin. She hugged me so hard I thought my ribs would break, and then she carried me into bed.

We made love as we had never done before she got her muscles. I was lucky that she seemed to be as turned on by her new size and strength as I was. Before, she had focused a lot on me; today I focused on gratifying her. I massaged her arms and shoulders and then focused on her legs. Starting with the enormous and hard calves, I made my way up her legs. I kissed and worshipped her outer thighs, focusing on each muscle. I grabbed her hamstrings and thighs and squeezed. She clenchd as I did so, bringing me close to orgasm when I saw how powerful her legs were. I finished with some soft massages on her inner thigh. She moaned, and I started to lick the area, darting my tongue in and out of her vagina. Soon she was audibly moaning, and then with a groan she started convulsing. She had both a clitoral and vaginal orgasm at the same time. Then I plunged my dick into the soft mountain of flesh between her legs and she came again. It was only at this point that I focused on myself, and so did she.

Squeezing and relaxing her inner muscles, she massaged my erection until I reached the height of pleasure. I was so focused on myself that I did not notice in the blur of my excitement that her eyes were becoming dilated and she too was reaching a higher level of excitement. I came with a stifled yell, and she had a final explosive orgasm, leaving a pool of vaginal fluid in the bed. I relaxed and fell on top of her.

“Your muscles are the best thing that has ever happened to us,” I said. I have never enjoyed sex as much, and I have never been so sexually spent.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, “how spent are you?”

“Totally.”

“Well,” she said, “we are going to have to do something about that.” She flexed her right arm once, then walked to the bathroom, in her naked state so I could watcher her butt rise and fall as she walked. There is nothing so sexually exciting to me as a large muscular butt that is tight enough to bounce as a woman walks. Julia had always had that ability; it was even greater now. My reaction was predictable. She turned around and eyed my loins.

“I thought so,” she said.

We went a second time, slowly and calmly, and this time we collapsed on the bed, finished, at least for the time being.

(To Be Continued.)

My Strong Wife Chapter Seven

A month or so later, I was well into my exercise regime at the gym and had met a workout partner who was a big help. He was a bit bigger and stronger than me, but that gave me something to strive for. He was an engineer with some company that made robots to build things and replace workers, but I did not hold that against him. Moreover, it meant that his hours and mine matched up quite well. All I knew as that he had played a bit of football at a small college, and knew his way around the weight room.

He introduced me to some weight lifting programs and made sure my technique was good, allowing me to improve my strength and increase my poundage. My bench press was much stronger, as I was beginning my pyramid sets with 155 and working up to 205 before working my way down. I couldn’t do more than about four or five reps at 205, but I managed eight at each of the other weights. Moreover, my squats had really improved. A lot of that was due to technique.

I learned how to position the bar so it did not hurt my back as much. Additionally, I had added a bit of muscular padding to my traps. I was not about to challenge an Olympic weight lifter, even a strong female weight lifter, but I was proud of my progress. I told Julie about it when I got home.

“That’s great honey. I’m so proud of you. Keep it up.”

“I’ll be stronger than you soon,” I said with a smile and a wink. She just smiled back.

“I’ve been making some progress lately myself,” she quietly said in response. “I am really proud of my quads … and especially my biceps. Wanna see ‘em? I just was at the gym, and they are really quite pumped.”

She pulled up the sleeve of her new Bills shirt, a large Josh Allen jersey that would be much harder to shred than my old T-shirt, and then flexed her right arm. My jaw almost hit the ground. She HAD made progress. Her arm looked to be as hard as a rock. I reached over and felt it. Yes, it was as hard as it looked. I tried to wrap my hands around the belly of the bicep, and I couldn’t come close. Then she flexed a few more times and it seemed to get bigger. Mind you, this was an arm we had measured at 17.5 inches six weeks before. Now it was even bigger and had a definite line between the long and short brachii of the biceps, the effect of which was to make her arm look like it had muscles on muscles. And it wasn’t just the biceps, the huge size of the triceps, too, increased the mass of the upper arm, giving the effect of filling out even the sleeve of the football jersey.

“Should I get that tape measure?” I asked.

“Only if you want,” she said. “Then again, they do look big to me too. I’m kind of curious.” Then she took off her shirt and hit a double biceps pose. My eyes popped out of my head. Not only was each arm huge and cut, the shoulders were broad and the chest deep and wide.

I took out the tape and draped it over her arm. “Flex,” I said, and she did. I figured it would stretch the tape to maybe 17 ¾, since she had been incredibly pumped the last time. However, I also noticed that her triceps were fuller than before and by a large amount.

“My God,” I said, stretching the tape around the thickest part of her biceps and pulling it tight. “Eighteen and a fucking half. … Did you ever think you would have eighteen and a half inch arms? “

“What? Is that what they are? Yesss!” And she pumped them a few times more for good effect.

“You don’t even sound too surprised.”

“Well, that is what I have been aiming for,” she said. “I was thrilled when I reached 17 ½ with you that day. But the next day, when I wasn’t pumped from the workout, the measurement went all the way back down to 16.” “Well, that’s pretty good size anyway, and you’re way bigger than that now.” “They should be. I have been working my butt off,” she said. “I do about ten different biceps movements and multiple sets of them each workout. I also spend an inordinate amount of time on triceps. And you know me, I like to see improvement.” She extended her arm and clenched to show me her well developed horseshoe triceps. There was a thickness there that was noticeable.

My eyes were popping out of my head. I reached out, grabbed her arms and then her lats. After that, I reached behind her to rub my hands over the extensive back muscles, pulling her closely as I did. She smiled and grabbed me by the waist, one hand on each side, and then lifted me up like a ten-pound weight, tossed me in the air and then caught me, as if she wanted to carry me over the threshold. Smiling and holding me there, she kissed me tenderly and with love. In her sweetest voice she said, “John, not only aren’t you catching up; you seem to be falling further behind.”

Totally emasculated and yet totally turned on, I looked at her and said sweetly, “Shut up and kiss me again,” and she did. Many times. And that wasn’t all.

(To Be Continued)

My Strong Wife Chapter Eight (part one)

I continued to go to the gym with my new friend, and I was definitely getting stronger and bigger. My legs, especially, were growing, as they had been the source of whatever strength I had in my youth as a soccer player and middle distance runner in track and field.

On leg days, we would begin with squats and leg presses. I was getting to be decent at those, and was able to perform squats with as much as two wheels on each end of the bar. That was a huge improvement from my first day in the gym with Julie, when I couldn’t squat even 135, because the bar hurt my back and shoulders too much. I was even doing one legged squats with 135, which I couldn’t do before.

The smith machine made me feel good about my strength, because I did not need to hold the weights with my arms and shoulders. I could press well over 300 pounds with that. Six big plates and two twenty-fives. “That’s 365, Jake!” I told my partner. “Beat that.”

He added twenty pounds to each end and did exactly as I had bid him to. “Damn,” I thought. “I’ll catch that guy soon.” What I said was, “Hey bro, nice lift.”

We proceeded to do other leg exercises, including leg extensions and hamstring curls. I sat at the extension station and warmed up. Then I put the pin under the twentieth plate to see if I could do the entire stack. I managed to press it out about five times before I decided to stop. I was actually focusing, in my routines, on endurance rather than sheer strength, and I did not want to spoil my routine. In the back of my head, though, I remembered visiting the gym earlier and watching Julie do a bunch of reps with the entire stack AND all my weight.

Privately chastened, I hopped on the seat, put the pin under the fifteenth plate, and knocked out twenty-five good reps. After twelve, I started to feel the burn; by the time I got to my last five I could barely do them, but seeing the development of my own thigh muscles made it all worthwhile. I jumped off the seat and my legs felt like jelly, but I was able to shake them and then clench, which gave me a good sense of accomplishment, which wasn’t diminished by the fact that my wife was able to do twice as much weight, for the same number of reps.

I was about to begin my hamstring curls when there was a bit of a commotion at the door to the free weights room. (Our gym has separate areas, both of them spacious, for free weights and machines.) I ignored the commotion and started my hamstring curls; after fifteen reps, I finished my warm-up set.

Jake had started over towards the source of the commotion. “You gotta see this,” he said. I came over quickly. I couldn’t see over the crowd of guys.

I overheard a variety of comments. “It’s those chicks again” ”Oh my god, what a show.” “I told you it was worth watching.” “I could do that.” “Yeah, but it’s your max. They are warming up.” “Imagine being married to that. She could beat the crap out of you.” Etc.

I squeezed between two of the guys to get a better look. There before me were the two most muscular women I had ever seen; then I took a closer look and realized one of them was Julie. She was settling under a squat bar with six total plates of 45 pounds. Then she proceeded to squat almost to the floor and bring the weight in a controlled fashion to her standing position for ten reps. Then her partner did the same, before adding another forty-five to each end. I stared quietly, not wanting to let on, even to Jake, that I was married to one of those women who were lifting more weight than most of these men could lift.

I watched Julie’s thighs and butt explode in size as she pressed four hundred and five pounds up for reps. They topped out at five large plates on each end of the bar. I watched the bar bend slightly under the weight, the weight that each of these women lifted for eight good repetitions. Then I noticed how massive their thighs were. Mine were definitely stronger than they had been before I started lifting, but they stretched the tape to only about 23 inches. Julie’s had topped that by at least three inches before she squatted. Now they were engorged with blood. Moreover, every muscle in her thigh stood out in its individual mass. The outer quad formed a bulge that extended a few inches out from the knees and the femur, and that muscle continued up to her hip. A huge bulge arose from just above the kneecap, seemingly pushing the outer thigh muscle outwards. On top of that, the inner quad, which I later learned was the vastus medialis, emerged from under the front muscle and bulged at the inner part of the knee.

She stretched them out by bringing the ankle to her butt and pulling gently with her arms. Then she turned and, facing away from the group at the door, proceeded to stretch her hamstrings. I had not really noticed how massive they had become. While the breadth of her thighs was most impressive, the thickness and obvious strength of her hams was amazing too. She turned to her side and rested her weight on the leg that was towards us. Her butt stood out like half a small watermelon. Her calves were substantial and shapely, but her hamstrings amazed me as much. The line from her butt to her knee, instead of a straight line, bulged out in an impressive curve. The entire effect could have been emasculating, but it had a different effect on me.

I realized I had to move back to the hamstring curl machine, so I could lie down on my front and hide the raging erection that was emerging in my shorts.

I took the sweat towel from my shoulder and held it, as subtly as I could, in front of me and made my way to the hamstring curl machine; then I completed my hamstring workout, humbled somewhat but still proud. I showered and raced home.

(To Be Continued)

My Strong Wife Chapter Eight (part two)

When I got home, I took out the tape measure and measured my own legs after the workout. I wanted to see whether they had grown since I started lifting. They had. I was close on my estimation. I stretched the tape around the thickest part of my thigh, which was quite high, very close to the hip. It measured twenty-three and one-quarter inches, and bulges of muscle were showing faintly under the skin. My calves, too, had some definition and stretched the tape to fourteen and three-quarter inches. Two hours later, Julie arrived home. “How was your workout?” I called.

“It was OK,” she said. “I was happy with my lifting, but the gym is getting to be a weird place for me and Athena to lift.”

“How so,” I inquired.

“The two of us are causing quite a stir because of our lifting. I guess it is flattering to a degree, but it is also a little annoying.”

“I saw you today,” I said sheepishly, “and you are right about the men. What a bunch of schmoes.”

“You saw me?” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me lifting heavy.”

“It’s ok,” I said. “I am happy with my own progress. Actually, it turned me on, and I had to go finish my hammy curls to hide my erection.”

Then after a short moment, I asked a simple question. “How big are your legs? They look huge. I mean you always had thick legs, probably thicker than mine because of your natural build, but that was a marginal difference. I mean my legs have gained in size and strength in the last two months, but you, … you look like a statue.”

“Really, you think so? Wanna measure them to see what I’ve got?”

“Do I? … Of course!”

We went to the bedroom, and she disrobed. Just standing there without posing, she looked like an exaggeration of a Greek God but with beautiful female features. Her traps showed just enough above her shoulders to let you know they were there, but not so much as to make her neck look like part of her shoulders, which were broad and powerful looking. They were so broad that her incredibly muscular arms hung down straight without hitting her sides. Even without flexing, the veins in her biceps were evident, and all of this muscular upper body tapered to a narrow waist with washboard abs. It was all supported by legs that were so thick she could not stand without having them spread apart just a little. Each thigh looked as if it was wider than her narrow waist, and from the front, her thighs looked as if they were wider than her shoulders. The effect mad my manhood as large as it had ever been. Unlike my legs, the thickest part of her thigh was about halfway down her leg.

I took out the measuring tape and stretched it around the thickest part. She then flexed her leg a few times just to make it larger. The tape measured twenty-nine inches . “Twenty-nine inches!” I said. “Twenty-nine fucking inches. I am amazed.”

“Oh gee! I was hoping for thirty,” she said. “Maybe in a month.”

“Let me see something,” I said, and I measured right at her crotch, which came to twenty-seven inches; just above the knee, it was merely twenty-four and a half inches. You get the picture. Every measurement denoted a thickness greater than my thigh at its thickest point, and her thickest point measured six and a half inches more than mine did. Not only that, every inch was pure muscle, no extra fat to make them larger but not really.

I knelt down and worshipped her legs. I rubbed my hands over every swollen inch of her muscles. I smoothed my hands over her hard calves and then rubbed up the outer part of the thigs, kissing her huge outer thigh muscles. Then I grabbed her butt. She gave me a surprise by squeezing them and giggling, and I realized how strong her butt muscles had become. Then I explored the magnificence of her hamstrings before finally caressing and kissing her inner thigh until I came to where her legs met. My shorts were becoming too tight, so I tore them off.

“While we are measuring,” she said. “Let’s measure one part of your body that is definitely bigger than anything I have in that area.” She grabbed the tape and my penis and measured. “Were you ever ten inches long before?”

“I am?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, almost.” She said, wide eyed. “I’ll give you that last eighth of an inch. Better yet, I’ll take it, all of it.” With that, she pushed me down on the floor on my back and straddled my body, rubbing her crotch against my large erection. Finally, she was soft enough to take it all in . The softness of her insides contrasted marvelously with the hardness of her leg muscles. I rubbed my hands over her thighs, then reached behind to squeeze her glutes as she rose and fall on my manhood.

“How do you like the strength of these muscles?” she asked, and she squeezed her vaginal muscles hard.

I was losing any sense of reality or where I was, moaning, breathing heavily and hard, and tilting my head back.

“Oh my God!” she said. “I’m seeing colors, reds and blues and pinks and yellows and Oh … Oh … ohhhh!”

We climaxed simultaneously, collapsed on the floor and fell asleep for some time; I don’t really know how long.

Soon, I awoke. She was on top of me, which allowed me to explore her body some more, and soon I was in a familiar condition. I rolled over on top of her, waking her up and said. “Let’s do it more traditionally this time.”

I lay on top of her and started pumping. Soon, her legs were up in the air and wrapped around my hips. “You wanna see how strong these legs are?”

“Sure do,” I said. “Give me all you’ve got.”

“I better not do that,” she said, “but I’ll give you a squeeze.”

Within moments, I felt pain in my hips that I had never felt before, I thought she was going to crush my pelvic bones. “Stop!” I said with urgency. “Oh my God! Your legs are as strong as Fuck!” She eased up, and I relaxed into a rhythm, and soon we were climaxing again, just not quite as violently.

I kissed her gently, and she kissed back. Then she smiled at me and said, “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I wasn’t really even giving more than half my effort. I must be stronger than I thought.”

“Let’s see how strong,” I said, and put my bathrobe on to go downstairs and get one of the two watermelons we had in the fridge. She laughed when she saw what I was planning.

“I can make short work of that,” she said.

“Let’s see,” I said. “I have seen strong women on Youtube struggle a bit with this.

She put it between her legs, and I said, “Let’s see how long it takes you. Most people I have seen take a few seconds, some take fifteen or more and really struggle. One, two, three, g…”

Before I had finished saying go, the watermelon had been pulverized, not just cracked, but pulverized into multiple pieces on the bathroom floor and a lot of crushed watermelon.

“That wasn’t hard,” she said. “Give me something I will struggle with.”

I went to my closet and said, “nothing here but my basketball. I’ll see if I can find something a little easier than that.”

“Nope,” she said. “Don’t bother going off on a search. The kids will be back from their grandparents’ soon. Let me try with that basketball. If I fail, I fail.” With that, she placed my expensive basketball between her legs and started squeezing. It got thinner and thinner and longer and longer. Within ten seconds, it exploded with a force that I did not expect. She smiled and flexed for me. “That was easier than I expected.”

“Don’t ever try to squeeze me hard during sex again,” I said. “You would break my bones and turn me into pulverized Jonathan.”

She stood up, straddled me with her legs and did a double biceps pose. “I wouldn’t need to use my legs to pulverize you,” she said. “I could use my hands and arms too.” And she grabbed a tennis ball and squeezed it so hard with one hand that it popped right there.

“I’s a good thing you love me,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “A very good thing, … for your health.” Then she winked and smiled and flexed one more time for good measure.”

(To Be Continued)

[wowser1016]

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[QBikk]

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[Saxony Red Devil]

I wish this story continued

[Wookey]

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[phil123]

Hope the story continues

[Joost]

Keep op the good work