Hi again, folks. Jak here. This was the first of my Sylph stories, published elsewhere, originally, and still available on my stmercy2020 ***** page. Think of these stories as appetizers for the stories in
Hard at Work: Women with Muscles.
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Sylph in Morning Routine
Breet!! Breet!! Bree-CRASH!!Sylph reached out and smacked her alarm clock before fully waking and realizing what she was doing. Her hand, powered by shoulders larger than her head, demolished the cheap plastic radio/alarm clock, smashed through the books underneath it, and flattened the nightstand on which they all rested.
“Oh, poo!” she muttered. Dad was not going to be happy about having to replace another nightstand… Sylph rolled over, the immense iron framework of her reinforced bed creaking ominously under her huge frame. The last time she had stepped on the bathroom scale (rated accurate to 600 pounds…) the wheel had spun and buried itself on the third revolution. She didn’t know how much she weighed, but she knew that it was far more than any other man or woman currently living. Not that she minded- most girls her age were constantly whining about their weight, but not Sylph. Not when she was brimming chock-full of superstrong, diamond hard meat and blood and bone. She grinned at that thought, the pretty, girlish features of her nineteen-year-old face looking absurdly out of place on her mountainous physique.
Stretching, Sylph heard one of the mattress springs give way under her, so she lightly stepped out of her bed, gingerly kicking a 500 pound curl bar out of her way. Her parents had had to put her room in the basement when she turned seven, as she was already so big that her concentrated weight on the floor had broken several floorboards and loosened a couple joists. That said, her room was comfortable enough. Wall-to-wall berber carpet kept the floor from getting too cold, and the room was furnished tastefully, if sparingly (her parents were neither rich nor foolish). What furniture there was- her bed, a large desk and chair, her dresser- was specially commissioned, reinforced to stand up to the casual pressures she could exert purely by accident.
Not reinforced enough, she thought ruefully.
Padding over to her dresser, bunny slippers flapping on her relatively tiny feet, Sylph glanced around her room, once more. Her bed had all of the usual accouterments you would expect: a large teddy bear her daddy called Mr. Rickles, several other plushies, a frilly duvet. Likewise, the rest of the room was typical of a teenage girl’s room. The desk had a good computer- a Macintosh, because her mom wanted her to be ready for school- and several romance novels. On the walls were several watercolors, a chalk drawing, and a gorgeous oil pastoral obviously painted by a very talented amateur. Most of the pictures featured woodland scenes, all but the chalk drawing had at least one unicorn, the equine bodies depicted with close attention to the grace and power of the musculature under the skin. The chalk drawing was a portrait of Sylph’s father pushing his spectacles back on his nose. About time to say goodbye to all this stuff, she thought, somewhat regretfully. In another couple of days she was going away to college-NYU-on an art scholarship.
Slipping open the top drawer, Sylph drew out a pair of panties and a bra. All her clothes-even her underwear-were tailored, mostly by Sylph herself, as her parents had realized long ago that normal clothes could never survive one of Sylph’s titanic workouts. At this point, her underwear could no longer be pulled up over her majestic quads and hamstrings- they were simply too large in relation to her waist-so she had modified them by slitting them up the sides and putting in buttons and button holes. The bras were slightly more adjustable, as she had designed them to be tied together with a leather thong rather than held in place by catches or snaps. Of course, she used as much fabric in one cup as most women used in an entire t-shirt, but that was beside the point.
“Sylph, honey- I’m off to work. Are you up yet?” came her dad’s voice from upstairs in the kitchen.
“Yeah, Daddy, I’m up. I’m just gonna work out a little, than I’ll come up and do my chores. Have a good day at work!”
“Okay, honey. You enjoy your last couple days of summer vacation.”
Now that Dad was out of the house, Sylph padded over to her workout room. The weights, acquired in bulk lots ever since she was six years old, totaled tens of thousands of pounds in enormous lead discs and extra long, reinforced bars. Sylph no longer used machines, not because they weren’t a valid way to workout, but simply because none of them could be built with sufficient poundages to even give her a decent warmup. Last night’s workout had been a breakthrough for her, she thought- it was as if a wall she had been up against had finally been battered down, and she had been able to pound out rep after rep with just over a ton on her left arm. The one-ton mark had been a challenge for her, and it had remained her single-rep maximum for nearly six months, but something last night just clicked and her body responded. She didn’t think one ton was going to be a challenge ever again.
Flipping on the radio, she noticed that her dad had been down here recently- the tuner was turned to some eighties rock station. Wrinkling her nose, she scanned through the FM stations until she found one playing some Godsmack. That was more like it. Sylph quickly stretched out, then took the web-pack off the wall. This had been one of her father’s ideas. It resembled a standard weight vest, but was made of airplane cargo webbing. It could hold literally tons of weight without breaking, which is what she used it for. Loading it full with six five-hundred pound plates, Sylph first held it against her mammoth chest as she did 100 crunches, than 100 elbow-to-knee side crunches. Flipping it onto her back, Sylph proceeded to do a further 150 fingertip pushups, slowly and carefully lowering herself completely to the ground before shoving herself back up with perfect form and an agonizingly slow pace. Just starting to feel the burn, now, Sylph grabbed two half-ton short bars and quickly banged off a thousand jumping jacks. Her parents hated her doing that when they were home, as the entire house seemed to jump in time with her.
Dropping her weights (her parents hated that, too, but it was just
so satisfying!), Sylph took one of the long bars and loaded it up with five thousand pounds. Grunting, she picked it up and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she curled it to her chest. Inhaling deeply, she lowered it to her waist, then curled it again. And again. Ten times. One set. Then two. Finally, three sets and she gently placed the weight back on the floor. She giggled when she noticed that her dainty fingers had left deep prints in the thick titanium bar. As she went from one exercise to the next, focusing on her arms and shoulders today, her thoughts drifted to NYU. She had only been to the campus once, and she hadn’t been able to spend the night, as she’d wanted, because they hadn’t had any space large enough to accommodate her at the time. She’d met several of her professors, though, and they seemed nice enough. And the gym was impressive for what it was. She expected that her father would donate most of their weightroom equipment to the university so that she could continue her workouts.
I hope so. Otherwise, I might get…flabby… That thought was so ludicrous that Sylph had to laugh.
Finishing up her morning workout, Sylph toweled off and turned off the radio, than headed back into her room to finish dressing. Pulling out a nice wrap-skirt and t-shirt combination, she suddenly realized that she had grown some since the last time she had worn these. Whole inches, in fact. Pulling the skirt around her waist, she realized that it left a positively obscene amount of leg and buttock still exposed. She tossed it aside on the bed and tried the t-shirt. Exhaling as much as she could, she wriggled her enormous arms through the sleeves and managed-barely-to pull the rest of the shirt down so that it just barely covered her massive chest. Sylph breathed a sigh of relief.
rrrriiiiiipp!!So much for that shirt. Damn, I liked that shirt, too! Thinking for a moment, Sylph went to her closet and pulled out a button down blouse. Maybe she could get this to fit over her chest? The tent like arms were a little snug, but seemed to be holding out okay.
Reaching for the bottom button, she heard the seams creaking.
Oh, no! she thought, desperately trying to relax the flexion through her shoulders, but it was to late as both arms and the middle of the back all tore free.
What now? she wondered, looking around her room. She simply didn’t have any clothes to accommodate her frame anymore. She was going to have to make more, but she couldn’t exactly go to the fabric store dressed like she currently was, in only her bra and panties. Than an idea struck. Going back to her bed, she whipped off the topsheet and started folding it. Another topsheet from the laundry joined it, and several safety pins from her sewing kit.
“Today,” she announced, “I’m having a toga party!”
