Witness Protection: Elena's Trasformation

[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 10

The kitchen table had become the border between two opposing worlds. In the center, the suspended lamp cast a harsh light on the plates, laying bare the differences within the Bianchi family.

Elena's plate was a mountain of calculated nutrients: three hundred grams of steamed salmon, a heap of unseasoned broccoli, four hard-boiled eggs, and a bowl of brown rice that seemed endless. Beside her, a shaker contained a sand-colored protein concoction, thick and with a sickly-sweet smell of chemical vanilla that saturated the air.

Across the table, Giovanni ate his dinner in silence. In front of him was a greasy pizza box and a bag of potato chips bought on the fly. Stress led him to seek comfort in fats and sugars; his unkempt beard was streaked with crumbs, and his breathing was heavy, shortened by the five kilos of fat accumulated during those three months of forced confinement.

Sofia stared at her mother's plate with a grimace of disgust. "Mom, how can you eat all that stuff? It smells strange."

Elena swallowed a mouthful of rice, chewing with the methodical precision of a machine. "It's fuel, Sofia. My body needs it to rebuild muscles after training. If I don't eat it all, the work at the gym is useless."

"But you eat more than Dad," Marco observed, shifting his gaze from his father's pizza to his mother's muscular mass, which appeared taut and imposing under her tight-fitting t-shirt. "And then... look at your arms. When you pick up the glass, it looks like your skin is about to tear. It's... it's ugly, Mom."

Elena felt a pang in her chest, but she suppressed it with the coldness that now characterized her. She put down her fork and tried to smile, a gesture that felt forced due to her stiffer jaw.

"Kids, try to see the positive side," she said, trying to give her deep voice a reassuring tone. "Having such a strong mom has its advantages. If we have to move again, I could lift the furniture by myself. Or if the car broke down, I could push it effortlessly. Isn't that useful?"

Sofia shook her head, completely unconvinced. "I preferred it when you used to pick me up and didn't feel like you were made of stone. Now, when you hug me, you almost hurt me."

Marco added, in a low voice: "It feels like you're becoming a different person. And I don't know if I like it."

The silence that followed was broken only by the rustle of Giovanni's chip bag. He didn't intervene; he didn't have the strength. He merely existed in that shadow zone between fear and resignation.

Elena finished the shaker in three long gulps, wiping her mouth with a decisive gesture. She stood up, towering over the table. Her stature seemed to have increased, her presence filled the room.

"That's enough questions," she said in a firm tone, the same one she had used in the kitchen that afternoon.

"To your rooms. Now. Homework or reading, but no video games. I want silence."

"But it's early..." Marco tried to protest.

"Marco, do what your mother says," Giovanni intervened, looking up with tired eyes. "Today is the ninety-first day. Exactly three months."

Elena nodded towards her husband. "An agent from witness protection will arrive shortly. We have an update meeting on my progress and the next phases of the protocol. It's a confidential matter; you shouldn't hear anything. It's for our safety."

Sofia and Marco exchanged a worried glance, but the new authority emanating from Elena allowed no arguments. They gathered their things and headed towards the hallway.

"Goodnight, Mom," Sofia whispered before disappearing.

"Goodnight," Elena replied, standing motionless in the center of the room.

When the bedroom doors closed, Elena let out a heavy sigh. Giovanni slowly got up, dragging his feet, and approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The difference between his soft, trembling hand and her marble-like shoulder was almost grotesque.

"Are you ready for what the agent will say?" he asked.

"I have no choice, Gio," she replied, staring at the front door. "The ninety-first day is the beginning of the next phase. There's no turning back."

The doorbell rang twice, short and decisive. The agent had arrived. Elena adjusted her shirt, feeling her heart pound against her ribs with a power that seemed to want to burst through her chest. She was ready to find out how much more she would have to change to keep them alive.

[Lattanzio87]

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[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 11

At 9:08 PM, the doorbell rang. A dry, metallic chime that seemed to slice through the heavy air of the kitchen. Elena and Giovanni froze for a moment. She stood up first; her body tensed instantly, her quadriceps pressing against the fabric of her pants.

She opened the door. The man on the landing was the embodiment of anonymity: grey suit, glassy gaze, a black folder under his arm.

"Good evening," he began, his voice devoid of inflection. "May I come in?"

Elena gave a nod and stepped aside. The agent entered, ignoring the furniture and the tense atmosphere. He stopped in front of the table, where Giovanni sat with his hands clasped, his disheveled and bloated appearance contrasting fiercely with the marble-like solidity of his wife.

The agent opened the folder. "Phase One is complete. Elena's biochemical parameters are excellent. The muscle tissue is responding beyond expectations." He cast a quick glance at Giovanni. "Excellent work for you too, Mr. Bianchi. The beard and the extra weight mask your features well. Keep it up."

Then he turned back to stare at Elena. His tone became darker. "However, I have less encouraging news from the investigative front. The network searching for you is more branched than expected. Investigators are struggling to identify the operational terminals."

Elena felt a sudden chill run up her spine. "So we must accelerate."

"Exactly. Phase Two," the agent said, sliding a paper in front of her. "Tomorrow morning, at 9:30 AM, office 3C at Dr. Moreschi's. You will begin the protocol with substances with a longer half-life and more pronounced virilizing effects. It is an aggressive process. Once started, the structural changes will be permanent."

Elena looked at the charts, the names of the compounds that seemed like codes for a new identity. "Permanent," she repeated.

"It's the price for being safe," the agent concluded. He closed the folder with a sharp snap. He left without saying goodbye, leaving behind a silence that weighed like lead.

Giovanni approached her, placing a hand on her back. He felt the heat radiating from her body, a feverish warmth. "Will you do it?" he whispered.

Elena didn't answer immediately. She stared at the closed door, her knuckles white from how hard she gripped the edge of the table. Then, with a sudden movement, she closed the black folder and pushed it away as if it burned. She grabbed a glass of water and drank it in one gulp, her throat moving forcefully.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Giovanni asked.

"No."

"Do you want to be left alone?"

"No."

Elena turned toward him. Her eyes were dilated, charged with a ferocity that had nothing maternal about it. Her voice dropped another octave, becoming a guttural whisper.

"I want... to fuck."

She went upstairs without waiting for him. Each step was heavy, the movement of her muscular buttocks a warning of strength. She entered the bedroom and stopped in the center of the room, shrouded in the dim light. Giovanni followed her and closed the door.

"Look at me," she ordered.

She took off her shirt. Her striated pectorals appeared solid as shields, the veins running along her arms looking like roots searching for space. Then she slid off her pants. She had nothing on underneath.
Her body was a map of power: massive thighs, separated by deep grooves, and in the center, naked and overbearing, her clitoris. It was red, pulsing, visibly altered by the chemistry.

"This is your new wife, Gio. Look at her closely."

She approached him with the grace of a predator. She unzipped his pants with quick, calloused hands and pushed him onto the bed. Without preamble, she knelt between his legs. She grabbed his cock and brought it to her mouth with brutal greed. She swallowed him deep, using her tongue and throat muscles with a strength Giovanni had never felt. Every so often, she would look up at him, her fierce eyes gleaming in the dark.
Then she climbed on top. She positioned herself over him, guiding him inside herself with a sharp thrust of her pelvis.

"Oh... yes..." she moaned, a sound that came from her chest, deep as a roar.

She began to ride him with a violent rhythm. With every thrust, her enlarged clitoris slammed against Giovanni's pubic bone, a carnal, hard friction that made them both vibrate. Elena was a mass of muscles on fire; she felt the sweat running between her flat breasts, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Feel how wet I am!" she hissed, leaning down to bite his earlobe. "Feel my clitoris! You like how I control you, don't you?"

Her voice was a hoarse baritone that excited and terrified him at the same time. Elena wasn't making love; she was taking what she wanted. When the orgasm struck her, her body tensed as if struck by an electric current. Her thighs clamped onto his hips like a steel vice, a guttural growl erupting from her throat while she was racked by brutal spasms.

Shortly after, Giovanni came as well, drained by that erotic charge so alien to him.

Elena pulled away, putting her shirt back on in silence. She lay down next to him, her breath still ragged, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Do you want to know what I was thinking about while we were fucking?" she asked after a long silence.
Giovanni didn't have the strength to answer, simply listening.

"I was thinking about a year from now," she said, her voice icy and deep. "When I weigh 130 kilos. When I have a bull-like neck and arms that could break you. When my clitoris is four centimeters long and there is nothing feminine left in me."

She turned on her side, staring into his eyes with a coldness that made his blood run cold.

"You will come home and I will be there. Huge. Monstrous. I will throw you to the ground and I will fuck you. I will take you whenever I want, and you won't be able to do anything to stop me. Because if you try to resist, I will destroy you."

Giovanni swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that promise. "Yes..." he whispered barely, a thread of a voice that died in the dark.

As she closed her eyes to sleep, Giovanni remained awake, terrified by the idea that this wasn't just an erotic fantasy, but the inevitable future that was waiting for them.

[Lattanzio87]

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[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 12

Elena sat on the edge of the examination table, covered in crinkly medical paper that creaked with her every breath. She was wearing a loose sweater, but the frame beneath was now impossible to hide: her shoulders were two solid blocks, and her neck had thickened, giving her posture a new, involuntary aggressiveness.

Moreschi entered without knocking. He didn't look Elena in the eyes; he looked at her medical chart, then at her physical mass. To him, she wasn't a woman, she was an experiment.

"Three months," he began, his voice flat. "The hypertrophic response is excellent. How do you feel, Elena?"

"I feel... charged," she replied, noting how her own voice resonated lower in her chest.

Moreschi offered a professional, heatless smile. He pulled on his latex gloves with a sharp snap. "Lift your shirt."

Elena obeyed. Her abdomen appeared furrowed with rigid muscular bands; her obliques carved a deep "V" toward her pelvis. Moreschi ran his cold fingers over her skin, measuring the thickness of her triceps and latissimus dorsi with a skinfold caliper. He recorded the data with surgical precision.

"Good. Now let's move on to the androgenic response. Let's talk about libido and genital mutations."

Elena clenched her jaw, her gaze fixed on the bare wall. "It's... all moving very fast."

"The clitoris?" he asked, without inflection.

"It's grown. Must be a centimeter, maybe more. It's always... taut. Sensitive to even the slightest rubbing of my clothes."

"Masturbation?"

"Every day. Sometimes I can't stop."

Moreschi nodded, as if reading the manual for an appliance. "Lie down!"

Elena hesitated for a moment, then laid down. Her heart beat with dull thuds against her massive ribs. With a quick, detached gesture, the doctor pulled down her pants and underwear. There was no eroticism in his gesture, only a technical inspection.

Elena's clitoris emerged prominently: it was a dark, turgid protuberance, nearly two centimeters long, protruding violently between the lips of her vulva. It pulsed visibly, a miniature phallus testifying to the success of the testosterone.

"Marked hyperplasia," Moreschi murmured, leaning in for a closer look. "The corpora cavernosa are saturated. Excellent."

He pressed a gloved finger onto the tip of her clitoris. The contact was minimal, but for Elena, it was like a thousand-volt electric shock. She arched her back on the table, her hands clawing at the paper until it tore.

"Ahhh!" she gasped.

"Stay still!" he replied, relentless. He began a slow, calculated, circular movement. It was purely mechanical stimulation, but Elena's body, overloaded with androgens, reacted with animal violence.

The first orgasm hit her after less than twenty seconds. It wasn't a sweet pleasure; it was a tetanic contraction. Her glutes turned to marble, her legs tensed until her muscles shook. A guttural moan escaped her throat as a thick, milky liquid soaked the doctor's gloves.

"Immediate response," Moreschi commented, continuing to stimulate her relentlessly, ignoring her spasms.

"Stop... please... I can't take it..." Elena was almost crying, but her pelvis sought contact, driven by an instinct she could no longer control. A second orgasm, deeper and more devastating than the first, shook her belly. She felt her sex pulsing like a heart separate from the rest of her body. She had become a pure receptor of stimuli, devoid of will.

When Moreschi finally stopped, Elena remained motionless, sweaty, her gaze lost in the void. She felt violated by her own biology.

She composed herself with trembling hands while Moreschi returned to his desk, completely indifferent to her state of shock.

"Listen to me carefully, Elena," he said, opening a new file. "Starting tomorrow, we enter Phase Two. We will increase the doses of Trenbolone, Testosterone, Nandrolone. We will add insulin and IGF-1, as well as other compounds that will accelerate protein synthesis to extreme levels."

Elena sat up, trying to calm her breathing. "What will happen to me next?"

"Your metabolism will explode. Your strength will double. But you must be ready for the psychological effects. Androgens at these levels cause extreme aggression. You might have sudden outbursts of rage. Your libido will become an obsession. And your appearance... well, the residual femininity will disappear. Your jaw will square off further, your voice will drop even more. Within four months, your goal is to weigh at least 80 kg."

"Eighty kilos," she repeated, like a sentence.

"At least," Moreschi concluded, closing the folder with a final click.

Elena left the office, walking with a heavy step, feeling the heat still alive between her legs and the anger beginning to boil silently in her veins.

[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 13

The next four months were a total immersion into a new, brutal routine. Time was no longer marked by days, but by the grams of protein consumed, by the the milligrams of substances injected and by the daily  workouts.

Every morning at 7:00 AM, Elena woke up alone. Giovanni's side of the bed was already cold. Since her transformation had accelerated in Phase Two, sex between them had become rare, and, furthermore, it was always her taking the initiative, driven by a libido that was no longer a desire, but a powerful biological necessity.

Elena sprang out of bed. She felt charged with a nervous electricity, a vigor that almost made her bones vibrate. She approached the scale in the corner of the room.

"Eighty-five kilos," she murmured, staring at the display. "At 169.5 cm."

It was a monstrous weight-to-height ratio for a woman. Yet, there wasn't a gram of superfluous fat. With a sharp gesture, she took off her shirt and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. She studied herself with an almost clinical detachment.

Her deltoids had become two cannonballs, veined and spherical. Her pectorals, swollen and striated, had completely absorbed what remained of her breasts, leaving her with a broad, powerful, masculine chest. Under her armpits, the hair had grown back dark and coarse; she passed a hand over the area, feeling the texture of the skin. "I need to shave again," she thought, but it didn't bother her. It was just another detail of her new nature.

As she touched her side, an electric shock went through her lower abdomen. She sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her massive legs. She slipped her hand inside her shorts and underwear. She felt the forest of pubic hair and, in the center, her clitoris. It had grown even more, a column of turgid flesh that protruded with arrogance. She began to masturbate with a blind fury, her fingers working with an almost excessive force.

"Ah... mmm... God..."

Her groans were low, guttural, deep. Her back arched, highlighting the 'Christmas tree' of her dorsal muscles. When the orgasm exploded, it was a detonation. Her body contracted in a violent spasm, and a jet of warm liquid instantly soaked her underwear and shorts.

Elena opened her eyes, gasping. Feeling the soaked, sticky fabric against her skin triggered something inside her. A sudden, irrational rage.

"Fuck!" she roared.

With a lightning-fast movement, she threw a punch at the solid wood nightstand next to the bed. The blow was dry, dull. The wood creaked and cracked, leaving an obvious crack on the surface. Elena stared at her hand: her knuckles were just slightly reddened; she felt no pain. She only felt a sense of omnipotence that frightened her.

She pulled off her dirty clothes in anger, remaining completely naked. She took the tape measure from the drawer.

"Left arm, flexed: eighteen and a half inches," she said in a low voice. Almost forty-seven centimeters of muscle and veins. She moved to her quadriceps, which looked like two oak trunks. "Twenty-five and a half."

She turned to the side. She bent forward until she touched her feet, stretching her hamstrings and showing off her glutes: two blocks of granite separated by a deep line.

While bent over, she sensed the acrid, musky smell of her own body, the smell of her bare feet on the carpet, a primordial, wild scent that had nothing of the woman she had been.

"I am a monster..." she whispered, observing the reflection of her immense back. But there was no disgust in her voice. There was a dark excitement, a fascination for that 85-kilo creature staring back at her from the mirror.

"Elena? Breakfast is ready!" Giovanni's voice came from the kitchen, muffled by the door.

"Coming!" she replied. Her voice was now a stable baritone, devoid of feminine inflections.

She pulled on a tight tank top that left her sculpted belly exposed and put on new underwear, which she felt were tight, annoying. Then she put on a pair of gym shorts that struggled to contain her thighs.
Before leaving, she cast a last glance at the crack in the furniture. "I must stay lucid," she told herself.

[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 14

Elena entered the kitchen with a stride that was no longer light. On one side of the table were Marco and Sofia's colorful cereal boxes, a carton of milk, and some crumbled biscuits. On the other was Elena's breakfast, consisting of a giant bowl of oatmeal, 4 hard-boiled eggs already peeled, an omelet made from 8 egg whites, and 200g of grilled chicken breast. In addition, a shaker with a beige, mud-thick protein concoction sat in the center of the table, ready for Elena to drink.

Elena sat down at the table. The wooden chair emitted an ominous groan, its joints strained by her weight. Her glutes, now two spherical, stone-hard masses of muscle, spilled over the sides of the seat, stretching the fabric of her shorts to its limit.

Marco stopped eating his cereal. He stared at her with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. "Mom," he began, pointing his spoon at her. "Your shoulders are huge."

Elena didn't answer immediately. She grabbed a piece of chicken with her calloused fingers and bit into it. "You told me that yesterday, Marco, and the day before, and the day before that. I'm aware!"

"Yeah, but... you don't have boobs anymore," the child continued with the brutal honesty of his age. "And under your tank top, I can see your abs." Then, noticing her movement as she lifted the shaker, he added: "And you have hair under your arms! You are starting to look like a man!"

Giovanni, who until that moment had pretended to read the newspaper, coughed nervously from behind the pages. "Marco... eat and don't bother your mother."

"But it's true!" the boy protested. "Look at her!"

Elena set the shaker down on the table with a sharp thud. She felt hunger gnawing at her stomach, a chemical, insatiable hunger that made her irritable. "As I've explained to you many times, Marco, I'm a bodybuilder now. Becoming big, muscular, and masculine is my job." To emphasize, she flexed her pectorals; the muscle fibers twitched under her thin skin, a mechanical, powerful movement utterly devoid of grace.

Sofia, the youngest, watched the scene with a grimace of disapproval. "I don't like you. Your muscles are weird, and your voice is... well... weird."

"There's nothing wrong with my voice, Sofia," Elena cut her off. But she knew that wasn't true. Her voice had dropped in pitch, becoming a baritone hum that vibrated in her chest.

"And your face is different too," Marco insisted, leaning forward. "Your chin is more... square. Bigger. And your forehead looks more prominent."

Giovanni intervened again, this time more decisively: "That's enough! Finish your breakfast or you'll be late for school." His tone was firm, but his eyes met Elena's for an instant. In that look, she read discomfort. Giovanni saw what the children saw: her jawline widening under the effect of androgenic hormones, her skin becoming thicker and oilier, the veins running like roots on her arms.

Elena swore under her breath, a "Fuck" that came out like a deep grunt. She finished the protein shake in three powerful gulps; the rhythmic, loud sound of her swallowing was the only sound in the room.

Marco got up to retrieve a biscuit that had fallen under the table, near Elena's bare feet. He shot up, clutching his nose. "Bleah! Mom! Your feet smell so bad!"

"Marco! That's enough!" Giovanni yelled, but this time there was a note of genuine embarrassment.

Elena looked at her feet. They had grown wide, her toes stubby, the soles covered in yellowish calluses from the heavy loads at the gym. Her sweat, altered by the drugs, had a pungent, musky, almost metallic smell.

"Go get ready, Marco. Now," she ordered. Her voice allowed no argument.

The children, sensing the anger in their mother's voice, obeyed in silence and ran upstairs.

[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 15

Elena was clearing the table with abrupt, almost violent movements. Every time she lifted a plate, her deltoids bulged. Her pectorals, solid and striated, quivered with every deep breath, while her thighs—two columns of muscle that rubbed against each other—strained the fabric of her shorts. Even her calves, heavy with veins, seemed ready to spring into action. Hers was a body in a constant state of alert.

Giovanni was still sitting at the table, gripping a cup of now-lukewarm coffee in his hands. Over the last four months, time had been cruel to him. He had put on more weight, a soft belly pressing against his belt. His beard was unkempt, his hair long and messy, and the stress of work and life under cover was accelerating a noticeable receding hairline on his forehead.

"Are you sure you're okay, Elena?" he asked in a low voice, without looking at her.

Elena placed the last plate in the sink with a sharp thud. She turned slowly. Her gaze was a blade of ice, made even harder by the features of her jaw that were squaring off.

"Why do you ask me that every fucking morning, Giovanni?"

"Because every morning you seem... less like you," he replied, finally raising his eyes.

Elena approached with a heavy step, planting herself in front of him. Her legs were wide, her arms crossed over her massive chest.
"You want the truth? The truth is that I feel like a monster because you look at me like I am one," she exploded, her voice vibrating in a low and threatening tone. "You don't touch me anymore. You don't kiss me anymore. You avoid me in bed. You look at me with disgust instead of desire. I'm your wife, dammit, not a laboratory experiment!"

Giovanni shook his head, almost intimidated by her proximity. "Elena, it's not that simple... The last few times we tried, you were... aggressive. You hurt me. And I don't like feeling the hardness of your muscles under my hands while we make love. It feels like touching a wall, not a woman."

Elena laughed, a bitter and hoarse sound. She flexed her biceps and pectorals with ostentatious violence, making the muscle fibers twitch in front of his face. "I'm a bodybuilder, Giovanni! Have you ever seen a bodybuilder without muscles? This is what I am now!"

Rage burned in her veins, fueled by the chemical cocktail flowing through her blood. Her hands were clenched into fists, her knuckles white.

"Listen to me well," she said, lowering her voice until it became a lethal whisper. "I have needs. I am practically always aroused and I want to have sex or masturbate every single instant. Every morning I wake up and I want nothing more than to fuck you, to feel your dick—modest as it is—inside me, and instead, I'm forced to masturbate alone like a teenager because you are never there when I wake up!"

Giovanni remained silent, crushed by the weight of her words.

"We are in this situation because of you," she continued, pointing a calloused finger at his chest. "If I have become this thing, it is to protect you and the kids. So the least you can do is do your duty as a husband. I don't care if you don't like my muscles or if I scare the shit out of you or if I fucking hurt you."

Elena leaned over him, the shadow of her traps completely obscuring him. "Tonight we fuck, Giovanni. With or without your permission. And if you try to oppose me, I swear I will force you. You won't ignore me anymore."

She flexed the muscles in her arms one last time, a silent and brutal physical warning, then turned and left the kitchen. The sound of her bare, wide, heavy feet on the floor resonated in the hallway like a funeral march.

Giovanni remained motionless. The coffee was now icy cold. He felt emptied, terrified by that creature he once called love, who now promised to claim him by force.
Only when the ticking of the wall clock became unbearable did he shake himself. "Shit, I'm late," he muttered mechanically. He grabbed his briefcase and put on his jacket, trying to compose himself.
Passing through the hallway, he saw Elena preparing to take the children to school. She didn't even look at him.

"I have to go," he said, his hand already on the door handle.

"Sure," she replied, flatly, without interrupting what she was doing. "I'm taking the kids to school."

"See you tonight," he added, almost hoping she wouldn't answer.

Elena remained silent.

[Wookey]

Elena is the problem. Had she ever thought of getting him to train with her and/ir take some growth hormones so that he could withstand her physical needs.

[Lattanzio87]

Chapter 16

"Sofia! Marco! It's late!"

Elena's voice resounded in the hallway like a cannon shot, deep and devoid of any feminine vibration. Sofia exited the bedroom with her pink backpack and a wary expression, almost intimidated by her mother's tone.

Marco appeared immediately after. He was still wearing his pajama pants and wandered through the hallway with a dazed look. "Mom... I can't find my backpack."

Elena froze halfway down the hall. She felt a sudden heat rising up the back of her neck, radiating toward her traps, which contracted instantly, becoming hard as rope.

"What?"

"I can't find it," Marco repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "I left it here..."

"But where the fuck did you put it yesterday?" The word slipped out before she could filter it.

"I... I don't remember..."

Elena closed her eyes and clenched her fists. It wasn't simple parental annoyance; it was a wave of blind fury demanding a physical outlet. She felt the need to smash something, to scream until her lungs burst.

"Marco..." she began, and her voice was a low growl that seemed to come from the bottom of her chest. "Is it possible that EVERY damn morning you don't know where your things are? Do you think that's normal?"

The child took a step back, scared by the bulk of his mother who, in her tank top, seemed to occupy the entire space of the hallway.

"It's always the same story! Shoes, notebooks, now the backpack! Start using your fucking brain instead of staring blankly at videos, clear?"

Sofia watched the scene with glossy eyes. "Mom..." she whispered barely.

Elena fell silent abruptly. She saw the reflection of fear in their eyes and felt a shiver of shame, but it was a weak shiver compared to the rush of adrenaline and testosterone that was setting her nerves on fire. She brought a hand to her mouth, feeling her heavy, irregular breathing.

Without saying a word, she turned and locked herself in the bathroom.

She leaned against the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Her face was red, the veins in her neck swollen. Her tight tank top showed her tense pectorals, which vibrated from the repressed effort, and her abdominals were blocks of marble under the thin skin. But what shocked her was the reaction of her lower belly.

The anger had turned her on. She felt her clitoris pulsing with unheard-of violence against her underwear, while a slippery wave of moisture soaked the inside of her muscular thighs.

"I'm going crazy," she thought, as her trembling hands clawed at the ceramic edge of the sink. She came out after a minute, forcing her features into a mask of flat calm.

"We'll look for it together. Move."

Shortly after, they found the backpack on the side of the sofa.

Elena helped Marco put on his shoes. As she bent over, her hamstrings and glutes stretched her shorts to the breaking point, a display of pure power that the children watched in silence.

The road to school was a journey in silence. Elena drove with her hands tight on the steering wheel. She thought back to the threat she made to Giovanni earlier. The idea of taking him by force, of subduing him with that muscle mass he feared so much, made her legs contract involuntarily in the seat.

The contact between her swollen clitoris and the fabric of her underwear with every movement of her pelvis was a delicious torture. She felt powerful. She liked that sense of danger she emanated.

Arriving in front of the school gate, she braked gently. The children got out quickly, almost relieved to escape that car cabin saturated with tension.

"Marco," Elena called him before he entered.

The child turned, hesitant. Elena smiled at him. It was a real smile, a glimmer of the old Elena who was fighting not to disappear. She placed a calloused hand on his head, almost as big as the child's entire skull, but the touch was light.

"Have a good day, love. Sorry for earlier."

"Bye Mom," he murmured, before running toward his classmates.

[Wookey]

Elena should be nowhere near kids'

[Lattanzio87]

She will leave soon in fact! I'm not planning on violating the guide lines!

[phil123]

And she will transfor even fast and reach her goal perhaps already in half time.
Great story