+Notable Author: [Amnoartist] Stories~collected

[Amnoartist]

Well, I enjoyed some of it, the older muscle woman, her, despite being 82 years old having babies, the problem I had with it that did weird me out, the babies not growing bigger as in muscle, but bigger as in height, now baby muscle I can do, for sure, I have very little limits for that in fantasy stories, but height? I am not into giants, and a 6 foot tall baby definitely would be considered gigantic in my eyes, so that part I didn't really enjoy quite so much. But you are a great writer, and I look forward to seeing your next story. k+!

Heh, what can I say? I do get myself caught into a weird mood sometimes and just go 'fuck it.' This is the result of that. It's more a means to vent when I get pent-up. I am aware you're not the greatest fan of giantesses, or height growth in general, but I just went with the flow until I ran out of steam haha

[Amnoartist]

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[Amnoartist]

Put a new poll up

SO that means there is a part two somewhere?

Oops. I might've forgotten to mention that the above content you can read are actually parts 1 and 2 merged together  ^^;

[Amnoartist]

So, I'm seriously considering doing another part to this series. I'm curious to see what you'd like to see. Sound off below

[myobpolo]

short answer; YES

[Amnoartist]

Well, I'd like the opposite of what you did, if there are more babies, not taller, but wider and thicker.

That's what I'm hoping to go for, actually ^^

[Amnoartist]

Put up a new poll asking what you'd like to see next. Suggestions are also welcome.
______________________________

So, what your thoughts on the series, guys? Anything I should work on?

[Amnoartist]

Hey guys. Wnated to share with you what I took to calling the "Big Brother" concept. I will admit it's rough at the moment, but could turn out to be something interesting if fleshed out more. Going by its nature, the themes in the story could possibly be more adult/mature than what you're used to seeing from me, but I'll let you guys decide on that.

The premise of the story is as follows:

    A society of muscular females (typically aged between eighteen and thirty, possibly older if demand is high) have known their lives to be secluded since birth, living in a large dome, passing their time by working out. Their lives seem peaceful, but their every step, word, flex and rep is being closely monitored by a sadistic individual who takes pleasure in invading their privacy, watching them work out and go about their daily lives. Even their common desire to work out and grow muscular is itself an elaborate construct by the "Big Brother" to further his pleasure. Every so often, a female from the society is personally chosen to perform for Big Brother's entertainment. If they succeed, he rewards them with the means to become even stronger to entertain him further; should they fail, a terrible fate awaits. Enter Brooklyn, an individual hell-bent on exposing Big Brother for the sadist he is and for her mother's murder at his hands.

The themes in Big Brother include, but are not limited to:

• Muscle growth
  Potentially height growth (dependant on demand)
  Potentially breast growth (dependant on demand)
  Sci-Fi (kinda)
  Lesbianism
  Potentially NSFW scenes
  Action (hand-to-hand combat, firefights, etc)
  Totalitarianism (The Government - in this case, Big Brother - sees no limits to its power or what it can do to regulate every aspect of both public and private life)

The characters/factions in Big Brother include, but are not limited to (NOTE: the names are listed in no particular order. Some may face changes, be created just to drive things forward or have one scene):

• 
  Brooklyn (Protagonist)
  Aspen ( Brooklyn's younger sister)
  Katherine (Brooklyn & Aspen's mother)
  The Safeguards (a contingent of androids loyal to Big Brother who oversee his vision)
  The Outcasts (a group of women who were discarded by Big Brother after their size and dedication outgrew his personal tastes)
  Emilia (Big Brother's favourite girl willing to do anything for him; has seen Big Brother personally)
  The Darlings (A small group of women who just can't wait to perform for Big Brother)
  The Kinkies (Women who excel in exhibiting their dominant side)
  Kitty Dukes (The Kinkies' boss)

Locations in Big Brother. NOTE: The locations are limited in number, at the moment.

• Brooklyn's home.
  The Hormone District (a concentrated location where the hormone addled women live)
  The Dark Room (Where all the chosen women go to perform for Big Brother's pleasure, his eye always watching)
  The Outcasts' Camp (Deep in the lower levels, a lesser group of women live their lives after being shunned by Big Brother for taking things too far)
  Red Light District (natural home of the Kinkies)

Scene ideas for Big Brother. Note: like above, some of these scene ideas are created only to drive things forward only slightly and may feature characters only created for them. Also, some of the scenes may be a bit grim or could be cut. Please turn away after the break if you'd prefer not being potentially spoiled:

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• 
  Brooklyn and Emilia face-off in the Hormone District.
  One of the society's girls is forced to touch herself and juice up while Big Brother watches.
  Brooklyn gets trapped in the Outcasts' camp.
  Brooklyn combats a Safeguard drone.
  Aspen is chosen to perform for Big Brother.
  Aspen meets Big Brother; Revelations are made.
  Brooklyn meets Kitty Dukes.

That's all there is to the Big Brother concept right now. As always, let me know your thoughts on the idea. Is it interesting enough to at least give it a shot?

[Jimthehunter54]

Yeah it's worth a shot. I love dystopian future books so one about a muscular women would be great. One problem I think you should probably change it to something that's not copyrighted like Big Brother. Maybe head master or something like that.

[Amnoartist]

Big Brother
Chapter 1: He Who Watches

Brooklyn was worried. It had been days since her mother Katherine left for work. In a democratic state such as ones often heard of only in stories, she would've sent a text message letting her daughter know she was okay, but in the Dome things were different. So much so that the concept of one truly living their life to the fullest was more a fantasy than reality. Every step was quite literally being monitored by who the Dome's citizens took to calling Big Brother.

Not much is known about him, other than he watches constantly and that those who live in the Dome do so only to serve him. In a democratic state such as ones often heard of only in stories, this would be considered an invasion of privacy. But those who live in the Dome - a vast harem of muscular females - know not what privacy is, truly. They may be so lucky as to have a minute alone with others, but He is always watching.

Brooklyn sat there twiddling her thumbs, an eye ever so cautiously observing the CCTV camera swerving right-to-left-to-right, predictably. It was the late hours of the night, supposedly sometime past midnight. She was too worked up to think straight; too worried about her mother to notice the camera had ceased at her casually pumped bicep after the half-hearted workout she'd just finished. The dreary colours of the apartment didn't help with the girl's mood. She had to do something to get her mind off the unpleasant thoughts brewing in her mind.

She looked up at the camera sternly, knowing He knew where her mother was. After all, he knew where everyone was; He knew everyone's secrets; He knew everyone's desires....He knew everyone far better than they knew themselves. But that didn't cause Brooklyn to falter. She stood up from the years-old couch and grew bold enough to openly confront the camera, staring up at its gleaming lens.

"Where is she?" Of course, there was no answer. Big Brother never liked to speak. He did that only on occasion when he felt it was needed, which was at best three or four times a year. The news that came with him was rarely good though. The only understandable response came in the form of the camera panning to Brooklyn's arm. She took the hint, raising the powerful limb up to a flex. It was easily big as a basketball, with a gentle layer of veins decorating it from her monster pump. "There. Happy?" she responded in a condescending tone.

There was no real point in what she did, knowing there wouldn't be a response anyway - other than the all too predictable silence. Brooklyn was just afraid of what would happen if she didn't comply with His desires. She'd heard stories of women being taken by the Safeguards when they didn't fall through with Big Brother, taking them to what the Dome's girls took to calling the Pit. Not the most original of names, but it did the job and that was the point. If not the Pit, the girls were 'discarded' and sent to the Outcasts' camp in the lower levels. Brooklyn knew a girl who was moved there but hadn't heard anything from her since. It was best just to assume the worst rather than have a twinkle of false hope die out.

"I know you know where she is. Fucking tell me!" Brooklyn had to turn her back to the camera, had to hide the welling tears in her eyes. It didn't do her so much good as it did Him; he still got to see her back. Brooklyn had a case of possessing a bodybuilder-shaming back, a hard and lumpy surfaced existence that pressed against her top even when she didn't want it to. She wouldn't have been that surprised if, beyond the camera, He sat there, somewhere, shamelessly jerking off to her back. She was just one of many girls, of course. One of the thousands. All in all, Brooklyn was one of Big brother's collection. And he was missing one.

Her tears gone, Brooklyn mustered enough courage to face the camera again, although her confidence had waned. She just wanted to know where her mother was; just wanted to know the woman who spent years of her life raising her and her sister, all while still making time for Him, was safe. Did He really consider her to be so expendable? Sure, he had thousands of women at his beck and call, but Katherine had a particular allure.

"I'll make it worth your time." Brooklyn never had much experience speaking in a sultry tone. But she was lucky it worked when it needed to. The camera's lens widened as if to act as a metaphor for Big Brother arousal while Brooklyn's hands glided across her chest, feeling the pumped muscles twitching underneath with delicate fingers before a hand reached for her shorts. "Would you like a little show?"

He wasn't having it though. He knew it was a trick. At some point, one of the girls would act the same way as Brooklyn did just now. The problem was he didn't think Brooklyn was big enough yet for his full, undivided attention. Much to the girl's irritation, the camera was shut off before she could continue.

"You bastard!" In a brief moment of seemingly blind rage, Brooklyn grabbed the TV remote and tossed it at the camera, luckily just missing it. If the camera was damaged in any way, Brooklyn wouldn't have to worry about her mother's whereabouts - she'd be missing too. It wasn't long before the tears returned and the girl succumbed to the welling fear within that her mother was dead. That fear led to other things.

///

Brooklyn's younger sibling, Aspen, had problems of her own. She took it upon herself to venture through the Dome's many districts to find her mother, a photo of the smiling woman in hand to aid her. So far, the quest was in vain; most of the women the girl talked to either outright avoided her for having no discernible definition compared to themselves or for being so young. At ten, Aspen should've started showing signs of development that would please Big Brother, but there was nothing of the sort. She was...normal.

She tugged at the skirt of a giggling woman at the street corner talking with her friends. The skirt was so tight it was unquestionably close to bursting, and predictably, there was a drone nearby with its lens rather perversely zoomed in on the straining attire, Aspen just in the shot. The frightened girl was persistent in her attempt to get the woman's attention, even if she was deliberately being avoided.

"Excuse me. Have you seen this woman?" Aspen pulled the photo up close to the girl's face, having to go on the tips of her feet to get close enough. The skirted woman, a blue-haired beau with dimples and shoulders wide enough to shame what people in a democratic state such as ones often heard of only in stories would call a 'linebacker,' caught just a glimpse of the photo with the corner of her eye, but was too focused on her conversation to properly care. She said something about wanting to know what the Hormone District was like, but her friend said it was rough, not mention several levels down. The lower the level, the rougher it got. But Aspen remained confident even then. "She's my mum. She's been missing for days."

The drone picked up a glimpse of the photo Aspen anxiously clutched but didn't do anything. If He was watching and knew Aspen was brave enough to go through the different districts asking where her mother was, why didn't he do something about it? Usually, Big Brother would retaliate against such acts in force, sending contingents of Safeguards door to door, not to mention his prized woman.

Being missing for days: that was cause enough for anyone to assume any missing persons would either be in the Outcasts' camp or worse, the Pit. The Outcasts' camp was too dangerous for someone as young as Aspen, and no matter how old they were, nobody went in the Pit - at least, not willingly. The camp was where women who took their dedication to Big Brother and their size too far for his personal tastes, so they would be sent there to live out the rest of their shunned lives. The Pit was where the women were sent should they have outlived their lives as a whole, let alone their usefulness to Him. There was one benefit to being in the camp compared to the Pit: at least you knew some people were still alive.

"Your mother's dead, girl." The woman didn't care that she was so blunt to Aspen, only that the drone had shifted its focus to her bullish thighs that seemed to twitch involuntarily as she knelt down to the frightened girl, mockingly smiling. Aspen blinked at first, having to cope with the fact the woman was so cold-hearted. "Probably wasting away in the Pit."

Aspen clenched her teeth as tightly as she could, refusing to pay heed to the woman's words. No - her mother wasn't dead. If she was, she and Brooklyn would know, one way or another. Aspen stared into the woman's eyes for what felt like a minute, hoping to find some form of solace in them, but—nothing. Was she really cruel as she sounded? No, of course not. It was just easier on the mind to assume someone was dead than have false hope. In any case—

"You're mean."

Predictably, Aspen fought back tears. The woman blinked, suddenly heartbroken. She didn't mean to be cruel, at least, not deliberately. She was decades older than the young girl before her and knew more of the Dome and how it worked than she did. The less Aspen knew of how its inner workings operated, the better it would be for her. She was so beautifully unsullied. But of course, He would be disappointed; He was watching.

"Have you tried Level Twelve, sweetie?" The woman wiped a tear from Aspen's cheek with a thumb - quite like how her mother did before she vanished. The woman also couldn't stop herself from wondering why Aspen hadn't started showing signs of physical development appropriate to His design. She should've been a little broader in the shoulders at least.

Aspen nodded. She just came from Level Twelve, actually. But of course, no luck. She considered going to Fourteen next, but—-

It was then that the all too familiar monotonous klaxon sounded, indicating the countdown to curfew. When that was in effect, the women were expected to tune into channel Five for the nightly bodybuilding show, the contestants varying each night. Aspen remembered that one night Brooklyn was on the stage, but clearly, she found no fun in it. There was a countdown of fifteen minutes before curfew started. If anyone was still in the Dome's streets afterwards, the Safeguards would spill out and—

"Do you know your way home?" The woman was now surprisingly sweet to Aspen. Why did she act so cruel to a girl who just wanted to find her mother in the first place? Aspen nodded again. She was probably too quiet to talk, still processing the woman's words: your mother's dead, girl.

Hopefully, that wasn't the case.

///

The Dark Room: all of the women had been there at least once in their lifetime, brought forth to do one thing - to perform in front of His ever-watching eye. They'd never seen Big Brother in the flesh but honestly hoped not to. Ever. His perverse personality and constant stalking of the Dome's girls was enough for them to know he wouldn't exactly be pretty in the face. Or anywhere for that matter.

Katherine had been in the Dark Room more times than she could count. That implied he liked her in his own sick way. When she first performed for him years prior, she actually liked the idea of not knowing exactly who He was. But as the years went by, his tastes twisted in sync with his mind. Now, this wasn't exactly a performance, but—

Katherine lunged forward, but the chains bolted to the wall kept her naked form in place. No matter how strong she was, no matter how hard she pulled, the mother wasn't going anywhere. His lone pulsing eye watched, a monstrously large thing built into the opposing wall so he could find a sense of enjoyment even from her vain attempt to break free.

"I'm surprised at you, Katherine." His voice was predictably synthetic, masked to hide to the real one that would neither be as loud or intimidating as the one Katherine came to be familiar with over the years. He even managed to offer a condescending chuckle at the woman as she continued to pull her arms forward, biceps quivering and veins pulsing. "I never took you for the rebellious sort. But then, it does run in the family."

Katherine hated herself. Not for getting caught, but for having gotten so close to the truth and stiffened up as it was revealed to her. She should've prepared herself. The woman was lucky enough to have gotten as far as she did, bringing down dozens of Safeguards in the process. That was futile, though.

"Your two daughters are not coping with your disappearance well." Above His unwavering stare formed a split projection of Brooklyn and Aspen on either side. On the right, Aspen was cutting through the lane in Level Eight that led to her home, wiping away tears that just seemed to keep coming. On the left, Brooklyn sat in the corner crying, the apartment torn to pieces in a blind rage. "Brooklyn has quite the temper."

Katherine was speechless.

"And your youngest" Big Brother concluded, "is not so lucky, either."

What Katherine saw next shocked her straight to the bone: on Aspen's side of the projection, a small gathering of girls roughly the same age as the trembling girl circled around her like a group of vultures eyeing their prey. Unlike the saddened Aspen, these newcomers were starting to show signs of physical development that He would come to approve: modestly sculpted calves were casually starting to pierce their way through the girls' socks as they stood with  golf ball arms folded and eyes cocked, mockingly smirking at the girl they'd chosen as their bully victim. flexing their biceps in sync as if to taunt her. It then became clear to Katherine that whoever these girls were, they'd bullied Aspen on several occasions for being the black sheep - the skinny one. Seemingly, the only one in the Dome.

Before long, one of the girls grabbed Aspen from behind and put her in a headlock, her bicep mashing into the girl's cheek while another girl, the largest of the group, pulling herself forward into a taunting most muscular, smirking as her top burst to reveal the man-shaming chest underneath. Her calves followed suit, casually spilling out of her socks.

"Do you see the big problem here, Katherine?" Big Brother's gaze was constant as ever, unwaveringly watching tears slip from the mother's eyes and curve down her cheeks. She was helpless to her youngest and that pained her. Yet, He cared not for that so much as a response to his question. It was met with silence, and predictably, that would only make the situation worse for Katherine. "Do you see why Aspen is being bullied?"

Of course Katherine knew why Aspen was being bullied. But, she didn't actually expect her to be bullied at all. All those times Aspen said she slipped - lies. How could Katherine have been so stupid as to not see that? She also knew Big Brother wouldn't allow this to go unanswered. Simply put, Aspen was the lone anomaly in His grand design.

"I swear if you so much as fucking touch her—"

He laughed. "Katherine. Look around. You are in no position to be making threats." What Big Brother said was, of course, true. Yet, Katherine was also in the appropriate position to conform to him. "If anything, considering you're on your knees, you are in the position to submit."

Katherine spat, making a point to rebel against Him even in her compromising position.

"Very well." He expected Katherine to know better by now. But - once a rebel, always a rebel.

The brief moment that came after He spoke was disturbed when the unmistakably rhythmical clicking of heels came from the shadows behind Katherine. Then the woman brushed past her shoulder and halted between Katherine and Him.

It was her.

"You remember Amelia. Right, Katherine?" He observed the new arrival from the rear, literally eyeballing her bodybuilder shaming glutes that twitched under her latex suit before moving his gaze upwards to the equally strong back, forged from years of arduous training utterly devoted to his vision, as was she. Amelia was considerably larger but no older than Brooklyn, with long blue hair and eyes green as grass. "I believe the two of you had quite the bust-up."

"I shot you." Katherine looked as though she'd seen a ghost. In fact, Amelia may as well have been one, what with where she was shot. "You should be fucking dead."

Smirking, Amelia cocked her neck to the one side to show the fresh scar that curved from her chin. It must've been no more than a few days old. Almost as if she could sense Katherine's shock, the blue-haired woman moved closer to the shackled mother. "You're a really bad shot with that thing."

Big Brother continued to watch silently. He knew what would happen next. Sometimes he liked to see it, others he wouldn't. Today, he waited with anticipation. In other words, even if Katherine chose to conform to his will, she was still going to meet the same fate.

"Speaking of shots..." Seemingly with speed unnatural to her size, Amelia thrust an injector gun filled with a black liquid into Katherine's neck and watched it seep into her system. "I call this Pop. Because that's what you're gonna do when we're done here."

Katherine already started to feel different...look different. She'd never experienced muscle growth so powerful, fast or violent in her life. Not even her dreams could comprehend such vividness. Even if she found herself to eventually become strong enough to do so, the woman wouldn't want to break the chains keeping her in place. If anything, she just wanted the jarring pain to stop, but with the pain came the size, and with it, the arousal.

As inhuman as it would make her become, Katherine wanted to be bigger. The sudden addiction so strong that the thought of being just an inch bigger was enough to make her salivate. The twitching of the woman's bloated tendons was so perverse and loud it drowned out even her own breathing, preventing her from hearing her own thoughts. They were all of the same thing: bigger, stronger... Almost as if the desire itself was the catalyst, she did, in fact, grow larger, although so much so that she started to become less human and more a ball of growing beef. But she didn't care. She wanted all of it. Being bigger was more important than being human; being bigger was more important than getting out; being bigger was more important than the safety of her daughters; being bigger was more important than anything.

No part of the woman was left untouched; as bloated and perverse as it was, Katherine didn't care about the fact her stomach writhed with growth or that it was jutting out as the pain accelerated past what any human could handle. She had grown past the point of caring for anything bar the want to grow. Veins showed everywhere; her legs, waist, back, face, genitals. Everywhere possible on a human, veins showed, thick and bulbous, something beyond reality. Everything was both wrong and right at the same time. Soon after, the very memory of her daughters had left her mind, replaced with the singular want to grow, as did the veins, starting to grow thicker than the muscles themselves, audibly expanding over them, bone, everything under the woman's skin suddenly swallowed by veins thicker than an arm, pushing everything outward with another definitive dose of growth.

And then—

[GLKnight]

Yeah it's worth a shot. I love dystopian future books so one about a muscular women would be great. One problem I think you should probably change it to something that's not copyrighted like Big Brother. Maybe head master or something like that.

Big Brother is in the public domain because of George Orwell's 1984. The show only uses it for the title. As long as the show is not the focus, then there shouldn't be a problem.

[Femmuclove]

That's what we get? And then....! I was totally sucked in. Best I've read in a long while.

[Amnoartist]

Big Taboo
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 1: Peeking In

NOTE: This release was formerly Patreon exclusive. I decided to post the first chapter here to gve it some awareness on my DA page. I'll only release the first chapter here, and the same will follow for any other Patreon series. If you'd like to get your hands on the next five chapters of the series and any more that mught follow it, consider pledging to my Patreon here. Please also note that this particular series caters to a specific demographic, as you'll no doubt notice below. With that said, please let me know your thoughts below.

The barbell groaned as it was pulled closer to the not-so-inviting ceiling; a grey and grimy textured plane of plaster with dark stains randomly bedecking it. It had seen better days, but that was years prior. Now it was just almost deliberately left to deteriorate with time.
The barbell contrasted the ceiling; a shiny steel-plated rod with equally polished weights commonly used by bodybuilders; heavy and firm, almost never feathery. The hands that held the bar had evidently been through some tough times, to the point that the skin was rough; callused and somewhat frayed to show the dried areas of blood.

Janet heaved, pulling the barbell up again for the fortieth time, her strength and focus unwavering, droplets of sweat only now just starting to form around the shapely yet muscular expanse of her body, after God knows how long a workout. The moisture seeped this way and that, between the cracks of her gym shorts-clad ass and cleavage, smiling softly at their respective rigidity pressing against the fabrics that helped retained her decency – something she cared very little for by now.

With a gentle exhale she racked the barbell and pulled herself up to sit evenly on the bench, her wide legs flanking either side to engulf it with their mass. The droplets of secretion flowed faster and more frequently now, practically acting as a small cascade of liquid gushing down her cleavage – or, admittedly, what was left of it anyway.

She looked around for a moment, taking deep breaths, at the shoddy excuse of a basement she called a gym. Sure, not all basements need to look nice and tidy, but when it's a gym – a place considered by many to help boost one's strength, stamina and confidence – the least that could be done was help make the place appear pleasing to the eyes. That said; the sub-standard appearance of the basement wasn't Janet's fault, but Frank's. He spent months rebuilding the basement into the gym it is now, used the weights for a few months, then left the place to gather dust, be forgotten.

Naturally, Janet just wouldn't let that stand. She was raised by her parents to maintain everything she could, if at all possible, so it went without saying she used her nurtured mind to preserve the gym, which ultimately led to her using it in her spare time, much to Frank's dismay, before going at it full-time.

"Another great workout" Janet declared contentedly. She reached for the lone white towel draped over the bench's edge and proceeded to wipe herself down, feeling the cottony material glide gently across her arms at first, before moving onto her chest. The individual muscles there still bulged; popping up to the surface of her reddened skin; veins pulsing softly as the rush from the workout slowly ebbed away. "Must be bigger and stronger than Frank by now. I'll be surprised if I'm not."

Janet turned to the mirror behind her just as a hushed groan made itself known from somewhere in the room. Or at least, she thought it was a groan – the basement pipes were so old, it could easily have been mistaken for the central heating groaning itself to life.

Janet stood up in front of the mirror and struck a lat spread pose, catching the reflection of her vein-laden arms bulge, the singular beefy tendons pressing against the mother's smooth skin, pushing out violently to only just touch her hips. Holding the pose, she retained the smile offered previously, obviously marvelled by how big and strong she had become over the past few months. There was no doubting it: she was bigger than Frank, probably stronger too. It was just a shame he didn't share the same level of admiration. Admittedly, he felt emasculated by the whole idea his wife was not only working out instead of him but was also doing so with heavier weights. It put a tremendous strain on their relationship as a married couple.

The only person in Janet's immediate family who ever offered moral support for what she did to pass the time was her son, Nick. He was an ever open-minded individual who always knew it would never hurt to try something new, unless what he tried, did, in fact, hurt him in the end. But other than that, he was a good-natured high-schooler who never got into trouble. Well, not with the law at least.

Janet changed poses, switching into an abs and thighs position. She beamed as her stomach rippled forth to form the washboard Frank was ever-envious of. Janet always said he could achieve a body like hers if he put his mind to it, but Frank had gotten lazy over the years. He wasn't fat by any means, just not as active as when in high school where he first met Janet.

Janet's hand glided gently over the stomach, her smooth hand contrasting the ridiculous rigidity of her core, where each abdominal strangely felt larger and stronger than the last.

"Abs of steel!" she called out triumphantly, suppressing the urge to giggle like the lively high-schooler she once was.

The groan came again. This time it was loud and came from a more specific direction: near the broom closet. Janet smirked knowingly as she turned her head towards it, knowing exactly who made the noises, but elected to play dumb, turning again into a side chest position.
The mother's sports bra thrust out in tandem with her pec flex reflected tantalisingly in the mirror, batting her eyelids with mock lust through it at the broom closet before speaking. "If you're gonna jack off to me..." She reached out to the broom closet's doors and pulled them open with such they sprung free from their hinges, revealing the anxious Nick within. "...at least do it where I can see you."

His sweaty palm clutching the veiny thickness of his shaft, Nick gulped. He was on the euphoric verge of coming to his mother's bodybuilder-shaming beefiness until she caught him red-handedly performing the shameful act. He was well and truly in for it now and didn't know how best to respond to what just occurred.

His guilty conscience filled him to the point where it felt like he would crack under the pressure of being stared down by his beastly mother.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" was all he could blurt out frantically, his hand still gripping his yet thick and bulgy shaft.

Janet glowered at Nick with a mock glower, arms folded to press her forearms up against her prized, wall-like chest. Her ears were filled with the soft sobs that escaped from Nick, while her eyes shifted down to his erection hanging above the underwear hanging round his ankles.

"You like these, huh?" Janet pulled an arm up into an obscene, vein-throbbing flex with a deliberate, toying grunt, thrusting a pillar-thick leg out in Nick's direction so that his eyes saw nought but his mother's sheer beefiness. Her traps flared, her neck engulfed with so much muscle, there was more of it than an actual neck. "You like Mummy's muscles?" Her tone was motherly, yet retained a degree of mock lust. At least, Nick presumed it to have a mocking tone.

He shifted his stance a bit, shuffling more to the right, as far into the closer as he could, but Janet followed suit, edging closer to him. Physically, in a sense, it appeared as though Nick wanted to escape his mother, but mentally, he was enjoying it; the simple notion of this massive woman so close to him after a workout, dressed still in her sweaty gear, caused his erection to stay prominent.

"Glad to see at least someone in this family is appreciative of what I've done to this body of mine: crafted it to perfection, moulded it to appear appealing to even young men such as yourself" Janet stated confidently, her eyes never leaving Nick's bulge, watching it throb and bob as he feigned his shifting movements once more. "It's a shame your father doesn't share it the way you do."
"But I don't--"

Janet scoffed. "Don't what? Find me attractive?" With a shameless smile, she gripped Nick's cock in her hand and squeezed. Its hardness was almost parallel with that of her overall musculature. "Your cock says otherwise, sweetie, even though it's so small. I honestly shouldn't be so surprised about that, though. After all, your father's the same. I bet if I had one, my dick would be bigger than yours even without an erection. Heck, everything about me seems to be either bigger or just outright better than you already, don't it? I lift heavier; I have bigger muscles; I pack way more food into this power-packed gut in a week than you would in a month!"

To emphasise her point – though there really was no need for it – Janet slapped her stomach and watched with a sadistic smile as her abs bulged and rose to the surface of her superiorly defined gullet. The clear-cut outline of a handprint soon emerged; red and distinct.
"And I doubt I'll ever stop" she added.

Nick was horrified. How could his own mother be so demeaning to him? Granted what she said wasn't exactly something a son would converse about with his mother, but still... it was horrible. Even so, she scooped him up, cradling him in her arms so his cock would press awkwardly comfortably against her chest. He fought for release, but two things acted against him: the fact his mother was just too strong, and that the arousal in his stomach was stronger than his faux want to escape.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Don't want Mummy to jack you off?" Janet paced through the room until she reached the weight bench, then sat on it like before, her trunk-like legs at either side, Nick sliding down slightly as a result so that his cock was wedged in her cleavage that acted like a vice – inescapable. She sighed. "You may as well beat off at every chance you get; you'll be seeing this buff bod of mine for years to come, and it's gonna get bigger, and bigger, and BIGGER!

Nick whimpered at the obvious truths laid before him: that his mother was right about everything she said, especially her declaration in becoming bigger – there was something particularly ultimate about that - and there was very little point in hiding the building lust within.
"Come on, sweetie. Come for Mommy. Show how much you really appreciate her!" Janet's words were deliberately lusty, spoken softly as she worked Nick's dick in her cleavage, the hard, stone-like meatiness of her chest rubbing violently against her son's equally thick phallus.
He gasped as he finally did what was asked of him by his Herculean mother, spurting cum over her chest like mayonnaise over bread. At the end he pulled himself closer to Janet, resting his head on her shoulder.

"There. That was fun, wasn't it?" Her voice returned to its familiar motherly tone; loving and considerate. She smiled, tearing her cum-stained sports bra free from her torso with one hand, reducing it to a pile of torn rags, leaving her cum-drenched, chiselled chest bare. "You know why I did it, though, right? To get the desire out of your system."

Nick nodded as he stopped to process all that occurred. It went without saying that he did, in fact, find it fun, as painful as it was to admit. However, something gnawed at him. "But that thing you said about my, you know... dick being small--"

Janet laughed cutely, her smile emphasising her dimpled cheeks. "Oh, that was just me playing a part: being a dominant figure in the act. It's something I used to do with your father."

Relieved, Nick nodded, though he was surprised to find his mother had quite the dominant streak. "That was wrong on so many levels though, and if Dad were to ever find out..."

Janet nodded approvingly. She knew what just happened was, as Nick just said, wrong, but he didn't exactly try to stop her, and she knew he enjoyed it. That said; it wasn't like he could stop her. "I know, Nick baby. And we don't have to do it again if you don't want to."

Absently squeezing his mother's glutes – who played dumb to the fact - Nick's eyes widened. "That doesn't mean I didn't enj- what I meant was..." He drifted off, effectively lost for words and not sure how to properly respond. Everything that just happened was, by nature, wrong, yet to him and Janet it felt oddly right.

She smiled. "I'm more than happy to let you see or touch my muscles, sweetie. Just...do it where I can see you, right?"
Nick nodded with a smile.

I personally think incest is weird and a bit gross; but, god dang it, that story was hot.

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 2: Tensions Rising

Nick had trouble with his homework. It wasn't that he struggled with doing it, rather he just couldn't stop thinking about the shameful events that occurred yesterday; he just couldn't stop thinking about his mother and her muscles. Every time he tried focusing on his studies, his mind shifted consistently to Janet's beefy hand holding his cock tightly and compelling her bicep and forearm to bulge.

He drank some of his water in the hopes that it would help clear his mind from the twisted thoughts, but it just wasn't enough. He mentally felt a hand – his mother's – jerk his cock up and down in slow, deliberate movements, the all-too-familiar fap-fap sound soon filling his ears. He breathed slowly, taking in the Spring air gusting through his window.

Soon, in reality, he felt himself awkwardly getting hard. At first, he presumed it to be a reaction to imagining the beefiness of his mother in a general sense, having always been attracted to muscular females, but soon came to realise the attraction was to his mother – period. Naturally, he was conflicted.

His bedroom door swung open to reveal Janet in a glitzy, sequined bikini, her muscles pumped up to their utmost – veins popping from her shoulders, biceps quads and calves – a bottle of oil held firmly in her hand. Nick presumed it to be a mind trick and blinked, but his mother still stood there, hair draped over her back.

"I sent your father to get some shopping for me - you know, protein mix and stuff – but..." she sauntered over to Nick with a grin, hips cocked to and fro with her movements before the bottle was placed on his desk. "...I need to get some oil on."

Nick, understandably, was confused – but not in the way one would think. If his mother knew she'd need the oil applied, wouldn't it have been more sensible for his father to do it before he went for the groceries?

Little did Nick know that what his mother did was all deliberate.

He sighed, knowing despite his internal conflict he wanted to apply the oil. He gestured for Janet to turn her back to him and watched as she pulled her hair over her chest to expose the full width of her back. It was all sweaty from the arduous workout she'd just finished. Nick had heard her grunts and groans of effort, lust and roars of anger earlier – another reason why he couldn't keep his head straight over his homework.

"Just the back?" He slowly applied the oil to her lats, felt the golden liquid seep between his fingers at a leisurely pace, like honey dripping from a beehive. It was cold too, having been stored at the back of the fridge for the past few hours – it was like holding icy water. Nick hoped he wouldn't have to – but also deeply wanted to – oil the front of his mother's freakishly meaty form. His mind ran wild for a brief moment, imagining taking the oil to her breasts – or what was left of them at least – and kneading her pecs. "Or maybe the front too?"

"I did an all-rounder workout today, so everywhere has to be gleamed up with oil, sweetie." Janet knew that was what Nick really wanted to hear, so didn't mince her words. To stress her point, she flexed her left arm and watched her son's awed expression show itself through the nearby mirror – it was priceless. Nick wanted to just drop the oil right there and then, and feel the bulbous arm his mother presented, but the task at hand had thrilling moments in itself. "You're a grown man now, so I expect you to do my tits too" she added firmly.

Understandably, that certainly got Nick attention – his cock tented up slightly as a semi hard-on was revealed to both him and his mother, who giggled girlishly as a result. Nick covered it shamefully with one hand without thinking and smudged the front of his jeans with the oil. Now he couldn't tell what was more embarrassing.

"In fact..." Janet turned to face him, pulled into a lat spread so violently that their respective muscles visibly bulged and pushed outward and strained the bikini top. "Why don't you just do my tits now, huh?" She flexed what little breast tissue she had left, watching the small globes of femininity bounce left, right, left and right again in slow, teasing motions. "Your father always leaves those to the end and it gets boring with the waiting. Maybe a softer pair of hands will make things more interesting."

Nick noticed the much more sultry tone from his mother and knew it to be deliberate, not to mention the fact it worked on him. His hands easing in closer, he did as commanded and smeared a fresh layer of oil on his mother's chest; in her inches deep cleavage, on her breasts and clearly erect nipples that tried to poke through her bikini top. He did it all willingly and without question as his mother watched with her smoky eyelids and smiled.

She turned her back to him again once her breasts were adequately oiled up and flexed her calves in an effort to draw Nick's attention to them. "These next, hon, and while you're at it... try describing them with words beginning with 'E.'"

Nick knew his mother's request to be strange, but not one he couldn't fulfil. First, though, he felt his mother's calf and almost lost it – it took both hands to encompass the full size of it! "Let me see...uh, explosive... enthralling...enveloping..."

Janet moaned with pleasure, but Nick couldn't tell if it was a result of his applying the oil or all the attention he gave her – Frank certainly didn't give as much. She teasingly flexed her calf for both her and Nick's enjoyment and felt his fingers press hard against their bulbous, thick flesh.

However, having given into her base primal emotions and without giving even a hint of warning, Janet turned to Nick and stuck her tongue down his throat in a deep, passionate kiss that sucked the oxygen out of her son's lungs, yet gave rise to boosting his erection that craned up and pressed against her naked thigh. Janet played dumb to her son's response and continued to kiss. It was perhaps the most passionate one she'd ever given to anyone.

Eventually, the behemoth mother pulled away and licked her lips suggestively before she spoke. "Keep that between us." She picked up the bottle and headed for the door before offering a glance back, Nick watching from behind as her hamstrings flexed and flared in tandem with her steps. "Keep showing that though..." she added, referring to Nick's erection. "...and it just might be more than kisses you'll get."

Nick wondered: could he keep the promise he knew he'd already made? He also figured his mother had no real intention to be oiled up – it was all a ruse so she could kiss him as she did. Not that anyone complained.

Janet closed the door behind her as she left.

///

Two hours later...

"Jesus Frank!" Janet groaned with frustration as her husband's cock slid out of her pussy and onto his stomach, the man panting as sweat dripped from his forehead. "Don't tell me you're flaccid already?"

Frank was confused. He looked at the clock mounted on the wall and cocked his brow as the time was made known to him – 16:34. That meant he'd been at it with his wife for a little over three hours now. He reckoned he'd every right to be flaccid at that point. "I came about four times already, Janet. What do you want me to do?"

Truth be told, the monstrously huge wife never felt her husband come once let alone four times, even though what he said was the truth. She pulled herself up from the bed and sat squarely on the edge, her feet pressed firmly on the carpet. She felt the material sift comfortably between her flexed toes as she sighed. There was no denying it – he just wasn't doing it for her anymore. Sure, Frank had his issues with Janet in that she was bigger than him, but it didn't drive a wedge in their marital status. But if his inability to please her kept up—

She sighed again and contemplated whether she should tell him or not. But breaking his heart might not have been a good idea right now – God knows how he currently felt about his mojo deteriorating. Janet thought a couple of Viagra pills might help. Maybe – but for how long? The woman didn't see any signs of her growth stopping anytime soon and her libido seemed to grow in tandem. If Frank showed signs of struggle now, how would he perform a few weeks or months from now? Eventually, she would have to opt for someone younger...

Frank glanced at his wife's cum-stained glutes rubbing against the bedsheets and was puzzled over how she couldn't have felt him inside her. She felt the mayonnaise-like substance ooze from her ass, but only at the edge.

Frank penetrated her consistently for the last few hours, yet the woman was unfazed by his efforts. That wasn't to say she was entirely unpleased – she spread her legs outward to let her pussy breathe and watched its thick muscles pulse. At least Frank was good with his fingers. But again, that would only last so long.

"Maybe your age is starting to show." Janet turned to Frank solemnly in the hope that he understood what she meant. Of course he did, but frankly, he knew it to be absurd. Sure, he was forty-four, but his older brother was still going strong with his wife, so that ought to be a good indication of how the family's health was like in the bedroom, right?

"My age is showing?" Frank scoffed as he pulled himself up to rest his back on the headboard. He knew there was something else to his inability to please Janet, not his cock failing. Heck, he still got a raging hard-on in the morning! "I doubt that."

Janet shrugged, her shoulder muscles popping to the surface with the slightest flex. "I'm just taking an educated guess here, Frank."

Frank leaned in closer to his wife, their respective widths humorously contrasted by their reflection from the mirror. He was almost like a toothpick in comparison with Janet – he was fit in his own right, but barely came to close to even half her size. He accepted it for what it was, though begrudgingly. "Maybe it's something we can figure out together. I know we each have our different views on how you look, but it clearly hasn't damaged our fun like now. So it has to be something else, right?"

Of course, Janet knew exactly what that 'something else' was - that she had an unhealthy attraction to her own son; her own flesh and blood. But she couldn't exactly tell Frank that. Not without creating problems with their relationship that until now didn't really exist.

She turned to Frank and smiled. "Yeah, we'll work it out – together." Janet felt guilt fill her after she spoke those words, not knowing how she could possibly maintain two relationships, each of which had their pros and cons – her relationship with Frank was right – the healthiest – but the one with Nick would prove to be the most exhilarating given he was younger and had more energy.

But in all honesty, Janet couldn't wait to get back with Nick again. She just had to think of an excuse for Frank to not be in the way...

* * * * * * *

Great chapter again. And now there are new possibilities for the Story line. Can't wait to get the next chapter.

Awesome. Love it. Can't wait for the next chapter. Cock rock all the way

[Amnoartist]

The Thing That Grew
Written & edited by Amnoartist
____________________________________

It's the sudden, spasming jerk of your own body that wakes you, as if jolted to life. Eyes flickering, a deep, almost guttural groan leaves your dry lungs as you push up from the ground, a constant shroud of darkness surrounding you. Unfamiliarity and doubt fill your head as indecipherable, unintelligible whispers echo from the blackness, carried by the wind, as if to call out directly to you. Blurred vision betrays your decision to move from what you consider a safe haven  despite your lack of familiarity of not just your whereabouts, but your own self; no memories of the past dance inside your head as if to suggest you don't have any - as if that spasming jolt that woke you was, in fact, your very first breath.

Cloaked by the ever-present darkness, you reach for your body to familiarise with it. It is strong and smooth, feminine. A curious hand runs across the side and nape of your neck; it, too, is thick and powerful like the rest of you. A sigh of relief comes knowing your powerfulness may prove useful in time. But the evident darkness only seems to grow, crawls closer as if desiring to envelope itself around you. Fear and the instinct of surviving compel you to rise to your feet, upon doing so you notice a torch sconce within arms' reach burning lightly. There's just enough light from it to see only a few steps ahead of you, no more than that. It would have to do. Upon taking the torch, you come to slowly be aware of your surroundings.

You may be alive, but the nature of your present location implies you're someplace much different; someplace unnatural and abhorrent. The walls are fleshy-pink and pulse with life, as does the floor. Further inspection only goes to prove luck is certainly not on your side; vein-like masses throb and bulge around you, connect and meet at one central point: a lever. Curiosity and uncertainty battle within you. Should you pull the lever that will have you descend deeper into the bowels of the horrifying locale, in the hopes that it may lead you to an exit? Or should you stay and wait it out for any potential rescuers?

Curiosity wins. You pull the lever and gasp suddenly in fear at the fact you have done so. Perhaps this might not have been the best course of action, but it's too late now; you start to descend deeper in an elevator-like contraption, its walls that sprout from the ground are not unlike the fleshy masses noticed earlier. Its vein-like growths meet one another and pulse in celebration, the ill light playing tricks on your confused mind, making it appear as if they are reaching out to you, hoping to take and make you one of their own.

///

As the elevator clicks to a halt, your torch flickers gently. The deeper you go, it becomes clear there is less oxygen; a tightness in your lungs proves it will be difficult to breathe. As such, logically, you reach for the lever in the hopes that you can retreat back from whence you came— but a mound of pulsing flesh envelopes itself around it, encrusted with veins, making it a point to let you know the only way out now, is forward - deep into the new shroud of darkness.

Careful, quiet steps: that is the key. But every time you move forward, all you can hear are the thick squelches as your boots beat down on the fleshy ground. It seems to shift every so often as well, as if expanding in some sense. A sudden quake-like rumble forces you to lose balance and stumble backwards, your hand reaching out to the wall to keep yourself from falling to the floor. A sigh of relief comes over you, but that sense of joy dies quickly as you soon come to notice the veiny wall itself growing over the tips of your fingers, taking over your forearm an inch at a time, flesh perversely pulsing in such a way that it suggests joy in taking you over, making you a part of its greater, larger self.

Your survival instinct kicks in, ferociously beating the pulsing growth on the wall in the hopes that you will be strong enough to resist and it to loosen from you. Each swing of your arm is met with a thick slap-like sound that echoes musically, but that only excites the growth further, ramping up the speed of it enveloping your arm, a deep rumbling that besets the darkness implies the situation's urgency.

But it's the sudden disembodied shriek from the darkness that compels the growth to not only stop, but retreat completely as if it had never touched you at all. You would have felt a sense of joy in the fact, had another, louder shriek not come beforehand; it's nature unquestionably inhuman.

In an effort to ward off the unknown threat you flay the torch frantically, despite the unfortunately dying light. Fear beats in your heart as the bodiless monstrosity makes itself known, with just enough light from the torch showing its head and torso; a faceless horror with nought but a mouth and teeth sharp as blades layering its overbite, a torso muscular beyond comprehension, coupled with breasts. It brings a leg out from the darkness; a large muscular abhorrence, veins encrusting every possible inch of it, yet forming more from nothing as it stood. Is this perhaps what you would become, had the growth on your arm fully enveloped?

The creature, whatever it possibly is, has no skin, the surface layer of its existence nought but a throbbing, twitching muscular monstrosity birthed from the darkest pits of Hell, from the most twisted of minds. It snarls and sniffs as if to stake you out, the scent of fear its driving motivation, saliva dripping down its jowls and neck. You hope that staying still proves to be more useful than not, but your heart beats like the deepest drums, sweat trickling down your brow, from equal parts fear and the torch's heat.

The creature arches backwards as its bones start to break from within, seemingly at will, the ungodly moans and screeches following suit, but it's not that which troubles you most. Rather, it's the horrifyingly pulsating layer of muscular flesh expanding to become even more so, abhorrent, visible veins continuously spreading across it to map and coat the freakish mass in throbbing blue-red tubing, blood rushing at such a pace that it just might burst out them.

Its cobbled stomach starts to bubble, visibly twist and contort until the mass of muscular flesh stretches and pulls, as if something is trying to burst out of it. The creature evidently comes to like it, though, releasing some sort of aroused moan as the rest of its respective flesh seems to expand. It isn't long before the whole thing starts to balloon, the muscular layer violently tearing itself apart in its obsession to grow. And before your mind can truly process it, its stomach bursts apart, wide open to reveal tentacle-like entities writhing, gently stroking the bare fleshy confides of its former prison.

The tentacles start to push outward slowly, the creature from whence it came moaning in unparallelled pain dying from the motion. Before long, a large head pushes itself free from the creature, finally killing the thing as it comes to meet its tentacle-like limbs.

True horror starts to set itself in you as the tentacled horror lets out a horrifying shriek before latching itself onto your face. You can't breathe, let alone struggle to; every time you try, the tentacles just get tighter and grow larger around your face and neck. When you finally get that lone, almost teasing opportunity to breathe just once, the newly-birthed monster perversely kisses you and puts.. something.. down your throat before it, too, died like its bearer.

The change comes quick and in sharp doses of unimaginable pain. Like the faceless horror, you start to grow; muscles jutting outward to burst free from the confines of your clothes, growing so large so suddenly that your skin itself starts to split and shed until nought but the muscles themselves are laid bare as the front layer of your existence. As painful as it is, however, the transformation is almost euphoric. You feel your veins having lives of their own, twisting and contorting in unimaginable ways, going so far as to reach deep inside your own genitalia, then deeper still. Those that don't, cover your own growing abhorrence in themselves until it appears as if you are encrusted with them, or they grow beyond the confines of your body, spreading to the floor and growing larger still.

You lie there, encrusted within your own pulsing, continuously growing flesh, having become part of whatever hellish plane of existence you are unlucky enough to find yourself wake in. The stalking darkness finally envelops not only you, but everything.

Be that as it may, the squirming, expanding mass persists...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Interesting!  I have to say I do have a soft spot for erotic horror and the body horror vein of muscle growth is a rich one to tap.  Nicely done.

(One observation: "True horror starts to set itself in you as the tentacled horror lets out a horrifying shriek before latching itself onto your face," could probably do with an editorial pass for the word repetition.)

Very Lovecraftian

[Amnoartist]

Muscle for the Mob
Written by Amnoartist

"Where's the money, chump?"

The punch came fast and hard, rocking the chair so violently Andrew's neck jerked, pulling him backward. He'd been punched countless times before throughout his life, but not like this. He spat blood, felt a loosened tooth wobble and rub against his gums. He'd made a pact with himself not to tell them where the money was. As far as Andrew was concerned, he'd more than deserved to keep it for himself after all the shit he done for the mob. But clearly they didn't care.

Vako smiled sadistically, flashing his grilled teeth - what was left of them, anyway. Like Andrew Vako had been in a few fights, but had less molars to show off from all the blows landed to his jawbone. That wasn't to say he wasn't a particularly good fighter. Rather, he had a knack for picking fights with people bigger than him. Vako was insistent about the matter at hand, however, making a point to flash his gun, not a smudge on it. He seemed to take better care of his gun than his teeth.

"Fuck you, I deserved that money." Andrew wasn't exactly in the position to be making threats like that, but he didn't care. If he was going to die - which certainly looked to happen pretty soon - it would be on his terms. On the other hand, Vako couldn't risk killing Andrew knowing it would be impossible to find the money without him. He was crafty like that, always hiding shit in the most unlikely of places. That's what made Andrew a good asset for the mob. "Fuck knows what you'd do with it anyway. Probably blow it all on whores and shit. You're not exactly the smartest guy, Vako."

Vako pistol-whipped Andrew, a blunt whack to the temple so hard his vision blurred and hearing distorted long enough for the mobster's next verbal threat to go unrecognised as he moved away. The Russian hastily removed the magazine clip from his pistol for a quick ammo check. Fifteen rounds - more than enough to put an end to Andrew, with a few more just for fun. Maybe a round or two into the bastard's kneecaps would get him talking. That or mention his darling sweet girlfriend. They always get talking then.

But it wasn't a bullet popping into his knees that took Andrew by surprise. Rather, the crook of an arm wrapping itself around his neck from behind, slowly but surely crushing his windpipe. He might've struggled, but Andrew was still able to see the bicep bulging underneath the fabric of a jet black jumpsuit, not to mention the perfectly manicured feminine hands.

"It would be a good idea to play along, Andrew." His assailant was no older than twenty, but clearly had some level of experience in the world of fitness - whatever good that would do her in the mob ring - with flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She couldn't stop herself from laughing even just slightly at Andrew as he struggled; she liked that about them. "You wouldn't want to get on my bad side, babe."

"Faith here is one of a kind." Vako observed her keeping Andrew's neck locked in place. If she had to, just one quick jerk and he'd be a goner. Their professional relationship aside, Vako and Faith were, in a sense, a couple. "We found her in a unique monastery in the Chatyr-Tau, led by women who seem to like the idea of muscle on their bodies more than religion itself."

Andrew had heard things about Faith—rumours mostly—but never actually took them seriously enough to think she might actually be a real person. Only comic-book superheroes were strong enough to lift tanks. But in the real world—well, Faith just might be the equivalent to a super-villain.

She released her grip on Andrew, finally letting him catch his breath before he turned bluer than he already was. Struggling to catch his breath, he clawed at his throat whilst Faith positioned herself in front of him, placing her massive right leg on the chair he was tied to, her heeled foot between his legs just below his crotch. It went without saying the blonde had done this before - torturing her "victims" sexually enough that they'd give up their deepest, darkest secrets in exchange for "freedom."

"C'mon, big guy, where's the money? Tell me where it is and—" Faith reached for the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit and started to, rather slowly and in a sensual manner, undo it, ever so slightly revealing the chest muscles underneath. Andrew knew women could develop muscles just as men could, but hers were beyond comprehension; striations layered atop one another, pumping blood and gently heaving the underlying thick straps of she-meat as she breathed seductively. "—we could maybe have a moment to ourselves afterwards. Whatcha say?"

Vako must've known Andrew liked muscular women. Sure, he never explicitly revealed it, but the biggest mistake made just might've been that he talked about them often enough for Vako to connect the dots. In other words, Andrew baited himself into the current situation. That wasn't to say he didn't like normal women - he was in a lasting relationship with Kirsty, after all. Things would've been much better for their sexual relationship if she showed a little interest in working out. Considering he probably knew Andrew's secret, Vako brought Faith as leverage against him.

Between looking at Faith teasingly flexing and Vako ransacking the house in search for the money, Andrew's attention was sporadic. As long as Vako didn't have the brains to tear the floorboards—

Faith had a gun of her own strapped to her hip, polished like Vako's. With biceps big as beach balls, Andrew couldn't quite wrap his around why the beastly blonde even had a sidearm at all. Just from the sight of her alone, one could tell she was a living weapon.

Vako wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the box sometimes, but Faith— she followed Andrew's gazes, smiling as her eyes met the floor, knowing exactly what was underneath. On most occasions a crowbar would best work to pry the floorboards free, but then Faith wasn't there. Now that she was— well, she was just dying to show off.

Andrew watched her kneel, his eyes magnetically drawn to the powerful calf muscles yearning to burst free from her jumpsuit. Given the leathery strains and pulls, that just might be the case eventually. She drew her fist back and, before he could properly process the feat, drove it through the floor with such force that it didn't just create a hole large enough to reveal the wads of cash underneath, but split the floor in all directions like an egg shell. There was no real floor left by the time Faith looked at her perfectly conditioned knuckles, as if she hadn't punched it at all - just cracks that continued to spread until they met the skirting boards.

Faith reached in and pulled out wad after wad after wad of cash, each time Vako's smile widened until his grills flashed in the moonlight. Andrew knew he was in deeper shit now. He'd hidden the money to use it for buying a proper house he and Kirsty could live in that would better help them start a family together. An apartment couldn't do that, much less one that only had one bedroom. But the money wasn't his - it belonged to the mob. The Russian mob at that.

"It's all here. Two point five million in cold hard cash." Faith couldn't stop staring at the thigh-high mountain of green she'd effectively uncovered with her fist. It was as if all that money laid out in front was turning her on. Riches was a form of power. Faith loved power. She jabbed Vako in the chest with a finger, making a point. "Make sure I get my cut. Five hundred thousand." She and Vako might've been lovers, but Faith was adamant to have a pile of money she could call her own.

"Yeah, yeah." Vako turned back to Andrew and crouched in front of him, pistol at the ready. Andrew expected this to happen. Nikinov didn't like loose ends, and there was always the possibility that, if he were able to escape, Andrew would call the cops. There was always the other option: cut off his hand for having stole in the first place. Let that be a reminder for him and his family in the future not to fuck with the mob. But Vako didn't have a knife handy, much to Andrew's relief. "Just let me finish up here."

Vako cocked his pistol and pressed the barrel squarely on Andrew's kneecap. He winced, knowing this just might be his last few moments alive. The thing about Vako was he didn't give people an opportunity to plead for mercy. He was cold like that, a raw sadist.

He smiled at Andrew knowingly...

///

Hours Later...

Faith pulled her head back and let Vako's dick out of her mouth, watching its thick and sloppy meatiness slap against his leg that was comparatively tiny next to the blonde's. He just couldn't believe she  had been working his dick for the better half of four hours, managing to prevent him from blowing his load. Whatever those women in that monastery did to her, it worked wonders for Faith, to say the least. She turned to face the mountain of cash she singlehandedly "acquired" from a bank heist. Nikinov was insistent that Faith have some backup in the event that shit hit the fan, but she knew it wasn't necessary. During that bank job, much like with Andrew's floor, she drew her fist back and blew a hole in the vault large enough for her to reach in and disconnect the lock from the inside.

She pulled her naked weight up and straddled Vako seductively, reaching for his ear to nibble on it. He tried to join on the eroticism, but the blonde's weight put stress on his legs. Her added mass and weight definitely showed, sometimes. Vako reached for her steely ass and gave it a squeeze. She returned the favour by pulling her arms up into a double bicep pose. They far oversized his own, easily as thick as his thigh, casting a shadow over him as he grinned lewdly.

"You really are something. You know that, don't you?" Vako's eyes trailed the thick veins layered atop Faith's arms, practically dying to touch them. But Faith only let him do things when she permitted him, always playing the dominant one in the couple.

"You're goddamn right." Faith's lust took hold of her; she pulled Vako downward so his mouth met her erect nipple. He knew just from that what was being implied, sucking on it. Faith arched her head backwards in incomprehensible lust, long sweaty hair draped over her  door-wide back, pectorals flaring wildly to mimic the excitement felt from Vako's eroticism. "Oh, daddy!"

Faith knew Vako loved being called Daddy; it was a sort of trigger that often sent his sex drive over the edge, particularly when it was said in that tone which oozed lust and passion.

Faith also loved the concept of dominance. Her being the larger and stronger of the couple only amplified that. She had this idea that sometime in the future, she and Vako would take over the mob from Nikinov. With Faith being as big as she was, and showing no signs of slowing down in that regard, there was no reason to think she couldn't expand her idea of a mob empire throughout the region. Nobody would ever get in her way of that - right?

///

Several Weeks Later...

Kirsty stared intently into the mirror, eye-fucking the chest muscles under her top she'd pumped so religiously that her skin had turned lobster red from all the stress and pressure her workout produced, striations visibly showing under the sweaty fabric. She couldn't believe her body had gotten so large over the past few weeks, let alone knew she would stare at them so covetously like they were otherworldly, but her motivation spoke for itself.

It wasn't easy for Andrew the first couple of weeks after Vako and Faith came, but he persisted and Kirsty made a vow to do whatever would be necessary to protect the couple and get some form of payback for what happened. Kirsty was far from the violent type, but she wanted to make sure the mob knew her stance, wanted Nikinov to know he made an enemy of her. Kirsty did take the matter up with the local police, but they turned her away. From that moment, it was pretty certain they were all bought off by the mob. But maybe—just maybe—they'd listen after she showed them her new, rather intimidating body.

Being bedridden from his injuries, Andrew didn't even know what Kirsty spent nearly the past month doing. She was rather deliberately keeping it a secret from him. Of course, he'd be starstruck otherwise. But perhaps it was a good idea for Kirsty to not show him the results just yet. She still didn't even know he liked muscular women, even if her transformation was tight-lipped, so the reveal would be doubly exciting. She would show him her transformed body as her means to protect them both, although not sure how Andrew would even take it - yet, he'd basically flip with excitement from the unexpected show.

She turned into a side chest pose and smiled at the rolling deltoids on display, reflecting energetically from the mirror. It was no surprise that the transformation turned the redhead on. Her nipples stood erect, poking violently through the top as if trying to pierce through it. She didn't even know she had the genes to pack on beef so quickly, until the persistent intention to become the couple's protective force took hold. Some would even argue the mass was packing on a bit too quick, but Kirsty didn't care - and Andrew probably wouldn't either.

"God, I'm so fucking jacked!" If it weren't for the need to be Andrew's protector, Kirsty probably would've been big enough to compete. The thought of doing so after confronting Nikinov did, in fact, cross her mind. It would be a neat little way of celebrating and blowing off some steam, even if she didn't actually win the show, quickly followed by riotous sex with Andrew either at home or in the backstage lavatory if their desire for one another was too powerful to control.

Her bicep burst through her top without warning. She loved it when that happened. It was the second top that week. The bigger the rips and tears, the bigger she was; the bigger she was, the more so she wanted to become. It was a viciously erotic cycle that seemed to have no end. Not that Kirsty wanted it to. Her bicep throbbed, veins pulsing and squirming under her skin. The fact they could do that was yet another hint at just how powerful she'd become in such a short time. It made the bodacious redhead wonder how powerful she'd be now if the desire to work out had kicked in at an early stage in her life.

Kirsty smirked. With her beast of a pump at an end and muscles bulging to their extremities, now just might be the time to pay the police another visit for passive "second thoughts."

If only Andrew could see her now...