+Notable Author: [Amnoartist] SERIES: Muscle Comes With Age

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 9: Hereafter

A month after “Ain’t Got It In Ya!;” Gully’s Shopping Centre…

“Hey, could you help me with this?”

    Imogen stared into the changing booth’s mirror with self-pity, sizing herself up after her attempt at trying on a new shirt turned out to be a blatant failure; she misjudged the sizing and put on a shirt at least two sizes too small - small enough for it to be tight—well, pretty much everywhere. In fact, the brunette was pretty sure she heard a slight rip when she turned sideways for closer inspection.

    Sinead sifted into the changing booth, the curtains parting to display the blonde in her somewhat wider glory, a black top hugging her broader shoulders and semi-pumped biceps. She and Imogen had been working out together nearly every day in the past month, save for the odd day every week to recuperate and relax. ‘Netflix and Chill,’ specifically.

    “I told you it was a bad idea to pose in it.” Sinead couldn’t help herself but laugh at the humorousness behind Imogen’s current predicament; the brunette tried to pull the shirt over her head, but that only made the situation worse by making the attire jam itself into position just above her armpits. Not to mention her evidently bare, bodybuilder-shaming legs jiggled in her jumping movements added to the laughs.

    “Oi, that’s not funny, Shinny. I didn’t laugh when your jeans split last week, did I?” stepsWhile her situation was indeed unfortunate, Imogen succumbed to her friend’s contagious laugh and snorted, inwardly confessing it was pretty funny. At least, so long as the shirt didn’t—

Shrip!

    —”Shit.” Sinead’s instinctive action was to reach for the price tag on the shirt’s collar. Just as well she had twenty quid to spare, else there’d be Hell to pay. Although, the shirt was going to be ripped up through other means anyway, right? Just not so soon. The blonde continued with the task of freeing her trapped friend, pulling more and harder at the clothing until more, larger rips and tears formed, allowing Imogen’s torso to finally be freed from its cottony confines.

“Imogen is a free girl,” the brunette joked, paraphrasing Dobby from Harry Potter.

    Her face beet red, Sinead handed Imogen her pair of jeans, looking away shyly as the girl’s burgeoned quads rippled with each step. As the larger girl slipped into her denims, Sinead pulled out her phone with a smile, angling it above the two of them.

“Selfie!” she called out, snapping a photo of her dimpled smile, Imogen struggling to button up in the background.

“Shinny!” Naturally, Imogen was embarrassed, but at least she saw the funny side and offered a brisk half-smile. “Don’t Inst@gram that.”

“Oh, I’m definitely putting this on Inst@gram.”

Imogen scowled.

    “Here. Try this.” Stifling a chuckle, Sinead offered a cream coloured blouse to Imogen that seemed to be more appropriately sized than the ill-fated shirt. But the intricate patterns on the article of clothing made Imogen think it wasn’t exactly cheap. She turned to the blonde with a cocked brow, anxiousness tightening its fist around her gut—

“How much did this—”

Sinead raised a finger in protest. “It’s an early birthday gift to you.”

    Imogen’s heart jumped. She still hadn’t told Sinead what would typically happen on her birthday. The thought had crossed the brunette’s mind, but revealing that same fact was what drove Hayley away. But maybe the bigger crime would be to not tell Sinead. What would be the best thing to do? Any decision she would make could jeopardise her relationship - something she didn’t want to do. This was the happiest Imogen had been in God knows how long. Too long.

“Thanks” was all she said, albeit in a diminutive tone.

    Sinead’s returning smile burned its way into Imogen’s heart. The brunette couldn’t bear to break that of the blonde’s. She’d have to tell her the secret, otherwise, things could turn ugly later. Would now be the best time? Maybe not, but if that was the case, then when? Just as she was about to grow? Thus leaving the blonde to witness the act in confusion and run off?

“Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

She was hushed by Sinead’s dulcet tone, a finger over her lush lips. “Don’t ruin the moment. Try it on.”

    Imogen knew there were more important things to say than what she thought about some stupid blouse, but it had been a long time since someone outside her family bought anything for her. Complying, she pulled the blouse over her head and turned sideways at the mirror to size herself up, capped shoulders only just hugging the fabric, enough room to give them and the rest of her muscles room to breathe.

     "See?” Sinead wrapped her arms around Imogen’s wide back and pulled in to kiss her on the cheek, making the brunette blush. Imogen saw Sinead’s dainty smile through the mirror and mimicked it. There was always something cute and contagious about the way the blonde smiled. “Perfect fit. Just don’t go posing in it yet.”

Imogen snickered.

///

Meanwhile, at the Nelson Household…

“What do you mean you want to compete again?”

    Frank cautiously watched Agnes as she did pull-up after pull-up with ease, a weight disc strapped to her feet for resistance. The husband watched his wife’s burgeoned lats bulge and ripple in sync with her gentle breaths, sweat matting her skin to give it an erotic glow, grey locks of hair strewn across her back like coiled vines. He wasn’t all that pleased to hear the news his wife just broke, considering what occurred not half an hour prior.

    “I mean, I want to compete.” The grandmother picked up the pace of her reps, heaving breaths faster and more intensely as she turned her head sideways and caught the troubled visage of her husband looking back through the mirror. The woman surmised she still had two or more shows left in her before age truly caught up with her. But the want to be onstage once again made her blind to what happened earlier. “There’s this new show, Lady Retro, coming up within the next few weeks and I intend on placing First.”

    Frank didn’t necessarily dislike the fact his wife sought the desire to compete again. If she won, the prize money would go a long way and could support the family. But her potential predicament could hinder that.

“But you vomited this morning. Morning sickness - one of the symptoms of pregnancy.”

    Inwardly, Agnes hoped Frank wouldn’t bring that particular subject up. Not when she was on a roll with her workout, at least. Her aged biceps quivered as she pulled up again for what must’ve been the fiftieth rep, Frank watching from afar with a developing erection in his trousers. So far, only they knew of the events that transpired earlier that morning. Agnes didn’t want to jump to conclusions and assume the sickness was a sign of pregnancy. She did eat quite a lot of food that night. Letting the rest of her family know so soon about the news might not be such a good idea.

    “You know how much I ate last night. Six whole pizzas and four pies from Quincy’s for my main course.” Knowingly, she glanced at Frank again with a grin. “And you for dessert.”

    Frank’s erection perked up at his wife’s sultry wording, cocking his pelvis slightly to hide his development. As he done so, Agnes got off the pull-up machine and sauntered over to the desk at the far side of the room, where a curious looking notepad, presumably a diary of sorts, laid open. Upon her travelling, Frank eyeballed the quivering calf and hamstring meat his wife religiously worked out and grew over the years when they wouldn’t do so on that one fateful day every year.

    “I’ve got my diet and workout regimen worked out.” She flicked through the pages until a particular date was reached: March 31st - a little over two weeks away. If she could maintain her diet and workout goals until then, there was no reason to believe the trophy and money wouldn’t be hers. But—

    “Think of the other girls, though.” Frank was modest enough to still call women of his age ‘girls,’ admirably. But he did have a point. In fact, Agnes was living, breathing proof of that; it wouldn’t exactly be fair to the other competitors if she popped up on stage already bigger than three of them combined. That said, they could use that as motivation for next time, couldn’t they?

    Agnes offered a small chuckle, her massive, muscle-crammed back still turned to her comparatively tiny husband, still reading from the diary. The other girls—would be all over Agnes like a rash by show’s end, begging and pleading her to reveal the secret to her crazy size and definition. If only they understood. “If I maintain eating four stones’ worth of protein daily, I’ll be around double my current weight by the time I go onstage.”

    Needlessly stressing her point, Agnes finally turned to her husband with a faintly seductive smile and craned her arm up into a flex, bringing it to, at least by mentally guesstimating, its full peaking height of sixty, vein-crusted, energetic inches of she-meat. It went without saying Frank found it enticing, even though he tried convincing his beastly wife to back down on the thought of competing. That just wasn’t going to happen, though, was it?

"I'm almost tempted to let you kiss or touch it."

Frank gulped. “You might even have to eat double that if you really are pregnant,” he pointed out, changing the subject quickly.

    Agnes cocked her brow, realising her diminutive husband just might have made a good point. If she truly was pregnant - God willing - then that meant her diary would need to be reworked; adjusting the weight for her workouts; double the food intake and the amount of protein ingested. But surely, logically, that meant Agnes would be even bigger?

“In that case, let’s hope I am.”

“So, you’re set on competing?”

    “Yes, dear. Now, go get some oil. These muscles need some lovin’.” Agnes chuckled. She always loved Frank for his persistence, even if he was in some way beaten. She pulled her leg out to the side in a successful effort to tease him, compelling his eyes to be drawn towards the woman's pillar-thick quad. "And if you're a good boy, I just might give you some lovin' afterwards," she added, eyeballing his erection.

///

Meanwhile, at Ford’s flat…

    Ford found himself to be in quite the predicament. He knew Laura wanted to be “like him,” so they could be a fit couple together like those on Inst@gram. But she was evidently going overboard with it all now; her naked, vein-caked muscle tits loomed over him, twitching and throbbing in sync with her ragged breaths, straddling his naked form like a cowgirl on a horse, her pussy clamped down on his throbbing dick.

    He was worried about the present situation he found his pompous, juiced-up self to be in, but admittedly it was of own doing. This was all karma for him stealthily spiking Laura’s drinks with all kinds of steroids over the last month. Not that she complained one bit. It was just—spiking her drinks was one thing, it was another when she was concocting the hormones herself and drinking them straight out of a flask, as she did now while riding him, the liquid seeping down her chin. The bed had already caved in hours ago, spit down the middle due to the redhead's freakish bulk, but Laura certainly didn’t give a shit. If anything—

     "Jesus Christ, Ford. I thought you said you were hard?” She straddled and swayed her hips faster in the hopes that doing so would help her, but there wasn’t any problem—at least for Ford. He was as hard as ever, which was a surprise considering how much HGH he took regularly. The problem was Laura; she just got thicker and thicker, in more ways than one; in more areas than one, especially down there.

     The redhead adjusted her position, taking Ford’s dick in her hand from behind. It was evidently throbbing from lust but was comparatively tiny next to the jerking twitches of her forearm.

“I am” he insisted.

    She gave up, pulling her love-juice stained pussy free from Ford’s manhood and moved sideways to the bed’s edge, her gaping back turned to him. He just wasn’t doing it for her anymore. She often ordered him to buy Viagra, but Ford insisted it wasn’t needed. He reached for her shoulder, but the redhead shrugged him off, reaching for the TV remote. She had to do something to get her mind off the disappointing sex she just went through. Hopefully, there was something decent to watch.

    The first channel caught her eye. Admittedly, Laura didn’t have much interest in the news in a general sense, presuming it was all controlled, but the presently run story was better than nothing; better than the sex at least.

“Dame Ethel Rutherford, eighty-nine, nears death following health complications,” the reporter called out.

    “Who’s she?” Laura inquired curiously, all while attempting to coax Ford with yet another handjob, her calloused hands running along the length of his shaft, listening to his soft moans of pleasure as pressure mounted.

    “Who, the Dame? My Dad said she was some business tycoon, years back,” Ford explained, trying to keep his load in. It was proving difficult to accomplish; between hearing the faps and Laura’s thick forearm slapping against his shaft, it wouldn’t be all that long before he creamed. “Involved in the Bodybuilding scene, too. Participated a couple of years back, before her health started going to shit."

Laura shuddered at the thought of seeing this Dame Rutherford flexing muscles at her age.

    And then it happened, much to Laura’s evident displeasure. With a jerking motion, Ford released his otherwise hours-long withheld load, expelling it over Laura’s jerking forearm and throbbing bicep.

“Oh sure, now you blow your load. I only meant to coax you, you know.”

“Sorry,” he said gently.

    Groaning, the redhead pulled up from the bed, wiping her boyfriend’s cream from her arm as she peeled away behind the wall leading into the bathroom. Soon after, the gentle hiss of the shower was heard, which put a frown on Ford’s face.

“Can’t I join—”

“What do you think?” Laura’s voice boomed.

* * * * * * *

This story just keeps on getting better. Hope there's more roid use from laura.

[Amnoartist]

God i wish your stories were illustrated 'couse i want to see Laura in color.

Funny you should say that. I have an account on D*V*antArt and am considering commissioning an artist to sketch a character from one of the series I'm actively working on. I already have Natalie from Juiced up on there and her sister Peyton's next

Then I will hafta go check that out then, thanks!

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 10: Mother Dearest
 
One day after “Hereafter;” at the Rutherford mansion…
 
    Booming steps rushed across the flawlessly polished flooring, passing the Grandfather clock striking midday as gentle rays of sunlight burst through the bay windows, frantic, worried breaths slipping out of Clarence’s lips as he turned the corner, coming to a sudden halt at the large gathering of servants, their backs turned to him and looking restlessly into the room ahead. It seemed the entire house had come to a standstill following the news that broke.
 
    Approaching the small gathering with bated breath, Clarence offered a small disdainful to himself, knowing the help were only concerned because following the potential tragedy that could happen at any given moment, their jobs could very well be at risk and they wouldn’t be paid their monthly salary. Clarence sifted through the servants until; finally, he’d made it!
 
    The medical ventilator beeped. Without having to look at its large, blocky monitor, Clarence could already tell his mother Ethel wasn’t doing well; her face was thinner than he remembered, in fact, she all-round looked smaller than the fifty-something-year-old last saw her. His job had taken up so much of his time already that he rarely visited, but when he got the call—his attitude changed.
 
    He knelt down at her side, clasping the old woman’s hand tightly, inwardly praying that, God willing, she would overcome whatever complication she was suffering from. But Clarence was naïve – Ethel was old and perhaps it was just time for her to move on.
 
“What are you doing here?”
 
    Clarence was so absorbed with the want to be at his mother’s side perhaps for the last time, he was blind to the fact his twin, Annie, stood at the opposite end of the bed, and his father, Walter, beside her. Clarence and Annie were forever at odds with one another, even over the most trivial of things. But presently, although it hadn’t been made clear to those around them, their latest quarrel was over who would take ownership of the family company after their mother died. Walter was too old to maintain a business empire worth billions. Not to mention he could soon follow his ailing wife at any moment.
 
    “She’s my mother too.” Clarence didn’t so much as offer a glance to his sibling. That would be too much of a compliment, in his eyes. Instead, he clasped Ethel’s hand tighter. If only she said something, anything.
 
    “It’s your fault she’s in this mess, you know.” Annie coldly stared at her brother with her piercing green eyes, hoping he would see her from the corner of his that welled up and look back just long enough to know how serious she was. Her words might’ve been harsh, but they were also true. “If you hadn’t convinced her to take up that bodybuilding--”
 
    “Annie.” Walter looked at his daughter with a hard face. This was neither the time nor the place to release such negativity. His wife, their mother was dying. “He has every right to be here.”
 
“But Dad--”
 
    Walter maintained his wrathful gaze until Annie took the hint, standing silently in accordance with his implication. In all honesty, though, she would’ve much preferred if her unusual sibling left. Instead, he remained kneeling, which was cause enough for the woman’s detestation to return to the surface and boil; she bit her lip silently but said nothing, instead, taking her own leave, rudely bumping into the servants.
 
    Silence awkwardly filled the room for a moment before Clarence took the opportunity to speak, looking helplessly at his diminutive father, as though he could offer some guidance. “So, there’s nothing we can do?”
 
    Walter shook his head in defeat. It seemed despite all the billions the Rutherford family had, none of it could be used to help his dying wife, which was painfully ironic considering it was mainly used to fund scientific projects. As if to emphasise his powerlessness, he mirrored Clarence, kneeling down. Nothing could be done; it was just a matter of waiting.
 
    A distance clamour from beyond the main hall upset the otherwise grave silence, prompting the grieving Clarence to reluctantly rise to his feet and peer out from the door. Hopefully, Annie wasn’t causing a scene again, like when she visited Argentina. Then Clarence saw him – a middle-aged man in what seemed to be a scientist’s coat, rushing with something in his hand. It wasn’t all that easy to see from such a distance, not to mention Clarence’s eyes weren’t what they used to be.
 
    “Someone stop him!” Annie’s bodiless voice boomed from somewhere, catching the attention of two large bodyguards dressed in black. Without hesitation they tackled the man in white to the ground, swiftly bringing his lithe form to the ground with a loud thud, landing face-first. A pained groan escaped from his lungs as the bodyguards pulled him up by the collar, presenting him to Annie.
 
    “Who are you?” she asked coldly, sizing the newcomer up from head to toe. He looked relatively harmless; the only thing that made him look even remotely otherwise was the unkempt hair on his head.
 
    “I wish to speak with the man of the house.” The yet-nameless scientist frantically looked at both his sides, nervously laughing at the two men who’d previously brought him to the floor, before presenting the object he held in his hand, surprisingly still intact: a curious vial labelled ‘A’ filled with a liquid not so dissimilar from blood in colour.
 
    Despite that, Annie’s reflexive response was to flinch in fear before confidence found its way back and filled her. “What’s that?”
 
    Clarence came to his sibling’s side. Perhaps this was the only time in God knows how long she was actually happy to see him.
 
“That—will help save your mother,” the scientist revealed confidently.

\\\

    "No. No way.” The details of what would happen to Ethel after the vial entered her bloodstream made Ethel furious. She flashed a glance at Clarence who was, predictably, more supportive of the notion than her. Walter was close by, sat in the lounge’s largest armchair, comparatively, and rather humorously, making him look tiny. “I won’t allow it. She has to move on,” she added.

    The scientist, who revealed himself as John, understood Annie’s dislike for the procedure, but frankly, it wasn’t up to her - she might’ve been one of the heirs to the Rutherford fortune, but wasn’t the man of the house. That burden fell to Walter, who was torn on the issue. Should he let John go forward? It would let Walter see Ethel up on her feet again, but God knows what would happen after that.

    “I say we go through with it, ” Clarence said with soft confidence. His mind had been set on that decision since John revealed what would happen.

    “Of course you’d say that. What with all it’ll do.” Annie scoffed, arms folded over her bountiful breasts as her lithe form hovered by the burning fireplace. Offering a pleading glance at her father, she hoped she wasn’t the only person to see reason, then turned sideways back to her brother. “Besides, it’s not up to you.”

    John remained tight-lipped; he was holding something back, deliberately. He’d offered the family of his employer this one chance to continue living happy lives, yet refused to reveal the one setback to prevent them from slipping into despair again. But that didn’t stop Clarence; he could tell John had been silent for far too long since he revealed the initial effects of the procedure.

“What is it, John?”

    John yet remained silent as the grave to contemplate his next words, pleading to himself that he could find an easy way to put them forth to the family. But there wasn’t; he’d have to make do with what he had and hope they understood. “You know the effects, but…they will be amplified, given your mother’s age.”

Clarence cocked a brow in half confusion and intrigue. What did John mean by that? “Sorry?”

    Annie scoffed. Clarence always was the twin arguably slower on the uptake with things, but she understood without question. Though, that fact only encouraged her not to speak up, knowing how her brother would react in turn. She couldn’t do that now, though, having already sneered at him in derision. She got his attention. “He means because Mum’s older, the effects will be much more powerful.”

    “She will be up on her feet, though?” Walter said, finally breaking his minutes-long silence. He’d taken time with contemplating his decision. What if the made the wrong one? What if the procedure backfired and killed Ethel? He was also of the mind to agree with Annie - perhaps it was just time for his wife to move on.

“Oh, definitely. She could even be on her feet within ten minutes of the procedure’s completion.” John revealed.

    Juxtaposing that of her brother’s, Annie knew she was always going to be of the opinion that this was a bad idea, but she couldn’t deny the curiosity boiling inside her. The vial of what was probably blood: where did it come from? Who or what did it come from? Could it even be trusted? “Where did you get this stuff anyway?”

    “I suspect your mother knows more about that than I do. But technically it came from our lab.” John’s patience was wearing thin now, as was how much time Ethel had before she moved on. “If you want to know the specifics of that, you’d best ask her.”

Annie nodded.

    “What’s your decision then, Mr Rutherford?” John looked at the old man pitifully. It seemed all the thinking about what decision to make had really worn him down. “Do we go ahead with the procedure?”

Walter sighed reluctantly. “Yes. You have my permission to proceed.”

“But Dad--” Annie protested.

    "The decision’s been made, girl,” Walter retorted with a cold glance, turning sideways to his shocked daughter. “I pray you don’t have to make one so hard in your later years.”

John nodded. “I’ll start right away.”

///

    “I hope you know what you’re doing, Doctor.” Walter observed John's nervous hand movements with caution, sat anxiously in an armchair with his two often-squabbling offspring at either side of him. “I’d hate to see you murder my wife before our eyes.”

John managed to offer a scoff despite nerves rattling his bones. “You can rest assured this will be a success, Mister Rutherford.”

    What the young doctor said was technically true - it could be a success, but not when someone was practically breathing down his neck watching his every move. The procedure was a very meticulous process that required every ounce of the man’s concentration, else something could go wrong. He inspected the needle in his hand carefully, his eyes narrowed to check over the dosage of the liquid as the ailing Ethel breathed raggedly besides him. Every millilitre counted.

    Clarence started to panic, as did his sister. They might argue over who was best to take over the company when the time came, but that didn’t dilute the affection for their mother. With blind eyes, the woman turned her sideways to the sunlight peeking through the clouds. It wouldn’t be long now before she passed. Annie knew that. She twiddled her thumbs in panic, before, in the corner of her eye, she saw John slowly inject the needle into Ethel’s exposed arm. She let loose a pained groan, much to her family’s worry, but there was nothing they could do to prevent that.

    “Now we wait.” John packed the spent needle into a clear polythene bag. The waiting periods were unpredictable, sporadic; they depended on the individual in question. It could take minutes, hours, maybe even days before any sign of positive changes started showing up. All the doctor could do now, though, was wait. And hope. He hoped because he didn’t quite fancy the idea of blame being pinned on him if the procedure failed and Ethel died. God knows what Walter would have his security guards do to him.

    Then, much to the family’s continued concern, the ventilator’s beeping quickened, seemingly in sync with that of Ethel’s breathing. Was she having a panic attack? Maybe even her heart was finally giving in and saw fit to put an end to the woman’s suffering. Yet—

    “Or maybe we don’t wait.” John saw it taking place already. It was perhaps the quickest the effects of the liquid were starting to show: in mere seconds.

    Ethel’s formerly loose nightie became tighter and tighter with her every breath as abdominal muscles thick and broad as a head quite literally bubbled into existence, pushing and pulling the fabric in all manners of directions. Capped, boulder-thick shoulders slowly but surely rose forth to compensate for the other enlarging limbs and muscles, much to her family’s shock. At least, Clarence and Walter were happy - Annie remained on the fence even as her then-dying mother literally grew and transformed before her, her gaunt cheekbones filling out to match the brimming biceps casually tearing their way through the insignificant nightie, as did her shoulders finally, still bubbling with growth even afterwards.

“Interesting,” John said, “it seems all the years of mass she’s missed out on are all catching up to her at once.”

    Walter couldn’t resist the need to tug at the collar of his shirt. Why was it so suddenly hot in here? The ballooning of his wife’s breasts certainly didn’t help his case; much like her yet growing muscles, they expanded until the fabric of her nightie could no longer contain them, forcing the comically large mammaries to burst free, lactating slightly.

    Before they all knew it, suddenly, Ethel’s bed split in half from her increasing bulk, all while her titanic musculature seemed to twitch all at once in one collective flex, surging larger still.

    “Will it stop?” Annie was worried. This was exactly what she was afraid would happen. But it was too late to stop now: it was happening. All she could do was watch.

“Only when it has to,” was John’s barely helpful but honest reply.

    And then it did stop, much to the daughter’s relief, but her brother and father’s evident disappointment. The doctor bore no real emotion similar to either of his clients. He was impressed that it worked so quickly but happier that it worked at all; happier that he wouldn’t be hanged by the arms and beaten for otherwise failing. Although, he didn’t heed the evidently rising erection in his pants.

    Ethel opened her eyes for the first time in days, saying not a word when she glimpsed her onlooking family and doctor. She felt heavier than she remembered, but was quick to connect the dots: the titanic woman clocked the syringe in the polythene bag and smirked before sitting up, revealing the warped and cracked wooden bed frame underneath her comparatively stone-hard lats.

    “It seems to have worked for me after all.” Ethel narcissistically raised her left arm up into a flex, looking sideways at the large slab of thick beef, large veins squirming along the surface. Presently, it was hard to put into numbers how large she’d gotten. The newly-energetic woman frowned regardless. “Could’ve been a bit bigger, though.”

    Annie scoffed at her mother’s claim, but mentally back-tracked to the words she’d spoken beforehand. What did she mean when she said it “worked on her after all”? It sounded as if it was planned or hoped.

    “But who do I have to thank for this?” Ethel looked to her family sternly, clocking Clarence’s gaze turning to Annie’s  whose turned to Walter and John. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. After all, he did want to save his wife. She eyeballed his evident, shamelessly unhidden erection and cocked a brow with lustful intrigue.

    “Kids, if you don’t mind, I would like some alone time.” Ethel unfurled one of the ends of the bed quilt as if to invite Walter and the good, pleasantly youthful doctor “It seems I’ve got years of lovin’ still in me.”

    Clarence and Annie could only comply; they were too shocked by what just occurred to manage a discernible syllable, let alone a word. They closed the door behind them just as Walter and John climbed into bed.

///

An hour later...

    “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Annie stood over the kitchen counter with a glass of rose wine, brought to disbelief by her brother’s so-called idea. He might’ve been the most successful of the two just by pure luck, but he was certainly the dullest too. If the family went through with Clarence’s proposition, all Hell would likely break loose. “Do you have any idea what would happen if the public caught an eye of Mum after her…change so soon? They’ll ask questions, which in turn will lead to enquiries within the company.”

    “Well, she can’t stay cooped up in here all day, can she? It would make the whole transformation thing seem pretty pointless, otherwise.” It was hard to argue with whom of the twins was the most rational. They both had valid points in their latest argument. At least, for once, it wasn’t over who retained ownership of the family business. “Unless you’ve got a better idea than me.”

    Annie scoffed. Better idea. Every idea she had from the moment she came into the world was better than Clarence’s - he was never the brightest bulb in the box. Hell, when he was born he even came out of his mother the wrong way: arse first.

"Well, no, but I wouldn’t go through with an idea like yours regardless,” she chided.

    Clarence scowled at his sibling coldly. He never did take being doubted like that very well and was pretty temperamental in that regard. In fact, he was ready to characteristically lash out, when, from the corner of his eye, he saw his mother stood by the door…shamelessly naked, hands on her hips, biceps mashed into her equally powerful obliques. For the whole one hour, since the comparatively tiny progeny left their mother to her bidding, Ethel had maintained a near constant threesome with Walter and John, who were now presently out for the count upstairs.

    “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just down for a quick drink.” The large mother’s steps were loud, beating heavily off the fine wooden flooring as her outrageously mushroomed muscles quaked in her venture towards the cold fridge, where, from within, she pulled out a full pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and unabashedly sought to down the lot. Her gulps were just as loud and ravenous. She had a lot to learn from this new powerful body of hers, like how much it could consume.

    The two siblings awkwardly observed their mother’s continued consumption, listening to the gulps and watching her throat flex in and out with each swallow. It seemed as though it expanded with each swallow, like it took on more and more of the juice each time, until, finally, it was left empty. There was enough juice in that pitcher to last the family throughout the entire day.

    “How long had you been standing there?” Annie worried. She hoped her mother hadn’t heard enough of her conversation with Clarence over what was best for their mother, but—

    “Long enough to know you think it’s okay for you to decide what I should do with my life, now that I’m on my feet again,” Ethel scolded. She reached into the fridge again, this time pulling the remains of the freshly baked pizza the in-house chef Alfons made. Without so much as a few moments to give it a quick buzz in the microwave, the gargantuan woman devoured the pizza in what felt like a blink, in her mouth and swallowed before either of her heirs could correctly process the fact. “I understand your worry, I do, but now things are as they should be.”

    Clarence pulled his attention from his mother’s insane, naked glutes to offer a response of his own. One that, surprisingly, was in the same vein as that which his sister would give, considering. “What do you plan to do?”

    Taking the fruit bowl and all its contents with her, Ethel sauntered over to the lounge chair. She frowned, forgetting she’d grown large enough for her previously favourite chair to be dwarfed by her size. In its stead, she remained stood, caring not for the fact her son and daughter found it awkward. Biting into the apple, she tossed a leaflet onto the counter, catching the attention of Annie, who looked at the large bold text and flexed bicep logo for the Lady Retro bodybuilding competition.

“Mumma's gonna make her comeback." Ethel spoke with conforming assurance as if she knew already the trophy and prize money was already hers.

    Clarence and Annie looked at one another knowingly before turning their gaze to their mother happily eating a banana and thought to themselves: what did we get ourselves into?

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & Edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 11: Two Sides Of The Same Coin

One day after “Mother Dearest;” at the hospital…

“Well, I can say one thing with confidence, Agnes.” Doctor Shields removed his gloves slowly, a gentle yet concerned expression painted across his aged face. That was understandably worrying, to say the least. He glanced at Frank for a moment, who sat by his wife's side as she laid back on the maternity bed, her gargantuan mass weighing the frame down. Agnes could already tell what Shields was going to say, long before he did: she had a feeling.

"I'm not pregnant, right?" She didn't need Shields to respond, in a professional manner or otherwise. It was bad enough Agnes had a feeling she was right in the first place. Even so, she couldn't deny the welling sadness within, the hopes of potential motherhood crushed in the blink of an eye. The wish to cry even just a little bit at the news was fought back bravely, but Frank knew his wife all too well. He could tell she wanted to burst into tears.

"So, what exactly was it that caused her to throw up that morning, and..." he glanced ever so slightly at Agnes' abs that rippled like waves with her every gentle yet quivering breath. Intrigue took hold of Frank. "...for her stomach to be as bloated as it was?"

Shields nodded. In actual fact, there was a reasonable explainable for Agnes' circumstances. Well.. as reasonable as they could possibly be. "I'm going to guess a woman of your size likes her food, right?"

Agnes nodded slowly, although she wasn't all that sure what the good doctor was getting at. She needed to eat. Everyone needs to eat. But Agnes soon connected the dots and rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"There is such a thing as too much, even for a woman like you," Shields concluded. He eyeballed Agnes' abs in the same manner her relieved husband did and clocked a lone pulsing vein flanking her right oblique. Admittedly, given he was a youth and full of energy, it went without saying Shields was green with envy. How did a woman old as Agnes become so muscular while he barely compared to a male fitness model? Realising asking himself questions like that could drive him mad, he returned to the matter at hand, albeit, half-heartedly. "I, um, would recommend you cut down your caloric intake to something less "large," so to speak."

"And, uh, what about the workouts? I've got a competition coming up, you see, and I want to compete in it." Agnes could tell from Shields' expression that a question such as that might not have been best to ask him about. After all, it was clear she had the better understanding of working the human muscles than he did.

Regardless, Shields chuckled. "I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to work out even today."

That was a relief to hear. Although it didn't dampen Agnes' initial sadness about her not being pregnant, despite her hopes. It begged the question if she ever could be a new mother again. Perhaps Vivian was right about it being risky. A woman Agnes' age, muscular or not, would not be so lucky in being with-child as one her daughter's age.

"Do you think I ever could carry again?"

"Agnes." Frank grew concerned over his wife's question. He knew she was persistent, but this was taking the cake. "At least give it a few days."

Shields shared Franks sentiments on the subject. He knew it would be difficult for Agnes, but that wasn't to say she couldn't do it either. "Maybe. But I wouldn't build my hopes up."

Agnes' response was a solemn silence, perhaps even a cold one. It was as if she didn't want to hear those words. Frank noticed and saw fit to break the awkward silence by cutting in:

"Thanks, Doc." He took his wife's hand gently, his comparatively tiny forearm brushing against his wife's far larger one, like a twig sizing itself up against a log. Agnes complied with her husband reluctantly, pulling herself up from the bed to silently collect her coat from the nearby hook.

Shields shadowed his patient's steps, following her to the door where he offered Frank a modestly consoling handshake before they parted ways.

///

Meanwhile, at the Rutherford Mansion...

Laid comfortably on a massage table, Ethel moaned softly as Clarence continued kneading her pumped, naked, sweat-streaked back. Her hours-long workout had finally come to an end and what better way to show off just how pumped she'd gotten than have her jealous son rub them? It wouldn't have been the first time he did it.

"You've certainly improved your technique over the years, darling." So as to tease him more Ethel shrugged, bunching the copious large muscle fibres underneath to agitate and flex under the skin protecting it, visibly cramping and twitching as if they danced. "As have I."

Did she really have to tease him so? Ethel knew Clarence had an unhealthy obsession with his mother's muscles when she competed years prior, but neither of them acted on it. This was borderline incest, wasn't it?

"Mother, I'm only here to massage you." Clarence knew his mother didn't really care. Everything she did now was the result of her blatant power-trip, so long as she kept up appearances, at least. It wasn't like Clarence had a real say in the matter or could do anything. Besides, he lied to himself; there was no denying he enjoyed what he did.

"Sure. And I'm only getting buff because I feel like it." Ethel rolled onto her front, revealing her dyed, muscled clit, so tight it was almost as if she was still a virgin. Teasingly, she spread her legs and coaxed Clarence's perverse arousal by flexing its individual muscles. "The last time you said something like that, we woke up in bed together."

Clarence fought hard to resist his mother's beckoning, knowing what he did then and felt now was, oh, so wrong. It was bad enough she was that old. But his urges took hold, prompting him to undo his jeans and whip out his entitled dick. He edged closer to Ethel's waiting mound, and---

A sudden knock at the door caught the two off-guard, forcing them to rush back into their original positions as Annie walked in. The first thing she caught sight of was her brother hurriedly fastening up the last button on his trousers, and although a condescending glower had itself known from her, she didn't speak up.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" Ethel was able to retain her previous tone as though nothing happened in the last few moments, her arms dangling from either side of the table. Anne offered a quick glance to Clarence's trousers, clocking the erection.

"I would ask you the same thing. John's back again." Annie wasn't stupid. She knew what was just prevented between her two family members, and sought to scold at least one of them head-on - after John conducted his business with Ethel.

"Ah, good, send him in." Ethel pulled herself up from the table and fetched a towel to wrap around her burgeoned gut. It seemed larger than the last time Annie looked. Clarence moved to her side, although that later proved to be a bad move on his part; she unabashedly reached for his sack and gave them a hard squeeze, assessing the rigidity of his cock. As expected, it was still hard.

"Fucking perv" Annie whispered to her sibling, just as John brushed past her with a suitcase. He didn't wear his typical lab coat, instead opting for something more professional.

"Give us a moment, will you darling?"

Annie complied, taking Clarence with her, holding him by the collar of his shirt. A definitive bang from the door implied privacy was now in the hands of Ethel and John.

///

John whipped the industrial grade measuring tape away from Ethel's vein encrusted calf before jotting down a measurement into a notepad. It was clear Ethel was making remarkable progress since her initial transformation only a day prior. "Eighty-four inches. There's still plenty of room for mass."

"My thoughts exactly, John." To stress her point, Ethel flexed the calf on display, prompting it to bound even larger before John's eyes, squirming and cramping with beef without trying. Before they knew it, Ethel's heart-shaped calf was easily ninety inches large. "My thoughts exactly."

"Ah good, your growth capabilities are evolving too." While John was impressed by what she could do, he had the duty of reminding her that the effects were only temporary - growth and all. "But remember: you have to be careful with how often you use the serum doses. We only have four left, and the original DNA template is--"

"Missing, I know." Ethel was all too well aware of what it would mean if the original wasn't found and more samples weren't created: she would whither back to her frail state and die for sure this time. She was battling against the clock. "They've been missing for months now."

John was relieved in a sense. At least he was aware Ethel knew what was at stake if the original wasn't found.

"When you called, you said something about 'unusual developments.'" John pushed his glasses up against his nose in intrigue. "Care to elaborate?"

Ethel scoffed. Admittedly, talking about the matter ahead worried her. But she knew it was best to show John rather than describe through words. Removing the towel from around her waist, the gargantuan elder revealed her bloated gut decorated with brick-thick abdominals. She could tell John was confused. She ate a ton of food, and it showed. So what? Except, that wasn't the case.

Then he saw it from the corner of his eye: Ethel's stomach visibly throbbed as though there was literally something inside it, like a--

"Is that a--"

"Baby, yes." Ethel groaned slightly as it moved again, pushing against her burgeoned abdominals to make space. Not only did it do that, but it seemed to directly influence the woman's body, make it pulse with a tiny dose of growth. "It wasn't there yesterday."

Despite its abnormal nature, John knew the cause of Ethel's predicament. He should've seen it coming, but didn't. How could he have been so stupid? "It's the serum. Remember its effects have been amplified to work on you. That includes fertility."

Ethel couldn't find a word to help describe how she felt. Shocked? Worried? Angry?

"I take it you and Walter slept together last night?" John inquired.

"It's not that simple," Ethel returned.

John knew what Ethel was implying. He knew she and Clarence had been intimate in more ways than they should've in the past.

///

Annie slapped Clarence across the face so hard his head sharply jerked to the left. He couldn't exactly say it wasn't deserved, nor that he didn't have it coming to him. Although anger still found its way to him, filling the man to the brim. He wanted to hit back but didn't.

"You fucking disgrace me." Annie couldn't bear to look at her brother the same way she used to. In fact, she could bearly find the strength to look at him at all now; she turned her gaze to the waxed floor, yet continued scolding him. "How long have you been doing it, the two of you?"

Clarence didn't want to say, knowing it would only incriminate him more. But his silence was just as damning.

Annie raised her hand to slap him again but stopped herself. He wasn't worth it. He'd probably like it anyway.

"Pack your bags. You're leaving."

Annie mustered the strength to slap her brother one last time but was stopped short by the bounding steps from the hallway. The two Rutherford heirs then turned to face their naked mother standing over them, a hand over her squirming stomach as her child moved. John stood behind her noting details into his notepad.

"That's no way to talk to the father of my child," Ethel said coldly.

Annie blinked, frozen to the spot at the sight of her even larger mother so casually groping Clarence's balls teasingly.

"I always knew you were special," Ethel said in a definitive tone.

Annie fainted, falling backwards straight to the hardwood floor.

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age

Written & Edited by Amnoartist

Chapter 11: Two Sides Of The Same Coin (ADJUSTED)

One day after “Mother Dearest;” at the hospital…

“Well, I can say one thing with confidence, Agnes.” Doctor Shields removed his gloves slowly, a gentle yet concerned expression painted across his aged face. That was understandably worrying, to say the least. He glanced at Frank for a moment, who sat by his wife's side as she laid back on the maternity bed, her gargantuan mass weighing the frame down. Agnes could already tell what Shields was going to say, long before he did: she had a feeling.

"I'm not pregnant, right?" She didn't need Shields to respond, in a professional manner or otherwise. It was bad enough Agnes had a feeling she was right in the first place. Even so, she couldn't deny the welling sadness within, the hopes of potential motherhood crushed in the blink of an eye. The wish to cry even just a little bit at the news was fought back bravely, but Frank knew his wife all too well. He could tell she wanted to burst into tears.

"So, what exactly was it that caused her to throw up that morning, and..." he glanced ever so slightly at Agnes' abs that rippled like waves with her every gentle yet quivering breath. Intrigue took hold of Frank. "...for her stomach to be as bloated as it was?"

Shields nodded. In actual fact, there was a reasonable explainable for Agnes' circumstances. Well.. as reasonable as they could possibly be. "I'm going to guess a woman of your size likes her food, right?"

Agnes nodded slowly, although she wasn't all that sure what the good doctor was getting at. She needed to eat. Everyone needs to eat. But Agnes soon connected the dots and rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"There is such a thing as too much, even for a woman like you," Shields concluded. He eyeballed Agnes' abs in the same manner her relieved husband did and clocked a lone pulsing vein flanking her right oblique. Admittedly, given he was a youth and full of energy, it went without saying Shields was green with envy. How did a woman old as Agnes become so muscular while he barely compared to a male fitness model? Realising asking himself questions like that could drive him mad, he returned to the matter at hand, albeit, half-heartedly. "I, um, would recommend you cut down your caloric intake to something less "large," so to speak."

"And, uh, what about the workouts? I've got a competition coming up, you see, and I want to compete in it." Agnes could tell from Shields' expression that a question such as that might not have been best to ask him about. After all, it was clear she had the better understanding of working the human muscles than he did.

Regardless, Shields chuckled. "I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to work out even today."

That was a relief to hear. Although it didn't dampen Agnes' initial sadness about her not being pregnant, despite her hopes. It begged the question if she ever could be a new mother again. Perhaps Vivian was right about it being risky. A woman Agnes' age, muscular or not, would not be so lucky in being with-child as one her daughter's age.

"Do you think I ever could carry again?"

"Agnes." Frank grew concerned over his wife's question. He knew she was persistent, but this was taking the cake. "At least give it a few days."

Shields shared Franks sentiments on the subject. He knew it would be difficult for Agnes, but that wasn't to say she couldn't do it either. "Maybe. But I wouldn't build my hopes up."

Agnes' response was a solemn silence, perhaps even a cold one. It was as if she didn't want to hear those words. Frank noticed and saw fit to break the awkward silence by cutting in:

"Thanks, Doc." He took his wife's hand gently, his comparatively tiny forearm brushing against his wife's far larger one, like a twig sizing itself up against a log. Agnes complied with her husband reluctantly, pulling herself up from the bed to silently collect her coat from the nearby hook.

Shields shadowed his patient's steps, following her to the door where he offered Frank a modestly consoling handshake before they parted ways.

///

Meanwhile, at the Rutherford Mansion...

Laid comfortably on a massage table, Ethel moaned softly as Walter continued kneading her pumped, naked, sweat-streaked back. Her hours-long workout had finally come to an end and what better way to show off just how pumped she'd gotten than have her jealous husband rub them? It wouldn't have been the first time he did it.

"You've certainly improved your technique over the years, darling." So as to tease him more Ethel shrugged, bunching the copious large muscle fibres underneath to agitate and flex under the skin protecting it, visibly cramping and twitching as if they danced. "As have I."

"Ethel, I'm only here to massage you." Walter knew his wife didn't really care. Everything she did now was the result of her blatant power-trip, so long as she kept up appearances, at least. It wasn't like Walter had a real say in the matter or could do anything. Besides, he lied to himself; there was no denying he enjoyed what he did.

"Sure. And I'm only getting buff because I feel like it." Ethel rolled onto her front, revealing her dyed, muscled clit, so tight it was almost as if she was still a virgin. Teasingly, she spread her legs and coaxed Walter's perverse arousal by flexing its individual muscles. "The last time you said something like that, we woke up in bed together."

Walter fought hard to resist his wife's beckoning but his urges took hold, prompting him to undo his jeans and whip out his entitled dick. He edged closer to Ethel's waiting mound, and---

A sudden knock at the door caught the two off-guard, forcing them to rush back into their original positions as Annie walked in. The first thing she caught sight of was her father hurriedly fastening up the last button on his trousers.

"Everything okay, sweetie?" Ethel was able to retain her previous tone as though nothing happened in the last few moments, her arms dangling from either side of the table. Anne offered a quick glance to her father's trousers, clocking the erection.

"I would ask you the same thing. John's back again." Annie wasn't stupid. She knew what was just prevented between her two family members, and sought to scold at least one of them head-on - after John conducted his business with Ethel.

"Ah, good, send him in." Ethel pulled herself up from the table and fetched a towel to wrap around her burgeoned gut. It seemed larger than the last time Annie looked. Walter moved to her side.

"Give us a moment, will you darling?"

Annie complied. A definitive bang from the door implied privacy was now in the hands of Ethel and John.

///

John whipped the industrial grade measuring tape away from Ethel's vein encrusted calf before jotting down a measurement into a notepad. It was clear Ethel was making remarkable progress since her initial transformation only a day prior. "Eighty-four inches. There's still plenty of room for mass."

"My thoughts exactly, John." To stress her point, Ethel flexed the calf on display, prompting it to bound even larger before John's eyes, squirming and cramping with beef without trying. Before they knew it, Ethel's heart-shaped calf was easily ninety inches large. "My thoughts exactly."

"Ah good, your growth capabilities are evolving too." While John was impressed by what she could do, he had the duty of reminding her that the effects were only temporary - growth and all. "But remember: you have to be careful with how often you use the serum doses. We only have four left, and the original DNA template is--"

"Missing, I know." Ethel was all too well aware of what it would mean if the original wasn't found and more samples weren't created: she would whither back to her frail state and die for sure this time. She was battling against the clock. "They've been missing for months now."

John was relieved in a sense. At least he was aware Ethel knew what was at stake if the original wasn't found.

"I trust you will do everything in your power to ensure they return here?" Ethel turned to face John head on, her bulky shadow engulfing his comparatively insignificant form. "I don't quite like the idea of nearing death again."

John nodded. He felt compelled to. God know what would happen if he didn't.

[Amnoartist]

Hey guys. In an effort to review the series' plot, I'd like to remove both the original and adjusted versions of Chapter 11. Since I'm not a Gold member, though, I was wondering if somebody would be awesome enough to do that for me? I really do hate inconsistencies. Thanks in advance, guys

[Amnoartist]

Reserved for Mod use

[Amnoartist]

It's been a while since I wrote for this series, so wanted to get back on that horse. I put up a new poll to reflect this.

[Amnoartist]

Would love to see an update on laura.

She'll have her moment to shine, don't worry ^_^

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

I'd also like to point out that the plot going forward is based on the original version of Chapter 12, not the adjusted one.

[Amnoartist]

Reserved for Mod use

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 12: A Sign of Things to Come

Three days after “Two Sides of the Same Coin;” Undisclosed Location…

Ethel let loose a fierce roar of determination as the inhuman weight was brought down for yet another military press, her muscles burning from so much strain, flexing from so much power that she only sought to go again for what had to be the hundredth time now, her naked form glistened and matted with sweat. Until recently, she had no idea so much power could reside in a human being, let alone one so old—let alone her. A series of wires were hooked onto her chest to record her vitals; blood-pressure, heart-rate. In spite of her advanced age and the ridiculous amount of weight she’d just drove upwards, the woman felt no pain.

A trio of doctors sat nearby at a desk watching Ethel’s vitals, observed the weight she was working with and listening to the muscles being worked; they audibly flexed and squirmed as the hundred-and-fifth rep came to a close. Ethel’s doctor, John, stood behind the trio with his arms folded, typically dressed in a white lab coat. He was marvelled by the amazing woman before him. He knew the serum would work as intended, but not this well. That wasn’t to say he was worried about how things might pan out in the future. Ethel had always planned for this—decades of research and experimentation finally paid off.

Of course, there was somewhat of a tremor—a hint of uncertainty—amongst the trio who observed the woman’s feat.

“How is it even possible for a woman her age to have muscles, let alone ones that big?” Klaus’ words held an air of panic about them. Before he was brought in to work with the other observing scientists—Claire and Desmond—Klaus was always sceptical of his work and self-doubting, but never anticipated to work on something—no, someone—John considered to be a ‘marvel.’ “I’m aware she was injected with the serum, but—”

“Enough. It’s not your job to ask questions, Klaus.” John stressed the point, pointing sharply to the computer monitor autonomously marking down Ethel’s measurements—bust, height and muscle size. “It’s to ensure there are no dips or shrinkages.”

“We’ve had a steady flow of growth for the past few hours, sir.” Claire was only the most obedient of the trio because of her fear towards Ethel. Someone as powerful as she could do some real damage or harm if irked enough.

Desmond’s job was more interesting—making sure the weight Ethel used was heavy enough to apply resistance to her muscles. In spite of its familiar appearance, the barbell was beyond normal. There were only two, relatively small weight plates thick as John’s fist locked into position, but the ‘weight’ really came from a magnetic force underneath the floor. If Ethel wanted more resistance, it was Desmond’s job to crank the magnetism up with a lever at his side of the desk.

“More weight!” Ethel commanded in a roar-like tone. The rush of adrenaline now fully flowing through her mass-goaded system, she would endeavour to push her body further, command it to grow even larger. Her naked, beastly form throbbing with power, she drove the weight up again for the hundred-and-fifteenth rep. Desmond did as commanded, cranking the magnetism up to what ought to be around two hundred and fifty thousand kilos in weight! But Ethel pressed once again with such ease, it made it look as though the weight felt far, far less than that. “I said, more weight!”

Desmond didn’t know what to do. He’d cranked up the magnetism as far as the lever would allow. The only way he could possibly add more force would be to disengage the failsafe. There was no telling just how much weight Ethel could lift then. John looked at Desmond knowingly, giving him the go-ahead. Entering a string of computer code, Desmond could feel his colleagues look at him with uncertainty, but not adhering to better judgement would do more harm than good.

Almost as if she could feel the magnetism pull the barbell down, Ethel retaliated through pushing upwards with all her might. It was only then she started to show real struggle, but this was what she wanted—a challenge. The two hundred and fifty kilos she lifted just then was like a walk in the park in its own right, but only felt even more so now. More sweat pooled at the eighty-nine-year-old’s forehead before starting to slither down her traps and thick neck. The smell was odious but she didn’t care, her mind only set on lifting again. She could feel her muscles bulge and predictably lusted after both them and the fact they would grow yet again.

John watched the dataset on Klaus’ monitor erratically show increments of muscle growth—ninety inches…ninety-five…a hundred…a hundred and ten—the aged woman’s limbs rumbling and ballooning outward to add evidence to the fact. It was then John noticed cracks starting to form on the floor around Ethel as her weight ballooned—five hundred pounds…six hundred…eight hundred. As if that wasn’t enough, it wasn’t long before the cracks nearest Ethel’s feet started to create mounds. And then—

—with one, definitive roar of triumph, she pulled the barbell up over her head, her near godly power unearthing the magnets under the floor. Carelessly, she tossed the barbell aside and shrugged, the simple motion enough to bring forth yet another dose of growth to her inhuman form. Her back still turned to the trio of scientists and John, she heaved a breath before turning. Her cobbled abs had become fuller, thicker and more detailed, but it was still impossible to hide her gravid state.

“How’s that for your experiment?” she inquired coolly.

Desmond turned to the readout on his computer screen. At first he blinked, refusing to believe the result as genuine—but, no, it was still there even then. A million kilos of pure weight. "Jesus Christ."

John watched the naked Ethel approach with a damp towel in-hand, rubbing the sweat from her metamorphosed physique. First, he gawked at her thighs easily thrice the height of an average person, veins throbbing in such a way that they hinted at the perhaps limitless power within. How he wanted to caress them… Next, he took to her bulging genitals, which, too, seemed to flaunt at how much more incredibly powerful they’d become. It stood to reason that no man or woman could properly satisfy her now—the price to be paid for having become so mighty.

John eyeballed Ethel’s pregnant stomach and wondered how it was possible for her to be in that state at such an age. The roads of science that could be taken knowing this. What would become of the newborn? How would it fit into society? How did it fit in the complexity that was their mother’s transformation? There were so many questions that needed answers. John knew that in the world of sciences, with answers came yet more questions—like it was nought but an endless loop.

Ethel reached for a banana sat coincidently at Desmond’s side within arm’s reach, the pangs of post-workout hunger now at an all-time high for the woman. Every bite she took of the potassium-filled foodstuff heightened the woman’s energy quicker than that of an ordinary human. When the banana was no more, she was ready and raring. “Are we done here?”

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 13: Birthday Girl

Several hours after "A Sign of Things to Come;" the Nelson Household...

Sinead knew what to do—she’d watched the videos often enough that they were practically seared into her pretty little brain at this point. But anxiousness clutched her regardless, drilling the slightest sense of doubt and trepidation into her as the waiting Imogen laid on the bed with her signature smile. Sinead knew what to do, but how to do it was the real issue.

“Trust me, you’ll do fine. I’ll guide you through it if you want.” Imogen’s eyes were like the brightest fire; more fiercely beautiful the deeper one looked into its graceful flames. Sinead certainly found her bodybuilder-shaming lover’s luscious lips to be equally inviting; glossy and full. She spread her legs, quad meat flailing energetically to draw attention to the tight beautiful clitoris Sinead’s eyes magnetised to. This was what they wanted, yet the blonde felt oddly intimidated. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite—much.”

Imogen laid on her back, releasing diminutive moans of pent-up pleasure as Sinead found the courage to finally go down on her, placing her hands firmly on the brunette’s outer thighs. A brief moment of surprise came over Sinead, taken aback by the sheer unyielding hardness her larger lover’s legs had. She knew they were thick and strong—but not that strong. It didn’t sway the blonde’s eagerness though, fervently tonguing Imogen’s clit while slipping into her with not two, but three fingers. Imogen certainly enjoyed the proceeding feeling, already cramping up slightly with arousal.

“Oooohhh—”

Sinead moved up, prowling like a tiger stalking its prey in the grass, kneeling between Imogen’s legs and started, rather teasingly, drawing slow circles around her clit with one hand. With the free hand, Sinead made sure to massage Imogen’s generous breasts, kneading the powerful pectoral meat that held them aloft. It wasn’t long after this the two women engaged in a kiss; long and purposefully drawn out, tasting each other’s sweet lips, inhaling whatever sensual breaths they had to offer.

Imogen’s heartbeat quickened in sync with Sinead’s rapid tonguing before the blonde shifted her position, bringing their clitorises together and rub as one, resting her hands on the larger girl’s upper thigh for support while they ground together. So this was what bliss felt like.

Imogen wanted more though—so much more. Taking command, she gestured for Sinead to flip around so they could partake in one of the classic positions: a 69. Imogen never took Sinead to be quite the generous giver, having bent forward to lick, kiss and vigorously suck on her perfect, tight clit. Maybe it was because she was the birthday girl that Sinead felt the need to be extra kind and attentive. Or maybe Sinead wanted to show what she was made of.

“Jesus Chri—ooh, dear God!”

Imogen could feel herself starting to grow. She couldn’t tell if it was because it was birthday’s dose of growth or the fact she was cripplingly aroused. It didn’t matter; her arms swelled outward, inching this and that way, her increasing weight gently but surely bearing down on the bed. Sinead watched attentively for a moment before pulling back to straddle one of Imogen’s swelling legs, pulling the blonde somewhat upwards.

It didn’t end there though.

Sinead moved closer to her growing beau, kneeling to face the brunette to lean in until their blade-sharp nipples touched. A wince of arousal leapt from Imogen’s lungs as she felt Sinead’s hand come into teasing contact with her clit, stopping occasionally to kiss her breasts and nipples.

Sinead pushed Imogen backwards so her back laid on the bed, allowing the all-too-eager blonde the chance at performing ‘The Rocket.’ She knelt over Imogen’s pulsing pumpkin’d shoulders and let her butt brush against her nipples, all while Imogen got eagerly intimate with Sinead’s clit.

Eventually, the two girls found themselves in the classic scissors position, their clits powerfully rubbing together, grinding like nothing on Earth. The couple saw fit to explore one another’s muscles during this intimate moment, fingertips gliding gracefully across thick chest meat, visible striations and thick veins. Her growth might’ve stopped suddenly, but Imogen was insistent on showing off her larger arms. Oh, how Sinead fawned over them, getting all kinds of touchy-feely, squeezing and prodding with equal parts arousal and jealousy, tracing a solitary vein across the girl’s arm.

Sinead simply continued worshipping the woman before her, kissing and licking the twenty-inch arm like it was prized possession or a bar of rare chocolate—something worth keeping hold to. Imogen wasn’t often one for liking being worshipped, but there was something about the way Sinead did it that she was willing to make the exception.

Quads were next. Sinead had positioned herself between Imogen’s legs, a delicate hand gently squeezing each massive leg in such a way that it was a clear hint at how envious the blonde was. Imogen was a queen to Sinead, who fancied herself the all-too-willing servant, kissing and licking the woman’s thigh meat gently, with the unmistakable smell of body butter yet still hanging powerfully in the air.

“I don’t think anyone’s worshipped me before, let alone so well.” Imogen just had to speak her mind—she couldn’t bear to hide the enjoyment obviously felt. Besides, even if she remained mousy on the subject, her aroused clitoris would, without doubt, betray her to the smiling Sinead, whose lips moved further up, inching closer to the precious bare genitals in question. “Had I known it felt this good—oooh!”

There it was—Sinead’s signature giggle. How it made Imogen’s heart flutter— The blonde looked up, smiling, at her budding goddess knowingly. “We’d have done long before now, right?”

“Shut up and go deep” Imogen ordered, the dominant streak suddenly jumping out.

The giggle again, this time followed by the wet pleasures of her tongue teasing the brunette’s clitoris fervently, taking a hold of the girl so firm that she screamed with pleasure, blinding the girl with lust. She was pretty certain Sinead was a virgin up until this point.

///

Some Time Later…

Imogen must’ve stared at that photo for hours. It felt like that at least. She never tired looking at it—never tired looking at her. Things would’ve been so much different if she was around—the family would never have had to keep moving; Imogen would never have met—

She shrugged. All that passionate sex worked just about every muscle in her body, even the more private ones. A new day was here and it was time for Imogen to seize it, but she just couldn’t keep her eyes off the photo. Even if it was burned or whatnot, there was always going to be that mental reminder seared into her mind until she passed. Then they’d finally see each other after so long.

“Who is she?”

Sinead’s unexpected rousing took Imogen by surprise. She didn’t expect her to wake so soon. Or at least not start the day with that question. Imogen knew there was nothing to hide from Sinead, but she felt guilty anyway. Imogen peered over Imogen’s shoulder again, getting a better look at the photo. It was the same one Imogen seemed to obsess over when they first met months ago: the photo of the girl who looked liked Immy, sat on the tree stump.

Imogen didn’t like the invasion of privacy though, hastily stashing the photo back into the tin box before looking out the window. She knew it wasn’t going to be that easy to have Sinead change the subject. Maybe it was time to open up. But how would Sinead take it?”

“Well?”

It was hard for Imogen to tell whether Sinead was more worried or jealous. There was no need for her to feel the latter. But the former? Well…outside her family, Imogen didn’t have any friends, so there was a very thin number of people to rely on—or, admittedly, a shoulder to cry on. Keeping quiet about the secret felt wise at the time, but it was starting to eat her up inside.

It was time to open up.

“You can drive, right?”

Sinead felt more worried than jealous now. In fact, the jealousy had died the moment she saw the lone tear roll down Imogen’s cheek through the window not even a moment ago. “Yeah, why?”

Though quick, the smile that subsequently formed on Imogen’s lips was not only much-needed but self-comforting.

“There’s someone I think you need to meet.”

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

Really hot, both physically and seeing Imogen be a bit more dominant.  I guess the two girls started being more than 'just friends' in the month between chapters 8 and 9?  I'm certainly interested to see where this mystery goes, although it doesn't seem like it is somewhere happy.

[Amnoartist]

Reserved for Mod use

[Amnoartist]

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 13: Grave Revelations

Several hours after ‘Birthday Girl’; North Hill Burial Grounds

The road trip was long and hard, a full hour’s drive on the clogged motorway, coupled with a flat tyre adding to the stress, but they got there. Sure enough, it wasn’t where Sinead expected. Imogen felt a different person altogether though when the car stopped; she was mute and shrunken up into a ball of despair in spite of her larger frame, biceps big as footballs straining the fabric of her blouse.

“This is the place?” Sinead blinked. This couldn’t be right, could it? No, it was. And that was a fact the girl had to live with now. The archway was old and cracked, stood testament to the tribulations of time. It might’ve been in worse condition than Imogen, but both no doubt shared in the sorrows.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” She looked into Sinead’s piercing eyes pleadingly, hoping the girl would take the hint and opt to leave. There was no reason for her to be dragged into the pit of sorrow Imogen found herself in, and over time inadvertently dug deeper. “We could always go back. I saw a nice sandwich bar back there we could grab a bite in.”

“No, no. Don’t use me as a scapegoat now, Immy.” Sinead’s response was firm, followed by a strict shake of the head. Imogen should’ve expected that but didn’t, taking her by surprise. She looked over the archway, at the first grave solemnly, firmly squeezing her girl’s hand. Her grip had grown stronger over the last few weeks it seemed. “We’re going up there.”

There was no mistaking Imogen’s anxiousness; sweat pooling at her armpits and curving down her brow, but there was something about Sinead’s gentle smile and cute gaze that renewed the girl’s courage enough to at least get out of the car. It took the brunette a moment to fully register what just happened, but Sinead was there by her side, squeezing her arm supportively.

“Lead the way.”

It’d been months since Imogen set foot in the graveyard. That wasn’t to say she forgot the layout. It was just - it felt like she was about to visit it for the first time in her life. She didn’t need that kind of feeling again. It was painful enough the first time. Each step closer was weighted; heavy and burdened with nerves and anguish. The need to sob even just gently was strong - but Sinead was there.

Other mourners were close by, spending time with their loved ones who’d moved on. But that didn’t stop them from eyeballing the muscular couple. Mutterings of condescension hung in the air, stabbed the emotionally wounded Imogen in the back like a knife. Sinead noticed the anger swelling in her, evidenced by the barred teeth, but urged Imogen to direct her attention elsewhere, squeezing her arm comfortingly.

And there it was: the grave. A simple headstone made of black marble, with ‘Hayley Nelson, September 19th 1995 - July 30th 2016’ beautifully etched into it, floral patterns along the sides. A bunch of withered roses sat at the foot of the grave, implying it hadn’t been visited in months. But that wasn’t what stuck out the most to Sinead. It was the name - Hayley Nelson. Nelson. Sinead turned to the lightly sobbing Imogen.

“She’s your sister, isn’t she?”

Imogen groaned, the words from Sinead hurting like the hardest of blows to her gut. She still hadn’t found the time to properly grieve over the loss of her sibling. But how could she, what with all the times the family had to move house, to get away from—

“Yeah.” That was all Imogen said. It took a lot of effort for her to think the response, let alone say it.

Sinead understood it all now. The photo. The fact Imogen briskly changed the subject when Sarah mentioned Hayley in The Iron Hall…

“What happened?”

Imogen heaved a breath. Why did Sinead have to ask that? It was a burden enough having to come here and show her sister’s grave. Nevertheless…

“The Rutherford’s happened.”

///

July 15th 2016; Rutherford Mansion Basement Gym

“That's it, squeeze the grip. Make those pythons grow!” Ethel’s breaths were ragged, conjoined with the rhythmical heaving of her sweat-matted chest, her own arms pumped within every leathery inch of their lives, scrutinizing Hayley’s every motion. She wouldn't allow for any mistakes today. “My own mother could probably do better tan you! Keep going!”

Hayley struggled, but was adamant to keep going, so close to beating her personal best.  Ethel practically breathed down the girl’s bullish neck like a pervert stalking, groping her shoulders. Hayley’s breaths matched Ethel’s for a moment before the aged woman distracted her with a quick arm flex.

“You'll never get this big if you keep staring, girl. Focus! Keep your eye on that trophy!” As motivating as they were, the woman’s words were equally sultry, bore a tinge of sensuality at the tip of her tongue. The arm still raised, Ethel couldn't resist the swelling temptation to just stare at it, imagining the possibility of it being even bigger. Being the biggest. Forty inches was paltry compared to the desired girth resting at the back of the former champion’s mind. A size beyond human capability. But one could dream.

Hayley persevered, going for what had to be her sixtieth rep, her arms swollen like grapefruits and close to bursting, a single thick vein cresting the youthful woman’s limb from deltoid to wrist. She hadn’t gotten a pump like this in weeks. Ethel consistently pushed her, but not like this. At best, it was until sweat showed under Hayley’s arm, not when she was on the verge of blacking out.

Ethel continued to admire her student as Clarence emerged from the stairs, a look of uncertainty about him. He tried not to stare at his mother’s calves, but just couldn’t. There was something about that little squirming vein that interested him. He knew his mother shouldn’t be working out in the condition she was in. The doctor said as much. But Ethel was ever a stickler for being rebellious.

“Yes, Clarence, what is it?” She continued to observe the burgeoning brunette’s form, arms folded. Good, her elbows were tucked in, she was learning.

“Should-should you really be doing that? The doctor said..” Clarence trailed off, unsure of himself; unsure if it was wise to talk back to his mother. He might’ve been a grown man, but was always under her thumb. It didn’t help that she could bench his body weight, twenty years his senior or not. “The cancer-”

Ethel glowered at Clarence through the mirror menacingly, the wincing grunts of exertion from Hayley still going strong. The silence between the mother and son was sharp, but Ethel took ownership of the moment, moving to her son in a march-like stride, each step closer came with the swelling of her shadow, engulfing the floor and walls.

“I told you not to mention that, sweetie.” Her words might've been in hushed motherly tones, but there was no mistaking the threat underlying them. Clarence could see the anger in his mother’s eyes, knowing it was best to just drop it then and there, but—

“We all know why you're really helping the Nelson girl: so she might willing enough in the future to donate a little blood for your little project,” he whispered.

Ethel smirked. Sometimes, she thought Clarence was too smart for his own good. But she could counter with a whip-smart remark of her own, grabbing her son’s bulging crotch. “We all know why you’re really down here: getting turned on, are we?”

Clarence managed to wriggle free, bounding upstairs to escape his mother, who could do naught but offer the slightest chuckle, chest meat perversely rippling like gentle waves, muscles close to popping like a packet of potato chips.

Hayley restacked the dumbbells and pulled into a flex. Her pump was monstrous, the peak of her biceps level with her eyelids, with notches and grooves of definition emphasised by the moody lighting. She probably wouldn't have gotten such a pump if it weren’t for Ethel pushing her.

The older woman coughed, frowning afterwards at the faint splodge of blood on her knuckle. How long did the doctor say she had left? A few months to a year? That she would shrink and lose her mass was especially disheartening. She didn’t quite fancy the idea of dying in bed, all dishevelled.

“That’ll do for today, Hayley.” She handed the girl a towel to rub herself down with. Truthfully though, seeing all that glistening sweat made Ethel a little hot. Or maybe it was because she could see Hayley’s pumped body and knew how the blood in her system was the key to the woman’s ultimate goal. Taking Hayley up a student did start off as a façade, the means to an end that required a level of trust being built. But a semblance of admiration did, in fact, did end up forming between the two.

Hayley leaned in to give the woman a deep, tongue kiss. It wasn’t the first they shared but was the most powerful. Ethel scolded Hayley for not telling her family about their relationship, even if it was fake on Ethel’s part, but Hayley found it hot not telling them. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

Ethel chuckled. If there was one thing she admired about Hayley, it was her persistence and expert time-keeping. “Don’t be late.”

Hayley chuckled briskly, then felt it. The jagged edge of Ethel’s ring scraped across the girl’s neck, letting the slightest drip of blood onto it. A quick smirk came from Ethel, but Hayley was none the wiser about it all, clueless even about the uniqueness of her own blood.

Ethel guided Hayley to the stairs. “Sorry, darling. Why don’t you tell me more about your little growth condition while I get something for that cut.” Ethel stealthily licked the blood off her ring while Hayley was distracted with fetching her gym bag. It wasn’t much, but the woman definitely felt different; the slightest bit stronger.

So she was right about Hayley after all...


///

She slammed the front door shut. There was a need to do that, for once, with the bubbling sensation of growth starting to take hold. In hindsight, it might’ve been a mistake to let Hayley leave, but Ethel wanted to experience this orgasmic feeling alone. It had been years since she felt this way; a pulsing feeling at the crotch, with erect nipples and muscles tightening against her skin in a wave of growth that lasted only a few fleeting seconds, but the results—oh,  the difference! Forty inches of arm meat became forty-six, hand-in-hand with quadtastic ripples bounding and spreading, chafing as her inner legs battled and rubbed against one another, sweat pooling at her armpits, heart-rate on overdrive.

The resultant increase in size made Ethel think what she could do now. A few extra inches of meat wouldn’t be enough to lift the car, but the same couldn’t be said for— she peeked around the corner to find her husband Walter sat by the fire reading the daily newspaper. It was a good thing he had his hearing aids off, else the surprise would be ruined. It was even better he could barely move.

He felt the shadow in front of him grow, let alone saw it; growing darker with each passing second, bringing his eager wife closer into view. That she stood in front of him wordlessly was often a hint at something particular, something they hadn’t done in years but was impossible to forget. She put a foot in his crotch, teasing him.

“I haven’t had a stiffy in years, woman. Don’t be surprised if I haven’t got one—” The newspaper seemed to bolt and slip out of his grip as Ethel ripped it from him, in parts quite literally tearing it, leaving her husband looking up over his glasses at one thing: her six-pack thick as packaged rolls. “—Now.”

Ethel didn’t say a word in return, instead slipping out of her workout shorts and underwear, teasingly tossing them over Walter’s face so he could sniff the brazen and sticky love juice from them. But she didn’t stop there, positioning herself above him to unfasten his belt and whip out the years-long flaccid cock he had, stroking him off slowly at first. He winced, initially going to respond but that feeling he hadn’t experienced in decades finally came as Ethel slid into him, her clit clamping down and sealing his cock up like a cork, pumping him and down.

“I’m going to break your dick tonight,” she whispered sensually into his half-deaf ear.

///

 Present time; North Hill Burial Grounds

“So what you’re saying is, these Rutherford’s, whoever they are, took your sister’s blood because this woman called Ethel realised she could use it to grow?” Sinead’s head hurt with the flurry of information she had to process. It felt like some sort of tin foil hat conspiracy. “And Hayley didn’t know?”

“For a while at least.” It pained Imogen to admit that. It ached her even more to know Sinead didn’t even know the half of it. What she just learnt was merely the tip of the iceberg, but that was enough for one day. It’d be wise to dole out the info over time. It was bad enough Imogen felt she needlessly dragged Sinead into her world.

“Couldn’t you just inform the authorities or something?” Sinead froze. Why did it feel like it wouldn’t be as easy as that though, like—

“Because the Rutherford’s pretty much own them.”

—Never mind. So it was a conspiracy after all.

“So what do we do?”

We. The fact Sinead said that tore Imogen. Now she couldn’t tell whether her girlfriend willingly entered this darker part of Imogen’s life or was systematically thrown into it.

What do they do: That was the million-dollar question Imogen still had to find the answer too. That, plus there was still more about Hayley worth talking about. One thing was for sure though: a great weight was lifted from Imogen through shining even a little bit of light into this part of her life.

[Sicod]

It is amazing considering how prolific you are how high the quality you maintain.