Trophy Wife

[Amnoartist]

Trophy Wife
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 1

Robert wasn’t exactly a fan of the news his wife shared. He had long harbored a feeling of dread for this day, knowing it would come, but deep down hoped, prayed it wouldn’t.

“Bodybuilding? Again? I thought you agreed — we agreed you’d stop chasing that rush, Susan?”

Susan understood her husband’s concern. She had finally formed — and in some cases, rebuilt — a loving, caring relationship with the members of her family. Her kids, in their younger years, felt Susan’s rampant obsession with the sport the most, often times ignored while she perversely focused on her diet and workout regimen to pack on as much mass as possible to take the most prized award in female bodybuilding, the Miss Mass trophy.

Training for the Miss Mass competition almost killed Susan, all those years back. She wanted — needed — the win, but was by no means ready for it, even with the steroids she shoved into herself to make the increase in mass happen quicker. Simply put, Susan just wasn’t cut out for Miss Mass, and stopped chasing after it to rebuild her former life.

So what changed?

“You’re right. We did. I did. But I’m older now, at a point in my life where I need to start taking my health more seriously.” Susan knew her excuse wouldn’t exactly be enough to cut into Robert and help him understand. But she was half right. Susan did need to take better care of her health now. “Bodybuilding’s excessive, I know, but it’s what got me into the best shape of my life. And even if it was an obsession on my part, it still got you going, didn’t it? Besides, I’ll just be sticking to independent competitions this time.”

Robert scoffed. Whether Susan being jacked got him hot under the collar and hard as a rock or took part in championships was beside the point they were heatedly discussing — and Susan knew that. She did look particularly ravishing when her skin was bronzed and in a bikini though. “I’m more concerned about whether we’ll relive the past, have a complete repeat of last time,” he commented worriedly.

Robert was distinctly referring to the October of two thousand four, where Susan was preparing for the Miss Mass contest. She spent most of her time that month in the basement gym, beasting through workouts. The days mashed together in a blur, she rarely bothered to sleep, so caught up on not losing her pump. The only time Susan did bother to sleep was when she passed out after riotous, violent sex with Robert, more often than not brought on by an upsurge in libido caused by the steroids she ladled into herself.

“Can’t imagine the girls will be happy about the idea either,” Robert added.

“They’re in their twenties now, Robert, with lives of their own.” Susan’s eldest daughter Billie studied business at the regional university, while her youngest, Clara, spent most of her time sifting through past exam papers, preparing for the end-of-year examinations. “They’ve got more important things to worry about than their dear old mama wanting to lift weights again.”

“There’s lifting weights and there’s you lifting weights, Susan,” Robert pointed out. He knew there was no point in trying to get his wife to see sense. As stubborn as she was, she’d already made her mind up before they even discussed the matter at length. Robert had decided to gamble: perhaps things wouldn’t be as obsessive now as they were before. “Fine. Just…lay off the steroids this time.”

Susan knew she couldn’t promise that. Make an effort, sure, but that was where the line was drawn. But of course she lied anyway. “Of course. I’m not the woman I used to be. Gotta take extra care of my insides.”

They shared a kiss. Though Robert wasn’t as enthusiastic as he used to be. Susan let it slide, presuming his detachment was brought on by his lack of readiness to support her decision. He’d eventually come around after seeing his wife’s body start regaining its former impressive shape, no doubt.

***

Some hours later…

Despite her retirement from bodybuilding all those years back, the basement gym was still being used — just not by Susan, instead by Robert to maintain a healthy body. He still couldn’t hold a candle to his wife, however. Though that was probably because he hadn’t used steroids like she did.

Like himself, Robert kept the gym presentable, cleaned it down thoroughly after its use, and re-racked the weight plates. When she was in her prime, chasing the Miss Mass trophy, Susan hadn’t bothered to clean the gym when she eventually came out of her roid-pumped stupors, usually leaving that to Robert. Not to mention wiping her down too. But Susan knew there was very little point to any of it, given she’d just inevitably go back and grease the equipment with her sweat not even a couple of hours later anyway.

She picked up the dumbbells nearest her. The lightest set. Susan hadn’t lost her form or technique, a constant imprint burnt into her brain from nigh-perverse use, the smell of iron and steel strong in her nostrils, like a matador’s blood had smeared a bull’s nose. What she had lost was her strength. Something she missed and longed to regain, eager to feel the same sense of incomparable strength she boasted so casually in her early years as a bodybuilder. It was a rush. Erotic, even. Even the idea of gorging on food to maintain her size was stimulating to Susan.

Reaching her ninth curl, she remembered lifting a weight several hudnred pounds heavier like it was nothing, as though, even the weighty object was in her hand, she was only lifting her arm up. So strong was Susan in her prime that the heaviest weights she owned submitted to her. She wanted — needed to experience, own that feeling again. But such strength required the illicitness of drugs and hormones. Susan may have lied to Robert about not using them again, but she had her own doubts. Susan wasn’t the woman she once was. Gone was the youthful prodigy of the nineties, replaced by a carbon copy suburban mother of two and loving wife.

The former Susan still resided though, deep in the older shell of the contemporary woman, crying, screaming and shouting desperately to be released, the beast that it was, inhumanely caged. Susan felt her former self try to break free, punching animalistically through her mental barriers in the attempt to not just bring itself to the surface once more, but conquer the woman wholly and utterly. But Susan knew this time there would be no coming back. If she were to let her former obsessive self through, the woman she was — the respected member of the community and loving mother and wife — would be no more, replaced with a bodybuilding-obsessed, steroid-pumped freak. It felt as though Susan had a demon within her.

Susan opted for a heavier pair of dumbbells, the lesser pair carefully restacked. That was when she finally felt her pump and the familiar ecstatic rush hit her like a brick to the face — sudden, hard, powerful, alerting her. Veins had risen to the surface of her arms, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in God knows how long. But even then, the feeling—

She traced a vein with her finger, its rigid bumpiness brushing the tip.

A smile. But it was nothing quite like the smiles she’d been giving her family for the past decade. If anything, it was a new smile, at least to them. Susan recognized it straightaway; familiar, longed for. The old Susan had burst to the surface, revealing itself with an uncompromising vengeance.

Her clit pulsed with a furious reckoning, a sensation that compelled Susan to shamelessly grope her crotch as an inevitable streak of love juice trickled down her thighs. She hadn’t felt this turned on years - not even Robert could get her going so fervently, paling in comparison as though his skills were that of an insecure virgin. It was as if her true sexual energy had been bottled up all these years and lifting the weights uncorked it.

She played with herself for a moment, moaning softly as her clit tensed and clamped involuntarily around her fingers like a vice, an old strength renewed, revealing itself. Her old self had won out, taking back complete control of her body to obsessively rebuild itself stronger than ever; stronger than any woman; stronger than any man; stronger than any `thing. Susan was determined to prove that.

***

Dinner with the family soon followed, and as per the usual with her routine after all those years of being ‘dormant,’ Susan had more than her fair share of what was on offer. She, of course, was no larger than she appeared earlier, save for the pump she still felt, but had to eat big to get big. That was of the many mantras of bodybuilding.

Susan’s eldest, Billie, watched her gorge on the small mountain of pasta and chicken breast as though she had never eaten a thing in her life, listening begrudgingly to the regular slurps and burps. Billie knew there was only one reason why her mother was eating so much more than normal. Her father, even in his hesitance to do so, didn’t need to tell her - it was right in front of her.

“Oh my God, you’re bodybuilding again, aren’t you?”

Clara, Susan’s youngest, dropped her fork onto her plate in shock, the memories — or perhaps nightmares — of her mother’s past obsessiveness coming back in a torrent. Clara distinctly remembered how Susan missed the dance recital she spent months practicing for because she was too busy getting her swole on in the basement gym, obsessively re-measuring her muscles in an attempt to see just how much bigger they’d gotten between sets and supersets. Neither Clara nor Billie wanted a repeat of that for their individual graduations.

“Yes, your mother has decided to go back to it. She argues it’s to improve her health on account of being older now,” Robert delivered. He spoke the words but wasn’t particularly inclined to believe them. Especially her vow on no longer using steroids. “She’s also going back to competing, though in smaller, indie contests.”

Clara scoffed. “You don’t actually believe that, do you? She’s got that rush again, chasing after that Miss Mass shit.”

Billie kept up watching Susan maintain her caloric intake. The young woman couldn’t tell if her mother’s silence was because of a decision to ignore Clara or if she was so obsessed with eating that she didn’t even know someone was even talking. In any case, Billie eyeballed the vein running along Susan’s arm and fought the urge to gag at its twitching like a worm writhing in dirt.

“No, sweetie, I won’t be going for the Miss Mass contest anytime soon, “ Susan mentioned matter-of-factly. Her words were truthful in every regard, but they were intended for now. There was no telling how she would feel about competing for the Miss Mass trophy several weeks from now, or even tomorrow for that matter. The fact was, Susan’s opinion had the potential to change once she started noticing significant changes in her body. “I will be taking steroids again, though only in far smaller, wiser doses than before. Just to burn fat quicker.”

“I knew it! You can’t stop chasing the rush, can you?” Billie knew the circumstances involving her mother would be inevitable. Small steroid doses would eventually become bigger, and consequently more frequently injected to the point where it was almost second nature. “You’ll just go back to the way you were before. You might think you won’t, but we know you will. It doesn’t affect you like it does us.”

“Our graduations are coming up, Mum,” Clara imparted in her signature mousy tone. “You’ll just forget about them like you did all the other things we did as kids.”

Susan knew Billie and Clara’s words were truthful and even impacted her slightly, but the obsessive side of herself that took possession of her had hardened itself in its years of hibernation, thought of nothing but growth, size and strength.

Susan offered words her daughters wanted to hear. Whether they were truthful was altogether another matter. “I’ll be there this time.”

Billie and Clara weren’t so quick to agree with their mother but gave her the benefit of the doubt. Susan would have to prove herself.

***

The next day…

Susan hadn’t been to Wyatt’s gym in years. Ever since the house basement had been renovated into the gym, she had all the time in the world to work out, with no-one ever telling her when she should stop or if the place was closing down for the night. But now that Susan was finally coming out of retirement, she needed to visit her old-time gym friend.

To call Wyatt a ‘big guy’ would be quite the understatement. If anything, ‘an absolute monster of a gent’ would be more appropriate. In the early years of Susan’s career as a bodybuilder, he helped train her, and give her the usual ‘peps’ for faster growth. On the side, he’d been obsessively grooming his son, Trent, to be just as big, if not more so.

Susan looked around the gym. It had clearly been modernized quite a bit since her last visit, more machines than traditional weights. What was perhaps a pleasing constant, though, was the presence of women in the establishment, some of which were considerably stronger and larger than societal norms. One woman in particular caught Susan’s attention. Grunting passionately as she performed flyes, Susan noticed her jaw was distinctly striated, no doubt an onset of rigorous steroid use. A striated jaw was just one of the many things Susan longed to once again boast.

Then the voice came.

Missus Jones? That you?”

Susan didn’t immediately recognize the younger man, at first believing him to be a total stranger he mistook her for being someone else by the same name. But then the face came further into view as the guy approached with a smile. It was Trent, though he had quite obviously changed in recent years. Not just older, but larger too, his boulder shoulders stretching his shirt, pillar quads threatening to tear his shorts, a sausage thick vein at his temple twitching.

“Trent?! My, my, your father’s turned you into quite the freak since we last saw each other, hasn’t he?” Susan reminisced, remembering all the way back to April of two thousand six, when Wyatt had started Trent’s first steroid cycle. Trent may have only been thirteen at the time, but it was something they seemed to agree on. Besides, he turned out alright despite the obvious fears. Susan grabbed his arm and squeezed. Solid. Like a real man’s arm ought to be. Robert’s was flabby by comparison. “I’m impressed. Surprised you remember me after all these years.”

Trent laughed, his pecs pushing out against his shirt. “How could I forget? A woman as strong as yourself way back then breaking a man’s arm in seven different places while arm-wrestling him, and completely shattering his collarbone in the process, isn’t somebody one easily forgets.”

Susan chuckled nervously. She’d completely forgotten about that until Trent brought it up. She was proud of her strength in that given moment, but not particularly fond of the screams the man bellowed when a bone pierced his shoulder. One of the reasons Susan decided to give up bodybuilding. “You must be, what, twenty now?

“Twenty-three, same as your Billie.”

Susan smiled. “Your old man round? I’m here to do business with him?” Susan felt the need to speak in a hushed tone over the nature of her visit, but she couldn’t have been anymore oblivious to the truth.

“He passed, actually. Last year. Heart failure. Though I supposed it was his own fault, really, given all those roids he’d been ladling into himself.” Trent didn’t seem particularly vexed by him being in a similar situation as his late father, being more chemically-fueled than a person ought to be. But then, he shouldn’t have had such an outrageous bulge in his pants as he did now. And he wasn’t even erect, just lucky to be well-endowed, even with all the hormone use.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear,” Susan frowned. “Your mother?”

“As stubborn as ever,” Trent joked.

They shared a chuckle, Trent’s thick pecs bounding and slapping together, pressing even tighter against his shirt than before.

“The situation with steroids has changed quite a bit over the past decade or so. They’re more of a shortcut than a means to cheat these days.” Trent gestured to the row of clients using the treadmills. “They’re all using them. All bought from me, no less. Took over father’s side business as well as the gym after he passed.”

“So we could just…do it right here, in front of everyone?”

“Everyone else does. Steroids are still illegal, mind you. It’s just that nobody here’s gonna snitch on you.”

Susan felt particularly relieved to know nobody would think to look at her and Trent suspiciously as they casually talked about steroids she intended on buying, pulling her purse from her handbag. She opened it to reveal the blueish outline of several hundred pound notes. “So what do you have on offer? I assume you at least have the classics?”

“Yep. Clen, Tren, Winnie, Deca. All the classics.” Trent could see the excited glint in Susan’s eyes, making him smile. “But if you’re looking for a bit more oomph, I’ve a little something you might be interested in.”

Susan’s eyes curled with curiosity. She liked oomph. She also liked the idea of knowing there was something out there that could help her see results at a rate faster than she was accustomed to from other drugs. “I’m listening.”

Trent gestured for Susan to wait as he retreated into his office. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small vial. Susan was getting giddy merely at the prospect of knowing that whatever the drug would do, however big it would make her, however faster than all the others it would act, it was something she’d own. Her clit pulsed with excitement.

Upon his return, Trent showed the vial to Susan, holding it firmly between his thumb and index finger. “Trazoprosyn, or Trazo. Supposedly comes from somewhere out East. This is one of the first.”

“What does it do?”

Trent laughed. “Asking the wrong question there, Missus Jones. What doesn’t it do? Forty percent faster growth rate than Deca, doubles your metabolism so you can eat more to grow more, quadruples your libido, so you’ll be fucking practically non-stop, quarters your sleep time, too. If dudes use it, their fucking dick and balls get bigger.”

Susan glanced at Trent’s bulge again. That explained why he was so big down there.

“It’s basically the king of steroids, Missus Jones. Everything a bodybuilder’s ever wanted is in this vial.”

“Any side effects?” she asked.

“The company, of course, neglected to mention those before they sent out the sample. But folks like us, doing what we do, like to live dangerously, don’t we? We get what we want, even if there are side effects.”

That was an understatement. Susan and Trent both knew that. After all, at least one of them nearly died for being so obsessed with growing.

“So how much?” Susan thumbed the hundred pound notes stashed in her purse. Quite literally ready to give Trent everything she had just to get a taste of the Trazo.

Trent could see just how much this meant to her. “I would give this to my clients at two hundred a pop, but seeing as you’re such a legend in these parts, Missus Jones, I’m willing to go as low as fifty for now. If you ever come back for another vial, we go back to two hundred. I’d say that’s fair.”

Susan flashed three, one hundred pound notes in Trent’s face, practically shaking with suspense already. “Gimme two.”

Trent chuckled softly. He should’ve known Susan would be so uppity about the Trazo. “I’ve only got the one right now, Missus Jones. Come back when I get my first boxed delivery.”

“When?”

“Next month. Shit’s not easy to make, you know.”

Susan paid for the vial on hand, looking at it carefully. A clear, water-like liquid flowed inside. “Recommended dosage?”

“Shit’s powerful, so five mill ougha cut it.”

Susan nodded. In her prime, she had a tendency to deliberately OD, sometimes behind Wyatt’s back. But if the Trazo was truly as powerful as Trent claimed, perhaps it wouldn’t have been a good idea to OD on that. At least not until she knew just how ‘powerful’ it was at the recommended dose.

“Might pop in from time to time to show you my progress. Might even need a spotter too.”

Trent smirked, intrigued by Susan’s insinuation. Did she mean to take him on as her spotter or just anyone who was willing? “Please do. You’re more than welcome to drop by anytime, even if just for a chat.”

“Lovely. Guess I’ll get cracking on then.” Susan moved in to kiss Trent on the cheek. Though, she of course couldn’t stop herself from copping a feel of his massive balls, running her palm under his shaft. Trent winced. “See you next week, darling!”

As she walked off, Trent massaged his aching balls as he watched Susan’s bubble butt roll, bounce and stretch the confines of her knee-length skirt. He hadn’t ever viewed the woman the way he was now, sizing her up from head to toe, from mouth to ass. Oh, she was a minx when she wanted to be.

[thebaron]

I can't wait to see where you go with this.

[Amnoartist]

I realised it has indeed been a minute since I last posted anything in Saradas, so decided to rectify that by posting what I consider one of my better stories out there. Trophy Wife is an active Patreon series, but I have decided to post its backlog of chapters here as an indication of my return. The chapters will be posted every couple of days until the series is up-to-date here, at which point it's anyone's guess how the content flow will continue going forward. In any case, I hope you enjoy what I have got going for you. I may open up other topics related to my other works later in the week, so stand by

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 2

Life for Trent outside the gym was not much different than in. He trained in his bedroom, just as vigorously as he did in the gym bequeathed to him by his father, ate just as much if not far more food, and spent what little spare time he had left in the day to read bodybuilding books — autobiographies, diet and workout guides, even some fiction pieces on the side. Bodybuilding was Trent’s life. He lived and breathed it day after day, night after night, workout after workout. In spite of all that, though, he was far from a meathead, actually an intelligent specimen of a hulking male.

But his life was far from perfect.

His bedroom doubled as a small gym and shrine to bodybuilding. To the left of his bed was a workout bench with a bar totaling three hundred pounds racked in place, a series of Mister Olympia posters above it. The bench itself had the obvious sheen of sweat streaking across its base, a protein shake and warm towel positioned on the windowsill next to it. There was, of course, the ever expected bottle of oil there as well. Trent typically went through two bottles of oil a week, ever fascinated by the appearance of his musculature after being oiled.

He observed the series of trophies he won over the years, each one larger than the last. The most recent victory he secured was the twenty-nineteen Mister Beefy, a relatively new contest that started only a few years prior. With each passing year, Trent vowed to himself that he would continue to win these trophies, continue to wow the crowds — particularly the female half — and continue to grow. Most people viewed his growth journey to be an obsession, but Trent saw it as a need, a promise to his father to do him proud. Wyatt probably would be.

Angela didn’t share the same muscle-building genes or interest in bodybuilding as neither her husband nor son, but she was keen on helping Trent fulfill his dream of becoming the most muscular male in the world, the extent of the promise made to his father. Angela did everything she could to help Trent achieve his dream — cook his meals whilst he worked out, washed his clothes, help pay for things he couldn’t if he was a little strapped for cash — everything that was to be expected of from a caring mother.

Trent’s bedroom door groaned open slowly, revealing Angela holding a mountain of food stacked on a tray. Steaks, pasta, rice, an assortment of fruit and vegetables — all the things a bodybuilder could ever get their hands on to stuff their mouth with. There was so much food on the tray that Angela’s arms shook under the weight of it all, chuckling nervously, only just managing to hand it over to Trent before she’d otherwise lose her grip.

Trent went for the steak first, cutting into it with the cutlery like a savage, as though he’d been starved for weeks. Angela watched him with a smile, positioning herself at the edge of the bed. Trent was bulking for his next competition, so needed all the food he could get his hands on. Luckily, he wasn’t eating his mother out of house and home. Most of the stuff he ate came from sponsorships and deals made with sports competitions, but the money won was always just enough to get them by.

“So…the Jacked-athon this year, huh? You know, your father won that twice in a row.” Angela handed Trent his glass of water. He guzzled its contents in one swift gulp before going back to the steak, already halfway through it. He was a machine when it came to eating. “You’re as big as he was when he won it the second time. Just let that sink in.”

Angela softly chuckled at the remarkable rate her son was ingesting the food on offer. “Take your time, there’s more than enough there to feed a family of four for a week.” She wondered how he was able to consume so much in such a short time without taking a breather or choking. Sure, his throat and neck muscles had both grown to the size of her arm, but still — how?

Then Angela noticed the syringe and vial positioned on Trent’s bookshelf, the vial half full with a clear liquid. The same stuff Trent himself gave to Susan a couple of hours earlier.

“Ah. So you’ve been using the Trazo. That explains your appetite. How does it feel?”

“My appetite?”

Angela chuckled. “No, silly. The Trazo. I sunk a chunk of our life’s savings into getting that for you.”

Trent sighed. He didn’t need the reminder his mother spent money on an illegal substance used to help build his mass faster than anyone thought possible. Sure, she wanted to help him achieve his goal, make good on his promise, but still — it was their life savings. They couldn’t exactly use the money the companies sent because the purchases made from it, if they got caught with the Trazo, would come back to them. But all the same, Trent just couldn’t deny the feeling he got from his pump, the burning sensation, was nothing he ever felt before.

“It’s great,” he admitted. “It’s the strongest I’ve felt yet. It’s like cumming. I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“That’s great! Your father would be so proud of how far you’ve come in the past year.” Angela was elated to know Trent felt the way he did. It’s true that Wyatt would be proud of how far his son had come. But he had boundaries, knowledge of how far was too far, how much was too much. Angela, of course, didn’t. She took the syringe and vial from the bookshelf and presented them to Trent. “There’s still so much in this though. Would hate for this stuff to go to waste.”

Trent’s hesitance was apparent. He’d already told Susan — whom Angela didn’t know also possessed the Trazo because Trent had sold it to her when it was really all supposed to be for him — that five milliliters would likely be enough to do the job, at least for a boost. But Angela was presenting the notion of injecting the remaining ten milliliters.

“I dunno.”

“If you wanna win the Jacked-athon, you gotta take your doses more seriously, sweetie,” Angela cooed sternly.

Trent’s muscles itched. The prospect of his muscles growing larger was, of course, something he sought more than anything, arguably more than sex, but boundaries and limits were things his father had taught him over the years — to lift, eat and inject only as much as one could manage. Not to mention he already knew five milliliters was more than enough. Yet it was clear Angela was an enabler of the highest caliber. She swapped out the syringe’s needle with one found next to Trent’s bedside drawer, pulled out one of his stretchy socks to tie it around his arm and act as a tourniquet, then injected the remaining Trazo.

The syringe was removed and hastily discarded. “You gotta do right by your father. By me. Paying the bills relies entirely on you achieving your goal. Now pick up a dumbbell and get back at it!”

A renewed sense of energy swarmed Trent, compelling him to lift the two dumbbells by his door and start curling them.

Angela smiled shrewdly. “Good. Now, don’t come back down until you’ve done at least three thousand reps. When you’re done come downstairs. I want to show you something.”

Trent wanted to protest his mother’s decision but decided against it. He was still hungry even after consuming that mini banquet she hauled up for him to gorge on. The new dose of Trazo definitely didn’t help — it would just double his appetite.

All the same—

“Yes, mother.”

***

Angela had the next few years of Trent’s life entirely mapped out, from his next chain of contests — The Iron Man, Muscle King and Mister Swole competitions — which partnerships organized by companies and brands to maintain, even whom he socialized with to ensure his focus was almost always on the next trophy or next big win. The relationships and deals made with the companies were carefully chosen by Angela to ensure the individual yields from each was maximized. Put simply, each deal was chosen purely based on how much profit Trent would make from it, regardless if the product or whatnot he represented was actually certifiable.

In regards to Trent’s social circle, Angela personally vetted every individual he called a friend, gauging just how serious they all were about bodybuilding, As an extension of that, Angela also screened all the women Trent mingled with, determining their viability as a mate for him. So far, only two women caught Angela’s eye: Mia and Taylor, both of whom, bodybuilders like Trent, sat on the couch together opposite Angela.

Mia. She was the youngest of both possibles, twenty-four to match Trent’s age, but also the least muscular compared to the larger Taylor, herself aged twenty-six. Perhaps it would be beneficial for Trent to have a somewhat older, more mature woman at his side? The steroids she so obviously ladled into herself to become so big — easily on par with Trent — may have given her that outrageously striated jaw and more pronounced cheekbones, not to mention the deep, masculine voice, but these were traits Angela could easily overlook or become accustomed to. Yet there was something about Mia’s characteristically flowery tone that made Angela smile, the younger girl’s brunette curls a sharp contrast to Taylor’s long blond mane covering her mountainous back.

“The purpose of this process is to pick out a suitable mate for my son. I want both his and your own muscle-building genes to pass on into his children and their children too.” Angela observed Taylor and Mia’s individual responding expressions, calm nods interspersed with slight smiles. They knew exactly what they were signing up for — the in-depth fliers set up across town, describing Trent as ‘a bullish and hung Greek god in the flesh, seeking a mate.’ Straight to the point. “He’s the priority. It’s worth remembering, girls: I don’t care how much either of you can lift or eat. What matters to me is how long you can last in bed, how long you can fuck. To take his seed.”

Angela went over Taylor’s submission form for what had to be the seventh time, whilst she’d only looked at Mia’s thrice in the past hour. Taylor didn’t have any underlying medical conditions, which was a plus, yet Mia suffered from Asthma, something Angela wasn’t particularly keen on having to deal with in any potential grandchildren she may have. Then again, Taylor’s flagrant steroid abuse wasn’t without its problems either.

“And taking your excessive steroid use into account, Taylor,” Angela commented, “you may be more sexually confident, but you’re also more likely to pass on HIV.”

Taylor grumbled. She didn’t particularly like that piece of news, even if it was the hard-hitting truth. She glared at Mia, knowing the chances of her being picked as Trent’s mate had no doubt drastically improved. How anyone thought Mia could be suitable for Trent was beyond the blond’s understanding. “So you’re fitting to make this skinny bitch ride your son’s dick? A bit contradictory, don’t you think?” Taylor argued, her tone deeper than now than it was earlier.

“You’re both viable women, each for individual reasons,” Angela disclosed. Taylor may have been bigger, but such strength could lead to unforeseen heavy-handedness, not to mention the roid rage. Qualities best not expressed around children. But Angela could see the potential her grandchildren might possess under Taylor’s motherhood. Far more potential than under the smaller yet evidently more caring Mia. “Size and strength isn’t all I’m looking for. They’re just the main traits.”

“Oh puh-lease! There’s more mass in my left calf than Mia’s entire body.” Driving her point forward, Taylor extended her left leg outward and flexed her calf, watching its beach-ball sized largeness bloat outwards from what had to be the slightest dose of growth. “If mass and strength are the main things you’re looking for, why don’t I just go up to Trent’s room and fuck his brains out right now and be done with it? It’s not like either of you could stop me.”

Angela smirked. Confidence. An admirable trait. But Taylor wasn’t being particularly smart about the situation.

That was when Trent finally made his appearance, his torso and hair matted with sweat,  a puddle of the glandular liquid moistening his padded shorts. In his hand he held the shaker bottle gifted to him by Lite Industries, one of the top sports companies in the world sponsoring him.

Taylor sized Trent up. Smaller than she suspected, admittedly. His mother had been bigging him up to this prime specimen of a man akin to a god, and yet, he looked so…ordinary by her standards. Sure, Trent equaled in size to Taylor, but she suspected to be weak at the knees from merely seeing him. At any rate, she was at least amused. She’d use him like a doll.

Trent wasn’t sure what was going on. He’d never met these two strangers before, especially the blond one who looked as they she was eying him to be her next snack. Trent positively acknowledged Mia first with a brisk smile. She mirrored the gesture in return before blushing.

“Trent, this is Mia and Taylor.” Angela gestured to the two girls respectively, though seemed to acknowledge Taylor the longest, as though she’d made her mind up. “These are the most viable candidates I’ve found to be your mate. Your wife.”

Trent felt like he’d hit a wall with the news. What the fuck did his mother mean by that? She was arranging a relationship and marriage between him and one of these women behind his back? Why? He didn’t have to say anything on the matter — his face spoke for him.

Angela continued, taking her son’s evident shock-induced silence into account. “Now I know what you’re thinking, but it’s high time you started planting roots, growing the family a bit.”

“So you decided to arrange a marriage behind my back?” Trent argued.

“Far from it, actually,” his mother whipped back. She knew he wasn’t listening, far too busy offering sporadic glances at the dainty Mia to care. “As I said, I’ve chosen these two as viable candidates for your spouse, but I wanted to you to have the final say.”

Trent already knew the answer to that. “Then none of them. I’m not ready for any of that shit yet, to ‘grow the family.’” He had his own goals — none of which actually aligned with his mother’s. Trent wanted to explore, to see the world. But when his father died, he was pressured into doing good by the family’s name. Trent becoming the most muscular male in the world wasn’t his dream, it was his mother’s. “I wanna do my own stuff. I want to—”

Angela slapped Trent clean across the face, not caring the slightest for how it was persevered by Mia or Taylor. Angela and Trent already had this conversation several times in the past. The notion of Trent traveling and wasting his potential was not something Angela was keen on encouraging. Wyatt didn’t die so his son could walk off into the sunset.

“I told: no,” Angela cautioned sternly.

Trent rubbed his jaw. The pain stung sharply. It was one of those moments from Angela where it was best just to follow through. It was best for Trent that he decide on a wife. He knew there was very little point in asking for some time alone with each girl to get to know them better, individually. But that wasn’t what all of this was about.

“I choose Mia,” Trent said softly.

“Hmm. I was leaning more towards Taylor myself,” Angela admitted, sizing the blond up from basketball-sized calf to bullish neck. She definitely had more potential than the comparatively waif-like Mia. “Imagine the potential your children would have if you bred her. I can see your twin blond girls right now.”

“Well, seeing as you’ve already got a fantasy about the situation, why don’t you just make the decision for me?” Trent was livid. In any normal household this would all be perceived as a weird, twisted and sick joke. But this wasn’t any normal household. And that’s when Trent realized the truth, shaking his head at the realization. “You have, haven’t you? You’ve made the decision behind my back and just given me the illusion of choice.”

Angela didn’t say anything. Her expression and evident silence coated in a sheet of disdain towards her son’s contemptuousness spoke for her. He was ungrateful, just didn’t have any idea what his mother was trying to do for him.

“Taylor will be your wife.” Angela turned to Mia. “Sorry little one.”

Mia walked off, leaving the house in tears. Angela scoffed. It was just as well Mia was let go. There was no way Angela would tolerate such unpredictable emotional upheavals as hers, especially when they could’ve been passed down to her children.

“Pay checks will come monthly, as per a typical job’s payment. On the sixth of each month,” Angela explained.

“Wait. You’re paying her to be my wife?” Trent felt defeated.

Angela glared. “Go on. Show Taylor what she has to work with.”

“What?” Trent blurted.

Angela groaned exasperatedly. Did she honestly have to do everything? Hands at their brim. Angela pulled down Trent’s shorts with no shame and presented his cock to Taylor. It was semi-hard, a thick vein running across the shaft in a zig-zag motion. Shamelessly, she flicked Trent’s cock and cupped his balls to squeeze them teasingly. He winced. She smirked.

“The new drug I’ve put him on increases his muscle mass. Makes his cock and balls bigger too,” Angela explained, eyeballing her son’s shaft for a period of time longer than a mother ought to before turning to Taylor. “I trust this is something you can work with?”

Taylor scrutinized Trent’s cock for a moment, regretting her earlier thoughts towards her fiancée, now that she saw what he his behind his shorts. He may have been equally muscular as herself — something she hadn’t expected, anticipating him bigger — but he definitely had the balls befitting a Greek god.

“Definitely,” Taylor chuckled.

Trent gulped. He and Taylor surely matched sizes, but there was something about her on the inside that seemed, frankly, intimidating.

***

Susan’s hand turned the radio’s dial before Eighties synth music blared, powering through the basement gym like a drill through concrete, disrupting the house’s tranquility. Her posing outfit may have been a decade or so out-of-date, but Susan didn’t care about that so much as whether it still fit. Luckily, it did, though she missed the glistening, bulgy muscles that usually complimented it. Or did the outfit compliment the muscles? God, it was so long ago!

Going into an impromptu pose routine, Susan wondered if she ‘still had it,’ could remember all the poses and perform them on the fly without having to stop and think. What was it? Right shoulder facing the audience, start from the side quarter-turn position — Yeah, that was it. She tensed her legs, trying to push what little mass she had to the surface, turning her knee in so her hamstring pressed against the back of her thigh, she grabbed her right wrist with her left hand and drew her left arm up and underneath her ribcage. Smiling, Susan could feel it all coming back to her now, her arms tensed. But there was nothing to show for her efforts, save for beads of sweat trickling down her brow.

Susan had a full workout and diet plan organized alongside a goal of putting on forty pounds of muscle within a year in preparation for an independent contest to get back into the swing of things. After that, she’d look to bigger things — putting on even more mass at an even faster rate to win bigger competitions. Namely, the ever-coveted Miss Mass. Of course, if Susan dared to use all the Trazo at her disposal with reckless abandon, there was no telling how much mass she’d put on, but she made a promise to Billie and Clara not to overdo the drugs this time. Using the Trazo was in a sense okay, but overdoing it was an altogether different beast. Especially when Susan was yet to find out just how effective it was.

The vial of Trazo was positioned carefully next to her water bottle on the squat bench, practically teasing her, a syringe next to it. It was obvious Susan had every intention of using the drug the first chance she had, her willpower to do otherwise — the right, better thing — clearly losing the battle, the beast within her that coveted size and strength readying itself to be released once more.

Giving in, she took the vial of Trazo and hastily pumped its contents into the syringe. How much did Trent say she should start off with? Five milliliters? Ten? Fifteen? God, she couldn’t remember! It was ten, right? Yeah, it was ten. It was definitely ten. She didn’t even bother putting together a makeshift tourniquet, jamming the needle into the slightest hint of a vein in her arm. A wince, followed by a gentle sigh as the syringe clattered to the ground next to Susan’s foot.

[Amnoartist]

Decided to post the first two chapters today, just to get the wheel spinning.

[musclelvr56]

Wonderful writing as always. Really looking forward to reading more!

[derekr]

Another great bit of writing. Can't wait for the next installment.

[jhunter]

Nice writing and within only two chapters, a good tease. Well done, and I hope for more.

[KennyKid]

Amazing writing i love it   

[phil123]

Great start and so much room for growing. Susan is just starting.

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 3

Trent’s balls ached, soothing them stealthily as he sat at the gym’s main desk. He never expected his ‘wife’ Taylor to be so rough with him during the night, practically throwing him around the bed like a ragdoll, clamping his dick around her vice-like pussy, riding him until he passed out from exhaustion. When he woke up that morning she was gone, making Trent think it was a nightmare. Until he saw her cum-soaked underwear on the floor.

Still, the rhythmical clanking of weights and grunts calmed Trent. The gym was his place of Zen. Nobody could take that away from him at least. His mother Angela though, would’ve preferred he stayed at home, forever suspicious of the women around her Greek god of a son. He zoned out for a minute, wondered what life would’ve been like if his mother wasn’t so controlling. At least then he would’ve been able to do what he wanted without someone saying otherwise.

But then the voice broke through Trent’s trance. Noah, his workout partner and occasional helper around the gym, looked at him with concern. Noah wasn’t as big as Trent but was just as fascinated by the world of bodybuilding. Had won a few trophies in his comparatively shorter time competing, too. He repeated his words. “You listening? Tiffany wants to start training for bodybuilding.”

Tiffany was the girl Trent pointed out to Susan the day before. She was already the High School’s top cheerleader, even if she had taken her training regimen further than most girls her age, to the point where she had abs like a pro American linebacker. Then again, she did have a little ‘help on the side.’ A girl Tiffany’s age taking steroids was risky, but Trent wasn’t bothered by it, being on the same boat himself years prior. So long as clients were willing to pay, he was willing to look the other way.

“Then let her,” was Trent’s response. He still remained distant, thinking about the night’s events once more, recollecting the moment Taylor threw him up against the wall so hard the plastic cracked like an egg shell, jamming her tongue down his throat to practically suck the oxygen from his lungs. Trent was confused. Did he enjoy it? Didn’t he?”

Noah didn’t feel the same way about Tiffany as Trent. Noah understood Trent’s perspective, knowing he was groomed by his father to become the biggest, stronger man in the world, but that just wasn’t…right. Noah and Trent had butt heads over this exact thing on several occasions and Trent had always seemed to stand by the decision his father made. But not everyone was Trent. “I dunno, dude. She shouldn’t even be taking steroids at her age, let alone wanting to do bodybuilding. I told her she should wait until her body stop’s growing first.”

“What did she say?”

“She just fucking laughed at me.”

Trent scoffed, shuffling out the seat to accompany Noah into the gym’s main hall. The pro bodybuilders had a small section for themselves in the corner, figuratively circle-jerking one another for their efforts.

Trent heard Tiffany before he saw her, her signature grunts sounding from the corner as she casually paced through a clean deadlift. Trent examined the plates locked in position on the bar, surprised to find Tiffany hoisting double the weight she was last week with even less effort.

Trent looked at Noah, who glanced back at him knowingly in return.

Tiffany grunted as she dropped the bar onto the mat with such force that it burst and flattened. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she whistled triumphantly at her feat. “Whatcha think, guys? Cool huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” Noah responded timorously. He and Trent watched in silence for a moment as Tiffany brushed past them to sit at one of the nearby benches to do concentration curls. Sweat matted her dainty breasts and forehead, soaking her gray sports bra with a cool pink outline. “Listen Tiff, we gotta talk to you about something?”

“You’re gonna be my personal trainer for bodybuilding? Both of you? That’d be so COOL!” Tiffany said that without casting even a mere acknowledging gaze at Trent and Noah, who since then looked away guiltily, still powering through her curls. Obviously that wasn’t what they were going to talk about it. Far from it. “I can’t wait to start!”

“Uh, no. That’s not why we’re here,” Noah said. He acknowledged Trent’s evident silence on the subject since they approached Tiffany. Noah knew Trent would’ve had a skewed and conflicted opinion on the matter and was bracing for it. “We’re not going to do that.”

“What?” Tiffany obviously didn’t expect that particular response. She had the next year of her life mapped out in her head — finish the current year of high school then drop out to start her bodybuilding quest and earn a name for herself. “That’s bullshit!”

“We just think it’s best until your body stops growing first. Bodybuilding’s a hard sport and taking steroids while you’re still in your adolescence can be dangerous,” Noah explained.

Tiffany placed the dumbbell on the bench and approached Noah. There was a stark height difference between them both, she being considerably shorter at 5’3’’, yet weighed fifty-eight kilos, twelve kilos heavier than what the average sixteen-year-old ought to weigh. The steroids likely had a hand to play in that. Three seperate veins ran vertically up her thick abs. She looked at Noah, raised her arm and casually flexed her bicep, keeping it held upright for Noah and Trent to see. A cute little vein throbbed across its peak. Noah wasn’t particularly sure if it was just a trick of the light, but her bicep looked bigger than his own.

“Perhaps we can maybe approach this a bit differently.” Trent finally spoke out nervously.

Noah wasn’t particularly happy. “You can’t be fucking serious!”

Trent pulled Noah aside to confide with him in private. “We’re just gonna have to roll with it, dude. If we piss her off, God knows what’ll happen.”

Noah blinked in disbelief. Trent couldn’t be serious, could he? It just didn’t feel right, either of them training Tiffany to fulfill her bodybuilding dream. Trent was usually stricter and more adamant with his decision-making. This — this was all the complete opposite of that. Then Noah realized.

“You’re fucking scared of her, aren’t you? You’re scared of a fucking teenager?”

“What, no.” Of course, Trent was only partially correct. He wasn’t scared of Tiffany per-se, rather of the fact she reminded him of Taylor. Tiffany was nothing more than a smaller version of her. “Look at her though. She’s got bigger arms than you, man.”

“So what the fuck do we do?”

“We won’t train her, but give her to someone else,” Trent explained.

“Who? We’re the only people who work in this joint,” Noah pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Uh, hellloo. I can still hear you guys.” Tiffany had her arms crossed over her chest in annoyance, her left leg swept out to the side, the ball of her foot pressed to the floor to raise her heel upward. “I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, Trent.”

Trent and Noah turned back to face Tiffany, boasting their best fake smiles. “Okay, so…we’ve agreed not to take you on a client.” Trent watched as Tiffany’s face formed into a grimace of rage, but managed to cut in before her lid flipped. “But…there’s someone I know who might be willing to take you on. Someone who can teach you more than I or Noah ever could. A woman.”

Tiffany’s eyes lit up, her mouth dropping open in joy.

A woman, Noah repeated inwardly. Someone who can teach you more than I or Noah ever could. Surely Trent didn’t mean—

***

Susan only listened to heavy rock music when she was in the zone, grunting and heaving beastly between reps and circuits like there was no tomorrow. Time formed into a blur: seconds became minutes, minutes turned to hours. Before she knew it, the sun was setting, its light breaking through the sliding window. The Trazo had been working its way through her system all that time and it showed. Her veins thickened like plump sausages, criss-crossing the entirety of her musculature until it became a roadmap of vascularity. She’d obviously taken more of the drug than needed, but Susan didn’t care.

She pressed into a crab most muscular pose, teeth clenched so even her jaw was on presentation, itself sharing in the growth, somewhat striated like that woman’s she saw in Trent’s gym the day before. A grin. Susan only used ten milliliters of the Trazo and she was already, what, halfway back to her previous content-shattering shape? It begged the qquestion: just what was in that thing Trent gave her? No — ‘how much sooner would she have to wait to get her hands on more’ was the real question. God! She’d never seen results this soon.

“Who’s your daddy?” Susan was so fixated on her workout and impromptu pose routine to notice her voice had already changed, an octave lower than it should’ve been. Massaging her pecs with a vein-crusted hand, she merely continued observing her evidently drastic shift in size, mentally eye-fucking her own reflection. This wasn’t Susan back in her prime. No. This Susan was a whole new, bigger, beefier and all-round better Susan. This was Susan 3.0. Her heel turned upright, she examined her calf keenly, guesstimating its current size compared to how much larger— no, how much smaller it was back in the day. Everything about Susan now was so much better.

Her shorts had long before now been strained to the point of tearing, allowing Susan’s trunky quads to casually spill out, a layer of veins covering them from waist to knee. The rear suffered a similar fate, revealing the woman’s bare and angular glutes in all their glory. It was doubtful there even an ounce of fat on them.

Then came the shout, trying to raise itself louder than the blaring music that itself tried to drown out Susan’s intermittent grunts. Susan’s oldest daughter Billie watched from the basement steps for a moment, trying to comprehend her mother. She’d practically ballooned to around thrice her previous in just a few short hours. Billie was of the mind to confront her mother about this, reflecting back to their discussion over dinner about Susan’s obvious bodybuilding obsession from previous years, but there seemed to be another matter at hand.

“Mum! Mum, there’s someone at the door. Think it’s that Trent guy you talked about earlier.”

Susan fizzled out of her pose routine, checked herself over in the mirror one more time and sorted her hair. She wasn’t the slightest bit miffed by the fact her shorts were ripped. In fact, Susan surmised her bare, swole quads might actually rev Trent’s engine a bit.

“Be there in a minute,” the mother said, her voice deeper still.

***

When Susan opened the front door with a smile painted on her face, it quickly melted away when she saw Trent accompanied by a girl easily eight years his junior with a frame almost wide as his own. Susan couldn’t help but pinpoint all the other contrasting qualities between them: the girl’s legs were slightly thicker, bare abs rivaling that of an American linebacker and a perfect ponytail to contrast his sweat-matted quiff.

Susan was disappointed. She had hoped Trent had come alone, for whatever reason, so she could ‘talk’ with him, tease him. But with the teenager there, there was no chance of that happening. Instead, the sex-longing woman would have to hide her feelings for now and just be the friendly neighbor.

“Hello Trent. What brings you here so late in the day.” Susan glanced at the girl Tiffany. “And who might this be? A relative?”

Trent laughed nervously. He noted the change in Susan’s voice but didn’t say anything. It was a different story regarding her physique though. Seeing her shoulder press into the door frame, his breath evidently quickened. But this was actually beside the point. The idea of being around Tiffany was in itself intimidating. He couldn’t possibly bear the thought of her being related to him like Susan suggested. “This is Tiffany. She’s a regular at the gym.”

“A regular, eh?” Susan sized Tiffany up again. Her shoulders weren’t as broad as Trent’s but were definitely getting there, their size starting to break through the fabric of her shirt. “A bit on the young side, dontcha think?”

“Yeah, that’s what we came to talk about. Tiffany wants to start bodybuilding but isn’t aware of the dangers of the sport on a developing body,” Trent explained. He knew Tiffany wouldn’t care to listen to his words then or even now, set in her ways and planned the future in that head of hers. “Even then, she’s persistent and wants a personal trainer.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to drop her off to me?”

“She’s fuckhuge!” Tiffany finally spoke. She’d used her moments of silence to take in Susan’s evident hugeness. At first, she wasn’t particularly keen on Trent’s word that Susan would be worthwhile as a trainer, being retired from the sport, but her doubts now were clearly put to rest seeing the woman. Oh, Tiffany knew her dream was a moment in reality just bound to happen at this point. “She’s perfect, Trent! Oh my God!”

“She certainly is chirpy, I’ll tell you that. But what’s in it for me, personally?”

Trent dangled the carrot that would no doubt get Susan frothing at the mouth. “Some more of that ‘pick-me-up,’ if you know what I mean.”

Susan postulated, her brow raised, supposing it couldn’t hurt to at least put Tiffany on a brief trial run. A few weeks at most. Depending how things turned out afterwards, Susan would weigh Tiffany’s worth as a full-time client. “Alright, I’ll do it. But only if she’s willing to listen.”

“Of course!” Tiffany blurted out gleefully. “When do I start?”

Trent scoffed, though he couldn’t deny the slightest tinge of relief upon knowing Tiffany was no longer his burden.

Susan chuckled.

Of course, Susan couldn’t resist the offer of more Trazo, either. One thing was for certain though: under her time as Susan’s ‘experiment,’ Tiffany’s body was going to be destroyed countless times over then rebuilt anew, stronger than ever.

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 4

Susan was ruthless with Tiffany. She didn’t hold anything back, didn’t heed the young teen’s pained grunts. Tiffany wanted the best personal trainer in Stonehill to buff up and eventually compete. Only…Susan more fittingly suited being dubbed the personal trainer from hell. She did her job as Tiffany’s private trainer well. Tiffany just didn’t expect her to be so…demanding. But what else was to be expected from the greatest former pro in the business?

“Up, up, up! Keep your back straight!” Susan scrutinized Tiffany’s form for even the slightest imperfection. Spotting just one would be grounds for the teen to start her set all over again — all three hundred of them. They both strove to have Tiffany achieve perfection in not just each individual workout, but the sport in general.

Tiffany’s sports bra had gotten several shades darker from the monsoon of sweat covering it. This brought a smile to Susan’s face. Seeing the young blonde’s perform the way she did, notwithstanding the sobbing and pleas to stop, reminded Susan of her younger self, of her own relentless enthusiasm. It was like looking into a mirror of the past.

“Okay, that’ll do.” Susan squeezed Tiffany’s shoulder firmly, signaling her to stop. She watched as Tiffany re-racked the barbell and shrugged, inspecting her shape in the adjacent mirror behind soft tears. This was only Tiffany’s first lesson with Susan and yet she did better than anticipated. “Three hundred squats. Of course, you stopped a few times, but it’s also your first day.”

“I could’ve gone for more,” Tiffany insisted, tears running down her cheeks.

Susan scoffed, turning away to hide her slight smirk. Tiffany really did remind Susan of her younger self. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Not even five minutes ago you were breaking out the waterworks.”

“That was just sweat getting in the way of my eyes.” Tiffany pulled her leg out to the side and flexed. There was a distinctive smile — one Susan recognized. Tiffany’s quads hadn’t just gotten pumped up but grew a bit as well. Susan didn’t want to ruin Tiffany’s moment in relishing in her achievement, but had to stress something. Even in spite of failing a couple of times, the squats were just too easy for Tiffany. Not even Susan reached those three hundred reps in her first workout.

“Maybe. Though perhaps we ought to talk more about this!” Susan pulled at Tiffany’s arm, exposing several needle marks in the light. Susan was disappointed in herself. She should’ve known Tiffany was using steroids. There was no way she would’ve completed the set otherwise.

Tiffany pulled her arm free, glared confrontationally at Susan, then turned back to face the mirror.

“How long have you been using before Trent brought you to me?” A prickly feeling overcame Susan, something akin to concern or worry. She’d hoped Tiffany hadn’t been using for long, but given her recent success, it probably wouldn’t be the case.

Tiffany didn’t immediately respond, which irked Susan further. Instead, she chose to flex triumphantly, as if to boast. But Tiffany could still feel Susan’s presence like a lingering shadow.

“About five months.”

Susan scoffed. She couldn’t believe it. “And you’re only, what, sixteen?”

“So?”

“‘So?’ Susan repeated with ire. “Tiffany, taking steroids at your age is very dangerous, even if in controlled dosages.” Susan ran the words back in her head and scolded herself. Not only was she being hypocritical, but it didn’t look like Tiffany had any regard for controlled dosages anyway. Her shoulders were already puffed out and big as a pro’s — which wasn’t the case a few hours earlier — and patches of acne were starting to break out. No doubt if she kept taking steroids at her current pace, her voice would start changing too.

Tiffany racked plates onto the barbell again and started performing EZ curls. Susan didn’t bother watching her form at this point, knowing there was a more pressing matter at hand, but didn’t find words to say. Tiffany’s biceps bulged monstrously, the gentle layer of veins metamorphosing into a thick lattice.

“A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” Tiffany grunted. “Your voice isn’t exactly feminine.”

“I’m speaking from experience, Tiff. I know what it’s like to want to be the biggest chick out there, not giving a shit what people think of you, so long as you’re huge.” Susan knew her words were falling on deaf ears as Tiffany reached her fifteenth rep, but had to pour her heart out regardless. To Susan, it felt like going back in time and pleading with herself to not go overboard. “Like you, I took bodybuilding seriously. So seriously that I ruined relationships. I don’t want that for you. You’ve so much ahead of you.”

“You’re right.”

Susan’s heart fluttered. Was she getting through to Tiffany all this time?

“Think about all the trophies I could win!”

Susan groaned. There was just no point. Tiffany had clearly made her decision, despite Susan’s attempt to sway it. It was hypocritical of Susan to act the way she did, but she was a mother now and so had a different outlook to the situation. Susan could afford to be obsessed, as that was all she knew, but Tiffany’s life was just beginning, and Susan didn’t want to take advantage of it. If Tiffany wasn’t part of the complex equation that is Susan’s obsession, things wouldn’t be much different for Susan.

Susan was a hypocrite.

Tiffany noted the silence between them. “We done? Can we get back to training now? Wanna get my arms up to nineteen inches by the month’s end.”

Susan begrudgingly agreed. There wasn’t much point in arguing with Tiffany now, seeing her curl the seventy-pound dumbbells with an air of vanity in her smile. Susan felt the same way once, believing she could take on the entire world. Of course it was just a foolish fantasy easily swept away by the realities of the world.

Susan moved away from the posing mirrors and opened Tiffany’s duffel bag when she wasn’t looking, far too enamored by her own sweaty reflection to notice or care. Several strips of steroid pills were revealed by the light. There was Clenbuterol, Deca-Durabolin, Winstrol and a whole assortment of others casually stuffed at the bottom of the bag’s lining. Susan dreaded to wonder. It was one thing for Tiffany to be using for so long as she claimed, but another thing entirely if she was cocktailing all the steroids she had at her disposal. Where did she get them all anyway?

The bag was zipped up again and stored under the bench press. Tiffany’s grunts of effort filled the space as Susan moved to the metal-framed locker in the corner. Opening it, its various contents were revealed: two pairs of weightlifting gloves, a first aid kit, cleaning wipes, and a compact zip bag small as one’s palm. The bag was opened, revealing a a syringe and vial. The last of the Trazo Trent gifted Susan, which she was itching to take. She wasn’t quite sure why, but something told her it would be wise to hide that from Tiffany. Sure, she had no idea it even existed, but it was stashed in with the other widely-used stuff.

Susan put the bag back in the locker and locked it tightly. She’d have to find another, safer place to hide the Trazo when Tiffany was done.

“Okay, stop. That’ll be you for the day.”

Tiffany loosened her grip on the dumbbells, listening to them fall onto the nearby mat with a dull thud. Didn’t bother re-racking them or wiping them down. Her arms raised, she flexed proudly, seeing her biceps rise to their impressive peaks. Tiffany knew for certain if she maintained her rigorous regimen under Susan’s tutalage she’d not only achieve her desired goal of possessing nineteen inch biceps, but surpass it too.

“Stick to your diet at home. Seventy percent of one’s gains are made in the kitchen. Remember that,” Susan educated Tiffany, watching her pack up. “It doesn’t matter how hard you train…or how many steroids you take.”

Susan berated herself mentally, being hypocritical again.

“When will I see you again?” Tiffany queried, tying her hair up in a bun, her bicep bulging casually, its split distinctive and peak sharp.

“Two days from now. Got some stuff to do here. And Tiff…take it easy on the roid, huh?”

Tiffany’s smile spoke for her. It wasn’t an indication of acknowledgment so much as one of snide rebellion. Tiffany had no intention on stopping taking steroids. Not when she knew each dose brought her just that little bit closer to her goal.

***

When Trent woke up, he felt a sensation of confusion swarm him. He didn’t remember going to bed during the night. In fact, the last thing Trent did remember was sitting in the living room drinking tea at three o’clock in the afternoon…the previous day. A whole nineteen hours were unaccounted for!

He climbed out of bed, his prized dong swaying freely to and fro as he made his way to the window, rain gently pitter-pattering off the glass. He tried recollecting the events over the several lost hours, yet was met with nothing but a complete mental block, which worried Trent. He was never like this. Perhaps it would all come back to him in time?

Trent turned away from the window and froze when he realized the right side of his bed was occupied. It was too small to be Taylor, so had to be someone else. What the fuck was in that tea that made Trent forget the fact he quite obviously did the dirty with someone other than his fiancé? Albeit the fiancé he didn’t really want in the first place.

Trent pulled back the quilt. That was when his heart sank.

Trent’s mother Angela stretched as she sat upright on the headboard, frizzy bed hair obstructing her view, her breasts bare and perty. A yawn escaped her lungs before a smile crept along her lips, looking at the clock. “God, is that the time? Must’ve been a lot of fun.”

Trent’s head was spinning. ‘Fun.’ What the hell did his mother mean by that, he wondered, still trying to process the fact she was in his bed. Looking around the room, Trent spotted her underwear on the floor, her bra clung loosely to one of his trophies, and a spent condom on his bedside cabinet.

“What the fuck happened? Did we…” Trent trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence in his head in case it ended up becoming reality. Of course, he was fooling himself for thinking it wasn’t already, what with all the evidence strewn around the room.

Angela chuckled heartily, which was enough to reinforce the already crippling sense of anxiety within Trent. “Fuck? Oh definitely.”

A swarm of questions flooded Trent’s mind: How? Why? What? Where? When? A whole plethora of others too. So many of them swirling around at once, causing Trent to feel dizzy and sit in the chair in the corner.

“Taylor made complaints about your inability to perform. You can imagine my disappointment in that alone, so I had to step up.” Angela’s eyes wandered, gazing longingly at Trent’s muscled chest, dipping further down at his awkward morning wood and bitting her lip suggestively. “I put a little something in your tea during your massage last night. Had to make sure you didn’t have any erectile issues. And well, we went at it like dogs, really. It just seemed to come naturally.”

Angela climbed out of bed and loosely wrapped her floral nightgown around her body, leaving just enough of a window for her cleavage to be seen. “I knew you wouldn’t commit to the sex willingly, which is why I opted for the tea. I may have used a bit too much.”

Trent’s head was buried in his hands. He just couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. “Suppose I should be glad I at least used a condom.”

“Well, at first. You only had the one and were finished with it fairly quickly, so…” Angela parted the gown slowly so she could reveal the dried-up remains of an obvious creampie that occurred at some point during the night. “…we spent the rest of the night doing it au naturel.”

Trent’s eyes grew wide with shock. He watched his mother approach and cup her hand around his cheek. He was tearing up. Had every reason to, of course. Angela wiped the tear from Trent’s eye and kissed him softly on the lips. It was on odd moment — she half-expected Trent to pull away and shout in protest, but he didn’t. He still stopped abruptly, just not to argue in turn.

“You can’t get pregnant, can you?” Trent queried with trepidation, his voice breaking.

“No, no, no. I’m on the pill. Pretty sure I can’t at this point anyway. Just had to make sure you could still get it up, sweetie. We all know those steroids you’ve been using can affect your libido. This is just going to be our little secret, okay baby? Taylor doesn’t need to know.”

Trent nodded.

“Now, relax.” Angela knelt down between Trent’s knees, grabbing his shaft firmly. “Mommy doesn’t want this to go to waste.”

Trent arched backwards with a sigh as a warm wetness engulfed him and Angela started gagging.

[Amnoartist]

Thanks for the votes of confidence, guys. Appreciate it! 

I made the decision to stick with the two chapters per day quota, so that there's more to read per 'visit.'

As you may have noticed, there are now two sub-plots to keep your eyes on:

• Susan training Tiffany.
  Trent's secrecy with his mother Angela.

With Susan's dynamic with Tiffany being the story's driving force, the two plots will eventually interconnect, though I obviously won't say how or when. I'd like to keep you on your toes in regards to that

[Strongwood]

great what you have so far.

[Amnoartist]

Chapter 5

The scream was loud, piercing the air as it echoed fiercely through the hallway, down the basement stairs and into Trent’s private gym, garnering his attention. He was one rep away from besting his bench press record, and yet the scream took precedence over Trent’s obsession to best himself. He hastily swiped the warm towel from the rack and placed it over his bare shoulder as he bounded upstairs.

“Trent!” His mother called from round the corner, into the kitchen. He moved into the room, his heart bounding from equal parts terror and adrenaline, hands placed firmly on his hips as he looked at her stare into the cupboard with a deadpan expression.

“What?”

Angela didn’t immediately respond to Trent. Instead, she froze as his chiseled and pumped chest and abs came into view, glistening with sweat. She forgot he was working out, biting her lip as a solitary vein across the peak of his bicep throbbed.

Shaking her head, Angela plucked a box of Trazo from the cupboard and presented it to Trent, its contents rattling around inside as she shook the plastic carton. “There were at least ten boxes of this earlier this week. Now there’s only the one. Where did they all go?”

Trent knew lying to his mother was pointless. Not only would she know that he was, on account of her motherly instincts, it just wouldn’t do any good either. All the same, Trent rubbed his neck nervously, knowing his mother would scold him. “I sold a few boxes on the side. Honestly thought you wouldn’t notice.”

Angela scoffed, the box now held loosely in her grip as the truth was revealed to her. “Honey, you know I regularly check these. Gotta make sure you get your doses in. Besides, you don’t need to sell these. You get plenty of money through your sponsorships.”

“It’s just a bit of extra cash on the side. There was more than enough made in sales to buy back over four times that much anyway.”

Angela raised her brow and started doing some mental arithmetic. One could always tell when her right eye turned inward. So that meant— “You earned three hundred pounds from selling the Trazo? That’s how much this stuff’s worth on the market?”

Truthfully, Trent wasn’t aware he’d amassed that much income over the last few weeks. He sold the drug to those desperate enough to want it, but didn’t care for how much money was actually gained from the fact. “I guess? I didn’t sell it all at once, you know.”

Angela looked at the box inquisitively, realising she’d effectively struck gold with the drug. The drug she manufactured.

Angela put the box back into the cupboard and closed it over. A part of her wished Trent had just told her the truth at the present moment. She’d always been supportive of his decisions. Or at least most of the time.

Angela opened the cupboard adjacent to the one containing the Trazo and pulled out a small pill carton different from the one she’d held previously, white with an orange stripe and baby’s face in the center. Trent saw the box and knew immediately where the conversation was heading.

“Since we both know you’ve been having trouble getting Taylor pregnant, I figured these would help.” Angela placed the pill carton in Trent’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it tightly, offering a smile a him. “Make sure she takes two a day.”

“But Mum, we’ve barely had time to—” Trent paused, seeing his mother’s scolding glance. Truthfully, Trent and Taylor agreed to only have sex when she was at her most fertile time of the month. This was not exactly per their agreement. It was to both see it through and the fact both knew they never had any feelings for one another. Trent did it to keep on his mother’s good side and Taylor did it for the money.

“I want grandchildren, Trent. Lots and lots of them. I know you can do it with that smashing big rod of yours.” Angela placed her hands on Trent’s cheeks and smiled at him. “Do it for me. Please?”

Trent weighed his options mentally, before realizing he didn’t have any.

***

Trent looked at the box of fertility pills curiously as he sat at his desk, the rhythmic clanking of steel on steel in the gym sounding in the background, coupled predictably with grunts of varied tones, some masculine, others feminine. He could tell his clients were powering through the Trazo he sold, their mass doubling in size in mere days. Trent counted himself lucky the drug only exhibited desirable effects, else the women would no doubt be halfway to becoming men at this point, like his fiancée Taylor.

Susan stood at the opposite end of the desk with folded arms, her eyes scolding Trent as had yet to register her presence, even though she’d already spoke to him. Trent was just too focused on the box of pills to notice. “Why don’t you take your eyes off those for a minute and listen to me,” she said, plucking the box from Trent.

Trent finally acknowledged Susan, bringing his eyes up to her pecs, his cock instantly lurching at their thickness and vascularity.

Susan lost her initial train of thought when she noticed the symbols on the box, then smiled. “What’s this, huh? Thinking about knocking someone up, are we?”

“My mum…” Trent noticed Susan raised her brow. It was at that point he realized his mistake. “Oh no, it was her idea. She wants me to get my fiancée pregnant.”

Susan’s brow remained raised, though this time it became more distinct, rising sharper at Trent’s mentioning of his fiancée. “A fiancée? I was unaware you had one.”

Trent didn’t say much about his revelation. Didn’t have to, really. His expression spoke for him: his face beet red with discomfiture. Of course, it wasn’t until only a few days ago Trent realized he had a fiancée, albeit one contractually arranged by his demonstrably controlling mother without him realizing.

Susan handed the box back and decided to change the subject, understanding the fiancée was a touchy one. “Anyway…I’m here to talk about Tiffany.”

Trent scoffed. “She giving you a hard time already? It’s only been a few days.”

“Her progress is coming along well. Not to mention her growth, which is what I wanted to talk about.” Susan dropped a couple of boxes of steroid pills onto the desk, presenting one of them squarely in front of Trent’s face. He was deadpan, not quite sure what Susan was getting at. “I found these in her duffel bag yesterday. The last I checked, you can only get winny in this part of town from you.”

“What’re you getting at, Missus Jones?”

“What I’m ‘getting at,’ Trent, is you’re selling drugs to kids.” Susan put the boxes back in her handbag and glared at Trent, who’d now viewed her differently from the woman he grew up to idolize and respect. “I saw the track marks across both her arms. You can play Connect the Dots with them, there’s so many. And to think she’s only sixteen.”

Trent fired back with both barrels, laying the truth down in front of Susan. “You’re such a hypocrite. As I understand it, you were no different at Tiffany’s age when you started taking bodybuilding seriously.”

Susan’s heart stung as Trent’s words cut deep. He was right. They both knew that. “That’s why I’m concerned for her. I don’t mind Tiffany taking the sport seriously, but don’t want her to make the same mistakes either. Taking steroids at her age is not going to do any good in the long term, will just stunt her physical growth. Any extreme dedication she might develop along the way will just destroy what relationships she has with people. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have to mend fences with your loved ones. I don’t want Tiffany to have to go through that.”

An admirable smile formed across Trent’s mouth. “You really do care for her, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“But even then, you have to understand you can’t force Tiffany to do something she doesn’t want to do. You’re her trainer, not her mother who might feel differently about the situation.” Trent could see the confidence drain from Susan, no doubt dreading about the possibility of Tiffany’s parents permitting the rampant abuse of steroids.

“I’ll talk to the parents myself if it comes to that. Just do me a favor and keep all your pills away from Tiffany. I’ve already locked what little I have left of the Trazo away from her.”

“Still have some of that left if you want a little ‘pick-me-up.’” Trent could see Susan’s blouse strain under the pressure from her blood-engorged biceps and pumpkin’d shoulders. “You look like you’re coming down from your Trazo high.”

Susan acknowledged Trent with a nod and bit her lip at the prospect of more Trazo being in her possession. Of course, this all made her hypocritical against what they both just talked about, but Susan didn’t care. “How much?”

“Two vials. Fifty each.”

Susan didn’t even hesitate, reaching for her purse. Trent left the desk and headed into his office. Curiously, though definitely not coincidentally, Susan had just the right amount of cash handy, almost as if she had every intention of at least asking Trent for more Trazo anyway, whether he brought it up or not. He came back a few minutes later with the vials and handed them to Susan, she parting with the wad of cash in turn.

“Remember what you said: keep it locked away from Tiffany,” Trent reminded.

Susan nodded, putting the vials in her handbag. “Yeah, I’ll do that soon as I get home.”

“Good,” Trent smiled.

***

Tiffany sat at her desk in her corner of her room on the computer, wearing a baggy gray hoodie and her hair let down over it. At first glance the presentation of Tiffany was relatively normal and inconspicuous, but upon closer inspection one could notice the hoodie’s sleeves were clearly struggling to contain her burgeoning biceps, the fabric pulling and tearing. She smartly opted for shorts so her equally thick quads had the chance to breathe properly even as they spilled over the chair. layered with soft veins and the occasional track mark.

Tiffany browsed the Internet for a new posing suit. She had expressed interest in taking part in her first bodybuilding competition in the near future and looking at the glitzy outfits inspired her to see that dream become reality. Several other tabs were open in the browser: an online “pharmacy” that sold essentially all steroids known to man; at least three separate casual gymwear store tabs, and one with the site ‘She-Meat,’ a subscription-based website dedicated wholly to female muscle.

Tiffany dared to reach for her nearby protein shake that had a cocktail of steroids and hormones mixed through it, causing her sleeve to bust and expose her bicep peak. “Fuck,” she cursed, peeling back the exposed fabric. Her voice was deeper than it was yesterday, coming close to her father’s. In hindsight, the hoodie ripping didn’t bother Tiffany that much. Sure, it was one of her favorites, but she was quickly outgrowing it because of the new cocktails.

“Mum! Can you cook up some more steak?”

“How many you want?” Jackie called up from faintly from downstairs.

“How many do we have?”

Tiffany’s twin brother Christopher came in unexpectedly as usual without knocking and came up to her side, looking at the posing suits with an equal amount of — though not for the same reason —  interest. A smirk crept along his lips, which Tiffany spotted with the corner of her eye. “You know Mum’s gonna kill you if you buy one of those. Letting you do bodybuilding is one thing. Walking around in that—”

“My money, I’ll do what I want with it.”

Tiffany’s mentioning of money roused curiosity in her brother. Unlike him, she didn’t have a part-time job at the local store. So just how was she able to pay for all her stuff, glancing at the unopened tubs of protein powder in the corner stacked up like a pyramid. “Just where do you get all that money anyway?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Tiffany closed the ‘She-Meat’ tab on her browser, seemingly with haste.

“Alright, no need to get your panties in a bunch.” Christopher sized Tiffany up and offered a sly grin. “That is, if they still fit,” he jested.

Tiffany slapped her brother’s shoulder, he laughed before leaving, though waiting a few moments before rubbing the stinging pain that came from Tiffany’s slap.

When the coast was clear, she opened a new tab and logged into her She-Meat account, revealing a plethora of images and videos for her paying fans: pictures of her flexing, videos of her working out in her room and recordings of her streams with her fans. Truthfully, Tiffany was making a killing on the She-Meat scene. She was a newcomer, but showed potential. A potential she strove to see blossom and actively exploit. Seeing her earnings from the past week, Tiffany was up £1000, earning more in a week than her brother Christopher did in a month.

Tiffany’s latest upload, a simple image of her in an abs and thighs pose, garnered over 5000 views in the few hours since its publication earlier that day, hand in hand with 3500 comments — all of which were positive —  and nearly just as many favorites. Tiffany was ecstatic by all this, of course, and celebrated by posting another image, a pouting selfie of her flexing her bicep so the other sleeve was torn to match the other, a layer of veins cresting across the peak.

It didn’t take long for the first comment to come through, posted by GreenBear23. They were usually the first to comment. Most of the time the comments from them were sweet, and usually made Tiffany smile, just like now, notwithstanding the outbreak of acne she didn’t care to hide.

“Steaks are ready!” Jackie called up.

“Time to feed,” Tiffany chuckled, kissing her bicep peak.

***

Trent and Taylor didn’t strictly love one another. Not like how Romeo loved Juliet or Paris loved Helen. From his perspective, Trent merely ‘loved’ Taylor to keep on his mother’s good side, while Taylor reciprocated by loving her future husband only for the money it would earn her, which she’d spend on steroids and hormones. They both knew neither of them was treasured by the other.

But the sex. The sex was great! More often than not — like now — Taylor was on top, controlling the ostensibly passionate moment she shared with Trent in a reverse missionary position. Of course Trent was a big guy in his own right, but Taylor was considerably larger and heavier, her control reinforced by her weight bearing down on his waist as she rocked her hips and felt Trent’s cock push up inside her. Trent didn’t mind the pain that much — or the fact he was being dominated, for that matter.

Their eyes rarely met, even as Taylor’s pussy bore down on Trent’s cock and locked it in place, but on this rare occasion where she did happen to look, it was with a face of distrust. “What’s with you?” Her voice was gruffer than usual.

“Huh?” Trent was, understandably, confused.

“I’ve had you inside me for the better half of two hours and you haven’t came once.” Taylor shifted her weight so Trent’s cock slid out of her like a snake slithering out of a hole, his abnormally large shaft hitting off his chest with a dull thud. “What’s the point in having a cock that big if it doesn’t even work as it should?”

“It works,” Trent shot back. His confidence waned upon hearing Taylor’s remark. What he said was true, of course. It was just….he wasn’t that into Taylor. The outbreak of acne across her back and face, the ever-deepening voice….it was all just a turn-off. The sex was only great because Trent happened to have a dormant liking for being dominated. Even then, he never did…release.

That was when Trent’s mobile buzzed on the nearby bedside table. He reached for it, much to Taylor’s chagrin. It was his mother.

“I have to take this.”

Taylor grumbled as she pulled away from the bed, wrapping a bed gown clearly starting to get too small for her around her mushroomed frame, and sat at the makeup table. A face of disdain came over her as she observed Trent focusing whole-heartedly on the text exchange with his mother. “What does she want?”

Trent didn’t immediately respond, knowing Taylor wouldn’t react all that well. Thumbing his phone’s screen, he postulated how was best to respond. Lying wouldn’t do any better than telling the truth, but at least the truth wouldn’t hurt Trent’s heart as much as the lie. “Wants to know if you’ve taken the pills I showed you. Wants to know if you’re pregnant yet.”

Trent wasn’t sure if her reaction was on account of roid rage or the evident dislike of her mother-in-law because of her obvious smothering and invasiveness, but Taylor punched the makeup table’s mirror when she heard Trent say that. “Damn your mother. This arrangement between us won’t do any good if she keeps breathing down our necks like that. If I’m pregnant, I’ll let her know!”

Trent stammered a bit, not sure how to respond to that. He agreed with Taylor somewhat that his mother was invasive, but to insult her the way she did hurt him. “Are you…pregnant?”

It was Taylor’s turn to be silent, looking at her reflection, then past her shoulder to Trent thumbing the phone again. “No. Besides, I don’t think I can get pregnant now anyway.”

Trent’s expression through the makeup table mirror — that of pain — cut into Taylor a bit. She didn’t expect his emotion to affect her so much. She wasn’t exactly upset, but was disappointed in the fact she failed him anyway. “What do you mean?”

Taylor explained. “Taking all those roids and hormones finally caught up with me I guess. I haven’t had a desire to fuck in months, even before the arrangement with your mother was made.” She paused for a moment, realizing where her train of thought was heading. She wondered if it was worth telling Trent the truth. Then the realization hit her. He told her the truth. She would have to reciprocate. “Just so you know: I only agreed to the contract so I could—”

“—get the money for more roids. I know.” Trent always knew. Taylor likely had no intention of actually raising the child she’d give birth to. So maybe the fact she was now infertile was actually a mercy. Trent wasn’t angered by Taylor’s truth. He pitied her, moving in closer to hug her from behind. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”