Lizzy pt 1

Lizzy got up out of the chair and looked her boyfriend in the eyes as she said, “the basement. Now..”

He obeyed immediately, both a little turned on and a little frightened by Lizzy’s incredible musculature. When they got down the stairs, she pulled her sweats off. Underneath, she wore head-to-toe electric blue spandex, just a half size too small, her athletic but brawny body filling out the tight-fitting outfit to near bursting.

She had been a gymnast in high school, and kept up her workouts religiously. But in the last four months, she had joined a meathead gym and really taken things to the next level. Ken felt mixed emotions — she looked very different now from when they had first met, but she was so muscular now, she was almost more muscular than he was.

Ken was into athletic women. He always had been, and that was what attracted him to Lizzy in the first place. He had even encouraged her to hit the gym a little harder, thinking she could only get sexier. But he didn’t understand the amount of raw potential she had for building mass. And now she was standing before him looking bigger than anyone he had ever seen—she looked like the mannequins they used to advertise sports brands, just more muscular. Thicker, even. He found that, despite his reservations, he liked it. Lizzy noticed.

“Oh, so you do like what I’ve done,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “Well, why don’t I show you what it is I can actually do. Spot me, will you?”

She lay down on the bench press, currently loaded with just one 45 pound plate on each side, and started banging out reps as he walked around the stand behind her head. Thirty, forty, fifty reps later she finally finished. “Ah, good warm up, let’s put some weight on now.” Grabbing two more forty-five pound plates per hand, she passed her wide-eyed boyfriend as she loaded the bar up.

“Wait, are you crazy? There’s no way you can bench 315, I mean, I can only do that for a couple of reps and I’m way bigger than you,” said Ken, “This is crazy!”

“That’s the thing,” she said with a small grunt as she pressed the bar out of the rack and started to slowly but easily rep the loaded bar, “not only am I stronger than you, but I’m definitely bigger than you too.” Twenty reps later, with a good pump, she sat up and stretched a bit. “Do you still have that measuring tape in the desk?”

“Yeah,” he said, still bewildered.

“Go get it,” she said as she rolled her neck. He did as he was told and brought the tape over from the desk in the corner. “Now go ahead and measure yourself.”

He wrapped the tape around his arm and flexed. “Seventeen and a half,” he stated. He handed her the tape and she did the same.  Trying to stay neutral but having trouble, he was flabbergasted as a softball-sized mound bulged from her arm. “Eh, seventeen flat,” she said with a grin. He wasn’t sure how she had managed to grow that arm but she looked bigger than really anyone he had ever seen. “Not bad, right? But I’m just getting started, I have so much to show you.”

She grabbed another two forty-fives from the rack, emptying it out, and put them on the bench, the bar now loaded to 405 pounds. This was way over anything Ken had seen anyone bench press before, even the hardcore trainers in the gym but she moved around the bar confidently, like it was no big deal for her.

“I need you to give me a little help this time—when I say so I want you to push on the bar for me.”

“Y-you want me to push on the bar? You don’t want me to spot you?”

“You really think you could save me if this weight fell?”

“Well…no not really.”

“I didn’t think so. Besides, if anything happens I know how to handle myself.” She slid under the bar and breathed, pushing the bar up with a little struggle. Testing the weight she lowered it down to her slightly thickened chest, and pressed it up—with effort but without getting stuck on the way up. She repeated it a few more times before grunting to him, “Ok now.”

Hesitant, he started to push on the bar as she continued to bench press, but he didn’t seem to be slowing her down. “More,” she grunted as she continued to lift. “Give me everything you got.” So he did, and pressed hard on the bar, which made her stop mid lift, and the bar started lowering back to her chest. He let up a little bit, he didn’t want to slam the bar on her chest but she nearly shouted at him.

“No! I said keep pushing harder!” He pressed full force again, but this time she steeled her gaze and fought against the bar, slowly taking over and pushing it up. He could only imagine how much weight she was actually handling, the barbell plus the full force of his own strength. He could see her chest growing a bit larger and the sweat underneath her clothes starting to make her top more transparent, showing more details of her physique—cuts and striations and bulges that he wasn’t even sure that he had.

Finally she was able to finish the rep, and then he felt the bar starting to lower again—but this time at the bottom she paused—“Push as hard as you can again, I promise you don’t want to miss this.” Ken did as she was told, and he saw the bar denting her muscular chest, but suddenly the bar was moving, and then so was he as she pushed the bar up fast, so fast that he actually flew backwards off of the bench rack. Somehow the second rep had been easier than the first!

“Mmf that felt pretty good,” she said, sitting up again and stretching. “Now about that size thing. You’re going to want that tape again,” she said, tossing him the tape from the floor.

He caught it midair and cautiously approached her, unsure what was going to change from a few minutes ago, maybe another half inch of pump? His head was already spinning and he hoped there wouldn’t be any more surprises.

She brought her arm up again and “flexed”. “Go ahead and touch it,” she said, “You know you want to!” His hand reached up and grabbed her upper arm and…it was soft. There was no way her bicep was actually flexed and that soft. The shock registered on his face and she noticed. “Yep, exactly, I’m not even flexed, so you might want to hold onto that tape,” she said as he wrapped it around her arm—it read eighteen inches.

Then she actually flexed, and her bicep started to rise higher and higher, pushing inches of tape out of the way, growing up to her fist, and then pushing her forearm out to accommodate more fantastic peak. As her arm grew the fabric started to stretch to its limits, and past them, as tears started to appear in the fabric around her arm as she began to flex out of her sleeve. When the sleeve finally burst, the tape read twenty-nine inches on the dot. Ken almost gagged—he had never seen an arm like that ever.

And she wasn’t done yet.