Muscle Comes With Age | Chapter 3 | Beefy Collegemate

by amnoartist95

Upon being confronted by a bully, Imogen's surprisingly vulnerable nature is exposed, as is one of her secrets.

"average"      "muscular"      "tremendous strength"      "no sexual content"      "english"      "crushing or suffocation"      "female outmuscling male"      "flexing/posing"      "muscle worship"      "female muscle growth"      "no violence"      "young adult"      "adult"      "elder"      "within family/relatives"      "with friends/enemies"      "parent and child"      "school"      "third person perspective"     

Muscle Comes With Age
Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 3: Beefy Collegemate

One day after "Extending Invitations"

Sinead’s new college year had started, and with it came new exciting learning opportunities and students. In spite of that, there was, of course, one individual she didn’t ever count on seeing prowl around the halls, albeit nervously…

Her folders pressed tightly against her slab of a chest, Imogen delicately paced through the college halls, a skirt wedged tautly around her waist, tights white as snow clung violently to her calves and an equally snowy shirt pulled against her gaping torso. It went without saying she was quite the head-turner, but not in the way one would think. She was big – more so than most people were used to. They had seen beefy girls before, but not like Imogen. Frankly, it was rather unnerving for them.

Her every breath was soft and sweet, contrasted the harshly brutish form she flawlessly boasted even unintentionally. Raven hair loose and draped over her back, she turned the corner to the row of lockers. She had been assigned locker number fifty, and even if not numbered, it would still be obvious it was hers – naturally, there were several photos of world-class bodybuilders, both male and female, pasted onto the front.

Sinead watched from her locker further down the hall as the behemoth girl looked either side of her nervously before she opened her locker. As one would expect, the blonde couldn’t see what was inside – namely a reserve Tupperware container full of high protein foodstuffs, some magazines and her revision guides for classes. There was the odd photograph deep in the back of it, though. She pulled it out slowly, seemingly with reluctance, and sighed.

The photo in question was of a girl not so dissimilar to Imogen herself, though clearly not as ripped. In fact, she was rather average – slender, 5’5’’, long black hair with dimples, sat on the stump of what used to be a tree, smiling. Imogen mirrored that smile for a moment and fought back some kind of feeling, her hand clutched at the photo tighter as her heart throbbed.

“Da’www! Wittle she-man feeling all sad?”

Imogen turned swiftly with panicked breaths to face the male who insulted her from behind. He was a big guy – considerably more so than her, in fact, with stylish blonde hair and abs showing under his shirt. A smaller guy, presumably his friend, stood by with an equally cruel look. “Maybe a dose or two of 'the shit' might help pick you up, right?”

Sinead eyeballed the guy visibly threatening Imogen mercilessly and wondered why she didn’t bother to hit back. And then she realised -she couldn't. Instead, Imogen just stood there and took the abuse, soaked it up like a sponge. She looked to the floor like a kid would when in trouble, her foot scuffing against the tiles, chin pressed against her pecs.

“Sup? The guy lowered his head so his face met with Imogen’s, his cruel smile unrelenting and continuously malicious. She turned away to look at the nearby board in the hopes he would leave, but instead moved to confront her head-on again. “You a mute or something?”

Imogen’s fear quadrupled. What was it? ‘Pick On the New Kid’ Day? Her hand grasped the photo tighter, unintentionally warping it into an irreparable crease and tearing the edges.

“Okay, Ford that’s enough.” Sinead came up to the large guy’s side with a stern look painted across her face, arms folded across her breasts. She looked to Imogen - who was on the verge of breaking into tears - then turned back to Ford. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size – or better yet, bigger?”

Ford scoffed. He couldn’t believe anybody stuck up for the freak who was Imogen, let alone Sinead – his ex. “You seriously standing up for this weirdo? You secretly into she-males or something? She's probably got a dick from all those roids.”

"Maybe. Probably still bigger than yours."

"Fuck you, bitch." Ford edged in closer to Sinead, his meaty chest merely inches from her eyeballs.

Holding back some fear of her own, Sinead heaved a breath, her left hand twitching in a fit of rage that Ford noticed.

“Whatever” he said, before walking off, bumping into other passers-by students in his path.

Sinead felt the countless pairs of eyes from other on-lookers stare at her and Imogen before she turned to them with an expression just as stern as when confronting Ford. “Alright, show’s over, people.” She couldn’t believe they all simply watched the bullying unfold. Not one person dared to help. “You were all the new kid at one point. Fucking move on!” She pointed down the hall, directing the students, and watched as they quickly dispersed. They were all just lucky neither of the tutors noticed the incident.

Sinead watched Imogen silently look at the photo in horror. For the better half of four years it had been in perfect condition, and now it was a crumpled wreck. But even so, that same smile she showed earlier slowly crept back into existence as her thumb traced the crease that run down the middle.

“You okay?” Sinead obviously wasn’t stupid. Whoever was in that photo meant a lot to Imogen, at one point. In fact, she probably still did. The blonde reared her head slightly to the side to allow better viewing of the picture. “Who is she?”

Sniffling, Imogen hastily stashed the picture back into her locker and locked it. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” She realised her words may’ve been harsh, considering the person who asked did just stick up for her. “Thanks for that though.”

Sinead shrugged. “Meh, it was nothing. Fuck him. Ford can be a real asshole sometimes. Believe me, I know." Instinctively, she rubbed her right arm.

Imogen was worried. It was her first day at college since moving and she was already a victim of bullying. “He gonna be a problem?”

Sinead knew she couldn’t possibly answer that on Imogen’s behalf. Ford bullied just about anybody he could, but Sinead thought Imogen would be the last person he’d pick on. “You have to ask yourself that. I mean, I’m quite surprised you didn’t lay a punch or two into him.”

Imogen’s responding sigh was one of aggravation. Somehow, she felt Sinead’s response would be one along the lines of the one she just made. Sinead presumed she’d just pissed of Imogen even more. “Because I’m buff, right?” she asked with irritation, arms folded over her pecs, allowing her biceps and delts to ripple under her shirt, ever so slightly screaming for release.

Sinead stammered, wondered she just might’ve hit one of Imogen’s soft spots. Shit. Wrong thing to say.

“You think just because I’m buff, bigger and stronger than most dudes, I can handle myself in any situation?” Imogen’s annoyance flared. She couldn’t tell if most of it came from her hatred towards Ford, or because Sinead was naively presumptuous. “I’m only human, Sinead! I got problems of my own without him being added to the list.”

“Of course. I’m not saying you’re not” the blonde worriedly returned.

Imogen noticed Sinead’s response to be genuine. She didn’t have to be so uptight towards the only person who dared to help her out of her predicament. That would be just as equally cruel as Ford himself. The girl sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Sorry. It’s just been so tense with moving and stuff lately.”

Sinead smiled; relieved the tense moment was over. “I get that.”

Listen…” Imogen wasn’t sure what she would say next was a good idea. But disappointment from her family would come if she didn’t at least offer. “I know we barely know each other, but it’s my grandma’s birthday in a few days’ time – this Saturday – and we’re having a party. We’re using that as an opportunity to celebrate moving into the new house as well.”

And you… want me to come?” Sinead knew her presumption to be the truth. Not only was Imogen laying the dots out, but she was actively connecting them too. “Of course, if that’s what you mean?”

Imogen chuckled, felt her pecs press tighter against her shirt as a result. “Yeah. Kyle will be there too, so you’ll hopefully get to know him a bit better.” She just hoped Sinead wouldn’t be creeped out by her grandma so much when they met.

“I’ll be there.” That was all Sinead really had to say. That was all Imogen really had to hear. “With bells on” she jokingly added, giddy at the prospect of finally meeting Kyle properly.


Sometime later…

Kyle could barely breathe. How could he otherwise, being wedged between his hulkish mother and even larger grandma? Every time the two behemoth women breathed, their monolithic muscles collectively bulged in tandem, pressed outwardly against Kyle’s ribcage, slowly but surely crushing it. Of course, it was all unintentional. He just – understandably so – couldn’t do anything to protest against it all.

And while Kyle was struggling for breath, Jim and Frank were in the midst of dutifully massaging their wives. They did this on a daily basis, like the measuring from yesterday. Jim stood behind Vivien, massaging her – quite literally – boulder-sized shoulders, kneading the oversized beefy flesh in slow, rough movements. Over the years his understanding of how best to massage his wife developed in partnership with her respective growth, as did Frank’s with Agnes. He manipulated the larger woman’s calves with his hand at a delicate pace, yet each time he reached its upside, she teasingly flexed the huge limb.

She reached for the newspaper rested on the coffee table in front of her and read the main headline with a somewhat concerned expression. Lady Retro Champion of 1960 Dies. It wasn’t exactly the cheeriest of headlines. Though to be fair, she was ninety.

Agnes took the news as a bad sign, an ill omen. “And to think I was considering taking part in that show at some point.” She tossed the paper back and felt Kyle’s aching jaw press against her left delt. With the absurd control over her body, she mockingly tensed the muscles in question, prompting Kyle’s mouth to snap shut like roller blinds. It hurt – badly – but at least it provoked his body to jerk up enough to let him breathe properly – or just breathe period.

He heaved breaths for a good minute or two before normality took hold. “God damn it!”

Then, the front door opened with a slight creak, revealing Imogen after her first day at college, her backpack slung over one beefy shoulder. She still seemed kind of distressed from earlier events. Her tights pulled and popped to slowly uncover the rippling calves nonchalantly tensing and flaring at their own free will as she stalked her way across the carpet, and then plonked down on the chair in the room’s corner.

“So how was your day?” Vivien released a gentle moan of pleasure as Jim’s hands dug deeper into the flesh on her shoulders. Teasingly for her husband’s enjoyment, she popped them into a flex with a smile. "That's the ticket!"

“Meh. It was alright I suppose.” Strangely, Imogen thought it was best not to let her mother know she was the victim of bullying, not because she assumed Ford would retaliate doubly cruelly as a result, rather because she knew her mother thought Imogen could handle a situation like that on her own. If only she knew Sinead came to her rescue instead.

Vivien’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, knowing something was up.

“And did you invite Sinead for our little party on Saturday?” Agnes pulled her leg away from Frank’s hand and offered her left bicep in its place. “Arms need attention too, you know.” Without question, Frank did as commanded, pressing his fingers deep into the steely flesh of his wife’s arm, feeling the underlying muscles flex and squirm.

Imogen rolled her eyes and fought the urge to scoff. She knew it was only a matter of time before that question was asked. Her grandmother always was straightforward. “Yep. She agreed, so…” Imogen turned to Kyle with a mock cruel smile known only to the siblings of families. “…you’d best spruce yourself up a bit for then.”

“But she’s coming here” Kyle protested.

“Doesn’t mean you’re free to look unkempt around the girl” Agnes pointed out. “She’s your neighbour and likes you – at least act like you give a shit about that.” She glanced down at Frank’s rubbing and had now become unimpressed by his efforts. “Harder, fuck! I can barely feel your fingers!”

"I'm trying!" Fred pointed out.

Kyle nodded in agreement with his grandmother's words. He always had to be in agreement with her or any of the females in the family. He hated to know what would happen if he got on their bad sides. “Yes, Gran.”

“Good. Now…” Agnes pushed Frank aside, watching him land on his butt. “Take over from your grandpa. A smoother pair of hands might do a better job.”

His face scrunched up, Kyle was creeped out by his grandmother’s suggestion. He wanted to just outright refuse, but again – he hated to know what happen if he angered her. Reluctantly, he took the same position his grandpa was previously in and started massaging her bicep.

"At least you know to respect your elders" Agnes commented.

Imogen decided now was the best time to take off upstairs.


Imogen’s bedroom was a hybrid of what one would expect from someone like her: it was half girlish and half obsessed with bodybuilding. The girlish half came through in the colour of the room – a cheesy pink - with floral patterns draped along the skirting boards, and a queen sized bed. The bodybuilding half was shown through the several posters of differently aged bodybuilders - both male and female - from different eras in the sport hung on the walls, and the weight set stacked squarely like a pyramid in the corner.

Imogen threw her backpack onto her bed, unzipped it and pulled out the creased photo from earlier. She was still torn up about it. After staring at the pic for a moment, she moved her socked feet across the carpet until her desk was reached, where she pulled out a tin box labelled ‘Kirsty’ from within one of its drawers. Calmly, yet with a tinge of hesitation, she unlocked the box with a key she stored in a separate drawer and put the photo inside – where several other, equally worn photos of the same girl resided - before replacing the box back inside.

Imogen fought back tears.


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