Written & edited by Amnoartist
Chapter 1: Bullish
The sweat curved down the nape of her bullishly thick neck at a delicate pace, clear yet warm, just one of the many results from her arduous workout. The lone droplet ceased in its travels just before reaching her surging back, her breaths ragged. Every muscle on her frame had been engorged to its max owing to her beastly, adamant persistence to just… grow, veins flailing this way and that, audibly coiling under her smooth, sweaty skin. And yet, she wanted more. She always wanted more.
“Dude…” Blake watched from behind as the girl sat on the bench shrugged, deltoids involuntarily popping in and out of a horrendously flexed state, striations visible even from afar. He could only see her back and yet, that was more than enough for him. Long chocolately locks strewn over her nape, she spread her legs over the bench’s side and reached into her duffel bag, poking around inside for something. “…are you sure that’s a chick?” Blake added.
She grunted in frustration. Whatever she looked for, wasn’t there. She dove her other hand inside the bag in the hope that it would help. Blake still watched from behind, his mind arguing with itself over whether this brutishly large person was female or male, or maybe even something in the space between. His friend, Zack, nudged him.
“Shut up, you’ll piss her off,” he said. So it was definitely a she. But that only creeped Blake out more. How could a female have this much mass? She had to be juicing. “And I don’t want to know what she’ll do when that happens,” Zack added. The girl’s frustrated grunts intensified and became more frequent as her rummaging continued. Zack watched with concern as her forearms flared monstrously until the meaty appendage graced the edge of her bag.
Finally, she found what she was looking for - a syringe, already filled to the top with a thick green liquid. Seeing it had made truth out of Blake’s assumption that the girl juiced frequently. But then he had to wonder: just how frequently?
Biting her lip, she stared into the contents of the syringe lustfully, her heart beating like a bass drum with anticipation as she brought the needle to the crook of her arm. Watching the thick, ball-like muscles underneath tense up, veins rose to the surface of the full, broad limb. Her shorts tore slightly at the edges, just above her pillar quads, sweat ceaselessly dripping down the discernible sweeps of thick meat.
The two guys couldn’t believe what they were witnessing - the girl was shamelessly juicing up right in front of them, and considering it was illegal, something had to be done to stop her. But she was thick like a bull and no doubt was easily pissed off like Zack alluded to.
With one quick thrust she jabbed the needle into her arm, and jerked back only slightly as the liquid seeped its way through her bloodstream, kicking her metabolism, strength, energy - probably everything - into overdrive. She let the syringe drop to her feet, cracking against the tiles. Upon a single delicate blink, her pupils dilated as the effects from the liquid - whatever it was - kicked in; the thick veins along her arm became more apparent, pulsating and curving artistically down the hulkish extent of her muscularity, hand-in-hand with its audibly expansion - like a wet sponge being drawn out.
Finally, she spoke, with a honeyed tone contradicting the beastly form that pulsed and quaked, putting Blake and Zack off-guard. They expected this girl to talk with a much more gruff, almost masculine voice not the angelic beauty it surprisingly possessed. That begged the question: was it really a form of steroids this girl used, or something much different? Maybe it was a chemical that allowed her to gain the positive effects without the negatives. “Fuckkkkk yeahhh!” she called out. It wasn’t exactly the most delicate of phrases, yet the tone was just too pleasing to the ears.
The chemically-fueled expansion continued. Her veins now thick as pipes, she pulled her arms into a delicate, almost half-hearted flex. That was all that was required, really. The chemical did the rest. Heart pounding, her chest thrust outward as striations formed on her pec wall. She felt everything expand - abs, biceps, calves, deltoids… neck.
Blake watched in horror. He just didn’t think this - all of this - was right. It was almost nightmarish in a sense, just watching this freakish mass expand around him.
Eventually, it stopped and Zack mustered enough courage to speak to the girl. It was insane of him to even consider such a thing, but he had to know. “Who the fuck are you?”
The girl shrugged, ears plastered with the sound of their muscles pushing upward, then turned her head to the side with a smile.
“You used again, didn’t you?”
Joanne sized Natalie up with a look of disdain, arms crossed and one foot to the side. The girl had more than doubled in size since last they spoke, and Joanne didn’t like the pace at which that was happening: just… too fast. She was dressed in the same sportswear as her friend, only, hers didn’t have as much rips and tears and could still be classed as clothing, not rags.
“Or maybe I should just call it what it is: abusing,” Joanne added. The thick veins were almost horrendous to look at, as was the evident pulsing mass that grinned in return. Joanne groaned in frustration. “It’s not something to be proud of, Nat.” Joanne remember when Natalie first started working out, wanting to just lose that extra layer of fat. She was far more natural then than now. Why couldn’t she have just stayed that way?
“Pfft. You can only get so big naturally before you gotta start roidin’ up, Jo.” Despite the apparent eager usage of growth hormones, Natalie was lucky some parts of her were still considered female, even down there. She just didn’t know how lucky. That could change any day of the week, yet she wouldn’t give a fuck. That was just her mentality. It was ‘get bigger’ or don’t do anything at all. A lot had changed with Natalie over the weeks, moat of which was actually negative.
“I get that, but…” Joanne watched Natalie rack more plates onto the squat machine, making it a grand total of 158KG - almost double Joanne’s body weight - and position herself squarely on the seat. The leather creaked in protest over the brunette’s unbearable massiveness, but there was nothing Joanne could really do to stop her. “…you’re practically putting the ‘roids on a dose of their own shit, if you get what I mean.”
“I get enough of that shit talk back home from my mum.” Natalie grunted, thrusting the barbell upwards into her first squat. The effects of her recent dosage in the locker room were still going strong; blinking, her dilated pupils flared in tandem with the swelling of her quads rubbing against the scant, torn remains of her shorts still clung to her chemically-fueled glutes. “Didn’t fucking come here to get it from you too.”
Joanne rubbed her eye, trying to play deaf to Natalie’s words. Back before she was juicing, Natalie always looked up to Joanne for support about almost anything. Now though, she was practically treated like shit. Despite that, Joanne stuck by Natalie’s side. She was the only friend she had. Natalie just didn’t know it. There was a lot Natalie didn’t know.
“You know, if you take enough of that stuff, you’re gonna end up looking like a man.” Joanne thought offering real talk about the dangers of steroid use would help bring Natalie to her senses. But most of the time it felt like talking to a brick wall. One that just kept getting bigger and bigger. “I’d hate to see Nat become Matt.”
Natalie came up from her next squat, glancing through the mirror wall at the smaller fringe-cut blonde with a look of disdain, biceps ballooning to the bar’s edge. “Well if I become ‘Matt,’ it’s because I fucking choose to.” Going down again, her shorts became tauter round her hips in a final effort to cling on for dear life. Miraculously, it worked. Next time, though, might not be so lucky. “It’s my life, Jo.”
At this point, Joanne had given up on getting Natalie to see the error of her ways - at least for today. Stepping back from the machine, she reached for her water bottle and towel. “You still good for Saturday, though?”
“We’ll see” was Natalie’s half-caring return, dipping down for her seventh squat, erupting a burning fire of power within the surging beefiness of her quads. “Depends.”
Joanne was confused. “On what?”
“How big I get before then.”
Joanne sighed. Getting bigger was really all Natalie cared about, and Joanne knew that. So the sigh the blonde offered was more a response to her stupidly being blind to that fact, for once.
Natalie considered herself lucky her mum Marie wasn’t home. She couldn’t bear to stand yet another argument about her addiction. Marie just wouldn’t - and never did - understand. Every time they spoke, it would end up erupting into a ping-pong match of verbal abuse over how ‘horrendously freakish’ or ‘abhorrently manly’ Natalie had become as a result of her steroid use.
Not that Natalie cared what anybody thought.
She was coming down out of her high and panicked, wanting to get another hit again. But Marie was crafty. Rummaging like earlier, the massive brunette frantically searched her bedroom drawers for a fresh syringe of the hormone she practically lived on, but found none. Not even used needles. She found herself in a frenzied state upon the realization her mother had found her stash - again - and didn’t know what to do.
“Fuucckk!” Pulling at her hair, Natalie tried to think clearly, but coming out of her high was too overpowering to even form thoughts clearly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
There was always a backup though: the dealer. The two of them didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but one thing was for certain - Natalie was their most loyal customer, often buying in bulk and never short on cash. That’s because she often got the money from her mother - or rather, stole it from her when she wasn’t aware. Natalie was cold-hearted in that she barely cared.
Reaching for her mobile phone on her desk, Natalie’s twitching thumbs frantically pressed buttons on the button pad, not even sure if they were the right buttons to press.
And then the voice came - garbled, as if synthesized, yet familiar and, at this point, a Godsend to Natalie. “’Sup?”
“N-nee-need a quick top-up,” Natalie stammered with a shivery tone. She could feel her muscles cramping up and seize her intestines, believing she was dying, but in reality it was just the addiction playing games with her chemical-dependent mind. “Like, now.”
“Jesus, how much of the fucking shit did you actually take?” The Voice knew Natalie better than her own mother did, and Natalie didn’t sound anything like this, even on bad days.
Natalie groaned. “Enough, okay? Just…” She buckled over the desk slightly, digging her nails into the edge. “Tell me where to meet you.”
The Voice was reluctant to help. But again - Natalie was their best customer. “Can you make it to Ford Avenue?”
“Ford. Gotcha.” Natalie ended the call. She didn’t have to discuss price with The Voice. She’d been in this situation often enough to know the amount like the back of her hand, but it was never any easier to walk with a constant cramping pain that never actually existed.
She grabbed her duffel bag, knowing there was enough money in there to cover the cost. Now she just had to get there - one pained step at a time.
Chapter 2: Monkey-faced
Ford Avenue was a seedy alley almost nobody even dared to pass through, even if it was a handy shortcut. Those who did go there were those who one would expect: people sought a place hidden from view to engage in immoral acts. In Natalie’s case, drug dealers selling their valued products to willing customers. There were spent needles often strewn across the paving, formerly filled with God knows what. Not that the behemoth brunette cared much about that sort of thing. She just needed her own fix.
The car bucked to one side as she climbed out of it, melon-sized, vein-caked calf first, the duffle bag slung over her capped shoulder next. She’d just come out of the trippy so-called high experienced earlier and in that time her mass that shrunken somewhat. She was still bigger than most Mr Olympia’s, but Natalie hated the concept of small. She cut through the alleyway at a brisk pace, passing the row of trashcans and aforementioned spent needles until coming to the old torn posters from yesteryear. Her sweat-stained outfit from the earlier workout still clung to the gargantuan woman’s frame, though it had fallen victim to more rips and tears, consequently revealing more bulging, vein-riddled flesh.
She came to a halt at the scuff of her shoe just as a cigarette was lit before her in the shadow-engulfed distance. Natalie’s impatience burned brightly; she tossed the bag to the ground and kicked it into the darkness, calf rippling with the motion. “There’s the money. You know me, so there’s no need to count it.”
As the cigarette burned, a figure revealed itself from the shadow; Paul, The Voice’s top peddler. Natalie often confided in Paul for her stash of roids, never having met The Voice face-to-face. Not much was known about the faceless drug tycoon, other than the fact he was filthy rich from his sales. Paul was pretty much the polar opposite of Natalie; scraggy and dishevelled, draped in a grey hooded tracksuit and white trainers.
“Things are a little different today, Nat.” He dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped on it before pulling a clear polythene bag from his pocket. Typically he would provide the girl with a bag of ready-filled syringes – eight, to be precise – but things, as he said, were different. Curiosity gripped Natalie after hearing Paul’s words, ushering her to venture closer to him. She never got this close to him before; in most instances, she would give the money into the darkness, he would then place the stash somewhere within arm’s reach for Natalie to grab while taking that moment to disappear again.
Now close enough to see his face in all its scrawny and malnourished unpleasantness, Natalie snatched the bag from Paul like a falcon does its prey and turned away from him to inspect the contents privately, her wall of back beef so wide, his eyes were engulfed by it. She rummaged through the bag and pulled out the contents with a befuddled glower. In the months she’d been dealing with Paul, Natalie - as previously revealed – purchased syringes of the chemical she pretty much survived on. But right now—
“What the fuck is this?” She turned back to Paul holding what seemed to be a confectionary between her thumb and index finger. The sweet in question was yellow in colour and shaped like a monkey’s face. It was humorous in a way, but hardly professional. “Is this some kind of joke, Paul?” She held back the chemically-induced rage building within, hoping he had a perfectly good reason why she had a sweetie in her hand.
“It’s a different delivery system, Nat.” Paul and The Voice both knew she was still somewhat a rookie in regards to how was best to shoot up. Roid injections were a thing of the past, and needles were easy to spot compared to things that look like sweets. The face-shaped confectionaries weren’t even pills, but genuine candies that offered the same results as the injections did. “You’ll be chomping on these sweets from now on. The results are the same; same capped size increase and growth rate per sweet. Doesn't show up on drug tests either, so you could compete using this shit if you wanted.”
Natalie examined the sweet curiously. What she held in her hand was a way to grow as big as she wanted without her mother finding out. But that didn’t necessarily mean the arguments they had would come to an end. “Any side effects?”
“We’re working out the standard kinks commonly associated with roids, but they’re good enough to use.” Paul watched Natalie move the sweet around in her hand, inspecting it from just about every angle; it was thick and looked sugary, just like the mini love hearts did. It went without saying she was tempted to take at least one right there and then. Paul could see that stern determination in her gaze. “Taste like banana too, would you believe it. Or so I’m told.”
Natalie was just about to enact her intention when her mobile buzzed, bringing her plans to a sudden halt. Groaning with irritation, she pulled her mobile free from her pocket and read the text from her mother. Where R U. Call me. God knows what she wanted now, but she wasn’t going to get in the way of Natalie’s want to beef up more and more. Without so much as a second thought, she downed the sweet in one go, caring not to carefully chew on it, her beefy throat flexing inward with the swallow. And there it was - that banana flavour Paul mentioned, at the tip of her tongue.
Paul watched it transpire in a matter of seconds; one moment he was talking about the sweet tasting like banana, the next he was watching Natalie grow before him. It was amazing how her sports bra and shorts all managed to stay in place, even after suffering rips and tears from her previous spurt of growth. The shudder she experienced forced her to arch back somewhat as pulsing veins rose to the surface of her skin; arm, leg, abdominal and back veins all pulsing in sync with the growth from just the one sweet. A slight layer of veins crawled to the edge of her chin before receding alongside the rest of her freakish vascularity.
“Woah!” It was no surprise Natalie felt the rush hit her so quickly. She pulled into a crab flex to boast her new size, resulting in a vast shadow engulfing the impressed Paul. He knew all those freakish veins would’ve pop up in the now-larger Natalie’s frame and visage, given that was just a symptom of her body getting use to the new delivery method. Continuing her bragging, she turned her back to Paul again to do calf raises, feeling the thicker beef strain and pull towards her skin.
“Feels good, don’t it?” Paul smiled.
Another text message came through, prompting the brunette to stop showing off. She didn’t want to and it annoyed her; rage fuelled the veins in her neck to jut out freakishly as she read the newly received message. Get home now. Rolling her eyes, Natalie stashed her mobile back into her pocket, snatched her bag from the edge of the darkness and proceeded to walk back to her car. “Thanks for the shit. See you next week.”
Paul didn’t say a word. Instead, he just watched Natalie strut, eyeballing her torn shorts that revealed enough striated glute meat to give him a surprising boner.
“Jesus, I didn’t think it would be this bad when you described it.” Marie opened the sewing kit with concern. It was a little over fifteen minutes earlier she got the text from Peyton that she got hit. ‘Hit’ being the rather broad term. She came back with an eye black as night, a cut brow and broken arm - that much was certain. “Hold still.”
Peyton winced. She never expected the needle to be that sharp. The punch she was the victim of felt blunter. Even so, she was lucky her mother was a nurse. The eighteen year-old jerked slightly as Marie pulled the stitching into place, feeling her skin pull closer bit by bit.
The front door opened, revealing Natalie in all her surging glory, shorts and bra literally moments from bursting off. One miscalculated breath or sudden flex from any of her muscles would be enough to render her naked. She wouldn’t have minded being laid bare, honestly, but—
“Where the fuck have you been?” Marie stopped stitching up Peyton to offer a cold stare at her burgeoned older daughter who looked like she’d eaten the Hulk for breakfast. Marie knew Natalie was once again bigger, no doubt lucky enough to shoot up before her stash was found. But of course, that wasn’t the case. The mother sized Natalie up from head to toe, visibly repulsed by her ever larger musculature. There was a time when Marie supported her daughter for having muscle, but that encouragement died when Natalie started abusing. “I’ve been sitting here tending to your sister for the better half of an hour!”
Natalie turned to Peyton and eyeballed the broken arm first; a slump of broken bone and limp flesh. This wasn’t the first time Peyton had broken her arm, but it was the worst state it had been in such a case. Her brow was cut in such a way that no doubt a permanent scar would form after healing. Natalie might’ve mostly been a meathead by now, but she still cared. “What happened?”
“What happened is your sister stood up for you.” Marie poured alcohol onto a ball of cotton wool and dabbed it onto Peyton’s brow wound. The teen winced again, kicking her heel up against the couch’s leg. Marie was informed of everything that happened and hated the fact Natalie was at the centre of the incident. Why couldn’t it have been a fight over boys instead? “People were calling you out for being a steroid freak – which you are. Peyton here stood up for you and paid the price for it.”
“Was I supposed to just stay quiet?” Peyton resisted the urge to rub the itching pain on her brow, all while glancing into the mirror at the shiner she got on account of defending her sibling. Marie was of the mind that Peyton shouldn’t have done or said anything and just roll with the assailants’ claim.
Marie groaned. She’d need more cotton wool balls than presumed. Pulling up from her crouch, she stashed the ball she just used into a bag. “Both of you stay there. I’ll be back in a minute.” Natalie took that moment as her opportunity to slip another growth candy into her system. Same as before, her throat flexed as the sugary confectionary slipped down it. There was no sudden growth this time, much to Natalie’s disappointment, but she did feel especially stronger.
Peyton watched her gargantuan sibling down the candy with curiosity. Natalie unfurled the bag to reveal more of them and pulled one out to silently offer. Peyton was ever so tempted to take the new sweet, attracted by the humorous monkey face on the front, but thought better of it. “Better not take anything sugary right now or Mum will kill me.”
Natalie shrugged; forcing her outrageously defined deltoids to surge and roil with the indescribable amount of she-beef cocooned within. “Suit yourself.” She knew all too well what she just offered her sibling but didn’t care much about it. If Natalie found enjoyment in being as beefy as she was, why wouldn’t Peyton? Be that as it may, there was no denying the upset Natalie felt in seeing her being the victim of assault.
Peyton rubbed her eye. She was actually close to crying but didn’t want anyone to see her burst out into hysterics. What would her rippling, tough-as-nails sister think? Truth be told, Natalie could see Payton was fighting her want to bawl and knew she had more courage than otherwise presumed. She was proud of her.
“Tell me who did it.”
Peyton’s tongue locked up. She didn’t want to say anything about who did what to her, but there was something about Natalie’s stern expression that made Peyton question herself. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Mum…”
“I’m not asking, Peyton.” There was something about those words from Natalie that made Peyton worry. Not to mention the vast bulging shadow that loomed over the injured girl as her sister stood over her. Just what would happen if the names of those who attacked were revealed? Peyton knew Natalie had the tendency to lash out as a result of her increasing addiction. But at the same time, there was a fear of what would happen if Peyton didn’t say who attacked.
“Dale Clarkson and his group of buddies.”
When Marie came back with the bag of cotton balls, she found herself to be one daughter short. Looking out at the open door, the mother held back her anger to attend to Peyton’s wounds. “Where did your sister go?”
Wracked with anxiousness, Peyton looked at the open door, Summer's breeze gracing her cheek.
Chapter 3: Animal
Dale Clarkson was always one for posing. It was hard not to, considering he was a big guy. There were rumours he often juiced to keep his momentum going, but as anyone would, he outright refuted them, claiming his size was natural. Again, it was hard to contest that since his father was a three-time Mr Olympia champ – so Dale definitely had the genes for size.
Even if that were the case, it didn’t justify what he did to Peyton. A black eye, busted lip and who knows what else she was given, all for sticking up for Natalie. The monolithic brunette was livid, to say the least.
Dale pushed his torso forward into a crab flex, smiling proudly into the gym’s mirror wall, and then brought his attention to the striated, arguably overdeveloped arms he’d spent months crafting; veins layered themselves over the guy’s arms like a freakish, almost sickening network of blue tubing. He’d developed an odd attraction to the goal of making even those bigger. He beefier he got, the more insane his goals became. His friend Jordan was also a meathead, but not as apparently hooked as Dale.
His lady friend Reagan watched from behind, dressed in basic female’s workout gear: sports bra, shorts and pumps. The damp fringe she had emphasised just how sweaty she was. She was in her own way a fitness freak, but not like Dale was. He was a whole different kind of animal. Reagan couldn’t resist the urge built up within that compelled her to devotedly feel her boyfriend’s rippling arm.
“God, you’re so huge.” Reagan’s nipples were erect from arousal, but she was too focused on the physique before her to properly notice or even care. Dale was just so hot and buff and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him later that night.
“You like that, babe?” Dale was smug. He knew he was a big, buff beefcake that turned heads, even if his physique was just a little bit oversized. His own urges flared too, but he just hoped he could “perform” when the time came, given the fact he did regularly juice up. Reagan knew that and didn’t care. The arrogant beefcake turned from the mirror to his patient, smaller lover with a curved grin, allowing her hand to feel his wide chest. She definitely liked it.
“You still thinking about competing?” Months earlier, Dale had brought up the potential idea of taking part in a local bodybuilding contest. The first to know this news was Jordan. His arms folded over his wide, yet comparably small chest compared to Dale’s, he waited for a response, while his ears picked up gentle feminine groans from a slender redhead behind him who caught his attention.
Dale turned back to the mirror with a shrug. The concept of competing was still on his mind to this day, but knew his chances had been slashed when his dependency on the hormones he used ramped up. His arms pulled up, he presented his forty-plus inched arms in all their questionably bloated glory. The existence of water retention in his body was undoubtedly there, as was the slight outbreak of acne across his lats. But Reagan lusted after him despite this.
“I’ll probably still compete, yeah.” Dale didn’t care what the judges would say on that fateful day; so long as he won and got the recognition he felt was deserved. He wasn’t going to be the next Arnold Schwarzenegger, but the first Dale Porter. He sought to be the greatest bodybuilder to ever live and had lived.
“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead, babe.” Reagan twirled her perfect golden locks whilst biting her lips seductively at Dale’s continued posing; he pulled down into an abs and thighs pose, his left leg out in front to flaunt the sweeping quad. He was definitely going to attract attention.
Then the voice came; loud and angry enough to attract everyone’s attention. But if that didn’t, surely the large, domineering shadow did – it moved closer and grew both taller and wider in its tracks, moving towards Dale who immediately recognised the face.
She looked at him lividly with cold, calculating eyes. Natalie’s anger over Peyton being attacked by the asshole before her had driven the girl into a blinded rage where the brunette was unwary of the fact she’d obliviously consumed three more of the monkey-faced growth hormone pills, and it showed. It definitely showed. Her biceps were so large that even when hung at her sides and relaxed they violently pushed against her equally thick pectorals that themselves bounded with involuntarily twitches, urging themselves on with the want to grow.
“The fuck you doing here?” Despite being clearly outsized by Nat, Dale tried to maintain some level of composure. If it weren’t for her, he’d be the gym’s king. But right now, he was the peasant. It was hard to stay confident, though. How could he be confident around a vein-caked face that stared into his soul? Then he found himself answer his own question. Natalie would only be at Dale’s local gym for one reason – to enact payback for what he did to Peyton. Even so, he remained defiant around the silent yet intimating Natalie. “The bitch deserved it. Why would anyone want to be related to a freak like you?”
“Fuck you.” Natalie’s voice dipped. It was gruff, more masculine that time. She hoped it wasn’t permanent, but that wasn’t important right now. Given the revealed fact, Dale was caught off-guard and repulsed by the girl. He knew he juiced, but Natalie seemed to be a completely different animal. She edged in closer to him, the hormones getting the better of her. Specifically, she was really, really angry, and wanted to have better control over that emotion, but-- “You think its fine to beat up people who can’t defend themselves?” Her voice returned to its normal feminine tone then, luckily, implying it had undulated. Whether it was going to stay that way was a different story.
Reagan felt sick looking at Natalie. How could someone want to look that way? The muscles – there was just so much of them; too much for her to handle or consider tolerable. She swallowed the building bile in her gut before working up enough courage to confront Natalie too. “You’re such a freak. You should be experimented on, not defended.”
“Freak, eh?” Natalie took that as a compliment. She’d longed to be called that by someone, having spent God knows how long in the gym just to look half as freaky. But now that she was actually called a freak, it only boosted her confidence and desire to get even bigger. And bigger she’d get. “Thanks for that.”
Realising her words had backfired, Reagan was livid. She hated it when she was either wrong or things didn’t work out the way she hoped. Pinching Dale’s arm, she signalled for him to step in and take her place.
“Just… fuck off back home, you freak.” He was clearly running out of things to say – not that he said much to begin with. It didn’t help that there was a crowd gathering round the trio at this point, neither person taking a specific side in this argument.
But Natalie had enough. There was a reason why she was here and wasn’t going to let it slip. The brunette didn’t care what everyone thought of it or her – she was going to do what she came to and the crowd was going to watch. Perfect, an audience.
Without so much as a word of warning she grabbed Dale by the arm and pushed him round so his chest turned to the mirror he so often posed in front of. Natalie’s anger had blinded her, so she was unware of Reagan vainly slapping her thick chest. If anything, it was just humorous to watch. Whilst this occurred, Natalie pulled on Dale’s arm as the then-proud male tried to wrench free from the brunette’s grip, but she instead tightened it and pulled again until, with a definitive yelp from his strong lungs, his arm broke in so many places it was more limp flesh than bone, similar to Peyton’s.
Natalie listened to Dale’s pathetic whimpering with a smile. He had curled up into a ball dead centre of the crowd gathered round him. Admittedly, Reagan was appalled by how her lover acted. Sure, his arm had broken in several places, but she always saw him as someone who’d laugh off such an injury, not cry like a baby.
“Be grateful it’s just the one arm. I did consider taking a leg or two as well, but—I’m trying to be the better person here.” Natalie couldn’t resist just a little snicker at how things had turned out for Dale. She knew he was all pompous. ‘Was’ being the stressed word. Her barn door wide back turned, the brunette looked to the horrified Reagan with a pointed finger. “And you. Count yourself lucky.”
Blinded by her fear, Reagan stood frozen to the spot as urine trickled down her leg, with Natalie silently leaving the establishment. The former crowd had dispersed. Normally the police would’ve been contacted for an assault case, but it wouldn’t do Dale any good when he himself committed the same crime not that long ago, didn’t he? Besides, no one but Reagan liked him, so they were happy to see the pompous chap crying his eyes out like a baby.
Natalie returned home after her incident with Dale and was relieved to find her mother Marie wasn’t around, otherwise she’d have to deal with the problem of asking where she went, what she did and who she did it with. Even though she was spared that particular problem, a new blossomed when Natalie explained to Peyton what happened. Needless to say, the younger girl wasn’t all that happy.
“What do you mean you broke his arm?” Peyton not only demanded an answer, but expected one right then. Instead she was basically ignored by her freakish sibling who sat at their bedroom computer adjusting her diet plan. Truthfully, she didn’t really need or want a diet. At least, not one she religiously stuck to like most bodybuilders. It was all just a front, something she did to help hide the fact her growth came from the monkey-faced pills. Of course, she and Marie did often butt heads over the fact drugs were used in the past, but now it wasn’t so obvious because the pills didn’t look like pills. “You know you can get charged for that, right? That’s assault.”
“I know it’s assault, because that’s what he did to you.” Natalie took a quick glance through the small wall-mounted mirror at the sling on Peyton’s arm. She’d be wearing that for weeks, potentially months. Dale, on the other hand, would probably need a whole new arm. At least, that’s what Natalie hoped. “An eye for an eye, as they say. Or, an arm for an arm in this case.”
“If mum finds out—”
Natalie turned to face her sister directly. Her left arm draped round the back of the chair, a thick forearm dwarfing it. She knew if her mum did find out, things between them would only worsen, but what was Natalie supposed to do? Just sit there and accept the fact Peyton was beaten to a pulp for sticking up for her? And what was Marie going to do that would actually be a modicum of good? “She’s not gonna find out. At least if you don’t grass about it.”
“What about that Reagan chick? You said she was there?” Even though Peyton was concerned for her older sibling being so cold-hearted about what happened, she couldn’t deny the slight intrigue that came from hearing about it. “Something about her, you know, pissing herself?”
Natalie snickered. To her, Reagan losing her piss was comedy gold. She had it coming too. Nothing else ought to be expected from someone equally stuck-up as Dale. The embarrassment that came with it was so severe that she was likely a black sheep by now.
Natalie was coming out of her high now; she felt smaller, weaker and had to do something about that. Pulling open the desk drawer she searched its insides for one of the pills, but found none. She was sure, positive there was at least one there - but none. Her drug-addled psychological state made the brunette think she was actually shrink down and losing the mass she gained. It was frightful knowing it was a softcore repeat of last time, knowing she’d have to visit Paul the dealer again.
The mammoth brunette was so focused on the need for the pills again that she was deaf to Peyton’s words. Natalie left without as much as a word, leaving her injured sibling alone. Peyton didn’t say anything. She knew why her sister was acting this way.
When the coast was clear Peyton reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out the hormone pill that was presumably missing. She earlier found it in the drawer Natalie rummaged in, but her innocence to the nature of its use made Peyton question whether she should swallow it.
Chapter 4: Vein-caked
Natalie’s grunt was swift, loud and bore a sense of deliberation as she pulled down for yet another squat. Her shorts were taut and clung vainly to the arguably stone hard quads underneath that throbbed, quaked and squirmed with power. The newfound rush of energy came from the pill she’d just consumed beforehand, ladled into her bloodstream with not a care in the world. Sweat dripped from her forehead and trickled unevenly down her equally thick cleavage, nearing the headphones at the nape of her neck. Her persistence unwavering, she pulled up with the same deliberately drawn out grunt, endeavoring to catch the eyes of those around her.
Joanne stood behind lividly and questioned why her friend could act so cool and unaffected by the news just broken to her. The blonde folded her arms disdainfully and cocked a brow in wait, hopeful the beastly brunette would, yet, grace her with an answer. Instead, she thrust her weight upward for another squat, mentally counting forty. Joanne was quick to take the hint.
“So you don’t care?” she sighed, then scolded herself for even thinking Natalie really had any interest in the matter, much like how she scolded herself for not remembering building muscle was more important than anything else. “You don’t care that Jane was upset about you not attending her party?”
Natalie peeled away from the squat rack in silence, her rock hard, pillar thick arm almost brushing past that of the smaller, comparatively petite blonde’s, her steps brisk. The girl had packed so much mass on her calves in the past couple of days that with even the slightest, quietest of movements they still quavered. Despite having worked out for the better half of four hours that day, the titanic brunette was no way near the end of her workout. She stopped trailing across the room when the posing mirror came into view. A response to Joanne was still not given even then.
“She has no problem with you being…this, you know.” Joanne waved her dainty arm across the full brutish width of Natalie to stress her point, an eye catching her pull into a side chest pose that strained her top until it offered a quiet yet discernible stretching noises, pulling it sidewards. A hushed exhale escaped the brunette’s lungs, coercing her chest meat to bound and flex under her top. “Even if it is a little…too much,” Joanne continued.
Natalie remained silent. She knew she was getting on Joanne’s nerves, but frankly, didn’t care all that much for what she thought. Smiling, the behemoth pulled her arms up into a double bicep pose and swerved her eyes round to the left, where a lone thick vein throbbed under her top, tracing the length of her arm from the pumpkin’d delt to her wrist.
"She expected you to be there. She depended on you, and you..." Joanne sighed, glimpsing Natalie's shrugs. "You cared more for getting bigger than for your friends."
“Damn it, Nat. Say something.” Joanne knew Natalie had, in more ways than one, become addicted to working out and ‘the shit,’ but to be so silent and ignorant— “I don’t care if even you mumble. Just say something.”
Natalie lowered her arms disdainfully. Admittedly, Joanne’s presence irked her right now; she hoped to work out alone today and not have her performance or flow be hindered by the smaller, weaker Joanne. The two girls stared at one another through the mirror for what seemed forever. Then, breaking away from the tension, Joanne looked at Natalie’s left arm; her throbbing, vein-caked arm. It was much more vascular than the other, appeared almost…alien in nature.
Finally, Natalie spoke, although her words weren’t what Joanne had hoped for.
“Do you think I’m big enough to compete now?”
Joanne blinked. She couldn’t believe it; she came with the news of Jane’s disappointment in Natalie, and the response to that clearly indicated her lack of interest. It was especially disheartening to hear considering Jane and Natalie were childhood friends. It seemed Natalie was more interested in gaining mass than maintaining a life-long friendship.
“You need to sort your priorities out, Nat.”
Joanne didn’t know what else to say, hoping Natalie would see her evident upset and was able to see her wrongdoing. Instead, she shrugged the statement off and pulled down into a crab pose, grunting like earlier. Watching her biceps inflate underneath the top, her lats surged upwards edging close to the nape of her neck, chemically-fuelled veins popping to the surface of her skin.
“Yeah, I think I could compete by month’s end. I’d take the trophy without even trying” Natalie could already picture the moment she'd set foot onstage and wow the crowd with her mind-numbing size, instant-erection-inducing caring not that most of the effort and muscle came from ladling hormones into her system, and that she’d arguably look more masculine by then. Pulling in even harder, her chemically-fuelled mass jerked with a small dose of growth, attacking the vainly held top until her biceps burst free from it, exposing the freakish vein she glimpsed earlier. “All the other chicks would just be fucking twigs compared to me.”
Joanne was disgusted. This wasn’t Natalie. At least, not the Natalie she met two years ago; the nervous, slightly pudgy finger-twiddling Natalie Joanne befriended. This Natalie was something else altogether that cared not for anything but putting on more mass and lifting heavier. The Natalie from two years prior couldn’t even trust herself with just the lightest of dumbbells. But Joanne thought— it was her that got Natalie lifting in the first place. So, maybe if that didn’t happen—
“Look at you, Nat. Don’t you think you’re taking things a little too far?” A feeling nipped in Joanne that made her think she was repeating herself, that she'd said something like this before. And maybe she had. “Even for you?”
Natalie stared into the mirror, intrigued by her petite friend’s statement. Chest meat mashed violently into chest meat, as the peaks of her biceps rubbed into her sides without even trying, arms at her sides and relaxed. With a plaintive sigh her vein-encrusted chest bounded and expanded, the monkey pills chemicals continuously flowing through her bloodstream, pushing her metabolism. Joanne saw Natalie and hoped. She didn't quite know what for. She just...hoped.
“Meh, another couple of inches won’t hurt.”
Determined, Natalie pulled her headphones over her head, the loudest, most violent rock music blasting into her ears, and set off to the dumbbell racks, now deaf to the ensuing angry tirade that came from Joanne before she stormed out the gym. The blonde didn’t care about what the other gym-goers thought of her outburst. All she cared about was Natalie’s well-being, which, admittedly, could start deteriorating just as quickly as her muscles grew.
Natalie pushed up from her press-up, her heart beating like a bass drum as it, like her hormone-crafted musculature against her skin and clothes, throbbed violently. Her calves and quads both reacted in response to the jerking quivers of she-beef squirming, grinding and pushing against themselves and the multiple layers of skin that comprised the girl’s massiveness. With Joanne gone, Natalie could, finally, maintain her focus on working out.
A heaved, forceful inhale came before the brunette clenched her steely glutes together, the fabric of her shorts, rubbing together agitatedly against the inflamed, oversized ass cheeks of a girl who, once, thought muscle on females was deemed ugly, but now just couldn’t get enough of it. Sweat trickled between them and formed a puddle at her crotch that only darkened and grew wider with every press-up. And it wasn’t just any normal press-up either.
The weight on her back rattled. It hadn’t done that earlier. She must’ve been losing her balance now - something that, unquestionably, would only irk the girl more than she already appeared to be. The ‘weight’ was three weight plates tied round her waist using naught but rope - two 10KG plates and one 15KG plate. Natalie had performed this exercise more times than she could count, and the same could be said for just how many reps she did it, something done to help strengthen and wider back. It went without saying she went home every day just that little bit wider.
Her back contracted, pulling her top inward to press against the taut, powerful yet sweaty skin. It appeared oiler than usual, even Natalie noticed that. Wasn’t oily skin a side-effect of hormone abuse? Carelessly, she shrugged before untying the rope, allowing the weight plates to slump off her beefy, oily lats and clatter noisily to the floor. Other gym-goers were startled by the unexpected disruptiveness, peeling round curiously to see the brunette immediately pull into a lat spread with held breath, gut sucked in to appear leaner. It might not have been the best course of action, given her top resultantly split slightly at the back, allowing the throbbing back mass to casually spill out like melting, dripping butter, veins splitting off across it in all directions.
Eyes to the posing mirror once again, she glimpsed a woman looking at her from behind. She looked nervous - like Natalie did, once upon a time - twiddling her thumbs. It may have appearance that the past almost repeated itself, but the brunette couldn’t care less.
“The fuck you looking at?” Both to boast and hint at just intimidating she could be, Natalie craned her left arm in the mirror so the nervous onlooker could gawk at it from afar, those sickeningly thick veins were not only still there, but even thicker than before as a result of her workout. “Jealous much?”
Natalie winked teasingly.
The woman gulped and clenched her privates together to hold her piss in, otherwise the fright she got would’ve bested her. As she veered to the right to make a quick escape, she glimpsed a thick vein resting on the side of Natalie's bullish neck.
Looking back into the mirror smugly, Natalie pulled her left leg out to the side, the toes of her shoe pressed into the years-old, dubiously stained carpet. With one final exhale, she definitively stated:
“You’re looking at a future Ms Olympia champion.”
Somehow, it was impossible to argue with the behemoth girl’s confident declaration, as though, even now, it had been written in stone as a victory.
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