Hey everyone, starting tomorrow, I'm going on a little trip to where they probably won't have any computers to update with. I'll tell you everything about as soon as I get back, but I can tell you it'll have something to do with your last suggestions ;)
I hope to be back on august 3rd, but if things turn out to be more...interesting, it might take longer.
I need to ask for you help again.
You see, while it's really easy for me to get a pump (I just have to pick up a random car and lift it easily over my head to get my muscles to swell to four times their regular size), it's really hard for me to feel pumped up. I'm looking for something that'll get me a proper workout, not because I need it, but just for that feeling. If you've ever pumped iron, you'll know what I'm talking about.
So far, I've tried the gym, loading up two bars with 450 pounds, curling one of them in each hand. That got my biceps up to a nice 24 inches, but I didn't feel the pump. I grabbed both bars in my left hand, curling 900 pounds one handed with an extended arm. My arm swelled little more, 25 inches, but while it felt heavy and quite nice, it just wasn't "it".
I 'snuck' out the back door, leaving the lock shattered on the floor, I only just fit through the door and my shoulders had gotten that wide. Walking to a closed car park out back, I looked for the largest vehicle I could find. I spotted a large van, I guess somewhere around 3000 pounds and started pushing it up first, curling it afterwards. It was feeling nicer, but still not like a workout used to feel. I tried carefully stacking another car on top, but it kept falling off and I didn't want to damage either car.
I remembered the weights in the gym, I'm sure I could borrow them for a little while. Walking back inside, I'd forgotten about my arms and shoulders, bumping into the doorframe. Or I should say, "Smashing", because there's no such thing as "bumping" into mere wood when you can lift a van one-handed without breaking a sweat. I dislocated the whole frame, crushing some of the brickwork on the left side. I shrugged (breaking off another small part) and walked back in. This time, there was someone else in the lifting area. I just smiled at him as I grabbed my two loaded bars, scooped up at least another 1200 pounds of plates and walked back outside. The man was staring open mouthed as I winked at him. "Mind if I borrow these?"
The nice thing about being super strong is that you never need keys for something like opening a door. I simply grabbed the handle on the back of the van and pulled, opening the door whether it was locked or not. Loading all the weights in the back of the vehicle strained the structure to its limit. The total came to about 5100 pounds, or two and half tons.
When I picked it up, this time left-handed, my biceps peaked to 27 inches, my shoulders of matching massive size, my pecs jumping out. I was glad I took your advice and wore was pretty much a cloth bag. Still, I lifted the van easily. Sure, it was heavy; I could feel this was more than a dozen professional weightlifters could manage. Don't get me wrong, it's a lot of fun and it sure feels great to lift that much without effort, but that was just the problem, it didn't take any effort. I'd have to curl this for days to even break a sweat and I didn't want to wait that long.
So, I'm asking my readers. Does anyone have any ideas where a super girl can get a little workout? Preferably somewhere quiet where I can do without any clothes and maybe not damage too much. Thanks in advance.
So, I'd just sent out a dozen or so letters and sets of pictures, but I still wanted a little pocket money. I loved your suggestion about trying for sporting events, but I didn't want to go through all the effort and time of going through competitions, rankings, championships and such.
Instead I did a little exploring in one of the shadier parts of town. I'd changed into my new stiletto heels, a pair of latex pants that were stretched to their limits and a crop top of dark green nylon. Now, I would have never tried this before my change, but of course I had nothing to be afraid of now.
I was a little disappointed that nobody tried anything on my walk, but you can't always be lucky I guess. Still, once I arrived at the old port district, and particularly, an 'abandoned' warehouse that had quite a bit of shouting and noise coming from it for an empty building. I knocked on the door, rather loudly, making small dents in the thin metal. A small slider opened that I hadn't noticed before, a rather ugly man asked what I was doing here. "I'm here for the fight", I answered, making sure he had a good view of my assets. He must have assumed I meant that I wanted to watch, because he wanted to charge me three thousand pounds. I didn't have that much, so I had to improvise.
With one hand, I quickly pulled the door open, tearing the lock through the weak wooden doorframe, while my other hand closed around his mouth. I softly squeezed his windpipe shut, being careful not to cause any permanent damage. "Sorry about this, sleep tight" I whispered in his ear, before lifting his unconscious body and putting it somewhere out of the way.
I had a look around the place first. There was one large boxing ring, surrounded by a circle of crude benches, packed with people. Off to the side, there was a large blackboard, someone writing numbers and taking money from the visitors. I had no idea how it worked, but I did know it had something to do with better, and when there's betting, I could make some money. Next, I walked to another man; a grubby looking guy in a poorly fitting suit, surrounded by what I guessed must have been the 'contestants'. I walked up the man, he checked me out, looking up and... well, he seemed to get stuck somewhere in the middle.
"Hi" I said, as cheerfully as I could, "I'd like to join." With one of the worst accents I'd ever heard, he informed that they had enough ring girls, but I was welcome to his room afterwards. Fighting back the urge to snap him in half, I told him I was there for the fight. He just laughed and turned away. I was considering how to persuade him, when someone else barged in "Boss", he panted "Vinnie the Crusher still ain't found anyone ta fight 'im, says they's all scared". "Excuse me" I said, again as cheerful as I could manage "I'll fight Vincent if everyone else is scared". "If it'll shut you up" he replied, "it's your funeral, but tell you what dolly. If you last more than one round, I'll pay you 5000 quid." Now that was more like it. "Deal", I said, as I extended a hand. As I shook his hand, I squeezed to tight enough until I could feel his bones were about to snap, let go and walked away. The next thing I did was place a bet, on myself, for 200 pounds, the last money in my wallet.
An hour and half later, wishing I had brought a change of clothes, or at least a towel or something, I stepped into the ring. The crowd cheered, and I waved happily, I was rather enjoying myself, until the cheers turned to booing and insults. That's when I noticed a man climbing in the ring. Well, I say man, but he looked more like a bear mated with a rhino. He had to walk through door sideways, and his face looked like more than one person had broken his hand on his nose. This must be Vinnie.
I extended my hands, I hadn't been given gloves, not that I needed any, but he opened up straight away with a fist to my face. I easily dodged it, stepping back two steps. "So much for not hitting girls" I said to myself. Now, you've got to realize, despite what I'd done the whole week, I was still new to those and a bit scared inside, so when I threw my first punch, it was probably a little harder than it should have been. As my small fist struck his abs, it pushed deep inside, bending him over like a twig, he staggered all the way back into the ropes. Making sure the crowd got a good show; I looked at my hand and wiped it on my shirt. He was getting the a few blows for free, I decided.
When he came back, he looked even more like a rhino, charging straight for me. I played with him a bit, getting a little workout which only served to make me look better, but I had to be careful, as I'd only just bought my clothes and didn't want to ruin them in front of hundreds of people. After I'd dodged five or six punches, I let him have a hit. I flexed my abs hard as his glove connected. It felt... well, it felt good. Not soft, but it felt rather pleasant, not to mention I loved knowing that however hard he hit me, I could take much, much more. I hoped he'd follow up with more, but he clenched his hand, screaming. I just smiled and stood there, hands in my sides.
His next punch was an uppercut to my face. I decided not to brace for this one, I didn't want to hurt his other hand as well. It turned out that it didn't matter at all, even though I rolled my head with the blow, I could still hear a loud snap from inside the boxing glove. My chin was, of course, completely unharmed and I was feeling better and better. I wasn't the only one enjoying myself; the crowd was either staring openmouthed, or laughing loudly at the big man. "What's the matter, did you hurt your little hand?" I taunted, which made him throw another punch, straight at my chest.
Not wanting him to ruin my shirt, I stood on my toes, leaning back a bit, allowing his hand to connect to my bare flesh. It felt wonderful, having his hard blow press into my breast just a little, before sliding off, right inside my cleavage. Instinctually, I tightened my pectorals, which resulted into a loud scream from Vinnie. Letting go and stepping back, I saw a trickle of blood coming out of his oddly-shaped glove. I must have crushed his hand with just a small twitch of my chest muscles.
I had to end the fight soon, not because I was tired, but because Vinnie might kill himself trying to hurt me. The second punch I threw that game was a lot more gentle than my first, but it had to be, I was aiming for his head. He tried to block it, but he might as well have tried to block a speeding car with his hands (something I'm sure I would have no trouble with). I hit his head just hard enough to put him down. He'd wake up with the mother of all headaches, but he would wake up.
The match was over within two minutes and within five minutes, I'd collected my pay and my earning from the little bet I made. At 60 to 1, I'd earned a total of 17.000 pounds, not bad for a few hours of very enjoyable work. I left a thousand pounds with Vinnie, feeling a little sorry for him and decided that a dance club sounded like the best place to celebrate my new little hobby.
You'd think a super strong wouldn't have money problems, but I don't want to rob a bank just yet. Not because it would be dangerous or something, I could rob fort Knox without getting my hair messed up, but that would draw a lot of attention and the innocent owners of the money certainly wouldn't like it.
So, I'm stuck trying other things. With all respect to Volupia, I don't think I'm placing any coal anywhere inside my body unless I'm really desperate (or bored).
I like the modeling suggestion though, so I got out my camera, a tripod and put on one of the smaller bikinis. At first, I wanted to do some shots at my biggest, but that might not be the smartest thing to do. So, instead of getting fully pumped up, I just did some squats holding my three-seat sofa, a few curls with the a crumpled up lamppost I "found" outside, and finally a few thousand sit-ups holding the same improvised weight. (I really should get some real weights).
When I was done, my bikini was stretched to it's limits, my pectorals pushing my breasts out at least a cup size more than it was designed for. My pumped up shoulders were stretching the shoulder straps to their limits. The small triangles of fabric were strained by my breasts, my now steel-hard nipples making it even worse, but it still held on. A bit lower, my stomach had hardened to an eight-pack, each block pushing half an inch out of my perfectly tanned skin. The bikini panties were having an equally hard time, my round butt closing completely around the rear, with the front stretching tight because of my pumped up muscles. It's a good thing I wasn't wearing any pants, because my thick, hard thigh would have torn them apart like wet tissue paper.
I put the camera on automatic, one picture every second for about five minutes. I did a series of poses, from flexing my large muscles, to cute smiles, to classic modeling poses. I showed of every part of my new body, knowing that while I was incredibly muscular now, it was still quite small compared to what I could achieve, and even that paled compared to my strength. I rather enjoyed the little posing session in my room and backyard, far more than selecting the best pictures, but that had to be done to.
I sorted them out, wrote a nice letter including a training schedule that I thought would be good enough for someone of this size, my measurements and some general friendliness. I printed out five sets of pictures and letters, stuffed them in an envelope and mailed them to several well-known modeling agencies, both regular and for muscular women. Then I repeated everything for my "small" size, taking care only to mail those to regular modeling agencies.
When I was done, it was only 6 am and I didn't need much sleep now. The other suggestions you all made were constantly on my mind, so I decided to find a quicker supply of money...
Oh, I almost forgot.
My latest shopping spree has left me a little short on cash. Can anyone offer an idea how I can earn or find some more? I tried that whole "squeezing a lump of coal into a diamond" thing. All that did was leave me covered in pulverized coal dust :(
Thanks for all the advice, I just got back home and let me tell you, shopping certainly isn't as simple as I remember.
I didn't sleep last night, I don't seem to get tired anymore, so how I managed to miss the train, despite a super-powered run to the train station is still a mystery to me, but I guess being late is one thing that wasn't improved.
I thought that, if I was going to new wardrobe anyway, I could spare one more old shirt. I wasn't planning on letting that train leave without me, so I reached out, grabbed the side of the train car and braced myself to stop the train. Now, I'm easily strong enough to dig my hands into the metal of the train car, I'm probably even strong enough to lift the car one handed (I should try that sometime), but I missed one small detail.
You see, the train was already going 40 miles an hour, and it weighed hundreds of tones. I was standing still, weighing "only" 242 pounds. Instead of me pulling the train to a stop, it just dragged me off my feet, my hands still firmly grabbing the steel train car. Now, that wasn't the worst problem, the train was rather quickly approaching the pillars for the overhead wires. So, while I was still hanging on, trying to figure out what happened to ground, I slammed into the steel support pillar at about 60 miles per hour.
The aftermath was a little humiliating. I wasn't hurt of course, but when I got up I noticed two crumpled steel sheets in my hands that had been torn from the train car. After getting up and brushing the dust from my shirt and noticing that it was still somewhat intact, if a bit stretched from my still bulging biceps, I noticed the solid steel pillar. In addition to it leaning almost 45 degrees to a side, there was a rather pretty Amanda-shaped impression in it. My face, breasts and abs had shaped the pillar into an almost perfect negative of me, except where it had been crushed inside my cleavage.
I looked at it for a second; it reminded me of those old cartoons, before realizing I couldn't leave it like this. Gently grabbing the steel pillar, I bent it up again, smoothing out the hard steel with my other hand. To make things worse, the 'effort' of it caused my arms and back to tear through my already strained shirt. Sighing, I tore some more off, turning it into a crude tie top.
Deciding that, maybe, public transportation wasn't for me, I instead ran to the shopping district. I arrived four minutes later, slapping myself for not doing this in the first place.
Following Benji's and Volupia's advice, I headed for the a lingerie/swimsuit store first. It took some time to figure out my new measurements, but I finally picked out three sets, the most modest one would just fit me, the other two I bought as large as they came, so they would at least stretch a little when I grew. Showing the (rather cute) guy behind the counter how each set looked on me even landed me a nice discount, as he rushed to the bathroom without checking out the last set.
Next I got about a dozen sets of pants, skirts and tops, most of them fit rather well. That is, all of them were tight, showing my stomach, lots of cleavage, pulled tight across my chest and shoulders or thighs, or in the case of the skirts, very short. In other words, they were perfect.
Finally, I decided try for some clothing that would fit when I was fully pumped up. The largest outfits I could find were 5XL, so I got a few and went to the fitting room. I started flexing; doing leg raises with my hands against the walls, one-handed pushups with my legs straight up in the air, anything to get nice and pumped up. For a store with plus-sized clothing, they sure had small fitting rooms, or maybe it was because I was so big, as none of the clothing even fit over my shoulders or calves. Disappointed, I stood perfectly still, waiting for my muscles to shrink enough for me to fit in my old clothes.
My last stop was a special store I always liked, but never entered. They sold leather, latex and PVC clothing. I realized it would look great on my new body and picked up two pairs of super tight, but slightly stretchy latex pants, a few PVC skirts and a crop top (they only had one in my size), together with some stiletto heels. The girl behind the counter couldn't stop staring as I tried each of them on and modeled them in front of the mirror. In fact, it drew quite a crowd of people, all of them gathered at the window, hoping to see what I would try next. I heard a small moan as I came out with my old clothing, now ready for the trash bin after all the pulling on and off. All the people parted meekly as I walked out of the store, smiling widely.
It's been 5 days since I turned 'super' and I've had some time to think, shop and most of all, experiment. Don't worry, I fixed most of the thing I tested my strength on.
I straightened both lampposts out after I turned them into pretzels by bending them around my around body. I planted a new tree for that meter wide oak I uprooted by hugging it tightly and standing up straight, I didn't know it was going to snap off like a twig, I'm new to this!
Not that I could fix everything. I don't think anyone will notice that mailbox I tore from the street and crushed to a baseball sized lump of metal. I just wanted to test how hard my abs were, well, it turns out they're quite a bit harder steel. Oh and then there's that dance club that wouldn't let me in a few weeks ago. I didn't fix the three fist-sized holes I left in their wall and door. It was really easy and didn't hurt at all, so I guess my skin must be super strong to. I shouldn't forget about the two... uhh... impressions I left in the half pipe down at the park. The skaters will probably appreciate how I pressed my breasts into the concrete ramp, leaving two perfectly round dents with an inch and a half hole at the middle where my nipple is. That actually felt really good, it was so awesome to see my soft breasts crush into the hard concrete without deforming at all. I'll tell you the rest of story about that some other time.
Right now, I want to talk about why I started this blog and how I want to use it. Like I said, I'm very new to being super strong, so I'm looking for a little help. From time to time, I'll ask for some advice, and in return for your suggestions, I'll tell you what happened in the life of a girl who is just a little stronger and a little bigger then you.
So, I'd better get started right away, because getting a new wardrobe is expensive and I'm not the best shopper in the world (I've got other qualities). My question is: What should I buy, and how am I going to afford it?
So, I'd just changed from my small, slightly overweight, couch potato old-me to a 6ft 3 inch iron pumping, fitness champion new-me without noticing a thing, needless to say I was a bit confused. I did wonder how much I weighed now, so I dug up my scales from under my bed and checked.
I had to double check, zero the scales and check if they were accurate two times. The scales spun all the maximum 250 pounds! Now I know why, but at the time I just thought the thing must have been broken, so I just forgot about it. Despite my "broken" scales, I felt great, wondering if I was any stronger.
First though, I had to get dressed. Trying a bra was not going to work, so I just forgot about it, not that I needed one now, my new F-cup was more pert then my smallish B-cup was more. The same applied for panties, I had nothing that was going to fit, so I decided to skip underwear altogether.
I did what I always did on weekdays, and grabbed whatever was on top of the pile and started pulling it over my head. When I tried pulling it over my new breasts I realized getting dressed was going to be more difficult today, there was no way any of my old clothing was going to fit over my new breasts. Digging through my closet, I found an old blue nightshirt that reached down to my thighs before, now I could just pull it over my breasts and about an inch down my chest, leaving my stomach bare. It was a bit tight around my shoulders, but reached down halfway to my arms. It was much shorter than what I was used to but, I figured, at least it was sunny outside and I didn't have much to be ashamed of anymore.
Pants were going to be impossible. I never had much in the way of legs or glutes before, so I owned mostly wide pants. Now however, I knew none of those pants were going to fit over my thighs, or my new ass. Thankfully, I owned several knee-lengths skirts, which would be closer to miniskirts now, but still acceptable.
I was dressed as well as I was able, found I didn't have to do anything about my hair, which was a disaster before, but fell perfectly straight down now. I grabbed my wallet, winked at the mirror and went out the door.
There was a gym right down the street, not that I'd ever been inside one, which thankfully offered a try-before-you-buy period. I went straight to the free weights, partly because I had no idea how to work the complicated machines, but mostly because there was nobody else there.
One of the weights was still loaded with three large weights on either side; I figured that was a great place to start. I grabbed the weight in my hands; slowly trying to lift it to my chest, doing what I know is a curl. Several things happened at the same time.
First, I actually lifted the bar and the weights up. It didn't feel light. It didn't feel light at all, like I was lifting hundreds of pounds. The strange thing was, despite the huge weight, it wasn't hard at all. I knew it was incredibly heavy and that I should be able to lift it, but at the same time it was so easy, no harder then lifting a glass of water. That wasn't what I was thinking about though; I was distracted with the second thing that happened.
As I lifted the weight, by biceps swelled up. Not just a bit, but massively. Ignoring my shirt like it wasn't there, my arm tore through the sleeve, swelling up to three times what they were before I started lifting. The same happened to my chest, suddenly pushing out another three inches below my breasts, tearing the sides of my shirt.
I let a yelp, dropped the weight and ran outside, not stopping until I reached my own house. Without noticing I wasn't out of breath at all, I closed the door and locked it. My arms were a little smaller, but when I got out a tape measure, they were 24 inches around, or 29 when I flexed my muscle. I stared at it for a minute, while it shrunk back to it "normal" fitness-pro-sized 14 inches.
I don't remember exactly what I did, or why, but for some reason, I decided to take of my shirt, walk to small parking area near my house, put my hands under the large Hummer belonging to my neighbor and see what happens.
Well, it was better than I expected. As I started to stand up, all my muscles swelled to massive proportions, making my look like the biggest male bodybuilders... no, they were small compared to me. My skin was still flawless, no marks or veins showed on my body, except for one small vein over the crest of my biceps. I removed one arm from underneath the car to look at my biceps; they were an inch bigger then when I came home from the gym. I kept lifting the Hummer, feeling it massive weight, but also feeling completely unburdened. It was so easy, I laughed out loud as I started lifting it overhead, pumping it up and down with just one hand.
Recently, something rather strange happened to me, now, I'm not complaining or anything, but I just had to share with everyone. That's why I'm blogging here.
Now, my name isn't really Amanda, but it's close enough. I'm a 19 years old girl and I was born in a small country in south-eastern Europe. I recently finished school and moved to the UK. I'm 5'6" and 92 pounds.... Well I used to be. But let me start at the beginning.
It all starts the day after I turned 19, or the night of the party really. I was having a party with four of my friends. Well, I wouldn't call them my best friends, I don't think I have any 'best friends', but that's not important right now. We were about to go from the pub to a club and do some serious dancing, when I felt really ill. I think I threw up, but I don't really remember. The next thing I do remember is waking up outside my door, one of my friends holding me up, asking for my keys. When I woke up again, it was the middle of the day.
I felt horrible, like my bones had turned to jelly. All I managed to do was literally crawl to the fridge, grab some food and eat it in bed. I don't remember the days after it, except in a blur of sleeping, waking, feeling sore and ill and less pleasant activities. I woke up later, five days later as I learned afterwards, feeling wonderful again.
I almost jumped out of bed, when I noticed my headache. I almost collapsed on my bed again, but the smell of five days of sweat and god knows what else stopped me. I staggered to the shower, turned it as hot as I could stand and started taking off my clothes. I remember my head pounded, but I could still feel my clubbing clothes I wore when I was brought home.
The clothing felt horrible, sticky from the sweat (I really hope it was just sweat), making it hard to take off, especially with my pounding head. I struggled out of my top and skirt, took my remaining sock off and stepped into the shower, pulling the door shut and locking it. I must have showered for an hour; all I noticed was how tight I felt. I took it for muscle cramps at the time, which shows how my head felt. The first strange thing I remember was that the door wasn't stuck, but it made a lot of noise when I opened it.
When I stepped outside, the noise finally got through to my brain. I turned around, looking at the door. There was a rather large piece missing from the doorframe, the missing piece of a concrete was lying at the end of the hall. Hazily, I stepped back inside the shower, grabbing the door handle again to try and find out what happened. The missing piece of the doorframe was right next to the handle, which, I noticed, still had the locking pin extended. I thought that was rather strange, which is kind of funny now that I think back to it. I wondered how I opened the door when it was still locked, until I turned to the mirror that is.
What I saw was nothing short of amazing. There was a woman, she had my face, but it looked better, prettier. Her cheekbones were just a little higher than mine, slightly more pronounced. Her nose was more shapely, pretties and her skin was like mine, but tanned and completely flawless. I reached up to feel my own face and so did the mirror image. Only when I felt the features, I realized those were mine. My nose was shapelier, my skin was more perfect...
Then I looked down her body... or my body, as I remembered. The first thing I noticed was that the top of my head was as high as the top of the mirror, which must have been almost six feet and a few inches of the ground. I raised my arm, noticing it was a lot bigger than before. When I flexed it (I didn't know that word back then, but it's amazing what you can learn from a day on Google) I could just fit my hand around half of it, the muscle was bigger then I'd ever seen. My shoulders were rounder, I turned around and noticed my back was bigger, firmer and much, much more defined then before, I could see bulges and valleys that I'd never seen before.
I stopped looking at the mirror, looking down instead. If my arms looked like that, I couldn't wait to see my abs. It turned out that I had to wait, because something was in the way. My breasts had gone up at least four sized from my old B cup (I'm sure you know the alphabet well enough to figure out their current size). They were so pert; I would never need a bra again.
Taking down the mirror, I finally had a look at my stomach, seeing a well defined 4-pack when I flexed. Further down, I saw my wide, bulging legs, the round calves and the definition of a fitness model. In fact, I looked like I could score quite well in any fitness competition without much effort.
I'll tell you about my next discovery tomorrow, as well as the real reason why I started this blog/diary.
