Samantha Grows Muscles 
by Scheherazade the Amazon
In this story Samantha, a stronger than usual but otherwise ordinary former cheerleader, keeps working out hard even after her husband stops. The results are predictable.


Samantha grows muscles.

When my wife, Samantha, and I were in college, (and we attended the same one)
she was the head cheerleader, and I was the offensive tight end and the
outside linebacker on the football team. It was D III, and a number of years
back, so the best players on the team still played both ways. She was one of
the tumblers, but since she was also the strongest of the girls, she was one
of the bases on some of their cheer formations.

Perky and incredibly pretty, she caught my eye in her first year when I was a
junior. We started dating halfway through the fall, and having such a pretty
and sweet girlfriend made my last two college years pass by very quickly.

When I graduated, I got a job in electrical engineering with a firm outside of
Cleveland, and when she graduated, she followed me there, and after a few
years, we got married. Since we were both interested in fitness, we splurged
and bought a fair amount of workout equipment for our basement. We loved
working out together, and even though I was considerably stronger than she
was, she was impressively strong.

I had been one of the strongest players on the team, tight ends and outside
linebackers have to be strong and mobile to be effective, and since I played
offense and defense, I had to have endurance as well. I took pride in that, as
I was able to lift heavy weights for numerous reps and for numerous sets. For
instance, At 6'4" and 235, I was able to lift over 300 on the bench, and I
could do multiple sets of eight reps at 245. Samantha was strong too, able to
bench 155 for a few reps and 135 for a full set of eight. Most impressive were
her squats. She could do multiple sets of eight reps with 225 on the squat
bar. I was only squatting about fifty pounds more than that.

In our first years of marriage, we had a routine. We came home from work, did
our exercises and then took turns cooking a nice dinner. I love to cook, so
sharing that responsibility was no problem for me. In the summer, we would mix
in some running, some golfing, and a little biking. We were pretty much an
exercise crazy couple. It was an idyllic life.

Three years ago, I left the engineering firm and started my own business, and
it took off. As a result, Sammy, who was beginning to hate her job, left her
company to work out of the home. She is a free-lance journalist, copywriter,
and editor. This gave her tremendous flexibility in her schedule and extra
time if she needed it to work on one project at a time or to do what she
wanted.

For the first few months, I continued coming home and working out regularly,
but business being business, I had to skip the workouts occasionally. Over
time, five days a week slipped to three and then two and soon it was once
every few weeks. Further, my chief engineer lives near a great donut shop. The
combination of too many donuts for breakfast, lots of coffee with sugar and
cream, really tasty dinners at home, and less and less exercise played havoc
with my conditioning, but I was so busy at work and was making so much money
in the new business, that I wasn't as bothered by it as I would have thought.

I asked Sammy if she missed me coming home to work out with her, and she said.
"Well, it's not the same, but the benefit is I get to keep the weights at my
level rather than changing them for you after each exercise." I thought to
myself, that probably is an advantage, but unfortunately, as I continued to
miss workouts without missing meals, my performance in the weight room began
to decrease. I could no longer lift the same weights and I certainly could not
lift for as many sets or reps. I had ballooned up to 255, and a lot of it was
not muscle. I could no longer see any ab definition, either.

As the weeks passed into months and the months passed into years, I noticed
some changes in the way my wife looked, but I was totally oblivious of the
extent to which her workouts were changing her physique.

Also, I noticed that the weights my wife left on the bar for me were just
right. I thought that was nice of her and told her so. She gave me a funny
look and then smiled when she realized what I had said. "I'm glad I am able to
help you with that," she said, but I was certain I heard her snicker a little.

One day, a few weeks ago, about two and a half years after I started the
company, my firm had succeeded in winning a huge contract, and as a reward, I
gave the entire company the afternoon off, and came home. I opened the door
and called, "Honey, I'm home early to surprise you." There was no answer, but
her car was in the garage, and then I heard the unmistakable clanking of
weights in the basement. I figured I would surprise her, so I ran upstairs,
got my workout gear on, and went down to the basement. I was flabbergasted by
what I saw. Sammy was doing seated dumbbell presses with 70 Lb dumbbells. I
watched as she finished her set. The most amazing thing was that her shoulders
were so muscular, the 70 Lbs. seemed like they looked easy to her. I gasped as
she set them down and picked up 80 pounders and clicked off eight hard but
strong reps. I coughed to let her know I was there.

"Pretty impressive!" I said. "When did you get so strong?"

"Oh, I don't know. I have been working out regularly for th last three years,
and you have just stopped. Oh yeah, when I lost my workout partner a few years
ago, I mean when you stopped working out with me, I bought some books and
started studying different techniques and theories of weight training. I also
started taking various supplements and changed my diet." She had always been
muscular, so the development was not totally surprising, but the level of
muscularity surprised me.

"Don't mind me," I said. "I am going to begin with the bench today." I went
over to the bench and saw that there were 245 pounds on the bar. I took the
tens and one of the forty-fives off each end and started a warm-up with 135 on
the bar. It was easy, so I added twenty-fives to each end and did a solid set
of eight, but I was tired afterwards, and my arms felt a little like jelly. I
decided to add ten pounds to each end of the bar and try to do a set of eight
with 205. While I rested, I looked over and saw my wife was about to attempt
165 on the seated overhead press. I was surprised, as that is a lot for that
particular exercise. I asked, "Do you want a spot?" and she said. "No thanks,
this is just a warm-up." Then I watched as she performed ten flawless overhead
presses with 165 with seemingly little effort, after which she removed the
twenty-fives and added a second set of thirty-fives.

Sheepishly I slid under the bench and started my final set, with 205. As I
prepared to bench 205, something that would have been easy three years ago, I
wondered to myself whether I could still lift 165 in the overhead press.

I made it through the first four repetitions of 205 quite easily, but started
to falter on the fifth. I was determined to finish all eight reps, but on the
sixth, I reached about three quarters the way up and reached my limit. Try as
I might, I could go no further. I started huffing, hoping to get the strength
through added oxygen; I had not asked for a spot; now I was afraid the bar was
going to come crashing down on my neck. It was frightening and embarrassing,
especially when Sammy came rushing to my rescue and helped me get the bar back
onto the stand.

"Thanks," I said. "I guess I have lost a lot in the last few years."

"No problem, honey. You'll get it back."

Then I watched her sit at the overhead press, where she easily clicked off ten
perfect reps with 185 pounds. To that, she added twenty pounds and repeated
her reps. I realized that my little sweetheart had surpassed me in strength.
Not only that, I was pretty sure that even at my strongest, I was not pressing
205 overhead for reps.

She continued to do her chest and shoulder workout, outperforming me at every
step of the way in both amount of weight and number of reps. The real surprise
came when she said, "I know it isn't leg day, but you should see me do
squats." She had always been good at them, but I was not prepared for what she
showed me.

"Hey, where did all these weights come from?" I asked as I looked around. We
had always had enough for me to do my 300+ pounds on the bench. "We never had
this many forty-fives."

"Um, I started to need more weight than we had before. You'll see," and she
proceeded to put four forty-fives on each end of the bar. That was four more
than we had ever needed. Then she squatted slightly under the bar and grabbed
it, squeezing it with her hands. Then, resting it on, what I noticed was a
substantial amount of muscle on her back and shoulders, she stood up and
scooched back from the rack. She squatted down so that her butt nearly touched
the floor and, blasting her quads and her upper hamstrings, she pushed the bar
up. She repeated this movement seven more times before racking the bar. I was
aghast. She had just squatted over 400 pounds with perfect form. Then I took a
closer look at her legs.

"Whoa, look at your freaking thighs! I've never seen them look like that
before." She smiled and nodded, proudly. She had always been strong and had
great legs, but now her legs looked like those of a jacked-up running back,
though she still appearing incredibly feminine. Every muscle group stood out,
including that normally thin muscle just above the kneecap that some people
don't even develop at all. She started jiggling her thighs, and the masses of
muscle moved right to left until she flexed, at which point they froze in a
montage of striated muscular perfection. I don't know the names of the muscle
groups, but it seemed like there were at least five different ones showing on
the front of her thighs, each of them bigger than all my leg muscles together.

I looked down at my thighs. They showed very little musculature and were
clearly smaller by a substantial amount than the thighs of my pretty wife.
"How big are your thighs?" I asked. "They always looked good; I mean you know
I was always a leg man, but this is as sexy as it gets." I was becoming quite
aroused by her new look.

"I know," she said, noticing the effect it was having on my loins. You want to
help me go for a max. I don't want to try without a spot." I agreed
immediately, and asked what she wanted to try. "Well, I know I have done 455,
so I want to try to break 500."

I gulped. I knew that women worked their legs a lot and that they were often
closer to men in their leg maxes than in their upper body exercises, but that
was about twice my former max. I helped her load the forty-fives on each end
plus two small five-pound plates for 505.

Sammy settled under the bar, walked it off the rack and then began to squat
down. She was understandably tentative, and she hesitated a bit above
parallel. I began to support her, thinking she was stuck when she rebuked me
with a sharp, "N0!" She then went the remainder of the way down into her deep
squat and pushed up to complete one strong steady rep at 505 pounds. I thought
that was the end, but she managed to pump out three more, each of them
seemingly better than the previous one, before racking the bar.

She exploded with happiness and jumped into my arms, wrapping those prodigious
legs around my waist. Realizing the precariousness of my position, I held her
and smiled, then gave her a big kiss on the lips. Then she smiled a devilish
smile and tightened her thighs together, squeezing the breath out of me. I
said, "Hey I get the point, you can stop," but she thought it was funny and
kept squeezing until I nearly passed out. Finally, she let go and dropped her
legs to the floor. "I think, in that position, you could have killed me if you
wanted," I said.

"Really? I wasn't even squeezing that hard."

"Maybe not, but you have legs that can squat over 500 pounds, so even not
trying, you are exerting a lot of power.

"I wonder how much power I can exert with this body these days," she said.
"Let's wrestle."

I knew she was stronger than I was right then, but wrestling, well that is a
man's thing. I figured I could hold my own with her, but just to make excuses,
I said, "OK, but I am a little tired right now from my workout."

"What about me. I just did a full workout with my upper body and set a PR on
the squat. If anyone is tired it's me." Then without hesitating, she picked me
up and carried me over to the open area where we could wrestle. As soon as she
put me down, I got into wrestling position.

I figured if I was going to get out of this ordeal alive I should make a quick
move and end it soon. Her combination of endurance and strength was definitely
to her advantage. I charged her and darted low, putting my shoulder into her
midsection and grabbing her legs and pushing her over on her back. That
advantage lasted about ten seconds, as she simply overpowered my hold and
broke it. Then she wrapped her arms around my midsection, started squeezing
and flipped me over on my back. I squirmed around a bit to prevent her from
pinning me, and her weight was not enough to hold me down, so she grabbed my
right leg with her left arm and pulled it up. I tried to straighten it out,
but her hold was too strong. I had underestimated her strength. I tried to
roll over on my stomach, but that was a mistake, as she pulled my leg
backwards. I thought she was going to rip my quad, so I rolled back over, but
in that moment, she grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. So, I had
one arm pulled behind my back and one leg pulled up to my chest. She had my
shoulders pinned, and I couldn't move. "OK, I give up." I said.

"Just to make sure that wasn't a fluke," she said, "Do you want to go one more
round?"

"I guess," I relented, and we took our stances. This time I danced around for
a bit to let her make the first move, which she did a few moments later. She
darted under my hands and put her shoulder into my midsection. This allowed me
to counter with a headlock. I thought I had her. A good headlock is nearly
impossible to escape and often ends with the victim tapping out. I had her
neck with my right arm, and I was holding my right wrist with my left hand. I
could hear her struggling to breathe. Then she grabbed my left hand and simply
squeezed it until I lost my grip. Then she pulled my right arm off her neck.
Then she grabbed hold of both wrists and basically did with them what she
wanted, finally putting both wrists behind my back in the grip of her left
hand. You might think I should have been able to get out of this hold, but her
hand was as strong as fuck, and when I tried to escape her hold, she would
jerk both arms up into a painful position. Then she leaned to the right,
pulled my arms toward her, placed her other hand in the lowest part of my
back, and lifted my whole body into a position as if she wanted to do an
overhead press with me. Then she did it. She pressed all the 255 fat pounds of
me overhead and held me there before dropping me into her arms and then
flattening me on my back on the floor and holding me there. She had won round
two, decisively.

"I want to try one more thing," she said. Lock me up in a full Nelson. I did
as I was asked. "Now do your best to hold that position."

A full Nelson is hard to break without hurting your own neck, but her arms
were so powerful that she just pulled them backwards and down and broke my
hold in about three seconds. Then she turned around and pinned me in about two
seconds, before I could react. Then she lifted me up and said. "Hold your body
stiff." At which point she pressed me overhead eight more times and then,
holding me up there, squatted me ten more times.

"That was kind of fun," she said. At this point, she had totally emasculated
me, but I had a raging erection, none-the-less, which she could not help but
notice.

"Daddy's big boy is coming out to play," she said, and ripped my pants off
exposing my erection but immobilizing me by tying the pants around my ankles.
Then she picked me up in both arms, like a baby, and held me in front of her
where she could see my eight-inch pecker standing at attention. The best part
about her new strength was what she could do with it. Putting her lips around
my cock, she started gratifying me by lifting my body further and further into
her mouth and then manipulating it with her tongue. In moments, my orgasm
exploded with a loud groan from me, and she took every ounce of jiz that had
been building up for the last week.

She put me down on the floor and then flexed for me, doing a split and, with
her legs split one to each side, flexing her large muscular butt into a butt
dance. It was not long before my pecker was stiff once more. This time, she
decided to please herself, and slid over the top of me, grinding back and
forth until we both came in a delicious loud groan of ecstasy. Then she fell
on top of me, and we lay entwined together, for an enjoyable afternoon nap.

I vowed I would get back in shape. I knew I ought to be stronger than she was,
and I knew it would take time, but as much as I loved her muscles, I wanted to
show her who was boss in this household.

(To be continued)