The Housewife Changes - Part Ten - Other Families' Stories 
by Scheherezade the Amazon
In which two different women show their husbands who is boss in their respective households.

Richard

Amazonika had a huge impact on the community, as news of the "Giant Sex abuse
Avenger" got around. However, equally impressive was the impact of Sarah's
weight training programs on the women who took her classes and worked out
under her tutelage. She not only taught people the right way to approach the
weight training, but her enthusiasm was infectious and made people able to get
far stronger than they thought possible. The magic serum had an impact too,
but the hard work had an even greater impact. Numerous women came back and
told her their stories. Two of them were particularly rewarding, the Johnsons
and the Townshends.

Linda Johnson

I was so excited by the strength extravaganza that Sarah hosted that I went
home with a huge smile on my face. Yes, I said home. After the incident when
that huge woman, Amazonika or something, came and beat up my husband and gave
me incentive to leave him, I spent many months in a home for battered women
away from Stanley, but after he got some counseling and seemed to change his
ways, I decided to go home again and try being with him.

Things have actually been pretty good since I came back. He is a little bit
nicer, and a lot more respectful. We haven't yet had any physical contact,
other than a peck on the cheek hello, but I think that will change. I have
been religiously working out with Sarah Latella, whose card Amazonika gave me
as she left, and I even went to a Hawaiian Luau party at her house one evening
and had the most amazing Pina Coladas.

The regular workouts have had a real impact on my life. Not only do I feel
stronger, (and amazingly, I am a lot stronger.) I never thought I could get
this way but I feel a lot more confident and much happier. Weird as it sounds,
I feel like I am taller, too. My skirts, which used to be a little baggy
around my legs and butt have gotten slightly tight, but in a way I like. (I
think Stanley likes it too.) The skirts also seem slightly shorter, like they
end a few inches above the knee. I don't recall that being the case in the
past. Anyway, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look pretty good
for someone in her early forties.

I never thought I would like weight training either. In fact, I couldn't think
of anything more boring. Now I look forward to going. When I started, I was a
little fat and, yes I'll say it, dumpy. I thought those eight pound rubber
covered dumbbells were about all any woman should be expected to curl. When I
saw Sarah working her biceps with fifty-pound dumbbells, and I noticed how she
looked, at first I thought, well that's for girls like her, not like me, but
she convinced me to make more of an effort.

For a few weeks I simply repeated the same exercises, but then I added new
ones and made an effort to increase the poundage every week or so. "You have
to shock the muscle groups" she said. "Change the amount of weight, the number
of reps, the exact exercises every once in a while to get the real changes."
At the end of a month, I had made a lot of progress. When I started, I didn't
know what a bench press was, but after a month I had gone from two plates on a
bench press machine to 115 pounds on the free weights. I was doing dumbbell
presses and flyes with around thirty-five pounds. That was six months ago. I
have progressed way further since then, and I owe it all to her. I did not
know how much further I had progressed until I visited another gym.

Our gym is entirely women, and that has been good because we have no problem
pushing ourselves. So one day recently, Sarah took us to a regular co-ed gym
for comparison. I was astonished. I saw a bunch of men working out on the
machines and reaching maxes of seven plates or ten plates, and benching 160 or
180 on the machine bench that I had graduated from long before. I watched big
strong men lifting 185 pounds and some of them going for two or three reps of
225. Most of us are actually stronger than most of the guys in that gym. I was
surprised that almost none of the men were benching anywhere near my max of
245. I thought I was normal, or maybe a little bit strong, for a woman. Now I
realize that I am stronger than most men, and that is cool. We went back to
our own gym, and instead of being satisfied, we were eager to get stronger and
keep advancing our advantage. I ended up feeling, after that visit, as if I
were invincible. I owe it all to Sarah.

I like her and the other women at this private women's gym. Sarah is a woman
who has that "It" factor. She makes you happy to be around her. I mean, she's
younger than me, but not by a lot, and she is not only gorgeous in ways that
both men and women would notice, she oozes class and makes everyone feel
better when she is there. It makes me want to be there and to work hard at the
gym. Plus, I really like what going to this gym is doing for me. I think soon
I am going to surprise Stanley and show him my new look. I hope he likes it,
but frankly, I don't care if he doesn't I am not going to stop. Plus, I don't
think he will be able to do anything about it.

Stanley Johnson

I don't know quite how to say it, but the day that freaking giant appeared at
our house and beat the ever loving shit out of me, (and she could have done
worse,) has ended up being a blessing in disguise. I hated myself for being
the way I was, but I was frustrated. Looking at my wife sometimes just pissed
me off and made me angry, because she was such a mouse, so I would take all my
anger out on her. I felt like shit doing it, but it made me feel empowered
too.

Now that I have had counseling, I realize that I was just making things worse.
The more afraid she was, the less of a person she became, and the more I just
wanted to punch her. The best thing she ever did was leave, and the best thing
I ever did was get that help. Not that I had a choice. I was lucky that all I
had to do was pay a fine and get help, yes, that, and do a whole lot of
community service. Jail time would have killed me, I think.

Anyway, after spending a few months in a shelter, Linda came back to the house
a few weeks ago. We have been walking on pins and needles. I am afraid to do
anything to offend her, but I sure want to get back to the way we used to be
before I started hitting her. I am thinking she does too, so I asked about it
two days ago, and she said, "Of course I want to get back to those days,
Stanley. That's the whole reason I came back; that is why I stayed with you
all those years when you were abusive, and that's why I married you in the
first place." She paused a moment. "But some things have to change and a lot
more has to be on my terms."

I figured that would mean no sex, lots of cuddling and watching Hallmark
movies, and long walks with a dog we didn't yet have. I figured wrong. So I
came home tonight, and she has made a nice dinner. It's some sort of goulash,
which doesn't sound all that exciting, but she can do wonders with a pound of
hamburger, onions, peppers and some noodles. She doesn't need a box of
prepackaged spices. She can come up with her own recipes. Anyway, we ate, and
I sat down in front of the TV. After a few minutes, she appears from upstairs,
wearing a bathrobe, and I figure we are going to watch some movie on TV
together. Instead, she stands in front of me a slowly drops the robe. She's
wearing a bikini, and I've never seen her look this good, not even when she
was in her early twenties. I reach for her instinctively to pull her towards
me, and she crosses her arms in front of her body in a protective posture. So
I grab her by the wrists and pull her towards me, but she spins away from me
and sits next to me on the couch. I still have hold of her wrists, so I try to
pry her arms apart. ... Something must be wrong, because I can't budge her
arms. I pull harder, and still can't move them.

Slowly, as she realizes what is happening, a smile appears on her face. "So,
Sarah was right," she said. Then she quickly twists her right hand and
reverses the grip so she has my wrist, and she does the same with the other
hand. She takes my hands, forcing them down to my side, and says, "Try to move
your arms." I am thinking this shouldn't be too hard, but I can't move my
arms, I start to force them up, and then she clamps them down. I notice a
swelling of the shoulder and arm muscles, especially the chest muscles that
she is using to hold me in place. She starts giggling and then quickly pins my
arms behind my back and sits me down in a chair. Before I know it, she has
zip-tied my hands to the chair. I don't know where she is going with this. I
fear she is going to exact revenge for all those years I beat her.

Instead, she removes my shoes, rips my pants off, and my underpants, and
zip-ties my ankles to the chair too. Then she proceeds to perform a sexy dance
for me. Suddenly I notice how much she has changed since I last saw her in
this stage of undress. Frankly, she looks taller, but that can't be possible.
It must be her confidence and her posture. Most noticeable is the overall look
of symmetry. Her body looks like some sculptor carved it out of marble. The
first thing I notice is her midsection. The layer of loose fat that used to
grace the area from her ribs to her hips has disappeared. Replacing it is a
flat stomach with ridges. In fact, there is a core that looks like a narrow
tree trunk with ridges running from just under her ribs to her pelvis. She
notices me looking and sees the involuntary reaction from my loins. I am
getting harder and harder. She smiles again and then teases my physically. I
want her to stroke my dick, or take it inside her, or free my hands so I can
do something about the pressure inside and gratify myself. But I am all tied
up, literally.

She flexes for me, a full double bicep flex, and I am amazed. I never really
thought of muscles on a woman as sexy before, but I never really thought of
muscles on a woman. Hers were amazing. The biceps were not huge, but looked
big on her, with a substantial peak and perfect proportions. Everything was
balanced and beautiful. When she flexed her abs and then continued her flex as
she shifted her weight from left to right and then back again, I almost came
in my own lap. She must have been doing a lot of core recently, and the effect
was incredibly sexy.

Then she took out a vibrator and started pleasing herself. I said, "Hey, what
about me?" And she responded, "I just want to show you what it is like to have
someone else in total control." Then she smiled and said, "See how it feels?
I'll get back to you, ... when I am ready."

Then she totally pleased herself, which was interesting but not what I was
into. When she finished, she went off and got a drink of water and returned,
saying, "I need my workout today." So she got down in a pushup position and
proceeded to do push-ups. I wasn't counting at first, because I figured she
would stop at twenty or thirty, but she was counting by tens. When she got to
fifty, she went right on going. She paused at seventy to arch her back and
then kept going. She did not stop until she had reached one hundred. I had
never, not once in my life, done one hundred push-ups in one go. She rested a
few minutes, stretched some, and then did it again, but this time she started
with one armed push-ups. She performed ten with her right arm and then ten
with her left, then ten with her right and ten more with her left. Then she
began doing two armed pushups until the total come to 100. By that time, I had
gotten hard again. She noticed and danced some more for me and flexed a few
times, emphasizing her pecs which were now quite engorged with blood after two
hundred push-ups. Then seeing my situation, she got back to me and said. "We
will have to do something about your little man." She got on her knees and
blew a little on it, and then kissed it before backing away and flexing her
back and butt for me.

She turned around and walked sexily towards me and broke the zip ties with her
fingers and then forced me to the ground and straddled my loins. I stroked her
midsection and her chest. I grabbed her haunches and pulled them closer, and
she flexed her biceps again while rocking back and forth on my hips. It took
no time for me to empty my wad. She smiled and said, "That was quick. Now you
understand why I gratified myself first. ... " Then, with a more serious look
on her face she said, "We will continue to have sex frequently, more
frequently than before, but it will be when I want just as often as when you
want, and I guess it's obvious, I will be in control a lot more than I used to
be. I hope you don't mind."

Secretly, I didn't. Her new muscles were as sexy as hell, and I was in no
position to object even if I had a problem. "No honey, I don't mind," I said.
And to tell the truth, I didn't.

Tiffany Townshend

A lot of people probably look at me driving my BMW and think, "That girl has
it made." In many ways, they are right, but what they don't know would shock
them. Although I come from money and married into even more, I don't have the
perfect life that a lot of people think I have. Those big sunglasses hide
occasional bruises, as does my long blonde hair when I wear it down. Those
loose fitting blouses hide bruises on my arms, and the Lulu Lemon leggings
cover a great many signs of the beatings I have received at the hands of my
husband.

The problem is I know he is channeling anger that is not totally his fault.
His name is Harrison James Townshend the third, and his family has had money
since the beginning of the nineteenth century. First it was the clipper ships
and the China trade; then it was investments in the railroads and in American
steel. Then some bootlegging and finally very timely investments in little
companies like GM, IBM, and so on. You get the picture. Well, Harry is not
quite like that. It isn't his passion. He should have been a writer, or a
teacher, or even a minister, but he is in finance and just hasn't succeeded
the way his family expects him to. When others invested in Apple, Amazon and
Google, he kept buying stock in companies that either failed or just had
modest growth. The crash of 2007 cost him a lot in both money and the respect
of his family. It's the last part that eats at him. His younger sister has the
family gene, the nose for making the right financial decisions. He doesn't,
and this creates for some very tense family gatherings at the holidays.

But it isn't just this self-loathing that causes his violence. He is simply a
violent person who has a love-hate relationship with women. I should have
known this when I first started going out with him, but I was blinded by his
looks and his family name. My parents were in awe, so I pretended I would be
able to please him and make him change his ways out of love for me. I was
deluded. If anything, it got worse.

Last night I showed my husband that I was no longer going to put up with his
abuse. I left and drove around for a while before calling the local shelter. I
have been getting counseling there for a while, and I have been taking
weight-training classes from Sarah Latella. Tonight I am going to her house
for a training session And a little "pep talk," as she put it. I really don't
know what it will be about.

Harrison James Townshend III

That bitch walked out on me last night, and I didn't even hit her that hard. I
told her I was sorry, and she still walked out. Maybe it was because of the
table lamp I threw that crashed against the wall; maybe it was because I
threatened that if she left me now, she would never see another dollar of
Townshend money. I thought that would make her think twice and stay, but she
stormed out in a huff. I haven't heard from her yet, but my guess is she'll
come crawling back within the next day or two. She can't stand to be without
our kids for very long, and she hates the idea that she is abandoning them.

If she comes back soon, I'll make nice, but if she stays away long, I will
find a way to make her pay. No one fucks with Harry Townshend! No one!

Sarah

One of my exercise clients left her home last night. I ran into her at the
shelter today, and she told me about her husband's violent streak. Poor girl
married into a wealthy family with some dark secrets. So I told her to come
over to my place for a workout, dinner, and some drinks. I think she needs
Pina Colada therapy. Richard is out of town, so I'll just have her eat with
our family, after that, she and I can go to the basement for a couple of
drinks, and we'll see what happens.

Tiffany Townshend

That evening, I arrived at Sarah's house; I've been there for workouts, and I
like going there, as she makes me feel safe and comfortable. She greeted me at
the door, smiling but with that look of concern that I hate because it means
they are judging my marriage and by extension me for having been stupid enough
to marry Harry. Sarah was nice enough, though, and invited me in, saying "I
hope you like stir fried chicken with snow peas, carrots, onions, and
broccoli. It's just what we have on our menu for tonight." I told her that
sounded great, and a nice family meal was just what I needed.

She fixed me up with a drink, and I helped chop the vegetables. I noticed a
warm tingly feeling in my muscles from the drink, and I kept chopping the
veggies. Soon we were seated, and I couldn't believe the amount of food we had
in front of us, but amazingly, we finished it all. That Sarah can really put
away a lot of food. I really didn't keep track of how many plates she had, but
there was a mountain of food, and her kids didn't eat that much, and I only
had a small plate of seconds. Partway through dinner, she refilled my drink,
and soon I was feeling no pain.

After dinner, the kids went to their rooms to work on their homework, and we
went to the basement to have a private conversation out of the earshot of
anyone else. She hesitated for a moment and said, "Oh, I guess one more won't
hurt." Then she poured me another of those special Pina Coladas, and I started
to tell her my story. I noticed, when I watched her pour, that she used a
different mix than she was giving me, but I didn't really think anything of
it. Soon, I noticed that warm tingly feeling in my muscles again, and I could
have sworn my shirt felt tighter. Probably, it was just me getting a little
"tight" as they would have said in the old days.

Sarah was a really good listener. She held my hand as I told her the story of
how Harry and I met. She smiled with me about the nice parts and consoled me,
frowning a bit, when I recounted some of the darker parts. When I finished,
she said, "You needed to leave this marriage a long time ago, or at least get
help," and she gave me a long hug. She broke it off when she realized what
time it was. "Oh, my God! I have to get the kids off to bed. You just wait
here. I'll be down in a jiffy." I started crying, pettially because she was so
nice and partially because I wasn't sure my marriage would ever work out. It
seemed like the end of something, and I wasn't sure that was going to make me
happy.

I walked around and surveyed the basement; there was a lot of very high-end
exercise equipment at one end of the basement, and in the end in which we had
been sitting was some nice furniture, a home theater set-up and a wet bar.
Seeing the wet-bar made me realize my drink was empty, so I refilled it, and
whirred it in the blender. Then I sat down and turned on the TV. There was
some documentary on, called the Hunting Ground, about sexual abuse on college
campuses. It was very depressing, but I couldn't stop watching it. I had a few
more drinks, adding a bit more rum each time to help ease the depression. I
continued to get that warm feeling in my muscles with each drink, but now
increasingly, I was also feeling the traditional effects of alcohol. I
figured, "one more won't hurt." Unfortunately, I figured that a few times.

Soon Sarah reappeared, "Sorry, I got the kids to bed in decent time, but then
I got a phone call from Richard, and I had to talk to him. He's very onely out
there, and we haven't seen each mother in over a week. How are we ... " Then
she saw the state I was in. "How many of those drinks did you have?"

"I done a'chully know," I think I said. "I lawss coun' ad aboud sheven.
They're reeaalllly goo' juh know. And the movie was making me shoooo shad." I
looked at Sarah, and she was staring at me but I was seeing more than one of
her. I blinked and tried to stand but fell onto the couch. "I gesh I may've
had a few more than I shoulda'." I finally stood up, and Sarah dragged me over
to the mirror.

"What do you notice about yourself?" she asked. "Take a close look. What do
you notice?"

I squinted, and said. "There's two of me and my hair. It's a bi' meshy."

"AND?" she asked.

"And wha'" I asked.

"And what else do you notice?"

"I mush be drunk," I said slowly, trying unsuccessfully not to slur my words.
"I look like I have arms and shouldersh like a foo'ball player."

"Exactly," she said. "You have been drinking rum and a muscle growth elixir.
You may be drunk, but you now have the strength of about three strong men."

"Bu'shit!" I said, but I reeled over to some of the exercise equipment. "I'll
check it ou'. If I have the strength of three men I shoo' be able to lift this
dumbbell." I leaned over and picked up an eighty pound dumbbell with one hand
and started to curl it. "Holy mother of God!" I said. "You're right."

"You're right, I'm right. Not only that. You are taller and bigger. Some of
that will go away by tomorrow, but you had better be prepared to buy some new
clothes.

It was at that point I looked at my shirt. The sleeves had torn and the
midriff was exposed, because my torso was so much bigger. "Looka' my abbsh!" I
said, enthusiastically. "I finally have abbsh. Wow! I'd like to shee Harry
punch me there now. Break his han' 'f he did."

Then I sat on the couch and passed out.

Sarah

I let her sleep it off in the basement. This had the potential to become a
problem. I had to do something, but what? The next morning I woke up early and
made breakfast for the family and gingerly went down to the basement to see
what was up with Tiffany. She had slept off the effects of the alcohol, and
looked much better than I expected. However, she had not shrunk as much as I
had hoped she would.

She had grown from around 5'6" to almost 5'10", and she was clearly bigger in
every major muscle group than she had been before. Her arms looked like she
could choke a cow, and her legs looked like she could perform multiple squats
with that cow on her shoulders. Of all the one-night transformations I had
seen, only mine exceeded it, and I had consumed pints of the magic serum.

I warned her that she was considerably stronger than before, and she was
bigger. She had to find some way of explaining this away. "Let's see how much
stronger you are than before," I said. "But first I have to get the kids off
to school, and I drive them. So when you hear the car leave, go upstairs and
make yourself some breakfast. I have bacon out and some eggs and toast or
English muffins. There is cereal and fruit. Help yourself. I'll be back in
about fifteen minutes. Whatever you do, don't go near those pina coladas!"

Twenty minutes later, I returned to a beautiful breakfast she had made for the
two of us. After we had eaten our fill, and rested a bit to let the food
digest, we went down to the basement. Richard had been the last person to
lift, so the weights were set at his level. I thought, "What the hell, lets
give it a try." Then I said, "Get on the bench and see what you can do with
that weight."

She looked at me like I was nuts. "I can't lift that; it's 325 pounds."

"Trust me," I said. "It's just a hunch. I will spot you so you won't get
hurt." She slid down under the bar. We had been working out for a few months,
and Tiffany was much stronger than you might have expected. Those private
school girls often took their sports pretty seriously, and she was able to
bench over 120 when she started. I had gotten her up to 175 for a six reps
after the four months she had been working with me. However, now she had
consumed Richard's magic sperm.

"OK, here goes nothing." She lifted the weight off the cradle. I pretended to
assist her, but she did all the lifting. Then she brought it all the way down
to her chest. She grunted and pushed, and the bar rose easily. She repeated
the movement, and did not stop repeating until she had done ten good
repetitions. "Wow!" she said. "That was actually pretty easy." She then picked
up the sixty pound dumbbells and curled them for twenty reps. "Oh my God!" was
all she could say. Mr. Townshend won't know what hit him, and she flexed her
right arm, producing a baseball sized biceps peak that must have been fifteen
or sixteen inches.

"Tiffany, you have not even scratched the surface. I think you had a lot of
the magic serum, and you are as strong as four or more strong men, but you
must be careful how you use your power. You will lose it if you use it for
anything other than the purest of reasons."

"You sound ridiculous! What? did some Hindu monk give you the serum and make
you promise to use it for good?" she asked sarcastically.

"You're not far off. It's too complicated to explain, but suffice it to say,
you mustn't use it for revenge, only for self-preservation and for good."

"Well, I wasn't planning to use my powers for anything else, and I am not sure
I really want to return to Harry today anyway."

"Probably a good idea, and we might want to get you some new clothes."

She spent the next few days shopping at Athleta and other sporting goods
stores for women. She looked fantastic, and she had gained back a lot of the
confidence that she had lost in the last few years of her marriage. After
staying with us for a few days, she decided to return to Harrison.

Tiffany Townshend

I spent a few more nights away from Harry, even after leaving Sarah's house,
staying in a Hampton Inn near us. I knew if Harry really wanted, he could
track me down. It's not as if my BMW SUV is invisible. On the other hand, I
was not ready to return home just yet, but after two more days, I screwed my
courage to the sticking place and returned home.

I arrived home in the middle of the day, and he was not home. The broken lamp
he had thrown against the wall was still there on the floor, so I unplugged it
and cleaned it up, straightening up a few other things in the meantime. I went
into the kitchen and cleaned up the dishes, which had been gathering in the
sink. Honestly, he couldn't even put them in the dishwasher. Then I looked in
the fridge and figured out what to make for dinner. I figured that maybe if
things were as normal as possible when he came home, we might be able to have
a good talk and settle things. Boy was I wrong.

When he came home, he was angry.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he yelled. "I thought you left. Get the
fuck out!"

"Harry, I came back hoping to talk things out."

"Well there's no chance of that, bitch!" He started walking towards me,
stalking me as if he was going to attack.

"You may want to think twice about trying to force me out of here. I am much
stronger than I used to be."

"Bull shit! I played college Lacrosse. I played college hockey. Do you think I
am afraid of a woman, even a strong one?" And he continued to stalk me. I
really did not want to use my strength and hurt him. I did not know how much
of it I would use, but I knew he had a violent streak that had been cultivated
in school and college by the toxic masculinity of the culture surrounding his
two sports.

He grabbed my wrist with his right hand, and I grabbed his wrist. I squeezed,
and he said, "Holly, fuckin' shit that hurts." He let go of my wrist. Then he
grabbed both of my arms just above the wrist and tried to push me backwards.
Instead, I stood my ground. He could not budge me. Then I started to push
back. He tumbled backwards over the back of the couch, falling on his back on
the cushioned seat of the couch, with me following on top of him. We bounced
on that surface and he brought his legs over the top, and we both bounced off
the couch. I landed on my back, and he landed on top of me on the floor, a
situation I had not anticipated, but I knew I could get out.

"Now you're done for. I'm on top, bitch."

"Not for long," I said, and I pushed back with my arms, forcing his arms up
and then pinning them to his side. Then I arched my back and violently pushed
my pelvis in the air, throwing him off me and quickly pinning him down with my
arms. Now I was on top and he was squirming. "I only want to talk, so if I let
you up, will you talk?" When he said he would, I let him up.

He walked away from me towards the kitchen but then turned around and ran at
me. I faced him, formed a fist and punched him so hard in the stomach with a
right-handed uppercut that he not only stopped moving, but also flew backwards
a few feet and landed in a heap on the floor, clutching his midsection and
trying to breathe. It took him so long to get his breath back that I went to
the computer to look up what to do. In the meantime, he got his breath back
and got a knife from the kitchen. Then he started to attack me again, this
time with a knife. Taking me by surprise, he backed me up against the wall and
I got my left hand caught between the door and the wall. He started to push
the point of the knife into my neck, and I only had my one hand. I grabbed his
hand with it, but he added the strength of both hands and his whole body. The
knife blade edged closer and closer to my neck, so I summoned my strength and
pushed back with my one hand, successfully holding him off and then pushing
him away. Gradually, I gained my confidence and freeing my left hand from the
door it had been wedged behind, I grabbed him in a headlock, meanwhile I
managed to get both his wrists in the grip of my right hand while having him
in a left hand headlock. I turned the angle of the knife away from me and
toward him and started pushing with my one hand against both of his. Now I was
threatening him with evisceration and emasculation. I let him fear both of
them for a moment; I was after only the second. As the knife started to enter
his skin, and he realized that my one arm had overpowered both of his enough
to kill him against his will, he went limp and gave up. I let the knife drop.

I sat him down on the chair and said, this is the way things are going to be
from now on. No more beatings, because if you try it, I will win, and I will
show you why. I ripped my jacket off and showed him my new physique. I flexed
my left arm and said, "this is what was holding your head a moment ago." I
flexed the right and said, "This is the single arm that overpowered your whole
body." I did a full double bicep flex and said, "This is what is going to keep
you in line for the rest of your life! I am stronger than you, and don't you
forget it. I am stronger than you; I am going to continue getting even
stronger, and I like it that way."

I noticed a look of complete embarrassment on his face, but also a telltale
bulge in his pants. "What's that I see? Are you turned on by my muscles?"
Silence. I flexed again. I took off my sweat pants and showed him my legs, and
the bulge become more prominent.

"I was right. You are turned-on by my muscles. What do you know? All these
years I thought it was lipstick, fancy dresses and beautifully done hair. Hah,
if you're lucky, I'll let you see some more. In fact, I am going to give you a
little demonstration."

I leaned over and picked him up, throwing him over one shoulder and carrying
him down to the basement. "You sit on that stool there Harry, my college
lacrosse and hockey player. What is it you say you benched in college? 225?
Let's see if you can do that now?

"What? No! I can't do that now. Maybe 185 or 200."

I put two forty-five and two twenty-fives on the bar and said. Let's see what
you can do?

"I'm not sure I want to do this ... "

"I don't give a fuck! Get under the bar and try." After a slight hesitation he
did. He lifted it off the cradle and brought it down to his chest. He pressed
it up slowly and a bit unevenly, like a beginner. He did it two more times
before failing on the fourth rep.

I laughed a little, half under my breath. I slid under and grabbed the bar. I
proceeded to click of twenty reps at moderate speed, not racing but not going
too slowly. Then I had a surprise for him. I placed the bar back in the cradle
and grabbed the center of the bar with just my left hand. I pushed it up and
did eight reps with my left hand and then eight more with my right. I hopped
off, and shook out my arms. "Ohh, that was a nice little warm-up," I said.
Then I added two forty-fives and a thirty-five to each side for a total of
435. I slid under the bar and took a deep breath. I knew he couldn't spot me,
but I had confidence. The weights I had lifted the other day seemed so easy. I
could do this.

I pressed it up out of the cradle and let it come down to my chest. Here it
was, the moment of truth had arrived. I exploded upwards and the bar rose
steadily and smoothly. I repeated the movement, and did so again. It seemed to
get easier. I performed ten good reps at that weight and looked over at my
emasculated husband. The bulge was even more prominent. I grabbed the biggest
dumbbells we had and started curling them, over and over again and then flexed
my biceps again. The next thing I knew, he was murmuring something like "never
thought I would be turned on by women with muscles," and he was reaching for
the top of my biceps and was trying to rub his hands against them.

"No way, buddy. Not until we make a few things clear." And I pushed him hard
back onto his stool. He fell over backwards and got back up. "These guns are
your masters. And they are in control. They will be getting bigger, and you
can enjoy them all you want, but the old days are over."

"Yes, the old days are over. Oh my God, I never knew I was so turned-on by
muscles on women. Tiff, I don't know what got into me in the past, but I am
sorry. It won't happen again."

"No It won't!" I said, flexing again as if to prove my point.

"What I mean is that it wouldn't happen even if I could, and I obviously
can't. What got into you? You're magnificent. You've been lifting with that
group of women for a while now, but I never really noticed the change. I can't
believe I hadn't noticed."

So he was oblivious of the fact that the growth had taken place literally
overnight, (though, I have to say I was impressed that my natural bench press
even before the serum was getting very close to what he could do.) "Well, for
one, field hockey and swimming in high school and college built strength,
plus, for the past eight months I have been lifting at the gym on a regular
basis and taking a lot of supplements. A lot of women are beginning to lift,
and I think we may put to bed that old notion of male superiority in upper
body strength." I flexed again and gave him a look at my quads and glutes.
Then I turned around and ripped his pants off. I started to massage his member
and then flexed some more. While I flexed and danced and shook what I had for
him, before I could even straddle him and take him inside, he shot his wad
with such power and enthusiasm that it hit him in the face.

"I'm going to have to teach you to control yourself a bit better," I said. "I
can't believe a little weight training and some power moves on my part made
you cum so fast ... The good part is it may have saved our marriage." Then I
noticed that his wiener, which had faded ever so briefly, was once again
standing at attention, as tall as ever. I kissed it lightly, flexed one more
time and sat on him, taking him into me in one move. We rocked back and forth
and reached an amazing climax together a few minutes later. Indeed, the sex
was better than ever; his remorse was real, and his infatuation with my
newfound strength and the confidence that went with it was genuine. Truly, our
marriage had been saved by muscle, mine!