The Librarian
by Femgrowth, femgrowth@yahoo.com
A meek, shy librarian discovers a spell that makes her superstrong.


The following is a letter published in "Femgrowth", a magazine dedicated to 
girls and women who have developed a high degree of muscular strength.


Dear Editor, 

My name is Helen Armstrong and I'm a 44-year old librarian. You might say that I 
fit the stereotype that many people have of librarians: I wear glasses, I wear 
my hair in a bun. I'm tall and skinny. At 5' 10", I weigh only 115 lbs of skin 
and bone. My breasts are tiny. I dress conservatively, in straight-laced 
collars, long-sleeved blouses and long skirts or slacks that reach down to my 
ankles. Appearances can be deceiving, however, for I know a secret that can 
instantly turn me into a powerful, muscular Amazon.

It all began when I was sorting through old books at the library where I work. I 
work at the New York Public Library, and that day I was assigned to the Rare 
Book collection in the basement. Most of those books are dusty old volumes by 
long-forgotten authors whose only value appears to be their age. Many of them 
date back to the invention of printing. Some are even older, bound volumes from 
the middle ages, transcribed by monks by hand.

There was nobody in the Rare Books section that morning, nobody to help find 
something or to hush. So I amused myself by going through the stacks, picking 
out something I could read to pass the time. I'm an incorrigible reader. You 
should see my apartment. Bookshelves line practically every wall. When I go home 
I fix myself a cup of tea and curl up with a good book. I don't watch TV, I 
never go out (at that time I never even had had a boyfriend, not even as a 
teenager). They don't call me "the bookworm" for nothing.

One of those beautifully illuminated books caught my eye that day. It was 
handwritten in such a flowing, cursive hand that I could barely make out what it 
said. I could tell the language was Old English. As I was thoroughly familiar 
with Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, having read it in college and written a thesis 
on it, I managed to understand what this book was about. It was a witch's spell 
book. I spent quite a few minutes leafing through the pages. It had all the 
spells you might expect from a Medieval witch: turning men into frogs, 
disappearing in a puff of smoke, you get the drift. But one spell made me pause. 
It was called "a Magicke Spelle to Enlarge the Sinews and Increase the 
Strengthe". It was a spell that could make one strong and muscular.
 
I was intrigued, but for once the stimulation was not merely intellectual. You 
see, I had always been the nerdiest girl in school. I was painfully shy and 
repressed. I was the kid with braces, freckles, braided red hair whom everyone 
called "the Brain" and who always had her nose in a book. But as a child my 
favorite book was "Pippi Longstocking", about a skinny girl with red hair and 
freckles who was strong enough to lift a horse over her head. I dreamed of being 
strong like Pippi. I even wore my red hair in braids so that I could look more 
like her. But as I grew up I became more and more bookish and unathletic. I grew 
ashamed of my lanky, skinny body. I never went out on a date, much less ever 
even had a boyfriend. At 44, I was still a hopeless virgin. If a man showed 
interest in me, my lack of self-confidence would make me shy away and turn him 
down on the spot. I figured that any man who would be attracted to me must be 
some kind of weirdo.

I looked at the spell. It was very simple. All one had to do was say the words 
"Uenedisibile Kimtam Angotsie". Nonsense, I thought. Nevertheless, I muttered 
the words under my breath.

Right away a funny feeling came over me. My entire body felt as if it tingled. A 
sudden feeling of power pulsated through my veins. The book felt suddenly 
lighter. Sure enough, I was getting stronger. I put the book down and with my 
right hand felt my left bicep. It felt bigger and harder than before.

Excited, I ran to the ladies' room to look at myself in the mirror. There was no 
change in my external appearance. Same hair, same goofy glasses. I was wearing, 
as always, a long-sleeved blouse and a skirt that reached down to my ankles. I'm 
too young to be dowdy and too old to be nerdy. I guess the word would be 
"frumpy", especially in my beige blouse and brown skirt. But I felt so different 
now, so alive!

I hiked up my skirt to look at my legs. Imagine how surprised I was to see that  
my toothpick legs had gotten shapelier. I had calf muscles at last, which I had 
always coveted. My thighs also got larger, and I was pleased to feel that they 
had gotten full of hard muscle. I opened my blouse, and was shocked to see a 
line go through my body, from my neck to my navel. I had acquired cleavage in my 
pecs and muscle definition in my abs. I rolled up my sleeves and looked at my 
arms. I was amazed to discover that they bulged a little when I flexed, and that 
I could see little veins forming as I did so.

Now, granted, I was not in any kind of shape to challenge Ms. Olympus or 
whatever it is they call the top lady bodybuilder, but I was ecstatic to have 
any kind of muscle at all. I had always been so weak and sickly. Now I felt more 
powerful than I had ever thought possible. I didn't think I could lift a horse 
yet, but I thought I'd test my new strength on something handy.

I buttoned up my blouse and went to the stockroom which was littered with heavy 
boxes of books to discard or sell at our annual book sale. I walked over to one 
that was roughly the size of a television set. I bent my legs, grabbed it from 
underneath and with a little grunt, lifted it above my head. "Wow", I thought, 
"I never dreamed I could become so strong!"

I did lots of heavy work in the library that morning. Moving bookshelves, 
lifting desks so that I could vacuum under them, that sort of thing. None of my 
co-workers noticed anything out of the ordinary. An older clerk, Agatha, 
commented that I seemed to have a lot of energy that day. I just thanked her for 
noticing, and told her that I ate my Wheaties for breakfast.

After a couple of hours, I could feel myself weakening. The spell was wearing 
off. This time I said the spell again, but in a louder, clearer voice. (Of 
course, making sure not to disturb the library's patrons, I found somewhere 
private in the stacks. A cardinal rule for a librarian.) Again, my entire body 
tensed up again as a wave of energy seemed to electrify every fiber of my being. 
I couldn't help giving out little grunts and groans as my muscles grew larger 
and stronger than ever before. My clothing became quite tight, especially my 
sleeves where my upper arms reached the size of baseballs, and my skirt which 
filled out with muscular legs and buttocks. I moaned with pleasure. I ran my 
hands over my arms, torso, down my sides, over my new bubble butt, between my 
rock-hard thighs. In my ecstasy, I didn't notice that an old man came upon me. 
He merely flushed with embarrassment and hurried away.

I took to my work with even more energy. I easily lifted the photocopier on the 
fifth floor and carried it across the building. I lifted boxes of books as big 
as refrigerator cartons. I felt so strong.

By closing time, I noticed that the spell had worn off. I was as weak and skinny 
as before. I went back to the Rare Books section to find the spell book again.

It was where I had left it, untouched. People can come down to the Rare Books 
and consult or read them as much as they liked, but of course these books were 
not for circulation. I briefly entertained the notion of breaking the sacred 
Librarian rules. I wanted to bring this book home so much that I toyed with the 
idea of (gasp!) taking it without checking it out, or (horrors!) ripping out the 
strength spell out of the book! You can imagine how desperate I was to even 
fleetingly consider such sacrilege.

I settled for photocopying the page. I figured that the copyright had probably 
run out, considering that it was written in the 11th century. My heart pounded 
as I stood by the photocopier. I folded up the page and slipped it in my purse.

I walked home quite pleased with myself, confident in the knowledge that I could 
become strong and powerful any time I wanted. I was daydreaming about it, about 
how my hot new body could help get me a man, so I didn't notice the four guys 
who were following me through Central Park.

Pretty soon they caught up with me at a secluded place and surrounded me. I was 
so scared. "Let me be," I said in a trembling voice.

"Wot have we here?" one said. "A mousy little mouse, looks like." another said. 
"Let's have some fun with her." "I'll bet she's never had a man before." "I'll 
bet she's never done it with four guys before!" They approached me menacingly.

I tried to run away. I managed to get clear of them only to trip over my sandals 
or my skirt. Pretty soon they were on top of me. Two of them held down my arms 
while another held one of my legs. The last guy, apparently their leader, pushed 
up my skirt. I realized that I had only one chance left.

"Uenidisibili Angotsi Tamkim!" I said in desperation. Nothing happened. What was 
that spell? I wished I had memorized it.

"Wot's she sayin'?" "Dunno. Sounds foreign to me." "Do you suppose it's Swedish? 
I always wanted to do it with a Swedish girl!"

"Uenedisibili Tamkim Angotshie!" Still nothing happened. Now the leader had 
taken off my panty hose. "Uenedisibili Kamtim Ango..." I couldn't finish. One 
guy put his grubby hand over my mouth. Another was rubbing my breast so hard it 
hurt.

"Shut yer foreign face! You're in America now!" "Yeah. Talk English like 
everybody else." Now my panties were ripped off me. I started to cry. I could 
feel the guy's penis about to enter me when I suddenly remembered. I bit the 
hand that was over my mouth. I heard the guy yell and I shouted:

"UENEDISIBILE KIMTAM ANGOTSIE!!!"

Suddenly I could feel the muscles growing under my skin. "Hey, this girl must 
work out. Her arm feels like steel!" "Hey, check out her chest. It's getting 
bigger!"

I felt stronger than ever. My vaginal muscles were strong enough to block the 
entry of the guy's penis. I quickly kicked the guy who was about to rape me and 
sent him flying. I put my arms together and the two guys who were holding them 
crashed against each other. I thought I could hear their skulls crack. The guy 
who was holding my leg let go of me. I stood up was about to go at him when I 
noticed the look of shock on his face. Involuntarily, I looked down at my body. 
I was just as astonished by what I saw as he was.

I was far more muscular than before. My clothes were ripped to shreds not so 
much from their actions than from the phenomenal growth in my muscles. My big, 
puffy sleeves couldn't contain my huge, bulging biceps. My wide back, deep chest 
and broad shoulders completely destroyed what was left of my blouse and bra. My 
skirt was split at the seams by my hard, round glutes.

I began rubbing myself. I never knew that human flesh could feel this hard (of 
course, I was a virgin at the time). And the strength! I finally felt strong 
enough to lift a horse... one in each hand! Forget about Pippi Longstocking... I 
felt as strong as Hercules and Samson combined! I flexed my biceps. They were 
bigger than grapefruits, bigger than cantaloupes. I figured out that shouting 
the spell made it work even better. Before, at the library, I had just muttered 
it. Now, I screamed it out loud and this was the result. Mmmm. What POWER! I 
felt capable of bending steel bars.

Now it was time to teach those would-be rapists a lesson. I ripped a lamppost 
out of the ground as easily as if I were plucking a flower. All I had to do was 
lift it over my head and the four fiends gasped with fear and took to their 
heels. "Oh, no," I thought. "You're not getting away this easily." I ran after 
them and I was astonished at my own speed. I'm sure I could have outrun a 
cheetah. As it was, I quickly caught up to them and grabbed two of them by the 
collar. I lifted them up over my head. Despite the fact that these men were 
obviously over 200 lbs each, they felt like rag dolls in my powerful arms. I 
smashed their heads together and could hear their skulls crack with a loud pop. 
Then I tossed their lifeless bodies up into the trees. I'm not sure if I killed 
them. I abhor violence, but I'm sure that alive or dead these two would never 
attempt to rape anyone again.

By this time, the other two guys were long gone. I picked up the pace, but with 
all the twists and turns in Central Park there was no way to see where they 
might have gone. I decided I needed a better view. I saw a statue in the middle 
of a clearing. It must have been about 20 feet high. I jumped up as high as I 
could and landed on top of it. From there I could see my two other attackers 
running out of the Park near Columbus Circle. I jumped off the statue, and the 
landing didn't hurt my powerful legs. I ran at full speed in the direction I had 
seen them go. I must have covered a hundred yards in about five seconds. "Wow," 
I thought. "I should try out for the Olympic team. The only difficulty would be 
what sport to choose." I ran into city streets realizing that I must have made 
quite an impression. Here was this semi-nude female Atlas streaking through 
Times Square on a Tuesday evening. Actually, this being New York, most people 
didn't seem to notice. However, I lost my prey in the crowds. I decided to go 
home to my brownstone on West 63rd.

The doorman at my building almost died of a heart attack when he saw me. "M-Miss 
Armstrong?" he said, lips trembling from something other than his case of 
Parkinson's. "It's alright, Jack. I'm fine." He stared at me as I strode through 
the door. "W-What happened to you?" I didn't feel like explaining, so I just 
said, "Good night, Jack."

Safe again in my apartment, I went to the bathroom to look at myself in the 
mirror. Even I was surprised to see how muscular I had become. It was exciting. 
I flexed my biceps. I was thrilled at the mass of veiny, sinewy muscle that 
leapt up on my arms. No sooner than I was beginning to enjoy this to the point 
of creaming myself that my muscles suddenly disappeared. The spell had worn off 
again. I was my pathetically weak self once more, looking even worse than usual 
in my ripped up clothes. 

Right then and there I decided that I would use the power of the spell to help 
women who are being assaulted or raped. Meek librarian by day, avenging super-
heroine by night. I thought about what I should call myself, what kind of 
costume I would wear. My eye fell on my butterfly collection mounted on the 
living room wall. "That's it," I thought. "I've been living in a cocoon all my 
life, only to be transformed into a new woman. I'll call myself Metamorpha." I 
took a purple leotard that I had bought for a ballet class at the community 
college, and sewed a butterfly-shaped piece of felt on it. I put it on and said 
the magic words.

I started growing again. The fabric of my leotard stretched nicely. You could 
see the muscle definition quite well. I looked in the mirror. Not only did this 
new strength feel incredibly good, but it also felt sexy. At 44, I looked and 
felt sexier than any woman half my age. I thought that while I used my powers to 
help the poor and downtrodden, it wouldn't hurt if it could help get me a man, 
too. I decided against making a cape for the costume so that men could get a 
nice view of my rippling back and hard, round butt.

I decided to go out on the town. Jack just stared silently, mouth gaping open, 
when I passed him in the lobby. I don't know what amazed him most: my muscular 
new body, my going out in a leotard, or my going out at 11 o'clock at night. All 
very unusual for me.

I decided to go down to Greenwich Village. I spent a couple of hours walking 
around, and didn't witness any sexual assaults going on. So I decided to duck 
inside a singles bar. Let me tell you, my body drew lots of favorable attention 
from men. I sat down at the bar next to a guy young enough to be my son. He 
didn't look a day over 22. I decided to hit on him. We chatted for a while. 
Elbow on the bar, I nonchalantly flexed my arm while pretending to rest my head 
on my hand. I noticed that he was staring at the hard ball of flesh formed by my 
bulging bicep. I licked my lips, and asked him to come with me to my place. He 
didn't have to be asked twice. I could tell that my hardbody turned him on. It 
was a nice evening so we decided to walk. We did small talk on the way.

His name was Kevin, a drama student at Columbia. He asked me what I did for a 
living. I didn't want to tell him I was a boring old librarian, so I said I was 
a superhero. He must have thought that I was a weirdo, but as it turned out I 
had the chance to prove it.

Two enormous guys blocked our path on the sidewalk. "Let us through, please," I 
said politely but firmly. "Sure, lady. If you show us fifty dollars." "Sure," 
said his friend, "If you show us your nice tits."

"Now look here," Kevin said, his gallantry overcoming his natural sense of fear, 
"You can't talk to her that way."

"Oh yeah?" One of the big guys struck a punch right across Kevin's jaw. Kevin 
fell to the sidewalk. I got so mad, I forgot my own strength. I landed a 
powerful blow of my mighty fist in the guy's stomach, and he doubled over in 
pain, breathless. The other guy hit me with a lead pipe on my shoulder, and even 
though the pipe dented and bent almost in half, I hardly felt it. I took the 
pipe out of his hand and easily tied it in a knot. I could tell he was quite 
fearfully impressed by the muscles bulging under my tights. He froze in panic. I 
picked him up by the belt and lifted him over my head. His squeals of fear made 
me feel even more powerful. Holding him up by one hand, I lifted up the lid of a 
nearby garbage can and threw him in it, none too gently. With the two attackers 
out of commission, I went over to help Kevin. His mouth was bleeding a bit, but 
he didn't seem to have lost a tooth. While I was helping him a look of reverence 
and awe swept over his face. I noticed his cock was hardening. "What are you, 
Helen? An angel, or a monster?" I smiled. "A little bit of both, perhaps," I 
replied.

We got to my apartment building. Jack couldn't believe that I was taking a man 
up to my room. I was the confirmed spinster of the block, the dried-up old prune 
who had never known the pleasure of sex. Not any longer. The spell had not only 
given me unbelievable strength, it had also made me feel more vital, more alive 
than ever before. I felt capable of fucking a dozen men.

Kevin undressed and got on the bed. He had an unbelievable boner. I decided to 
tease him a little. After all this was my first time; I didn't want to rush 
things. I stripped off my clothes slowly, revealing only small portions of my 
superb body at a time. When I was completely naked, I stood at the foot of the 
bed and flexed my mighty muscles for his enjoyment. He looked like he was about 
ready to burst a blood vessel, so I quickly mounted him. I was so strong that I 
hardly felt the pain of my hymen rupturing. My powerful pussy muscles held his 
cock like a vise. My strong buttocks humped up and down like a piston. The 
pleasure was almost unbearable. We both came simultaneously.

Sex turned out to be quite different from what I imagined it to be. For years I 
fantasized about making love with romantic heroes such as Heathcliff from 
"Wuthering Heights" or Mr. Darcy from "Pride and Prejudice". I would masturbate 
relatively frequently. The girls at work didn't know this, but sometimes I would 
pick up a book and read about some handsome hero, and then find a secluded 
corner within the library stacks and rub my clit until my passion exploded. I 
would emerge looking a little flushed and go to the reference desk as if nothing 
had happened. Now I was making love with a living, breathing man, and it was 
better than any of my fantasies.

The next morning when I woke up I could feel Kevin's hands rubbing my skin. It 
was a sensuous feeling. My muscles were gone, of course, since it had been 
several hours since I had used the spell. It didn't seem to matter to Kevin; I 
could sense real tenderness and affection in his touch. 

"Helen," he said, "How did you get so strong and muscular last night?"

I sighed. Does he love me only for my muscles? Here I was, a skinny middle-aged 
woman, wrinkles in my face, mousy gray streaks in my red hair. What could a 
handsome college boy want with an old hag like that? But he looked at me with 
love and desire in his eyes. I groped through the sheets, and found that his 
cock was hard. 

I smiled at him. I decided to reward him for his loving kindness towards me. "Do 
you want me to be superstrong again?" I asked him. He smiled and said yes. "I've 
got an idea. Let's make love first."

He was so gentle with my skinny, frail, body. The night before when I had been 
super-muscular he fucked me like an animal. Now he was considerate, patient, 
careful. I loved him for it. I was on top, and my arms started getting tired. I 
breathed the magic words. "Uenedisibile Kimtam Angotsie" I'm sure that he could 
feel my muscles hardening under his fingertips, because he began to make love to 
me more vigorously.  I said the words again, a little louder. Muscle started 
growing under my skin. A surge of power rippled through my body. I was about to 
come. An orgasmic scream was caught in my throat as I yelled "UENEDISIBILE 
KIMTAM ANGOTSIE" at the top of my lungs.

My vaginal muscles throbbed as I became stronger and more muscular than ever. We 
fucked and fucked for the next couple of hours, until my muscularity went back 
to normal. "H-how do you do it, Helen?" Kevin asked, out of breath. I decided 
not to tell him. After all, a woman has to have her secrets. It makes her more 
mysterious. 

It's extremely stimulating to me to freak out a bunch of men. One day I went to 
a gym in my normal weak, skinny state, dressed in a leotard so that everyone 
there could see how morbidly thin and wretchedly frail I was. I saw some of the 
beefy bodybuilder types glancing at me, scoffing at my bony physique. I did a 
set of bicep curls with 5-lb. dumbbells, then murmured the magic spell under my 
breath. The next set I used 40-lb. weights, and my body was noticeably more 
muscular. By this time I looked like a gymnast or a dancer. The guys in the gym 
certainly noticed now. They all pretended to be going about their business, but 
I could tell that they were all keeping an eye on me and my amazing 
transformation. Pretending to clear my throat, I said the spell again at normal 
speech level, and began to crank out reps with 120-lb dumbbells. 

Now the gym was completely silent, and all eyes were on me. My muscularity had 
increased to professional bodybuilder level. The fabric of the leotard stretched 
to reveal all the cuts and striations of my body. I strode to the mirror, 
casually rubbing my glutes in order to draw attention to them. I felt so sexy. I 
flexed in the mirror, pretending not to notice that all the men in the gym were 
staring at my rippling back muscles and bulging arms. Then I nonchalantly went 
to the ladies room. I turned on all the taps and flushed a couple of toilets, 
and over the noise of the rushing water I screamed the magic words yet again, as 
loud as I could.  When I emerged from the ladies room I looked like a goddess. 
Huge, massive muscles rippled all over my body, stretching the fabric of my 
leotard almost to the point of ripping at the seams. I felt so powerful. I went 
to the squat rack and lifted a 500-lb barbell with one hand. I cranked out a 
dozen reps with my right hand, then switched to the left. With every rep my 
bicep muscles bulged to a mind-blowing 24 inches. I finally put the barbell 
down. "Mmm. Good workout" I said so that the men could hear me. I rubbed myself 
all over, exulting in my newly-built body. I made it seem as if I had gone from 
a scrawny waiflike twig to a superwoman in a single workout. I turned and walked 
out of the gym, leaving only the reek of my sweat and absolute bafflement as 
evidence of my passing.

Nice as he was, Kevin alone couldn't satisfy me sexually. After all, I had 
decades of spinsterhood to make up for. I started prowling for sex at work. When 
I saw an good-looking man in the library stacks, I would say the spell just loud 
enough to give me an attractive figure, then walk up to him between the 
bookshelves. I would thrust my chest out at him and rub myself against him like 
a sex kitten in heat. Then I would raise my skirt and drop my panties. The men 
who refused me were few and far between. Not only did the spell give me physical 
strength and a sexy physique, it also made me feel strong and confident, and 
that turns men on more than anything. We would have a quickie screw between the 
bookshelves, and the risk of being discovered simply added to the excitement. We 
had to fuck in complete silence, of course. Even the most profound orgasms were 
no excuse for breaking library rules. 

So that's how my new muscularity has changed my life. By day, I maintain the 
shy, reserved aspect that I have always portrayed to the world, and by night, I 
become a sexy amazon hedonist vigilante. In a future letter I will recount some 
of my adventures against rapists and other scumbags.

(signed) Helen Armstrong, librarian