Deep Down Inside - Part 06
Written by circes_cup :: [Monday, 20 August 2012 08:00] Last updated by :: [Friday, 07 September 2012 18:20]
Arriving at the fitness center, Vicky took one last glance over herself before opening the door. The prior day, she had transformed her friends back into their old bodies, but Vicky remained in her newer, ultra-sexy form. She needed to stay like this, she told herself, because it was the only way for her to figure out once and for all what these metal balls could do. There was no point in being stunning beauties if it just made them targets for harassment.
But however good the reason, she was selfishly very glad that she decided to keep her new appearance. Her graceful hourglass figure, slender legs, and dizzying bust line-- any one of these features on their own would have made her attractive. But in combination, they were just, well, awesome. And today Vicky belatedly realized that she had picked a workout ensemble that actually enhanced her appeal even more -- curve-hugging burgundy and brown-colored choices that brought out the highlights of red fire in her hair and the olive tone of her skin.
As she crossed the weightlifting area, Vicky felt the mood in the room change as a result of her presence. The typical clang-clang of metal hitting metal seemed to slow as men paused to take in the marvel of feminine beauty that traversed their normally testosterone-filled space. Vicky felt her nipples hardening in reply, denting the quarter-inch thick material of her sports bra without difficulty.
A few whispers and murmurs went up throughout the room as the guys took in the sight. Someone whistled at her. Someone else said something just out of earshot, eliciting a chuckle from the other guys.
The male attention should have made her glad, she know, but instead it caused her mind to go somewhere darker. After Cuthbertson, after what happened to Louisa, she thought, how can I really feel safe around men anymore? And why -- why does the one happy week in our lives need to be wrecked by predators? Does being beautiful mean spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?
At that moment, Vicky felt something click deep down inside. Not a thought or an emotion -- but, literally, the object inside of her had clicked. It was doing something.
All of the wrongs and slights she had experienced in her lifetime-- however minor-- seemed to be racing before her eyes, with the recent rapes of her and Louisa most prominent. She had always been a peaceful person before -- occasionally angry, but never seeking out conflict, always avoiding a fight. Even when she had been wronged, such as the vicious and still secret rape by Cuthbertson, she had always wanted simply to be done with it rather than to fight back.
But now, her emotions felt different. Vicky felt an anger welling up inside of her, an anger that burned with a heat she had never felt before. As each slight passed before her eyes, a tidal wave of aggression seemed to build. She wanted revenge. She wanted to make these assholes experience the pain that she went through.
"Is there anywhere I might be able to work out -- alone?" Vicky asked one personal trainer who had clearly appreciated her from a distance.
"Uh, perhaps," he said, blushing. "Any particular reason?"
"Your customers out there don't seem quite capable of keeping their eyes off me. The attention is a little bit... distracting."
"There are some private facilities we use for the personal training appointments. I was about to use one of those myself. I could get you into to one of those, with me, if you like."
"How charitable of you," Vicky laughed, noticing a slight reddening of the color in his cheeks. "You're on."
Stepping into the training room, Vicky threw her duffel down and surveyed the equipment.
"Can I help you with anything?" The trainer asked. "Maybe you need a spotter?"
"Uh, sure!" Vicky beamed. "But I'm going to warn you. It's going to take some experimenting to find the weight that's right for me. What do you think I should start with?"
"Try 70 pounds."
"Ok, that sounds good." Vicky slid down onto the bench after the bar had been set up.
She waited until the trainer -- his name was Chris -- was standing over her, and the lowered the bar to her chest. As he looked down at her, she noticed that Chris's attention was riveted on something, well, other than the bar. The attention out on the main floor had been overwhelming to Vicky, but Chris seemed much more docile. Here in the intimacy of the separate room, the knowledge that his eyes were running over her chest made her feel.... good.
Before raising the bar again, she had to inhale deeply to prepare for the exertion, which had the side effect of expanding her bust line to even greater proportions. A lump formed in Chris's crotch.
"Enjoying the view?" she chided, raising the bar.
"I'm sorry. I mean, yes. I just know it annoys you. But you're hard to ignore."
"Really?" she queried with mock ignorance, flashing him a radiant smile. His forming erection escalated to a full blown one. Chris squirmed uncomfortably to hide his erection, his face now beet red.
Seeing his embarrassment, Vicky felt a gratifying warmth cascade through her body. He was flustered and apologetic -- all because of what the sight of her body had done to him. And she had thrown him for off of his game, and had done it so effortlessly! Stories told by the other girls began to come back to her now -- Louisa talking about the pliant look in her doctor's eyes, Tammy describing her mastery of Steve, Kim relating her time with the mayor. Kim, of all people, seducing an elected official -- if she could do this with such ease, then what male creature wasn't within the sphere of their control?
Vicky looked up at Chris. His face was flushed, his breathing shallow. She could probably get him to do anything right now, she gloated to herself. Whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it -- this is what it's like, she said to herself, to have power over people. And power, she realized, feels awesome.
After two sets at 70 pounds, Vicky steeled herself for the next stage of her secret plan. Enough flirting, Vicky, she thought, time to get down to business. "Text me your info -- name, address and stuff," she purred, "maybe we'll get together later on."
He grabbed his phone and hastily sent a text to the phone number she recited.
"You know," she smiled as she racked the bar and stood up, "with me, performance improvements may just be a question of mind over matter."
"I think they are for everybody."
"Good. Then maybe you'll be able to handle this after all." Closing her eyes, she thought to herself about being stronger -- a lot stronger. Crunching sounds emanated through the room. When she opened her eyes, she had become a behemoth, with layer upon layer of thick muscle. Looking down, her legs were the thickness of watermelons, and her biceps the size of grapefruits.
"Holy sh--" the trainer tried to yell, but Vicky instantly had a cupped hand over his mouth.
"Scream again," she growled, "and I'll beat your head in. And that's not a figure of speech."
He only nodded in reply.
"And don't forget, you just gave me your address. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning to read about this shit in the paper. You get me?"
"How much do you think I can bench now?"
"Maybe 300?" he responded, uncertainly. "But it's just a guess. You may have to find out the hard way."
"Then let's get going."
After the weights were racked on the bar, Vicky grabbed a triangular weight storage tree that was now nearly empty, with perhaps 100 pounds remaining on it, and placed it flush against the door. Remarkable how easy that thing was to lift! The object wasn't an ideal barricade, she thought, but enough to make it difficult for anyone to get in. And if he tried to get out, she'd have time to grab him before he had the door open.
300 pounds was an intimidating amount of metal to have on the bar, but Vicky tried not to look at it. He thought that was the right weight, and maybe it was. Besides, Vicky's over amped, vein-ridden muscles were intimidating too.
Within moments, she had the weight off the bar and down at her chest. Chris was still spotting her. For what good it would do, Vicky laughed, since the bar probably weighed half again what he did.
Vicky piled her strength into the bar and watched in rapt fascination as it slowly rose. God, was it possible she was really this strong? One, two, three, four repetitions went by, and it was not until the eighth that she began to tire.
"I'm speechless," Chris offered, as she racked the bar. "How did you change instantly into this beefy muscle girl? You're as strong as an Olympian," he paused, appraising her. "Or maybe stronger."
But Vicky didn't reply. Despite the compliment, he looked nervous, she noted, and the bulge in his pants had quickly disappeared. Being around her was no longer a turn on for him, Vicky noted sadly.
As she reviewed her body, she could see why. Many of her muscles had grown to the point where they looked almost silly. They were large enough to limit her range of movement, like a child bundled in too many sweaters during an afternoon in the snow. Also, huge blue veins were visible under her skin. And the graceful feminine curves which once turned so many heads were replaced by tightly chiseled, almost grotesque right angles. Her presence was not seductive, just intimidating.
"I'm not sure I like it," Vicky mused as she contemplated her voluminous forearms carefully. "I'm not pretty anymore."
He was silent in reply. What could he be expected to say, she wondered?
"And there's something else, too," Vicky said, as she traced a finger along the mountain range that her abdomen had become. "It's hard to explain, but being this strong isn't nearly enough for me. I feel like someone just served me a single french fry and called it lunch."
"You shouldn't think like that. Look how strong you are! You should be grateful that..."
Vicky ignored him. "And yet," she said, slapping the hardwood of her abdominal muscles, "What if I could increase the density and efficiency of my muscles? That would be a great way to increase my strength even more!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Vicky closed her eyes and another crunching sound emanated throughout the room. By the time the changes had ceased, she was back to her supermodel self, but a slightly more athletic version. A glance at Chris revealed that an embarrassing red was returning to his face. Good she thought: looks-wise, she was right on the money.
"OK, now you look great. In fact, you look more than great."
Vicky ignored the comment. "How much do you think a woman who LOOKED like me could bench?"
"Well, you look a little bit more athletic than you did when you came in here. Maybe 100 pounds, max?"
Rather than reply, Vicky walked to the bench put her a hand back on the 300-lb bar. Chris made some type of noise signaling objection or concern, but she ignored it. Unracking the bar, she did several one-armed curls, her feminine arms powering the 300-lb lifts every time. On each exertion, her biceps ballooned to the size of a football, but when resting, the graceful feminine curves returned.
"That is... incredible," Chris offered, stupefied, as she transferred the bar to her left hand and continued the curls. "I don't think I've seen anyone do that before, much less a woman."
What a bullshit thing to say, Vicky said to herself. She felt a tidal wave of rage and aggression building inside of her again, washing over her and drowning every other thought. And it felt marvelous.
Looking over Chris, where she had once seen a somewhat bored trainer drawn into her web of beauty, now she saw an adversary that needed to be conquered. And a pathetic adversary at that, she realized. Ruining him would be easy -- and fun.
"Say at that again?" Vicky prodded. She clasped her hands behind her head and stretched, producing an explosion of arm muscle.
"I said," Chris continued nervously, "that I don't think I've seen anyone do that before, much less a woman."
"Should I take that as an insult?" Vicky advanced toward him.
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Chris protested, hands in the air
"Bullshit," Vicky growled as he backed away from her. "What you said was pretty fucking clear." He was soon up against the wall.
I have no idea why I'm doing this, Vicky thought, as her nether regions tingled with excitement at the coming conflict. Vicky cupped a hand under his chin and pinned his head against the wall. A rivulet of sweat made its way down his neck, and she watched it with clinical fascination. She closed the remainder of the distance between them and felt her boobs gently pressing against his torso.
"If I decided to kill you right now, what would you do?"
"Fight back, I guess."
Vicky absently reviewed her massive bicep, flexing it into a football-sized mass and then back out again. "And what do you think your chances would be?"
"Uh, slim to none."
"Feel this bicep," Vicky instructed as she again flexed it into a mountain of strength. "Try to press a dent in it."
He did. It looked like he was trying to press his finger down into a ball of iron. Vicky barely felt him.
"Still think it's slim to none?" she chided.
"I'm...I'm leaning towards none," he stammered.
"I'm leaning towards finding out the hard way." Oh god, she thought, I love playing with him! Vicky took a foot-long dumbbell bar, empty of its weights, and began wrapping it around her fist as if it was no stiffer than a ribbon.
"Please, no," he begged.
With the bar around her fist like a set of brass knuckles, Vicky winked at him seductively before smashing her hand into the cinderblock wall. She was instantly rewarded by a crunch as piece of the wall caved in and emitted a small cloud of concrete dust. She brought her nose next to his shaking body and inhaled deeply. This is what mortal fear smells like, she told herself. Its fragrance was delicious.
"What did I do to piss you off?" He asked hysterically as she casually unwound the bar from her hand.
"I don't know," she laughed with sinister mirth in her voice. "Are you saying I have to have a reason?"
"You're learning. Remember, I have your address. If you create inconveniences to me by reporting this to anyone, anywhere, I'll create some inconveniences for you too." Placing the crumpled bar between her hands, she brought them together, and was surprised to see the smashing down into a ball. "Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, please! Yes, we do!"
"Maybe I ought to break a few of your bones, just to be sure?" Vicky dropped the crumpled bar on the ground, cupped her hand under his chin once again and leaned into him.
"No, please don't. I totally won't tell anyone!"
"That's heartwarming. But I kind of feel like breaking you anyway, just for fun," she smiled. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No! I mean, yes! I mean, no!"
"Let me give you a clue. When I ask you a question, you tell me whatever I want to hear."
"OK. Whatever yo--"
But he never finished his sentence. Vicky had pressed in on him further, her massive tits driving him into the cinderblock wall like twin battering rams. He tried to inhale and speak, but the crushing force was clearly too great.
"Look," she said, running her fingers through his hair, "no hands!"
Chris tried to respond, but nothing emerged from his mouth. He tried to escape, but was unable to budge.
"Isn't that amazing?" Vicky smiled, draping her arms lightly around his neck and continuing to bear into him with her chest. "I'm exerting hundreds of pounds of force -- maybe a thousand, I don't know -- with my tits!"
Again, Chris could only mouth a response, but no noise.
"Your silence here suggests that you don't fully appreciate my capabilities. I could take that as insulting."
Chris's face was now a sweaty mask of pain and mortal dread. GOD, what a turn on, Vicky thought to herself. Seeing him reduced to a whimpering, shivering boy sent Vicky's body into hysterics. Her nipples hardened until they were the consistency of steel bullets.
She bore her into him further, with those merciless steel nubs leading the way. Tears of pain began to run from his eyes.
"God, I can't fucking believe how strong I am," Vicky mused out loud. "People are going to think you got crushed by a the weight bar coming down on your chest, not from a girl's boobs. But do you think," she confided in his ear, "that they're going to believe a weight bar came down on you, if your ribs aren't broken? That would be pretty hard to believe, wouldn't it?"
Chris shook his desperately.
"Is that 'no, they won't believe ' 'no, they would believe it?"
Chris tried to mouth "please" bit Vicky ignored it.
"Oh well, maybe I should just break your ribs either anyway. It sounds like a fun experiment. If you want me to stop just say so."
Chris gasped for air. Nothing came out. He struggled desperately against her, his arms pressing against her shoulders. But it was like trying to stop a truck with a piece of straw.
"It's amazing how weak you are, compared to me," Vicky purred, meeting him eye to eye. "I could probably make your chest collapse just by expanding mine. And the scent of your fear is so intoxicating, well, I just can't resist the thought of a drawing it in-- with really deep, deep breath."
"Please, no," Chris managed to rasp.
But to Vicky, his pleading was like a whisper next to the roar of her arousal. She inhaled deeply, delighting in the smell of his fear -- and the sound of his cracking ribs.
Later that night, long after she had left him in a crumpled heap on the floor, Vicky could still hear the delicious sounds of his groans and his pleading. Somewhere deep down, she knew that the machine was giving her new desires -- ones that were not part of the original Vicky, but they were just as real to her now as her old emotions had always been. She was like a moviegoer, passively watching the colors and shapes of her life shift on the screen before her.
And shift they did. Her mind wandered to those aliens-- those wonderful, benevolent creatures-- who might someday return to pursue their mining interests. She could not wait to see them again, their bulbous, sweaty, green and purple forms so pleasing to her now.
When they blessed her with their return, she would have the planet ready for them. All the Earth's mineral deposits would be identified and catalogued. And the population -- somehow, who knows how -- would subjugated under her iron rule.
"Well, that's the end of another night," Tammy sighed. It had been three days the girls had seen or heard from Vicky. On each of the three days, Louisa and Kim had come over to the apartment that Tammy and Vicky shared, in hopes that they would be right there when Vicky came home. When the first night came and went, the girls had pretended that they were concerned about Vicky. But by the third day, all pretense had disappeared. What they really cared about was their lost selves -- lost beauty, lost glamour, lost popularity, and, looking at the agony on Louisa's face, lost innocence. Vicky could bring much of their happiness back in an instant.
"Why don't you two go home and get some sleep. I sure need it," Tammy continued. "I'll call you the moment I hear from Vicky. I promise. That is, if I hear from Vicky...."
"OK, you're probably right," Kim agreed, heaving her voluminous fatty form up. "We're not doing ourselves any good sitting here waiting."
As she heard the door close, with two sets of feet descending the stairs, Tammy turned out the light and stared up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. Why did Vicky return the girls to these dreary bodies, these dreary lives? Why was Vicky leaving Louisa to suffer alone the pain and shame of her rape? She picked up her cell phone and flipped through the pictures. Someone had taken a picture of the four girls in their better days -- leggy, buxom, bright eyed and smiling as the hung on each other's shoulders at the frat party where Kim had transformed. She looked so happy then, and so, well perfect. Moreover, her improved body had allowed her to go on a sexual rampage that had been a needed catharsis from all the years of being invisible to the male species. Now, once again guys walked past her on the street like she wasn't even there. Taking a hand, she raised it to her face and felt her unsightly, angular features, made moist now by emergence of her tears.
"Dammit, Tammy, you need to take control of yourself a little and get some rest," she told herself. "Vicky might re-emerge, she might be gone forever. You'll never know. "
She was about to turn the phone off and go to sleep when it buzzed.