At the Gym [story]

[pseudoclever]

3.

Three seconds in, I could tell this spurt was going to be a big one.

Before, my growth had come at a smooth, metered pace. This time it was jagged, unpredictable. In a flash I shot up two inches, so fast that I had to fight off a sudden wave of vertigo.

Then for five whole seconds, nothing.

Then a long, sweltering swell that made me weak in the knees, filling my growing body with molten pleasure until I felt I would burst.

A short break, then four quick, jaw-rattling bursts of maybe a half-inch each.

During all of this my breasts, already too large for my frame, were still growing themselves. And even as fast as I was expanding, they were growing much, MUCH faster. I'd give you a letter of the alphabet, but at this point who cared? They were freaking enormous, and felt sooo good against my chest. It was awhile before I realized that it was MY hands that were touching them. Rubbing, squeezing, stroking, while I stood there, whimpering with pleasure, wondering how long I could do this without losing it.

And by the way, my tits weren't the ONLY part of me doing its own bit of growing. Apart from just getting curvier, I could feel myself becoming stronger with each and every inch I gained. My body was slowly being covered by a thick, sexy skeen of muscle. Don't think of the cover of one of those women's fitness magazines – gross-looking girls with biceps bigger than their boobs. For me it was more an accent, a complimentary feature. It added a whole new layer of beauty to my already stunning appearance. And even as fit and toned as I was starting to get, I could tell that I was becoming a lot stronger than I looked.

It was about then that, above the fog of ecstasy, I became aware of a strange low-pitched creaking noise coming from the vicinity of my chest. After a moment I realized what it was – the straining fabric of my over-stressed workout shirt. Sized to hold a five foot nothing titless wonder, the thing was completely out of its league with me. A tiny tear had appeared along the seam under my left armpit, and when I looked, I found a matching one beneath my right.

I liked that shirt, I really did. But sometimes, we must say goodbye to the things we've outgrown. Still massaging my ever-swelling breasts, I concentrated. 'Bigger! Come on, BIGGER!' I thought, silently urging my growth on, willing it to happen faster. I don't know if the whole “power of positive thinking” thing did any good, but one way or another, I got what I wanted. After only a few seconds my body spasmed upward again, this time in the biggest spurt yet, and the shirt ripped open down both sides. Laughing, I flicked its remnants away with an easy swipe of my wrist.

And now I stood topless, my ample bosom at long last revealed in all its glory.

Timothy seemed to be a fan.

My pants, now, were a different matter. They weren't tearing at all, but simply bulging out of shape. The stubborn things were sticking to my growing body like a lavender-shaded coat of paint. I was getting so big that they were starting to cut off my circulation, and the super strong spandex material showed no signs of giving up. Realizing I'd have to work this out myself or be crushed by my own pants, I reached down, grabbed their waistband with both hands.

I pulled. They stretched. I strained harder, but still they resisted. But with each passing second I was getting bigger, stronger. I waited two long seconds, feeling my body expand and swell, and then exerted my full force. My arms shook. My pulse pounded. For a moment I thought I wouldn't be able to do it.

But then the exertion seemed to feed my growth, accelerate it. And with a sound like an unraveling roll of duct tape, my pants finally split open.

Panting, my face hot and beaded with sweat, I turned to meet Timothy's gaze. I was still spasming upward at a frightening rate, but for now at least I remained an inch or two shorter than his six foot one. He was looking at me, his expression not fear but appreciation, and more than a little lust. The feeling was mutual, trust me. As if I didn't already have enough fuel in my libido tank, that last little feat of strength had pushed my motor past high gear, and into overdrive.

Two quick steps covered the distance between us. We did not have a typical first kiss. No chaste front porch peck on the cheek, or will-he-won't-he guessing until the very last moment. No. Our first kiss was more like a hot cauldron of oil left too long on the fire, one that has boiled higher, and higher, until at last it spills out onto the ground, consuming everything around it. His lips were wet and warm, his tongue a velvet ribbon in my mouth. Hands touched me, caressed every place I wanted to be caressed, even as mine did the same to him.

And all the while I could feel myself swelling against him, getting bigger, and BIGGER! I was reaching up to kiss him, just a bit. Less. A punctuated pulse of growth found us the same height, and then I was leaning down to meet him, making out with someone smaller than me for the first time in my life. Second by wonderful second I continued to outgrow him, and the bigger I became, the more it fanned the out-of-control fires of our passion.

At long last my growth slowed, sputtered, stopped. And gradually we began to cool down, until we were simply holding each other, my fully naked body against his fully clothed one. We still kissed, off and on, but the desperation had subsided. Now it was soft, slow, and somehow much more intimate.

After a long while, I broke the silence. “Too much?” I spoke the words quietly, looking down into his eyes, genuinely concerned with the answer. See, it had always been my plan to grow enough to pique his interest, make myself more visible, if you will, but NOT so much that I'd tower over him. But he'd goaded me into drinking quite a bit of the elixir, and now, the best I could judge, I was two or three inches taller than him. And remember, he was pretty big in his own right. Men can be weird about that sort of thing, you know? They like to be the big, burly protector, and girls that are taller than them tend to make them feel inadequate.

I have a minor in armchair psychology, did I say?

Timothy, however, just smiled. “Didn't I already tell you? I like big girls. Really, REALLY big girls. In fact, if I had my way about it, I'd want you to be even BIGGER than you are now.”

I raised one eyebrow. “You're not serious!” I started to say, but he cut me off before I could get more than the second word out. In the grand scheme of things it was a brief flare-up of the smoldering coals of our lust, though as flare-ups go, this one lasted quite awhile.

“Okay okay, I believe you!” I laughed, when speech was once again possible. “So then...question game, round two. Give me a number. Exactly HOW big do you want me?”

Timothy cocked one eye at me, his expression nervous, almost worried. “You...do you really...really want to know?”

Grinning evilly, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. One leg slid between his thighs, holding him in place. “I really, really do. And however big you want me, I promise I'll do it.” I leaned in, looming over him, making sure he was completely conscious of my already impressive size. “I mean it sweetie. As big as you want. Don't hold back now. Because tonight, Timothy,” I purred. “Wishes DO come true.”