Trophy Wife Pt. 01

Written & edited by Amnoartist

Robert wasn't exactly a fan of the news his wife shared. He had long harbored a feeling of dread for this day, knowing it would come, but deep down hoped, prayed it wouldn't.

"Bodybuilding? Again? I thought you agreed — we agreed you'd stop chasing that rush, Susan?"

Susan understood her husband's concern. She had finally formed — and in some cases, rebuilt — a loving, caring relationship with the members of her family. Her kids, in their younger years, felt Susan's rampant obsession with the sport the most, often times ignored while she perversely focused on her diet and workout regimen to pack on as much mass as possible to take the most prized award in female bodybuilding, the Miss Mass trophy.

Training for the Miss Mass competition almost killed Susan, all those years back. She wanted — needed — the win, but was by no means ready for it, even with the steroids she shoved into herself to make the increase in mass happen quicker. Simply put, Susan just wasn't cut out for Miss Mass, and stopped chasing after it to rebuild her former life.

So what changed?

"You're right. We did. I did. But I'm older now, at a point in my life where I need to start taking my health more seriously." Susan knew her excuse wouldn't exactly be enough to cut into Robert and help him understand. But she was half right. Susan did need to take better care of her health now. "Bodybuilding's excessive, I know, but it's what got me into the best shape of my life. And even if it was an obsession on my part, it still got you going, didn't it? Besides, I'll just be sticking to independent competitions this time."

Robert scoffed. Whether Susan being jacked got him hot under the collar and hard as a rock or took part in championships was beside the point they were heatedly discussing — and Susan knew that. She did look particularly ravishing when her skin was bronzed and in a bikini though. "I'm more concerned about whether we'll relive the past, have a complete repeat of last time," he commented worriedly.

Robert was distinctly referring to the October of two thousand four, where Susan was preparing for the Miss Mass contest. She spent most of her time that month in the basement gym, beasting through workouts. The days mashed together in a blur, she rarely bothered to sleep, so caught up on not losing her pump. The only time Susan did bother to sleep was when she passed out after riotous, violent sex with Robert, more often than not brought on by an upsurge in libido caused by the steroids she ladled into herself.

"Can't imagine the girls will be happy about the idea either," Robert added.

"They're in their twenties now, Robert, with lives of their own." Susan's eldest daughter Billie studied business at the regional university, while her youngest, Clara, spent most of her time sifting through past exam papers, preparing for the end-of-year examinations. "They've got more important things to worry about than their dear old mama wanting to lift weights again."

"There's lifting weights and there's you lifting weights, Susan," Robert pointed out. He knew there was no point in trying to get his wife to see sense. As stubborn as she was, she'd already made her mind up before they even discussed the matter at length. Robert had decided to gamble: perhaps things wouldn't be as obsessive now as they were before. "Fine. Just...lay off the steroids this time."

Susan knew she couldn't promise that. Make an effort, sure, but that was where the line was drawn. But of course she lied anyway. "Of course. I'm not the woman I used to be. Gotta take extra care of my insides."

They shared a kiss. Though Robert wasn't as enthusiastic as he used to be. Susan let it slide, presuming his detachment was brought on by his lack of readiness to support her decision. He'd eventually come around after seeing his wife's body start regaining its former impressive shape, no doubt.

***

Some hours later...

Despite her retirement from bodybuilding all those years back, the basement gym was still being used — just not by Susan, instead by Robert to maintain a healthy body. He still couldn't hold a candle to his wife, however. Though that was probably because he hadn't used steroids like she did.

Like himself, Robert kept the gym presentable, cleaned it down thoroughly after its use, and re-racked the weight plates. When she was in her prime, chasing the Miss Mass trophy, Susan hadn't bothered to clean the gym when she eventually came out of her roid-pumped stupors, usually leaving that to Robert. Not to mention wiping her down too. But Susan knew there was very little point to any of it, given she'd just inevitably go back and grease the equipment with her sweat not even a couple of hours later anyway.

She picked up the dumbbells nearest her. The lightest set. Susan hadn't lost her form or technique, a constant imprint burnt into her brain from nigh-perverse use, the smell of iron and steel strong in her nostrils, like a matador's blood had smeared a bull's nose. What she had lost was her strength. Something she missed and longed to regain, eager to feel the same sense of incomparable strength she boasted so casually in her early years as a bodybuilder. It was a rush. Erotic, even. Even the idea of gorging on food to maintain her size was stimulating to Susan.

Reaching her ninth curl, she remembered lifting a weight several hudnred pounds heavier like it was nothing, as though, even the weighty object was in her hand, she was only lifting her arm up. So strong was Susan in her prime that the heaviest weights she owned submitted to her. She wanted — needed to experience, own that feeling again. But such strength required the illicitness of drugs and hormones. Susan may have lied to Robert about not using them again, but she had her own doubts. Susan wasn't the woman she once was. Gone was the youthful prodigy of the nineties, replaced by a carbon copy suburban mother of two and loving wife.

The former Susan still resided though, deep in the older shell of the contemporary woman, crying, screaming and shouting desperately to be released, the beast that it was, inhumanely caged. Susan felt her former self try to break free, punching animalistically through her mental barriers in the attempt to not just bring itself to the surface once more, but conquer the woman wholly and utterly. But Susan knew this time there would be no coming back. If she were to let her former obsessive self through, the woman she was — the respected member of the community and loving mother and wife — would be no more, replaced with a bodybuilding-obsessed, steroid-pumped freak. It felt as though Susan had a demon within her.

Susan opted for a heavier pair of dumbbells, the lesser pair carefully restacked. That was when she finally felt her pump and the familiar ecstatic rush hit her like a brick to the face — sudden, hard, powerful, alerting her. Veins had risen to the surface of her arms, a sensation she hadn't experienced in God knows how long. But even then, the feeling—

She traced a vein with her finger, its rigid bumpiness brushing the tip.

A smile. But it was nothing quite like the smiles she'd been giving her family for the past decade. If anything, it was a new smile, at least to them. Susan recognized it straightaway; familiar, longed for. The old Susan had burst to the surface, revealing itself with an uncompromising vengeance.

Her clit pulsed with a furious reckoning, a sensation that compelled Susan to shamelessly grope her crotch as an inevitable streak of love juice trickled down her thighs. She hadn't felt this turned on years - not even Robert could get her going so fervently, paling in comparison as though his skills were that of an insecure virgin. It was as if her true sexual energy had been bottled up all these years and lifting the weights uncorked it.

She played with herself for a moment, moaning softly as her clit tensed and clamped involuntarily around her fingers like a vice, an old strength renewed, revealing itself. Her old self had won out, taking back complete control of her body to obsessively rebuild itself stronger than ever; stronger than any woman; stronger than any man; stronger than any `thing. Susan was determined to prove that.

***

Dinner with the family soon followed, and as per the usual with her routine after all those years of being 'dormant,' Susan had more than her fair share of what was on offer. She, of course, was no larger than she appeared earlier, save for the pump she still felt, but had to eat big to get big. That was of the many mantras of bodybuilding.

Susan's eldest, Billie, watched her gorge on the small mountain of pasta and chicken breast as though she had never eaten a thing in her life, listening begrudgingly to the regular slurps and burps. Billie knew there was only one reason why her mother was eating so much more than normal. Her father, even in his hesitance to do so, didn't need to tell her - it was right in front of her.

"Oh my God, you're bodybuilding again, aren't you?"

Clara, Susan's youngest, dropped her fork onto her plate in shock, the memories — or perhaps nightmares — of her mother's past obsessiveness coming back in a torrent. Clara distinctly remembered how Susan missed the dance recital she spent months practicing for because she was too busy getting her swole on in the basement gym, obsessively re-measuring her muscles in an attempt to see just how much bigger they'd gotten between sets and supersets. Neither Clara nor Billie wanted a repeat of that for their individual graduations.

"Yes, your mother has decided to go back to it. She argues it's to improve her health on account of being older now," Robert delivered. He spoke the words but wasn't particularly inclined to believe them. Especially her vow on no longer using steroids. "She's also going back to competing, though in smaller, indie contests."

Clara scoffed. "You don't actually believe that, do you? She's got that rush again, chasing after that Miss Mass shit."

Billie kept up watching Susan maintain her caloric intake. The young woman couldn't tell if her mother's silence was because of a decision to ignore Clara or if she was so obsessed with eating that she didn't even know someone was even talking. In any case, Billie eyeballed the vein running along Susan's arm and fought the urge to gag at its twitching like a worm writhing in dirt.

"No, sweetie, I won't be going for the Miss Mass contest anytime soon, " Susan mentioned matter-of-factly. Her words were truthful in every regard, but they were intended for now. There was no telling how she would feel about competing for the Miss Mass trophy several weeks from now, or even tomorrow for that matter. The fact was, Susan's opinion had the potential to change once she started noticing significant changes in her body. "I will be taking steroids again, though only in far smaller, wiser doses than before. Just to burn fat quicker."

"I knew it! You can't stop chasing the rush, can you?" Billie knew the circumstances involving her mother would be inevitable. Small steroid doses would eventually become bigger, and consequently more frequently injected to the point where it was almost second nature. "You'll just go back to the way you were before. You might think you won't, but we know you will. It doesn't affect you like it does us."

"Our graduations are coming up, Mum," Clara imparted in her signature mousy tone. "You'll just forget about them like you did all the other things we did as kids."

Susan knew Billie and Clara's words were truthful and even impacted her slightly, but the obsessive side of herself that took possession of her had hardened itself in its years of hibernation, thought of nothing but growth, size and strength.

Susan offered words her daughters wanted to hear. Whether they were truthful was altogether another matter. "I'll be there this time."

Billie and Clara weren't so quick to agree with their mother but gave her the benefit of the doubt. Susan would have to prove herself.

***

The next day...

Susan hadn't been to Wyatt's gym in years. Ever since the house basement had been renovated into the gym, she had all the time in the world to work out, with no-one ever telling her when she should stop or if the place was closing down for the night. But now that Susan was finally coming out of retirement, she needed to visit her old-time gym friend.

To call Wyatt a 'big guy' would be quite the understatement. If anything, 'an absolute monster of a gent' would be more appropriate. In the early years of Susan's career as a bodybuilder, he helped train her, and give her the usual 'peps' for faster growth. On the side, he'd been obsessively grooming his son, Trent, to be just as big, if not more so.

Susan looked around the gym. It had clearly been modernized quite a bit since her last visit, more machines than traditional weights. What was perhaps a pleasing constant, though, was the presence of women in the establishment, some of which were considerably stronger and larger than societal norms. One woman in particular caught Susan's attention. Grunting passionately as she performed flyes, Susan noticed her jaw was distinctly striated, no doubt an onset of rigorous steroid use. A striated jaw was just one of the many things Susan longed to once again boast.

Then the voice came.

Missus Jones? That you?"

Susan didn't immediately recognize the younger man, at first believing him to be a total stranger he mistook her for being someone else by the same name. But then the face came further into view as the guy approached with a smile. It was Trent, though he had quite obviously changed in recent years. Not just older, but larger too, his boulder shoulders stretching his shirt, pillar quads threatening to tear his shorts, a sausage thick vein at his temple twitching.

"Trent?! My, my, your father's turned you into quite the freak since we last saw each other, hasn't he?" Susan reminisced, remembering all the way back to April of two thousand six, when Wyatt had started Trent's first steroid cycle. Trent may have only been thirteen at the time, but it was something they seemed to agree on. Besides, he turned out alright despite the obvious fears. Susan grabbed his arm and squeezed. Solid. Like a real man's arm ought to be. Robert's was flabby by comparison. "I'm impressed. Surprised you remember me after all these years."

Trent laughed, his pecs pushing out against his shirt. "How could I forget? A woman as strong as yourself way back then breaking a man's arm in seven different places while arm-wrestling him, and completely shattering his collarbone in the process, isn't somebody one easily forgets."

Susan chuckled nervously. She'd completely forgotten about that until Trent brought it up. She was proud of her strength in that given moment, but not particularly fond of the screams the man bellowed when a bone pierced his shoulder. One of the reasons Susan decided to give up bodybuilding. "You must be, what, twenty now?

"Twenty-three, same as your Billie."

Susan smiled. "Your old man round? I'm here to do business with him?" Susan felt the need to speak in a hushed tone over the nature of her visit, but she couldn't have been anymore oblivious to the truth.

"He passed, actually. Last year. Heart failure. Though I supposed it was his own fault, really, given all those roids he'd been ladling into himself." Trent didn't seem particularly vexed by him being in a similar situation as his late father, being more chemically-fueled than a person ought to be. But then, he shouldn't have had such an outrageous bulge in his pants as he did now. And he wasn't even erect, just lucky to be well-endowed, even with all the hormone use.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear," Susan frowned. "Your mother?"

"As stubborn as ever," Trent joked.

They shared a chuckle, Trent's thick pecs bounding and slapping together, pressing even tighter against his shirt than before.

"The situation with steroids has changed quite a bit over the past decade or so. They're more of a shortcut than a means to cheat these days." Trent gestured to the row of clients using the treadmills. "They're all using them. All bought from me, no less. Took over father's side business as well as the gym after he passed."

"So we could just...do it right here, in front of everyone?"

"Everyone else does. Steroids are still illegal, mind you. It's just that nobody here's gonna snitch on you."

Susan felt particularly relieved to know nobody would think to look at her and Trent suspiciously as they casually talked about steroids she intended on buying, pulling her purse from her handbag. She opened it to reveal the blueish outline of several hundred pound notes. "So what do you have on offer? I assume you at least have the classics?"

"Yep. Clen, Tren, Winnie, Deca. All the classics." Trent could see the excited glint in Susan's eyes, making him smile. "But if you're looking for a bit more oomph, I've a little something you might be interested in."

Susan's eyes curled with curiosity. She liked oomph. She also liked the idea of knowing there was something out there that could help her see results at a rate faster than she was accustomed to from other drugs. "I'm listening."

Trent gestured for Susan to wait as he retreated into his office. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small vial. Susan was getting giddy merely at the prospect of knowing that whatever the drug would do, however big it would make her, however faster than all the others it would act, it was something she'd own. Her clit pulsed with excitement.

Upon his return, Trent showed the vial to Susan, holding it firmly between his thumb and index finger. "Trazoprosyn, or Trazo. Supposedly comes from somewhere out East. This is one of the first."

"What does it do?"

Trent laughed. "Asking the wrong question there, Missus Jones. What doesn't it do? Forty percent faster growth rate than Deca, doubles your metabolism so you can eat more to grow more, quadruples your libido, so you'll be fucking practically non-stop, quarters your sleep time, too. If dudes use it, their fucking dick and balls get bigger."

Susan glanced at Trent's bulge again. That explained why he was so big down there.

"It's basically the king of steroids, Missus Jones. Everything a bodybuilder's ever wanted is in this vial."

"Any side effects?" she asked.

"The company, of course, neglected to mention those before they sent out the sample. But folks like us, doing what we do, like to live dangerously, don't we? We get what we want, even if there are side effects."

That was an understatement. Susan and Trent both knew that. After all, at least one of them nearly died for being so obsessed with growing.

"So how much?" Susan thumbed the hundred pound notes stashed in her purse. Quite literally ready to give Trent everything she had just to get a taste of the Trazo.

Trent could see just how much this meant to her. "I would give this to my clients at two hundred a pop, but seeing as you're such a legend in these parts, Missus Jones, I'm willing to go as low as fifty for now. If you ever come back for another vial, we go back to two hundred. I'd say that's fair."

Susan flashed three, one hundred pound notes in Trent's face, practically shaking with suspense already. "Gimme two."

Trent chuckled softly. He should've known Susan would be so uppity about the Trazo. "I've only got the one right now, Missus Jones. Come back when I get my first boxed delivery."

"When?"

"Next month. Shit's not easy to make, you know."

Susan paid for the vial on hand, looking at it carefully. A clear, water-like liquid flowed inside. "Recommended dosage?"

"Shit's powerful, so five mill ougha cut it."

Susan nodded. In her prime, she had a tendency to deliberately OD, sometimes behind Wyatt's back. But if the Trazo was truly as powerful as Trent claimed, perhaps it wouldn't have been a good idea to OD on that. At least not until she knew just how 'powerful' it was at the recommended dose.