Trophy Wife Pt. 01

Susan was a hypocrite.

Tiffany noted the silence between them. "We done? Can we get back to training now? Wanna get my arms up to nineteen inches by the month's end."

Susan begrudgingly agreed. There wasn't much point in arguing with Tiffany now, seeing her curl the seventy-pound dumbbells with an air of vanity in her smile. Susan felt the same way once, believing she could take on the entire world. Of course it was just a foolish fantasy easily swept away by the realities of the world.

Susan moved away from the posing mirrors and opened Tiffany's duffel bag when she wasn't looking, far too enamored by her own sweaty reflection to notice or care. Several strips of steroid pills were revealed by the light. There was Clenbuterol, Deca-Durabolin, Winstrol and a whole assortment of others casually stuffed at the bottom of the bag's lining. Susan dreaded to wonder. It was one thing for Tiffany to be using for so long as she claimed, but another thing entirely if she was cocktailing all the steroids she had at her disposal. Where did she get them all anyway?

The bag was zipped up again and stored under the bench press. Tiffany's grunts of effort filled the space as Susan moved to the metal-framed locker in the corner. Opening it, its various contents were revealed: two pairs of weightlifting gloves, a first aid kit, cleaning wipes, and a compact zip bag small as one's palm. The bag was opened, revealing a a syringe and vial. The last of the Trazo Trent gifted Susan, which she was itching to take. She wasn't quite sure why, but something told her it would be wise to hide that from Tiffany. Sure, she had no idea it even existed, but it was stashed in with the other widely-used stuff.

Susan put the bag back in the locker and locked it tightly. She'd have to find another, safer place to hide the Trazo when Tiffany was done.

"Okay, stop. That'll be you for the day."

Tiffany loosened her grip on the dumbbells, listening to them fall onto the nearby mat with a dull thud. Didn't bother re-racking them or wiping them down. Her arms raised, she flexed proudly, seeing her biceps rise to their impressive peaks. Tiffany knew for certain if she maintained her rigorous regimen under Susan's tutalage she'd not only achieve her desired goal of possessing nineteen inch biceps, but surpass it too.

"Stick to your diet at home. Seventy percent of one's gains are made in the kitchen. Remember that," Susan educated Tiffany, watching her pack up. "It doesn't matter how hard you train...or how many steroids you take."

Susan berated herself mentally, being hypocritical again.

"When will I see you again?" Tiffany queried, tying her hair up in a bun, her bicep bulging casually, its split distinctive and peak sharp.

"Two days from now. Got some stuff to do here. And Tiff...take it easy on the roid, huh?"

Tiffany's smile spoke for her. It wasn't an indication of acknowledgment so much as one of snide rebellion. Tiffany had no intention on stopping taking steroids. Not when she knew each dose brought her just that little bit closer to her goal.

***

When Trent woke up, he felt a sensation of confusion swarm him. He didn't remember going to bed during the night. In fact, the last thing Trent did remember was sitting in the living room drinking tea at three o'clock in the afternoon...the previous day. A whole nineteen hours were unaccounted for!

He climbed out of bed, his prized dong swaying freely to and fro as he made his way to the window, rain gently pitter-pattering off the glass. He tried recollecting the events over the several lost hours, yet was met with nothing but a complete mental block, which worried Trent. He was never like this. Perhaps it would all come back to him in time?

Trent turned away from the window and froze when he realized the right side of his bed was occupied. It was too small to be Taylor, so had to be someone else. What the fuck was in that tea that made Trent forget the fact he quite obviously did the dirty with someone other than his fiancé? Albeit the fiancé he didn't really want in the first place.

Trent pulled back the quilt. That was when his heart sank.

Trent's mother Angela stretched as she sat upright on the headboard, frizzy bed hair obstructing her view, her breasts bare and perty. A yawn escaped her lungs before a smile crept along her lips, looking at the clock. "God, is that the time? Must've been a lot of fun."

Trent's head was spinning. 'Fun.' What the hell did his mother mean by that, he wondered, still trying to process the fact she was in his bed. Looking around the room, Trent spotted her underwear on the floor, her bra clung loosely to one of his trophies, and a spent condom on his bedside cabinet.

"What the fuck happened? Did we..." Trent trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence in his head in case it ended up becoming reality. Of course, he was fooling himself for thinking it wasn't already, what with all the evidence strewn around the room.

Angela chuckled heartily, which was enough to reinforce the already crippling sense of anxiety within Trent. "Fuck? Oh definitely."

A swarm of questions flooded Trent's mind: How? Why? What? Where? When? A whole plethora of others too. So many of them swirling around at once, causing Trent to feel dizzy and sit in the chair in the corner.

"Taylor made complaints about your inability to perform. You can imagine my disappointment in that alone, so I had to step up." Angela's eyes wandered, gazing longingly at Trent's muscled chest, dipping further down at his awkward morning wood and bitting her lip suggestively. "I put a little something in your tea during your massage last night. Had to make sure you didn't have any erectile issues. And well, we went at it like dogs, really. It just seemed to come naturally."

Angela climbed out of bed and loosely wrapped her floral nightgown around her body, leaving just enough of a window for her cleavage to be seen. "I knew you wouldn't commit to the sex willingly, which is why I opted for the tea. I may have used a bit too much."

Trent's head was buried in his hands. He just couldn't believe the words coming out of his mother's mouth. "Suppose I should be glad I at least used a condom."

"Well, at first. You only had the one and were finished with it fairly quickly, so..." Angela parted the gown slowly so she could reveal the dried-up remains of an obvious creampie that occurred at some point during the night. "...we spent the rest of the night doing it au naturel."

Trent's eyes grew wide with shock. He watched his mother approach and cup her hand around his cheek. He was tearing up. Had every reason to, of course. Angela wiped the tear from Trent's eye and kissed him softly on the lips. It was on odd moment — she half-expected Trent to pull away and shout in protest, but he didn't. He still stopped abruptly, just not to argue in turn.

"You can't get pregnant, can you?" Trent queried with trepidation, his voice breaking.

"No, no, no. I'm on the pill. Pretty sure I can't at this point anyway. Just had to make sure you could still get it up, sweetie. We all know those steroids you've been using can affect your libido. This is just going to be our little secret, okay baby? Taylor doesn't need to know."

Trent nodded.

"Now, relax." Angela knelt down between Trent's knees, grabbing his shaft firmly. "Mommy doesn't want this to go to waste."

Trent arched backwards with a sigh as a warm wetness engulfed him and Angela started gagging.

***

The scream was loud, piercing the air as it echoed fiercely through the hallway, down the basement stairs and into Trent's private gym, garnering his attention. He was one rep away from besting his bench press record, and yet the scream took precedence over Trent's obsession to best himself. He hastily swiped the warm towel from the rack and placed it over his bare shoulder as he bounded upstairs.

"Trent!" His mother called from round the corner, into the kitchen. He moved into the room, his heart bounding from equal parts terror and adrenaline, hands placed firmly on his hips as he looked at her stare into the cupboard with a deadpan expression.

"What?"

Angela didn't immediately respond to Trent. Instead, she froze as his chiseled and pumped chest and abs came into view, glistening with sweat. She forgot he was working out, biting her lip as a solitary vein across the peak of his bicep throbbed.

Shaking her head, Angela plucked a box of Trazo from the cupboard and presented it to Trent, its contents rattling around inside as she shook the plastic carton. "There were at least ten boxes of this earlier this week. Now there's only the one. Where did they all go?"

Trent knew lying to his mother was pointless. Not only would she know that he was, on account of her motherly instincts, it just wouldn't do any good either. All the same, Trent rubbed his neck nervously, knowing his mother would scold him. "I sold a few boxes on the side. Honestly thought you wouldn't notice."

Angela scoffed, the box now held loosely in her grip as the truth was revealed to her. "Honey, you know I regularly check these. Gotta make sure you get your doses in. Besides, you don't need to sell these. You get plenty of money through your sponsorships."

"It's just a bit of extra cash on the side. There was more than enough made in sales to buy back over four times that much anyway."

Angela raised her brow and started doing some mental arithmetic. One could always tell when her right eye turned inward. So that meant— "You earned three hundred pounds from selling the Trazo? That's how much this stuff's worth on the market?"

Truthfully, Trent wasn't aware he'd amassed that much income over the last few weeks. He sold the drug to those desperate enough to want it, but didn't care for how much money was actually gained from the fact. "I guess? I didn't sell it all at once, you know."

Angela looked at the box inquisitively, realising she'd effectively struck gold with the drug. The drug she manufactured.

Angela put the box back into the cupboard and closed it over. A part of her wished Trent had just told her the truth at the present moment. She'd always been supportive of his decisions. Or at least most of the time.

Angela opened the cupboard adjacent to the one containing the Trazo and pulled out a small pill carton different from the one she'd held previously, white with an orange stripe and baby's face in the center. Trent saw the box and knew immediately where the conversation was heading.

"Since we both know you've been having trouble getting Taylor pregnant, I figured these would help." Angela placed the pill carton in Trent's hand and wrapped his fingers around it tightly, offering a smile a him. "Make sure she takes two a day."

"But Mum, we've barely had time to—" Trent paused, seeing his mother's scolding glance. Truthfully, Trent and Taylor agreed to only have sex when she was at her most fertile time of the month. This was not exactly per their agreement. It was to both see it through and the fact both knew they never had any feelings for one another. Trent did it to keep on his mother's good side and Taylor did it for the money.

"I want grandchildren, Trent. Lots and lots of them. I know you can do it with that smashing big rod of yours." Angela placed her hands on Trent's cheeks and smiled at him. "Do it for me. Please?"

Trent weighed his options mentally, before realizing he didn't have any.

***

Trent looked at the box of fertility pills curiously as he sat at his desk, the rhythmic clanking of steel on steel in the gym sounding in the background, coupled predictably with grunts of varied tones, some masculine, others feminine. He could tell his clients were powering through the Trazo he sold, their mass doubling in size in mere days. Trent counted himself lucky the drug only exhibited desirable effects, else the women would no doubt be halfway to becoming men at this point, like his fiancée Taylor.

Susan stood at the opposite end of the desk with folded arms, her eyes scolding Trent as had yet to register her presence, even though she'd already spoke to him. Trent was just too focused on the box of pills to notice. "Why don't you take your eyes off those for a minute and listen to me," she said, plucking the box from Trent.

Trent finally acknowledged Susan, bringing his eyes up to her pecs, his cock instantly lurching at their thickness and vascularity.

Susan lost her initial train of thought when she noticed the symbols on the box, then smiled. "What's this, huh? Thinking about knocking someone up, are we?"

"My mum..." Trent noticed Susan raised her brow. It was at that point he realized his mistake. "Oh no, it was her idea. She wants me to get my fiancée pregnant."

Susan's brow remained raised, though this time it became more distinct, rising sharper at Trent's mentioning of his fiancée. "A fiancée? I was unaware you had one."

Trent didn't say much about his revelation. Didn't have to, really. His expression spoke for him: his face beet red with discomfiture. Of course, it wasn't until only a few days ago Trent realized he had a fiancée, albeit one contractually arranged by his demonstrably controlling mother without him realizing.

Susan handed the box back and decided to change the subject, understanding the fiancée was a touchy one. "Anyway...I'm here to talk about Tiffany."

Trent scoffed. "She giving you a hard time already? It's only been a few days."

"Her progress is coming along well. Not to mention her growth, which is what I wanted to talk about." Susan dropped a couple of boxes of steroid pills onto the desk, presenting one of them squarely in front of Trent's face. He was deadpan, not quite sure what Susan was getting at. "I found these in her duffel bag yesterday. The last I checked, you can only get winny in this part of town from you."

"What're you getting at, Missus Jones?"

"What I'm 'getting at,' Trent, is you're selling drugs to kids." Susan put the boxes back in her handbag and glared at Trent, who'd now viewed her differently from the woman he grew up to idolize and respect. "I saw the track marks across both her arms. You can play Connect the Dots with them, there's so many. And to think she's only sixteen."

Trent fired back with both barrels, laying the truth down in front of Susan. "You're such a hypocrite. As I understand it, you were no different at Tiffany's age when you started taking bodybuilding seriously."

Susan's heart stung as Trent's words cut deep. He was right. They both knew that. "That's why I'm concerned for her. I don't mind Tiffany taking the sport seriously, but don't want her to make the same mistakes either. Taking steroids at her age is not going to do any good in the long term, will just stunt her physical growth. Any extreme dedication she might develop along the way will just destroy what relationships she has with people. Believe me, I know what it's like to have to mend fences with your loved ones. I don't want Tiffany to have to go through that."

An admirable smile formed across Trent's mouth. "You really do care for her, don't you?"

"I do."

"But even then, you have to understand you can't force Tiffany to do something she doesn't want to do. You're her trainer, not her mother who might feel differently about the situation." Trent could see the confidence drain from Susan, no doubt dreading about the possibility of Tiffany's parents permitting the rampant abuse of steroids.

"I'll talk to the parents myself if it comes to that. Just do me a favor and keep all your pills away from Tiffany. I've already locked what little I have left of the Trazo away from her."

"Still have some of that left if you want a little 'pick-me-up.'" Trent could see Susan's blouse strain under the pressure from her blood-engorged biceps and pumpkin'd shoulders. "You look like you're coming down from your Trazo high."

Susan acknowledged Trent with a nod and bit her lip at the prospect of more Trazo being in her possession. Of course, this all made her hypocritical against what they both just talked about, but Susan didn't care. "How much?"

"Two vials. Fifty each."

Susan didn't even hesitate, reaching for her purse. Trent left the desk and headed into his office. Curiously, though definitely not coincidentally, Susan had just the right amount of cash handy, almost as if she had every intention of at least asking Trent for more Trazo anyway, whether he brought it up or not. He came back a few minutes later with the vials and handed them to Susan, she parting with the wad of cash in turn.

"Remember what you said: keep it locked away from Tiffany," Trent reminded.

Susan nodded, putting the vials in her handbag. "Yeah, I'll do that soon as I get home."

"Good," Trent smiled.

***

Tiffany sat at her desk in her corner of her room on the computer, wearing a baggy gray hoodie and her hair let down over it. At first glance the presentation of Tiffany was relatively normal and inconspicuous, but upon closer inspection one could notice the hoodie's sleeves were clearly struggling to contain her burgeoning biceps, the fabric pulling and tearing. She smartly opted for shorts so her equally thick quads had the chance to breathe properly even as they spilled over the chair. layered with soft veins and the occasional track mark.

Tiffany browsed the Internet for a new posing suit. She had expressed interest in taking part in her first bodybuilding competition in the near future and looking at the glitzy outfits inspired her to see that dream become reality. Several other tabs were open in the browser: an online "pharmacy" that sold essentially all steroids known to man; at least three separate casual gymwear store tabs, and one with the site 'She-Meat,' a subscription-based website dedicated wholly to female muscle.

Tiffany dared to reach for her nearby protein shake that had a cocktail of steroids and hormones mixed through it, causing her sleeve to bust and expose her bicep peak. "Fuck," she cursed, peeling back the exposed fabric. Her voice was deeper than it was yesterday, coming close to her father's. In hindsight, the hoodie ripping didn't bother Tiffany that much. Sure, it was one of her favorites, but she was quickly outgrowing it because of the new cocktails.

"Mum! Can you cook up some more steak?"

"How many you want?" Jackie called up from faintly from downstairs.

"How many do we have?"

Tiffany's twin brother Christopher came in unexpectedly as usual without knocking and came up to her side, looking at the posing suits with an equal amount of — though not for the same reason — interest. A smirk crept along his lips, which Tiffany spotted with the corner of her eye. "You know Mum's gonna kill you if you buy one of those. Letting you do bodybuilding is one thing. Walking around in that—"

"My money, I'll do what I want with it."

Tiffany's mentioning of money roused curiosity in her brother. Unlike him, she didn't have a part-time job at the local store. So just how was she able to pay for all her stuff, glancing at the unopened tubs of protein powder in the corner stacked up like a pyramid. "Just where do you get all that money anyway?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out." Tiffany closed the 'She-Meat' tab on her browser, seemingly with haste.

"Alright, no need to get your panties in a bunch." Christopher sized Tiffany up and offered a sly grin. "That is, if they still fit," he jested.

Tiffany slapped her brother's shoulder, he laughed before leaving, though waiting a few moments before rubbing the stinging pain that came from Tiffany's slap.

When the coast was clear, she opened a new tab and logged into her She-Meat account, revealing a plethora of images and videos for her paying fans: pictures of her flexing, videos of her working out in her room and recordings of her streams with her fans. Truthfully, Tiffany was making a killing on the She-Meat scene. She was a newcomer, but showed potential. A potential she strove to see blossom and actively exploit. Seeing her earnings from the past week, Tiffany was up £1000, earning more in a week than her brother Christopher did in a month.