Muscle Maturity

By request - a continuation of the story, written with input from Literotica user curl4ever. If you like similarly themed stories, check out curl4ever's library here on Literotica. :)

*****

Three months after the sexy little contest between Judith and me in my basement gym, things were settling into a nice routine.

Judith's progress was simply remarkable. Hers was truly a physique built to lift. It helped that after the first few weeks, she and I were both willing and able to make more time during the week for our workouts. On Tuesdays she'd drive over -- on Thursdays I was in a position to arrive at her school a little earlier and give her a ride. Very fortuitous.

Yes, I thought to myself as I watched her go through the movements, it was all going very nicely indeed for us.

Judith loved to work out like a powerlifter -- it made her feel strong, she said, and moreover it actually was making her stronger, giving her an extremely solid strength foundation. She started following female CrossFit athletes and powerlifters on social media, picking up all kinds of useful training tips and nutritional advice that she asked my opinion about. I felt flattered, frankly, that she was running all that by me -- "I'm not that kind of doctor", as the old joke goes, and before long I felt I was learning as much from her gleanings as she was from me.

But Judith really did take what I said to heart, which in turn spurred me on to become more rigorous in evaluating information before passing it on. I wanted to be able to tell her accurate things about exercise plans, nutrition and so on. And I will say that her body itself was proof positive that what I had to say was correct, at least insofar as achieving the specific goals we both wanted for her.

"At this rate, you're going to be a real inspiration to other women," I said at one point, meaning that as a compliment.

But upon hearing that, she made a face. "You mean, like those Instagram models who want to become 'fitspirations' for others?" she laughed. "No, that's not really the attitude I have towards working out. Not really my cup of tea."

"Ah, I see. Of course you needn't flaunt your body in ways you don't like..."

"No, it's not that at all. I'm talking about the mentality of wanting to inspire other people, as you just said. That's not intrinsic motivation. They can do as they like, for their own reasons, but I don't think I need so much external validation for myself. I work out for my own interest, my own health and fitness... and for you, of course," she said, coyly peeling back the sleeve of her blouse and making her arm muscles bounce, causing me to flush and tug at my collar.

And just then, the waitress came by to clear our cups. "Nice guns," she remarked, beaming at Judith, who grinned back at her. "I bet you could take him." They shared a laugh at that, and then the waitress went off on her rounds, but something of a twinkle remained in Judith's eye as she gazed at me speculatively.

I lifted my coffee cup and made a mock toast to her. "That's one to you. You're officially an influencer now." She grimaced.

That waitress's playful throwaway comment stuck in my mind as we made our way back to my place. And Judith seemed to read my thoughts -- when we'd changed into our exercise apparel and were getting ready to start, she suddenly dragged a bench over between us and knelt on one side of it.

"Wanna see if that waitress was right?" she said, with a gleam in her eye. Then she propped up her right arm on the bench, challenging me to that age-old duel of strength and skill -- arm wrestling.

I gulped. What a formidable sight she presented -- in tank-top and Bermuda shorts, meaty shoulders bared, thick arm muscles tensed, hand held open in challenge, small quirk at the corner of her lips as she smirked. I took up my position opposite her, conscious that my growing erection was already visible through my shorts. Her gaze flicked down at it, and her teeth flashed in a smile.

"If we weren't just about to start our workout proper, I'd suggest the usual stakes for this," she chuckled. "But let's just see who takes this one."

I adjusted my grip a little clumsily -- it wasn't as if I had made a habit of engaging in this macho sort of activity often -- but it did feel good to have her fingers tightly wrapped around my hand. We did remember to hook our thumbs together. And then, we began.

She made a very gallant effort, and didn't try to use her body for leverage at all, so it was her arm against mine. So, naturally, I won -- but it was harder going than I expected. She resisted me every inch of the way, to the extent that she clenched her teeth and her face went red. I had to strain myself quite a bit to put her down those last few inches, especially.

But it was very nice to watch the way her biceps swelled up, and then stretched out as I pulled her down bit by bit. The delineating cleft between her shoulder and arm muscles stood out sharply. The hardened cord of her chest muscle beneath her breast flared and bulged.

When I finally pressed the back of her hand to the bench surface she let out her breath in a long sigh, and slumped. But I was breathing hard, and definitely feeling the exertion in my shoulder.

"Well, I tried, you big man, you," she said. "Guess I need to put some more bicep curls in my routine."

My eyes must've lit up visibly, because she chuckled and said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I smiled wryly. "It is in fact one of my favorite exercises."

"To perform, or to watch?"

"Well... both?"

"All right then, let's see about incorporating them into my workout! You'll teach me too, won't you? Train me to beat you at arm wrestling?" she said, winking playfully."

"It would be my absolute pleasure."

We did our usual workout that day. Afterwards, as we sat together topless and bathed in sweat, I had my arm around her shoulder, and she was leaning in. I hoped she was enjoying the feeling of our moist skin rubbing together as much as I was, but she didn't move away.

"Let's take care of that in a minute," she said, giving the tip of my erect cock a light rub through the fabric of my shorts. She had her phone out, and was looking up videos online.

"There, found it -- I saw this a while ago, and I was thinking, gee, this sure seems like something Jay would go for. I'm not wrong, am I?"

It was a video featuring a certain young Scandinavian woman, a world-renowned champion arm wrestler. I swallowed hard as Judith held her phone up for me. Even I had heard of this one. Those shoulders... and that back, more thickly-muscle than any man I knew, myself included... and those incredible bicep peaks. I might have gotten a bit glassy-eyed as the video played on, and she slammed down the arms of various men over and over again, sometimes within seconds of the match starting. She had strength, speed, skill... the only thing not truly being showcased in this particular video was stamina.

"She's really something, isn't she?" Judith said, breaking me out of my reverie. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"Yes, yes she is. So you came across her video, huh?" I said, affecting nonchalance.

Judith reached down, and began stroking and caressing the head of my penis as she spoke. "What I'm really impressed by is the sheer amount of mass she has on her back, and her definition too. She's got it all, the thickness and the shape. And her front, as well -- I really love the way her chest looks. They look so full and thick. And those lines, the striations, along the top! I'd love to have a chest like that. What do you think, Jay?"

"I, um..." Thinking was something that was becoming increasingly hard to do. "She's got amazing pectoral development for sure. I think that's a kind of physical ideal, and her muscles certainly do look very good, but so do yours... of course..."

"Why, thank you," she said. "Do you think I could train to make my chest look like that? Would you help me try and achieve this look? Or at least something approaching it, I mean this is a really high bar to set," she said, laughing and shaking her head, awed by that Scandinavian woman's superb physique. "She's half my age, I think, and that's not even an exaggeration!"

"I would... love that," I gasped, because she had just grabbed me by the shaft and was now rubbing it up and down in small quick motions. "It's... it's too bad, you know," I said, trying to stave off my arousal a bit, "she seems to have gotten implants recently... that video isn't current..."

She made a moue. "Well, it's her choice, for her body," she said, looking again at the video. Then she sighed. "Such a pity though. I don't think I will ever want breast augmentation for myself."

"I would support that," I said, wriggling and squirming slightly. Her grip was getting firmer. "I would prefer if you didn't, because I like you as you are, natural. I like natural. Like you. I like you." My brain was a little starved of blood, by that point.

"Well, I've gone nearly 50 years without them, and I'm none the worse for it.. I don't suppose I need them all of a sudden."

"No, indeed not."

Judith put her phone down and got off the bench, to kneel in front of me. "You know how to help me train my chest and arms, then?" she said, looking up at me, with her own mischievous version of doe-eyes. "You'll help me sculpt my upper body?"

"I would do everything I can to help you chisel it," I said sincerely, taking firm hold of her shoulders.

She smiled happily, and yanked down my shorts to let my cock spring out eagerly. A drop of pre-cum was already coming out the tip. "I'm ready for my protein shake," she quipped, as she took me slowly into her mouth, and began bobbing her head up and down.

Halfway through, I closed my eyes momentarily, awash in the sensations, and when I opened them again she had tilted her head up a little, and still had her lips around the bulb of my glans. Wordlessly, she brought her arms up in a flex, resting her triceps on my thighs.

Her beefy biceps and shoulders were just irresistible. I clamped onto them with a claw grip, and my fingers dug into her flesh so hard that after I'd finished cumming into her mouth and slumped, I noticed I'd left red marks on her upper arms.

"Oh dear," I said, in some consternation, and reached out to see what damage I'd done.

But Judith simply drew herself up before me, and flexed proudly. She was tough, for sure. A little thing like that would hardly affect her.

And besides, as it transpired later on, she was hardly shy about leaving me love bites on my own chest!

She had already begun doing the bench press along with me, as part of building her strength foundation, but at first she found it hard to adopt a properly tight stance as powerlifters did. I found it difficult, myself, to put all the principles I was teaching her into work, for my own part. The lower back arch, for instance -- I couldn't really arch all that much, not without causing some persistent lower back pain for hours afterwards. Training in such a way that we got soreness of that nature was neither desirable nor practical for us; we both had work to be getting on with, and fairly busy schedules at that. I couldn't very well lie down on my office couch all day because I was having a stiff back. Neither could Judith walk around in school from classroom to classroom groaning from too much DOMS (delayed-onset muscle soreness)!

So we could get a decent pump during workouts, and for quite some time afterwards, but we had to be extra rigorous when it came to form so as to avoid injury or excessive fatigue. As it was for squats and deadlifts, so it was for the bench press: butt on bench, feet planted firmly, lower back arch moderate, shoulders retracted, elbows out at a good angle. It was good having a workout partner like Judith who learned quickly and soaked up new information like a sponge -- in no time at all she was helping to spot me and watch out for my lifting technique, just as I was doing for her.

For the bench press, she got up to pushing out an impressive 5 reps of 135lbs, only needing minimal assistance from me for the last couple of reps. She had made tremendous progress, and had achieved a more than decent level of upper-body strength. She knew that as well as I did. I could of course bench more, but that was hardly a fair comparison.

"If I'm not mistaken," I told her, "this already puts you quite a bit above the national average."

"Then maybe the national average could do with a bit of pushing up," she chuckled.

"Well, like I said, people just need more 'fitspiration' from women like you!" I exclaimed.

But she just laughed and shook her head.

"I assure you," I told her very seriously, "if you were the least bit inclined to start up an Instagram page of your own, or any other social media platform, and start showing your progress, people would flock to follow you. Flock, I say."

But she always shook her head whenever I suggested anything like that, and said she cherished her privacy, which of course I could respect.

It did feel more special, in a way, since I knew that I was basically the only person who could see her body in all its mature muscular glory. When she was wearing only a pair of flimsy shorts and extending a leg, rotating it this way and that, flexing her thick quads, curling her bulging hamstrings and clenching her round glutes, I was the only man in her life who could get to sit back and enjoy her show. When she strode around after a big set of deadlifts, wiping the sweat from her brow with one hand while planting the other on her sturdy waist, with its small muffin-top roll at her waist just above her tights, and the faint but visible lines of muscle on her abdomen coming into relief one moment and fading away the next, I was the only man who could reach out and put my hands on her midriff, and squeeze to my heart's content.

Judith had acquired a definite tapered shape to her whole torso. It was the product of the regimen I'd drawn up. It included as much pushing as pulling -- pull-ups and bent-over rows to balance the bench presses and standing barbell presses. The squats and deadlifts continued adding bulk to her frame. She was definitely getting a solid "strongwoman" look. In just a few weeks, she'd be ready to switch over to a muscle-building focus, and start doing bicep curls.

Already I was daydreaming regularly about the various permutations of bicep curls I'd get her to do. I envisioned Judith doing wide grip... close grip... pronated grip... hammer curls with dumbbells... one-arm preacher curls... and so on. I grinned to myself as I thought about how she would sweat and groan and curse her way through sets of twenty-ones. It would be biceps heaven.

The weeks passed. Her schedule at school got busier -- these things were seasonal in nature, after all. Yet she made a point of not skipping any of our gym sessions. For my part, I did likewise. Having Judith around gave me added impetus to adhere strictly to my disciplined routine. I liked to think we were really good for each other in that respect, and she agreed.

And then, just before the summer break commenced, she was in my basement gym after a particularly tough push-pull day. I had been performing drop sets of inclined dumbbell presses, with her assistance, and I was lying on the bench catching my breath. For her part, she'd just finished a superset of standing barbell presses and pull-ups, to save time and also ramp up intensity, and she was contemplating herself in the full-length mirror I'd installed.

"You look magnificent," I told her. My arms were hanging down by my sides. My upper chest was pleasantly tight, and I knew I'd feel the soreness even in the morning, but for the chest it was fine, since it didn't impede my movements much -- I'd just wince a little whenever I shifted, but I could cover that up at work.

She didn't reply, but continued looking at her reflection, with her hands on her hips. As was her habit, she was wearing only bottoms -- yoga pants this time.

As I watched, with a silly grin growing on my face, she raised her arms and began flexing and posing, turning this way and that. And then, I noticed she was trying to pulse her chest muscles.

My eyes widened, and with an effort I leaned forward off my bench to get a better look. She was trying -- and succeeding! -- to alternately twitch her left and right chest, making her breasts jump one at a time. The movement was still small, but noticeable.

"You're doing it!" I couldn't help exclaiming.

She turned and grinned. "New party trick!"

"Would be some party, if you were to do it at one," I said with a straight face. "Shall we invite the Hendersons over next week, Judith? Perhaps at some point you and Mrs. Henderson could... compare notes."

"Oh you horny old satyr. Already thinking of bringing other women into it. And a married woman, no less." Judith turned back to the mirror, and performed a lat spread, with fists on hips, as she and I had seen bodybuilders do. From behind, I could see her back visibly bulge. I gaped. She had indeed improved by leaps and bounds! Her back wasn't quite at Scandinavian level, perhaps, but it was certainly thicker than ever, or at least compared to the last time I'd really taken a close look. There was no mistake -- Judith was a woman gifted with rare muscle-building potential.

"I think I'm ready to start going for more mass now," she announced. "On chest and arms. You remember, Jay, don't you? As we discussed. So I can own your ass at arm wrestling."

"I certainly recall, and I did promise I'd help to train you so you could whoop my ass, yes," I said agreeably. "But don't change the subject, Judith, we were speaking of a dinner party..."

"Horny old goat!"

Before I knew it she had clambered atop me on the inclined bench, and was pinning me by my shoulders while straddling my lower body. "Just you try getting out of this one, tough guy," she said, smirking, and started gyrating her pelvis in slow circles, rubbing her crotch against mine with predictable results. "Come on, show me your manly power. Use your chest and arms against mine. Go on, try it."

Obligingly I grabbed her wrists and forearms -- they really had gotten thicker, her forearms -- and pushed in desultory fashion. "Oh, it's too much, you're too strong for me," I groaned, giving up and slumping.

"Oh no you don't, you wimp. That was hardly anything. Come on, give it a real go. Really try. I want to see your manly muscles really work," she said with a low growl, like a tigress.

Well, I wanted to see her womanly muscles work too! I grabbed her wrists again, and tried harder this time to at least budge her arms a little. We both started grunting as we engaged in our impromptu test of strength, using our fatigued muscles.

She licked her lips as she gazed down at my chest. "Oh yes... that's good..." she moaned, while she continued to ride me like a rodeo machine.

I knew I didn't exactly have the chest of Lou Ferrigno or Franco Columbo, but Judith had always remarked on how pleasantly broad my chest and shoulders were, and she often complimented me on my overall leanness. I could at least pass for a slightly bulkier Sean Connery type, I supposed. She seemed to like whatever she was seeing, in any case.

Her fingers dug in almost painfully, and her lips parted as we started to struggle in earnest; she strove to keep her hands planted on my shoulders, while I strained to move them off. Our arms began trembling with the effort. I suppose she was liking the pumped look I had so soon after my drop set. And her own pump was extremely enjoyable to behold, too.

Slowly, I managed to lift her hands off me, the barest fraction of an inch. She bared her teeth, expelled her breath with a loud grunt, took in another huge lungful of air, and pushed down harder. And ever so slowly, my tired arms, shoulders and chest gave way before hers, until her hands were firmly planted on me again, holding me down.