Bodybuilder size
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 10
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Verosika's transformation settled like a storm finally breaking—muscles blooming beneath that golden-bronze skin in perfect, sculpted waves. She had become a bodybuilder in every sense: thick, powerful deltoids capping broad yet elegant shoulders; biceps that peaked like soft mountains when she flexed; triceps horseshoe-cut and defined; a back that flared into a dramatic V-shape tapering to a wasp waist; abs carved so deeply they looked etched in marble; quads that swept outward in teardrop perfection while thighs stayed long and shapely; calves diamond-hard. Yet none of it ruined her femininity. If anything, the sheer mass amplified it—adding lethal danger to her already smug, haughty sensuality. Every curve was still lush, breasts still impossibly full and firm atop a powerful chest, hips still wide and swaying, ass still round and high. The muscles didn't hide her softness; they framed it, made her look like a goddess who could seduce you one second and snap your neck the next.
She stretched languidly, arms rising overhead, lats spreading like wings, traps rising to frame her swan neck. Golden skin stretched taut over every ridge and valley—no fat, no softness to blur the edges, just pure, shredded definition that shifted like tectonic plates with every breath. Loona—still sprawled on the soaked sheets, chest heaving, eyes glassy—barely lifted her head. Even at her full height and greater raw bulk, Loona suddenly looked… smaller. Less dangerous. Verosika radiated violence in a way the bodyguard never had: controlled, smug, inevitable.
Niffty stood frozen in the doorway, duster dangling forgotten from her fingers, mouth open in a tiny, shocked circle. Her lady—once a graceful, curvaceous swan—had become an Amazon in minutes.
Verosika sauntered to the full-length wall mirror, hips rolling, glutes and hamstrings flexing with every step, ass bouncing in hypnotic rhythm. She stopped, planted her feet wide, and raised one arm into a classic double-bicep pose. Peaks rose high, veins threading delicately across the surface like rivers on a map. She smirked at her reflection—smug, predatory, utterly satisfied.
"Odette did say something about big muscles," she murmured to herself, voice a velvet purr. "Guess the little nerd wasn't entirely wrong."
An hour later.
Niffty—still dazed, cheeks flushed—ushered the four women into the master bedroom like a frightened usher at a theater of horrors.
Charlie, Lute, Cherri Bomb, and Sallie May stopped dead three steps inside.
Verosika lounged in a massive velvet armchair like a queen on her throne. The pink silk robe she'd thrown on was laughably small now—sleeves straining over cannonball shoulders, belt barely knotting around a waist that looked carved from oak, hem riding scandalously high on thighs thick as tree trunks yet still impossibly long and shapely. Loona stood beside her like a loyal (if exhausted) sentinel—naked except for a hastily grabbed sheet, head bowed, still catching her breath from earlier.
On the dresser beside Verosika sat the aftermath of indulgence: empty vodka bottle, scattered cocaine residue, cigarette butts in a crystal ashtray. She held a fresh cigarette between long crimson talons, took a slow drag, then lifted a half-full glass of blood-red wine to her lips. Smoke curled from her nostrils as she exhaled.
The four women stared—mouths open, eyes wide, unable to process the goddess before them.
Verosika set the glass down with deliberate slowness, crossed one massive leg over the other (muscles jumping under golden skin), and leaned forward just enough to make her chest strain the robe's neckline. She flexed subtly—pecs bouncing her breasts upward, shoulders rounding—then smiled, wicked and smug.
"Well hello, darlings," she purred, voice richer, deeper, dripping sex and menace. "Miss me?"
Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.
Charlie finally found her voice, small and trembling. "V-Verosika… what… what happened to you?"
Verosika tilted her head, batting long lashes innocently. "What ever do you mean, Charlie? I'm the same perfect bitch I've always been."
Cherri—usually fearless—pointed with a shaking finger at Verosika's right arm, which rested casually on the chair arm, bicep already half-peaked even at rest. "Your… your arm. It's… huge."
Verosika giggled—a sound that sent shivers down spines—and flexed. The bicep exploded upward into a perfect, softball-sized peak, veins threading across it like lightning. The robe sleeve tore with a soft rip.
"Oh, this?" she said airily, admiring the swell. "I started going to the gym. You know… cardio, weights, the usual. Feels amazing."
The lie was so blatant, so shameless, it was almost performance art. The girls exchanged panicked glances. They knew she'd finished a stadium show three hours ago looking like a curvy pop diva—not this shredded, towering Amazon who looked like she could bench-press a tour bus.
Verosika took another drag, exhaled smoke in a perfect ring, and leaned back, robe parting to flash deep cleavage and the shadowed valley between her abs.
"Anyway," she continued breezily, as if she hadn't just flexed her way into legend, "I've been thinking. The last tour was cute, but I'm already bored. We need to start planning the next one. Bigger venues. Nastier themes. More… me."
Charlie swallowed hard. "Verosika… your fans… how are we supposed to explain… this?"
Verosika's smile turned razor-sharp.
What happens next?
1. Cherri comments without thinking that Verosika can present a new look, the muscle bitch. Verosika likes the idea and starts developing it, Charlie comments that she will need to disappear for a few months so that the new look does not look unnatural and strange and suspicious.
2. Verosika reluctantly explains in part what happened to her, presenting it as some kind of accident, the girls try how they can hide the new Verosika from the fans until they understand her situation better.
She stretched languidly, arms rising overhead, lats spreading like wings, traps rising to frame her swan neck. Golden skin stretched taut over every ridge and valley—no fat, no softness to blur the edges, just pure, shredded definition that shifted like tectonic plates with every breath. Loona—still sprawled on the soaked sheets, chest heaving, eyes glassy—barely lifted her head. Even at her full height and greater raw bulk, Loona suddenly looked… smaller. Less dangerous. Verosika radiated violence in a way the bodyguard never had: controlled, smug, inevitable.
Niffty stood frozen in the doorway, duster dangling forgotten from her fingers, mouth open in a tiny, shocked circle. Her lady—once a graceful, curvaceous swan—had become an Amazon in minutes.
Verosika sauntered to the full-length wall mirror, hips rolling, glutes and hamstrings flexing with every step, ass bouncing in hypnotic rhythm. She stopped, planted her feet wide, and raised one arm into a classic double-bicep pose. Peaks rose high, veins threading delicately across the surface like rivers on a map. She smirked at her reflection—smug, predatory, utterly satisfied.
"Odette did say something about big muscles," she murmured to herself, voice a velvet purr. "Guess the little nerd wasn't entirely wrong."
An hour later.
Niffty—still dazed, cheeks flushed—ushered the four women into the master bedroom like a frightened usher at a theater of horrors.
Charlie, Lute, Cherri Bomb, and Sallie May stopped dead three steps inside.
Verosika lounged in a massive velvet armchair like a queen on her throne. The pink silk robe she'd thrown on was laughably small now—sleeves straining over cannonball shoulders, belt barely knotting around a waist that looked carved from oak, hem riding scandalously high on thighs thick as tree trunks yet still impossibly long and shapely. Loona stood beside her like a loyal (if exhausted) sentinel—naked except for a hastily grabbed sheet, head bowed, still catching her breath from earlier.
On the dresser beside Verosika sat the aftermath of indulgence: empty vodka bottle, scattered cocaine residue, cigarette butts in a crystal ashtray. She held a fresh cigarette between long crimson talons, took a slow drag, then lifted a half-full glass of blood-red wine to her lips. Smoke curled from her nostrils as she exhaled.
The four women stared—mouths open, eyes wide, unable to process the goddess before them.
Verosika set the glass down with deliberate slowness, crossed one massive leg over the other (muscles jumping under golden skin), and leaned forward just enough to make her chest strain the robe's neckline. She flexed subtly—pecs bouncing her breasts upward, shoulders rounding—then smiled, wicked and smug.
"Well hello, darlings," she purred, voice richer, deeper, dripping sex and menace. "Miss me?"
Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.
Charlie finally found her voice, small and trembling. "V-Verosika… what… what happened to you?"
Verosika tilted her head, batting long lashes innocently. "What ever do you mean, Charlie? I'm the same perfect bitch I've always been."
Cherri—usually fearless—pointed with a shaking finger at Verosika's right arm, which rested casually on the chair arm, bicep already half-peaked even at rest. "Your… your arm. It's… huge."
Verosika giggled—a sound that sent shivers down spines—and flexed. The bicep exploded upward into a perfect, softball-sized peak, veins threading across it like lightning. The robe sleeve tore with a soft rip.
"Oh, this?" she said airily, admiring the swell. "I started going to the gym. You know… cardio, weights, the usual. Feels amazing."
The lie was so blatant, so shameless, it was almost performance art. The girls exchanged panicked glances. They knew she'd finished a stadium show three hours ago looking like a curvy pop diva—not this shredded, towering Amazon who looked like she could bench-press a tour bus.
Verosika took another drag, exhaled smoke in a perfect ring, and leaned back, robe parting to flash deep cleavage and the shadowed valley between her abs.
"Anyway," she continued breezily, as if she hadn't just flexed her way into legend, "I've been thinking. The last tour was cute, but I'm already bored. We need to start planning the next one. Bigger venues. Nastier themes. More… me."
Charlie swallowed hard. "Verosika… your fans… how are we supposed to explain… this?"
Verosika's smile turned razor-sharp.
What happens next?
1. Cherri comments without thinking that Verosika can present a new look, the muscle bitch. Verosika likes the idea and starts developing it, Charlie comments that she will need to disappear for a few months so that the new look does not look unnatural and strange and suspicious.
2. Verosika reluctantly explains in part what happened to her, presenting it as some kind of accident, the girls try how they can hide the new Verosika from the fans until they understand her situation better.
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June 13
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