[Fonk]

Mmmmmmm! That's great. Thanks for posting! ;D

[Fonk]

OK, that's just hot. Good luck with the next part, sir! ;D

[Fonk]

That's somewhat impressive. 😮

[Fonk]

This one is a bit of an info-dump, I'm afraid! Hope you like it. 🙂

————

The White Knight Cometh – Part 8

Amber's calm countenance turned.

"You had no right," she said, anger dripping off every word. The old woman looked around nervously.

"This is not a good place for us to be talking," she hissed. Then she turned to a co-worker, who was folding a selection of wildly colourful jumpers and adding them to the pile.

"Janice! Could you cover me on the till for a moment, please? I'd like to take my break now." Janice, a scrawny, pouting teenager with heavy black eye-shadow, black T-shirt and combat trousers, nodded and walked over.

"Sure, Rose," she said, and they swapped position. "See you in an hour." Rose smiled at the black-clad teen, then beckoned Amber to follow her into the back of the shop.

The walls of the room were painted sky blue. The floor was littered with boxes filled with odds and ends that either had not been sorted or had not been sold. Further round Amber saw a number of hooks fastened to the wall, each holding a bag of some description. Janice's bag wasn't hard to spot: it was a black record bag with a madly leering face on it, complete with a shock of red hair. There was a small table with two decrepit chairs either side next to an old and worn looking sink and cupboard unit. Rose had pulled a chair out for Amber to sit on whilst she busied herself with the kettle near the sink.

"Tea or coffee?" Rose asked, not facing Amber.

"Tea, please," Amber replied, sitting carefully on the chair. She propped her elbows on the table and absently scratched her forehead as questions flitted in and out of Amber's mind.

"How?"

"Why?"

"Why me?"

"Who is she?"

"What is she?"

"Is it dangerous?"

"When will it stop?"

"Will it stop?"

"If I lend this T-shirt to anyone, will they start to grow too?"

"How big will my muscles get?"

"How big will my boobs get?"

"Can I control it?"

"Will I get other powers?"

"Am I going to turn into Supergirl?"

"Will I be able to fly?"

"Cos that would be cool."

Rose set the kettle on its stand next to the sink. She turned around, her hands holding on to the edge of the worktop behind her, facing Amber. The young woman seemed, mercifully, calmer. It seemed to Amber that Rose was finding it difficult just to begin. Eventually the older woman spoke.

"My name is Rosaline Stewart, Rose for short. I am sixty years old. The T-shirt you are wearing is magical."

Rose paused, expecting some sort of reaction. After a few seconds, Amber raised her eyebrows.

"I think I figured that out for myself," she snapped. "Go on." Rose shifted uncomfortably.

"Forty years ago I bought a brand new England football shirt. When I wore it for long enough, I began to get more muscular, just like you have. I decided to use the power for good and started to fight crime."

"You were a village auntie?" Amber asked. Rose smiled, expertly stifling a laugh.

"You mean a vigilante, a person who brings about justice without the help of the law?" Amber rolled her eyes at herself, but nodded anyway. "Yes, I suppose so." Rose paused again.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rose said timidly.

"Of course," Amber replied. She felt much calmer now she was going to get some answers at last.

"Are you enjoying your strength?" Amber frowned a little before composing her reply.

"It's handy to have, yes. Everything is easier." She paused again. "I don't think I'd like to be much bigger, though." At this, Rose winced.

"So you are enjoying being strong?"

"Yes," Amber said guardedly.

Rose let go of the work surface to cross the room. She picked a beige satchel from the rack and began to rifle through it. Amber decided to ask some questions of her own.

"So you've had this… power, then?"

"Yes," Rose replied. "I enjoyed using it. Finding someone to pass it onto has been quite a challenge." The old woman found what she was looking for.

It turned out to be a photograph in slightly faded colour. She set it on the table in front of Amber. The student's eyes went huge.

"That was me," Rose admitted quietly.

Amber could tell – just. The photograph showed a woman wearing a bikini, standing on a gloriously sun-kissed beach. It was a full-length shot, which was in itself amazing, because the woman was absolutely huge. Phenomenally huge. Every last muscle on Rose's frame was immense and bulged obscenely. Every body part either obscured something or prevented something being in the right place. Her thighs were so packed with vascular brawn that her knees would never meet. Her pectoral muscles had grown so big they forced her breasts a hand's width apart. Her unflexed biceps were so gargantuan that the woman would never have been able to bend her arm into the classic bicep flex position. They were pushing into the enormous, plush pillows that were Rose's breasts.

As Amber stared, she realised that the woman's stomach was severely distended. She hadn't noticed before because her breasts were so large that her torso had looked comparatively normal. Her globes were bigger than volleyballs. Now Amber had pierced the illusion, she saw that the abdominal muscles were like slabs of concrete. She wanted to ask a question but her throat had gone dry.

"I was the strongest woman alive," Rose smiled, looking at some point many years in the past. "All thanks to that shirt and the power it gave me." Amber pushed the photograph back towards Rose with a sick look on her face.

"I don't want to look like that," Amber said, disgusted. Rose shook her head.

"You don't have to," Rose consoled. "I went off the rails at the end, craving the power – and sense of power – that I got."

"How does it work?" Amber demanded. Rose took a deep breath.

"There is a principle in Physics that energy cannot be created, only changed or transferred. It's called the Law of Conservation of Energy." Amber nodded, vaguely remembering hearing that in Physics lessons many moons ago.

"The woman who sold me this shirt told me that every ten minutes I wore it, I took one per cent of the strength of someone who was wearing another England shirt." Rose waited for the implications to sink in – it didn't take long.

Amber stood up, her eyes wild.

"You mean I've been stealing people's strength all this time?!" Rose nodded, determined to look the powerful young woman in the eye and not back down.

Amber scowled in anger. She stood up, scraping the chair across the tiles.

"Forget this. I'm going home, and I'm gonna burn this stupid T-shirt!" she said, grabbing a handful of the material and looking squarely at Rose. The older woman's eyes popped in turn – she moved to grab the student by the arm.

"No! You can't!" Angrily Amber wrenched her arm out of the woman's grasp.

"Why not? Give me one good reason why not!" Amber yelled.

"I'll die," she said quietly. Amber stopped.

"Why?" Amber asked quietly.

"Condition of sale," Rose replied, smiling sadly. "If the shirt is destroyed, anyone who has ever worn it dies or is erased from history. I can't begin to tell you how bad things would be then."

Angrily Amber resumed her position on the chair. Rose sidled carefully into the chair opposite. She took Amber's hands in hers.

"I know this is difficult. I know it seems like a curse, but really, the shirt is a blessing. One per cent is not a lot and it's rarely taken from the same person. The shirt picks from as many different people as possible. And it may give other gifts too. The woman who sold it to me said that in times of need the shirt may provide more powers." Amber frowned fleetingly.

"It already has," she whispered. "Last week I came off my bike and hit a bus. I smashed the front of the bus in. It must have made my body really hard or something to protect me."

"I saw that on the news and wondered if it was you," Rose said happily. "So," she continued, "there are other benefits too." Amber gently lifted one of her hands away from Rose and flexed one of her biceps.

"Besides the obvious?" she said, smiling cutely.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Rose and Amber talked for another hour. About ten minutes in Amber had got her notebook out to write down the main points that Rose and she had discussed. There had been such a lot to take in that Amber had filled eight sides.

According to the older woman, the origins of the shirt had been lost. Instead of Rose choosing her, the T-shirt itself had chosen Amber as its new owner. It had changed into a form that Amber had found appealing. As it stood now, Rose reckoned that Amber's strength came from anyone who was wearing a Superman insignia instead of anyone who was wearing an England shirt, as was the case during her ownership of the garment.

The shirt expanded to cover its wearer, no matter how large they became. Amber didn't follow the part about her breasts growing along with her muscles – something about conservation of energy again. Privately she wondered if the garment had been created by some sort of pervy wizard. There appeared to be no upper limit to the amount of strength the wearer could gain, even beyond what most people ordinarily thought of as possible.

Rose had other photos of herself with even bigger muscles. On the last one she showed Amber, her entire body was just a network of thick veins connecting colossal muscles on paper-thin skin – even her just-short-of-beachball-sized breasts were riddled with big blue veins. Her neck scarcely existed, buried under gigantic pecs and awesome traps. The woman was performing a double bicep flex, or at least her closest approximation: the monstrous muscles were so big that Rose could only get her arms to about seventy degrees. Amber shuddered and swore that she would never let herself get that built.

During Rose's career as a crime fighter, she had caught hundreds of criminals and never once revealed herself to the police. If ever Amber had heard on the news that the police had received an "anonymous tip-off", Rose had said, the chances were that it had been her. A fan of detective novels, she used to wear a longcoat and hat when she went out on what she called "jaunts". As time went on she had had to use baggier clothes to conceal her immense bulk.

On her sixtieth birthday, Rose woke up on her reinforced bed to discover that her superbody had been taken away overnight. The shirt, now hanging in a wardrobe, had a note attached to it, written in a strange hand. It read: "GIVE ME AWAY." Flummoxed, Rose had spent weeks making a plan to fulfil its wishes. She had taken the job at the charity shop in order to help the shirt make its choice. It had hung on the racks for three months before Amber walked into the store.

The "extra powers" that Rose had gotten had come up solely on the spur of the moment and disappeared when she removed the shirt. Amber wondered why the muscle and breast growth stayed, deciding that it was more evidence for her pervy wizard theory. On one very memorable occasion, Rose said, the shirt had allowed her to fly to track a set of bank robbers escaping the scene by car. She had been impervious to bullets, radiation, poisons and any other sort of harm whilst wearing the shirt, but cut herself chopping carrots days later without it on. If anything else had happened, the old woman admitted that she had either forgotten or not registered it.

When Amber broached the subject of her libido, Rose had simply smiled enigmatically and said that her husband had really enjoyed the times she wore the shirt to bed.

Rose cheerfully admitted to having no idea why she'd appeared in Amber's dream.

During a long pause, Amber looked at her watch and gasped.

"Oh my God! I should have been back at home ages ago!" She got up to leave and held her hand out for Rose to shake.

"Whenever, or if ever, you need me, I'll be here," Rose promised, taking Amber's hand and shaking it gladly. When she let go, the older woman tried to hide how much it had hurt – Amber clearly wasn't used to her strength yet.

"Thanks for everything!" Amber said enthusiastically, smiling widely now that she had an ally who had gone through what she was going through.

"It was my pleasure," the older woman replied happily. They walked into the shop together.

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart," Amber whispered as Janice left the till, to be replaced by Rose. "I hope I can live up to your good name!" Rose smiled, flattered.

"I'm sure you will," she said generously. "Now run along!" Amber left the shop, waving to Rose as she did so, and returned to her bicycle.

Armed with the knowledge of her mysterious T-shirt, Amber tried some maths.

"I was in there seventy minutes," she said to herself, unchaining her bike and getting ready to ride. "That means I'm an extra seven per cent stronger!" As a little test, Amber flexed her right bicep and inspected it closely.

"Doesn't look any bigger," she mused. Shrugging her shoulders, the student strapped her helmet on and started on her journey home.

"And a longcoat!" she thought, powering off from the kerb. "Forget that – I want a proper costume. And I know just the person to go to!"

— To Be Continued —

OK, I admit, I've always wanted to use the phrase "a shock of hair". 😉

[Fonk]

I'm looking forward to seeing how this progresses now! I've got some ideas but I'll keep quiet for the minute and sit tight.

In short, I'm lovin' it! 8)

[Fonk]

I understand. Come back to us refreshed and better than ever! 🙂

[Fonk]

My goodness! Those are great. Thanks for posting them! ;D

[Fonk]

"Took you long enough," said Dr. Green, still checking at his clipboard.  He looked up to her breastbone.  "Did you get stuck in ther– mlam… glah!"

Cool! 8) Thank you, sir. You also, coincidentally, write a damned fine story. 😉

[Fonk]

Back in the groove now! I have one more day of work before a good long holiday, so the next few parts might come really quickly. On the other hand… well, I need to get the next part exactly right. We'll see!

In the meantime, please enjoy part 7!

————

The White Knight Cometh – Part 7

Over the next week Amber didn't grow or change at all. A tiny part of her was disappointed, but most of her brain was focusing on the end of year exams. Amber had suffered a panic attack during last year's exams and was determined not to have another. She had planned for lots of revision time over the exam period and was quietly confident that the work she had put in throughout the year would pay off.

During the exams, she had sworn off sex with Devon. The young man understood completely, and had volunteered to take over her chores around the flat; in return, Amber promised him a day he wouldn't soon forget once she finished. At the same time, Amber cut her social commitments right back. Most of her friends were having exams too, so it wasn't as much of a wrench as it might have been. Sarah had understood and wished her daughter well.

The police had not got back in touch about Amber's heroics in the sports store. As per her request, they had also kept the story from the local papers. As Devon had said when he first heard the story, the best sort of hero is the one who doesn't ask to be rewarded.

By cycling everywhere, Amber had managed to save up enough money to buy herself a new pair of jeans, a lovely light blue colour with a cartoon flower printed on each of the back pockets. To accommodate her newly enlarged thighs and butt, she had had to buy a pair with a forty inch waist. At waist level, they needed tightening with a belt. At the level of her bum, they needed no tightening, as her shapely, firm, well-rounded arse filled the seat of the jeans out nicely. Devon certainly approved. There was a little bit of give around thigh level, which Amber needed for cycling.

In fact, nearly everyone approved. Amber had had to explain her changed physique to everyone she knew. A lot more strangers than usual were staring at her body too. Amber felt a bit naughty when she spotted men's eyes widening as she passed, and even naughtier when it was a woman's eyes bulging. She told her friends the same lie that had worked on her mother: she was using Devon's weights to build up her body. Privately, Amber was amazed that it kept on working – she had put on more muscle than she would ever need.

On the morning of her Clinical Skills exam, Amber decided to wear her Supergirl T-shirt again, pairing it up with the new blue jeans. She slipped the shirt over her head just after she got up at seven o'clock. The exam was at nine. Amber used her time wisely to look over her notes one last time – down to just two sides – during a healthy breakfast of brown bread toast and a banana. This was to be the third of Amber's four exams. Medical Ethics and Pre-Natal Care had gone well; Clinical Skills and Primary Care remained. Primary Care was two days away but, like football players, Amber was taking it "one game at a time".

As usual, Amber had prepared thoroughly the previous night, so she set out for the university's main building in relative calm. In order to prevent herself from feeling useless after the exam, Amber had packed all of her bras in her backpack, to be given to the charity shop she had got her T-shirt from. The cycle ride in was an absolute breeze. Amber shackled her machine to the one empty slot in the university bike rack and strode confidently to her exam room, fifteen minutes early as per instructions.

The student found her seat and set up her equipment: five pens (just in case some of them stopped working), a pencil, a ruler and a rubber. Amber sat expectantly, tapping her foot gently on the wooden floor, trying to get herself into the zone. The exam papers were laid on everyone's desks, followed by the answer booklets. Amber wrote the necessary information on the front of her answer sheet and signed it. A dreary looking man in a grey shirt and beige corduroy trousers inspected Amber's student card, slyly glancing at her breasts every so often. He moved away once he'd glimpsed the young woman's full biceps, sneering in distaste. Then the dreaded words rang out from the front of the room.

"You have two and a half hours. You may begin."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Two hours later, Amber was still writing. The paper comprised five compulsory questions: according to her own time budgeting, Amber was right on schedule as she started the fifth question. The student dared not think about how well the previous four questions had gone – the time for mulling over that sort of thing was after the exam. For the past twenty minutes, though, her jeans had been feeling tight around her bum and thighs.

"You may not now leave the exam room," a voice far away at the front of the room announced.

Just as she wrote the number 5 in the margin and was reading the question, Amber heard the awful sound of fabric tearing pierce the sweaty silence of the room. Chancing a look down, her worst fears were confirmed: yet again she was ripping through a pair of jeans.

"No!" she thought. "These are my new ones." Then she shook her head. "Got to concentrate," she urged herself. Amber re-read the question, got a handle on how she wanted to answer it, and began to write in her answer booklet.

About ten minutes later Amber's intense writing was disturbed by more tearing. The young woman's eyes widened as she felt fresh air on her thighs. Chancing another look under the desk, Amber saw that her jeans had again split their seams, tearing twin holes about two inches long mid-thigh. The muscles popping through were bigger than before. Amber shut her eyes and bit her lip. Reasoning that there was nothing she could feasibly do, the growing girl reboarded her train of thought and got back to answering the question.

This fifth question required a shorter answer than the others, so Amber was not concerned when she put her pen down a little later. She turned her mind to how to get out of the exam room without people noticing she had torn her jeans open.

"My new pair, too!" she cursed inwardly. "I'm just going to have to wait until everyone else has left."

And that was what she did. When the invigilators called time, Amber felt her jeans rip apart more; under the table her monstrous thighs had made the holes just over three inches long and she could feel her calves straining the fabric further down. The young woman waited until her coursemates had cleared out. Then she gingerly got to her feet, grabbed her stuff and made a very quick exit. Heading for the toilets, Amber turned her thoughts as to why she was growing again.

"I started growing about a week ago," she mused, "over two days. Then a week of nothing. Now I'm growing again. Why?"

Unable to make any connection, Amber stepped into a stall and drew the bolt. She quickly stripped to her navy blue panties, arranging her clothes carefully on top of her backpack. Once again, her whole body had changed. Her calves had gotten so meaty that when the student tried to put her hands around one of them, they fell well short of meeting. There was no hope of circling her thighs with her hands. Even with the brawny muscles relaxed, it was hard to make a dent in her quads.

Each of her abs had got slightly more defined, pushing out further and feeling harder. A network of veins had begun to sprout on her lower abs, peering out over the top of her panties. Amber's navel was slowly being squeezed shut by the expansion of her stomach muscles. Her breasts had joined in the general growth too: they'd gained just under half a cup size and her areolae had spread another half-inch total. The breastflesh was totally smooth, except for her hardened nipples. Thanks to her burgeoning pecs, they started to point slightly upwards as opposed to dead ahead.

As she felt round the back, Amber upgraded her arse from "killer" to "traffic-stopping", and with good reason. Her glutes had rounded out with more lovely, peachy muscle. Much like her boobs, Amber's new butt was totally blemish-free. Biting her lip, Amber tried something she'd seen a couple of days ago in a bodybuilding magazine: she clenched her fist and lifted her right arm up to make a right angle. A beautiful, beefy bicep popped up. Amber stroked the muscle, not really believing it was now part of her body. The muscle felt as solid as steel but as smooth as marble.

"Wow," she breathed.

"It's called an orgasm," someone drawled from a few stalls over. "We've all had one." Amber giggled and slipped her shirt back on.

Then she picked up her tattered jeans.

"Easy come, easy go," she thought as she tore the jeans off at mid-thigh, making another pair of cut-off denim shorts to end the day in.

Fully dressed once more, Amber walked out of the cubicle and returned to her bicycle, smiling as her bustier, fitter body garnered more wide-eyed stares. Setting up to ride to the charity shop took a couple of minutes as one of her tires had deflated somewhat, but soon enough the student was away, pumping on the pedals towards the town centre. Each stroke was ridiculously easy, even more so than in the morning. Just to test her changing body, Amber switched her bike into a stupidly hard gear to go to the shops. It was still easy.

"I could win the Tour de France if I carry on growing," she mused, smiling. "That, or Miss World."

Mercifully the new shorts were holding up nicely. During quiet moments Amber snatched glances at her powerful quads working the pedals. Each of her leg muscles worked in perfect harmony, moving up and down like a piston. Gazing along her comparatively static arms, Amber counted the straining veins feeding the grip of her hands.

The journey was over all too soon for Amber. She had a mad desire to carry on cycling, just to see how far she got before tiring, but dutifully the young woman stopped. She secured her bike to a railing next to a car park and walked over to the charity shop. The door tinkled open and Amber walked in. The same old woman that had sold her the T-shirt she was currently wearing was manning the till. Instead of the beautiful plumpish young woman from a week ago, she saw an incredibly sexy young woman covered in bulging muscles, like a fitness competitor who'd decided a month ago to go into professional female bodybuilding.

Amber smiled in the delight of recognition and headed over to her. The woman was wearing a green and white checked sleeveless dress. Her grey hair was tied into a bun. Amber noted that her skin was nicely tanned and began to wonder if she'd been on holiday. Amber's own skin was tanning up nicely, mostly because she had had to wear skimpy clothes for the past week.

"Hello!" she said enthusiastically. The old woman smiled indulgently.

"Hello," she replied. "What brings you back here?" At this, Amber held her right index finger in the air, like a man in a silent movie about to show a friend a good trick.

Amber set her backpack on the counter, opened it and fished around inside. Her questing fingers found their target. The young woman set a plastic bag stuffed full of bras onto the counter facing the old woman. Then she zipped up her backpack and slung it over a shoulder.

"What do we have here?" the old woman asked, opening the bag.

"My old bras," Amber said airily. "I've had a recent growth spurt and they don't fit me anymore."

"Hmmm!" said the old woman, impressed. "What size are they?"

"36DD," Amber said in a stage whisper.

"Excellent! I'm sure we can find good homes for these," the old woman smiled, closing the bag and put it under the counter. "And how are you, my dear?" Amber smiled widely at the question.

"I'm very well, thank you!" she replied. "Ever since I got this T-shirt, life has been good to me." She paused, frowning briefly. "Ever since I…" An idea slammed into Amber's brain like a runaway train.

"It's this T-shirt, isn't it," she said quietly, more a statement than a question. The old woman nodded ever so slightly.

"Yes, it is," she replied.

— To Be Continued —

[Fonk]

Very sweet, sir! 😀

[Author]

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