Ok, this story is for adults and residents of nation-
states that allow their citizens to read erotic stuff.
If you don't fit into BOTH of these groups, DON'T READ
ANY FURTHER.  I've seen "Not Without My Daughter"
enough to know that I don't want to get indicted in Iran
or any place like it.  Also, that whole Salman Rushdie
business was just a BAD scene as far as I'm 
concerned.

Otherwise, enjoy.








M I G H T Y  M O R P H I N '  
          A M A Z O N  C H E E R L E A D E R S
PART 5



)))))))))))T R A C E Y ' S   D I A R Y((((((((((((




Dear Diary,

A week after the initial transformation, 
things began to settle back into their normal 
routine. Karen had grown another 2 inches in the 
first week back, with a disproportionate 
enlargement of her muscles and breasts.  She 
was now nearly as tall as me again, and about  
twice as strong.

Even though I only grew another half inch, the increase
in strength felt incredible.  And Karen had been
completely right about Richard liking amazons - ever
since we'd come back from our bicycle trip he hadn't
been able to keep his hands off me.  

I was curious about the "weakening potion" Karen had
given me, in case Richard had been repulsed by my 
"enhanced" figure.  Was it really what she'd said?  
She had tricked me before, and I couldn't be confident 
that she wasn't up to her old tricks again.  Regardless, 
I had to know.

I needed a guinea pig.  

Carla seemed a good choice.  I wouldn't use much of
the stuff on her, just enough to produce a measurable
effect.  Before Karen, Maggie, and I had left her behind,
she had generally been considered the school amazon.
She looked puny next to us now, but I knew she
loved having muscles - and big tits, too.

Since she was built already, a little more wouldn't be
unappreciated, and a little less wouldn't be noticed.  
With her workout routine, she'd probably pack it back 
on in a month.

I went to the gym with her a few times, just to get her 
routine down.  I was amazed at how easily I mimicked
Carla's workout.  Watching her do curls with a 25-pound
dumbbell, though, I understood that she had worked
for her muscle, 10 days earlier I could barely have
lifted a 25-lb. weight off the ground.  At this point, 
though, being a little less than a third of the way to
the conclusion of my amazonic development, I 
probably could have curled close to ten times that
with each arm.  

So I played along, doing Carla's routine along with her.
Finally I screwed up my courage and put a tiny pinch
of Karen's powder in Carla's Gatorade while she was
finishing up her squats.

Carla was wearing a tight, sleeveless t-shirt today,
that showed off her shoulders and breasts.  Her next
exercise would be the bench-press, and I figured that
between her revealing outfit and spotting her, I'd be in
a position to judge any change.

She took a deep gulp from her drink, finishing it off, and 
then sauntered over to me.  Even with her arms hanging
at her sides, her biceps were clearly discernible.  And 
the fabric of her muscle t-shirt was stretched tightly
over the deltoids of her shoulders, leaving rippled
stretch marks in the white cotton leading down to 
her protruding breasts.  Wearing a tight pair of shorts,
her shapely butt was in much the same situation.  Long,
uncovered legs headed south from there.  She was
a beautiful girl with an amazing body.  No wonder 
Richard stared at her!

"Carla," I thought, "I hope this stuff makes your muscles
bust the seams in that outfit."

I was fairly sure that's what would happen, Karen was
such a treacherous wench.  Even though she did tell
me the stuff would shrink me back down towards 
normal size, I didn't believe her.  With her wacky 
sense of humor, taking it would probably turn me into 
the Incredible Hulk.  And if something else did
happen, I'd make a trip back up to the mystics' lab,
get what I needed, and put things right for Carla.

Carla was busy putting the weight on the bar as I
thought about this.   "140?"  I asked, "That's a little
more than usual, isn't it Carla?"  

"Yeah," she said, "but for some reason I feel like I
could bench a truck today!"

My heart soared!  I stepped behind the bench to spot
her, and she gripped the bar, lifted it off its mounts,
and lowered it to her chest.  I watched carefully,
expecting growing pectorals to push swelling tit-flesh
through a shredded muscle-tee at any second!

I could see through her t-shirt that her nipples were 
hardened, so I figured the stuff must be kicking in.

Carla cleared the bar five times, but on the sixth rep,
she lowered it to her chest, and couldn't bring it back
up again.  

"Tracey, looks like you were right, 140's too much.
Get this off of me," she said.

I reached down and lifted the bar, grabbing it at the
sides so as not to cop a feel of the ample boob-flesh
it was pressed into.  Carefully inspecting her upper 
body, I couldn't see any difference!

She got up off the bench, took a step, and then fell 
flat on her face, as both of her sneakers slipped off her
feet and bounced across the floor.

"F***!" I thought.

As she got up, I could see that her shirt seemed bigger
than it had before.  The fabric between her shoulders
and breasts was loose, no longer stretched.  And as
she stood up, I realized that I could no longer see 
biceps in her untensed arms.  Her shoulders and
breasts didn't protrude nearly as much as before.

"What the hell was that?"   She asked.  "Did you see
that?  My shoes just fell off!"

I watched, dismayed, as the hem of her muscle shirt
slowly slid lower, covering her formerly bare midriff.
Her breasts, which had been about a C-cup, deflated
slowly, through B, and into A...and finally disappeared
altogether.  

Suddenly noticing what was happening, Carla flexed
her right bicep, noticeably smaller than it had been
when she was doing curls a few minutes earlier.   

As we watched, her now-golf ball sized bicep became 
smaller and less well defined, the prominent blue vein
sinking into the muscle as it grew softer.  In just over
a minute, Carla lacked any noticeable bicep what-
soever, despite mightily straining to flex it.  Her legs
were even more affected than her arms, shrunken to the 
"chicken legs" level of underdevelopment.  

Amazonic Carla had become downright puny.

She looked up at me, gawking, still shrinking.  I grabbed
her behind her bony shoulder blades and practically 
carried her out of the gym and into the girl's locker room.

Once there, I stripped her.  As I pulled off her 
pants, a flurry of detached pubic hair filled the air.

Examining her, I realized what had happened.  Carla
was now about 10 years old, by the look of her.  A
pinch of the powder had stripped away 6 years!  She'd 
lost a foot of height, her fat tits, and shapely, strong
muscles in about 15 minutes.  I suspected that this 
powder acted fully right away, since the effects had 
been so drastic with such a small dose.  But one 
conclusion stood out: Karen had given me enough of 
the powder to turn me into an embryo, had I taken it.

Carla was crying, alternately rubbing the ribs beneath
her nipples and grasping her soft, thin arms.  "What's
happening to me!?  I've become so small and weak!" 
She wept, "And my tits are GONE!"

"It's okay, I'll fix it.  Come with me."

Carla's clothes fit her like a tent, but they'd have
to do.  I got on my bicycle and put her on my lap, 
not trusting her emaciated arms to be able to hold 
onto me from behind.  Peddling furiously for the 
mystics' lab on the smooth railbed, I was able to 
accelerate to fairly high speeds, my superhuman 
strength propelling the mountain bike along at better 
than 60 miles an hour.  Soon we were there.

Karen had buried the lanterns in the dirt near where
we'd eaten lunch during our last visit.  I was gratified
to find them in the same place, and 10 minutes
later, Carla and I were in the lab.  

I made her sit in the corner, afraid her shock might
cause her to do something rash.  After searching for
a little while, I found the age reagents: Older and 
Younger.  Apparently, a pinch was good for 30% of
your starting age.  Three pinches would turn a
septuagenarian into a 7-year old.  

One pinch would turn a 16 year old into an 11 year old.
Apparently that's what had happened.

Getting her back to normal would be tricky, too tricky.
Better to approximate: a pinch of the "Older" would
get her back nearly to 15, and she wasn't much
smaller a year and a half ago than she was this
morning.  It would have to do.

I walked over to her, and said, "Eat this."  

She did, and we sat back and waited.

A few minutes later, a stain of blood appeared around
her mid-section, and she started growing.  

I started to get excited as she grew taller, and her
swelling breasts were an incredible turn on - growing
larger and larger, filling out her t-shirt again, the
shirt highlighting her big bosom.  But no
muscles grew to fill the muscle-tee.  Her limbs 
stayed thin and girlish, weak as hell. 

All told, she reached to about 5'6" of her previous 5'8",
and the old Carla would overflow a brassiere that fit the 
smaller, though still ample, new Carla.  She flexed her 
arms, but scarcely any muscle raised from them at all.  
Everything about her seemed so...depleted.

"I'm still so weak!  I HATE being weak," she cried.

"What the hell,"  I thought.  I realized, belatedly, that
the powder had turned her into a plain 14 1/2 year old, 
not a 14 1/2 year old who'd been doing gymnastics and 
pumping iron for three years.  Time would add a half cup
size to her chest and 2 inches to her height,  but 
she'd have to start from scratch where her muscles
were concerned.  That wasn't fair, I had to put things
right, and make up for the trauma I'd caused.  Besides,
we needed FOUR strong girls for the cheerleading 
competition in August.  One more weakling wouldn't do
us any good.  But with one more REALLY strong girl, 
we could have a REALLY cool routine!  "Out of the 
frying pan...."

"I can make you strong again Carla - stronger than
you've ever been, even in your weirdest, wildest 
dreams.  And with bigger, harder muscles than you 
ever imagined could be possible."

Some story, hey Diary-mine?  But it'll keep until I'm
ready to put pen to paper again.

Love,

Tracey