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CW: m/m, voyeur, incest, muscle worship, muscle growth.
(read part 1)

 

Things only got worse after graduation. Or better. I'll leave that up to you. For me, my muscle fetish had only just begun, reinforced by years of superheroes and cartoons, exaggerated by That Night. I'd taken to referring to it as That Night in my journal, the night I first saw my muscle freak brother being licked from head to toe in his bedroom.

Anyway, after graduation, I kept up on my swimming and Nate kept on lifting. He quickly gained a reputation, despite being a freshman. How could he not? He had already packed on a ton of extra mass since leaving high school. I didn't have the stats I wanted, his weight and how much he could bench, but I believed my own eyes.

He didn't just look bigger. He looked like he was getting bigger faster.

His shirts fit like they'd been picked out of the kids section, pulled so tight across his muscle tits that little holes had already torn over his bust. Yeah, that's what happens when you stuff rock hard pecs the size of couch cushions into a shirt and not a tarp. Those pecs turned every top he wore into a midriff-baring delight; the shelf of his pecs lifted his shirt up from his waist, revealing the twisted labyrinth of his 10-pack abs. They looked like they could crunch coals into diamonds. Worse, their extreme V-shape was like a huge arrow that pointed downward.

Nate's junk was the first thing anybody noticed. I know the school nurse had questioned if he had some kind of condition. Nobody should be that big and that hard that often, but I knew the real reason. I knew he turned himself on being so big. I knew he got hard just existing in that hyper-pumped body. I knew he orgasmed just taking in his own reflection, without even touching that horse cock that had to be stuffed down one leg of his painted-on jeans, all the way down to his knee. Heck, he could make me cum without touching myself, whenever he flexed a watermelon bicep for some girl and his cock throbbed against his thigh.

The girls? Unlike myself, a scarecrow that couldn't find a date, he was popular with the ladies. They had to line up just to stand next to him. There was no end to the train of women ready to get a taste of him. Busty girls, fit girls, flat-chested girls, skinny girls, thick girls, cheerleaders, nerds, geeks, gymnasts, teachers, other students' moms... I couldn't tell if he had a girlfriend or if they were all his girlfriends.

That is, until Oceana came.

She was something else. You could tell just by looking into her eyes--which I tried just once and never again. Behind those deep browns flecked with icy blue, I saw myself. Not my reflection, but actually my own hunger, my own desire, the same drive that kept me scouring the internet into the early hours of the morning beating my aching purple dick to the biggest muscular beasts I could find, to the insane morphed muscle that I hoped deep down my own brother would soon come to resemble: unbridled muscle lust. She had it and she had it in spades. I saw her appetite plain as day.

Nate and Oceana became inseparable. She was more than just another young body to use like a wad of tissue. She was the closest thing to a real trainer that he ever had and his body positively blew up under her tender care. I remember wondering what she could have possibly contributed to his workouts; Oceana wasn't exactly buff or anything, although she was fit, tall as a model, long legs, washboard abs, long wavy black hair, cute face with thick eyebrows and a great smile on a square jaw. She didn't look the part, but her hunger made her the perfect candidate.

My brother continued to sample every girl that came his way, but Oceana was special. I wouldn't know how special until the middle of the semester, but before I get to that, there's another story I should mention and some clarifiers I should make.

 

You might think this story is about Nate, and you wouldn't be wrong, technically, but it's really about the journey of my muscle fetish from innocent infatuation to obsession. I continued to spy on my brother most nights of the week, peeking through his bedroom window to watch him lift weights or flex or fuck the brains out of a blonde or brunette. I did a lot of window shopping.

I didn't and don't consider myself gay. Bicurious is a phrase I ran into years later and that might be more accurate. I was on the hunt for a girlfriend, too, if anyone could ever notice me in my brother's mountainous shadow, but at the same time, I was whacking off to bodybuilding competitions and pump room videos. When reality itself became unsatisfying, I turned to erotic stories on sites like Metabods. I even took up drawing to create my own hideously gorgeous muscle freaks, put them up in the shower and beat my meat to their inhuman bodies, destroying the evidence afterward.

I couldn't let anybody know I had these feelings. Especially my brother--I still thought he'd kill me if he discovered what I was doing. Probably rip me in half and eat me. This unfortunately meant that the one thing I never got to do was the one thing that dominated my thoughts 24-7. Touch.

I wanted to touch a jacked bodybuilder's muscles, just once, feeling all that mass piling up under smooth skin, bulging with a flex, fibers tensing, veins pulsing, feeling a muscle swell in my hands, grip it hard to see if I could even put a dent in it. I'd wanted to feel that for years. I finally got my chance one night and got more than I bargained for...

 

"Ah shit."

I couldn't tell what Nate was doing or what was bothering him. Whenever we showered after a swim (for me) and a workout (for him) on those late night trips to the gym, I made sure to not look. I showered with my back toward him. The last thing I wanted was to get caught gawking with a hardon for all his bulging shredded meat.

But I could feel him staring down at me.

"Hey, bro," he said. His voice was loud and heavy, so close behind me. I glanced over my shoulder but just to show I was paying attention.

"Yeah? What is it?" I replied.

"Forgot my crap. My back scrubber. Can't reach anymore, dude."

I turned around a little more, swallowing hard. The golden brown edifice of his body came into sight.

"Y-you can't reach?" I managed.

"Yeah. Fuck. My back. Been hitting the weights too hard, I guess. Too big and sore," and he laughed, "so could you...?"

 

(access the full story at patreon.com/pumpculture)

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4 hours ago, Ro20316 said:

Oh such a teae. I hope to read the full version soon.

This story is soo freaking good!

Thanks very much! Happy to know the few memories this story is based on are still valuable lol

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  • 9 months later...
On 11/17/2020 at 7:28 AM, PumpCulture said:

Thanks very much! Happy to know the few memories this story is based on are still valuable lol

Its based on a true story? You lucky bastard

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