Natalie 3

Things only got worse after graduation.  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 sister being licked from head to toe in the basement.

After graduation, I kept up on my swimming and Natalie kept on lifting. She quickly gained a reputation, despite being a freshman. How could she not? She had already packed on a ton of extra mass since leaving high school. She didn't just look bigger. She looked like she was getting bigger faster.

Her shirts fit like they'd been picked out of the kids section, pulled so tight across her muscle tits that little holes had already torn over her 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 she wore into a midriff-baring delight; the shelf of her pecs lifted her shirt up from her waist, revealing the twisted labyrinth of her 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.

Natalie's clit seemingly got bigger and bigger. I know the school nurse had questioned if she had some kind of condition. No woman should be that big, but I knew the real reason. I knew she turned herself on by being so big. I knew she got hard just existing in that hyper-pumped body. I knew she orgasmed just taking in her own reflection, without even touching that horse-cock clit that she couldn’t hide in her skin-tight stretch pants that were the only things that would fit her mammoth legs. Heck,s he could make me cum without touching myself, whenever she flexed a watermelon bicep for some girl and her clit-cock throbbed the fabric.

Natalie could have sex with anyone she wanted, male or female. She particularly enjoyed seducing straight women, reveling in the power of her muscles to turn even the most penis-loving women into her clit-sucking whores. There was no end to the train of women ready to get a taste of her. Busty girls, fit girls, flat-chested girls, skinny girls, thick girls, cheerleaders, nerds, geeks, gymnasts, teachers, other students' moms... I couldn't tell if she had a girlfriend or if they were all her girlfriends.

That is, until Julia 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 sister would soon come to resemble: unbridled muscle lust. She had it and she had it in spades. I saw her appetite plain as day.

Natalie and Julia 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 she ever had and her body positively blew up under her tender care. I remember wondering what she could have possibly contributed to her workouts; Julia 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.

I continued to spy on my sister most nights of the week, peeking through her bedroom window to watch her lift weights or flex or fuck the brains out of a willing partner. 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 sister--I still thought she'd kill me if she 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. And then one night it happened.