My brother was a teenage muscle freak!

by Pump Culture   

This is a story of how my muscle fetish first got started and how my brother turned himself into a true muscle freak.

I’m currently nursing a healthy addiction to extreme muscle growth. I’m not talking about the normie stuff, either. They don’t make ’em big enough.

I grew up in the gym, hung around a lot of fitness instructors and bodybuilders, thanks to my parents’ jobs. My dad did power lifting, rubbing shoulders with men who had bowling balls for shoulders. My mom taught yoga, teaching classes full of perfectly toned, impressively flexible women. The Southern California summers were hot and California’s reputation for beautiful people held up. Built up the nostalgia for muscle.

My first dirty magazine was a muscle mag. Seeing a chunk of muscle tits, male or female, got my gears turning in ways nobody who wasn’t built like an ox ever could after that. But I was just beginning to lay the foundation for the obsession to come. My early teen years were spent collecting bodybuilder magazines and photographs, stuffing them into hiding spaces under my mattress or in my closet.

I taped bodybuilding events and muscle beach parties over the ends of random VHS’s. I idolized weightlifters like Lee Priest and Cory Everson, or the cast of American Gladiator. Hell, all I had to do was walk to the beach to get an eyeful of human candy walking around nearly naked, muscles cooking in the sunlight like a barbecue.

I ogled over buffed out heroes in shows like He-Man and Dragon Ball Z—I especially loved the transformations that caused Goku’s muscles to swell impossibly. It got to be that I spent so much time thinking about muscles growing bigger and bigger that looking at real life bodybuilders didn’t do much for me.

Remember that episode of The Real Ghostbusters where Venkman got possessed or something and grew into a hulking muscle beast? Or when the Genie in Aladdin impersonated Arnold Schwarzenegger? Feelings I’d never felt before. Even the biggest pumped up musclebound giants and giantesses at the local gym couldn’t get me excited like that anymore.

It didn’t help that I myself got into swimming and stayed there. I was lean and that was it. Nicknames like skinny-bones-Jones or beanpole stuck, even after becoming a teenager. I tried lifting weights, sure. I dieted and did the regiment but just couldn’t build any mass. I wasn’t a gainer.

But I knew a gainer. My kid brother.

Nate was a year younger than me. We are not twins, stop asking sarcastically (or at all, thanks). He spent the same amount of time in the gyms and fitness classes that I did growing up, except whereas I came out looking like I could swim laps around anybody my age, he came out looking like he could out bench any other kid we knew. And it got worse as we got older. Worse or better, that’s up to you.

He had hand-me-downs from yours truly and they almost never fit. By age 16, the shirts looked like crop tops on him. He was already passing 200 pounds somewhere around that time.

Then he brought the gym home. For the next few years, as we finished high school and got into college, we shared an addiction: muscle growth. For me, it was an obsession from the outside looking in. For him, it became a way of life.

It’s like he never needed to rest. When we weren’t in school, Nate was either hanging out with friends—he was quite popular—or lifting weights and eating. He kept me up until all hours of the night in his room, even though it was in a detached building at the back of our property, banging the irons together, dropping them on the floor, grunting and groaning and growing. My daydreams were terrible.

On the night of our 18th birthday, we had a big party, tried our best to embarrass him in front of his friends, but he disappeared with Veronica and Jessica until we thought they’d gone off to the movies. I had a sneaking suspicion they hadn’t gone far.

I waited until the rest of the guests had gone and my parents were asleep, then I snuck out of my bedroom and stealthily made my way across the backyard. The leaves crunched underfoot—I had to go slow. I came around the corner of his converted shed, obscured by some dark bushes. At the far end of the little building, a light was on, casting a white square on the grass.

My heart was pounding in my ears and I strained to listen over its thudding for the sound of voices inside. Instead, I heard the crashing sound of the weights hitting the floor. I couldn’t hear any voices. I thought about turning back. Spying on my brother would get me into a lot of trouble! I wasn’t afraid of my parents, they were pretty lenient, but my brother?

I watched him win a fight in high school. He never lost. He barely had to fight back. Our classmates were typically on average 100 pounds lighter than he was at that point and a foot or more shorter. Picking a fight with him just didn’t happen and he showed that redhead Daniel exactly why. Sure, he got suspended for knocking him out with a single punch, but he also won the adoration of nearly every girl in school, and even a few of the guys, too, to be honest.

I had gone around the back of the wall of his shed at that point, just enough to see through the corner of the window. I swallowed hard. I could see his bed, unmade, disheveled sheets thrown into disarray. I inched closer.

That’s when I heard the voices. There were no words, just noises. I crept a little closer, edged my face up against the window frame and took a deep breath, then looked in.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by his racks of black dumbbells, his adjustable weight bench and towering gear, my brother’s back rose, a huge golden brown v like the hood of a gigantic cobra. The wavy black hair of his head nearly scraped the ceiling—he was quickly outgrowing that room. His back and shoulders were covered with a layer of sweat. I’d seen him like this all the time but as my eyes traced the bulging muscles further down toward the ground, my admiration turned to excitement and then to astonishment.

He was naked from head to toe. His striated ass flexed and unflexed as he stood there teasing Veronica’s long pianist fingers that played over his bubble-butt. Her other arm was wrapped around his thigh. Her curly blond hair hid most of her upper body but I could tell she was topless. Her bra was under Nate’s foot.

On the other side, sharing him, because honestly there was more than enough beef to feed them both, Jessica had thrown herself around his waist. She was the bustiest girl in school worth talking about, her double D’s pressed against his thigh. She was grinding against him, humming softly, playfully.

Veronica and Jessica, and even Nate himself, all had their eyes fixed on his reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall. It showed his body from the waist up. Well, as much of him as could fit in it, at least.

“What’s next?” he said, looking into his own eyes. Hands clutched down in front of his crotch, he bounced his melon-like pecs for them, sending ripples of muscle caressing up through his chest slowly, one side at a time.

“More pecs again,” the girls moaned.

Jessica was rubbing her breasts against him, “How big can they get, Nathan?”

“Pump them up, baby,” Veronica said between sensual kisses lathered on his hips and ass.

“More?” he laughed, slipping back under the bench press bar. “How much this time?”

“450!” one of them yelled.

“Load it up!”

The girls helped each other fit more weight at either end of the bar, devouring his body with their eyes at every chance they got. I did the same. Veronica was definitely topless, I could confirm as a brute fact. Jessica was practically there. Turns out her long black hair, gathered into sweaty strands, obscured a black tank top that was similarly soaked with sweat, doing nothing to hide the swollen nipples of her swollen breasts.

But my eyes couldn’t leave my brother’s body. What a teenage muscle freak. Lying on his back, head toward me, I could look straight down his impressive length. Just past his thick neck and his chiseled chin were his insane pecs, rising like bread from his body, sticking out like twin pillows stuffed under his skin. Muscle tits. He wasn’t veiny, he wasn’t cut, just plain massive. I couldn’t even see his nipples—or his abs, for that matter—past those two brown mountains jutting from his torso, slick with sweat and completely hairless like most of the rest of him. You could thank our Samoan background for that—the genes worked for him at least. The tribal tattoo he got on his left pec last year already looked stretched to the limit.

He put his arms under the bar, ready to lift. His chest nearly touched the bar already but his arms could hardly fit. He needed a much wider bench than the one he’d been using since he was still 16. His guns were like footballs, overinflated, looking like they’d tear at the seams. His forearms rippled as he got his grip adjusted.

But the worst (the best?) part of my view was his cock. I thought it was his knee at first. I hadn’t seen his hardon before, though… since we often swam at the beach, Nate’s trunks left little to the imagination about what he was packing when limp. Now, however, the head of the beast was the only thing visible past his pecs, a shiny, veiny, throbbing anaconda arcing through the air, thrusting at the ceiling.

God, how could it be that big? How was any of this humanly possible?

I stuck my knuckles in my eyes as the girls finished loading him up, begging him to start. He flashed that cocky, confident, macho grin at them and they would’ve melted into pools if they could. I nearly did. I had to adjust my stance, I was quickly running out of room in my shorts. I knelt down under his window now, peeking in to get a look.

The girls were rubbing his pecs as he pushed up the weight again and again, breathing perfectly controlled, like a machine. Their hands slowly moved to his nipples, his lats, his waist and abs, then his dick. There was enough room for all four of their hands. They mumbled slurred lust at his engorged body splayed out before them, twisting and jerking his huge leaking cock as he pumped up his body to their demands.

They egged him on, “Bigger, bigger, c’mon, do it bigger…” almost chanting.

Fuck. Veronica was touching herself. Jessica bent over and put her mouth over his dick. Or she tried. The head was as big as an apple. Her lips stretched and stretched and Nate moaned, a manly growl that caused the window pane to shudder.

“Bigger, baby, please go bigger…”

His arms and neck and pecs looked like they were almost burning inside, veins starting to show up, popping. The bench under him creaked, he must weigh a ton. I’d never seen anyone so big—or had I? It was almost impossible to think with my own junk in my hands, playing with the colossal tent in my shorts.

Nate slowed down as he rounded 50 reps and then racked the bar with a roar. The walls shook. The girls trembled like leaves in the wind. He sat up, the v of his back flaring, dripping with huge beads of his sweet-smelling sweat. I could taste it through the glass.

He stood up, the chicks still on his manhood, looking up and up at all of him. He bent over and gave them a tremendous, freakish crab flex they’d never forget. I could see just past him, only barely, at the reflection of his over-inflated, disgustingly shredded pecs that hung off his chest. Then he turned around.

I wasn’t ready for it. My heart felt like it stopped. I sucked in my breath with a sharp gasp. I creamed my shorts.

He looked as if he’d been shaped out of molten lead. His tiny waist supported heavy lats and massive arms that hung at an angle, absolutely crowded with the muscles of his forearms and his triceps and biceps, his shoulders like bloated strips of steak. His bricks of abs flexed with every breath he took. His over-stimulated, circumcised, purple horse cock flailed and slapped himself in the stomach, stretching thick webs of precum everywhere, all over his abs, his thighs, the girls’ hands and heads and faces.

They were wild with muscle lust, clawing at his skin, biting at his bulging physique—they didn’t have enough hands between them to either satisfy their desire or please his burgeoning teen body. Nate walked through them as they hung onto his legs like they were drowning. And they were: in a sea of raging teen hormones.

Nate sat at the edge of his bed, closer to the window than before. I could see every muscle in his body tense and relax as he eased his weight down, the bed sinking, creaking, springs in the mattress almost snapping. He looked like he was pushing 400 pounds now! The stretch marks on his broad shoulders and massive pecs told the story—they might be unsightly on lesser human bodies, but on his godlike physique, they told the tale of his triumphant growth.

He laid back, pillow under his head, arm around either girl. They began lapping up the trickling sweat off his neck and chest, slurping at the pools that collected in the deep chasm between each bloated pectoral. Jessica’s nails were raking his abs. Veronica’s fist pumped his cock, furiously. He just smiled at them, their obsession. It was his obsession, too, with his own body. Obsession was the only way he’d pushed his genetics and his strength and size so far. Nate had turned his entire life into a machine designed to produce bigger muscles. Everything from his education to his friendships to the food he ate fueled his desire to be the biggest.

Nate placed his large hands on the girls’ heads and gently eased their faces into his chest, flexing his muscles against their faces. It drove them mad as he continued to pump his swollen muscle tits for them, flex after flex after flex. Their tongues lashed against his dark, rock hard nipples, sticking almost straight toward his toes with all of the muscle crowded above them. When he eased his head back, eyes rolling as they sucked his muscle tits, his face nearly disappeared behind all that immense, corrugated, sweaty, veiny, distended chest.

He kneaded their skulls, caressed their hair as they latched on, suckling his pecs, making those nips even harder. Their filthy, slutty sucking noises filled the room. Jessica orgasmed but didn’t stop. He bounced his pecs against their heads. They bit at his nipples and he moaned louder, his cock throbbing at full mast, easily larger and longer than my elbow to my fingertips!

Jessica and Veronica had a hand each on his shaft now, feeling his heartbeat, as they continued to pleasure his pumped muscle tits. His cock erupted precum, oozing down the many inches of his shaft, covering his tangerine-sized balls, drenching the girls’ fingers, sliding off the bed and pooling on the floor. It was as if they’d awakening a sleeping giant, his true sexual powers being explored for the first time. His libido had become an adult in all of its frightening, insatiable vastness. They’d been pleasuring his body for hours and this was the result, an almost inhuman display of sheer masculinity packed so tight under a layer of brown skin that it looked like he might just burst over-ripened by merely lying there.

“Holy fucking shit—” I muttered, and that was my mistake.

I ducked only just in time as Nate sat bolt upright, scowling at the window.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Somebody outside!”

“W-what’s going on?”

Nate’s bedroom door swung open, banged against the outside of the shed. I heard his heavy footsteps pound against the ground. If I hadn’t jumped up on the roof, he would’ve seen me and killed me. I could see his head coming round the corner as he rounded the shed a couple times—how the hell tall was he?!

He went back in. “Time for you to go. Now. There’s a hose outside. Clean up.”

They didn’t argue. A few minutes later, his lights went out.

In the dark, I could hear his mattress whining as he sat on it again. I could hear the iron clinking. He was thinking and working on his bicep curls, on and on into the night.

I stayed up there, unmoving, for hours and hours, regretting that I’d soiled myself. He would’ve heard me if I’d tried to get down and I was convinced he didn’t sleep. But even though I’d narrowly escaped getting my ass kicked by a teenage muscle freak, that muscle freak was my bro and I had seen quite a show.

It felt indescribably wrong, no doubt about it, don’t get me wrong. I don’t care if you think I’m a freak, though. We’re all deviants and human sexuality is fucking gross. But I spent the rest of the night up there with an ear to ear grin, let me tell you. I never forgot that night.

My muscle obsession had just reached a new level.

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