Michelle's natural growth

[Chadzbox]

I have always liked strong men with bulging muscles. I’ve often dated men just for their biceps—I loved laying my head on a thick chest and tracing a vein down his bicep, feeling his strong forearms. I used to love putting my hands on a thick chest while I straddled an athletic man.

For that reason, I started going to the gym. I started messing around on the weight machines to be near muscular men. But even without a plan, I saw some gains: I had a little bicep that I started to show off even though it barely made a bump above my upraised arm; my legs got stronger too, and my ass got a little bigger and a lot firmer. I loved looking at myself in the mirror as my body changed.

These little gains led me to train even harder and learn what I could from articles and forums online. Sometimes I stumbled across a page for a female bodybuilder, but I thought they looked funny. But as time passed, I saw their dedication and their abilities for what they were, impressive. I started training heavier and harder, loving the gains I made.

One of my favorite things was all the mirrors in the women’s locker room. It seemed that each week there was something new to look at, a back muscle, a hint at intercostals, and of course, I loved seeing my shoulders and biceps get bigger and more defined. Sometimes I even brought a little baby oil to rub on myself as I flexed. Sometimes I would even do some pushups on the counter right in front of the mirror to watch my pecs ripple and fill with blood, even recently developing a little vein or two if I pumped up and held my breath while flexing. It got to a point that I would get turned on looking at my gains; if I did a solid most-muscular, I had to immediately play with myself. Luckily, the steam room was always empty at midday when I worked out, so I would pleasure myself on the bottom bench almost every time I worked out—it was my little reward.

The guys loved it too. I was scared that I was looking too muscular, but I could tell that I wasn’t when guys would look at me. Most looked away when I looked up, but a few, usually the studs of the gym, would smile when they were caught. When they caught me shooting the shit after a workout, they would complement me and give me their number. I’d call the cute ones.

About a month ago, the cutest trainer in the gym, Tim, asked me out. We went to a bar after dinner where he bet the bartender that I could beat him in arm-wrestling. I tried to get out of it, but the bartender had a 50% tip on the line and he insisted.

We locked up, and I was worried since his hands were so big and he was at least twice my size—not a pussy at all. We locked up and Tim put his hand over ours, “on your marks, get set, go!” He lifted his hand and I inched forward, thinking the bartender was letting me gain some ground before showing me what he could do. He gritted his teeth and brought me to a standstill. Uh-oh I thought, Here it comes. But he didn’t throw my hand onto the bar. He gained a half-inch or so before I realized this was his all. I too gritted my teeth and felt my bicep bulge at the extra effort. I pulled his hand under mine and with a single grunt, slammed his hand to the bar.

“Holy shit!” The bartender exclaimed. “Okay, I guess I pick up your tab. Do you think I can take a picture of you flexing? No one is going to believe that a skinny girl half my size beat me in arm-wrestling, not unless they see that softball that almost ripped your sleeve.” I looked down, and saw my bicep was swollen and pushing at the sleeve of my shirt.

“Okay,” I said “but you have to put it up on the wall behind you with a caption about me beating you.”

“Deal.” He smiled, knowing he was about to see something pretty impressive.

I tried pulling my sleeve up over my arm, but it got stuck right in the middle. I was wearing one of those blouses with no elastic, and I knew it really would rip once I flexed. Instead, I pulled the whole blouse over my head (enjoying the shocked and excited looks from Tim and the bartender). I was wearing a tank-top underneath, so I wasn’t in my bra or anything. Without flexing, I could see my vein running down my arm was full and the vein running across my bicep was as big as ever. I flexed and pumped my arm a few times then said, “Ready.”

“Oh my god, look at those.” The bartender said. Apparently not worried about Tim at all. I looked at Tim; he had his phone out too.

“No way Tim. You don’t get a picture yet.” I said and grabbed his phone before he could protest. I turned back to the bartender and gave my best flex. I could tell it looked good because his eyes almost popped out of his head.

He took the picture (or 10) and said, “Come back in and it will be on the wall, Beast.”

“It’s Michelle” I countered, “but Beast will do.” I winked and Tim grabbed our stuff. I noticed Tim slipping a $50 on the bar as we left and my heart skipped a beat—the last thing I want to be is some guy’s meal ticket, freak-show.

In the elevator on the way to the parking garage, Tim recounted the look on the bartender’s face and how huge my arm looked. “Did you get a load of the picture he took? Your arms looked better than mine.” This made me think that my arms did really look good if this super-strong trainer said something like this. He put his hand around my arm and asked me to flex.

“I’ll flex” I said, “but you’ve got to be patient.” He looked so sad that I gave him the tiniest flex I could, and he looked at me astonished.
“My god, you’ve gotten big…and hard.”

“So have you.” I guessed, but when I looked at his crotch, it was straining against his pants.

That night I let Tim come up to my condo. I even told him about flexing with baby-oil as we laughed again about the arm wrestling. “Show me!” He prodded. “Come on, just a little.”

I agreed and took my blouse off in the bathroom. I went to my bedroom and did 50 quick pushups and oiled myself up. I looked in the mirror and did a double bicep flex…they were hard and seemed bigger than ever before. I felt myself get wet as I walked down the hallway.
I’m usually kind of a slut, but that night, I liked watching his dick strain against his pants so much, that after I let him feel my biceps, lats, shoulders, and abs; I told him I had to get to bed, which was a lie. He scheduled a date for two days later, and I can only assume he jacked off in the parking lot before he left because he already had a silver-dollar sized stain on his pants from his aching dick.

At the gym the next day, I worked my biceps hard, with the memory of how much attention they got the night before. Tim was there at the same time, working his biceps, so when I saw his arms in the mirror curling at the same time I was curling, I got incredibly turned on. They were bigger than mine and had sharp cuts down the side, veins seemed to crisscross his biceps. This made me work even harder…I had a fantasy of having arms like his someday. I added weight on the next set and worked even harder. I was staring at his arms since it was a in the corner reflection, and I knew that he wouldn’t have the same angle on me. Each time he lifted, I lifted. I matched his intensity and squeezed my arms harder on each rep. I felt amazing, but his arms were almost unattainable, huge and perfect. On my last rep, I heard a voice behind me, “Damn, you look ready to destroy anyone in arm-wrestling.” It was Tim. I was a bit confused until I racked the weight and realized it was my arm I was staring at. I did a double bicep flex in the mirror and looked straight on this time, so I could see Tim reach out to touch them. I held the pose a second longer, so he could get a handful.
“Now you.” I demanded. He acquiesced and did his best flex. I stood up next to him and flexed too. I looked with fresh eyes and realized that if anything, I was bigger. My arms were more cut and looked stronger. I turned to him and said, “I think I could arm-wrestle anyone.” I winked and went into the locker room. I called over my shoulder, “I can’t wait for our date.”

“Me too!” He replied, obviously excited.

In the locker room, I found my favorite spot with the singular light shining down for the most amazing contrast. I oiled up and flexed every part of me. I had truly gotten in impressive shape. I hit a most muscular after pumping out 100 pushups. My shredded pecs, traps, shoulders, biceps, and abs looked amazing. I did it again and heard a gasp. I looked up and saw that in a reflection of a reflection, a beautiful girl. She was young and beautiful, perfect full breasts, a skinny waist with a hint of abs, and some very nice arms with what might be a nice little bump when she flexed. I walked away before she could see me watching her.

I snuck into the steam-room and was feeling my bicep, remembering how great it looked next to Tim’s when I heard the door close. “You are amazing.” A soft voice said in almost a whisper. I turned and saw the girl from the locker room. I watched her eyes slowly work up from the floor. I realized she was enjoying what she saw, so I gave a flex to each part and watched her react with huge eyes. We finally met my eyes and said, “Why did you leave?”
“What?” I didn’t know what she meant.

“I saw you catch me looking. I thought maybe I grossed you out…I just couldn’t help myself. Seeing you made me incredibly horny, but I couldn’t let myself miss a second of your flexing. I-I’m usually not like this, I’m not even gay. I-I just wanted to touch you.”

With that, I put my arms behind my head and gave a huge flex, inviting her to touch. It felt so good to be felt all over. She worked her way all the way to my calfs, and when she worked her way up, I flexed each part as I had before. She spent a long time on my abs; then my pecs and shoulders, and it felt so amazing when she tried to grab my arms but couldn’t quite get half-way around them. She cupped and stroked my biceps, gently tracing my veins, then trying to make a dent in them (she couldn’t).

I reached down and grabbed her hands, moved them down to my glutes, and gave a good flex. I felt her explore each striation. Then I flexed my abs and pulled her head toward them. she got the idea and kissed each muscle, flowing down to the inevitable ending place, my dripping wet pussy.
As she took my clit in her mouth, I looked down at my shredded pecs and abs, feeling her caress my legs and thought, “god damn, I deserve this, and gave myself a bicep flex as my whole body convulsed in an orgasm.

I thought the girl would be embarrassed, but she looked up and said, “Thank you.”

[quick]

Awesome!  I love stories where the woman gets huge from her hard work and natural ability.  No steroids, magic, or scifi stuff.  Keep it up!

[potatocarrot]

Completely agree with quick its great to see another like this. Great work! K+

[fitgirlfanguy]

Aligned with the comments about natural, more realistic muscle growth.  Great content so far!

[phil123]

Great start and would like to read what happens next. Hope she will outmuscle Tim

[jargoon]

I also love natural growth stories, I'm excited to see how far this goes

[Super_squirrel]

Nothing better than when a woman decides to get muscular and then finds herself loving it. Thanks for sharing.

[jhunter]

Wonderful sample, looks like there's promise for more. Keep it up.

[tapion]

I love natural muscle growth. Keep going! Great story!

[jeffbeans]

This is great, keep going! 

[sgsg69]

Really nice start, and like the natural angle, maybe Tim can concentrate on her to help her progression............can't wait for the next chapter..........KARMA to you, K++

[MuscleAppreciator]

“So have you.” I guessed, but when I looked at his crotch, it was straining against his pants.

This is one of the funniest things I've read in a while.