(Just a short bit I wanted to try out. Feedback is welcome.)
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I couldn’t help myself. I knew this was wrong, yet despite the warnings that my brain was shouting at me, I continued to stare from my concealed spot. If my parents would ever find out what I was doing, I’d be in serious trouble for doing something so sneaky. The fear of being caught was a constant presence, hovering over my shoulders and causing knots to form in my stomach.
But it just couldn’t overpower my desires – that ever present fear. I was unable to tear my eyes away from this sight; it made me feel all tingly and happy, like I was somehow entranced by its beauty and appeal. Was it sexual pleasure? Yes, without a doubt. I was still young and full of hormones at the age of sixteen, having only turned that age a few weeks ago. A lot of my friends in school often commented on girls they saw in public – or boys in Jeremy’s case – by pointing out certain attributes that they liked, like big breasts or plump butts, or even how pretty a girl’s legs were.
So yes, one of the causes for my behavior was definitely connected to my damn hormones. But was that all? Honestly, there was actually another reason as to why I was acting like this.
I was spying on his neighbor because she was perfection incarnate.
Oh, I most certainly got a kick out of watching her sunbathe in her backyard, doing so from my concealed spot in the hedgerow that acted as a barrier between my own backyard and hers, or when she would work out. I was even holding a pair of binoculars, in case I needed a better view.
Then there was the fact that aside from being the ideal woman, miss Dawson was a friendly face who’d been my babysitter on multiple occasions. Too many for me to count in fact. I only had my parents in this small town, seeing as both of my grandparents lived miles away from here, so it was a blessing for our family that miss Dawson was all too willing to take care of me; mostly whenever my parents had to go on a business trip of sorts. They were very hard-working, but that meant they were gone a lot.
I knew the raven-haired woman ever since I’d been a curious child, and I couldn’t deny the emotional connection I had made with her. Hell, she still greeted me each time I got back from school. The routine was all too familiar; she would be just getting home from her job as the owner of the local gym, and I would arrive shortly after, so our paths crossed at least five times a week.
Now, you might be asking yourself, why was I so obsessed with my much older neighbor? The answer was rather simple.
Unlike my friends, I didn’t really find the typical kind of girl to be all that attractive. Not that I found them unappealing, but they lacked what miss Dawson had. It didn’t matter if they had cute faces, a sexy ass or big breasts or whatever.
They weren’t as muscular as my hot neighbor.
Yes, I had a burning passion for girls with muscle. While other boys my age were fawning over attractive girls at school, I was stuck inside this hedgerow, watching the most perfect woman work out in her backyard or sunbathe those large, firm muscles. It was a sinful pleasure of mine. My eyes would be glued to miss Dawson’s striated backside as she hung up some clothes to dry, or her bulging quads whenever she went for a walk.
For someone who was in her forties, miss Dawson – or Cathy as she insisted on me calling her that – did not look her age at all. Her skin had very few wrinkles, and her long black hair was still as lustrous as ever. Mom often asked her how in the world she remained so youthful. I could never spot any blemishes, nor any faults in her looks; she was simply gorgeous.
Her striking green eyes were like emeralds, and her features were delicate and alluring. Miss Dawson didn’t lack anything when it came to the curves department either, possessing a large bust and wide hips, which granted an attractive hourglass shape.
But most importantly, miss Dawson was built like a truck! Seriously, I had looked up a lot of muscular women on the internet, visiting sites that catered to people like me and even watched dozens of videos about FBB contests, and many of them couldn’t hold a candle next to miss Dawson. Not only was she really tall, around six feet three or so, but her body was massive. Kind of like a heavyweight bodybuilder; wide back, surreal thick legs, bulging biceps… She had it all.
I secretly hated myself for doing something as creepy and trust-breaking as spying on the woman who’d shown me nothing but love, but I couldn’t resist, despite knowing it’s wrong. Ever since I’d taken that first step into her house as a young child, she’d seduced me with her powerful physique.
I would often wander through memory lane; past memories such as when we’d wrestled for fun, during which miss Dawson had played the angry monster and me as the brave hero. I could still recount how her dense, blocky abdominals had clenched hard during those games.
There had also been a lot of roleplaying involved back then. Being the young child I was, miss Dawson had indulged my superhero fantasies, which was a result of my dad buying me comic books. I’d dress up like a hero while miss Dawson would play the villain, and she would try to capture me or I’d chase her instead.
Naturally, you couldn’t be a hero or villain without a costume, right? Miss Dawson believed so, and I still think back fondly to those moments when she had purposefully dressed up like a real supervillain for me. The best thing about it was how revealing her costumes were; they exposed a lot of muscle.
Oh, how I missed those simpler times.
It would be really weird if I asked her to relive those experiences again, which meant I wouldn’t be seeing her dress up anytime soon anymore. A real shame; miss Dawson would be an excellent cosplayer. Characters like She-Hulk or Wonder Woman were practically made for someone as strong and beautiful as her.
Anyway, considering my backstory, a part of me wasn’t surprised that my newest hobby was to spy on my neighbor next door. If anything, I should have seen it coming with how obsessed I’ve gotten. Most of my dreams were haunted by images of her chiseled physique, promising me happiness and unmatched pleasure. Nowadays I wondered if that were my hormones talking.
My breath hitched as the door to the patio slid open – there she was! I saw a slender, tanned foot come out first, completely bare on this sunny summer day. Then came the connected calf into view. Dear lord, how was it possible for someone to have such big calves; all I could see was a large heart-shaped muscle, highlighted by an insane detail of definition. They seemed almost bloated with size, but even from my spot inside the hedgerow, I could see that they were incredibly hard.
I looked upwards as the rest of her leg appeared. My eyes widened like usual, as if not believing what they were seeing, but I knew that miss Dawson’s thighs were that enormous. Both her hamstrings and quads were superb and massive! I often wondered how big they were, because miss Dawson’s legs made others look like toothpicks compared to her. Her vastus muscles were swollen lumps that shook with each step she took. Naturally, her hamstrings were thick cables that completed the powerful appearance of her thighs. They looked wider than my own waist!
It suddenly got a lot warmer inside the hedgerow. My heart was already thundering inside my chest, and a drop of sweat cascaded down the back of my neck.
Miss Dawson’s tanned complexion really helped make her muscles look more defined. Using my binoculars, I could see every crevice of her muscular physique. The dark-haired woman finally exited her house fully, and my breath was stolen away from like always.
If her lower half was already a work of art, then her upper body put all famous sculptors to shame. Miss Dawson’s chest and back were wide enough to be twice my width; packed with sturdy, dense muscles and deep lines that ran in between each muscle group. My hot neighbor was dressed in tight compression shorts and a workout bra, which I recognized as her usual outfit for her workouts. The top was stretched thin over her amazing chest, trying to contain her ample bust; the latter had not suffered from her sturdy pectorals. That was another thing I liked about miss Dawson – the enhanced curves. You might think building so much muscle mass, as well as the disappearance of fat, would diminish her feminine figure, but that was not the case with miss Dawson. If anything, her curvature was more pronounced with the added layers of muscle.
I almost lost it right there and then when she turned around, throwing her hair over her buff back with one elegant swoop. This simple action made the tendons and fibers in her back flex magnificently. I could see her traps bulging and her lats flaring out, like wings made of solid muscle. Miss Dawson bend over to stretch – a standard ritual before doing some exercises – and treated me to the sight of her glorious glutes.
My search for muscular women on the internet had made me aware of how Brazilian fitness models had incredible asses, but they would be seriously jealous of my neighbor, whose behind was perfect in all the right ways. While as large as footballs, those ass cheeks were mostly made out of pure muscle, and I knew that despite their normal looking shape, a simple flex would show off at least a dozens of striations.
And god, those arms! Miss Dawson’s arms were absolutely packed with beef; from her meaty forearms to her pumpkin-like shoulders. Veins crisscrossed over the tanned expanse over her lower arm, snaking their way like tiny rivers towards her massive biceps. The town I lived in was rather small, meaning that everyone was vaguely aware of who the other inhabitants were, and I wasn’t lying when I said there were barely any other people who had such big arms. The peak of her bicep was a sight that never got old.
Miss Dawson began to do more stretches, tensing and tightening those huge muscles of hers. I could feel myself getting hard – no, that wasn’t right. My member had been hard since she’d stepped out on the patio a few minutes ago. The lust that continued to surge through my body was almost mind-numbing, focusing solely on the beautiful amazon in her backyard.
My impatience almost got the better of me, but soon enough the stretches were completed, and my Amazonian neighbor walked over to her dumbbell set. This was one of my favorite moments; watching her work and push those muscles to new limits.
She sat down on a nearby sunbathing chair, holding a single dumbbell in her right hand. Truth be told, I knew which weight that was due to how many times I’d watched her do this particular exercise, and it never amazed me to see her curl a 60 pound weight like she was doing a warmup. Miss Dawson showed no signs of having trouble with the weight as she began doing the exercise.
The large, round bicep on her arm swelled with each curl that she completed. I saw the split on top of it deepen whenever she brought the weight up, and her forearm expanded while her veins were pushed to the surface. She then used her other hand, forcing the muscles in the other arm to undergo the same grueling process of improvement.
Miss Dawson didn’t stop there. Using the assortment of weights available to her, she continued to do other exercises that pumped her muscles, fueling their insatiable hunger to grow larger. I still couldn’t make out any indication of exertion though. Sure, there was the occasional grunt, but my neighbor kept going, visage set in stone as she pushed herself to become stronger. By now, her arms were looking absolutely jacked thanks to her pump. Even her highly developed deltoids were standing out.
Subconsciously my hand began to drift towards my dick, and once my fingers were clenched hard around my shaft, I started to slowly stroke myself to my neighbor’s superior body. Those tanned, bulging muscles were all I could think about. The way she stood on her tiptoes and her calves inflated like balloons, or how she’d lean from one side to another, showing off her cobblestone-like serratus muscles.
I picked up the pace, letting out a small moan. My eyes were shut tight at this point. Pure pleasure was building up like magma in a volcano, desperate to erupt fiercely. Still, my mind kept replaying those scenes of miss Dawson’s huge physique.
Then a hand grabbed my shoulder with a grip of iron and pulled me out of the hedgerow.
I landed on the grass, pants halfway down my legs. The blood in my veins turned to ice as I slowly realized what was happening. A shadow was cast over me, and I flinched as a stern voice called my name.
“It’s time we have a little chat, Thomas.” The incredibly muscular and beautiful miss Dawson said, the steel in her tone making me wish I could crawl into a shell and stay there.
Maybe this wasn’t the best of ideas after all…
