The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Clive hefted his duffle bag with a pained grunt and checked his phone again, frowning at the text message.

Mom:

Can’t pick you up. Busy. Enjoy the walk.

He’d managed to scab a lift from Dallas to Jefferson from a classmate who was journeying back to Shreveport to spend the spring break with his folks. It had felt a tad rude when the college junior dropped him at the Exxon Gas station in the middle of town and kept driving, but beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to free rides.

…but a guy should be able to rely on his own family.

Taking the shoe leather express had been taxing. The days were fast growing warmer as March bled into April, and while Jefferson was not a large town, Clive was hardly in good shape. Studying a computer science major didn’t lead him to a lot of outdoor or athletic activity. Though his mind was sharp, his body was soft and squishy.

So he had sweated the six-block slog up North Walcott Street, hung a left turn at the assisted living facility, and trekked another four until home eventually hove into view.

The houses in this part of town were generally modest brick-and-tile affairs for middle-income families, squeezing what joy they could out of simple country living. White oaks and cedar elms cast their shade on well-kept front lawns, alive with the birdsong of mockingbirds, wrens, and chickadees.

The sounds of no less than three lawnmowers droned in the afternoon air as Clive labored past a neighbor tending to the aforementioned grass under the bright Texas sunshine. A friendly wave didn’t even register with the older man, who looked preoccupied—worried even. His balding pate shone with sweat as he pushed the mower along at a reckless pace while the sound of thudding bass music resounded from inside the suburban abode.

Clive shrugged it off, focusing on his own family home further down the baking sidewalk. His UTD t-shirt was soaked in perspiration and stuck to his soft body like wet tissue paper. He sighed in relief when he finally reached the front gate and made his way up onto the porch.

The house was one of the nicest ones in the area. Not palatial by any means, but a comfortable two-story construction with a white picket fence, well-maintained flower gardens, and a tall gabled roof overhanging colonial-style arched windows.

His mother, Melanie, had done well in her career as a freelance insurance broker despite raising three children all on her own after dear ol’ dad had blown town.

Well, not entirely on her own, Clive considered as he fumbled with his keys. Aunt Kimberly—a confirmed spinster—had moved in as a defacto surrogate parent once all the… unpleasantness had died down.

Small-town gossip was savage, but together with his two sisters, Taylor and Emily, they had weathered the rumor mill well enough. Ignoring the whispers and pitying looks until the next Jefferson scandal had thankfully dragged them out of the local limelight.

So it was with no end of fond remembrance when Clive stepped into the blessedly cool interior of his childhood home—the familiar sight of framed family photos on the walls and polished wood floors beneath his sneakers. The entryway led into a well-lit living room scattered with tasteful furniture and a large hand-woven rug with an expensive entertainment unit set up against the rear-facing wall.

“Hello, I’m home!” He called, dropping his burdensome luggage and fanning the neck of his damp shirt.

No friendly response greeted his arrival.

Some kind of ESPN power-lifting tournament was playing on the wide-screen television on mute, but no one was watching it. In fact, the house seemed empty until Clive caught the distant sounds of pounding music vibrating up from below his feet.

The basement?

Curious, he wandered down a hall towards the stairs. There shouldn’t be anything down there but a jumble of cardboard boxes stuffed with old clothing and sentimental junk his mother couldn’t bear to part with, like his old cot or the Halloween costumes they all wore as children.

Instead, as he climbed down the rickety wooden stairs, Clive found a freshly renovated, spacious room, free of clutter and filled with gym equipment.

The masonry walls were painted stark white with floor-to-ceiling mirrors attached to the majority of vertical surfaces. Weight racks and lifting benches were spread out, polished steel sparkling beneath the glare of fluorescent lighting. The source of the loud, bone-rattling rhythm was a compact sound system slotted between a stand of dense-looking dumbbells and a lat pull-down station.

The music blared out of the speakers, high tempo with gut-thumping bass. Clive could feel it in his limbs and inner organs. An ear-punishing assault of sonic vibration in the form of… was that freakin’ electropop?

You’ve got to work it if you want me,

You’ve got to work it if you want me!

This ass ain’t for free,

You’ve got to work it if you want me!

His heart rate quickened to match time with the beat, and the increased blood flow left Clive panting for oxygen as his temperature rose. No small part of him wanted to run away from the damn song and hide. Another more curious part yearned to feel more of this strange, enervating sensation.

The crash of metal against metal broke through the electrifying melody. Spinning about in alarm, Clive’s searching gaze locked on the back of a head with extravagantly long blonde hair propped up in the low seat of an angled leg press machine as bare, muscular thighs pumped what had to be over two hundred and fifty pounds of circular weights in time with the music.

Hard, carved muscles stood out in stark definition under pale, hairless skin. Thick flexing quadriceps and hamstrings transitioned into sculpted calves, moving smoothly in practiced form as the mystery blonde worked through a dozen more reps before lowering the weight sled into the resting position.

You better be jacked,

If you wanna talk smack.

Or you gonna get slapped,

You’ve got to work it if you want me!

Clive could feel his own muscles tightening as the aggressive lyrics and intense rhythm punched him in his pudgy gut. Sweat prickled his brow, and the room suddenly felt terribly warm, leaving him shivering under the audio onslaught.

“Hey, nerd. When did you get home?”

The voice was familiar, and the volume on the speakers dropped to a more tolerable level as a face Clive recognized frowned in irritation back at him.

His younger sibling Emily stood by the sound system, a white towel thrown over shoulders far broader and densely packed than he remembered. Somewhere in the three months since he had last seen her, his baby sister had gone and got buff!

The cute, mildly goofy eighteen-year-old who loved old Hanna Barbera cartoons and followed fashion Instagrams was gone. In her place was a stacked brick house of a fitness model that could have walked straight out of a Robert E. Howard novel.

She was barely dressed in green camo booty shorts and a sports bra outfit that conformed to her chiseled, feminine physique like body paint. Several new piercings glittered in her ears, and there was a ring through her nose that hadn’t been there before. Emily’s washboard abs rippled, and her powerful biceps bulged as she toweled her long platinum hair dry of any perspiration.

“You gonna hi or just stare at my tits all day?” She snarked, bending down to pick up a forty-pound dumbbell in each hand. “You shouldn’t be down here, bro. This isn’t for the likes of you.”

Clive jerked when he realized he had been staring at her chest. It was difficult not to. They were so much larger than before. Over the course of a dozen short weeks, his little sis had sprouted a full set of whooping great knockers.

What had she been before? Maybe a B-cup… possibly a smaller C? He wasn’t the type of perv who would know at a glance, but now she was positively huge! The small spandex top was stretched thin over Emily’s juicy, round globes, and the outline of her stiff nipples poked through the stretchy fabric.

“No! I, um… what?” Clive fought to master his stumbling tongue. “Em, what happened to you? When did we get a home gym, and what was that music?”

His sister let out an unladylike snort as she began to curl. Shredded biceps and triceps bunching, then releasing with each lift. There was something mesmerizing about the play of dynamic muscle and the proud way his previously reserved sibling now held herself that Clive couldn’t help admiring.

He wanted to hear more of that music…

“You’re such a dork. Mom installed the workout equipment after she discovered this totally awesome direct marketing program for women.” Emily sniffed, turning her cute nose up and looking away. “She’ll kick your dumb ass if she finds out you were down here. This is strictly for girls only. No boys allowed.”

Clive floundered for understanding.

His mother, Melanie, was a successful insurance broker, and direct marketing was only a small step up from pyramid schemes. People lost their life savings to those scams. Mom was a savvy businesswoman without a mean bone in her body, who wouldn’t fall for some ridiculous get-rich-quick con, much less raise a hand to one of her beloved children.

But looking at Emily, pumping more iron than he would have dared attempt, the warning gained in merit. Still, Clive’s burning curiosity won out over his inherent sense of caution.

“What kind of direct marketing program, Em?” His gaze fell upon the sound system behind the statuesque blonde. The echoes of that song reverberated in his head and balled his fists.

You’ve got to work it if you want me!

“Female empowerment. You wouldn’t understand, but it’s been a real hit with the ladies in town. Mom’s making bank.” Emily sneered, her pretty face contorting in disdain as she twisted into a full-body flex that made every eye-catching muscle pop. “Now get out of here, nerd. You’re cramping my style.”

Dropping one leaden dumbbell to the padded mats beneath their feet, she twisted a knob on the speaker, and the thudding resonance vibrated the gym equipment around them.

Clive could feel it in the back of his teeth like a toothache, but something about the pulsing cadence roused his timid spirit like a hibernating bear. There was… an element to the sound which spoke to him in a way he had never felt before.

It whispered of potential. Unearthed personal depths begging to be explored.

His stomach grumbled and broke Clive out of his introspective reverie.

He raised his hands in surrender and backed slowly away from his yoked-out younger sister.

“I’m going. I’m going. Sheesh!” He muttered, trying not to stare at the clearly pronounced camel toe in her tiny yoga shorts. Blood pooling in distinctly inappropriate southern regions. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Clive waddled away, a tad bowlegged, as the music followed him up the basement stairs.

You’ve got to work it if you want me!

Clive eventually found himself in the kitchen.

The whole house was empty, except for the basement turned gym, with no sign of his older sister Taylor, Aunty Kimberly, or Mom. It was getting very late, and none had responded to his attempts at calling and messaging. Just as concerning was the fact that Clive was hurting.

His whole body ached as though he had endured one of those boot camp for the obese specials featured on Netflix. Lactic acid roasted every fiber and sinew in his tired body, and his stomach felt like a yawning void, yearning to be filled.

The fridge had turned out to be a trove of ketogenic nutrition, big on protein and devoid of any comforting sweets. Slabs of red meat, lean chicken breast, dozens and dozens of eggs, and strings of sausages supplemented with brown rice and broccoli took up most of the space. Flavorless protein shakes and energy drinks filled what was left.

Clive didn’t care as he heated a pan, seared a rare steak, then promptly devoured it. Only after he had wolfed down two more and discovered the whey concentrate milkshakes weren’t so bad did he pause to look over the family photos on the living room wall.

They were all happy memories. Mom and Aunt Kimberly resolved to give their young family the best start in life that they could manage, and had done well by any standard.

His eyes were fastened on a timber-framed group shot of all five of them on a camping trip on the Louisiana side of Caddo Lake. All smiling happily with the sun reflecting off the still waters and the verdant forest greenery as a picturesque backdrop.

His Mom and Aunt, two undeniably attractive ladies with similarly scarlet shades of hair, beamed proudly down at their trio of grinning troublemakers—remarkably blonde troublemakers at that. Their absconded father’s golden hair was just another reminder of the missing male presence in an otherwise idyllic childhood.

So lost in reminiscence was Clive that he completely failed to hear the car that pulled into the driveway or the chatting voices until they were already inside the house.

“—liked the DJ, and the drinks were great, but you have to admit, Kimber, the pickings were goddamn slim for decently attractive guys.”

“Please, Mel, like you wouldn’t have torn the dick off the first chump who tried it on with you.” Another familiar voice drawled. “They were all staring at your amazing ass while you danced, but not one of them had the stones to say boo. The men in this town leave a lot to be desired.”

“Can’t argue with that. What a downer.” Clive recognized his mother’s voice and smiled as he headed towards the source. “Let’s take our recovery shakes and call it a night. I’ve got an early morning combat class planned for tomorrow at six.”

He made it as far as the kitchen door before halting in surprise.

The women behind the kitchen island were conceivably his Mom and Aunt—both had the same fiery hair, milky complexions, and elegant features but otherwise appeared drastically different.

For all his Clive life, his Mother, Melanie, had kept in fairly good shape. Not especially fit and huggably plump in parts. A classic maternal figure of middling years. His Aunt, too, had followed in her sister’s footsteps, if a little shorter and rounder in the hips—lovely southern ladies aging gracefully as they raised a family together.

The two visions digging in the refrigerator couldn’t be them. The one with his mother’s voice was squeezed into black leather pants that were almost tearing from the bulk of feminine muscle within. Hard glutes that could have deflected meteorites and thighs of corded strength swayed atop combat boots with five-inch block heels as their owner bent further to rummage.

The other redheaded doppelganger was equally cranked up. Clad in a slinky brown and gray spaghetti strap mini dress that did little to conceal the woman’s powerlifter physique. The tiny, revealing clubwear had a desert camouflage pattern and was so sheer that Clive could make out every smooth line and sharp ridge of gym-sculpted flesh beneath, ending scant millimeters above a thigh gap that he could have passed a soda can through.

…and calling explicit attention to the fact his Aunty Kimberly wasn’t wearing a bra over tits so large and buoyant that a boatload of men could drown in their cushiony depths.

Both women were paragons of female might and allure. Amazons that would have stomped Heracules into the mud. Valkyrie shield maidens kicking dead hero butt in the halls of Valhalla. Daughters of Mars; the Roman god of war. Blindingly beautiful and dreadful to behold with thick, powerful limbs, massive breasts, tight waistlines, eight-pack stomachs, load-bearing hips, and muscular legs that could squat press the heavens.

With decidedly more piercings in their ears too. Shiny hoops and studs with fine chains connecting several of them… and when did Aunty Kimberly get a full tattoo sleeve down her right arm?

Were those snakes and skulls inked onto her pumped-up biceps?

“Uh, hello?” Clive hazarded, feeling terribly body-conscious in the presence of peak female fitness. “Mom, I’m home for spring break.”

“Oh, it’s the parasite.” Possibly-Aunt Kimberly scoffed, not giving him more than a passing glance. “Returning to clutch at the apron strings he’s missed so badly.”

“Clive?” The Athenian Wonder Woman with his mother’s voice straightened and turned to face him. “What are you doing here?”

If anything, she was larger in every way than her scowling sister. In height, musculature, and chesty endowments. Her spectacular cleavage was packed into a cropped leather biker’s vest covered in zippers and chrome buckles that gave her shredded midriff room to breathe and left her fifty-caliber gun show on display.

It was his Mom. Under all the brutal new mass, Clive recognized the patient, kindly parent who had raised him with her gentle touch and soothing wisdom. It was in those bright amber eyes that flitted from him to the empty shaker bottle lying empty and discarded in the sink.

He hesitantly stepped forward, arms open wide for a welcoming embrace.

“You gluttonous worm!” She shrieked in primal fury. “That was my fucking protein shake you poured down your greedy gullet!”

Before Clive could rightly comprehend what was happening, Melanie vaulted the kitchen island like an Olympic gymnast, landed in a handstand, and wrapped her skull-crushing thighs around his neck to flip them both onto the tiled floor, trapping him in a strangulating leg-lock.

“Erk!”

The leather-coated thighs may as well have been bands of steel as they restricted Clive’s air supply, and he struggled like a kitten in their grip.

“Disobedient child! I’m on a strict dietary regimen,” She hissed, ignoring his futilely slapping hands, “and the first thing you do upon returning home is ruin it by stuffing your fat face.”

He wheezed and tried to protest, but only small choking noises came out. All the while, Aunty Kimberly stood there with arms crossed under her prodigious bosom and an impassive look on her beautiful face.

“You need reminding of who’s in charge of this household and you’re not too big for me to spank.” His mother huffed, then released her hold and rose to her booted feet. “Now go to your room, and ask before you go touching other people’s shit.”

Clive flopped onto his back, sucking in oxygen and staring blearily up at the two looming titans in female form. From his prone position, he could confirm that Aunty Kimberly wasn’t wearing any panties.

“What are you looking at, scrub?”

He quickly averted his gaze and rolled onto his hands and knees. Spots swam in his vision.

“No—nothing. I’ll be in my bedroom.”

They both watched him slump away in defeat, never noticing a blonde head peeking around the dining room doorway.

Clive sat on his bed and opened his laptop. It was a decent gamer-friendly model he had bought with savings he had earned doing freelance coding online.

The money wasn’t great but he wasn’t one for loud college parties or much of anything that involved mixing in large crowds, so any free time not spent studying went to building budget websites for independent content creators who weren’t much better off than he was.

But the pennies had all added up, and Clive eventually had a computer that could handle his IT coursework.

…or stalk his mother online, as the case may be.

A quick browser search with her name and a few location filters had turned up some astonishing results.

Melanie Castings of smalltown Jefferson, Texas, was something of a local celebrity.

Several different socials popped up with images of the chiseled redhead competing in statewide strongwoman games, wearing skintight sponsored athleticwear, draped in winner’s medals, and often holding some kind of cup or ornate trophy.

Her frame was imposing, strapped with heavily defined muscles but lacking any of the stringy sinews or jutting veins that roided-out female bodybuilders suffered. She hadn’t lost anything in the chest like those over-ambitious others, either. If anything, her breasts were larger and riper than ever. Two lightly tanned spheres of pillowy flesh sat high and firm without a bit of sag in every picture he could find.

This thickset version of Melanie was nothing at all like the smaller, gentler woman he remembered.

She was undeniably feminine, with an awe-inspiring hourglass figure and that signature crimson hair flowing like living flames down to her attention-grabbing rump. Arousingly feminine, in fact, Clive felt a small spike of shame as he repositioned the computer on his lap for a second time to accommodate an awkward pressure in his boxers.

One thing jumped out at him from all the research.

In every single image—be it posing in the gym, grandstanding at a competition, or promoting a local business—his mother had a pair of airbuds in her ears. He had double-checked after the initial discovery, having to zoom in on some of the more distant shots, but that hint of white stuck in her ear canal was always there.

Then Clive remembered the music Emily blasted in the basement and the conflicting feelings it had stirred in him—fear, but also the whispers of untapped potential.

Closing the screen, he listened to the sounds of the sleeping house before slipping from bed and silently donning some old sweats.

He needed to find out for himself what the hell was going on with his family.

Clive’s arms trembled like soggy noodles as he dropped the bar back onto the rack after his third set of ten reps on the bench press.

Free weights were freaking difficult.

The instructions he had pulled up on his phone had a lot of information about the many benefits of maintaining balance and control but didn’t mention anything about muscle fatigue or the risk of being crushed to death.

Boys love my ass, they love my tits,

I tease them with my naughty bits.

Boys are cute, but I fuck men.

I’m the perfect specimen.

Synth-pop thundered in his wireless headphones. The drumming bass buzzed throughout his sweaty body and electrified his weary soul.

Clive had been gratified to find Emily’s workout CD still sitting in the music system. It had the poorly printed look of a bootleg knock-off, but the label was still clearly legible.

“Buns and Guns Motivational Mashup.”

The music was all high tempo and female-orientated. The strangest thing about it was the effect different tracks had on his performance. The weird blend of unsettling emotions was still there during each song, but some spurred him to greater heights of achievement more than others.

That one number about stomping creeps and crushing wimps made Clive feel deeply uncomfortable, stalling his physical momentum. But the uplifting tunes blaring out messages of sex and entitlement had him adding extra weights to already challenging deadlifts.

He had been at it for hours, checking his form in the many mirrors and quietly thanking whoever had installed the soundproofing panels in the ceiling. Skipping back and forth through the playlist, cycling through each piece of equipment, and chewing his way through the stash of energy bars he had uncovered on a shelf tucked into the back corner.

Blood coursed through his arteries, perspiration shed from his body in rivers, and the atmosphere felt humid as dawn’s first rays tinted the small basement window. Clive’s gray tracksuit was drenched when he achieved a personal record on the lat pulldown bar of two hundred and twenty pounds. The loose cotton of his baggy hoodie felt restrictive around his chest and shoulders.

His body was humming with fresh strength and vitality as he toweled off the bench and guzzled water from a plastic sports bottle.

Boys are cute, but I fuck men.

I’m the perfect specimen.

A dark shadow fell over Clive.

“You’re not supposed to be down here.”

His not-so-little sister glowered down at him, wearing stretchy tangerine tights, neon pink runners, and a small black tank top that did nothing to hide her impressively carved physique and generous young breasts.

The first light of the morning sun illuminated Emily’s long, straight platinum hair like a halo, and her pale ivory skin glowed as though recently oiled. Even the many studs decorating her ears and the ring in her nose seemed polished.

She looked like…

I’m the perfect specimen.

Clive’s pulse surged, and he sat forward on the padded bench to hide the thickening bulge in his sweat pants. He didn’t break eye contact with his youngest sibling though, staring her dead in those bright cobalt eyes as he stood his ground.

“This is my home too, and it’s just the damn basement.” He deadpanned, cocking a challenging brow. “What you gonna do about it, lil’ sister? Tattle on me to Mommy?”

His words hit Emily like a haymaker, and she stood in stunned silence for a moment before her pretty face heated with anger with a hint of something less identifiable.

“Mom would tan your hide and wear it like a cape, dork. I saw how she put you on the ground last night.” She marched over the sound system, and Clive couldn’t help watching how her rock-hard glutes moved in those razor-thin tights. “But a real woman fights her own battles. You want access to my fucking equipment? Then you’ll have to earn the right, bro.”

She donned a pair of fingerless training gloves and hit a few buttons on the digital display. The song in Clive’s headphones cut out and began thumping through the speakers again, rattling the weights in their racks.

My hips are fire, my pussy’s slick,

I’ve got the finest taste in dicks.

If you don’t rate, then guess again,

’Cause I’m the perfect specimen.

“What are you talking about?!”

He had to shout to be heard over the deafening bass, feeling it in his chest and back molars simultaneously. Emily gave him a vicious grin that was full of bared teeth, twisting into a sidelong bodybuilder pose that sucked in her core and made her muscles pop with jaw-dropping precision.

“A lifting challenge, nerd!” She called back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Beat me, and I’ll grant you free use of the gym anytime you like. Shit, if you can outlift me, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

With the terms apparently set, the statuesque blonde began adding weights to the bench press. Once three hundred pounds were loaded, she positioned herself beneath the bar and shook out her arms before securing a good grip.

“This’ll be a nice warmup for me. Watch how it’s done.” She catcalled, pumping out a few quick reps with obvious effort before dropping them back into the rack. “Now it’s your turn. Try not to hurt yourself.”

Clive shook himself out of a brief stupor. He had been mesmerized by the way her jiggling breasts swayed with the exertion. His cock was stiff as an iron rod, and there was no sense in hiding it any longer.

The amount of weight should have been troubling. He couldn’t remember what his personal best was in that particular exercise, but the ear-splitting music was like a shot of adrenaline injected straight into his racing heart. His mind focused inward until nothing existed but himself and the challenge ahead.

Boys are cute, but I fuck men.

“Step aside, Em.” Clive growled, taking a long drink from his sports bottle and tossing it away. “Let big bro show you how a real man lifts.”

Emily frowned, her narrowed gaze taking in his swagger, then dropping to the obscene outline in his sweatpants. Her stern expression slackened. She scurried to make room.

Laying back, Clive squared his shoulders, tested his grip, and pushed. The bar lifted slowly at first, but as he applied more effort, it rose easily into the air. The chest and sleeves of his gray hoodie stretched as his arms extended.

Gloved hands gripped the bar alongside his own. Clive glanced up to find his younger sister almost straddling his recumbent skull. Her thick, muscular thighs were only inches from his ears, and the pronounced cleft of her girlhood was visible through her sheer orange tights above his nose.

“What the hell are you doing, Em?”

“Duh! I’m spotting you, dork.” She sniffed, looking away. “Don’t get any weird ideas.”

“Huh, whatever. This isn’t so heavy.” Clive snorted and started to push out a few reps. Emily’s knuckles whitened, and he felt the weight increase but struggled through the set without complaint. “How about another fifty pounds? Think you can handle that, baby sis?”

His sister’s pupils dilated. Her full lips parted in surprise as a small moist spot darkened the crotch of her orange tights.

“The national record in my weight class is three hundred and ninety pounds.” She breathed, clearly awe-struck, before rallying her resolve. “I… I don’t know—but you better believe a lazy nerd like you won’t defeat me!”

Swapping out, Emily’s cobalt eyes went wide when Clive took her place as spotter. The lengthening lump in his pants loomed menacingly above her blushing face, and her nostrils flared as though she were trying to catch its scent.

I’ve got the finest taste in dicks.

“Three reps counts as a successful set, got it? Don’t you dare think about trying any funny business.” She warned before lifting the weight with an unladylike grunt.

Clive shrugged, not bothering to call bullshit. Instead, he rested his fingertips on the underside of the bar as Emily fought and strained through the first, then the second lift. On the third, her brawny arms started to shake, a vein stood out on her temple, and the cold steel bar sank deep into the soft flesh of her tits.

Her feet left the floor as she flailed under the crushing burden, and Clive waited until she shot him a panicked look before hefting the weights back into the rack with a loud clang.

Emily leaped to her feet with a furious expression, covered in a sheen of perspiration, and clenching her small fists.

“Don’t get cocky, nerd.” She snarled, chest heaving for breath. “You haven’t won until you complete three full repetitions. Fat fucking chance of that happening.”

She was clearly pissed at her failure, but Clive’s rigid manhood was throbbing in time with the fast beat of the music as he drank in the sight of his younger sister’s incredible figure.

Every gym-honed inch of her broadcasted unyielding strength and feminine power. She was a blossoming goddess in the making, and despite their familial bond, he wanted her so fucking badly it verged on painful.

“Just remember your promise, baby sis.” He taunted as they exchanged places again. “Big bro is coming to collect.”

A wild heat suffused the room, both of them sweating profusely as the edges of the mirrors began to fog. Clive’s uncomfortable tracksuit pulled and stuck to his skin like glue, but he ignored it as he moved into the first rep.

Once again, he was mildly astonished at how well he managed the substantial weight. He could feel the resistance in his pectorals, deltoids, and triceps, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The percussive sonic waves of the bassline seemed to massage his straining body and reinvigorate his muscles.

“One.” He counted them out, staring straight up at Emily’s barely-concealed pussy, scarcely noticing the extra pressure the treacherous blonde applied to the bar.

Her anger was fading to be replaced with confusion, then concern, when Clive smoothly dropped the bar to his chest for the second repetition. Her forearms tensed as she pushed down harder.

“Two!”

Emily was leaning over him, her enormous breasts glistening with beaded moisture when he completed the lift. He could feel the added poundage as she openly threw all her weight onto the bar for the final push.

His muscles bunched and burned, shoulders clenching and ears ringing with booming rhythm as he gave it every last ounce of juice he had and completed the last lift.

Boys are cute, but I fuck men.

I’m the perfect specimen.

“THREEEE!!” Clive roared, his old gray hoodie bursting apart into tatters from the force of the swelling musculature beneath.

“Noooo! How—how did you beat me?” Emily dangled above him. Arms straight, elbows locked, and pink runners hanging off the ground as she held her sculpted upper body over the steel bar. “OMG, bro! Look at how fucking big you’ve grown.”

Her gaze remained stuck to his suddenly exposed torso as Clive gently guided the bar—with his younger sibling still attached—back into place. Sitting up on the bench and checking out one of the steamed-up mirrors revealed a stunning revelation.

“Clive, you’re fucking jacked!” Emily gasped, clutching her hands together under her mighty bosom. Her erect nipples threatened to tear through the small tank top. “Oh god, look at those shoulders and pecs… look at your goddamn arms! I want to grate fucking cheese on those abs and obliques.”

Ignoring the schoolgirl level of excited gushing, Clive stared in fascination at his reflection, plucked away torn scraps of cotton, and examined himself in more detail.

How had he missed it?

His little sister wasn’t wrong—and she was little again compared to his vastly improved form—he had taken on the masculine proportions of a supreme Adonis. A couple of spare tires around his middle and flabby man-tits had evaporated overnight to be replaced with a figure that could have been carved from Corinthian marble.

Beefy slabs of muscle were stacked high, creating the hard lines and rugged angles of a physique so manly it belonged in a Roman gladiatorial arena or a spartan battlefield.

He lifted an arm for an experimental bicep curl, and Emily practically swooned.

If you don’t rate, then guess again,

’Cause I’m the perfect specimen.

The music still thundered from the compact speakers, and Clive’s restless cock lurched in his sweats along with it. Turning slowly, he locked a burning stare on his hyperventilating sister, who was intent on devouring him with one of her own.

“How do I rate now, Em?” He smirked, rippling his new muscles in a full-body flex he had once seen on television. It wasn’t as difficult as he had first suspected. “Good enough to workout in the basement, do you think?”

Emily moaned lewdly in response, falling to her knees, hands buried in the dark patch spreading between her thickly corded thighs with spittle flecking her plump lips.

“Oh god, big bro… how’s this possible?” She spluttered, rocking hornily in place with wide eyes locked onto the prominent outline of his twitching manhood. “It’s not supposed to work like that. Shit, you’re huge… urg! Like—like in my dreams… but you’re my brother, and I’m still dripping fucking wet for you!”

Clive could smell her arousal now. The gorgeous muscle princess reeked of clean sweat and hot snatch as she squirmed prettily for him. The sight of all those smooth feminine muscles, trim waist, wide hips, and abundant breasts packed into a forbidden, platinum-blonde package spelled the end for his poor sweatpants.

With the sound of rending cloth, his stiffness tore free of its imprisonment, rising to greet the day like a meaty monolith and slapping against his flattened stomach.

The thing was freaking gigantic!

Clive was more than passingly familiar with his wedding tackle. He was a young man, after all, with the normal post-puberty urges and an internet connection with which to quell them. He was accustomed to a moderately sized tool that would, presumably, keep some lucky lady reasonably happy in the distant future.

This wasn’t that.

Like the rest of him, Clive’s dick had grown in both height and width into an impossibly girthy weapon of mass destruction topped with a bulbous tip that leaked gooey precum into his belly button.

“Oh, Jesus… oh fuck, big bro!” Emily wailed, flopping backward onto the floor mats and ripping the saddle out of her sodden orange tights. “I don’t care anymore. Your little sister needs that massive cock to tame her willful pussy! Punish my naughty hole with your glorious sibling dick!”

Bowing her strong back, she bucked her firm hips in the air. Her pretty pink slit was dewy and inviting, with only a small landing strip of blonde fuzz leading the way to her taboo entrance.

The enclosed space felt like a sauna and stank of imminent sex. The bass and his heartbeat hammered in Clive’s ears, and the sight of his superbly built adversary begging to be conquered by his ferocious weapon proved to be irresistible.

Kicking free the last remnants of his pants, he stalked towards Emily, gripping his base like the handle of a truncheon.

“Is this what you want, Em?” He grunted, stepping between her trembling knees and tapping the engorged crown against her budding clit. “You want this older brother cock ravishing your baby sister cunt?”

“Fuck, why does that make it so much hotter?” Her expression was twisted in an agony of raw lust. “Why does the thought of getting ruined by my hunky big bro’s dick make me so fucking wet?!”

Clive began rubbing the underside of his turgid shaft through her sopping folds, spreading her girly juices down his length and making her whine like a trapped animal.

“Just so you know, I’m not going to wear a fucking condom.” He warned, not really giving a shit. Some primal part of him roared that this sweet pussy was his to claim by right of victory. “You should have considered that before you made that stupid promise.”

“I want to feel all of you, big brother.” Emily panted, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “I’m not even on the pill. Didn’t think I’d ever find a man who could beat me. Let’s roll the dice and see what happens.”

Clive shrugged, lubing up his veiny length with her honey. “Are you a virgin, Em? Will this be your first time?”

“There was a boy after high school, but he was puny and weak. I know that now.” Emily’s head thrashed in frustration, and long strands of white-gold hair stuck to her blushing cheeks. “I want to be properly deflowered by a real man! I don’t care about the risks, stick it in and fuck me already, you giant stud!”

She was holding the half-bridge pose well. A lesser woman would have collapsed in exhaustion by now. But Clive knew his impressive younger sibling was more than the average girl. She was goddamn magnificent, and he wanted to own her completely.

“Then take it, baby sister! I’m going to pound this naughty little cunt until you forget that any other men exist!”

“YEEESSS~!!”

Emily wailed in victory when Clive rammed himself inside her welcoming heat. She was sensationally tight, and her slick channel clamped down on his plunging girth immediately, forming an airtight seal. He grabbed her tensing asscheeks—they were like two halves of a cannonball in his grasp—and clawed away the orange spandex as he began savaging that forbidden snatch.

“Oh god! Oh god! Oh, my fucking god!” Emily’s delectable knockers had sprung free from the inadequate tank top and clapped together right under her nose. “You stretching me out, big bro… your amazing manly dick is taking my virginity all over again!”

“Jesus, Em, you’re like a goddamn vice! How much pelvic training have you done?”

“So… nyaaa~ so much training. He—heaviest kegel bells on the market.” She spluttered through sagging lips. Her immense thighs bulged with jacked muscle as she clamped them around Clive’s humping waist. “Can’t let you pull out—haaaa!—at the last minute, bro.”

Pushing her shoulders back into the mats and locking her ankles over the small of his back, Emily grinned madly up at her older brother. Every perfectly sculpted muscle in her superhuman body went taut as she swiveled her athletic hips and milked his thick, ravaging prick with incestuous intent.

Like a bull seeing red, Clive felt a bonfire stoked in his chest. A raging inferno that fueled his driving thrusts as he wheelbarrow fucked his wicked baby sister into the floor. His balls boiled, desperate to be unleashed, but the unspoken challenge in her brilliant cobalt gaze could not go unmet.

Boys are cute, but I fuck men.

I’m the perfect specimen.

“You want it, little girl?” He snarled, drilling into her clinging depths harder and faster. “You want me to dump a virile load in that fertile virgin pussy?”

He reached out a hand to maul a succulent ivory tit and pinch her rosebud nipple. Emily’s nodding head lolled to one side as a splash of warm wetness bathed their connected sexes and she shook in a tempestuous release.

“Pleeease~!”

The rosy light from the rising sun through the small window washed over her spasming figure, drops of perspiration glittering like jewels upon her flawless skin, reflecting off the rocky landscape of her feminine musculature and making her platinum hair glow in faint hues of pink.

“Then say it! Tell me what you really want, Em.” Clive bellowed, headless of curious ears that could overhear them. “Or, so help me, I’ll blow my cum all over your stupendous tits and call it done!”

“Breed me, big brother. I need you to fill my sibling snatch!” Emily howled, shuddering through another bone-shaking climax as she confessed her darkest desire. They were coming back to back in lightning-quick succession, and her drolling tongue hung loosely from her mouth as her sparkling eyes crossed. “Pack my womb full of your alpha seed and mark me as your breeding bitch forever!”

He plowed into his sister, supporting her tremendous heft with the might of his unbending rigidity and the hand left kneading her toned ass. Emily pulsed her core, clutching at his spearing length and sending him smoldering glances between spasming bouts of blissful rapture as she melted into a euphoric puddle on the ground.

“Then you’re going to get it!” Clive grunted between cunt-splitting slams. “You’re mine now, baby sister. You hear me? Mine forever and nobody else’s!”

“Do it, big bro… hnnnh~! Make me your little sister slut. Take your prize and—and knock me up with your… aaah~ perfect children!”

Emily’s squirting nectar splattered down onto the floor, pooling on the padding. She whipped her silky hair about, clawed at her bounding breasts, and gritted her teeth through the crashing waves of climax.

Clive’s cock was a blur, pumping tirelessly like a pneumatic piston with endless reserves of stamina to satisfy even the greediest of nymphets. It was the thought of his gorgeous baby sister’s toned tummy swelling fat with his offspring that sent him flying over the peak, and his rumbling balls finally released their impregnating payload.

“Here I cum!” He roared, unleashing a tsunami of sizzling spunk deep into Emily’s empty womb, still thrusting wildly and painting her insides white. “No Plan B for you tomorrow, sis. Only sticky sibling cream pies from here on.”

Grabbing his sister by the shoulders, Clive yanked her up off the floor and smashed his lips into hers in a passionate kiss. Her pillowy cleavage pancaked across his broad chest, and she remained stuck to the base of his fountaining cock as they explored each other’s mouths like hormone-driven teenagers at a high school dance.

“I—I can feel it, big bro.” Emily broke the kiss for a second and shivered in rapture. “Your cum is so warm inside… umph~ and filling me so fucking full.”

Then they were making out again in smoking hot fashion, moist tongues flashing, Clive’s powerful hips slowly bucking into her overstuffed snatch.

“Yeah, it feels right, doesn’t it? After I saw how goddamn fantastic you looked, baby sis… well, let’s just say you could have doubled the weights on the bar, and I still would have found a way to fuck you rotten.”

Then the thundering tune came back to a very familiar chorus. Even with the breath knocked out of her by their vigorous power-fucking Emily managed a wide smile and sang along.

“Boys are cute, but I fuck men.”

“I’m the perfect specimen!” Clive finished in a growl as his cock surged to the beat with one last eruption of virile jizz. “FAAAARK!”

Emily couldn’t respond. Her cobalt eyes had rolled up into her pretty skull as her sublime body tremored like a nine on the Richter scale. Her spasming cunt gripped and squeezed him for every last drop, hungry for the taboo love juice that kept blasting out of his plundering manmeat.

Minutes passed before they were done, and Clive lowered his limp sister gently to rest on the floor. Even through the clamor of energetic pop music, he heard her giggling drunkenly, then sighed as he slowly withdrew his satiated dick. Her battered pussy gaped, and a pungent flow of their mingled fluids gushed out onto the rubber mats.

He looked down at her beautiful, supine form with a welling sense of pride. She smiled back, beaming with a blend of bone-deep satisfaction and post-workout fatigue.

“Now that’s what I call a cardio session, big brother.” She laughed, scooping some of the creamy mess from between her slippery thighs and dribbling it into her mouth. “Mmmm… tastes like yummy incest. Pass me a towel?”