Revenge of the Nerd
The hallway buzzed with the static of midday—lockers clanging, sneakers squeaking, and gossip floating like perfume. But all that background noise faded the second Madison Voss strutted into view.
Six feet of muscle-packed confidence, Madison didn’t just walk the halls of Westgate High—she owned them. Her cheer uniform stretched tight across her sculpted frame, sleeves hugging biceps that looked forged from steel. Every movement of hers was purposeful, her smirk loaded with knowing power. And the cheer squad? They orbited her like planets to a sun, breathlessly hanging on her every smirk, every flex.
It was an unspoken ritual now: “Madison, flex for us,” they’d coo, trailing her like lovesick puppies. And she always delivered, rolling up a sleeve and pumping her bicep to its full, veiny glory while the girls swooned, some biting their lips, others reaching out to feel.
But today, Madison had someone else in her sights.
Nina Clarke. Quiet. Thin. Glasses. The kind of girl who disappeared into books and shadows.
Madison’s heavy footfalls silenced the space around them as she closed the distance. Nina froze, startled by the sudden shadow cast over her locker. She barely turned before Madison’s arm was already braced against the metal just beside her head, caging her in.
“Well, well,” Madison purred, her voice low and venom-slick. “If it isn’t the little mouse. What are you doing scurrying around the halls, little mouse.”
Nina swallowed hard, clutching her books to her chest like a shield.
“You ever think about doing something with that stick figure body of yours?” Madison sneered, leaning in close. “Or are you just hoping someone eventually finds your ‘intellect’ sexy?”
“I—I just wanna get to class,” Nina mumbled, eyes darting past the towering cheerleader.
Madison smirked, then slowly raised her other arm and curled it, the muscle ballooning into a thick, rock-solid peak just inches from Nina’s face. The scent of sweat and cherry body spray clung to her skin, and the bicep practically radiated heat.
“You feel that?” she whispered. “That’s what boys really want. Not brains. Not... whatever it is you’re doing. They want this.”
She flexed harder. The bicep swelled, thick veins snaking across the peak. Nina’s breath hitched—she couldn’t look away. It was mesmerizing. Bigger than she thought possible. Her whole field of vision filled with hard, flexing muscle.
Madison caught the look instantly. “Oh my god,” she laughed, loud enough to draw snickers from nearby lockers. “You like it, don’t you?”
Nina’s face turned crimson.
“Aww, nerd-girl has a thing for big muscles,” Madison cooed, her voice dripping mock-sweet. She inched even closer, flexing with deliberate arrogance. “Go ahead. Kiss it if you love it so much.”
Nina tried to shrink into the locker, but there was nowhere to go. Madison was already there, flexed bicep so close, Nina could feel the heat radiating from the muscle.
“Come on,” Madison whispered, voice low and dominant. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
Nina’s eyes were wide with a swirl of confusion, shame... and something else. And Madison drank it in. She lived for this power.
Madison’s grin widened. “No? You’re not gonna kiss it?” she teased, voice thick with mock sympathy. “Then how about this…”
In one slow, fluid motion, Madison pressed her flexed bicep against Nina’s face.
It hit like a wall—hot, impossibly firm, and unyielding. The dense muscle ground against Nina’s cheek, pushing into the delicate curve of her lips. She could feel everything: the deep striations like cords of coiled steel beneath satin-smooth skin, the heat of Madison’s body radiating into hers, the faint sheen of sweat that smeared with the softest slide across her mouth.
Nina gasped—more breath than sound. Her lips parted instinctively at the contact, but no words came out. Her mind screamed to move, to pull away, to do anything—but her body wouldn’t obey. It was as if the bicep had short-circuited her.
The cheerleaders erupted in laughter behind Madison, the cruel chorus echoing through the hall like a chant.
“Oh my god, look at her face!” one shrieked. “She’s blushing!”
Nina’s knees threatened to buckle as the flush rose violently up her neck, searing across her cheeks. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor, but the sensation of that muscle pressed against her lips—it stirred something deep and raw. A spark that bloomed fast and dangerous, hot and trembling. She didn’t understand it. She’d never felt anything like it.
And Madison knew. She leaned in, whispering close enough that her breath tickled Nina’s ear. “You’re so into this,” she said, savoring every word. “I can feel you breathing faster. You like being this close to power, don’t you?”
The muscle flexed again, just a little, and Nina whimpered—a tiny, involuntary sound.
Madison pulled back, laughing as she rolled her shoulders and turned to strut away, leaving Nina frozen against the locker, clutching her books like a lifeline, face burning.
“I’ll see you around, little mouse,” Madison called over her shoulder. “Next time, maybe you’ll be brave enough to ask for it.
She lay there, stiff as a board, arms folded over her chest like a cadaver, her face still hot even hours later.
Her lips tingled.
Nina shut her eyes tight, willing the memory away. God, stop. Stop thinking about it. But the moment played in loops—Madison’s bicep pressing against her mouth, the scent of cherry body spray and skin and sweat, the heat of that muscle, that power. The hallway’s fluorescent lights had caught every vein, every contour. Every cheerleader’s mocking shriek had branded her skin like fire.
Humiliation was the obvious feeling. It should have been the only feeling. But it wasn’t.
Beneath the shame was a jolt of something electric, something dark and dizzying. She’d felt it even as it happened—her breath catching, her knees buckling. It had rooted in her chest and now spread outward, tingling in her fingers, pooling low in her belly. Every time she remembered the weight of Madison’s arm, the way it dwarfed her... she shivered.
"Stop it," she whispered, turning on her side.
The pages of Scientific Journal fanned out beside her, untouched since this morning. She grabbed it now, desperate for an escape. For numbers. Logic. Anything that didn’t involve the glint in Madison’s eye or the her breath felt on her ear as she taunter her.
She turned the page. Her eyes locked on a headline—and everything inside her went still. Then, all at once, her heart slammed to life. Heat rushed to her face. Her hands shook. She read it again. And again. By the third time, she wasn’t breathing.
Nina stared.
The headline grabbed her—but it was the photo that shattered her. A woman in a lab coat stood beside a monkey with muscles that didn’t look real. Shoulders like boulders. Its chest was obscene—slabs of muscle stacked high, veins roping across it like something carved from living stone.
Her mouth went dry.
She couldn’t look away. Her pulse thudded in her ears. That thing had more muscle than any human she’d ever seen. It was grotesque. Freakish.
Perfect.
A flush spread up her neck. Her thighs pressed together without thinking. Her whole body was reacting before her brain could catch up. But it wasn’t just about the monkey. No—her mind had already torn past the image.
What if it was her?
Nina gasped, the thought sending a shiver straight through her.
Imagine raising her arm and watching it grow. Imagine a bicep rising like a tidal wave beneath her skin—thick, veiny, impossible. Imagine Madison seeing that. Imagine the smirk wiped clean from her face. Imagine the cheerleaders staring, slack-jawed, as she rolled up her sleeve, as she flexed, as they reached out to touch her.
Nina’s breath came quicker.
What was she thinking? She was a good student. A quiet girl. She liked stars, and books, and the clean order of science. She didn’t want to be seen. She didn’t want attention.
Except… she did.
She wanted it. She craved it.
She couldn’t look away from the image. That body. That strength. That presence. And it wasn’t the monkey anymore she was seeing—it was her. Towering. Massive. Unstoppable.
She could feel it like a hunger, clawing under her skin. Shame and wonder wrapped tight around her lungs. She knew it was wrong. Or at least, she was wrong for wanting it. This wasn’t normal. Girls didn’t want this. Not like this.
But God, she had to find that lab.
She had to get her hands on that serum.
No matter what it took.
It was just past 2 a.m. as Nina stood across the street, hidden behind the skeleton of a dead hedge, heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted out.
The sign was smaller than she expected. Solara Research Institute glowed faintly in the dark, sterile white letters. The building behind it loomed like a sleeping thing—characterless, clinical. Not evil. Just indifferent.
The last three days had been a blur of late nights, obsessive note-taking, studying blueprints she'd scraped together from a college urban planning archive. She had the guard schedule. Knew which cameras had blind spots. Knew the exact wing: Sublevel B — Experimental Pharmacogenetics.
That’s where the serum would be.
She took a long breath, her throat dry. Every fiber of her body told her to turn back. To go home. To forget this whole ridiculous fantasy.
But then she saw Madison’s smirking face in her mind’s eye—heard her venomous laugh, "Kiss it, nerd," echoing like a cruel bell.
No. She was done being prey.
Nina crossed the street.
The back entrance was as she'd expected: a rusting emergency door behind a supply outbuilding. The lock was electronic but outdated. She’d watched enough lockpicking tutorials to know what she was doing. Kind of.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the repurposed RFID badge she’d bought from a gray-market seller on an encrypted forum. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but the seller claimed it could spoof old clearance tags.
Her heart pounded. She tapped it to the reader.
Beep.
Access granted.
Nina almost collapsed from the surge of relief. She slipped inside.
The hallway was dim, empty. The building smelled like antiseptic and filtered air. She moved fast, quiet, sneakers barely squeaking. Her backpack bounced lightly against her side, stuffed with gloves, a tiny flashlight, and a small insulated container—just in case.
She found the stairwell and crept down, each metal step creaking like it might betray her. Her phone buzzed once—she'd set a silent timer: 42 minutes until the next scheduled guard rotation hit this floor.
At the bottom, she cracked open the door to Sublevel B. The hallway was darker here. Unused. Abandoned, almost. Except for the door at the end of the hall.
LAB 9-B.
A red security panel glowed dimly beside it. Nina approached, pulse hammering, palms sweating. Another scan. Another prayer.
Beep.
Access granted.
She was in.
The door whispered shut behind her.
Nina stepped into the heart of the lab, the faint whir of cooling fans and humming machinery wrapping around her like a mechanical lullaby. The room was dim, bathed in a ghostly aqua glow from a ring of widescreen monitors looping through data sets, biometric scans, and 3D renderings of tissue growth. Code streamed down the leftmost screen like a waterfall of logic.
She was in. Really in.
Nina’s eyes widened behind her glasses. This wasn’t some mock-up from a textbook or a staged university tour. This was real science—raw, dangerous, beautiful. The air smelled faintly of ozone, isopropyl alcohol, and something sharp and sterile. She wandered slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a sacred temple.
Racks of instruments lined the room, some she recognized—centrifuges, gel electrophoresis units, cryo storage—but others were alien to her, machines with smooth carbon shells and blue-lit interfaces that looked like they’d been lifted from a sci-fi movie. She reached out and ran her fingers along one of the consoles, heart thudding.
A blinking terminal caught her eye—subject logs. She stepped forward, tapping the screen.
Nina almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a deep grunt from behind.
She turned to see the cages lining the far side of the lab. Each one large, reinforced with heavy steel bars. Inside, the forms shifted.
And then one stepped forward. The monkey was… colossal.
Her breath caught.
Its entire body rippling under skin so tight it looked shrink-wrapped over muscle. The sheer density of it was unreal. Slabs of muscle stacked atop one another with impossible definition: chest thick and split by deep striations, veins snaking across the surface like a roadmap of power.
And the abs—God, the abs.
Eight bricks, carved and symmetrical, flexing and rolling with every breath. Not flat. Not lean. Thick. Deep enough to cast shadows. Each one separated by grooves that looked finger-deep, lined with pulsing veins.
It exhaled.
The whole body moved with that breath—pecs rising, traps flaring, delts twitching with casual might. It didn’t flex, and yet it was flexing constantly.
Nina felt her knees weaken slightly. She stepped closer to the bars without realizing it, eyes wide and locked.
A strange, burning heat rose inside her.
It was like that moment in the hallway—when Madison had boxed her in, muscle inches from her face. When her bicep had pulsed like a living furnace, radiating dominance, daring Nina to look away. That same tight, helpless feeling was back now—but amplified. Exploded.
Nina couldn’t look away.
Her lips parted slightly. Her breath was shallow. A part of her brain screamed to snap out of it, but the rest—most of her—just stared. So this is what it looks like. The final form. The raw embodiment of size and strength.
She felt her face flush. That deep, embarrassed warmth.
She swallowed hard. And then... she imagined it was her.
That size. That power. People staring—no, worshiping. No one mocking her, ever again.
She jerked back suddenly, heart hammering, face flushed with heat and shame.
What the hell was she doing? She has to find the serum and get out of here before the next guard rotation!
She moved deeper into the lab.
The quiet hum of machines throbbed like a pulse in the silence, and the further she walked, the more alien everything felt—cold, clinical, and untouched by time. Rows of glass tanks, mechanical arms, and steel canisters surrounded her, casting warped shadows in the low light. But one thing caught her eye.
In the far corner of the room, behind a stainless-steel storage rack, something glowed. A faint shimmer of neon green.
Nina froze.
Slowly, she stepped toward it, her heart rate ticking up with every step. The glow grew brighter—sickly, unnatural, almost radioactive. She rounded the rack and stopped cold.
There, on a raised platform behind a transparent mesh barrier, was a small containment case. A cage, really.
Inside were four vials. Slender glass tubes, each one filled with that unmistakable green fluid. The same color as the serum from the article. The same glow from her dreams.
Her breath hitched. This was it.
Her fingers reached for the latch. It clicked open easier than expected. The metal cage door creaked as she pushed it aside, and the green light spilled out fully, bathing her face in an eerie glow.
It lit her glasses. Her wide eyes. Her parted lips.
She stared at the vials. And smiled.
They looked unreal. Like something out of a science fiction movie. But she knew better. These weren’t props. This wasn’t fantasy. This was reality. This was hers.
Nina reached in slowly, almost reverently, and lifted one vial into her hand.
It was warm. Alive.
The liquid shimmered in the low light, like it was moving on its own.
She stared into it, and for a moment she could already see it—her arms swelling with new power, her legs tearing through fabric, her reflection no longer weak or forgettable, but uncontainable.
She clutched the vial tighter. Her voice was just a whisper.
“Am I really doing this?”
And she was. No turning back now.
The bathroom was silent.
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, casting a clinical, pale glow over the rows of sinks and cracked tile. It smelled faintly of bleach and cheap soap.
She stood alone in front of the mirror.
Her backpack sat open on the sink beside her. And in her hand, between pale fingers that trembled just slightly, was the vial.
Neon green. Bright, almost glowing. Like liquid radioactivity. The serum.
It looked harmless. Small. But it felt heavy—like a live wire buzzing against her palm. A vial full of mayhem. A ticket to somewhere she couldn’t come back from.
Nina swallowed.
Her reflection stared back at her—thin, awkward, bony shoulders slightly hunched under her cardigan. She looked like someone on the verge of a panic attack. But beneath that—behind the glasses and fear—was something else.
Fire.
She hadn’t slept. Not a second. She’d spent the night wide-eyed, lying in bed, clutching the cooler to her chest. Fantasizing. Obsessing. Replaying every insult, every humiliation, every time Madison’s voice had rung in her ears.
"Kiss it, nerd."
Nina clenched her jaw. She looked down at the vial. Her thumb hovered over the cap. Was she really going to do this?
What if it hurt? What if it changed her in ways she didn’t expect? What if she lost control? What if… it didn’t work?
But what if it did?
Her eyes flicked back to the mirror, and for a moment, she didn’t see herself anymore. She saw her—but different. Towering. Broad. Dense. Veins crawling up massive arms that stretched the sleeves of her clothes to the limit. Her sweater, shredded down the sides. Her back, flaring like wings. Her thighs like tree trunks. She imagined stepping into the weight room and stopping time just by walking in.
The looks on their faces. The stunned silence. Madison’s smug little grin slowly melting into disbelief. Then fear.
Nina could see herself walking right up to her, chest to chest, looming over her like a goddess made of steel. The thought sent a thrill down her spine.
She looked back at the vial. This was it.
One final breath. One final moment of hesitation. Then Nina tipped it back.
The serum slid down her throat thick and smooth, with a faint chemical taste—bitter and metallic. She swallowed hard. It was done.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
And then—everything.
It started in her gut. A sudden heat—sharp, piercing—like someone had poured molten iron into her stomach. She gasped, her body jolting upright, eyes wide as the pain erupted outward like an explosion under her skin.
“Ah—!”
She barely had time to scream. It radiated in all directions. Burning tendrils surged through her veins, wrapping around every limb, every nerve, every cell. Like knives stabbing outward from the inside, branching into her arms, her legs, her chest.
She staggered back, hit the bathroom stall, and collapsed. Every muscle seized.
Her fingers curled into claws. Her calves locked so tight she couldn’t move. Her back arched. Her jaw clenched so hard she thought her teeth might crack. A full-body cramp from hell, unrelenting, brutal. Her body rebelled against itself.
She screamed. But it came out hoarse, guttural. Her vision blurred. Her limbs twitched violently, beyond her control.
She had imagined it might hurt. But not like this. Never like this.
She writhed on the floor, curled in on herself like a dying animal, her sweat-soaked shirt sticking to her skin. Every breath was fire. Every beat of her heart sent a new wave of agony crashing through her. It felt like her bones were splintering, like her muscles were tearing themselves apart from the inside.
Her mind began to spiral.
Was this a mistake?
Was she going to die here?
Her thoughts were fractured, scattered across the pain. She reached for the sink, for anything to ground her, but her hand collapsed under her. The cold tile against her cheek was the only relief she had.
The heat intensified. Her skin felt like it was boiling. Her insides—cooking.
Tears streamed down her face. Her lips parted. No sound came out.
And then, as her vision dimmed—
Darkness took her.
The clang of iron echoed through the cheerleader weight room like a rhythm. Smooth. Confident. Dominant.
Madison Voss stood dead center under the overhead lights, framed like a living statue of power. All the other girls had their cheerleading shirts on, but of course Madison's shirt made it clear exactly who she was—Queen Bitch. The t-shirt clung to every chiseled detail of her torso, slick with a sheen of sweat. Her shorts stretched taut over powerful quads that looked ready to explode. And in her hands—effortless, casual—was a loaded barbell she curled without any sign of struggle.
“Twenty-three…” she said aloud, smirking as she watched her biceps swell with each rep.
“God, Mads,” breathed Jenna, the tiny sophomore clinging to her side like a groupie. She had both hand wrapped around Madison’s right arm, fingers gliding over the thick, veiny peak as it surged toward her face. “It’s so hard. Like—hot to the touch. Oh my god. Girls. Seriously. You have to feel this.”
Two more cheerleaders rushed in, giddy, wide-eyed, as Madison gave a cocky smirk and flexed harder—forcing the muscle into an even more grotesque, beautiful shape. The biceps bulged violently, veins twitching, the skin stretched tight like latex over a cannonball.
“Feel that?” Madison taunted, voice thick with pleasure. “That’s what power feels like. Try not to faint.”
“I swear it’s bigger than yesterday,” one girl gasped, running her fingers down the edge of the bicep, practically breathless.
Madison grinned, teeth flashing. “That’s because I don’t stop. Every day I get stronger. Every day, this,” she flexed again with a sharp grunt, “gets more impossible.”
They giggled, whispered, clung to her like moths around a flame. And Madison stood there soaking it in—basking in the worship, the envy, the raw lust in their eyes.
This was her temple. And she was their god.
Suddenly, the weight room door opened and everything changed.
Their faces transformed one by one—from idle curiosity, to surprise, to open, speechless shock.
Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. One of them took a half-step back, instinctively.
“…wait,” Jenna whispered, voice small. “Is that…?”
No one answered. They just stared. Frozen.
Something had entered the room. Something impossible. Something they thought they knew. But not like this.
No one moved. No one breathed. They just stared. It was her. The nerd. Nina something. But—what the fuck happened to her?
She didn’t just grow—she exploded. A full foot taller, easy. Her light blue t-shirt, once baggy, now clung for dear life to a body that looked sculpted by gods and supercharged by sin. Her shirt barely reached her abs—deep, symmetrical, obscene. Her chest—Jesus. Two trembling buttons stood between that shirt and total detonation.
And that cardigan? A joke now. It barely reached her elbows, shoved back by arms so thick, so muscular, they looked like weapons of war. Her forearms throbbed with veins, the kind of detail you only see in anatomical drawings—or wet dreams.
But the legs—Fuck. The fabric stretching, revealing flashes of swollen, monstrous quads that looked like they could burst free at any second. You could hear it—fabric groaning, denim creaking in protest—like the clothes themselves were begging for mercy.
And Nina just stood there. Smirking. Drinking in every stunned, wide-eyed, terrified, lust-filled stare. Her hands rested casually at her sides, but her whole body thrummed—alive, charged, twitching with power barely contained.
Her nipples were hard. Her thighs pulsed. And she was wet. She could feel it soaking through the denim, and she didn’t care. She wanted them to see it. She hoped they did.
Her muscles ached, but not from strain. From need. From anticipation. Tingling. Twitching. Like racehorses behind the gate, muscles flexing with every breath, desperate for release.
Her smirk deepened. Her eyes gleamed. “It’s my turn now.”
Nina stepped towards Madison, her quads flaring ominously with each step, stretching the holes in her jeans wider and wider.
Madison's confidence faded away with each step Nina took.
Nina grabbed the front of Madison's shirt and yanked her forward, effortlessly.
Their faces were inches apart. Madison's breath caught.
Nina's voice was low. Quiet. Razor-sharp.
"You remember what you said to me in the hallway? ... 'Kiss it, nerd.'"
Nina looked down at her arm, feeling the tingling between her legs intensify as she saw the staggering size.
"You humiliated me. You laughed with your little flock while you shoved your muscles in my face like a trophy."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"So let me return the favor."
Nina raised her arm slowly, deliberately—like it was a sacred object she was revealing to the world for the first time.
She didn’t flex. Not yet. She just held it out in front of her, long and solid, rotating it, admiring it from every angle as she let out a gentle sigh. She bit her lip, eyes glazed with something between lust and reverence.
She couldn't breathe. Her mouth was dry, her lips parted, her pupils wide with shock and something far more powerful.
“God, you have no idea what it feels like,” Nina said, her voice quivering with pleasure. “The size. The heat. The weight of it. It’s like sex—everywhere.”
Slowly she began to curl. The muscle began to rise, inch by inch. Swelling. Thickening. The skin stretched taut, veins bulging, pulsing. Her bicep pushed outward and upward, carving itself into a mountain peak.
Madison's eyes grew with it—wider and wider—as if trying to take in something her brain refused to believe was real.
"Fuuuuck..." Nina moaned, deep and breathless, her voice cracking under the wave of sensation. The sleeve of her ruined sweater groaned.
RRRIIIIPPP.
The fabric surrendered.
A massive, veiny bicep burst through the wool like a beast through a cage. Silky-smooth skin slicked with sweat gleamed under the weight room lights. Striations rippled as she held the flex at its peak, the muscle quivering from the sheer tension.
A soft sound escaped Madison’s throat. A whimper. Not from fear. From need. Nina’s eyes snapped to her.
"Well? Are you going to kiss it, or do I have to make you?"
Nina’s eyes never left her own arm as she rotated it again, watching the striations glide and twist under her skin. The motion was slow, sensual—like she was savoring the feel of her own power. Her breath caught as her bicep shifted with the smallest twitch, and the muscle swelled another inch, pushing against the remains of her sleeve until the fabric surrendered with a final, pitiful tear.
She moaned. A low, hungry sound that wasn’t for show.
The sensation of growing—of pushing her body past its own limits, of seeing Madison tremble, helpless—was sending pulses of raw heat through her core. Her thighs squeezed together. Her lips parted.
And still she flexed. Still she grew.
Still she stared down Madison with the look of a woman in absolute control.
“You think this is it?” Nina purred, her voice smoky with power. “You think I came here just to make you kiss my bicep?”
She laughed. “No, Madison. I’m not done with you.”
Her voice sharpened, every word sliding like a knife.
“I’m going to make you lose control.”
She stepped closer, towering now, her massive arm still flexed, still twitching with living, twitching mass.
“I’m going to make you cum... right here... in front of all your little muscle-slut friends.”
Gasps erupted behind Madison. One girl actually staggered back into a squat rack. Nina didn’t even blink.
“You hear that, girls?” she said, raising her voice just enough. “Your queen’s about to fall apart... just from looking at my big... hard... muscles.”
She brought the flex up to her face, slowly tracing her tongue along the exposed face of her bicep, then turned the mountain of veiny flesh toward Madison again—holding it steady, pulsing with strength.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she whispered, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with arousal. “That heat building in your stomach… your thighs clenching… your breath hitching every time I move.”
Madison whimpered.
Nina leaned in, inches from her, bicep throbbing between them.
“And I haven’t even shown you what these muscles can really do.”
Without another word, Nina turned and walked towards the bench press. Madison watched, breath shallow, eyes locked on the impossible swell and shift of Nina’s glutes—two straining hemispheres of muscle, alive with movement, stretching the limits of her shredded jeans. They flexed and flowed with such obscene power it looked like they might rip free any second.
Slowly, she turned her head—just enough to glance over her shoulder, a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.
“Go on,” she said, voice silken but sharp. “Load it up.”
The cheerleaders hesitated—then scrambled into motion. Hands trembling, they began sliding one 45-pound plates onto the bar after another.
One of the girls, trying to mask the awe in her voice, asked, “Can… can you actually bench press this much weight?”
Nina chuckled—low, rich, dangerous. She stepped up behind the bar, planted her feet, and wrapped her hands around the bar. Her forearms bulged with the effort, veins writhing across thick cords of sinew.
“Who said anything about bench pressing it?”
Nina was an animal. A beast. Rep after terrifying rep, she curled the impossible weight. Her body flexed and heaved, veins bulging like cables under her skin, every inch of her glistening with effort and lust.
RRRAGH... RRRAGH... RRRAGH...
Each grunt was deeper, darker, more primal—less a sound of effort and more a warning. Her eyes stayed locked forward, but everyone knew who this was for.
This wasn’t training. This wasn’t lifting. This was dominance.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to make eye contact, sweat dripping down her face, teeth bared in a grin that was pure predator.
“Look at my biceps,” she growled.
RRRRRAAAAGGGHHHH—YEAH!
Another savage rep tore through the air. Her arms ballooned with sickening size, veins splitting in every direction.
“Harder than a fucking skull,” she hissed. “And I’m just getting warmed up.”
How many reps had it been? Ten? Twenty? More?
No one dared move. No one dared speak.
And Madison—trembling, wide-eyed, soaked through—couldn’t tear her gaze away. She didn’t want to. She couldn’t. Because something was happening to Nina.
Her skin flushed deeper. Her breathing quickened. Her muscles twitched between reps, as if they weren’t done growing.
And then, as she held the bar halfway up, arms trembling—not with struggle, but with power begging to erupt.
Nina held the weight there. Her biceps at peak contraction. She stared at them, lips parted—lusting after her own muscles.
A deep low growl rumbled from her chest. Then—she screamed.
Her head snapped back, the sound tearing out of her like it had been caged for centuries. Her hips bucked forward involuntarily, her whole body locking into that brutal, blissful pose. She held the bar there—just held it—as her body convulsed with something bigger than pleasure, bigger than pride.
She threw her head back and screamed. A sound like something ancient and unstoppable had just woken up inside her. Her hips thrust forward, bucking as she continued to hold the weight for what felt like an eternity.
“Oh my God,” gasped one of the cheerleaders. “She’s… she’s fucking cumming!”
And that’s when Nina smiled. Wide. Wild. Unhinged.
“LET’S FUCKING GO!!!” she roared—voice cracking with ecstasy, with hunger, with something that was no longer fully human.
Somehow—impossibly—Nina did the unthinkable. She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. She accelerated.
Like a machine gone berserk, she began cranking out rep after brutal rep, each one more violent, more obscene than the last. The bar was a toy in her hands now—an extension of her fury, her hunger, her transformation.
And her clothes—God, her clothes.
The seams were disintegrating before their eyes. Every rep stretched them further, tore them wider. Threads snapped. Fabric peeled. Soon there’d be nothing left. Nothing between Nina and the raw, naked truth of what she was becoming.
Madison couldn’t stand back any longer. She stepped forward, mesmerized, trembling. Her hands reached out—desperate, shaking—and wrapped around the peak of Nina’s arm as she held mid-curl.
Her fingers didn’t come close to touching. Not even close.
She gasped. The muscle was hot, veiny, alive—throbbing with some primal, impossible energy.
“YYYYEEEESSSSS!!!” Nina roared, voice echoing off the walls like thunder. Her entire body was detonating with mass—muscles ballooning, thickening, surging beyond any rational limit.
Madison was overwhelmed. Shaking. On the verge of tears. The heat between her legs was unbearable now—an ache, a need that pulsed with every one of Nina’s flexes.
She let out a moan and buried her face into Nina’s shoulder—her massive, boulder-sized shoulder—pressing herself against the furnace of strength, drinking it in like salvation. She was in heaven. She was in heat.
And Nina? Nina wasn’t done.
“NOT… ENOUGH!!!” she screamed, her voice half-growl, half-orgasm.
Her body convulsed—swelling with another violent pulse of mass.
“MMMMMORE… MMMMMUSCLE!!!”
No… no, it couldn’t be possible. There’s no way she could have the audacity to even try it.
Madison—and every cheerleader around her—watched in breathless horror as Nina shifted her grip. Slowly. Cautiously. Her right hand inched toward the center of the barbell. The 225-pound load dipped slightly, plates clinking together. She adjusted her stance, every muscle in her body alive, twitching, anticipating.
Then—God help them—she released her left hand. A collective gasp swept through the gym.
Nina stood there, holding more weight in one hand than Madison could bench press. The bar dipped and swayed, barely balanced, but Nina held it—owned it. Her bicep bulged with effort, pulsing under the strain like it was about to explode.
Madison felt it—a spasm. A raw, involuntary twitch between her legs.
She whimpered. “Oh God!!”
Nina’s gaze locked onto hers. A smirk tugged at her lips, savage and knowing.
“I told you,” Nina growled. “You’re gonna cum. Right here, in front of all your little muscle-slut friends... just from watching my big... hard... mmmmmuscles.”
Madison whimpered again, her knees wobbling. “Please… yes, please! Make me!”
Nina chuckled darkly. Just like Madison had said back in the hallway: Maybe next time you’ll ask for it. Well… she was asking now.
Grrrrrr....
It started low. A primal growl rumbling from deep inside her chest. Nothing moved at first—except her bicep, which swelled before their eyes.
“NNNnggghhhh!!!—Come on!” Nina snarled. And then… impossibly… the bar started to rise.
Madison’s breath hitched. “No… no way…”
“Yyyyyeeeessss…” Nina moaned, her voice thick with pleasure, as if reading Madison’s disbelief and feeding on it.
Her arm quaked violently. Veins bulged like cables. The bar crept upward, the plates rattling with each millimeter.
“LOOK!” Nina roared. “LOOK AT IT!!!”
Madison lost it. She leaned forward, grinding her soaked body against Nina’s tree-trunk quad. The muscle flexed—harder than stone, slick with sweat and power.
“Ooooohhh ....” Madison moaned.
The bar climbed higher. Her bicep swelled larger.
“OH FUCK!” Madison cried. “It’s—it’s as big as a fucking FOOTBALL!! OOOoooOOOoohhh!!!!!!”
“YYYESSSSS!!!!” Nina roared as she completed the curl.
“MMMMMOOOOORRREEEE!!!” she bellowed, lowering the bar just to curl it again—faster, harder, like her body was possessed.
RRRRAAAGGGHHH!!!
Again.
RRRRAAAGGGHHH!!!
Again.
Nina was repping 225 pounds with one arm—with fury, with abandon, with bliss.
“CUM FOR ME!!!”
And it hit Madison like a lightning bolt.
Her body convulsed, every nerve igniting, her hips grinding violently against Nina’s quad. Her hands clawed at the slick muscle as she screamed.
“FUUUUUUUUUCK!!! OH GOD!!! IT’S TOO MUCH!!!”
Her body spasmed one last time—and then collapsed. Limbs limp. Eyes rolling back. She hit the floor in a moaning, twitching heap.
By the time it was over, Nina stood alone in the center of the gym. Soaked in sweat. Clothes shredded. Her breath came in slow, heavy waves, chest rising with each deep breath. Stray strands of hair clung to her flushed face and glistening neck. Her lips were parted, her eyes distant—still riding the edge of something too big to name.
The cheerleaders lay scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a storm. Their bodies twitching, limbs limp, faces glazed in disbelief and afterglow. Some were sobbing. Some were smiling. Most were simply... still.
Every single one of them had orgasmed. Some multiple times. For more than a few, it had been their first time—not just orgasm, but an awakening. An experience so raw and total it ripped through them, shattered everything they thought they knew about pleasure, about strength, about themselves.
And they would never forget. Even if they married. Had families. Lived long, quiet lives far from this moment—this would always be it. The fantasy behind every moan. The memory that surfaced in the dark.
She had changed them. Forever.
Nina didn’t speak. She just stood there—towering, twitching, steaming like a weapon that hadn’t cooled yet.
She looked down at her arms—still pumped, still swollen with blood and madness—and flexed one last time. Hard. Just to feel it. The bicep rose, massive and veiny, and her lip curled in the faintest snarl.
Nina turned and walked toward the exit—slow, powerful, deliberate—leaving behind a gym full of broken girls and ruined fantasies.
And just before she disappeared through the doors, she looked back. Her eyes locked on Madison, still sprawled on the floor, chest heaving.
“Next time… I don’t hold back.”
Then she was gone. And the legend began.
THE END
