Before he fell into the abyss of his master’s files he had never really cared that much about his looks. He looked in the mirror and looked away unconcerned with how he presented himself to the world. But slowly with the repeated loops of his masters voice that drained his mind and his concerns away and implanted his obsession with muscle he found himself spending more and more time in front of the mirror. Admiring the work of his master.
It started out simple, the surprise of such fast gains from the hard work and exhaustion of working out every day like a man possessed. The pump and flex of hard muscles and the gradually exposed 6-pack and thick pecs he had always dreamed of. But eventually it became something…more. Every time he looked in the mirror he would lose track of the time, eyes glazed over; absolutely entranced at the sight of his own body. First a couple seconds or minutes of that mental static before he snapped back to his own consciousness. But soon it became hours of standing there, mentally fixated on every muscle, on the way the light reflected off his smooth chocolate skin, on the way muscle and skin moved and tense and interacted with each other in a sinful dance. The longer he stared the slower his mind would become, the intelligence and IQ literally draining from his brain into the mirror. He didn’t need his smarts when he had a body like this. It seemed like a decent trade-off Sometimes he’d snap back to himself with his cock peeking out of his boxers, leaking and throbbing from hours of being hard. In public he had to avert his gaze from reflective surfaces for fear of being caught in that trance again. Mirrors. Windows. Even the dirty reflection of himself in a puddle had such an alluring call. But sometimes he felt compelled to look. His masters voice echoing in his ears.
“Worship yourself. Muscle is all that matters. Muscle is all that matters. Muscle is all that matters. You don’t need to think. Just look.”
One time in class he recalled losing himself staring into the teachers glasses at himself, completely blocking out any information he might receive. He was snapped back to attention, drooling and with a happy smile on his face to the teacher berating him for being ‘A brain dead moron’ which just made him smile even more for some reason. This time he snapped back to his body, eyes red and burning…He swore the sun had been high in the sky just a moment ago. On the ground at his feet was a puddle of his own sticky seed. He quickly turned from the mirror but as he did he caught a final fleeting glance at himself. He seemed so much bigger than the last time. His muscles strained with the pump like he had just finished a workout….
Maybe a few more moments in the mirror wouldn’t hurt.