Of course they are

Simon almost raised an eyebrow at their eager question. He had not summoned them across town just to send them away empty-handed; Sigríður needed at least two more capable women to form a proper detail. Still, neither Martha nor Sofia knew the full picture. They remained unaware that he had stripped away every trace of steroid-enhanced bulk and testosterone-driven mass, reshaping them into sleeker, more feminine versions of themselves.

Both Sofia and Martha had chosen deliberately. What Sigríður revealed earlier, combined with the words Martha and Sofia had just spoken themselves, painted the full picture: two deeply unpleasant women whose cruelty and pettiness ran deep. That knowledge made wielding his power on them feel almost justified.

“Of course,” Simon answered.

A high, delighted squeal burst from both women at once. Martha clapped her hands together, bouncing once on the balls of her feet like a teenager who had just been asked to prom. Sofia let out a giddy laugh, covering her mouth with one hand while her free arm pumped the air in a quick, excited fist. Their voices overlapped in a rush of breathless excitement.

“Oh my God, really?”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

A small, private wince passed through Simon at the sound of their squeals. These were grown women in their thirties, women who had spent years sculpting bodies meant to intimidate and belittle others; they should have carried more composure. Yet Martha and Sofia bounced on their toes like teenagers who had just been invited to the coolest party, high-pitched giggles overlapping in breathless excitement.

The contrast struck him sharply: beneath the malice and the former muscle lay an immaturity as pronounced as the overbuilt physiques he had just dismantled. Emotional control seemed every bit as underdeveloped as their old frames had been oversized.

Martha steadied herself first. Colour still bloomed high on her cheeks. She smoothed the tank top down over her newly tapered waist, the wide smile never quite fading. “We won’t let you down,” she said. “Promise.”

Dark hair swaying in its high bun, Sofia nodded with vigorous enthusiasm. “Anything you need. We’re in.”

Excitement lingered in the air between them. Eyes sparkled. Postures stayed loose and eager. Every trace of the earlier guarded tension had melted away completely. Simon had removed the steroids, the testosterone, the **** bulk. In their place stood raw, redirected potential. With attraction now locked firmly in place, both women waited—ready, willing, and visibly eager to serve.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Good,” Simon said. “Then we start now, in the next room over.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Sigríður has your uniforms ready. She will hand them to you. Get changed and meet me here when you are dressed.”

The two women spun on their heels and hurried from the room, feet barely touching the floor in their rush. Excitement poured off them in waves, quick steps carrying them down the hallway toward one of Muriel’s guest bedrooms. The door clicked shut with a soft finality.

Silence settled for a handful of minutes. Faint rustling drifted through the walls, followed by the whisper of fabric sliding over skin and the occasional muted zipper. Then the door opened again.

Martha stepped through the doorway first, her sleek black ponytail swinging rhythmically against her back with each confident stride. Sun-kissed tan skin caught the living room light and glowed, smooth and flawless over the newly feminine contours of her body.

The navy security uniform fit her as though it had been tailored that very morning. A short-sleeve shirt tucked neatly into matching cargo pants stretched taut across full, high breasts, the top two buttons straining just enough to hint at the generous swell beneath. A wide black duty belt cinched her narrower waist, its heavy buckle resting low on sculpted hips. The pants hugged powerful thighs and rounded glutes before tapering down to polished black tactical boots.

Gold embroidery on the shoulder patches spelled SECURITY in crisp lettering. A badge pinned above her left breast glinted as she moved. She stood tall, posture straight and proud, dark eyes bright with eagerness as they locked onto Simon’s gaze.

Sofia stepped in right behind her. Rich auburn-red hair gathered into a tight, high bun drew attention to the graceful oval of her face, the colour catching the light in warm, subtle glints.

The navy uniform hugged her lean, athletic frame with precision. Shirt buttons held firm across a generous chest that rose and fell with quick, excited breaths, the cropped hem lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of toned midriff whenever she shifted. Cargo pockets on the pants sat flush against long, sculpted legs, the fabric clinging to every curve without a single fold of excess material. Her duty belt matched Martha’s exactly, heavy with pouches and the same gleaming buckle cinched low on her hips. Black combat boots grounded the look, laces pulled tight and neat.

She carried the same eager energy, green eyes sparkling with anticipation as she drew up beside Martha. Both women stood at attention, postures aligned as though they had rehearsed the stance together, ready and waiting for Simon’s next word.

Internally Simon smiled, now where should he go from here?