Slim them down to be natural

Simon studied the two towering women standing in Muriel’s living room. Their physiques commanded attention. Thick slabs of muscle shifted beneath tanned skin with every small movement. Veins stood out prominently along Martha’s forearms and Sofia’s deltoids, while their shoulders and traps rose in heavy, rounded peaks. Yet even at rest their bodies looked dangerously tight, joints under constant strain, the kind of overdeveloped frames that turned everyday motions into potential injuries.

He tuned back into their conversation. Sofia and Martha were making little effort to hide their intentions, subtly pressuring Sigríður to return to more intense training sessions with them.

“My job and my employer come first now,” Sigríður reminded them evenly.

“You dropped all the juice just to get this job?” Sofia asked, disbelief clear in her tone.

“And I was hired on the spot, no questions asked,” Sigríður countered. “Not to mention I no longer pay rent either.”

That last part caught their full attention.

“No longer paying rent?” Martha repeated, uncrossing her massive arms. “What do you mean?”

Sofia rolled her eyes. “She means her employer worked out some kind of deal with her landlord. Perks of the package.”

A small, private smile touched Simon’s lips. Close enough. The truth was far simpler. He had simply commanded it into existence.

“Sigríður,” he said, voice carrying across the room. “Thank you for bringing these two lovely ladies. Could you step out of the room for a minute? It would be improper to have you present during the interview.”

Sigríður gave a single nod. “Of course.” She turned and left the living room without another word, closing the door quietly behind her.

From his place on the sofa, Simon leaned back into the cushions and regarded the two towering women now standing before him. “So, ladies,” he began, tone conversational. “Tell me about yourselves. Why the dedication to building such large muscles?”

Martha answered first, no hesitation in her voice. “I like being powerful,” she said, a sharp edge creeping into her words. “I love making men feel small. There is something deeply satisfying about watching their egos crumble when they realise a woman is bigger and stronger than they will ever be. Knowing my biceps are thicker than most men’s thighs? That never gets old.”

Her words landed with deliberate weight. Simon kept his expression neutral. Petty cruelty threaded through every syllable, aimed squarely at the opposite sex. Martha pursued strength not for personal growth alone, but as a tool to wound and diminish.

Sofia shifted her weight from one thick leg to the other before speaking. “I started young,” she said, voice quieter than Martha’s. “I was socially awkward and shy as a girl. Got bullied pretty badly. The gym became my outlet. A place to burn off the anger and get stronger. Tougher. After a while it stopped being about the bullying and turned into something else. I made friends there. Real friends. So I kept pushing. Kept growing. At some point it became impossible to stop.”

Compared to Martha’s open hatred, Sofia’s explanation carried a quieter weight. Pain and insecurity had rooted the habit early, only for it to spiral into full obsession over time. The larger, bulkier frame now made perfect sense. While Martha seemed calculated in her dosing and training, Sofia had long ago surrendered completely to the process.

“Right, girls,” Simon addressed them both, voice steady and even. “You both want the job Sigríður has.”

Martha and Sofia nodded in unison, their expressions sharpening with immediate interest.

“And for that,” Simon continued, “you are both all natural.”

The words settled between them like a quiet command. Reality shifted without sound or flash.

Martha’s transformation unfolded first. The broad, imposing shoulders that had once dominated her silhouette began to narrow, the heavy slabs of muscle softening and receding until the **** width gave way to a more balanced, athletic line. Traps that had risen like small mountains flattened smoothly into elegant contours. Deltoids shrank from cannonball size to defined yet feminine caps that still spoke of strength without overwhelming the frame.

Her biceps, thick enough moments earlier to rival most men’s thighs, slimmed into sleek, toned curves—powerful in their own right, yet unmistakably feminine, the kind of arms that flexed with grace rather than brute intimidation. Prominent veins that had mapped across her skin like rivers faded beneath smoother, softer texture. Her chest shifted next: exaggerated pectorals melted away entirely, replaced by the natural, high swell of full breasts that lifted and filled the front of her tank top. The fabric, once stretched to near-tearing over flat slabs of muscle, now draped gently across rounded cleavage, the material clinging just enough to hint at the buoyant shape beneath.

Sofia underwent the same elegant reversal beside her. The blocky, almost rectangular bulk of her physique softened layer by layer. Quads and hamstrings lost their **** sweep, thighs tapering into long, sculpted lines that remained powerful yet carried a distinctly feminine flow. The square definition across her midsection smoothed into a tight, narrow waist that flared naturally at the hips. Shoulders rounded and narrowed, traps easing until her upper body took on a graceful V-shape rather than a blunt rectangle.

Her face changed most noticeably. The hard, square jawline softened into a gentler oval, cheekbones lifting with delicate prominence rather than blunt ****. Brow ridge receded until her features opened up—eyes appearing larger and brighter, lips gaining a subtle fullness that curved with natural sensuality. Dark hair pulled back into a high, neat bun framed the transformation perfectly.

Both women stood straighter now, bodies rebalanced—tall, imposing, undeniably strong, yet unmistakably feminine. The tank tops and shorts that had once strained against overdeveloped bulk now fit sleekly over lean, sculpted physiques, hugging every toned curve without excess. Martha ran a hand down her newly tapered arm, surprise flickering across features that had suddenly become far more open and expressive. Sofia flexed her fingers once, watching the graceful play of muscle beneath smoother skin, the definition sharp but balanced, feminine power in every line.

Neither spoke at first. Martha slowly flexed one newly tapered arm, feeling the lighter, sleeker muscle move beneath her skin with quiet satisfaction. Sofia traced the curve of her own hip, registering the gentler flare and the way her shorts now sat comfortably against a narrower waist. Their gazes met briefly, then returned to Simon.

Simon spoke next, voice calm and deliberate.

“Ladies, both of you, like Sigríður, find me attractive.”

Martha’s posture shifted first. Her shoulders eased, the faint tension in her jaw melting away as warmth spread across her features. Sofia drew in a slow breath, eyes softening, pupils dilating slightly while colour rose along her cheekbones.

“You are crushing on me,” Simon continued. “You want to be close to me. To breathe the same air as me. You love me in every sense of the word.”

Martha’s lips parted on a quiet exhale. Her dark eyes locked onto Simon’s face with sudden intensity, pupils wide and bright. A small, involuntary smile curved her mouth, soft and unguarded. Sofia leaned forward a fraction, weight shifting onto the balls of her feet as though drawn by an invisible pull. Her fingers flexed once at her sides, then stilled, the earlier guarded expression replaced by open, radiant focus.

Sofia spoke first, voice low and eager.

“So…”

Martha finished the thought without missing a beat, her tone carrying the same hungry edge.

“Are we hired?”