GIF made by@tgfan91 used with permission
### "Princess of the Gym"
I wasn’t going to let it slide. Not this time.
The first time he came up to me, he called me "tiny goth girl" while flexing his biceps—like I was supposed to faint from the sheer manliness. I was mid-deadlift. Twice his body weight.
The second time? He made a joke about my “little legs” while I was stretching. Then scratched his crotch. Full view. Like he was blessing me with it.
The third time, he said I "had potential" if I stopped “trying to be scary” and maybe let him “train me properly.”
I am a professional wrestler.
I don’t brag about it. I don’t need to. Most guys at the gym come to me when they want their form fixed. Even the beefy ones respect me. He? He was the exception.
So, yeah. I hexed him. Some clichés about goths are correct I'm a witch.
---
It started during his push-ups. Green smoke, subtle, swirling around his arms. I watched from the leg press, pretending to scroll my phone.
Each push-up, his muscles softened—biceps deflating, chest puffing out into… something different. His waist tightened, hips widening. His ass—dear Satan—his ass was becoming art.
He grunted louder, like he thought he was getting stronger. Each sound got higher-pitched. Each push-up made his chest jiggle more.
By the end, he was a tiny, curvy bombshell with long honey-blonde hair and enough bounce to cause traffic accidents. In a skin-tight pink outfit, no less.
Did he notice?
Nope.
He stood up—well, kind of wiggled up—and clapped his hands. “That’s what I’m talking about, baby!” he chirped. His voice was practically a squeak.
I almost died.
---
He strutted—literally, hips swaying—to two women at the water station.
“Hey, ladies, you come here often?”
The brunette choked on her drink.
The other, redhead, gave him a look. “Oh my god, you are adorable. What’s your name?”
He grinned, oblivious. “Brad. Been hitting chest hard, you know?”
He gestured proudly to his perky new breasts.
The brunette snorted, covering her mouth. “Chest day, huh?”
“Every day’s chest day, babe.”
I was biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.
As he turned, two guys by the squat rack whispered:
“Who’s that new girl?”
“No idea, but damn, that’s a perfect ass.”
“She single?”
I had to sit down. I was laughing so hard internally I felt light-headed.
---
The rest of the workout was like a sitcom written by witches.
He challenged Eric—6’4”, built like a truck—to a bench-off. Couldn’t lift the bar. Blamed it on a “rotator cuff issue.”
Eric patted him on the head. “That’s okay, little lady. Happens to all of us.”
Little lady.
He tried “coaching” some poor woman doing squats.
“You wanna go deeper—open those hips, sweetheart.”
She squinted. “Okay, but… what’s with your voice?”
He coughed. “Just a little sore.”
“Oh… cute.”
Every guy who saw him whispered, asking each other, “Who’s the new chick?”
“She’s got crazy hips.”
“Did she just join?”
I leaned against the cable machine, pretending to rest while soaking it in. No one knew it was him. He was just the tiny gym babe with a ridiculous butt.
Perfect.
---
After an hour of flouncing, he went into the men’s locker room like he owned it.
I followed.
I leaned against the doorway. “Hey, Brad.”
He turned, shirt halfway off—boobs bouncing. “Yeah?”
I snapped my fingers.
He froze. Looked down. Hands shot to his chest. He squeezed. “Oh… oh god…”
His fingers drifted to his hips, then his ass. He grabbed a handful. It jiggled. “WHY IS IT SO SOFT?”
He spun to the mirror.
“What… what is this?”
“That’s you, princess.”
He turned to me, eyes wide. “Change me back!”
I stepped forward. Smacked his ass.
*SLAP.*
It rippled like pudding. He yelped.
“You are not ‘Brad’ anymore,” I purred. “You’re Mallory. My little princess.”
He sputtered. “No, I—”
*SLAP.*
Another yelp. Higher-pitched.
“What’s your name?” I tilted my head.
“Br—”
*SLAP.*
“What’s your name?”
He bit his lip. “M…Mallory.”
“That’s right.” I leaned close. “And who do you belong to?”
He hesitated.
*SLAP.*
His cheeks were red—both sets.
“You,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m your little princess.”
“Good girl.”
I saw his knees wobble.
---
I pushed him back toward the door. He stumbled—hips swaying uncontrollably. His cheeks jiggled with every step.
As we passed the squat rack, I heard:
“Yo, there she is.”
“Who?”
“The thick girl. Damn, she’s cute.”
Mallory—still clinging to his ‘macho’ brain—gave a wink.
In that squeaky voice.
The guys blinked. “Uh… okay…”
I leaned to him. “They’re checking out your ass, princess.”
He gulped.
Another slap.
He squeaked.
By the bench press, two others whispered:
“She’s new, right?”
“I asked Eric. He said she’s ‘delicate but trying her best.’”
Mallory looked horrified.
I grinned. “You’re famous, princess.”
---
We reached the exit. I slid my arm around her waist, pulling her close.
“You can’t keep me like this,” she whispered, cheeks pink.
I smirked. “Oh, sweetheart… I think you like it.”
She didn’t deny it.
“I could make it permanent,” I teased. “Or… maybe you can earn your way back.”
She blinked up at me. “How?”
“Be my little princess. Do what I say. And maybe, maybe… I’ll think about it.”
Her lips parted. Conflicted. But there was a spark in her eyes. Something new. Submission. Curiosity.
I gave her one last, playful smack. She didn’t protest.
“That’s my girl.”
As we stepped out, I felt her lean into me—small, soft, mine.
Best curse I’ve ever cast.
---
Getting her home was easy. She was too flustered, too overwhelmed to resist much. Her tiny legs had trouble keeping up with me—every step a wobbly reminder that her hips swayed now, her ass bounced, and every brush of fabric over her new body made her blush deeper.
But the real fun was just beginning.
We stepped into my apartment—black walls, dim lights, velvet curtains. Candles flickered, casting shadows across posters of metal bands and my championship belts. A place that screamed me. And now, ours.
Mallory stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded under her new breasts—like she thought covering them would somehow reclaim her masculinity. Cute. Futile.
She tried to square her shoulders, but it only made her chest stick out more. “Alright,” she squeaked, trying for authority. “You had your laugh. Change me back.”
I raised an eyebrow, kicked off my shoes, and strolled past her, letting my hand trail lightly over her waist as I passed.
“Or what, princess?” I cooed.
Her jaw clenched. “Or I—I’ll… I’ll call someone!”
I laughed—low and rich, the kind that made men weak and women curious. “Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna say? ‘Help, I’m too sexy?’”
She flushed. “I’m serious!”
I turned, leaned against the counter. “You sure about that? Because I think… you like this.”
She froze. “No. I’m a guy. This—this is—”
I stepped forward, slow, deliberate, every inch the predator. She backed up until her shoulders hit the wall. I caged her in with my arms.
“You’re not a guy anymore,” I whispered. “You’re Mallory. My little princess.”
She squirmed, trying to look tough, but her breath was already hitching. Her body betrayed her—hips shifting under my gaze, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“I’m not—”
I slid my hand down her side, trailing over her curves.
She shivered.
“You sure?” I teased, fingers dancing just above her waistband.
“I—”
I dipped my hand lower, pressing my thigh lightly between her legs. She gasped. Her knees buckled slightly.
“You feel that?” I whispered into her ear. “That’s not a ‘guy’s’ body. That’s a woman. A needy, desperate little princess.”
Her lips parted, eyes wide. “I—I’m not—”
I stepped back. Pulled away completely.
Her body twitched at the loss of contact.
“No—wait!” she blurted, then bit her lip, mortified.
I smirked. “What’s wrong, princess? You want more?”
She glared, cheeks red. “N-no. I just… I…”
I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Say it. Say you’re Mallory.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m… Brad.”
I tsked. “Wrong answer.”
I stepped forward, grabbed her hips, and spun her around. Her back hit the wall, and I pinned her with my body—soft curves against my strength.
“You want to cum, princess?” I whispered.
She gasped. “What? No! I—”
I trailed a hand down her stomach, lower… lower…
Her breath hitched.
I brushed my fingers lightly—so lightly—over her new folds.
She moaned.
It was involuntary. High-pitched. Sweet.
“Oh, you like that,” I purred.
She shook her head frantically. “No, I—”
I pressed a little firmer, just enough to tease—but not enough to give her what she needed.
She whimpered.
“You need this,” I whispered into her ear. “Don’t you?”
“I—no—I’m—”
I pulled my hand back.
“No—wait!” she gasped, hips bucking toward nothing.
I laughed softly. “So needy already. But you don’t get it, princess. You don’t get anything until you say it.”
She was trembling now—hips shifting, body betraying her.
“Say it,” I whispered. “Say you’re Mallory. Say you’re my princess.”
Her eyes welled up with frustration and confusion. “I… I’m…”
I brushed my fingers between her legs again—barely there.
She moaned again, louder this time.
“You want to cum so bad, don’t you?” I teased.
She nodded weakly. Then froze—realizing what she’d done.
I smirked. “Good girl.”
Her breath caught.
I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “But you don’t get to. Not yet.”
I slipped my hand down the back of her leggings, fingers finding the soft curve of her perfect ass.
Her legs wobbled. “Please…”
I traced gentle circles with my fingers—light pressure over her entrance, then trailing further back. Teasing her there, making her squirm.
“You’re so sensitive now,” I whispered. “Every inch of you is begging. I could make you cum so hard you forget what your old name even was.”
She whimpered.
“But I won’t.”
I pulled my hand away again.
“No! Please!”
I grinned. “Say it.”
She bit her lip. “I’m… I’m Mallory.”
“And?”
She closed her eyes tight. “I’m your… princess.”
“And?”
Her face crumpled. “Please… Mistress…”
I rewarded her with a slow, gentle stroke—just enough to make her quake—but stopped before it could tip over.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
She moaned, half-sobbing, hips grinding helplessly against nothing.
“You want it so bad, don’t you?”
“Yes… Mistress… please…”
I slipped a finger back inside her, slow, deliberate—just a little. Her whole body arched.
Then I stopped.
“Say you’ll stay like this,” I demanded.
“I—what?” she gasped.
“You want this body. You need it. You need me,” I whispered, fingers circling but never giving her what she craved. “Say it.”
Her hips bucked desperately. “I—please—”
“Say it.”
She broke.
“I need it! I need this! I’m your princess, Mistress! Please—please let me stay like this!”
I grinned.
“There’s my good girl.”
I let my fingers push deeper, finally giving her what she needed. Her whole body tensed—then shattered. She came hard, crying out, legs trembling. I held her up, kept her pressed against me as she rode it out—every wave of pleasure rewriting who she was.
Mallory.
My princess.
When it passed, she was breathless, teary-eyed, clinging to me like I was her anchor.
I kissed her—deep, claiming.
“You’re mine,” I whispered.
She nodded. “Yours… Mistress…”
I carried her to the couch, curling her into my lap like a doll.
The man she had been was gone.
Mallory was home.
And she wasn’t going anywhere.
The End.