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The crossfit influencer a FMG story - Part 2
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 05:54:30 +0000 UTCThe digital clock on Natalia’s nightstand glowed 6:02 AM. She blinked, feeling unusually heavy, grounded, as if gravity had suddenly cranked up a notch. Not heavy in a bad way, but dense. Powerful. She stretched, her arms feeling strangely solid, the usual morning stiffness replaced by a coiled readiness.
Sliding out of bed, she padded towards the bathroom, a prickle of unease mixed with intense curiosity settling in her stomach.
She flipped on the harsh bathroom light and stepped onto the scale. Her breath hitched. Up three pounds. Not massive, but significant given her usually stubborn metabolism. Stepping before the mirror, she took a deep, shaky breath.
At first glance, she looked... like herself. Then, she looked closer.
Her abs, already visible, seemed etched deeper, the lines sharper, more defined. Her shoulders had a new curve, a roundness that suggested underlying power. She turned to the side. Her glutes felt tighter, sitting higher, and her hips were undeniably fuller, a subtle swell that hadn't been there yesterday. Her breasts, too, felt heavier, sitting differently.
It wasn't a dramatic, Hulk-like transformation. The changes were calibrated, just noticeable. But to Natalia, who scrutinised her physique daily for her legions of ‘Natalia’s Nurturing Gains’ followers, they were glaring.
"Oh, god," she whispered, pressing her hands against her sides, feeling the unfamiliar firmness. This wasn't the gradual, painstaking progress she preached. This was... accelerated. Artificial.
A groan from the bedroom announced Peter was waking up. He shuffled into the bathroom doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Morning, Nat," he mumbled, then paused, his gaze sweeping over her. His eyes widened slightly. "Whoa. Okay. Feeling good?"
Natalia hugged herself, suddenly feeling exposed. "Look. Peter, look."
He stepped closer, his sleepiness fading as he truly saw her. He didn't touch her, respecting the space she’d instinctively created, but his eyes were analytical. "Wow. Yeah. It... it worked. Better than they expected, maybe?"
"Better? My brand is 'small, sustainable gains,' Peter! I build trust on showing patience, consistency, the slow burn! What is this?" She gestured frantically at herself. "This isn't slow. This isn't sustainable! Not like this!"
Peter moved forward gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. It's okay. It's for the match, right? You took the booster so you could stand a chance against Jaxson's ego in the ring."
"But…" Natalia’s voice trembled. "My followers... they follow me because I'm relatable. I'm proof that you don't need extreme measures. This... this looks like an extreme measure."
"It was a calculated risk," Peter said, his tone practical. "For a specific event. It doesn't negate who you aret."
"Doesn't it?" She grabbed her phone. "Let's see what Captain CrossFit has been spewing while I was... doing this."
She opened Instagram. Her feed was immediately flooded with notifications. Mentions, comments, direct messages. Most were from her loyal followers, but scrolling down, the vitriol was evident. And Jaxson was at the forefront.
@Jaxson_KBKing: Just checked @FitNat follower count...looks like the truth is starting to bite 😉 People see through the facade, Nat. You're losing your grip. Should've lifted heavy like a real athlete from the start. #KettlebellKing #WhereAreYourGainsNat #SoSmall
Natalia scrolled down, her heart sinking with each post. Then she checked her profile stats. Her follower count, which had been steadily climbing towards 2 million, had dipped. Only a few thousand, but the trend was downwards for the first time in years. Threads in the comments section were dissecting Jaxson’s claims, sowing seeds of doubt.
"He's winning," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "He's actually winning. And now, how do I even address it? Do I pretend? Do I lie? Do I just disappear?"
Peter pulled her into a hug. "He's not winning, Nat. He's being Jaxson. He's loud and obnoxious. People will see through him eventually."
"But they're not!" She pulled back, frustrated. "They're listening! They're leaving!"
"Okay, deep breaths," Peter said calmly. "Your body changed. Visibly. You can't hide that. But you also feel stronger, right?"
Natalia flexed her arm, feeling the tautness. "Yeah. I do. It's... weirdly energizing."
"Good," Peter said firmly. "Focus on that. This match isn't about pretending to be someone else. It's about proving Jaxson wrong in the ring. You have new tools, Nat. Use them."
"But my content..."
"Can evolve!" Peter interrupted. "You're preparing for a massive physical challenge. Your training should reflect that. Show them the process for the match. This isn't your everyday 'nurturing gains' routine. This is amplified, intense, goal-driven training."
Natalia looked back at herself in the mirror. The changes were still shocking, still unsettling, but Peter's words offered a sliver of perspective. This was for the match. This was to finally shut Jaxson up.
"So, what? I ignore his posts?"
"For now," Peter advised. "Or, better yet, let your performance talk. You have a training session today, right? Film it. Don't say anything about... this," he gestured vaguely at her body. "Just train. Show them the intensity. Show them the power you feel. Let them wonder."
The idea took root. She didn't have to explain the serum. Not yet. She could pivot the narrative towards the demands of the spectacle. Prepare her audience for a different kind of content, one focused on peak performance for a specific, high-stakes goal.
"Okay," she said slowly, the panic starting to recede, replaced by a flicker of determination. "Okay. Today's session is heavy bag work. Maybe... maybe I can show them something new there."
She walked into the closet, pulling out her training gear. The sports bra felt snugger, the leggings pulled a little tighter over her hips and glutes. She looked at her reflection again, not with fear, but with appraisal.
Okay. This is me now. For the match.
Opening her social media app again, she ignored Jaxson's latest taunt about her 'vanishing act'. She went to her story, took a quick photo of her gym bag and a water bottle.
Story Post: Ready to put in the work. Fueling up for a big training day. The countdown to the ring is ON. 🔥 #MatchPrep #TrainingDay #NataliaVsJaxson #LevelUp
She posted it, a small act of defiance. It wasn't an explanation, but it was engagement. It was showing up.
"Alright," she said, turning to Peter, a new resolve hardening her gaze. "He wants to call me small? He wants to call me a fraud? Let's see what he calls me after I step in the ring feeling like this."
She grabbed her bag. The physical changes were a complication, a risk to her established brand. Jaxson was a relentless asshole chipping away at her credibility. But the match... the match was her chance to channel all of it. The fear, the doubt, the new, surprising strength.
"Let's train," she said, her voice firm. "I have a feeling today is going to be... different."
Peter smiled, a look of pride on his face. "That's my girl. Now go show them what 'nurturing gains' looks like when it's ready to kick some major ass."
Natalia nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time since waking up, she didn't feel like a fraud. She felt like a fighter. And Jaxson was about to find out just how much 'gains' she had really made.
The camera light blinked red, a familiar signal to "FitNat". She took a deep breath, adjusted her ponytail for the tenth time, and flashed her signature bright, genuine smile into the lens.
"Hey, FitFam!" she chirped, her voice energetic. "Coming at you live from the gym today! Guess what's on the menu? We are absolutely punishing this heavy bag!"
Comments began flooding the side of her screen – hearts, fire emojis, questions about her upcoming fight. The match against Jaxson, but Natalia was determined to wipe that smug look off Jaxon’s chiseled face.
"Alright team," Natalia continued, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You know Jaxson's been running his mouth..." A collective groan emoji wave swept through the comments. "...and while talking makes him tired, it just fires me up! So, we're channeling all that fantastic negative energy into some serious power today. We're talking speed, we're talking force. We are going to bring the thunder!"
She moved into her warm-up – dynamic stretches, arm circles, loosening up her shoulders and hips. The heavy bag, a worn canvas behemoth hanging from the ceiling, swayed gently.
"Feeling good, feeling loose," she narrated, tapping the bag lightly. "Remember, form is everything. Protect those wrists, engage the core. Don't just hit at it, hit through it!"
She threw a jab, then another, snapping her punches. The thud echoed satisfyingly in the relatively small home gym. Left hook, right cross. Her breath came in steady pants. She picked up the pace, putting more weight behind her hits.
Suddenly, a strange sensation bloomed in her chest. A warmth, like she'd just swallowed a mug of hot tea, but it was spreading outwards, down her arms, into her legs. It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it felt… good. Like a current of pure, clean energy flowing through her veins.
Natalia paused for a fraction of a second, glancing down at herself. Was it just the exertion? The adrenaline? She shook her head slightly and resumed her work, throwing a combination. Her fist connected with the bag with noticeably more force than before. The thud was heavier, deeper. The bag swung back harder.
She tried another punch, consciously putting less effort in, but the result was the same – a surprisingly powerful impact. The strange warmth intensified, settling comfortably in her muscles. She felt a tingling sensation across her skin, like her very cells were buzzing.
She threw a roundhouse kick, something she'd been working on for the match. Her leg whipped out faster, her foot connecting with the bag's midsection with a solid crack. The bag recoiled violently. Her breath hitched.
Okay, something was definitely happening.
As she continued her rapid-fire assault on the bag, focusing on combos and footwork, she started to notice subtle changes. Her stance felt naturally wider, more rooted. She felt… taller? She tried a high knee strike, and her knee seemed to reach higher up the bag without extra effort.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the camera. Was it just the sweat and pump, or did her biceps look more defined? Her shoulders seemed broader. She felt a tightness across her chest that wasn't just her sports bra; her breasts felt fuller, pressing against the fabric. A strange, welcome weight settled in her hips and glutes. "Whoa," she mumbled under her breath, hoping the microphone didn't pick it up.
The warmth was still there, a constant source of power. It felt incredible. Every punch landed with authority. Every kick snapped with speed. She was moving faster, hitting harder, and she felt less fatigued than usual. It was like her limits had just been... expanded.
She glanced at the comments again. "Looking strong today, Nat!" "You're crushing it!" "Bag didn't stand a chance!" Nobody seemed to notice anything outwardly weird, which meant the changes must still be subtle from a distance. But she felt them. Her clothes felt snugger in places – her shorts tighter around her thighs and butt, her top straining slightly over her chest. She definitely felt taller, looking down at the familiar markings on the floor from a slightly higher vantage point.
An intense smile spread across her face, one that held a new kind of power. This wasn't just grinding through a workout; this felt like... evolving. Right here, live, for thousands to see (even if they didn't fully see what she felt).
She powered through the last round, a blur of punches and kicks, the bag swaying wildly under the onslaught. She finished with a fierce yell, driving a final, massive cross into the bag that sent it spinning on its chain.
Panting, she stood tall, hands on her hips, Sweat dripped down her face, energy coursing through her veins. The warmth subsided slightly, leaving behind a feeling of settled, solid strength.
"Phew!" she exclaimed, walking back towards the camera. "Alright, FitFam, that is how you hit the bag! If you felt that energy all the way through the screen, drop a fire emoji!"
The fire emojis rained down.
"Feeling absolutely pumped today!" she said, catching her breath. "Remember to cool down properly, fuel your bodies, and stay hydrated! Thank you so much for joining me today! We'll be back tomorrow, same time, same place! Stay strong, stay positive, and keep crushing those goals!"
She reached out and tapped the screen, ending the live stream and signing out of 'FitNat'. The camera light went dark. Silence descended on the gym, broken only by the gentle creak of the heavy bag chain.
Natalia stood still for a moment, feeling her body. The feeling of slight growth was undeniable now that she wasn't actively moving. She walked over to the mirrored wall, her reflection staring back at her.
Her eyes widened.
It wasn't just the pump. Her muscles were significantly more defined – arms thicker, shoulders broader, back sculpted like she'd spent an extra year perfecting it. Her waist was still tight, but her hips flared out more dramatically, her glutes rounder and fuller. Her breasts strained against her sports bra, looking easily a cup size larger. She stood taller, perhaps two inches gained. The overall effect wasn't monstrous, but it was absolutely, unmistakably more. She was still Natalia, but a larger, more powerful version.
"Whoa," she whispered again, tracing the new curve of her bicep. It felt dense, hard.
Just then, the gym door opened and Peter poked his head in, a water bottle and towel in hand. "Hey, champ, amazing workout! I could hear those hits from the kitchen, you were-"
He stopped dead, his eyes widening slightly as he took in his wife. His smile faltered, replaced by a look of gentle befuddlement.
"Nat?" he said slowly, walking in. "Did... did you just grow?"
Natalia laughed, a sound of pure exhilaration mixed with disbelief. "Peter! You see it too?"
He walked closer, circling her slowly, his gaze sweeping over her form with a mixture of awe and confusion. "See it? Nat, you're... you're bigger! Taller! Your..." He gestured vaguely. "Everything looks... amplified! What on earth just happened?"
She grabbed the towel from him, wiping her face. "I don't know! It was... during the heavy bag work. This weird warmth, this feeling of strength... and then I just felt myself... expanding? Getting stronger?" She flexed her arm, showing off the new definition. "Look! And my shorts feel tight! And my top!"
Peter carefully touched her shoulder, then her arm.
"I feel incredible," she breathed, still amazed by the sight of herself. The slightly apprehensive feeling about the serum was overshadowed by the sheer rush of power. "I feel like I could knock down a wall. This feels amazing."
Peter stepped back, a thoughtful look on his face. "Okay, so... unexplained growth spurt during a workout? We need to figure out how long the serum stays in your system. Is it still safe?"
"I don't know!" Natalia said, shrugging. "But... think about it, Peter." A fierce grin split her face, the kind Jaxson Tate would despise. "Jaxson thinks he's going to step into that ring with FitNat. The girl he's been calling 'petite' and 'fragile'." She looked at her reflection again, standing tall and powerful. "He is not ready for the version of FitNat he's about to meet."
Peter stared at his wife, this new, magnificent version of her. His concern was still there, but a wave of fierce pride washed over him. "No," he agreed, a slow smile mirroring hers. "No, he absolutely isn't."
Natalia turned from the mirror, her larger frame radiating confidence and power.
"Three days," Natalia gasped, leaning against the rack, chest heaving, tingling. "Feels like a lifetime."
"You're ready, Nat," Peter said softly, handing her a bottle. "You've never worked harder."
"Harder than Jaxson thinks I can," she muttered, taking a long drink. "He's so busy flexing his 'Extreme fitness'. This match isn't about lifting light weights fast."
Just then, a knock at the door, and a delivery man stood there, holding a large, flat box. Natalia’s eyes lit up.
"The leotard!" she exclaimed, a flicker of excitement cutting through her exhaustion. Her custom wrestling gear. The final piece of the puzzle for her ring look.
They took the box and Natalia eagerly ripped open the packaging as the delivery man left.. Inside lay a sleek, vibrant leotard in her signature colours, designed for maximum impact and mobility.
“Okay, this is it,” she said, holding it up. Peter watched with a fond smile. "Let's see if it fits."
She pulled it on, the cool, synthetic fabric sliding over her skin. First the legs, then pulling it up over her hips. It felt... snug. Tighter than the measurements should have accounted for. She pulled the straps up over her shoulders, the fabric stretching.
“Oh, no,” she mumbled, looking in the mirror. The top half felt restrictive, tight across her lats and, more noticeably, her chest, which had grown significantly fuller and more muscular between ordering it and its delivery. But the real problem was the bottom. The 'shorts' part of the leotard, designed to be short and form-fitting, was being consumed. The fabric was digging mercilessly, pulled high up into her butt crack, creating an unintentional and intensely uncomfortable wedge.
She turned, trying to adjust. The fabric clung to the curves of her now powerful thighs, but instead of sitting smoothly, it was just… disappearing. Pulled deep, defining the cleavage of her ass in a way that was both revealing and deeply uncomfortable. It was riding up so high it felt like it was trying to become a thong, but doing so poorly, bunching and chafing.
"Well, that's... problematic," she sighed, trying to tug the fabric down, to no avail. "It's too tight up here," she indicated her chest and shoulders, "and the bottom... it's just eating me alive. It's digging so deep."
Peter walked over, his smile fading as he saw her discomfort. "Let me see." He gently touched the fabric at her hip. "Hmm. Yeah, it's riding up hard. Your body's changed even more than our measurements predicted, huh?"
"I guess so, it shows," she said, a mix of frustration and pride in her voice. "But I can't fight like this! It's uncomfortable, it's bunching, and it feels like it's going to split if I even try a lunge."
She peeled off the leotard, disappointment clouding her face. "Three days, Peter. What am I going to do?"
Peter thought for a moment. "Okay, don't panic… hmmm who could fix this? And fast?.... maybe Chloe? Our friend who does that cosplay stuff? She's incredible with patterns, fabrics, alterations... she could fix this."
Natalia’s eyes widened. She knew Chloe, always had some project she was working on. "Do you think she could handle something like this? Altering a wrestling leotard?"
"Absolutely," Peter assured her. "Give her a call. Explain what you need. It's custom work, that's her specialty. And she understands performance costumes."
Natalia nodded, hope flickering back. It was a long shot, but it was their best shot. She picked up her phone.
“Hey Chloe… i need a super big favor”
An hour later, they were at Chloe’s apartment, which doubled as a chaotic, colourful workshop. Fabric scraps, sewing machines, mannequins in various states of undress, and spools of thread filled the space. Chloe, her fingers perpetually stained with ink or dye, greeted them with a warm, energetic hug.
"Natalia! Peter! What's up? And you're looking… tall?... wow, Nat, seriously buff!" Chloe's eyes scanned Natalia. "Hard training pays off, huh?"
"Too well, and maybe a little extra," Natalia said with a wry smile. She pulled out the leotard and explained the situation. "It came today, custom-made, but my body... well, it's grown more than we thought. Especially up top, and my glutes and thighs... the bottom part is just getting devoured."
Chloe examined the leotard, then looked at Natalia. "Okay, pop it on for me, let's see what we're working with. No need to be shy, I see bodies transforming all the time for costumes."
Natalia hesitated for a second, then pulled the ill-fitting leotard back on. The uncomfortable tug and pull returned instantly.
Chloe circled her, her expert eyes assessing the fit. She gently probed the fabric at the shoulders, the bust, the deeply wedged lower half.
"Okay, I see it," Chloe said, nodding. "The chest needs more room, definitely. We can adjust the pattern here, maybe add a small gusset or reshape the seams discreetly to give you breathing room without losing support. Now, the bottom..." She peered closely at how the fabric was being pulled. "Yeah, it's just not designed for that level of... power-glute development," she grinned. "The shorts are fighting against your natural curve. For a wrestling match, you need absolute freedom of movement. And honestly, for the visual... this bunching isn't doing you justice."
She stepped back. "Here's what I recommend. We can lift the chest area to give you space. And for the bottom, we ditch the 'shorts' concept entirely. We can reshape this into a clean, high-cut thong back. It will sit on your cheeks, not in them, defining their shape perfectly, give you unrestricted leg movement, and frankly... it'll make a statement."
Natalia blinked. "A... a thong?"
"Yeah," Chloe said, matter-of-factly. "Think performance wear. Like a figure skater, or a gymnast, but with your wrestler edge. It's functional for mobility, and visually... in the ring, that kind of confidence is a weapon. Especially against a visual guy like Jaxson. It says, 'I own this body, I own this look, and I'm here to dominate.' We'll make the front clean and high-cut too, right up the hip, to match the lines and give total groin mobility. It'll be... very revealing, Nat. Are you okay with that?"
Natalia looked at Peter, who just offered a supportive, neutral smile. She looked back at Chloe, then at her reflection. The idea of being that exposed on camera was daunting, but Chloe was right. It was about the performance. It was about power. It was about throwing Jaxson off his game.
"Okay," Natalia said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let's do it. Make it… bold."
"Excellent choice," Chloe beamed, already grabbing pins and measuring tape. "This is going to look incredible. You shed this thing, and I'll get to work. It won't take long, I'm fast when I'm inspired, and this is great material to work with."
Natalia changed, and Chloe, with practiced speed and precision, began dismantling and reshaping the lower half of the leotard, adjusting the seams on the top. Needles flew, the whir of the sewing machine filled the air. Peter and Natalia chatted quietly off to the side, talking through match strategy, the leotard momentarily forgotten in the hum of creativity.
About an hour later, Chloe held up the finished piece. It looked subtly different, smoother in places, but the main change was obvious. The lower half was now a clean, high-arching thong, the fabric streamlined to follow the curve of where her glutes met her legs, leaving the entirety of her powerful rear exposed and framed. The front was also higher cut on the hips, creating a dramatic line and ensuring nothing would impede her movement.
"Alright," Chloe announced, "Try this on, performance enhanced version 2.0."
Natalia took the leotard, a slight nervousness fluttering in her stomach. She stepped into it, pulling it up. This time, it slid smoothly over her hips, over her glutes. The thong back settled into place perfectly, outlining the powerful curves of her backside without digging. She pulled the top half up, and felt an immediate difference – the fabric stretched comfortably across her chest, her shoulders, her back.
She walked to the mirror and looked.
The leotard fit like a second skin, designed for her newly powerful physique. The top offered support without restriction. The bottom... the bottom was exactly as Chloe described. It left her defined beautifully by the cut of the fabric. The high-cut front ran right up her hip bone, leaving her groin area very revealing, emphasizing the V-shape of her lower abs where they met her powerful quads and inner thighs. It was bold. It was unapologetic.
Natalia turned slowly, seeing herself from all angles. She saw the sheer amount of skin on display, the blatant accentuation of her posterior, the revealing cut at her groin. It was far more revealing than anything she’d ever worn publicly. Yet, as she moved, she felt the incredible freedom. No pulling, no chafing, just smooth fabric and her own body moving effortlessly beneath it.
A different feeling began to replace the initial shock – a surge of power. This wasn't just a wrestling outfit; it was a statement. It wasn't just revealing; it was confident. It felt like the culmination of all her brutal training.
Peter watched her from the side. He saw the slight widening of her eyes as she first took in the look, then the way her shoulders subtly straightened, the way her stance shifted from appraisal to ownership. He didn't say anything, just watched. His gaze lingered on the powerful curve of her back, the strong lines of her legs, and yes, the bold, undeniable confidence radiating from her in this new, revealing gear. He saw the sheer power etched in her physique, now highlighted and celebrated by the leotard. His admiration was silent, deep, and focused entirely on her strength, her readiness, the incredible woman he saw before him, ready to step into the ring and conquer. A small, proud smile touched his lips.
"Okay," Natalia breathed, turning back to Chloe, a fierce glint in her eyes. "Okay. This works." She flexed her arm, the fabric moving seamlessly with her. "This is exactly what I needed."
Chloe beamed. "Looks like it was made for you. Because now it is."
Natalia looked back at herself in the mirror, no longer seeing just a leotard, but a warpaint. "Jaxson isn't going to know what hit him," she said, a predatory smile spreading across her face. Three days.
