Regmore Rigmin
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Spin Class TG
🕑 Added 2025-08-01 10:00:03 +0000 UTCJason never understood his girlfriend’s obsession with the gym. Every weeknight and most weekends, she was there—lifting weights, spinning, or stretching like she was training for a professional competition. And it wasn’t just her. She had this little cult of perfectly toned, energetic women around her all the time. They posted sweaty selfies together, laughed at inside jokes, and tagged each other in stories with hashtags like #BootyGoals and #GluteGang.
Jason, meanwhile, preferred the couch and his game controller. But lately, he had a creeping suspicion that something wasn’t right. Especially when he caught a glimpse of his girlfriend, Ashley, chatting and laughing with some ripped guy from the gym—shirtless, of course.
“You flirt with those guys,” he snapped one night, tossing his controller aside.
Ashley raised an eyebrow, her sports bra still damp from her workout. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying, maybe if you spent more time with me and less time shaking your ass in leggings—”
“Oh?” Her tone dropped a few degrees. “So, leggings are the problem now?”
Jason shrugged. “The whole gym thing is ridiculous. You’re obsessed. It’s like a cult.”
Ashley didn’t argue. She just smiled. Not a kind smile. A calculating one.
“Okay, close your eyes,” Ashley said, guiding Jason into her spare room. It was normally stacked with yoga mats and protein tubs, but now it was suspiciously clear. Except for something hanging in the middle of the room—a sleek, glossy figure that looked vaguely… human.
“Ta-da!” she said, stepping back. “Meet your new bod.”
It took a moment for Jason to realize what he was looking at: a female bodysuit. Not just any bodysuit—this one was tan, athletic, and extremely detailed. It looked like a real woman was standing there, frozen in time.
“Nope,” Jason said instantly, turning toward the door.
Ashley stepped in front of him. “Wait. You think my lifestyle is a joke, right? That I just go to the gym to ‘flirt’? Well, if you’re so sure it’s all just vanity and attention-seeking, I want you to spend one day in my world.”
“I’m not putting that on.”
“You will,” said a second voice.
Jason turned—and saw three of Ashley’s gym friends standing in the doorway, arms folded. The short one, Kayla, was already snapping on gloves.
“This isn’t happening,” Jason protested as they closed in.
Jason stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He wasn’t Jason anymore.
The suit was seamless. His muscular, slightly flabby body was gone. In its place: toned legs, firm arms, a sculpted waist, and—most jarringly—breasts beneath a pink sports bra. A brown wig topped his head, styled into twin ponytails that bounced with every movement.
Ashley handed him a final piece: a pair of bubblegum-pink leggings, a grey thong (which he was already wearing under the bodysuit), and sleek black trainers.
“I look like one of those Instagram girls,” Jason muttered, shifting awkwardly in the tight clothes.
“Exactly,” Kayla said, smirking. “You’re ready for spin class.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “What?!”
Ashley just smiled. “Front row. Can’t wait.”
Jason’s heart was pounding before the class even started. Every bike was filled—row after row of women in neon workout gear, ponytails swinging, laughter echoing under the upbeat music. At the front of the room, Jason stood out—not because he looked bad (he didn’t, the suit was alarmingly convincing), but because he was stiff, anxious, and wobbling in the saddle like he’d never seen a stationary bike before.
“Let’s welcome our newest member, Jayda!” Ashley called out. The whole room cheered.
The instructor, a bubbly powerhouse named Marissa, gave Jason a wink. “You’re gonna love this.”
Then the lights dimmed. The music cranked up.
And the class began.
Jason had never pedaled so hard in his life. Sweat was pouring down his face (the suit even simulated that), and every part of his body felt like it was on fire. The sports bra dug into his chest, and his glutes—well, the fake glutes—ached in strange ways.
“Come on, front row!” Marissa shouted. “Push it! Show me that booty burn!”
Behind him, someone giggled.
Jason shifted in his seat—then suddenly gasped.
Someone had yanked the back of his leggings down just enough to reveal the grey thong. A chorus of laughter rose behind him.
“Looking good, Jayda!” someone teased.
Jason turned to glare at Ashley—but she just gave him a thumbs-up. “Booty goals, babe.”
Jason stumbled off the bike, legs trembling. His face was flushed—not from the workout, but from the embarrassment. The gym-goers swarmed around him, complimenting his "form" and “savage energy.” One even asked what brand his leggings were.
Ashley appeared at his side, handing him a protein shake.
“Well?” she asked.
Jason glared at her. “You humiliated me.”
“You walked a mile—or five—in my shoes,” she said. “Now maybe you’ll understand that this isn’t about flirting. It’s about pushing yourself. Working hard. Owning your body. Even if it’s one you borrowed.”
Jason didn’t respond.
But he did finish the protein shake.
