Professor magnus's transformation class
From Metabods
Contents |
Part 1
It was amazing that anyone ever passed Professor Magnus’s transformation class. Myself included. I know the subject is fascinating, but have you seen him? Sure, there are dozens of boytaurs on this campus but Magnus is the most beautiful of all of them. When I walked into the first class I thought he was one of the students – the first thing I saw was his beaming, youthful face – even though he was paging through his notes at the front of the class, standing behind the lectern, with his narrow, wire-framed reading glasses on, I thought he looked 17 or 18 ... at the most! And that face was framed by a rebellious boy’s loose, long blond hair, a soft blond mane that my right hand suddenly itched to be running through, cascading onto wide, bulging, awesome shoulders.
And as my eyes continued down I was completely engrossed. His crisp pink button-down dress shirt, open at the collar just enough to show his lightly tanned cleavage, looked tailored to emphasize not how big the muscles of his beautiful four arms and thick chest and long abs were, but how perfectly proportioned they were even given their generous size. His new-looking four-legged jeans seemed sculpted to show off his luscious thighs and his gorgeous hind ass without seeming tight at all. That ass — I realized my own oversized cock was not only rock hard, it was aching to push inside that ass. His shoes, new white sneakers with the laces tied but slack, were bigger than any I’d seen since I got to Brannon College.
He looked up and smiled at me and the other five guys stuck in the doorway staring at him, and genially nodded with his head toward some open seats among the thirty or so guys who’d managed to get past the door and into the chair, but who were themselves still staring, enraptured, at the boytaur vision in front of them. None of them were boytaurs themselves, I realized vaguely and with some surprise, though all of them were pretty good-looking – but then, everyone tended to get better looking after they’d been at Brannon a few months. Something in the water, maybe. The room was pretty quiet – usually, there’s a lot of conversation and people on phones and so on before a class starts, but not this time.
The classroom was made up of three long narrow desks on raised tiers with chairs behind them, mostly occupied by students who were, as I mentioned, as riveted as I was. I found a seat in the front row on the end, next to a super-gorgeous gym-rat in a tight tee shirt. Normally, I’d be checking out a guy like that, possibly through the whole class. But we were both boned and mesmerized by out teacher-god, drunk with lust, totally aroused down to our cells. I guessed we all were. I knew gym-rat was boned – he was casually cupping something tube-shaped in his sweats, and his big beefy hand didn’t cover all of it.
The seats in this room were all packed in really close together, with no arm-rests or anything in the way, and we Brannon guys tend to have broad shoulders for some reason, so my shoulder was overlapping with gym-rat’s. We were all in contact with each other, I realized, but totally immersed in the prof’s beauty. The guy on the other side of me actually had his hand on gym-rat’s thigh, as if that was just how you sat in a classroom.
As we stared at him his eyes met mine and as what little sound there was in the room fell away to nothing I felt myself drawn out of my body, into a dream, and in the gauzy dream I was still in the same classroom but we were all naked, all gorgeous, all of us boytaurs with muscles even more generous than Magnus’s, big soccer ball pecs looming over tight hard ten-packs and 28-inch waists, and thick hard arms, four or six or eight apiece or more, and so many long beautifully muscled legs, some of us had piles of legs, and cocks erupting from every boy, two or four or six or dozens, and everyone was growing more cocks and the whole room was cumming just from how impossibly, unenduringly erotic we all were, and I was blasting cum out of twelve two-foot cocks —-
Suddenly Magnus was talking to us. His voice was like a massage. I gasped, the dream not gone but removed to the background, still progressing on its own. “Welcome everybody,” he said cordially. “In this class we’re going to learn about transformation – the different kinds, how it works, and – ” he paused for effect and a barely perceptible wink – “how to do it.”
The full implications of that washed over the class, and there was actually a bit of murmuring among students who’d come in together. I know they were all thinking of it in the terms I was: to be like him ... to make other people like him! ...
My cock got harder. It was already all the way hard, and because of my dream it felt like it had already exploded with an incredible orgasm, but somehow it got harder, thrusting helplessly against my jeans. I was suddenly aware I was in a room full of testosterone, of muscle, flesh, hard cocks, all focused, riveted, on Magnus.
“Now to do transformation, you have to know what you want,” Magnus said. I knew what I wanted – that ass! My cock was famished for it. “For instance, if you’re transforming a person to make them sexier – well, what’s sexier?”
“You are,” I said in my head. Only I said it out loud too. So did a bunch of the guys.
Magnus just smiled, and stepped out from behind the lectern, giving us our first direct view of him. There was a wave of soft moans. He was the total package. And speaking of package! It was big, a cantaloupe packed into the crotch of his four-legged jeans, and yet somehow in perfect proportion. I stole a quick glance around. A lot more of us were pressing our arms and legs against the guy next to us.
“But what is it about this body?” he asked, as if he were discussing a page from the textbook. He glanced down at himself. “Is it because I’m bigger in all the right places – or because I’ve got more of everything?”
Yes, I thought. Yes and yes. But he went on: “So that’s one of the first questions when you’re doing transformation magic: what’s sexy to you, size – or quantity?”
I didn’t know. I was staring at his package. More of everything, he’d said...
He stepped toward us again. He was about six feet away from me. I hadn’t realized how tall he was – he had to be close to seven feet. His hands were in his pockets – for some reason I found it fascinating that his jeans had two sets of front pockets on each side, one behind the other, so he could sink all four hands into his jeans. My eyes traveled up those arms, up the thick muscles of his forearms and thick, hard upper arms, all pressing together through their broadcloth shirtsleeves. My dick somehow got even harder. I felt flushed and more aroused than I’d ever been in my life.
He turned back toward the front of the room, presenting his hind ass to me, and I had to actually consciously restrain myself from jumping up, yanking his jeans down, and sinking my supercock into it. He walked around so he was standing behind a table next to the lectern, on which his leather satchel had been tossed.
He pulled a clipboard with some sheets of paper on it and small dark canister out of the satchel. “We’re going to do a little experiment,” he said, taking the cap off the canister. “I’ve taken the class roster – ” he raised the clipboard “— and randomly sorted you into two groups: Size, and Quantity. Now, when I call on you, you stand up, and you’ll pick something to transform – arms, chest, height, cock, legs, abs, and so on. I’ll roll this die – ” he shook the canister around in his hand, and we heard what sounded like a board-game die rattle around in the cardboard/felt container – “and you’ll get either more of it, or bigger.”
We were all stunned, and buzzing with amazement. He was going to transform us! All of us! Right in the first class! I swear my dick grew an inch just thinking about it.
“And then,” he concluded, “we’ll talk about which of us we each think got the most sexier.”
“Oh shit,” breathed gym-rat. He was enthralled by the idea. I realized his free hand was resting on mine – and had been for a while. Our legs were pressed hard together. His bulging biceps flexed against mine.
“Let’s show you what I mean,” Magnus said, stepping back toward the front row with his clipboard and die canister until he was fright in front of the long desk. He consulted his clipboard. “George Abbot,” he read.
“Here!” called a startled voice from the back. We all turned to look. Standing up in the third row, closer to the other side of the room than to mine, was a tall, good-looking, but fairly ordinary guy with curly dark hair. He was wearing a white dress shirt, which looked kinda sexy on him even though it was buttoned almost to the top. I got the fleeting impression somehow that he might have been, at any other school, a geek or a nerd, with thick glasses and everything, but George looked hotter than any of the nerds I’d known in high school. And even from here I could tell his bright blue eyes were probably sharper than mine.
“Okay, George, let’s show them how it’s done. Name your category!”
“Um – um – arms!” George blurted.
Magnus grinned. “Okay, arms.” He shook the canister, saying as he did so, “Now, if George is in the size group, his arms will get bigger in proportion with what I roll. And if he’d in the quantity group, he’ll get the number of arms he has times what I roll. Ready?”
George nodded, nervous and eager. Gym-rat squeezed my hand. Magnus tossed the die onto the desk. We all craned to see. “A four,” someone said, and the word “four” coursed around the room in a mutter as we all looked back at George.
His upper arms were swelling, filling out his white shirt-sleeves, only the sleeves were expanding, too, keeping up. It was fascinating and hot, like watching a dick get hard – we could see the muscle through the shirt – the more and more massive biceps, trieps, delts, growing, thickening, hardening. Gym-rat’s thick biceps were flexing hard against mine, as if they were trying to bulge and grow in sympathy with George’s.
George’s growth finally eased, leaving him with massive, incredible, ten-years-at-the-gym-in-a-minute arms. It might have looked weird for him just to have arms like that, but I saw, gratifyingly, that his shoulders and pecs had gotten much bigger too, so his arms wouldn’t be too out of place. In fact his upper body over all looked amazing – he was a big wide slab of boy now, with his hot thick sculpted arms being just the best feature. He started to feel them up, but the guys on either side of him pulled him back down into his seat so they could do it for him.
Gym-rat and I were holding hands now, which actually meant his whole shoulder and arm were overlapping mine so our palms came together facing each other, fingers intertwined. Honestly, I barely noticed, I was so caught up in the idea that our boytaur-god-prof was going to transform us all.
