Summer School

[6 word request: teacher grows hyper muscular during class]

When Professor Russet entered the humid classroom, not one of the five student athletes acknowledged his presence. He slammed his briefcase on the desk, trying to get the attention of the half-circle of football players crammed into their desks, but they continued to jabber on. He finally cleared his throat. Bronson, the team’s quarterback, was the first to acknowledge him.

“Well, Professor Russet…” the hunky blonde said, smiling with a flash of his dimples. “We heard you were a real hardass. But I have a feeling you’ll go easy on us big dumb football players.”

Russet rolled his eyes. “Honestly, gentlemen, I’ll level with you,” he said as he approached the blackboard to write CHAUCER in large letters at the top. “The last thing I want to do is teach classics to entitled meatheads in the summertime--and I know the last thing you want to do is to do discuss readings I know you probably won’t do. But the truth is, you need my okay to play in the upcoming season, so I have a feeling you’re going to cooperate.”

Gus, the 300 pound hulking lineman, grunted and turned to Bronson. “He thinks we’re gonna cooperate, Bron,” he said in his deep voice, shrugging his wide shoulders.

Russet turned around and stood up straight, hands at his hips. Each of the five athletes had a smug expression on his face. Russet wanted to flunk them all on the spot, just so they didn’t get their own way for once. He was tired of the way athletes were worshipped at this school.

“I like your beard,” said Winston, the tall, thickly built tight end. “Chicks dig your beard, Russet?”

Russet shook his head and removed his classes. “Look, guys, we have a lot to cover and the importance of getting a good grade in this class seems lost on all of you…”

“Just a friendly heads up,” said Timmons, the team’s kicker (who was less than half the size of his teammates), “Bron does not like being talked down to. Coach doesn’t even do it.”

Bronson looked from Timmons to Russet and shrugged with a wry smile. “What can I say? My boy is right.”

Russet shook his head. “So I know that everyone on campus lets you overgrown man-children do whatever you want to, but that’s not going to happen in here…” Drummond, the stocky linebacker, was staring out the window with a distant gaze. Russet slammed his hand down on the table. The linebacker snapped to attention. “Look, it’s an hour a day, guys. One hour to just listen to me and do a little reading. I’m not asking that much.”

Bronson gazed around at his teammates, then focused on the professor again. “Sorry, teach. Truth is, we’ll be in class--every week, guaranteed. And you’re gonna give us all As. That’s not up for debate. The thing I have to figure out is… how much fun are we gonna have with you while we’re here?”

All of the football players chuckled. Russet let out a deep sigh.

“Honestly? Even serious students don’t find Chaucer that fun,” Russet said as he leaned against his desk. “School isn’t about fun. It’s about hard w--”

Bronson snapped his finger. Suddenly, mid-sentence, Russet’s body went limp. He let out a prolonged moan, struggling to stand despite his noodly limbs. He seemed to have no strength in his body. His breathing was ragged. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. Bronson hopped to his feet and approached the incapacitated professor, leaning over him.

“See, each of us has a little dazzle, if you will,” Bronson said as he gently stroked the Professor’s bearded cheek. Just that gentle contact made Russet writhe and buck his hips. A wet spot formed at the front of his pants. Drool slid from the left side of his mouth. “Mine… is to make people incredibly horny. Can’t use it on chicks, sadly, or guys on opposing teams. Or even our team, because I could really wreak havoc in the showers if I wanted, but… sometimes I do it for fun. Every guy who gets a hit of my juice always seems to like it though.”

Bronson snapped his fingers again and the Professor’s flailing body grew still.

“What the…” Russet gasped, looking around. Clearly he had cum, driven over the edge by a gentle caress of his cheek, but as the waves of pleasure fading, the realization that he was in front of students of the university made him feel incredibly shameful. “What did you… do? Was that… drugs?”

Bronson shook his head. “Nope. Just a few cool talents us guys have. Gus, I think Russet would look a lot better with some muscle on him. What do you think?”

The big oaf Gus shrugged. “Guy’s been in a library his whole life, I bet. Let’s make it look like he’s spent some time in the gym.” Gus snapped his fingers and Russet’s body blew up with muscle--instantly, the scrawny, well-dressed man ballooned out in all directions. As his body swelled, his clothes expanded with him. In seconds, he had massive pecs that were heaving with each gasping breath. His thickening legs had pushed his legs apart, while the expansion of his glutes had lifted him up from the desk.

Russet hopped to his feet and was shocked to realize that his frame, now dense with thick, round muscles, was larger than Bronson’s.

“How did… I… I’m… bigger than you!” Russet said, looking at his own bulging body and comparing it with that of the 21 year old division 1 athlete. He finally flexed one of his arms and held it up next to the quarterback’s, laughing despite himself to realize that he was the bigger man.

“He likes it!” Drummond said, clapping his hands like a child.

“Sure does,” Bronson said. “Russet, now that you’re such a nice, big man… I gotta say… what’re you gonna do with all that muscle?”

Russet looked down at himself, then finally drew himself up to his full height. Bronson still towered a few inches over him, but Russet’s body was now wide with dense, powerful muscles. He was built like a professional bodybuilder now, stuffed into his suit. He reached forward and poked Bronson in the chest with a sausage-thick finger. “I think what I’m gonna do,” he said, bouncing a pec, then flexing an arm, then making a glute bounce, as if he were taking all that newfound muscle for a ride bit-by-bit. “...is tell you that if you don’t get in your damned chair, I’m gonna PUT you in your damned chair.”

Russet clenched his fists and crossed his arms--a difficult feat with the newfound pectoral muscles competing for space. Bronson didn’t even flinch.

“A little more, Gus,” he ordered. The massive lineman did as he was told, snapping his fingers.

Russet’s impressive physique suddenly exploded with size again.

“Holy… shit…” the professor said, stumbling around. His lats had blown up so huge he couldn’t put his arms down. Meanwhile, 60-inch quads had pressed his legs so far apart that he looked as if he were attempting a split. The melon-sized pecs forming such a dense shelf that he couldn’t see his feet made him feel like he could fall forward at any time--at least, he would, if his ridiculously overinflated glute muscles weren’t there as a counterbalance.

“Fuck… too… big…” the overblown man said. He looked like a tick, his muscles so full and huge that it seemed he could pop at any moment. As Russet flexed his absurdly large torso, he tried to look around at all of his new size. Sadly, swollen traps and rock-solid abdomen kept him from turning or bending too much.

The five football players were all on their feet now, surveying their handiwork. Russet tried to take a step--a phenomenal feat, considering how much of him there was to move now--but moving his foot just a few inches thew his balance off. He wiggled his titanic arms wildly to steady himself as he tilted forward. Luckily WInston was there to grab him by the pecs and press him back. Then he was tumbling backward; he groaned and tried again to wave his so-big-they-were-useless limbs to keep from falling, but there was nothing he could do. Drummond grabbed the muscletick by the back and steadied him on his feet again.

“I think he’s the biggest man alive now,” Bronson said, clicking his tongue. “How does it feel?”

Despite swelling up with over two-hundred pounds of muscle, Russet’s head had stayed the same size. It looked tiny compared to the rest of him, nestled in between his rippling traps and jiggling chest muscles.

“Doesn’t… feel… good…” Russet said, feeling like he was trapped in all of his newfound muscle. He didn’t think he could right himself if he fell over. It took all of his concentration just to keep all of that mass still.

“Timmons,” Bronson said calmly. The little kicker’s eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers.

The crotch of Russet’s now-gigantic dress pants bulged out. The mass that appeared there continued to swell. Russet’s eyes just rolled around and he moaned and whimpered as his cock grew bigger and bigger… finally stopping when the mass in his pants was large than a baseball.

“Wow, when that thing is fully released it’s gonna be massive,” Bronson said, patting the mammoth basket.

“How… how…” Russet stammered, sweat pouring down his face. The sensation of having his cock triple with size (his nerve endings replicating exponentially) was nearly too much.

“You guys are too nice,” Bronson said as he leaned in and smelled the huge package on the muscle meatball they had created. “See, they can make your clothes change with you or leave them as they were. If it were up to me, I’d have had you pop right out of all that shit and have you gigantic and naked in front of us.”

“Okay, okay,” Russet said, “you guys have had your fun so… change me back, okay?” He was still frozen in place by the threat of toppling over, but it was clear he was searching for something he could do will his newfound muscle.

“Uh, lemme think…” Bronson said, rolling his eyes. “NO! Sorry, teach. You wanted an hour with us. This is the hour you’re getting.”

“C’mon, guys!” Russet pleaded. The football players had all moved in and were examining his bulk, running their hands over his rock-hard muscles. He twitched at their contact--even though he was over 400 pounds of muscle, he was still incredibly ticklish. “Look, guys, there’s so much muscle on my frame… I can’t handle it! It’s just too much for a guy my height, you know? Can’t you just… take a little of the stress out of it?”

As the professor’s body jiggled and flexed, Bronson pointed at Winston. “My buddy here can help you out, I think,” he said.

Winston pounded a meaty fist into the palm of his other hand. “You ready for some REAL size, teach? Your buddy Winston will give it to you.” Winston snapped his fingers.

Suddenly Russet’s body began to rise. He whimpered and moaned as his head rose. In seconds he was looking down on the football players from above, his limbs all elongating (along with his clothes). He stretched up past seven feet, then surpassed eight. The athletes all laughed as he shot up to nine feet. As he got taller, Gus snapped his fingers, causing the stretched out muscles to reinflate like inner tubes.

When it was over, Russet was an enormous giant, packed with thick muscles but no longer inhibited by them. He flexed his arms, patted down his gigantic torso, then addressed the athletes who were now less than half his height.

“There we go,” he boomed. “I look like two Dwayne Johnsons stacked on top of each other!” he said. His hands finally made their way down to his groin, his eyes lighting up as he grabbed his junk, which now seemed almost as big as TImmons. “Well, I think things have changed just a bit, don’t you guys?” Russet said, sinking to one knee and talking to the built athletes like they were children. He poked Bronson in the chest with his finger, smiling at how easily he could force the football players around. “You ready to sit down and listen to my lecture yet?”

Bronson shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, still as cocky as ever.

Russet lost his cool. He grabbed Bronson by both arms like he was a teddy bear and hoisted him into the air. “You little shit!” he said. “I should squash you into a paste right now!” But Bronson didn’t even flinch.

Below them, Drummond snapped his finger, engaging his special gift. Russet’s face went blank.

Bronson chuckled. “You feeling okay there, teach?”

“I… I…” A haze fell over the gigantic man’s senses. He knew he was strong enough to crush these men, that there was something he needed to get them to do, but… he couldn’t remember what it was.

Wait… the words! He’d written down some words and he needed to talk about them. Russet looked down at his briefcase, at the letters written on the board. He was sure they were supposed to mean something… but his head was all foggy, and it didn’t feel good to try to figure them out.

He set Bronson back on the ground and grabbed his own pecs for comfort, squeezing them like they were a security blanket. “I… I can’t think of… the things I was… supposed ta say!” Russet whined. The football players all laughed.

“No worries!” Bronson said. “Just have a seat, teach. Now that Drummond flatlined your brain activity, you’re the perfect guy to hang out with us dumb athletes, right?”

Russet chuckled. “Yeah… you guys… dumb… dumb idiots!” There were words he was reaching for, words he wanted so badly to say, but he couldn’t find them through the fog in his mind.

“Well then, let’s make this hour fun for everyone,” Bronson said. He snapped his finger and the kong-sized man fell backward, crushing his desk. He writhed and moaned, grabbing at his nipples (on pecs so thick he almost couldn’t reach them), wriggling his ass into the ground, desperate for some friction.

Within minutes he’d stripped off his clothes and had four of his massive, muscular fingers jammed between his huge asscheeks while the football players all videotaped. Russet continued to spurt load after load over his chest as he frantically fingered himself.

Suddenly, the campus’ clock tower chimes sounded, signifying the end of class. The football players all snapped at once. Russet’s body deflated back to its original dimensions. The giant loads, however, stayed the same size. The scrawny professor dripped with gallons of cum as his senses returned.

“You look like a glazed donut!” Gus said as he stomped out the door. The others followed, laughing at the spunk-drenched man as he frantically tried to dress himself again.

“I’ll tell you what,” Bronson, the last one to leave, said before walking out the door. “You let us play with you every week and we won’t show anybody those videos. Deal?”

“Deal!” Russet said, wiping load out of his eyes. The memories of what he had just done haunted him--along with the knowledge that while it had all been happening… he had loved it! As anxious as he was to face those football players in the next class, a part of him couldn’t wait to see what they did to him next.