Heading to Professor Pifflewhiz's office

You walk swiftly through the halls, trying to pretend like you can't hear the rhythmic *slap slap slap* of your soft junk hitting your thighs. Thankfully, nobody talks to you and you don't run into anybody, although everyone seems to be staring at your crotch. A mage walking around with a magically altered body wasn't anything that unusual, but few people went for the **** sizes of your demon cock or wore such revealing clothing with it if they did. People probably assumed that you had messed up and had no way to put it down to a reasonable size, which was unfortunately pretty much the truth. That and your reputation as the creepy demonologist seemed to be overcoming the demon's ability to draw women to you, for now.

And how did you like the fuckmeat? The question appearing in your brain catches you off guard, but you suppose it was good. Actually a lot better than good. You weren't a virgin, having had a short fling in high school, but that was by far the best sex you've ever had, and you were barely an active participant. Your cock warms but thankfully doesn't harden, seeming to finally understand that it can't be hard all the time. It's really glad you liked that fuckmeat it got for you. Do you want more?

You try to ignore the question, which is really more like a strange intrusive thought than words in your head. The word "fuckmeat" isn't one you'd ever use yourself, but it's the only way you could accurately translate the feelings you get from your cock into a word. Having that kind of feeling bouncing around your head feels weird, but you can't quite ignore it. You see a particularly attractive woman subtly bite her lip while looking at your crotch from a long way off, apparently she doesn't think you see her, but your cock seems to ask do you want that one?

"No!", you hiss to yourself, again affirming everyone in your dorm's suspicion that you're a creepy weirdo. You quickly avert your eyes from the woman and try to forget all about her, walking quickly to the huge gothic building that Professor Pifflewhiz's office is in.

As is tradition, the senior (and currently, only) demonologist's office is in the musty basement of the building, among the cobwebbed storage rooms and janitorial closets. Before you open the huge, iron, rune-encrusted door, you sigh, trying to steel yourself. Then you knock on the door.

"Come on in, it's unlocked," says a very british-sounding female voice from inside. You press on the ancient door to try opening it, but all of the sudden some of the runes flash red, and you're blown across the hallway.

A few seconds pass, and a slot opens at eye level. A bespectacled woman glares at you through it. "What's all this then? John Doe, why did you set off my demon alarm?"

"I... fucked up," you say, feeling like that blow had knocked the sense out of you. She looks down at your clothing, in particular your cock that must be clearly visible now that you've been knocked over, and then back at your eyes, as if she expects you to explain more. "It's a lust zoodaemon, I think," you stutter, using a technical term you barely know in the hopes it will make her less mad, "I, ah, got pretty drunk when I was practicing last night and woke up with this. It seems to have the ability to alter the behavior of women around me, and I can feel its mind inside mine."

She squints her eyes in a way that lets you know she's livid, but doesn't say anything. Then, she closes the slot and opens the door. Professor Ella Pifflewhiz is a tall, severe looking woman. Aside from her skin, which is a slightly wrinkly alabaster white, everything about her is grey, from her hair to her eyes to her jacket to her pencil skirt. She's wearing an elaborate set of multi-lensed magnifying glasses and she has several sets of etching pins attached to her finger, all tools used for the intricate runework that you clearly interrupted. She was hundreds of years old, a figure matched by only a few of the other senior professors, although unlike most of them she hadn't apparently decided to return to youth or enhance her body. Not that she needed it; a part of you that you desperately want to suppress right now can't help but acknowledge, as you have many times before, that she didn't look half bad for 300, and with a few changes here and there she'd be a real knockout.

Ah, so you want her. The thought from your cock makes your skin go cold, but you dare not respond.

"I can certainly feel it affecting me, but I should be able to keep it from getting out of hand. Your demon doesn't seem to be very strong, although it's hard to tell with zoodemons," Her eyes flash red briefly, "and you're not currently under contract with anybody, which is good. It means we can remove it without getting into trouble. Come in and I'll have a look." She turns around and walks back into her office without beckoning you in.

Demonology is the study of demons and how to use them to get what you want. Typically, this means summoning and containing a powerful higher demon and making a magical contract with them signed in blood. Thus a typical demonologist is not only an expert in demonic rituals and exorcisms, but also in various types of protection magic as well as contract law. Demonologists are highly sought after in the corporate world not only because of the great business opportunities available, but also because there are so few people who are qualified to do demonic work even compared to other forms of magic. However in recent decades the study of the less well understood zoodemons, meaning any demon which is not apparently sentient or capable of forming a contract, has become a bit of a hot topic in academic demonology. In fact you had been reading a fascinating monograph on applied zoodemonology the night previous, which probably prompted your drunken idiocy.

The professor's office is dank and dreary, filled with cobwebs, skulls, and other spooky artifacts. Various summoning circles are clearly marked by pentagrams and carefully etched runes on the ground, many of them still stained with blood. Her desk is a huge baroque style piece of hardwood that probably weighs over a ton, piled high with papers and equipment. It's the perfect kind of place for a demonologist to work. She stands at one corner of her desk and points you towards a small summoning circle that lies to the side of the desk, which you dutifully step into. It flashes red and you're rooted in place.

The professor produces a big binder from her desk and starts flipping through it. "It's trying to change my appearance, but I don't want to bother with getting some goat's blood to counteract that. You don't mind, right?" She asks with a tone that said she couldn't care less whether you mind, and then continues flipping through the binder.

Some things start to change. First, your cock starts getting hard, and the professor glances over at it with a clinical eye. "Hmm, grossly exaggerated male genitalia... changes in perceived fertility and desirability focused on cock itself..." she goes back to the binder and starts chewing on her pen absent-mindedly. As she does, you notice some things start to change about her. For one, her wrinkles slowly disappear, leaving her with silky smooth skin. Her jacket and skirt both start to shrink slightly, or perhaps her body is growing slightly, the change is so subtle at first that it's very hard to tell.

She puts the binder back down on her desk and leans over it, apparently reading a page closely. Incidentally this means that her butt is now sticking out directly towards you, just a few feet away. "Hmm, you mentioned that you can feel its thoughts. What does it want to do?"

"It uhhh, wants to fuck," you say, watching as her skirt starts riding up her thighs to her increasingly pronounced ass, "and it wants me to, er, breed."

"And have you?" she asks, still not looking at you. By now her ass is practically falling out of her skirt.

"Y-yes, With Brianna and Ashley from my dorm. I didn't have much choice though."

She chuckles and saya quietly, "I can understand why," then she stood up again and turned towards you. She's definitely grown a bit in height, but that's not enough to explain her newly skimpy clothing. A microscopic grey skirt starts at her bared, muscular midriff and continues not even a quarter of the way down her tight thighs. Her jacket has reached a comically small size, now barely holding back her large, perky breasts with two buttons, showing both cleavage and underboob. You're surprised to see that she has some runes on private parts of her body, like directly on her sternum.

"Well, John, it seems that you've been infected with the reproduction phase of some species of Irrumabus. Most likely those bitches you fucked will give birth to the larval stage in the next few days, and their minds and bodies may be altered to be more conducive to further breeding. Unlike this alteration," she motions towards her improbably sexy body, "it will be permanent. To treat that as well as remove it from you I'm going to need to get a cum sample. Think you can do that for me?"

Your cock surges in anticipation. It gave you what you want, now fuck!! But you hold back.

"It-it doesn't like it when I jerk off or anything like that. It wants vaginal intercourse and it won't cum otherwise."

"Oh, of course, that's what I want too dear." She makes several complicated hand motions and mumbles to herself for a few seconds. "Okay, I've got the strongest mage-condom I can make on, and a few other wards besides. No way I'm taking on this thing's babies, but it's been way too long since this old pussy has had any action."

A mage-condom is a type of magical spell that prevents pregnancy as well as the transmission of various magical and nonmagical STD's, while preserving full sensation for both parties. For obvious reasons, they hand out basic ones on pre-cast scrolls for everyone to use in the dorms. You assume that, as a demonologist, her mage-condoms must have been far far more powerful and effective against demonic magic.

She deactivates the summoning circle and kneels before your titanic cock, stroking its already-slick surface and giving it a kiss. Your heart is beating at a million miles a minute; was she under the spell of your cock or was she just taking advantage of the situation? Was it okay to fuck her? Was it safe? You did battle internally with your own libido and with that of the demon.

She must have noticed the indecision in your eyes. "Oh hon, there's no reason to be so alarmed. I'm quite confident this is safe, and though I'm definitely being affected by your cock it hasn't tripped any of my safeguards. I want this, I haven't felt any kind of sexual desire in decades and Irrumabus is supposed to give mind-shattering orgasms. I know you want it of your own free will too, my body wouldn't have changed if you weren't thinking about it. I've seen how you looked at me before, too. So how about it? Want to fuck your hot teacher? Maybe you need a little motivation?"

She stands up, now probably a foot taller than you, and removes the last vestiges of her clothing -- a tiny loincloth-like piece of grey fabric that was like a parody of a skirt and a tiny grey vest that was barely containing her gigantic breasts. She looked down at herself, feeling up her various body parts. "Damn, you made me into a real GILF, or at least I would be if I had any children." It was true, her body was a kind of pornographic masterpiece, a GILF to eclipse all GILFs, literally your mind's-eye idealization of her. Every time you tear your eyes away from one of her features, like her enormous breasts capped with thumb-sized pink nipples, they land on another like her slender, muscular waist or her wide hips that just begged to be grabbed. Your cock jerked, demanding a piece of that, and you drooled a little too.

Seeing your reaction, she smiles and turns around, doing a little dance for you before getting down on her hands & knees in the doggy position, baring her huge bubble butt and dripping pussy for you. "Come on stud, come breed your teacher."