Turn Cory into a professor

"I want you to know," you whisper, "that you're not a student at Parjane University. You are Cory Pendall, a professor who's been teaching here for ten years."

Cory shudders. Her bones crack and muscles shift, giving her a few inches of height. Her skin stretches and folds as collagen rapidly disappears into her bloodstream. She's not a student anymore. With each word, Cory's posture straightens, her shoulders broadening, and her hair lengthening until it falls down her back in a cascade of dark brown locks. Her eye sockets become sunken, wrinkles appearing around her face. She matures two decades in two seconds. The most noticeable change however is the weight she gains, all of it concentrated in her chest. At first, they're just larger than before, but soon she's sporting cantaloupe-sized breasts that are easily twice the size of her head.

Her pants stretch taut across her hips and thighs, threatening to snap under the **** of her newfound mass. Her shirt rips when she moves, exposing pale white skin beneath.

"You are a renowned expert in your field," you continue, "You have written several books and numerous papers, all of which are highly respected by scholars, scientists, and even laymen."

Sleek glasses appear on her face, perched delicately on the bridge of her nose. She looks every inch the part of a brilliant, accomplished professor.

"Your work has garnered international recognition," you say, "You are often invited to speak at conferences and symposia, where you deliver lectures that captivate and inspire audiences from all over the world."

Cory takes in a heavy breath. She's one of the smartest people in the world. Millions look up to her. She sits tall, hands clasped together in front of her, fingers interlaced. She's smirking, as if she's recalling some particularly insightful thought or clever quip.

"You exercise frequently,

and maintain a healthy diet," you continue, "You've won several awards for your academic achievements and community service."

A silver plaque materializes around her neck, bearing the university's emblem and the title "Distinguished Professor". It clinks softly against her collarbone as she nods along, absorbing the new information.

Her thighs thicken with muscle and sinew. A memory pops into her head: she just finished a 2-hour leg session at the faculty gym.

"Now, let's talk about your personal life," you say, leaning forward with a sly grin plastered over your face. "You're married to a man named Dr. Henry Jameson, a renowned physicist in his own right. He's handsome, intelligent, and deeply in love with you."

Cory's eyes widen slightly at the mention of a husband. Wasn't her significant other 20 years younger than her? And wasn't he a grad student who worked part-time as a barista? But those details fade away as you describe Henry, painting him as a perfect match for her.

"Your marriage is strong, built on mutual respect and passion," you continue. "Henry adores you, and you feel the same way about him. You're proud to stand by his side as he makes groundbreaking discoveries in his field."

"You've screwed a couple times in your office."

A memory flashes in her head.

She's gripping the desk while her husband fucks her from behind, grunting and sweating with each thrust. She moans in delight, feeling his cock pound against her cervix. She looks back to see Henry gripping her ass tightly.

She comes hard, screaming his name as she does so. Her pussy clenches tightly around his cock, milking him for all he's worth. Henry doesn't last much longer after that, burying himself deep inside her as he explodes.

"Donkey Kong," you say.

Cory snapped out of her trance immediately, blinking rapidly as she tried to process her surroundings. Where was she? Did she have class today? What day was it? The last thing she remembered was lecturing to a packed auditorium, her words hanging in the air as the students took notes furiously. As she struggled to regain her bearings, you stood up and approached her, your movements confident and purposeful. Cory instinctively recoiled, her heart pounding in her chest. Who was this stranger, and why did he seem so familiar?

"Professor Pendall?" you asked, your voice low and husky. "We need to discuss something important."

Cory's brow furrowed, confusion warring with a flicker of recognition. "I'm afraid I don't recall our arrangement," she said stiffly, trying to maintain her composure despite the surreal situation.

"Of course, you wouldn't," you replied with a knowing smile. "But I assure you, we have a... professional understanding."

Cory's eyes narrowed, suspicion brewing in their depths. She was a scholar, not some common courtesan. Yet, the way you spoke, the tone of authority in your voice, it stirred something within her. A primal, almost instinctual response that made her heart race and her skin prickle with heat.

"What do you propose, then?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming her senses. "I think we both know where this is headed, Professor," you murmured, your breath ghosting across her cheek. "Let's not make things complicated. We can discuss the terms later, but for now..."

Your hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. Her eyes meet yours, sparks flashing between them as something primal and intense ignite.

Cory's thoughts were a jumble, her mind reeling from the sudden turn of events. But as she gazed into your eyes, something within her relaxed, surrendered. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

With a sudden burst of passion, Cory threw herself at you. Her lips crushed against yours, demanding and eager. You kissed her back, your hands roaming over her curves as you devoured each other's mouths.

Somewhere in the haze of their kiss, you managed to rip off your shirt and jeans, leaving you standing before her in nothing but black briefs. As they broke apart, gasping for air, Cory's fingers trailed across the fabric of your underwear, her touch sending ripples through your body. She dropped to her knees, her hands sliding beneath the waistband of your pants.