Latina, and yes

She looks at you and spits out, "A damn Latina." You nod your head, somewhat surprised, and wait to see what happens. The first thing you notice is the structure of her eyes shifting, and then see that her skin is subtly changing shade and becoming a lighter brown. Her hair too becomes a little lighter, and then you see that she is in fact growing. Your dick twitches at the thought that a single question from you could bring about all of this, and then it gets harder when you see her chest and ass start to grow simultaneously. They stop at just slightly above average proportions, but they are incredibly well shaped and seem soft and perky. Her expression keeps shifting between surprise, anger, defiance, and sadness at it all occurs. Her transformation keeps going but slows down as she stops growing taller. Her features shift a little more, she becomes a little more shapely, and her lips become extremely plush before it all seems to stop.

She's touching her body, perhaps checking what it's like or if it's even real, but before she can do that for too long you have a thought and say, "For the sake of your career, would you prefer to have always been Latina or to have only just transformed?"

Your question shakes her back to the present, and it seems to you as though the implications of what you've done are just hitting her. She finally says, "I would rather have always been this way." Immediately, you see her expression shift more towards confusion and note that the few pictures in her office change to show her in her new body.

You ask, "What are you thinking about?"

She looks up at you, and says, "I know what you changed because I remember you saying it, but it feels like nothing has happened." You realize that you have two memories of your professor now, and that she must only have a memory of her new identity.

You smile, but feel the anger that is still inside of you and decide to say, "Huh, that's quite interesting. I do have another question for you though: would you rather have Spanish be your first language and speak a decent and somewhat accented version of English, or always talk like a slut?"

You see her face darken for a moment, but then you see her analytical mind turning as she considers the implications of each as quickly as she can. She finally feels an overpowering compulsion to respond and finds herself saying, "I want to have English a second language."

Her words carry a nice accent, and you really like what that will ultimately do in her life. But you decide to press on with at least one more question and ask, "Would you rather always have to wear really sexy clothing, or have to wear the sexiest and most revealing themed clothing that you can find but only when you're off of work?"

"Themed clothing," she says in her new voice. You think about what that will look like and feel your cock jump to attention, but you decide that isn't quite good enough for you, so you say, "Good. And would you rather have to act like what your clothing makes you like or just act like a normal slut, trying to pick up as many guys as you can every night?"

She sighs and haltingly says, "I choose... act like clothes I wear." You get even harder hearing that and picturing it, and want to see that in action. You think for a moment and then say, "Would you rather take me home with you tomorrow night for dinner, or have me over for lunch this weekend?"

She glowers at you but says, "I want Dinner, get past you faster."

"Cool, I'll see you then," you say with a cheeky grin while collecting your things. As you're about to leave you start to worry about things that she might try to do, so you turn and say, "Would you rather be unable to do anything to get out of your situation or hurt me because every time you even think about doing something you orgasm and forget it and the thoughts leading to it or because if you actually try anything your body will instead masturbate until you cum?"

She looks panicked, and you realize she may have already had a plan. But she finally says, "Masturbate," at which point she leans back and starts frantically doing just that.

"Wow, you say. That's not going to be great for you. Try not to try anything bad. Also, once you're done you can get up and talk of your own accord." You finally leave, closing the door behind you, and start to walk away. As you do, however, all the things you've just done seem to weigh more and more heavily on your conscience. You still hate her and some part of you feels she deserves this, but you still look back, wondering what to do.