pic by aidaddybears
History was never Tim’s strong suit. In fact, it was the only class he was failing. If he couldn’t secure a passing grade from the bullish Mr. Bruce, he wouldn’t be picking up his diploma later that month. Tim had already been held back once. He wasn’t going to let Mr. Bruce do it again.
So he made a wish to “be able to change his grade.” Vague enough that the universe decided to deal out some poetic justice. Within moments, Tim felt strange. His body seemed to be bloating in all directions, and the bed creaked under his growing mass. The formally skinny senior looked at his hands in horror as they ballooned into two hairy mitts.
“GAGH!” Tim cried as his structure reshaped. He stumbled onto two much larger feet, and lumbered across the room to his mirror to witness just what the hell was going on. Tim couldn’t believe his eyes: he looked like a 50-year-old man, and not just any 50-year-old man: Mr. Bruce himself. Tim felt his face as it sagged into the sad mug of his hard-edge teacher, hair bristling on his jaw as fast as it seemed to vanish from the top of his head.
Tim didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t exactly a playbook for randomly transforming into your history teacher, and Tim was utterly distracted by the muscles hardening on his naked frame. He had no idea Mr. Bruce was so big. He didn’t even notice the room start to change along with him: movie posters on the wall were being replaced with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and the twin bed expanded into a California king.
A hood of foreskin crept over the head of Tim’s formally cut cock, as it swelled to the size of a Coors Light. Greying pubes erupted all over the thing, which Tim was embarrassed to admit was growing firmer by the second. An unfamiliar smell wafted up from the man’s sweaty body. Tim should have felt disgusted… but instead, he was amazed by how hot he was. He was no longer a gangly 19-year-old stoner, but a proud 53-year-old muscle daddy.
Daddy. That word seemed to unlock something in Tim’s mind, as new memories flooded his growing skull. He remembered hearing his kids say it, even overhearing some of his female students use it jokingly behind his back. But most of all, he remembered his wife calling it in bed every night while he pumped load after load into her with his thick man meat.
The door downstairs opened, and he heard a woman’s voice call from the foyer: “honey, I’m home!” Tim shook his head. This was so wrong. He couldn’t be Mr. Bruce… and yet, he already was. He had Mr. Bruce’s life, his house, his wife, his kids, his job, his students, his body, his cock… fuck. His cock was big. So big that it dropped like an elephant trunk even at full mast.
Tim couldn’t take it any longer. He needed release. Mr. Bruce’s wife opened the door to their room just in time to see her husband busting a nut to his own reflection, the man’s thick seed splattering on the mirror as he growled like a hungry bear. The orgasm was so great, it shook the last vestiges of Tim from the man’s colossal form. By the time he was done cumming, he was Alan Bruce through-and-through. Always was, always had been.
Later that night, after Mr. Bruce had made dinner, put his kids to sleep, and fucked another load into his hot hubby, he lay there in bed, gazing at the ceiling and thinking about his classes the next day. He remembered a student had asked him to change their grade… but he couldn’t remember who. It was like the student was completely gone from his memory.
Oh well, he thought. It wasn’t like he was gonna do it anyway; Alan Bruce would never change some student’s grade just because they wanted him to. The man was a tough grader. Tough, but fair.
