Amin’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stood before Headmistress Slav’s oak door. His tight slacks felt like a cage, especially around his plump, prominent ass—an ass he secretly ached to have worshipped, to have treated like a woman’s. He took the teaching job to hide, but this hunger to be transformed, to swap roles, was a fire in his gut.

The door swung open. Slav, 44 and devastating, filled the frame. Her gaze was a physical touch, scraping over his nervous form. "Professor," she purred, her voice like smoked honey. "Come in. Let's discuss... your performance."

The office was dim, smelling of leather and her perfume. Amin’s mouth went dry.

"I know your secret, pretty boy," Slav said, circling him. Her fingers, tipped with crimson nails, trailed over his shoulder. "That juicy booty isn't just for sitting in lecture halls, is it? You want it used. You want to be my girl."

Amin shuddered, a moan catching in his throat. He nodded, unable to speak.

"Good." She pressed against his back, her body firm. One hand palmed his ass through the fabric, squeezing the full cheek. "Such a fat, needy ass. I'm going to ruin these pants." Her other hand slid around his hip, finding the hard bulge in his slacks. "And what’s this? A little clitty, all excited?"

She unzipped him with a sharp *zzzt*. His cock, already leaking, sprang free into the cool air. Slav wrapped her fingers around his shaft, giving it a rough, possessive stroke.