Theo stood there in the principal's office, pants kicked to the side, shirt discarded, completely bare from the waist up and now shimmying the last of his slacks off his ankles. The sight hit Kota like a freight train he hadn't seen coming.
Theodore Hawthorne was smooth—impossibly, unnaturally smooth. Not a single hair anywhere on his body below the neck. No faint trail down his flat stomach, no dusting across his chest, no wiry patch at the groin, not even the soft peach fuzz most boys still carried into their twenties despite the changes. It didn't look like he'd shaved or waxed or lasered; the skin simply gleamed under the fluorescent lights as if nature itself had decided this particular femboy had won the genetic lottery. Pale, porcelain-smooth expanses stretched over slender limbs and then exploded into the obscene, shelf-like projection of his ass—two perfect, hairless globes so plump they cast their own soft shadows on the backs of his thighs. The cleft between them was deep and dark, a shadowed invitation that seemed to pull the eye downward. His tiny nub—barely an inch even semi-hard—nestled between them like an afterthought, smooth and pink and utterly insignificant next to the monumental cheeks framing it.
Kota's mouth went dry. He tried to form the words he'd rehearsed in his head a thousand times under Khalil's roof.
"I—I like girls," he stammered, backing up half a step until his calves hit the guest chair. "Not guys. Never have. I don't… I don't do this."
Theo paused, one hand still resting on the desk for balance, the other hovering near his hip as if unsure whether to cover himself or present further. His British lilt cracked with nervous laughter. "You've… you've never actually seen a girl, have you, Kota? Not in the flesh. Not since you were born. The Vanishing happened before you could walk properly. Everything you know about 'liking girls' is just… stories. Your father's stories. Old porn clips he probably deleted before you were old enough to search. You've never felt breasts, never smelled perfume on skin that wasn't your own. All you've ever known is this." He gestured vaguely at his own body—at the exaggerated hips, the jiggling ass, the smooth, hairless perfection of it. "This is what desire looks like now. This is what's left."
Kota opened his mouth to argue, but the words died when he felt it: the unmistakable twitch and swell between his legs. His cock—already half-hard from the sheer surreal tension of the moment—thickened visibly against the denim of his jeans, pushing outward, straining the zipper. Four inches soft had become five, then pushing six, the outline obscene and undeniable.
Theo's eyes dropped immediately. His cheeks flushed a violent crimson that spread down his neck and across his smooth chest. He bit his lower lip so hard Kota thought it might bleed. "Oh… oh my," Theo breathed, voice trembling with something between awe and hunger. "It's… it's even bigger than the video suggested. Look at that. Look at how it's… growing for me."
Kota felt the heat crawl up his own face, but he couldn't look away. The sight of Theo—tall, lanky, impossibly smooth, blushing like a schoolgirl in heat while staring at the bulge in Kota's jeans—did something to him. Something primal and wrong and terrifyingly good. His cock throbbed again, fully hard now, pressing painfully against the fabric. Six-and-a-half inches of thick, veiny meat that would have been merely above-average before the Vanishing but was now god-tier in this broken new world.
Theo took a shaky step forward, then another, his massive ass clapping softly with each movement. "Please," he whispered. "Just… just once. I'll do anything. The GPA. The recommendation letters. Immunity from suspension. I'll make it happen. My father's signature is on every important document in this district. One phone call and—"
Kota's voice came out rougher than he intended. "I want a 4.0. Straight across the board. Every teacher gives me an A, no questions. And I never get suspended. Ever. No matter what happens."
Theo froze. His eyes widened. "T-t-t-that's… that's too much, Kota. A 4.0 is one thing—I can fudge the system, backdate some extra credit—but blanket immunity? Forcing every teacher to give you perfect marks? That would raise red flags. The board audits—"
Kota cut him off, the command in his tone surprising even himself. Deep, steady, carrying the weight of a man who suddenly realized he held all the cards.
"Either that," he said, stepping forward until he loomed over the taller but far frailer principal, "or no dick."
Theo made a small, broken sound—half whimper, half moan. His knees actually buckled for a second before he caught himself on the desk. The blush deepened to an almost painful scarlet. His tiny nub twitched uselessly between those colossal cheeks. "Y-Yes," he breathed. "Yes. 4.0. Full immunity. I'll… I'll make the calls tonight. I swear. Just… please."
Kota stared at him for a long beat. Part of him—the part Khalil had raised—screamed to walk out, to report this, to run. But another part—the one that had read every filthy message in the group chat, the one that had felt the hallway eyes crawling over him like worship—whispered back: take it. Take what they're offering. See what it feels like to be wanted this badly.
He reached down, unbuckled his belt with hands that only shook a little, and shoved his jeans and boxers down in one motion.
His cock sprang free—six-and-a-half inches of thick, dark, veiny perfection, uncut foreskin partially retracted, head already glistening with precum. Heavy balls hung low beneath it. In the quiet office, the soft slap of it hitting his abs sounded obscene.
Theo actually whimpered aloud.
Kota stepped closer. "Turn around."
Theo obeyed instantly, spinning on his heel so fast his cheeks clapped together with a wet, meaty sound. He bent over the desk, forearms braced, back arched, presenting everything. The deep cleft parted naturally, revealing the smooth, pink pucker nestled inside—already slick, as if Theo had prepped himself hours ago in desperate hope. His ass was so enormous that even bent over, the cheeks still projected outward like twin pillows, quivering with anticipation.
Kota hesitated one last time. He'd never touched another person like this. Never even considered it. Asses were supposed to be flat and strong, not… this. Not planetary, hairless, begging cushions grafted onto a stuttering, daddy-issue-riddled principal.
He placed both hands on Theo's hips—skin impossibly soft, warm—and spread the cheeks apart.
The heat radiating from Theo's hole hit him like a wave. Kota lined himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging against that smooth, slick ring.
Theo keened. "Please… please, Kota…"
Kota pushed.
The first inch sank in with almost no resistance—Theo was that ready, that desperate. The heat enveloped him, tight and velvety and so much better than he'd ever imagined. Kota's eyes rolled back for a second. He'd thought—hoped, even—that he wouldn't enjoy it. That it would feel wrong, clinical, something to endure for the grades and the power.
He was wrong.
It felt fucking amazing.
The grip, the heat, the way Theo's walls fluttered and clenched around him like they were trying to pull him deeper—it was overwhelming. Better than any fantasy he'd shamefully jerked to in the shower when Khalil was at work. Better than anything.
He thrust forward another few inches.
Theo moaned—loud, broken, shameless. "Oh god—yes—yes—"
Kota clapped a hand over Theo's mouth, palm firm against those plush lips. "Quiet," he growled, voice low and commanding in a way he hadn't known he possessed.
Theo whimpered into his palm, nodding frantically, tears of pleasure already gathering at the corners of his eyes.
Kota kept going.
Slow at first—testing, savoring the drag and squeeze. Then harder. Deeper. Each thrust sent ripples through Theo's monumental cheeks, the flesh clapping back against Kota's hips with wet, rhythmic slaps. Theo's tiny nub leaked steadily onto the carpet, untouched, dribbling clear precum in pathetic spurts.
Kota lost himself in it.
He fucked harder, faster, chasing the feeling. Theo's muffled moans vibrated against his hand. The desk creaked under their combined weight. Papers scattered. A coffee mug tipped and rolled.
Kota didn't care.
He angled his hips, searching, until—
Theo's entire body jerked. A high, keening cry escaped around Kota's fingers. Prostate. Kota had hit it.
Theo sobbed into his hand, ass clenching rhythmically, milking Kota's cock like it was trying to drain him dry. Kota felt his own orgasm building, coiling low and hot in his balls. He wasn't going to last long—not with this heat, this grip, this perfect, obscene submission.
And then—
Knock knock knock.
Three sharp raps on the office door.
Theo froze. Kota froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt.
Panic flooded Theo's eyes. He yanked Kota's hand off his mouth, whispering frantically, "Under—under the desk—now!"
Kota pulled out with a wet pop that made them both whimper. Theo shoved him down—surprisingly strong for such skinny arms—and Kota scrambled beneath the massive oak desk just as Theo yanked his slacks back up, fumbling with the belt, shirt half-buttoned, face flushed crimson, hair mussed, lips swollen.
Theo cleared his throat, voice shaking. "J-Just a moment!"
He smoothed his shirt as best he could, sat down hard in his chair—wincing as his tender, stretched hole met the seat—and rolled forward to hide Kota completely in the knee-well.
The door opened.
Kota crouched in the dark, heart hammering, cock still rock-hard and slick with Theo's lube, listening as footsteps entered the room.