TG October: Day 6 – Classes

👉 Leer Versión en Español

Julián had spent three weeks trying to teach Spanish to the Vargas brothers.

Marco, the older one, was twenty-two and wore a constant superior smile. Andrés, two years younger, was the one who talked the most… and the one who insulted the most. Both needed to pass the certification exam or they would lose the opportunity to work abroad that their father had arranged for them. That was why they had hired him as a private tutor.

The problem was that they didn’t want to learn.

They arrived late. They mocked his accent. They made comments about his clothes, his way of speaking, even about his personal life. The last class had ended with Marco telling him:

“If you were a hot chick we’d pay more attention, teacher. The way you are… we don’t even feel like it.”

Julián calmly closed the book. He looked at both of them in silence for several seconds. Then he spoke in a low, firm voice:

“Today it ends.”

He took a small dark glass bottle from his briefcase. Before they could react, he opened it and murmured a phrase in a language neither of them recognized.

The air in the room grew dense.

Marco was the first to notice the change. His chest expanded suddenly, stretching the T-shirt. His hips widened. His voice cracked in the middle of an insult. Andrés fell to his knees when between his legs he felt an impossible emptiness and a new sensitivity that made him moan from pure shock.

In less than a minute, the two Vargas brothers no longer existed.

In their place were two young women with pronounced curves, still wearing the oversized male clothes hanging from their bodies and expressions of pure panic.

Julián looked at them coldly.

“From now on, every time class starts, you will be like this.

If you behave, at the end I’ll turn you back to your original form.

If you disrespect me again… I’ll leave you like this. Permanently.”

Marco — now María — tried to get up and throw a punch at him. The new body didn’t respond with the same strength. Julián easily caught her by the wrist.

“Sit down.

Open the book to page forty-two.

And this time… pay attention.”

The two sat in silence, trembling, with their breasts pressed against the too-small T-shirts and their legs closed by instinct.

For the first time, the class passed without a single insult.

The following weeks were strange.

Every time Julián arrived at the Vargas brothers’ apartment, he took out the dark bottle, murmured the phrase and transformed them. Marco became María. Andrés became Andrea. Both with generous curves, soft voices and a new sensitivity that at first they hated… and later began to notice in a different way.

At first they resisted.

Then they just stayed quiet.

Later they started paying real attention.

Their grades improved quickly. Julián noticed. There were no more insults. No more mockery. In their place there was focused silence, well-done exercises and, from time to time, Spanish phrases that came out naturally.

One afternoon, while reviewing conditionals, María raised her hand.

“Si estudio más duro, aprobaré el examen.” (If I study harder, I will pass the exam.) — she said with an accent that was still imperfect, but clear.

Julián nodded, satisfied.

“Bien. ¿Y tú, Andrea?” (Good. And you, Andrea?)

Andrea looked at the book, then looked at him. There was something different in her eyes. Something softer. More… interested.

“Si el profesor está contento… ¿podemos terminar temprano?” (If the teacher is happy… can we finish early?)

Julián frowned, but said nothing. He simply corrected the grammar and continued with the lesson.

The secondary effect of the spell was beginning to show.

It was no longer just the body. There was something in the way they moved, in how they looked at each other when they thought he wasn’t watching, in the way they blushed when he approached to correct an exercise. The spell was changing them on the inside too, little by little, class after class.

One night, at the end of the tutoring session, Julián returned them to their male form as always. But before leaving, María — once again Marco — stopped him at the door.

“Teacher…” he said with his male voice, but with a hesitation that wasn’t natural to him. “Does the spell… only change the body?”

Julián looked at him in silence for several seconds.

“For now,” he answered. “As long as you behave, only the body.”

He closed the door behind him.

He didn’t see how the two brothers stayed looking at each other in the hallway, with an expression that was no longer just rage or humiliation.

There was curiosity.

There was confusion.

And there was something more that neither of them wanted to name yet.

That afternoon the class started as usual.

Julián arrived, took out the bottle, murmured the phrase and the Vargas brothers turned back into María and Andrea. They sat on the sofa with the books open, ready to continue with mixed conditionals. Everything seemed normal… until María looked up.

“Profesor… ¿podemos tener cinco minutos? Necesitamos cambiarnos.” (Teacher… can we have five minutes? We need to change.)

Julián frowned.

“¿Cambiar qué?” (Change what?)

“Solo… la ropa. Volvemos enseguida.” (Just… the clothes. We’ll be right back.)

Before he could answer, the two stood up and disappeared down the hallway. The sound of drawers, low laughter and fabric could be heard. Julián sighed and reviewed the exercises from the previous class. Three minutes later the hallway door opened again.

His mouth went dry.

María and Andrea had returned… but they were no longer wearing the usual loose clothes. Now they wore schoolgirl uniforms: extremely short plaid skirts, white shirts tied under the breasts, thigh-high stockings and expressions full of desire. The effect of the spell had made their bodies adapt perfectly to the clothes. Marked curves, long legs, mischievous smiles.

María approached first, swaying her hips with a naturalness that no longer seemed forced.

“¿Te gusta, profesor?” (Do you like it, teacher?) — she asked in Spanish, with a playful tone. — “Pensamos… que quizás así prestemos más atención.” (We thought… maybe this way we’ll pay more attention.)

Andrea placed herself on the other side of him, leaning enough for the shirt to open a little more.

“Nos has estado trabajando tan duro…” (You’ve been working us so hard…) — she whispered. — “Queríamos agradecerte como es debido.” (We wanted to thank you properly.)

Julián tried to keep his composure. He tried to remember that they were his students, that this was only the secondary effect of the spell, that he should turn them back to their original form and end the class.

But his body betrayed him.

The erection clearly marked through his pants. María noticed it instantly. She smiled, biting her lip, and let one knee brush against his.

“Oh… mira eso.

Alguien está feliz de vernos.” (Oh… look at that. Somebody’s happy to see us.)

Julián swallowed.

“This… this is the spell. It’s affecting more than it should. I should—”

“Shhh” — Andrea cut him off, placing a finger on his lips. — “No lo arruines, profesor.” (Don’t ruin it, teacher.)

“Hemos sido buenas chicas todo el mes. ¿No merecemos una recompensa?” (We’ve been good girls all month. Don’t we deserve a reward?)

“Besides…” — María said in a soft, almost sweet voice. — “Hoy no queremos volver. Todavía no.” (We don’t want to go back today. Not yet.)

Julián tried to stand up. The two gently pushed him back against the sofa. There was no trace left of the insolent brothers who had insulted him weeks earlier. Only two girls remained who knew exactly what they wanted… and whom the spell had finished awakening.

“Profesor…” — María whispered against his ear. —

“¿Podemos empezar la clase de hoy de una forma un poco diferente?” (Can we start today’s lesson a little differently?)

Julián tried to speak. Tried to restore order. Tried to remember that he was the teacher and they were only under the effect of a spell that had gotten out of hand.

He wasn’t given time.

María, with sensual movements, exposed her breasts — those that had once surprised her had become her weapons of seduction. Andrea, meanwhile, knelt to one side and unbuckled his belt with clumsy but determined fingers, and in a short time both of them were licking his cock as if it were a lollipop.

“Profesor…” — María gasped in Spanish, moving her hips slowly. — “Has sido tan estricto con nosotras. ¿No crees que merecemos una clase especial hoy?” (You’ve been so strict with us. Don’t you think we deserve a special class today?)

“Fuck…” — he let out, his voice broken.

María smiled, satisfied, and rose just enough to align herself. She lowered slowly, letting the head of his cock open her wet lips, and then dropped all the way down in a single movement.

“Ahhh… sí…” — she moaned in Spanish, arching her back. — “Tan profundo, profesor…” (So deep, teacher…)

Andrea stood up, pulled off her shirt in one tug and offered her bare pussy to Julián while her sister began licking her nipples with a constant rhythm. He couldn’t resist. He thrust his cock in without mercy and with force, tearing a high-pitched moan from the younger one.

The two kept talking non-stop, mixing Spanish and gasps, as if they were demonstrating everything they had learned:

“¿Te gusta cómo te montamos, señor?” (Do you like how we ride you, sir?)

“Más fuerte… por favor, fóllanos más fuerte…” (Harder… please, fuck us harder…)

“Ahora somos tus buenas chicas… ¿verdad?” (We’re your good girls now… aren’t we?)

Julián grabbed both of them by the hips, alternating between thrusting up into María and putting his fingers in Andrea’s mouth. The sofa creaked. The apartment filled with moans, wet sounds and the sound of skin against skin.

When Andrea came, squeezing him tightly and screaming “¡Me corro, profesor!” (I’m coming, teacher!), Julián couldn’t hold on any longer. He filled her with a deep moan, burying himself to the hilt. María didn’t wait: she pushed between them, licked the cum that was starting to drip from her sister’s pussy and then sat on Julián’s still half-hard cock, starting the second round without asking permission.

Hours later, the three of them were lying on the sofa, sweaty and panting. The schoolgirl skirts and shirts were scattered on the floor. Julián stared at the ceiling, still processing what had just happened.

María sat up a little, rested her chin on his chest and smiled with mischief.

“Entonces…” — she said in Spanish, caressing his abdomen. — “¿Misma hora la próxima clase, profesor?

Pero quizás… ya no nos cambies al final.” (So… same time next class, teacher? But maybe… we don’t change back at the end anymore.)

Andrea, on the other side, nodded and nipped at his shoulder.

“Sí. A partir de ahora… estas no son clases de español.

Son educación sexual.” (Yeah. From now on… these aren’t Spanish lessons. They’re sex education.)

Julián closed his eyes. He knew he should refuse. He knew the spell had completely escaped his control. He knew the right thing was to turn them back to their original form and never return.

Instead, he just put an arm around each of them and whispered:

“Next class… wear the uniforms again.”

The two Vargas sisters smiled against his skin.

And for the first time in weeks, none of the three people in that room thought about the certification exam.

The End.