Kota pushed through the heavy door to the senior boys' change room, the familiar smell of sweat-soaked towels and cheap body spray hitting him like a wall. The space was already buzzinglockers slamming, sneakers thudding against benches, the low hum of conversations overlapping in that chaotic pre-class rhythm. All seniors, like him, guys who'd been through the same four years of drills, laps, and dodgeball wars under Coach Harlan.
Kota scanned the room quickly, noting the usual suspects: a few football players horsing around by the sinks, some track guys stretching against the lockers, others already half-dressed in gym shorts and tees.
The new teacher Otis had sent them all in with that soothing, maternal Midwest drawl, promising stretches after they changed. Kota headed straight for his assigned locker, binder tucked under his arm, mind still half-stuck on Sebastian's bizarre begging in English class.
The yapping started the second the door swung shut behind him. It was like someone had flipped a switch, the guys clustered near the benches erupted into a torrent of horny, unfiltered commentary about Otis's ass, voices overlapping in a mix of awe, lust, and crude speculation.
"Holy shit, did you see that thing jiggle during downward dog? Like, it moved on its own had to be implants, right? No way that's natural, but fuck if I care, I'd bury my face in it for hours."
Another senior laughed, slamming his locker.
"Man, those leggings were criminal stretched so thin you could see the cleft swallow the fabric whole. Bet it's soft as butter, but firm underneath, the kind that claps back when you smack it. Hope he's a perv who fucks students, because a teacher with an ass that phat can't just walk around campus without getting railed. I'd volunteer first bend him over the yoga mat and make those cheeks ripple till he begs."
A third voice chimed in, deeper and rougher.
"Nah, it's gotta be real, did you see the way it wobbled when he bent over? Like two planets orbiting each other. I'd grab those hips and pound until the whole gym echoes with claps. If he's single, I'm asking him out dinner and a dick-down. Teachers like that don't stay unfucked long."
The comments kept rolling, building on each other like a locker-room echo chamber.
"Imagine gripping that waist and watching it bounce soft enough to sink your fingers in, but juicy enough to leave handprints. Bet he'd moan all sweet and maternal, like 'oh honey, harder' while you wreck him. Please let him be a slutty top or bottom doesn't matter, as long as he lets us in. That ass is begging for attention."
Someone else added,
"It's hypnotic those globes projecting out like shelves, deep trench swallowing everything. I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, hell a midnight snack. If he's not a perv, he shouldn't be walking around with that! Criminal. Gotta fuck him before he leaves, or we'll all regret it."
The yapping stretched on, voices layering over each other in crude detail speculating on texture, bounce factor, how it would feel to spread those cheeks and dive in, whether Otis shaved or waxed, if he'd twerk on command.
"Soft as dough, firm as silicone perfect combo. Hope he's into group stuff; we'd line up. That phat ass can't go to waste."
the seniors feeding off each other's energy, laughs punctuating the filth until the air felt thicker with it.
Kota ignored those comments, tuning them out like static on a bad radio signal. He'd heard worse in this room over the years guys hyping each other up about crushes or porn clips or whatever caught their eye. He focused on his locker instead, spinning the combo and yanking it open. Instinctually, he grabbed his gym shorts and headed for the showers at the back old habit from when he'd been smaller, skinnier, hiding his average build behind the curtain while the bigger guys changed out in the open. But halfway there, he paused. He wasn't that kid anymore. Not since the not since the pantsing, not since Theo, the ritual and everything else that had turned him into the guy with the monster. He was the biggest one here now longer, thicker, even soft. And after last night's ego-crushing drain, he wouldn't mind some more glaze. A little validation to counter the soreness still lingering in his groin.
He turned back, walked out into the main area, and started changing right there by the benches. He tugged his cargo pants down first, stepping out of them, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his black boxer briefs. The room had quieted some the yapping about Otis tapering off as guys finished dressing but eyes flicked his way. He pulled the briefs down slowly, letting his semi-hard cock swing free long and girthy at 6.5 inches even without full blood flow, veiny shaft hanging heavy against his thigh, the head slightly flushed from the morning's lingering thoughts. Gasps rippled through the seniors.
"Holy shit—is that real?" one muttered, eyes wide.
"Thought the video was edited or angled funny, but damn that's a beast." Another whispered,
"Six-plus soft? No way. Bet it's eight hard. Lucky bastard."
They didn't freak out like the hallway incident no screams, no frenzy but the stares lingered, a mix of envy and awe. Mostly no big reaction just nods, a few low whistles, guys adjusting themselves discreetly as they finished changing.
Kota pulled on his gym shorts loose black mesh that hung mid-thigh, the fabric swishing softly and let his eyes wander as the others dressed. The seniors' fat asses were on full display monumental cheeks ballooning out in heart-shaped perfection, jiggling with every tug of shorts or bend to tie sneakers. One guy's globes clapped softly as he pulled up his pants, the deep cleft swallowing the waistband whole. Another arched his back unconsciously while adjusting his shirt, the twin planets rippling like jelly. Kota admired them quietly the exaggerated curves, the way they strained against fabric, the hypnotic sway. Post-Vanishing bodies, all of them thick thighs, flared hips, asses that could eclipse the sun. It was normal now, but still mesmerizing.
Some other students yapped among each other near the sinks, voices overlapping as they hyped up Otis.
"Hope he's permanent can't go back to Harlan yelling at us to run laps after seeing that ass in action."
"Yeah, man stretches every day? Sign me up. That jiggle during warrior pose? Life-changing." The convo shifted, one guy leaning against the lockers.
"It's all the new fuckable teachers lately. English sub? Hot twink. Now this yoga god? School's turning into a buffet." Someone laughed.
"It's due new president, Jamie Alex. He's lowering retirement ages to forty getting all the old folks out, bringing in young blood. Hottest and youngest president ever thirty-two, right? Bet he's got an ass like Otis too." The group nodded, the talk veering into politics.
"Smash or pass on politicians? Alex? Smash—those blue eyes and that soft jawline? Total daddy." "Pass on the VP—too stuffy. But the Secretary of Education? Smash. Heard he's got hips for days." "Nah, Alex all the way young, fit, progressive. Smash." The yapping bounced around—senators, governors, international leaders rating them crudely while tying laces and spraying deodorant.
Kota finished dressing gym shorts snug around his thighs, plain gray tee loose over the compression shirt underneath and stepped out of the change room, the door swinging shut behind the last few stragglers. The gym waited ahead, Otis's yoga mat already unrolled again.