Professor Steinkampf
I held my crumpled class schedule in sweaty 19 year-old freshman hands, trying to avoid colliding with the other students rushing through the hall on their way to second period. Disoriented and feeling very unsure, I ducked into an alcove and flattened out my schedule to check the time and place of my own second period class. The last thing I wanted on my first day at State University was to be late for class. It was already 8:57. I ran my finger down the list of classes until I came to an entry that read: German I, Professor Steinkampf, Room 205, 9:00-9:55. Looking up, I saw that the alcove into which I had ducked was right across the hall from Room 205. I dodged my way between the hustling students into the classroom.
Even though it was only three minutes before the start of class, I was the only student. The only other person in the room was a stocky, gray-haired woman sitting on the professor’s desk with her legs crossed, one high-heeled shoe dangling.
“Guten Tag”, she said, extending her hand. “Ich bin Professor Steinkampf.”
“Guten Tag”, I answered in German. “Ich bin…uh, sorry”, I apologized, taking her hand. “I don’t know how to say my name in German.”
“Its OK”, she answered, squeezing my hand like a vise. “You vill learn soon enuff, ja?”
“Am I the only one taking this class?” I asked, wincing in pain.
“Jawohl!” the old woman answered, finally loosening her grip. “Vun to vun teachink, dats ze best vay to learn!” she answered, hands on her hips, blue eyes flashing. With that, she hopped of the desk and strode to the door. A few students ran past. After glances up and down the hall, Professor Steinkampf slammed the door and locked it.
“I wunder, little man, if, when I vas vawking to ze door, you noticed how much mussel I haf in my legs, hm?”
I had. Her calves were enormous, defined, and vascular. Because she was post-menopausal, her muscles stood out in sharp relief through her thinning skin. And the high heels she wore wearing made them bulge in a veritable duet of contraction.
“Yes, Professor”, I answered, dry-throated. “Seeing them made my heart sing and my dick throb!”
“Vell, little man, yoost vait until you see mein arms!” she said, her blue eyes blazing. With that, she slipped off her jacket. She was wearing a sleeveless blouse. Her upper arms were as big as her calves, and her forearms were covered with veins as thick as nightcrawlers. I felt like I was about to faint, and sat down hard on the floor. She towered over me as if she were a figure from Norse mythology.
“Flex you muscles for me, Professor, won’t you, please?” I begged, taking out my pole-hard dick, feeling it lengthen in my hand.
“Jawohl, my little man, sure as shootin’ I vill!” she answered, kneeling on the floor. She held her upper arm under my nose, and bent her elbow. As her biceps began to bulge, stretching the wrinkles out of her old skin, she pushed her stone-hard muscle in my face. “Kiss my mussel!” she commanded. “Lick it, bite it!” she hissed.
I did as I was bidden. Even though this woman was at least seventy years old, her biceps was rock-hard. I explored the trembling muscle with my tongue.
“Open your mouth vide and bite mein mussel!” Frau Steinkampf hissed again. I did, but there was no give in her rock-hard arm. She pushed her flexed biceps hard into mouth, forcing it open. She had me in a sexual hammerlock, expanding muscle filling my mouth, forcing my jaws wider with every moment.
“Professor Steinkampf”, I yelled, “I’m gonna come!”
“Not wissout me, you vont!” she said. And before I knew it, she had hitched up her skirt and put my stiff dick in inside her. “Now, little man, feel my special mussels”, she said, and the hardest, strongest pussy muscles I’d ever felt began to milk my young dick.
“Now, little man”, the old woman whispered, wrapping her iron-band arms around me, “I vant you to tink about vat I said about vun to vun teachink.”
I was losing consciousness. The last thing I heard her say was, “Don’t you agree it’s the very best vay to learn, hm?”