Professor Steinkampf

 

The Second Lesson

 

 

            The sound of the State University clock striking six awakened me.  I was lying on the floor of Professor Steinkampf’s classroom!  Bits and pieces of what had happened came to me as I awakened.  I remembered hearing her say, “Now, little man, feel my special mussels”, in her thick German accent, thick as the biceps she had forced in my mouth so brutally.

            A small handwritten note lay on the floor next to me.  It read: Lesson 2 begins at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning.  Be here for it!

           

            As if walking in my sleep, I made my way to room 205 the next morning.  I knocked weakly.  “Komst du herein!” came the command.  Gently, I pushed the door open.  Professor Steinkampf sat on her desk as she had the day before, legs crossed, one shoe dangling.

            “I zee you haf decided to continue wis ze Cherman lessons, my little man”, the old woman said, removing her jacket.  “Gut, gut, gut!  Chust ze vay I like it” she continued, hopping off the desk.

              Her tight-fitting skirt and blouse were the same shade of tan.  They were slightly frayed in places, but the creases were still razor sharp.  A darkened area on the right sleeve of her blouse caught my eye.  It was about four inches wide and seemed to go all the way around her sleeve.  I wondered if she had worn something there years—perhaps decades ago—that had kept the sun from the cloth. 

            Professor Steinkampf must have seen me staring.  “Chust vat are you lookink at, little man?” she challenged.

            “Uh, I’m looking at your arm, Frau Professor”, I said apologetically.

            “You vant to feel it again like yesterday, hmm?” she asked, one eyebrow raised, hands on her hips.

            “May I?”

            “Shur you can, little man, feel how my arm is like a piece of iron!” she said, bending her elbow, bringing her arm close.

            She was right.  Amazingly, this old woman had biceps hard as iron.  What was more, her arm was so big I couldn’t get both hands around it.

            “Vait a minit”, she said suddenly, walking to the door.  “I’f got an idea.”  With a click, the door was locked.  My heart felt as if it would leap out of my chest.  She walked slowly towards me, unbuttoning her blouse.  By the time she reached the desk, it was off.  She wore no bra.

            “Little man”, she purred.  “Vud you like to fuck my mussel?” she asked, still purring.

            “Fuck your muscle?” I asked.  “How?”

            “Like this” she said, suddenly kneeling in front of me.  She bent her elbow.  Her softball-sized biceps rose up, stretching the wrinkles from her skin.  “Now, little man” she said, pointing to the crook in her arm, “stick your little viener here—that is, if its hart enuff!”

            In less than five seconds, I had my dick (which was already as hard as a broomstick) out of my pants and was trying to push it between her bulging biceps and her forearm.  It was like trying to fuck a clenched fist.  “Professor” I cried, “it’s too tight!”

            “Come on, vimp!” the old woman yelled.  “Get a real steifung!  Be a man!”

            Her taunts gave me strength.  With all my might, I pushed my hardon where I didn’t think it would ever go.  All at once, it sank to the hilt. 

            “AHHHH!” Professor Steinkampf screamed.  “That’s my big boy!  Now fuck it, fuck it again and again!”  Her pale blue eyes rolled back in her head.

            The feel of that iron-hard biceps along the length of my dick was beyond imagining.  Who would have thought that a muscle could be fucked?

            The old woman looked me in the eye.  “Now, my little man”, she whispered.  “I’f got a big surprise for you.”  With that, she put her middle finger in her mouth, coating it with her saliva.  Before I knew what was happening, she had reached behind me and plunged her finger in my asshole.  I gasped with pain…and pleasure!

            She knew what she was doing.  With the tip of her finger, she made little circles on my prostate.  “It feels like hot lava is going to come out my asshole!” I screamed.

            “Gut!  Gut!  Gut!” she coached.  “Now, little man, keep fucking mein iron-hard mussel!  Come all over mein arm!  Come…NOW!” she screamed.  Her sense of timing about these things could have only come from years of doing them.

            More juice than I thought was in me splattered on her arm—just as she had bidden.  I fell to my knees, felt her catch me with her strong arms, felt her old tongue pushing into my mouth, heard her moaning softly, smelled her hot pussy, and knew she had come with me.

            The old woman sang a German lullaby as I drowsed in her iron-hard German arms there on her classroom floor at State University.  The last thing I remember hearing before I went to sleep was, “Little man, I tink you are beginnink to like zis vun to vun teachink, ja?”