That Time I Fucked My Professor

12 min read

That Time I Fucked My Professor

By Christina Stevens, my better half

photo: SexArt

I was doing a year abroad in Prague. The classes were mostly taught in English by Czech professors. They were kind of dumb classes, like courses in Czech architecture and Czech history. There was even a course in the plays of Vaclav Havel, the playwright who became the first Czech president after the fall of the Soviet Union. That was taught by an extremely handsome guy called Myron.

Myron was a playwright himself. He was about 40, and as far as I knew he was married and had a couple young kids. At least he spoke about his family a couple of times and implied that he was married to this woman named Anya, and had two kids. Other than that, he didn’t really open up too much to the class, which was mostly Americans, Germans, and English students like me who were spending a year in Prague, living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

It was all pretty good, until winter. I had no idea what winter was, having grown up in Southern California. I mean, I had been to the mountains to ski. But Prague was fricking freezing starting around December. I went home for Christmas, thank God. But when I got back in January it was even colder.

“You look very cold Miss Christina,” Myron said the first day back when I ran into him in front of the school building. His eyes were twinkling. I was wearing an enormous down coat, a wool hat, huge gloves, furry boots. I must have looked so stupid, because, despite all that, my teeth were chattering.

“Can I do anything to warm you up?”


I had no idea what he meant by that. On my way to my next class I wondered. Was that some sort of a come on? No. Impossible.

At my university in the US, it is very verboten to even think about fucking your professor. Everyone knows it could cost the professor his job. And a lawsuit. And get you thrown out. And it would generally be terrible. Not that we didn’t joke about fucking our hot professors, of course we did. But it was just that — a joke.

“Um, Professor Myron, I wanted to speak to you about my winter break assignment,” I told Professor Myron after class. “I am so sorry. But I was so busy at home seeing family and friends, I honestly did not have a minute to work. And I didn’t do the paper. Is there any way I can have an extension?”

“Sure,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “That’s no problem. Would you like to go get a hot chocolate, by the way? I have a half hour before my next class.”


Again, I was flummoxed.

“I know, I know,” he said. “In American professors aren’t allowed to have hot chocolate with students. Here in Czech nobody minds. I swear.”

“Oh,” I said. “You mean you’ve had hot chocolate with other students? Like American students?”

“Of course.”

That really pissed me off. How strange. One second I was angry at him for weirdly propositioning me. The next I was jealous of him seeing other students. This guy had somehow worked his hooks into me. How the heck did that happen? I mean, he was cute. I mean, he looked like a sexy author — with longish hair and a short beard. And he was super smart. His accent was sexy. Don’t get me wrong, there was a lot to recommend him. But, really. What was going on with me?

“You seem angry,” he said.

“Huh?” I said again. That was the third time I had used that unattractive Americanism on Myron. I was really flustered now.

“I gotta go. Bye.”

He smiled and I took off into the Czech cold.

But Myron was not easily put off. The next day, after class, he followed me out the door.

“Miss Christina,” he said. “Where are you rushing off to?”

“I have to get back to the dorm,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

All the year abroad students stayed in the same apartment building that we called the dorm, for some reason, even though it was just an off-campus apartment building that seemed to be a holdover from the Soviet era. It was a big tower block, basically. Calling it a dorm improved it.

“I see,” he said. “And how’s that overdue paper I gave you an extension on coming along?”

“Fine,” I lied. I hadn’t done anything.

“You mean you haven’t started it?” he guessed.

I nodded.

“Listen, the next paper is due Monday. I really don’t want to fail you. Just have that hot chocolate with me, and tell me your ideas about the robot play. And we can consider that an oral report.”

“An oral report?”

Was he even aware of the sexual double meaning of that term? Probably not. I was just imagining things. Or was I? I really didn’t want to write that paper. I didn’t like the robot play. And I had no idea what to write about it, other than I thought it was dumb. So I agreed.

“Ok!” I said. “Let’s get a hot chocolate.”

“Super. I’ll give you a ride. My place is just three blocks from here.”

“Your place? I thought we were going to a café.”

“I have some great French chocolate at home. You will not be disappointed. I promise.”


What about his wife? His kids?

Turns out, he was divorced. He explained it all when I got up to his little apartment. It had been three years now. He was still good friends with the wife.

And I was in his apartment sipping hot chocolate.

Aren’t you going to take off that down jacket?” he asked me. “I’ve turned the heat all the way up.”

I took off my jacket. I saw him looking at my breasts. Maybe he had never noticed them before. Come to think of it, I had always been wearing loose sweatshirts and sweaters. Now he saw my breasts in a tight turtleneck that I had on under the down jacket.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Well, thanks for the hot chocolate. Here’s what I think about the robot play. It’s dumb. Sorry.”

“OK, no problem,” he said. “It’s not everybody’s cup of tea. But you do realize it is a metaphor for the communist oppression, turning everyone into robots.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that. In America it’s capitalist oppression that turns everyone into — ”

“Shhh,” he said, then. “Your oral report is over. I give you an A. Now give me a kiss.”

“I beg your pardon? You are shushing me and asking me for a kiss. I would like to womansplain something to you, sir. American girls don’t like being bossed around by rude professors.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Tell me what American girls do like, then. And I’ll try to please you.”

“You mean you don’t know? Weren’t you saying you’ve had loads of American girls over for hot chocolate? And whatever else?”

“In fact I have, Christina,” he said. “And I know that might come as a shock to you. I’m telling you, the first American student I made love to was shaking, she was so nervous. But I promise you, there’s nothing at all to be nervous about. Here in Czech, we are not so uptight about sex.”

“Who said anything about sex?” I said.

“I did,” he said, confidently. “I would love to have sex with you. I find you enormously attractive.”

“Wow! Straight out. That’s very plain and bold. A straight out declaration of intention to have sex. With me! But what makes you think I want to have sex with you?”

“Well, it’s simple,” he said. “You keep looking at my crotch. You’ve been looking at it since the first day of class.”

“Oh my God!” I squealed. “That is utter nonsense. I have never so much as glanced at your crotch.”

“Really? Why don’t you glance at it now?”

“I will not!” I said. But of course, that’s like telling somebody not to think of an elephant. As soon as he said glance at my crotch my eyes moved to his crotch area, and damn, if he wasn’t right. That was a very familiar sight, that bulge in his crotch. Maybe I had been looking at that big bulge since the first day of class.

“Now let’s stop all this foolish play acting,” he said. “Kiss me.”

And he planted one on me. It was a pretty good one. I couldn’t believe I was in my professor’s apartment, giving him a smooch. This was completely unexpected. I mean, I had expected to have sex with someone my own age. But here I was halfway through my program and I hadn’t touched anyone. I guess I was too picky. There were some boys that were cute, but they were dumb. And they were from flyover states. I’m from LA, I’m not gonna fuck someone from Indiana.

“What the hell,” I thought. “I might as well fuck my professor.”

He was a good 18 years older than me. But basically in my age bracket, I guessed. It wouldn’t be like fucking my Dad. It would be maybe like fucking my older cousin.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I said, and I stuck my tongue deep into his mouth and really grabbed him. We rolled down together onto the couch. I was suddenly quite excited.

“But I get an A in the whole course, not just the paper,” I demanded, taking my tongue out of his mouth for a while.


“And I don’t have to take the final exam,” I said, putting my hand on his cock.

“No, everyone has to take the final exam,” he said. “The chairman corrects them. I don’t correct them any more. After the…incident.”

“Oh God. You are a pig, aren’t you?”

I guessed what he was talking about. He must have excused a previous girl from taking the final. And someone must have complained, and yada yada yada.

“Alright, I’ll take the final,” I said. “But you have to give me the answers.”

“It’s an essay. There aren’t any answers.”

“You write the essay for me. And I’ll copy it into the blue book in my own handwriting.”


I don’t know why I was driving such a hard bargain. But I do know something else was getting extremely hard — Myron’s cock, as I stroked it through his trousers.

“Aren’t I worth it?” I asked, coyly. Then, I whipped off my turtleneck and showed him my boobs in this red bra I had on. I think they looked pretty great. He was on them in a flash, pulling down the bra and sucking on the nipples.

“Uh uh uh,” I scolded. “I want your word. You’ll write the exam for me?”

“Yes, anything,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

So this is what it felt like, for the women of generations past, fucking their professors and getting a good grade out of it. Damn. It wasn’t so bad. We Millennials don’t know what we’ve been missing. It was the sluttiest thing I think I had ever done. And I liked it.

“I want you to teach me dirty Czech,” I said. “I want to know all the words.”

“Certainly,” he said.

And he taught me the Czech for suck my cock. Which I don’t remember any more. You know something, Czech is a fricking hard language. Anyhow, I repeated the words, and then I pulled his cock out of his trousers. It was a nice sized, uncut piece of meat. I sucked it for a while. Then I asked him, “So how are you enjoying my oral report?”

He looked at me. He didn’t get it. Oh well, some stuff gets lost in translation. I thought about explaining it to him, but I decided to stick with the language of love, and put my mouth back on that big cock of his.

I sucked it all the way down. He moaned some stuff in Czech, but I didn’t know what it meant.

Then he taught me the words for eat my pussy. Which I commanded him to do, in Czech. I lay back and he pulled my panties down, leaving my skirt on. He kissed my thighs for a long time.

“Eat my pussy!” I yelled at him in Czech. He was driving me crazy with this thigh kissing.

Finally, he put his mouth on my pussy and ate me.

“Your pussy tastes so good,” he said in Czech.

Děkuji,” I said. That means Thank you.

Then he told me in Czech, I’m going to put my big dick in you.

“But I’m scared, Professor,” I said, play acting a trembling student.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I’ll be very gentle with you.”

He came up and started kissing me, as he slipped his dick in me.

“You are so beautiful,” he said in Czech.

“You like us American sluts, huh,” I said in English.

“Yes, you American girls are real horny,” he said. “What’s the matter, don’t the American boys fuck you enough?”

“Not nearly enough,” I joked, as he pressed into me.

“And you know what we European men like most of all,” he said, as he continued fucking me hard.

“Oh no,” I said. “Not that.”

I knew what European men liked most of all. I had already heard from the girls on the year abroad how much their asses hurt after dating the Czech men.

“Why do you all like that so much?” I said. “What, are you all secretly gay?”

“You don’t want me to do it?” he said, sounding a little hurt.

“Not on the first date,” I said coyly. “I’m a good girl.”

“Oh, you’re not so good,” he said. “You deserve a little spanking. You’re a naughty American girl. You should know better than to fuck the professor. It’s extremely naughty.”

He pulled out of me, then, and pulled me up over his knee as he sat on the couch.

“Ouch!” I said. That really stung. But something about the sting felt good.

“What’s the matter, can’t you take it?”

“I can take it,” I said. “Go on, punish me, Professor.”

And he slapped me a few more times, harder.

“Oh God, that feels so good. I’ve never been spanked before.”

“Your parents were too easy on you,” he said. “Now I want to fuck you from behind and enjoy looking at that red ass.”

I got on all fours and he fucked me doggie style on the couch. He was shouting all kinds of shit in Czech, sounding like a real cowboy back there, having a riot. I felt pretty good too. Then we made our way to the bedroom. It was a small apartment. The bedroom was about big enough to fit a bed in. He lay down on it and I got on top of him.

“You have not had an orgasm,” he said. “I want you to orgasm while you fuck me.”

I don’t know what happened then. Tears started flowing out of my eyes.

“Oh my darling,” he said, stopping fucking. “What’s wrong.”

I confessed to him then my secret. I had never orgasmed with a man before. My poor boyfriend back in college ate me for an hour once and I still didn’t come. I thought there must be something wrong with me. Maybe I masturbated too much. I was the only person on earth apparently who knew how to rub my clit properly.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s nothing you need to worry about.”

He went to the drawer then and he brought out this enormous contraption.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a massager,” he said.

He plugged the thing in the wall, and he handed it to me.

“Now you lie back and enjoy yourself while I’ll fuck you from the side here. This always works.”

And the professor taught me then, the greatest lesson. The more powerful the massager, the better. This thing sounded like a chainsaw.

“Jesus,” I said. “What do your neighbors think? That you’re chopping wood in here?”

“Every Czech woman has one of these. They were made by the Russians in the 60s, for sturdy Soviet women. If this doesn’t make you come, trust me, nothing will.”

I held the enormous vibrating machine over my clit as he fucked me from the side and twisted my nipple with his hand. I felt it fairly soon, coming over me. The beginnings of an enormous orgasm as he rammed his cock into me, and squeezed my nipple hard.

“Harder,” I said. “Harder!”

The pain of the nipple squeezing, the force of the fucking, and the machine noise of the massager all combined then and built to a tremendous climax. I must have screamed my head off for about a minute.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh! Goddddddd!”

My teeth were chattering.

“Ohhhhhhhh! Godddddd!”

“Are you OK?” he asked after I calmed down.

“I’m wonderful,” I said. “Thank you for that. You have no idea how neurotic I was becoming about sex.”

I realized then that he still hadn’t finished.

I got back on top of him and fucked him as hard as I could, and to my great surprise I soon felt another orgasm coming on. Apparently once the dam is burst it really flows down river, this orgasm thing.

“Ohhhhhhhh! Goddddd!” I screamed again. “Fuck me, Professor. Fuck the shit out of me! Cum in me. Shoot your cum all the way up in me! Come on!”

He stopped.

“Are you on the pill?”

“Oh….” I said. “No. Not really.”

He pulled me off him, just before he came. He spurted all over my back.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a lot of stuff.”

He grabbed a towel. I lay down on the bed and he wiped the come off my back, and he kissed his way up to my neck. He tenderly kissed my cheeks and cuddled close to me.

“Did I earn my A?” I asked.

“A plus,” he said. “You’re the best student I’ve ever had.”

And he “had” me, alright. As I drifted off to sleep with him, there in that tiny bedroom, in the beautiful old city of Prague, I thought to myself, I did it! I came with a man. Not once, but twice!

This studying abroad thing was really broadening my horizons.

After I woke from the nap, I got dressed. Before I left I asked him, “Hey could I borrow that chainsaw.”


“Your massager thingie,” I said.

“No,” he said coyly. “If you want to use it, you’ll have to come here and visit me again.”

I never did. But one day in the market there was a guy selling some old electronics and I saw one, the same Russian model. He looked at me like I was a real slut, and I paid probably way more than I should have.

When I got back to the US I had to buy a special adapter to plug the thing in. But it was worth it. Every time I used it, before it finally crapped out on me last year, I thought of that cold January afternoon in Prague, where I fucked my way into an A in Czech Theater. Where I used my body to get ahead in the world.

I know. It was unfair. Things like that set a dangerous precedent. And give men the wrong idea about women. At the end of the day, it was morally wrong.

And quite delicious.

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