Milk Physics

Author's note: This story follows Roz, the MC from The Lollipop, Puanani's Popsicle, and Le Bon Voyage, though you need not have read those stories to enjoy this one.

This story depicts adult nursing relationship and lesbian sex. It is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All characters in this story are above the age of eighteen.

Enjoy!

Sky blue eyes, wheat-blonde hair, and a soft, flirtatious face, Professor Katrin Schmitz, a visiting professor from the Technical University of Munich in Germany,  was exactly what one might imagine a lovely Bavarian dream to be made of. But of all the things that formed the dreamy beauty of Katrin Schmitz, the dreamiest by far was her breasts.

As a biology major with a pre-med focus, there really was no logical reason I should be in her class. There were plenty of other electives offered this semester that better suited my academic goals. I even needed to get permission to take the class because of how notoriously difficult it was. Somehow I was able to convince my academic advisor I was smart enough to take Differential Equations in Classical Mechanics, a class avoided by even the most serious Physics students. The class was hard, and professor Schmitz was a brutal grader. In other words, her class was a real GPA buster. So, needing at least a 3.6 GPA to have any chance to get into the Med School of my dreams, why did I sign up for academic disaster?

Simply put, breasts are my kryptonite. When I spotted hers in particular during the electives fair at the end of last semester, I was rendered breathless. I nearly fainted, in fact. I am certainly not one to objectify another woman, but man oh man, were her tits objects of pure happiness. Lush as blushing fruits, exquisitely shaped as if chiseled by an Italian sculptor. It was better that they were covered by cloth because if they weren't, I'd melt just like those bad guys at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.  I am ashamed to say that I fully objectified my German professor of differential physics. Her breasts were the reason I had signed up for her class.

I've been aware of my love of boobies long before I realized I was bi, which may seem strange at first, but maybe isn't such a hard notion to conceive if you consider that I was born into a very conservative, very evangelical Asian family where any healthy discussion of sexuality was to be avoided at all costs. As a matter of fact, I always thought boob-love was universal. I assumed so because why else would a heteronormative good Christian girl be into boobs? I loved boobs and thought all girls loved boobs. My first hint that my fixation wasn't heteronormative came one movie night with my dorm roommate Lacie, when I suggested we watch the movie 'Amadeus.' On pure instinct, I paused the movie at exactly the moment Mozart's wife Constanze, played by the lovely actress Elizabeth Berridge, bared her breasts to Salieri, drawing a funny look from Lacie. 

"What?" I asked. "Doesn't Constanze have the hottest pair you've ever seen?"

"Are you turned on by her tits?" Lacie asked, to which I replied, innocently enough, "Aren't you?"

The answer was a deadpan, 'no,' followed by a giggling fit and a brash verdict on her part that I may be gay. Adamantly I had refused her verdict, but that moment would put the seed of doubt in my head that would shortly thereafter bloom very gayly in a defining moment in my life involving a drunken sexual experiment with the very same Lacie (after which she would assert that she was definitely straight - ouch).

All that to say, my unmitigated appreciation for breasts far preceded my bisexual self-realization, so much so that breasts had become for me, a sort of a fetish. No. More than just a  fetish -- in the midst of a deep, near-zealous repression of my sexuality, they were my safety valve. They were my means of survival in an overbearingly prudish world. They were my lodestar towards my true North.  And because of that, they had attained a level of kinky splendor that no other body part or sexual act could come close to touching. And Katrin Schmitz's sumptuous breasts, which occupied a rather stately position in the pantheon of breasts in my mind, were beyond magnificent. I was obsessed with them.

Fact is, my dirty little obsession would put me on a trajectory that no Newtonian equation could ever anticipate. A trajectory that would start with the graded mid-term exam that Professor Schmitz slapped onto the desk in front of me, rousing me from fruitful daydreaming.

"Sorry, Roz, but I'm afraid you will need to talk to me once class is over," she said, with her deceptively soothing Bavarian voice. She gave me a pitiful smile before continuing to hand out the rest of the exams, prompting me to look down to find the big fat 'F' rendered in blood-red sharpie on the front of my mid-term.

I uttered a moan of despair. Now, after weeks of naively blissful enjoyment of her lectures, I was starting to see the grave failing of my unfettered horniness. The chickens were coming home to roost. Like I mentioned before, I needed at least a 3.6 GPA. Now, only in my fourth semester in college, I was confronted with a horrifying prospect feared by all my Korean and Japanese ancestors going back to the times of Confucius: that my grades would be inadequate.

All the glowing thoughts about the professor from Germany went away. Suddenly, I saw her for what she really was: Not a beautiful Bavarian maiden, but a brutal barbarian raider, here to raze my future!

During the exam review, I desperately looked for ways to bring my grade up. I fought tooth and nail for every possible point, and after the class was over I ran to her to get a regrade.

"Hi professor!" I chirped so frantically that I caused her to jump in her seat.

"Oh. Roz!"

She crossed her arms and gave me a tepid smile.

"I suppose you're here to earn points for corrections."

I nodded frantically. She beckoned me for my exam. I gave her the packet and she went through it and counted the points she had incorrectly discounted before, remarked my paper and handed it back. "I'm sorry Roz, but I'm afraid you still haven't passed."

I slumped. My heart slumped. I heard my Korean mother tsking me from the other side of the country. Professor Schmitz gave me an uncomfortable look. Not a look of pity, but one of dearly wishing that I would mourn the death of my bright future somewhere else. But I wasn't going to let her off the hook that easy. The mid-term was thirty-five percent of the class grade, and at this rate, I wasn't going to do much better on the final (worth fifty-five percent!). I had to do something. Even if that something was to bawl my eyes out in front of her. 

After enduring not more than a few seconds of my whimpering, she finally said, "Why don't we make a deal, Roz? Come to my office hours to do your problem sets for the rest of the semester and whatever score you get on your final will override your midterm. Does that sound fair?"

My heart jumped in my chest with joy. "Yes!" I blurted.

"Super. Then shall we schedule a time for this week?"

I nodded vigorously. I couldn't afford not to. This was the best deal I could have ever hoped for, and not as painful as it might sound. As much as I abhor doing problem sets (I'll be honest, at this point, I had probably done about half of them), there's worse ways to spend a late afternoon than working through rigid two-body problems in the same room as my professor and her beautiful boobies.

Katrin Schmitz was fairly young. At twenty-eight, she was the youngest faculty member in the  physics department faculty, as well as at her home university, the Technical University of Munich, where she had received her doctorate after defending a thesis entitled, "Conservation of Baryon Resonance During High Energy Momentum Transfer," which sounded to me more like a line of dialogue uttered in an episode of Star Trek than actual physics. It was incredible and intimidating to think that this breathtaking woman was the same committed to teaching little ol' me to calculate the time it would take a bowling ball dropped from a commercial jet to hit the earth's surface. As ruthless as a grader she was, she was still awe inspiring. She was beautiful, but she did not let her beauty get in the way of her brains.

Yet, for all the fawning I did over the professor that could potentially ruin my near-perfect GPA, there was one little tidbit about her that had completely skipped my attention: that there was more to her than what meets the eyes. That little tidbit I discovered when I walked into her office for the first time.

"Come in!" she shouted through the door when I knocked. I went in and yelped at the scene that greeted me.

Her blouse was unbuttoned, and her bra was pulled down from her breasts. Cupping both her mommy milkers were breast pumps, whirring mechanically as they squeezed milk out from puffy pink nipples into two small bottles.

"Can you shut the door, Roz?"

Wide-eyed, I did as she asked, then stood awkwardly in the middle of her office, trying my darndest not to stare.

"Please, have a seat," she said, pointing with her eyes at the chair opposite her. "I forgot to pump earlier, so I hope you don't mind if I do so now while you work on your problem set."

"Oh, um... no. Not at all... I think."

"Don't tell me you've never seen a woman pump?"

"I've seen plenty of women pump," I answered in a way that was too quick to sound truthful. To be honest, I'm not sure I had. And if I had, I never remembered it being such a big deal. But to see my physics professor, who I have already explained had the most magnificent pair of knockers that I have ever seen, have her nipples tugged on by suction pumps, how could one not be riled up? Half-a-heartbeat and a thousand years passed by before my eyes gravitated back towards her milk-squirting puppies. She laughed and said, "It's quite a remarkable thing to witness isn't it? You're a biology major, aren't you? What biological process can you say is more fascinating than a woman producing milk?"

I smiled at her bashfully, embarrassed to no end knowing what she couldn't know, which was that it wasn't scientific curiosity that moistened my panties. No, she couldn't possibly know that. To her, I was no more than a dorky Asian college sophomore dead-set on academic achievement. How could she know that the small, shy girl standing with her eyes on the floor in front of her was the kinkiest sex fiend on this campus?

As soon as she gave me permission, my eyes, almost by instinct, went straight back to her suction-squeezed nipples, and my knees went so weak from the dizzying rush to see them that I nearly fell over.

I swallowed nervously then, to break the awkward silence that was punctuated only by the soft purring and sucking sounds produced by her twin pumps, I said, meekly, "I didn't know you had a baby."

She did not respond to my remark. Instead, she pointed with her eyes to the vacant seat across from her desk and, smiling nonchalantly, said, "why don't you take a seat and start on your problem set."

"Oh ok. I'll try my best," I muttered.

I sat and pulled out my textbook and a notepad and began working on the problems she had assigned for the week.

I kept my nose in my textbook and paper and tried my best to remember how to formulate the Hamiltonian for a double pendulum system. But how the heck am I supposed to do that when just two feet from my face, a pair of electrical pumps were squeezing and sucking milk out of what was likely the most magnificent pair of boobs on this campus. Boobs that I obsessed over. Boobs that, I must now confess, that I had pleasured to on more than one occasion.

Why did she have to have her tits out when I needed to get through this problem set?! Didn't she know this was my kryptonite?  Maybe she did. Maybe she was doing this on purpose. Maybe she had caught me staring one too many times at her in class and now, and this was her twisted way of exacting revenge. Or maybe this was a test of my discipline.

Whatever reason she had for pumping right when I'm at my most vulnerable, it was unfair to me. It was unethical. And maybe even against school rules.

It took me a good ten minutes to get through the first problem (out of ten), and I was doubtful what I had down on paper wasn't actually a Hamiltonian, but a backwards Lagrangian. But with only forty minutes left in the session, I wanted to knock out a few more problems before I asked her for some help. Besides, she was chest deep in pumping milk, so I didn't want to disturb her. I wanted for her to finish pumping first.

After getting through the third problem, I've finally had enough. I needed her to stop breaking school rules and put those pumps away. But as soon as I put my pen down to put my foot down, she had switched off her pumps and popped them off her nipples, baring them to me in all their glorious puffiness. I could do nothing but gape. It was like witnessing a train wreck, if train wrecks made me horny.

Little droplets formed on the tips of her nipples, and she wiped them before stuffing them back into her bra, then, without any awareness of the geologic cataclysm she had put me through, grabbed my paper from under my hand to look through it. She leaned back on her chair, propped her feet up on her desk, and put her pen in her mouth while she reviewed my Hamiltonian or Lagrangian. Her expression indicated that I had either discovered a completely new theory on the conservation of energy, or hopelessly mishandled every law of physics.

While she concentrated on my paper, I remained gazing in a manner that was far from even the slightest modicum of shame or civility, my eyes planted on her rotund chest and not willing to move away.

Eventually she glanced up from reviewing my loose interpretation of Newtonian mechanics and caught my gaping stare. I didn't know she had caught me until she brought my attention to it with a loud clearing of her throat.

My eyes went up from her breasts and when I spotted the crooked smirk gripping her face, my cheeks grew hot and prickly. She knew I had been staring. She could probably even smell how horny I was at that point.

I was flustered, so riled up, so shocked and embarrassed at myself, that I couldn't help myself but admit my crime in a blubbering apology.

"Oh my God, professor. I was staring. I promise it won't happen again!"

Professor Schmitz gave me a look of utter confusion. Then, amusement knitted her eyebrows. She cawed a laughter that was so loud, she had to bring her hands up to clasp her mouth shut. Then, after guffawing into her hands, wiping a tear from her eye, and taking a deep breath, she said, "Roz, I should be the one that's sorry," and with an awe-shucks look, she muttered softly, "I didn't know I affected you this way," which did nothing to assuage the guilt or the embarrassment I felt, nor really engender a sense of an authentic apology at all (not that I earned one from her).

In the awkward moment that ensued, occurred the most outrageous thing that have ever happened in my young life: She sat my problem set on the desk, took out her red pen, and gave each of the four problems I worked through a perfect ten out of ten and said,

"I'm sorry if I've been too much of a distraction for you, but I must say, your solutions are about as elegant as any from my best students."

"What!?"

She laughed. "Your answers were perfect, Roz!"

"No way... really? H-how?" I asked feebly.

"I don't know," she replied, tapping her chin. "But, you know, often a change in attitude, or even a change in scenery, let's say, can make a positive difference."

A devilish smile curled on her lips as she pushed her arms together to plump up her breasts to make an insinuation as to what she meant. I went as white as a ghost and turned away immediately, putting a hand up to politely shield my eyes from the forbidden fruits. My heart was racing. Did she really just imply what I believe she implied? Or was that all in my head? I wasn't sure, and I sure as heck wasn't going to ask her. But it sure did sound like she was saying her milky breasts had put me in the mood to perform well on my physics problems. 

Before I could figure out how best to respond to her, she peeked at her phone and said, "Oh, look at the time. I should really get going."

She stood. And I stood too and said, "Gotta go feed the baby?"

She cocked her head at me as if I had said the most nonsensical thing ever before her face lit up with realization. She blushed as she leaned in to whisper, "I don't have a baby."

It was my turn to cock my head with confusion, but before I could ask for clarification, she said, "Same time tomorrow? Why don't we aim to finish that problem set?"

I spent most of the rest of the time until the next office hour session with Professor Schmitz wondering how she could be lactating if she didn't have a baby. And why? Was she moonlighting as a wet nurse? Was she selling her milk under the table? Was the professor pay really that bad? Whatever the reason, I was very intrigued. I needed to find out. So, I made it a goal of mine to find out at the following office hour.

An eternity passed before the time finally came. I rushed out of O Chem and sprinted to the Physics building like it was Christmas morning.

When I arrived at her office, the conference table just outside was full of Physics students in their SI session. I knocked on Professor Schmitz's door, and I swore that a few of the boys at the table looked up at me with jealousy in their eyes. Too bad, boys, she's all mine! But when I opened her door, I was disappointed to find another student already in there with her.

"Oh, Roz, hi! Nate here asked for help on the problem set as well, so I double-booked you two. I hope you don't mind."

"No. Not at all," I grumbled. Nate gave me a dumb smile and went back to sticking his big nose into his textbook. I sat next to him, cracked my textbook open and began working through my own problem set. Professor Schmitz had her back to us to type out an email on her laptop, so I didn't even have boobies to sneak glances at while I trudged through the problems.

Nate asked questions during the hour. A lot of questions. Good questions that I couldn't ever think up on my own, which made me feel incredibly inadequate. And Professor Schmitz happily answered them, then she'd turn to me and ask, "do you have any questions, Roz?"

I didn't even know where to begin with questions without making myself look very dumb, so I would just shake my head and keep trudging along.

I had gotten through three problems by the time she asked to see our work. First, she looked over Nate's, and said, "good job, Nate!" and he smiled at her like a puppy getting a head scratch. A pang of jealousy shot through me.

"How about yours, Roz?"

I handed her my work, eager to show Nate up with the genius I had unlocked yesterday. But as she looked at my paper, a look of disappointment drew across her face. She set the paper back on the desk then smiled at me like I was a problem child she still deeply cared for and in her soft German accent, sang, "looks like we've got some work to do!"

She ushered Nate out the door to give me her undivided attention.

"You did not do as well today as you did yesterday, Roz. Now why do you suppose that is?"

I shrunk in my chair and sighed. "To be honest, I don't know. I suppose yesterday was just a fluke."

"I don't think it was such a fluke, Roz," she replied. "Not at all. Remember what we talked about? Physics required the right mindset. I think you've found that mindset yesterday. And I think I know exactly what it took. I think you do too."