Reinhardt, also a bodybuilding enthusiast, posed in front of the mirrors for longer than necessary, she noted, as she did her squats. He could see her image behind him. Although she’d never admit it to her friends, she wasn’t immune to the allure of the muscular male. She began her own muscle strengthening regime in the college gym, not only to improve her physical well-being, but also to sneak admiring glances at male bodybuilders going through their routines. Between Reinhardt and herself a connection was established after he had sent her a message, unrelated to course studies, via the college’s student-teacher computer communication system. I like to see you lift weights. You’re not an ordinary woman. What do you know about Nietzsche? Lou-Ellen had perhaps foolishly replied: I like to see you build muscle, too. Thank you and why do you ask?

And so it began, the private exchange between a German exchange student and his teacher who also pumped iron. Reinhardt sent messages several times a week, pushing for more and more insight and clarification. Compelled to reveal her own fascination with Nietzsche’s concept of the Übermensch, of whom Reinhardt boldly asserted that he was one, or on his way to becoming one, she knew that her sympathetic and encouraging responses revealed that she wanted more of what he, Reinhardt, offered. More of what? What was he offering besides hard muscle? Yes, she licked her lips, also a beautifully proportioned and firm ass. You already know and will know more of what you aspire to achieve for yourself under my influence. Then Reinhardt began coming by the office almost daily before and after classes, forcing Lou-Ellen by his very presence to pay attention and to admire. She should have objected long ago and restored the proper barrier between student and teacher, but she couldn’t bring herself to forgo the pleasure of seeing his strength and potential. And when he provocatively bent over in his tight jeans, she gasped inwardly, so he wouldn’t notice. So she thought.

Well, Lou-Ellen’s own compulsion provided the motivating force; Reinhardt simply flexed, leaned close, spoke about the individual and power, the superiority of the Ubermensch over sklaven, those weak creatures who believed in social conventions and morality. He enticed Lou-Ellen, manipulating the teacher’s willingness to submit. As Reinhardt wrote in one of his emails: the submission must be given and aspired to be given with pleasure and passion…pay close attention to this idea…for when we meet again, they most probably will be the central topic. Laughing over the student’s preachy tone, she nonetheless spent many a restless night, panting in her dreams about riding the back of a panther, or being carried over a muscleman’s shoulder to a cave, or striding the mountains arm in arm with Reinhardt, or lying back on a bed of clouds as he sat softly on her face, letting her tongue do its work to satisfy her hungers. The images kept waking her up with a wet cunt. She was amazed that an independent-minded woman like herself, or the superior woman she believed herself to be intellectually, could be so entranced in dreams by anything as arrogant and banal as the strutting male and his beautiful bubble butt. During her masturbatory fantasies, she imagined caressing and licking his body.

The superman-in-training did have these transfixing, Germanic blue eyes. Lou-Ellen was more obvious than discrete. Bringing whatever Nietzschean title he was trying to read, mostly from a collection called Will to Power, a book Nietzche’s sister cobbled together from her brother’s notes after his death, Reinhardt introduced intriguing topics. He urged speculation about what it meant to go beyond concepts of good and evil, what transvaluing all values implied, what the profound difference was between the Ubermensch and the sklave, words he never translated into English. I think you belong to the race of sklaven as long as you don’t look up to see what awaits you, what potential beckons you, what lies inside of you burning to be released and experienced, he boldly asserted sitting opposite Lou-Ellen’s desk and spreading his legs wide. That proverbial manspread, which so many women found objectionable. What destiny and potential would they be? She asked him. Free from all inhibitions, he had replied, and flexed a bicep. He quoted from Thus Sprach Zarathustra, whose style and concepts inspired him, but which Lou-Ellen thought rhetorically bloated and leading to more confusion than clarity. Just yesterday, Reinhardt had dropped by in the afternoon, flushed with excitement, having to speak to someone who’d understand, and he had removed his shirt without permission. The splendour of his muscles overwhelmed her.

Despite having only an adolescent grasp of the philosophy, which he mangled in his enthusiasm and strutting, Reinhardt possessed that invigorating urge to rise above the norms. As she watched him in the gym, attaching her legs to the nautilus machine, while he lifted barbells or flexed his muscles in the mirror, or bent over deliberately she suspected, to display the full rounded glory of his ass, she also became aware of a transfiguration within her own feelings. Lou-Ellen believed that Reinhardt could become a great man one day if he didn’t muddle Nietzsche or distort the philosopher’s thought to underpin their own ideology, as the Nazis had done. He could also succumb to mere narcissism. Lou-Ellen, however, recognized that she had failed the climb, had confined and cribbed her mind on the low-lying plains. She had been afraid to explore her unconventional desires: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star, Reinhardt had quoted Nietzsche in one of his emails. Well, Lou-Ellen’s dancing days had passed.

In her office, she urged him to talk about his sex life because, frankly, it amused and stimulated her, however inappropriate such conversations were. He obliged. He confessed in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, as if he were talking about the weather, that he wanted a woman who would adore and lick every inch of his physique, use her tongue to probe his ass without guilt or shame. And in return he would lick and suck her cunt, for he loved a woman’s juices and the power she gave him over her body as she submitted to his hungers. And then he’d fuck her to exhilarating heights. I can understand that, she had said, in a tone of voice that suggested desire. As if smelling her lust, he had shifted in his seat and adjusted his bulging crotch. He exuded muscle power, raw sex and possibly violence, and the stretch of cloth over his buttocks increased her heartbeat.

“Sex is for amusement,” Reinhardt said. “I get whoever I want, it’s fun for the moment, and I like certain things very much, which I think you also like, for we are soulmates; I mean, we can be soulmates. Fucking is only important if it unites two great ones into a single power unit. Of course, it is useful to release tension and to capture and control sklaven, but with you, it will be not so natural.” And he chuckled over his comment, stared hard into her eyes, reached over and touched her wrist. “You think about it a lot, I know, but you need it. I understand this. Doing is better than thinking. Adoring and fucking your Übermensch, pleasing him, that’s good and hot. No?” And he stroked her forearm. “I think you think so.”

She had smiled over his use of the term “power unit” but did not pull back her arm. Freely scanning his body, which she knew Reinhardt noticed and liked, Lou-Ellen believed that he could fuck whomever he wanted. Capture and control slaves. Why the objectionable word slave should feel so sexually arousing, Lou-Ellen didn’t care to explore at the moment. She had once pushed the intellectual boundaries in university, sparkled and demolished in seminars. In the end, her brilliance and striving for superiority had dimmed. She had made wrong choices. Having married and divorced, having slept with a few limpid lovers since then, she sank into the bogs of conventional attitudes and morality, despite harbouring feelings of superiority and a greater force within her. Above all, she had learned to suppress her turbulent desires.

Her husband, also a professor, had never pleased her. When she tried to tongue his ass, to probe as deeply as she could, even stretching the tongue, for it was indeed an obsession, he had recoiled in disgust. She had been afraid of confessing what she had always desired. He retreated to the safety of permissible norms. It seemed that the men she knew in her life had always given themselves easy targets and hit the bull’s eye. She had taken all the necessary precautions to avoid infection of one kind or another, and even showed him her package of dental dams to place over his anus while she pushed her tongue in. She gave the practice of rimming its academic name, pygrophilia, to show that rimming was not alien but simply another oral fixation like sucking his cock of which he did not complain. Still, he had no wish to participate, and she quoted him from memory: a degrading and sluttish practice. I have too much respect for you. Well, his respect killed her passion. She kept her anilingus obsessions thereafter to herself and freely licked ass in her dreams. Now Reinhardt’s ass. It was too risky to indulge with strangers or even the occasional date, which sometimes ended in bed and banal banging.

Everything remained safe and locked away until the morning Reinhardt strode into the classroom at the beginning of the semester, and Lou-Ellen suddenly felt her world tilt and gravity loosen its hold. The eye contact in class with Reinhardt was thrilling, that exchange of secret knowledge by glint and nod. Reinhardt had the habit of smirking when other students spoke and revealed their primitive limitations. They had not crossed over that famous Nietzschean abyss the way Reinhardt thought he had done. They all remained as beasts on one side of the chasm, while he had dared the balancing act on the rope leading to the other side where an Übermensch transcended the limits of ordinary people and their slave morality. Reinhardt’s physique was certainly proof of one kind of excellence. In the gym, he took to working out as close to her as possible and she was always aware of his eyes on her and the proximity of his muscles.

Now, she freely asked him to remove his shirt and pose for her.

“Yes, you need to see this.”

She asked if she could touch. Her hand spread on his strong and her fingertips followed a prominent vein along his biceps. She cupped the hard bulge of his pectoral muscle. She stepped closer and breathed in his aroma, clean and heady. He flexed and and his biceps hardened. She could feel herself her cunt moistening. Asking him to strip, if only partially, immediately gave Reinhardt an advantage: he knew his teacher’s weakness and would manipulate it. He stood close to her, his upper body fully exposed, his belt unbuckled.

They did not speak anymore, as if they both sensed the inevitable as her caressing his muscles sent him the most profound communication without language. She could see his groin burgeoning and she touched the hardness beneath his jeans. She was treading on dangerous territory. Are you sure this is your deepest desire? She had squeezed a buttock and replied: I desire whatever you want me to do. Boldly, he gripped her hand and whispered, I want to feel your lips and tongue on my ass. Not to worry, I am very clean. I take great care to be clean everywhere in the morning shower after the toilet. First, do that, show me you crave my ass, and then I will fuck you. This is true. You know it. Startled, she suppressed a nervous laugh, and could feel blood pulsed on her cheeks, not driven by shame, but heated and liberated by lust.

He dropped his pants and underwear, bent over her desk and spread his legs, his ponderous genitals hanging over the edge. And his big beautiful muscled buttocks invited her to show that she indeed wanted what he wanted. Without hesitation, she locked her door, then approached her Übermensch and knelt behind him. “Eat my ass, professor.” Surprised by the subtle aroma of clean leather exuding from his flesh, she moved her mouth closer to meet both their demands.

After that, she was profoundly addicted and craved the ass adoration with someone more than half her age. He had uncovered her erotic predilection, which she had denied herself more often than not. Sucking his ass was a most certain joy, possibly an obsession, something she hankered over daily, even as she knew that Reinhardt would eventually fuck her. “I love how your tongue feels in my ass; it is good,” he said more than once. As for fucking her, she knew that Reinhardt would choose the time and place.

One day, he did not appear in class or in her office and her could have screamed in frustration and longing. At the end of the day, Lou-Ellen, disappointed that Reinhardt had not let her worship him with her expert tongue, she locked her office door and found her way to the college gym, where she could lift weights to her heart’s content. At that hour, there was seldom anyone around. She was in no hurry to pack her car into another traffic jam on slushy streets under a dead sky. Mind-numbing essays waited to be marked on her desk in her downtown apartment. Really, all this talk about overcoming and climbing peaks and strutting about in superior glory didn’t obscure the fact that she was little more than one of those pedagogues to whom Nietzsche scornfully referred as oxen, regardless of her sexual desires. So preoccupied, she didn’t notice that she had walked into the men’s change room. It was deserted, except for Reinhardt, who flexed and admired himself in the long mirror at the end of one row of blue lockers. Stripped to red shorts, his body, still damp from his own muscle building routine and reflecting light, he did indeed appear imposing. She should have left immediately, but the boy and his reflection compelled her to stay.

“Reinhardt! I’m glad to see you.”

“Yes, of course you are. I knew you would be here.”

“Hardly in the men’s changing room.”

Reinhardt returned to the mirror, running a hand along one raised arm, caressing the bicep.

Smiling at to his image in the glass where he also saw his teacher sitting on a bench, Reinhardt smiled, his eyes catching the light.

“You are here because my power compels you. It is inevitable. Once we meet off campus, you will understand, but you’re trapped as long as you stay here. We can’t be free in the college. You will love me passionately, beyond good and evil. We will be a power unit together. Your life will change for evermore. Look how the veins pop up when I do this.”

Taken aback by the insight, Lou-Ellen attempted a rational rebuttal, shifted uncomfortably on the bench, searched her sack for her workout suit, and could not mount an argument. She didn’t really want to. Intellectually, she could mount an argument against Reinhardt and everything he stood for. Her tongue was dry with lust and her cunt moistening. Watching the powerfully muscular youth, she became aware of a weakening in her own mind, and her body silently screeched with a lust for his ass, cock, and power. He spoke the truth about her and her life. She would give him what he needed, for therein lay her liberation and superiority, submitting to his will, which both Reinhardt and she now understood.

Reinhardt now continued posing for his teacher, adroitly changing positions to elicit admiration.

“You may touch me, beloved, and feel my power. It is what you need and I gladly give to you. Together, we will scale the mountains to success and dance on the peaks. And when I fuck and seed you with my power, you will dazzle among the stars.”

She wasn’t shocked, but accepted the truth of her desires. The truth of what he said. Oh, yes, those impressive legs would in time stride across mountain peaks, indifferent to the herds below, which could only look up and be amazed. Submit with pleasure and passion, Lou-Ellen recalled the words from the email. They must leave the change room before they were discovered. He would agree to come home with her and do what he liked. More than just fuck her. Working for him she would be working for him, her master. Of course, philosophically she understood Nietzsche didn’t mean that at all in his concept of sklaven, but she could manipulate his meaning to suit her passions for the right, superior man, and become a sklave for Reinhardt the Übermensch, fulfilling her destiny and potential.

She freely looked up, still choosing of her own free will, so she thought, her body softened, receptive and heated, as her tongue slipped between her partially opened mouth. Her fingers followed the outlines of his muscular thighs and slowly approached the protuberant crotch. Then he spoke in a tone of voice that brooked no disagreement. We are alone. Before anything else, you will now lick the ass of your Übermensch, mein Liebe, to your heart’s content. Her superior student pulled his red shorts down, turned around, his magnificent cock glinting in the mirror, holding her future in its power and penetrating her defences, capturing and controlling. Reinhardt of the beautiful buttocks stepped back, leaned forward, hands on his knees, spread his legs wide, commanded his liberated slave to eat and offered the gift of power and a life transformed.