Who Wins In Plunger Cameraman Vs Scientist Cameraman?

Kiran York descended from his home in the mountains to cancel his engagement, only to have his fiancee immediately drag him off to the city hall to grab his marriage license. Also, she’s gorgeous?!No. His wife’s good looks would not sway him. He must divorce her! He refused to become a kept man!At his declaration, his wife very calmly asked, “How many children do you want?”Kiran screamed, “I’m the Miracle Doctor! Don’t you dare defile me!”

“What did I promise would happen if you threw another punch, Artemis?” Professor Lucian's silky tone hardened into a dark fascinating baritone. “Let me see…” Artemis licked his lips with a menacing smile, his cold dark eyes piercing through the professor's oceanic ones. “You said you'll bring me to my knees but something tells me I'll do more than just begging.” The air in the room shifted as the older man took a step closer. “Hit me, Artemis,” Lucian took another step closer. “Every second you hesitate, your punishment doubles.” Artemis lips curled in a smirk as he stepped closer. He raised his hand slowly to the professor's lips but the older man caught it before it could make contact. An amused chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Twenty seconds gone, Professor. You better punish me hard,” he smirked. ******* Artemis McAlester was feared for two reasons. His ability to break anything and his power to own everything. Kingston College was his playground until a red-haired professor with oceanic blue eyes and a dangerous intolerance for spoiled bullies. Not only did Lucian defy every rule he set, but he was also the one thing Artemis couldn’t own. And that defiance? It was the sexiest thing of all. Except Lucian wasn't someone he could break. To own the blue-eyed professor, Artemis would have to do the unthinkable. Submit. Break. Let himself be owned. As long as the only thing between them was desire and pure unadulterated hate.

Noah Kline is the picture of daytime purity. He is a shy philosophy student who wears glasses and shrinks under Dr. Alexander Elliott's piercing gray stare during ethics lectures. His heart races as he imagines those commanding hands bending him over the podium. At night, he turns into Nyx, the club's dirtiest pole dancer. His body is oiled and shining, his hips grind against steel in a way that makes cocks throb below. He drops into a slow, dirty split that makes cocks throb below. With his thighs spread wide around the pole, he rolls his pelvis in wet, teasing circles. His thong is soaked and clinging to his leaking erection while men stuff hundreds into his garter and fingers graze his balls. When Noah needs money for school, he gets a private VIP gig. He climbs the pole in a tiny thong and a glittering harness. He bends back and slides his fingers inside the waistband to tease his own hole on stage, moaning softly as the crowd cheers. Then the lights catch a familiar face: Professor Elliott, coming out of the shadows, his suit clean and his eyes black with wild hunger. Elliott rushes onto the stage and slams Noah's chest against the cold pole. "Daytime little mouse can't meet my eyes," he growls, shoving his knee between Noah's thighs to rub against his sore cock. "But here you are, dripping and begging strangers to break this tight hole?" Rough hands pull the harness aside, and Elliott's fingers go between Noah's cheeks, circling his entrance before pushing two thick fingers inside and curling them to hit his prostate hard.

I've traveled to Southgate to attend a water-splashing festival. A cheeky kid, who's about eight years old, keeps spraying the back of my head and my ears with water ejected from her high-pressure water gun. Half of my body is soon drenched in water. That's when I berate the kid and tell her not to aim her gun at my face. She doesn't bother stopping. On the contrary, she even has the gall to spray more water right in my face. I feel the cold water spritzing into my left eye. The pain is so intense that I can't even open my eyes. To make things worse, that kid is even howling with laughter while raising her gun proudly. "Look, Dad! He's all soggy and wet, like a limp noodle! This is fun!" The kid's father merely watches from the side. Not only does he not offer an apology to me, but he also records the whole thing on his phone. "Hey, my daughter is washing your eyes for you for free! This is an honor that no one else can ever receive, you know! Why are you acting like a complete wuss?" I swipe the liquid off my face before drawing to my feet and yelling at the crowd around me. "There's strong acid contained inside that kid's water gun! Just now, she burned my eye with it!"

Seven years with a photographer, and I don't have a single decent photo of myself. "I only shoot landscapes, not people," my boyfriend, Dwayne Norton, always tells me. He even claims he broke up with his ex because she kept forcing him to take her picture. So, for seven years, I play nice. I never ask and never push. Until today, when I'm scrolling through social media and see a post from my influencer best friend, Aviana Reed. "My personal photographer has been shooting me for seven years. Every single shot is a masterpiece!" In the comments, there's a reply, "It's an honor to shoot my muse." The profile picture is pitch black. The tone is so familiar it leaves me completely numb. He doesn't hate shooting people. He just hates shooting me. Dwayne, since there's no room for me in your lens, then this time, there's no room for you in my world either.

Liam and Julie were in war. He was an arrogant, sexy post-graduate student in science. She, was her unfortunate project teammate. They hated each other. At least that's what they thought.