THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM
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.