Sexy Teacher Male

When Evelyn Foster brought a man home for the ninety-eighth time, I still thoughtfully placed two cups of tea on the nightstand along with three boxes of condoms in different flavors. Seeing how meek I looked, the man let out a scornful snort. "No wonder women all want to marry men like you. Only men like you can put up with this kind of humiliation." I smiled and said nothing. I lowered my head and looked at the message my foster sister Claire had sent five minutes ago. [The family's financial crisis has been resolved. You don't need to sacrifice yourself anymore. Once you divorce Evelyn, we'll get married.] I replied with a single word. [Alright.] Then I had my lawyer draft a divorce agreement and send it to where Evelyn and I lived. I just forgot to tell my foster sister one thing. I would divorce Evelyn. But I would not marry her, either.

I paid Curtis Robinett 200 thousand dollars a month to be a standby blood donor. My fiancée, Eden May, thought it was a waste of money. So she reassigned him to work part-time as her personal assistant instead. When Curtis accidentally submitted my marriage license appointment as a divorce filing for the 99th time, I kicked open Eden's office door. She didn't even look up. "We're in no rush to get married anyway," she said calmly. "Curtis is just careless. That's how he's always been." Later, in the emergency room, I called Eden while doctors rushed around me, my throat shredded from yelling. "Where's my emergency medical kit?" I rasped. "What did you do with it?" Curtis answered instead, his voice warm and smug. "You mean the expensive leather bag you kept in the cabinet? I swapped it out for a large party snack box. It holds everything just fine, and honestly, it looks a lot more cheerful. "Ms. May's brother and sister-in-law are both career soldiers. Your bag didn't really match that image, so I thought this would be more appropriate." My vision dimmed. My hands shook as I told Curtis to come donate blood. Eden laughed softly and cut in, "Stop pretending you're anemic just to get attention. If you're actually sick, deal with it. You're at the hospital; I think the doctors are fully capable of keeping you alive. Curtis is afraid of needles. He's not coming." Then, she hung up. She didn't appear until the surgical lights finally went dark. "Curtis had me bring you chocolate milk," she said. "It's good for recovery. It's not that he didn't want to help. He just faints at the sight of blood." She placed a settlement waiver on my bed. "I was the one who told him not to come. That 200-thousand-dollar monthly salary is his pay as my assistant. It has nothing to do with you. You didn't have to call the police for that. Sign this, and I'll go get the marriage license with you." I thought of what I had just seen in the operating room. Eden's brother, Harvey May, was bleeding out on the operating table, waiting for a lifesaving drug that never came. In the final moments of surgery, he could do nothing but lie there and die. I looked at her and said evenly, "You're the immediate family. It's not my place to sign that."

The mother of Mr. Burr, the hospital director, was critically ill and needed emergency surgery. My wife, wanting to help her beloved crush, Cedric Grey, take the spotlight, deliberately kept the surgery time from me. By the time I finally arrived—late, Mr. Burr stopped me from entering the operating room and scolded me harshly for being unprofessional and unethical. Once I realized what my wife was doing, I handed the lead surgeon position over to her beloved crush. “Well, since you're so eager to shine,” I said coldly, “you’d better not screw it up.” The nurses tried to talk me out of it. They said I was being impulsive, that this was a rare chance to prove myself. However, none of them knew that I was the only doctor in the entire country capable of performing this rare and complex heart valve surgery. Even if Cedric managed to buy time with some miracle drug and made it look like the patient was improving, without my diagnosis and surgical skills, the operation was doomed to fail. And when that happens, he’d be held responsible. As for my wife, her blind favoritism would come back to haunt her.

My wife, Sandra Wren, had suggested taking our daughter, Annie, to a childcare center, saying that it would be better for our daughter. I didn't think much of it and handed her a card. I went on a business trip for half a month. Watching the daily charges on my card, I felt nothing but satisfaction. Until my best friend suddenly sent me a video. The location tag was at the childcare center. "Dude. Why is your wife staying after class for 'extra lessons'? Is it more exciting in the classroom?" In the video, Sandra's lace underwear hung around her ankles. The floor was littered with used condoms. The tables in the childcare classroom creaked noisily. I immediately called her. On the phone, I could faintly hear her suppressed yet excited breathing. She said, slightly panting, "Honey, I'm flying a kite with Annie. Did you miss us?" I let out a cold laugh. "Yes. I missed you so much, I came back overnight. Which classroom are you in? I'll bring you condoms."

As I washed my wife's underthings, I discovered semen stains. It had been over two months since I last did it with Winona Sundown. She always looked down on me for not lasting long and being as boring as a dead fish. I silently accepted her criticism and mockery. That was until I saw a stranger messaging Winona with a hotel room number. The hotel just so happened to be my workplace, Pinnacle Hotel. The room number was 8102. I camped by the room, waiting to catch my prey. However, the woman at the door was a young and sensual woman. Unbeknownst to me, I had fallen into Winona's trap long ago...

Studying abroad can be incredibly lonely at times. That night, I was in my room, indulging in a little treat for myself, when my best friend suddenly burst through the door. "Doing it yourself is no fun. Come on. There's a super cool cabaret show going on. Let's go see it together!" On stage, my friend was reclining in a chair behind the curtain, with two strong-looking men on top of her. "Come on. Join us for a group dance..."

To defuse the bomb strapped to the hostage, I had no choice—I cut off all her clothes. My clueless new wife, Dana Poole, blasted it online. She cried as she faced me. "Why not at least leave her underwear on? You were saving her, I get it—but did you have to take everything? Doesn't a girl's dignity matter? With cameras everywhere, how is she supposed to live after this? You couldn't even cover her up?" The backlash exploded. The unit benched me to calm things down. So I stopped caring. I followed procedure, no improvising, no extra effort. Then one day, at the busiest mall in the city, Dana's mom got strapped into a brand-new linked bomb. This time, the whole unit panicked.

Three years ago, my girlfriend suffered severe post-traumatic stress after saving my life. She later had a speech impairment that kept her from speaking normally. To cure her, I take on three jobs a day and survive on only bread and water just to come up with the money for her therapy and speech recovery treatment. I happen to be working part-time as a cocktail party waiter one evening when I see my girlfriend, who supposedly has a speech impairment, standing in a fancy dress and being fawned over by the crowd around her. Everyone is calling her "Ms. Holden" and "the heiress of the Holden family". But how can an orphan like her possibly be an heiress?

"Please, I'm begging you… Give it to me… I feel so itchy down there… It's so itchy that I'm dying… Sir, please…" In the dimly-lit stairwell, I can only stare at the flushed cheeks of the beautiful woman who lives next door. That's when I feel my heart beating loudly. I approach her, hoping to lend her a helping hand. But I'm feeling a little hesitant at the same time. The next thing I know, she spreads her legs right in front of me all of a sudden. As I stare at her wet entrance, I can no longer hold myself back…

Following an army mission, I ended up spending three years in a coma. After regaining consciousness, I request a temporary leave from the hospital. I sneak over to the army base where my wife, Major Alicia Connor, is stationed. With my heart bursting with joy, I prepare to give her a surprise—only to spot her on the training grounds, cradled in the arms of another man while he does his squats. The newly recruited soldiers cheer them on, saying, "Kiss her! Kiss her!" I figure they're just joking around, but Alicia proceeds to kiss the man without any hesitation. Still clinging to hope, I tell the soldier on guard to tell Alicia to come out and see me. Instead, it's that man, Steven Greene, who shows up. He gets the other soldiers to press me in the mud, snarling menacingly, "He's the monster who kept stalking Alicia three years ago and took advantage of her when she was drunk!" He stomps on the bouquet of asters I bring with me, driving them into the mud as well. "How dare a scar-faced cripple like you set your sights on Alicia? She's the youngest female major in the history of the army! "I'm going to make it clear to you today that Alicia isn't someone a loser like you can get any ideas about!" Blood sputters from my mouth as they give me a good thrashing. The bones in my already injured leg split and fractured even more. But what Steven doesn't know is the fact that, without me, Alicia can't even remain in the army, let alone be a major.