Campus Belle’s Stolen Videos - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading Campus Belle’s Stolen Videos, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of Campus Belle’s Stolen Videos.
My name is Vivian Laurent, and I teach English.
That afternoon, I was in the middle of my home yoga session when the department chair called. The new hire had arrived, and I needed to handle orientation.
I didn’t even bother showering—just threw on a camisole and yoga pants before rushing over.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of our new English teacher: a six-foot-something Black man who looked more like a linebacker than an educator.
"Hello, I'm Reginald Valentine. You're breathtaking," he said in choppy Mandarin, gripping my hand.
"Thank you," I replied, slipping my fingers free while discreetly assessing him.
My first impressions? Towering. Ripped. And utterly shameless.
His gaze lingered—first on the swell of my cleavage, then lower, tracing the way my yoga pants clung to every curve. It set my teeth on edge.
Sure, I was accustomed to male attention, but this was next-level audacity.
After grabbing the orientation materials, I gave Reginald a quick campus tour en route to his assigned apartment.
"A woman like you must have men lining up, Ms. Laurent," he remarked, stepping closer than necessary.
"I’m married."
For some bizarre reason, that only amped up his interest.
"Then your husband must be hitting that every night?"
"That’s none of your business."
Annoyance prickled my skin. Truth was, with my husband traveling for work, I hadn’t felt that particular brand of bliss in weeks.
"If I were him, I’d never let you out of bed."
"Excuse me?!"
His crude words made my knees buckle mid-step on the staircase. I wobbled, nearly eating concrete.
Of course, Reginald—who’d been openly staring at my ass—caught me effortlessly.
"Easy there," he rumbled.
Next thing I knew, I was crushed against his chest, one of his massive hands splayed on my bare waist while the other slid between my thighs. With one motion, he hauled me up, my front pressed flush against him.
"Ah—! Wh-what are you—?!"
A bolt of white-hot pleasure shot through me. My back arched, toes curling as my legs instinctively clamped around his forearm.
Reginald didn’t release me. "You’re wiped out, Ms. Laurent. Allow me."
He started climbing the stairs, his fingers doing devilish things that made my breath hitch.
"Nnh—stop… don’t—not there—!"
My ovulation week was still days away—when my cravings peaked.
This was torture.
Every nerve sparked, my thighs quivering beyond control.
"Ah—no… I can’t—put me down—!"
That afternoon, I was in the middle of my home yoga session when the department chair called. The new hire had arrived, and I needed to handle orientation.
I didn’t even bother showering—just threw on a camisole and yoga pants before rushing over.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of our new English teacher: a six-foot-something Black man who looked more like a linebacker than an educator.
"Hello, I'm Reginald Valentine. You're breathtaking," he said in choppy Mandarin, gripping my hand.
"Thank you," I replied, slipping my fingers free while discreetly assessing him.
My first impressions? Towering. Ripped. And utterly shameless.
His gaze lingered—first on the swell of my cleavage, then lower, tracing the way my yoga pants clung to every curve. It set my teeth on edge.
Sure, I was accustomed to male attention, but this was next-level audacity.
After grabbing the orientation materials, I gave Reginald a quick campus tour en route to his assigned apartment.
"A woman like you must have men lining up, Ms. Laurent," he remarked, stepping closer than necessary.
"I’m married."
For some bizarre reason, that only amped up his interest.
"Then your husband must be hitting that every night?"
"That’s none of your business."
Annoyance prickled my skin. Truth was, with my husband traveling for work, I hadn’t felt that particular brand of bliss in weeks.
"If I were him, I’d never let you out of bed."
"Excuse me?!"
His crude words made my knees buckle mid-step on the staircase. I wobbled, nearly eating concrete.
Of course, Reginald—who’d been openly staring at my ass—caught me effortlessly.
"Easy there," he rumbled.
Next thing I knew, I was crushed against his chest, one of his massive hands splayed on my bare waist while the other slid between my thighs. With one motion, he hauled me up, my front pressed flush against him.
"Ah—! Wh-what are you—?!"
A bolt of white-hot pleasure shot through me. My back arched, toes curling as my legs instinctively clamped around his forearm.
Reginald didn’t release me. "You’re wiped out, Ms. Laurent. Allow me."
He started climbing the stairs, his fingers doing devilish things that made my breath hitch.
"Nnh—stop… don’t—not there—!"
My ovulation week was still days away—when my cravings peaked.
This was torture.
Every nerve sparked, my thighs quivering beyond control.
"Ah—no… I can’t—put me down—!"
End of Campus Belle’s Stolen Videos Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Campus Belle’s Stolen Videos book page.