Secret Life of the Campus Belle

For the rush, I said yes when my boyfriend dared me to wear something... adventurous in public.

The quiet buzz faded into background noise as I checked the crowd—no stares, no whispers. My shoulders relaxed.

Then the security scanner screamed as I walked through.

My breath hitched.

The officer glanced at his monitor, cheeks flushing crimson.

Before I could react, he dragged me into a side room, shoved me against the wall, and growled, "Strip. Now."

I'm Natalie Roland, a BU sophomore.

Pretty? Sure. But somehow, no guys ever made a move. As the unspoken campus goddess, they worshipped from afar—clueless about the hunger beneath my sweet-girl smile.

Then came him.

Older. Not rich. Not tall. Not even handsome.

People thought I'd been scammed.

Joke's on them—we were cut from the same filthy cloth.

Our first meeting? Midnight. Me in lace and poor decisions, strutting down empty streets. The risk was the point—every exposed inch electric with danger.

Then: click.

I whirled toward the sound.

There, half-hidden in shadows—a man with a phone, flash still glowing.

My coat snapped shut. I bolted.

"Relax, killer." He caught my wrist, spinning me around. "Just admiring the view."

I yanked free. "Delete those. Now."

His grin widened. "Or what? You'll report me?" He swiped his screen open. "Funny... these look awfully consensual."

Dozens of thumbnails filled the display. Not just tonight—weeks of me. Touching myself. Posing. Enjoying it.