Amelia buttoned her shirt up over her chest. She was still naked from the waist down, her panties lying on the pillow at the head of her bed. The cool air tickled her thighs and she squirmed a little, rubbing her bare thighs together.
She was hot and damp, and dragged her palms along the underside of her breasts. She usually had to buy larger shirts to close over her breasts, and she liked to wear jackets to hide the way her nipples would poke little peaks through the fabric of her bras and shirts. Otherwise people tended to stare, more than they already did, eyes fixed on any hint of the crease between her breasts that her shirts revealed.
Tonight, she was going to the library to study, so she buttoned it all the way up. The library was cold, anyway, and when she was alone in the stacks on the lonely fifth floor she didn't like to feel very exposed if a wayward freshman with an exam in the morning happened to wander by.
Sighing, she wriggled into her panties, and then her skirt, and then buttoned a jacket across her breasts, feeling the snug way the buttons fit across the widest point. This was an important paper she had to write, and even if she just wanted to lie back in her bed and drag her fingers over herself, she had to go and find some books so she could back up her arguments.
Later, she would sit in the shower and rub her thumb over her clit, keep rubbing until she was hot and wet and couldn't take it anymore, cumming all over her own hand so she had to wash the juice off with her sponge, or lick it off, swallowing it along with the bathwater.
But, as she slipped her shoes on, she made herself forget about it. Walking across campus in her heels, the muggy evening made her feel warm and sticky all over, not just between her legs. She forgot about it a little -- enough -- by the time she had climbed the stairs up to the top floor. The librarian gave her a long look from behind her glasses, but Amelia ignored it. Probably she was one of the few people who had come in here at that time of night,
At least no one was really ever up here. She could spread all her books and things out on a table, kick her shoes off, wander between the stacks in her bare feet with her toes digging into the carpet.
She was bent over the table, her skirt riding up along her thighs, when she heard the door open near the elevators. She didn't turn around, though, just stretched a little farther to drag her highlighter across an important point in one of her own textbooks. It was only when she realized she wasn't hearing footsteps that she thought maybe there was a lost freshman standing near the doors, wondering where the science books were and too afraid to walk out and find them.
Sometimes Amelia thought she should get paid for all the directions she gave while she was here. She shook her head and turned around, her knee grinding into the chair she was bracing herself on. One of her feet fell off and she let it drop to the floor to make herself a bit steadier.
The only person standing in the doorway was a young girl, eighteen or nineteen, bending over to take her shoes off. They were high sneakers, almost boots, and undoing the laces was taking her a while.
"You don't have to take your shoes off," Amelia told her, twisting around all the way to rest the curve of her ass against the table. She could feel a pen poking into her, but just rested her hands on the table, her highlighter still gripped in one. "I just do that. What books are you looking for? I could probably help."
The girl just smiled and wriggled one foot free of her shoe. She had white-blond hair that was falling into her face, some of it sticking against frosted pink lips. She had on a button-up shirt, like Amelia's, but it was unbuttoned all the way to her stomach. As far as Amelia could tell, she had a pale-flesh-colored camisole underneath, but there wasn't nearly as much to cover up as there was on Amelia.
"My name is Candice," she said, tugging off her sock. She carefully stuffed it into one of her white sneakers and started working on the other one. "Are you here to study?"
"Yes," Amelia said. She shifted her weight a little bit, her skirt twisting around her thighs. She should probably tug it down and smooth it out, but she was too self-conscious, Candice's dark eyes dragging all over her. "My name is Amelia," she added.
Candice smiled and popped her other foot free. When she peeled off her second sock, Amelia saw she had a black tattoo curling around her ankle, free-drawn wisps of lines. Candice noticed her looking and smirked, bending over to trace the design with her fingertip. Amelia gulped. She wasn't that far from the door and she could see straight down Candice's shirt. It didn't look like she was wearing a bra and her creamy breasts, the same eggshell color as her camisole, were rubbing together as she moved.
"I was really drunk," Candice said, touching her tattoo. She put her shoes down next to the door and walked forward, standing straight up now. She walked so that her thighs rubbed against each other, and Amelia felt the need to press her knees together.