Krysta silenced her phone and set it on the coffee table, alongside a tall glass of ice water and a few magazines. She'd purchased a glossy green silicone phone case, partly for protection (she had a long history of bad luck with electronics), and partly because she actually found the sound of the hard plastic on the wood surface jarring, particularly when it vibrated. Alicia had given her grief about it, but it was a small price to pay for fixing one of the minor annoyances in her life.
Sitting at the edge of the couch, Krysta removed her shoes and socks. Her size five feet, like most things on her body with two notable exceptions, were rather petite, though she personally considered them her second-best feature. In the past, she almost considered them dainty, though they'd developed callouses from the daily walks to campus. She worked her soles with her thumbs. It felt good, even though she had to maneuver around her breasts, which compressed between her arms hindering her efforts.
"Ugh, so much walking today," she said aloud, with a trace Vietnamese accent.
She did not particularly love walking to campus, but that combined with twice-a-week training sessions with Alicia kept her weight in check. Otherwise, with her bizarre metabolism, she would have gained half her weight in tits by now.
Krysta unbuttoned the top three buttons on her form-fitting maroon sweater, exposing a hint of her bra. It was warm in the living room, and she laid on the couch fanning herself with a magazine. She flipped through the pages, scanning a few articles and blasting through a simple crossword puzzle, with occasional breaks to check her posture. Still warm, she put away the magazine and peeled off her sweater.
With her scoop neck t-shirt providing more ventilation, Krysta arched into a stretch, pressing her chest out and reaching her hands high above her head. After being cramped in a study room for several hours, being in her own home with more than a few feet of personal space felt amazing. Dropping her arms to her sides, she rotated her shoulders while keeping her spine straight. The stretches tested the resolve of her t-shirt, which pulled away from her skin, exposing the creamy skin of her belly.
Remembering her water, Krysta took a long drink, then ran the cool glass across her cheek and down her neck. Drops of condensation settled into the crevasse of her cleavage, sending a chill up her back. She plucked out an ice cube from the glass and ran it across the tops of her breasts, until they glistened with moisture. She then put the melting cube to her mouth, enveloping it with her lips and tongue, then drawing it out, giving it a final lick as she pulled it away.
Setting down her glass, Krysta placed her hands on her knees, gradually sliding them up her thighs to her waist, where she took hold of the bottom hem of her shirt. In a smooth motion, she drew the t-shirt up and off her body. She fastidiously folded it on in front of her and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Now in only her bra and jeans, Krysta tossed her hair and adjusted her glasses, all the while savoring the feeling of the warm air hugging her skin.
Finally, Krysta inspected her breasts, which filled every bit of space available in the woefully overmatched 34HH demi cup bra. She guided her fingers along the swell of her bust and pressed inwards, causing the exposed flesh to rise like bread dough. She did this several times, each time progressively slower and pressing slightly more. She tugged at the thick shoulder straps.
"Time for you to go."
Krysta reached behind her back and unhooked her brassiere . The strained garment slackened and she tilted forward, letting it slide off her body and onto the floor. She rocked side to side, letting her breasts sway hypnotically, before hugging them tightly into to her body. They flowed through her hands as she relaxed, and she gasped as her fingers ran across her nipple, having not intended to do so. With her breasts hanging free again, Krysta traced the swell of her chest, biting her lower lip and emitting an affirmative moan as her fingertips circled her aureole.
Finally, she hoisted her boobs upwards, hugging them to her chest and letting the fifteen pounds of bosom settle in her cradled arms. She repeated the maneuver a second, and third time, getting slower and more deliberate with each pass. Her massage escalated to a slow, deliberate kneading. Eyes clenched shut, she moaned with every pass, caressing her abundance. She gasped, hugging them tightly to her chest and lingering in the moment, before exhaling and releasing them a final time
Krysta opened her eyes, lowered her glasses, and delivered a seductive smile to the camera mounted above the television. "See you next week."
She reached over for the remote and pointed it at the red light on the camera, offering a final wave and ending the video stream. The red light disappeared, and Krysta sighed. It was 4pm on the dot, and she sat quietly for a full minute before texting Whitley.
Through the blinds, Krysta saw a large shadow pass by the window, followed by Whitley ducking in carrying armfuls of groceries and a plastic carry-out container from the university dining hall.
"Took you long enough," she said, exhaling a puff of smoke outside before stepping in. "What is up with the heat? It's hot as hell in here."
"Sorry," Krysta said, heading over to the thermostat and lowering it ten degrees. "I crank the heat when I'm on cam. It's easier to take my clothes off when I actually feel like I have a good reason."
"Makes sense. Where's Alicia?"
"Still in the basement working. She does a live cosplay work session stream from one to three on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She will not re-surface until dinner around five, which conveniently works around my 3:30 PM Thursday cam show."
"So, is the living room the new webcam room now?"
"Until I build a mother-in-law suite, yes. I will share my calendar with you so you can plan ahead," Krysta replied, spraying the coffee table with surface cleaner and wiping it down. Whitley thought about asking why but decided she didn't want to know.
"It's funny, Alicia shared her calendar with me this morning. You two stay pretty organized, huh?"
"Routine is everything. Working From Home 101. It also keeps us from murdering each other." Krysta slid into her t-shirt and tossed her bra up the stairs. "I actually like the afternoon show. It beats the 11pm Tuesday West coast show. I swear I almost fell asleep during one of those once."
"I'm a little surprised there's anyone watching that late."
"I have a European fan base that needs attention. I will even broadcast at 6:00 AM a few times a month for my Southeast Asian fan base. My subscribers get a compilation video every month, along with high-quality photos, and live video sessions. I've learned to do a lot of it on my own, but I also work with a couple different photographers, as well as Percy, who helps with my and Alicia's sites.
The name rang a bell in recesses of Whitley's mind. "Wait, 'Percy?' Isn't he the guy who—"
"Alicia's 'gentleman caller,' yes. He is also the web and AV manager for NU Athletics. If you have not meet him yet, you will soon. He maintains the Athletics website, as well as the equipment used for recording games. How was your meeting, by the way?"
"The head coach hates me, the assistant coach loves me, and the Writing Center wants me, but can't afford me. They were nice enough to buy my lunch, though."
"I am surprised they could afford that. I assume you ate at the cafeteria, then?"
"Yup. Eight bucks for all-you-can-eat. Can't beat that. Back to what you were saying, I'm a little curious to meet Alicia's booty call."
"He is a nice guy and pretty smart. Probably not what you would ex—"
Whitley's phone buzzed in her pocket. "Hold on, a sec," she said, answering the call. "Hello?...speaking...uh huh...Really? How did you even get this number?...Ah, of course...I'd prefer not to, but I will...Fine, but no pictures and you buy me breakfast...Sounds good, see you tomorrow at 9." Whitley winced as she ended the call, shaking her head frustration. "Jesus, I told myself I would never do this again."
"I recommend the Corner Grill for breakfast. I have seen at least a couple sex workers in there the morning after."
Whitley sparked the bowl in her hand, taking a long draw and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Ha, I could be so lucky. This gig doesn't even pay. The local newspaper wants to do a piece on the new assistant coach. Not the full-time alumni assistant coach actually hired for her coaching qualifications, mind you, but rather the seven-foot part-time coach who got booted from the USA volleyball team for showing up baked to training camp." Whitley offered a hit to Krysta, who declined.
"I take it you plan to pre-game the interview as well?" Krysta asked as Whitley took another hit.
"I always do," Whitley croaked, before exhaling. "When's dinner, by the way?"