I found an empty table near the window, the plastic surface still sticky from someone's spilled soda. I set my tray down and lowered myself onto the bench, wincing as the hard seat pressed against my sore thighs. The ache between my legs was a dull, warm throb now, like a secret I carried with me. I could feel the slickness against my panties, the way my body still felt open and used. I bit my lip, adjusting my skirt, but the fabric was bunched and damp.
I reached for my fork, my hand trembling slightly. The tray held a sad-looking sandwich and a carton of milk. I was starving, but my stomach felt tight and fluttery at the same time. I peeled back the plastic wrap, the smell of processed meat filling my nose.
The bench across from me creaked. I looked up, and three girls had slid into the booth, their bodies filling the space. They were all looking at me, their eyes moving over my face, my chest, my open top where I'd missed a button. I felt heat rise to my cheeks and smiled, grateful for the company.
"You're the new girl, right?" the one with the ponytail asked. She had sharp, dark eyes and a thin smile. Her voice was casual, friendly.
I nodded, my mouth dry. "Yeah, I just transferred. I'm Elena."
"We heard," the girl next to her said. She had short, choppy hair and a silver ring through her nose. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, and her eyes dropped to my chest again. "We heard you're really friendly."
Something in the way she said it made my stomach flip. Not bad, exactly. Just... warm. Like they already knew me. I liked that. I liked that word — friendly. It meant I was doing something right.
"I try to be," I said, my voice breathy. I picked up my sandwich, ready to take a bite, but the first girl reached across the table and touched my wrist.
Her fingers were cool against my skin. I froze, the sandwich inches from my lips.
"Don't eat yet," she said softly. "We want to talk to you."
I set the sandwich down, my heart beating faster. "Okay."
Her fingers traced up my arm, slow and deliberate. Goosebumps rose in their wake. I watched her hand move, fascinated, as her thumb brushed the inside of my elbow. It felt nice. Soothing. I let out a small breath.
"See?" she said to the others, not taking her eyes off me. "She doesn't pull away. She's so nice."
"Very nice," the short-haired girl agreed. She reached out too, her hand landing on my knee under the table. I flinched, but only because it was unexpected. Her palm was warm through my skirt. She squeezed gently, her fingers pressing into my thigh.
I looked at her, confused but not scared. Her eyes were steady on mine, a small smile on her lips.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to. But she was being friendly. They both were. I didn't want to seem rude.
"Good girl," the ponytail girl said, and her hand slid up my arm to my shoulder. Then higher, her fingers brushing the collar of my top. I held my breath as she found the gap where the button had come undone. Her fingers slipped inside.
I gasped softly. Her fingertips touched my collarbone, then moved lower, tracing the edge of my bra. The lace was thin, the fabric of my top stretched taut across my breasts. Her touch was light, almost questioning.
"You have such a nice body," she murmured, as if it were a fact. "You don't try to hide it, do you?"
I didn't know how to answer. I just stared at her, my lips parted, my chest rising and falling faster.
The short-haired girl's hand moved higher on my thigh, her fingers creeping under the hem of my skirt. I felt the cool air on my skin, then her warm palm against my bare thigh. I squeezed my legs together instinctively, but she didn't pull back. She just kept her hand there, still and heavy.
"Relax," she whispered.
I tried. I forced my thighs to loosen, and her fingers slid higher, stroking the sensitive skin. I whimpered, the sound escaping before I could stop it.
"She's so responsive," the ponytail girl said, and her hand pushed deeper into my top, her palm flattening over my breast. I felt my nipple harden against the lace of my bra. She must have felt it too, because she smiled. "Look at that. She likes it."
"Let me see," the third girl said. She'd been quiet until now, watching from behind a curtain of dark hair. She had glasses, round and wire-rimmed, and a serious expression. She leaned forward and reached for my top, tugging it open wider. The fabric gaped, exposing the thin lace of my bra, the curve of my breast.
I looked down at myself, at the way they were all staring at my chest, and felt a flush of something warm and confusing. Not embarrassment. Something else. Something that made my thighs press together again, seeking pressure.
"Take it off," the ponytail girl said, her voice still casual, still friendly.
I blinked. "What?"
"Your top. Take it off. We want to see you."
I hesitated, looking around the cafeteria. The tables near us were empty, but there were students everywhere — laughing, eating, talking. No one was looking at us. No one was paying attention. But still, the idea of taking my top off in the middle of lunch felt wrong.
But they were being so nice. They wanted to see me. That meant they liked me.
I reached up with trembling fingers and pulled the thin cotton over my head. The air hit my skin, cool and sharp. I shivered, my arms crossing over my chest out of habit.
"No," the ponytail girl said gently, pulling my arms down. "Don't hide."
I let her move me. My hands fell to my sides, and I sat there, topless, in nothing but my thin lace bra. The cups were sheer, my nipples dark and hard behind the translucent fabric. I felt exposed. Naked. But their eyes on me were warm, hungry, and that made something inside me loosen.
"So pretty," the glasses girl breathed. She reached out and cupped my breast through the lace, her thumb brushing over my nipple. I gasped, my back arching slightly. The sensation was sharp, electric. My nipple peaked even more, straining against the fabric.
She did it again, slower this time, and I moaned — a soft, helpless sound.
"She's so wet for us," the short-haired girl said, her hand still between my thighs. Her fingers crept higher, pressing against the crotch of my panties through my skirt. I could feel how soaked the fabric was, how my body was responding without my permission. "Fuck, you can feel it through the cloth."
I closed my eyes, my head falling back. This was too much. But it felt so good. Their hands all over me, their voices soft and approving. I had never felt so wanted.
"Look at me," the ponytail girl said.
I opened my eyes. She was leaning in close, her face inches from mine. Her hand was still under my top, cupping my breast, her thumb rubbing my nipple in slow circles.
"Do you like this, Elena?" she asked, her voice a low whisper.
I nodded, my lips trembling. "Yes."
"Say it."
"I... I like it."
She smiled, a real smile, warm and almost kind. "Good. We like you too."
Then she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.
The kiss was soft, surprising. Her mouth was warm and tasted like cherry lip gloss. I froze for a second, then my eyes fluttered closed and I kissed her back. I had never kissed a girl before. It was different from kissing a boy — softer, slower, more deliberate. Her tongue touched my lower lip, and I parted for her without thinking.
Behind me, I felt the short-haired girl's fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down. I broke the kiss with a gasp as the fabric slid over my hips, past my thighs, pooling around my ankles. The air hit my bare cunt, and I felt the coolness against my slick folds.
"Spread your legs," the short-haired girl murmured.
I did. I spread them wide, my feet sliding apart on the sticky floor. The bench was hard and cold beneath my bare ass. I felt so exposed, so open, but their hands were all over me, grounding me, making me feel safe.
The glasses girl leaned down and pressed her lips to my nipple through the lace of my bra. I gasped, my hands flying to her head, tangling in her hair. Her mouth was hot, her tongue wet against the thin fabric. She sucked, and I cried out, the sensation too much and not enough.
She pulled back and hooked her fingers into the center of my bra, tugging it down. My breasts spilled out, heavy and full, my nipples dark and swollen. She took one into her mouth without hesitation, and I moaned loud enough that someone nearby might have heard.
I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except her tongue on my nipple, the way she sucked and licked and bit gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. The ponytail girl was still kissing me, her tongue in my mouth, and the short-haired girl's fingers found my cunt, sliding through my wetness, circling my clit.
I broke the kiss again, gasping for air. "Please," I whimpered, not knowing what I was begging for.
"Please what?" the ponytail girl asked, her voice teasing.
"I don't know. Just... please."
The short-haired girl pushed a finger inside me. I bucked, my hips lifting off the bench. She was slow, deliberate, curving her finger up, searching. When she found the spot that made me see stars, she pressed hard, and I screamed — a muffled, breathless sound.
"There it is," she said, pleased. She added a second finger, stretching me, fucking me with slow, deep strokes. My wetness coated her hand, dripping onto the bench. I could hear it, the wet sound of her fingers moving inside me.
The glasses girl switched to my other nipple, sucking hard, and the ponytail girl took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. I held on tight, my whole body trembling, on the edge of something huge.
"Come for us," the short-haired girl whispered into my ear, her fingers pumping faster. "Show us how friendly you really are."
That was all it took. My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, my cunt clenching around her fingers, my body arching off the bench. I moaned, long and loud, my vision going white. I rode her hand, grinding down, desperate for more, until the pleasure ebbed and I collapsed against the back of the booth, panting.
They pulled back slowly, their hands leaving my body. I felt empty, cold. My bra was still pushed down, my top somewhere on the bench. I was completely exposed, and I didn't care. I just lay there, catching my breath, my skin flushed and damp.
"You're so sweet," the ponytail girl said, stroking my hair. "Such a good girl."
I smiled, my eyes half-closed. "Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for being so nice to me."
They exchanged glances, something unreadable passing between them. Then the glasses girl helped me pull my bra back up, buttoned my top, smoothed my skirt. The short-haired girl handed me my panties, and I slipped them on, the fabric instantly wet against my sore cunt.
"We'll see you around, Elena," the ponytail girl said, sliding out of the booth. The others followed, leaving me alone at the table with my untouched sandwich and my trembling legs.
I watched them go, their heads close together, whispering. I felt a bloom of warmth in my chest. I had made friends. Real friends. They liked me. They touched me, kissed me, made me feel good. That was what friends did, right?
My stomach growled, louder this time. I picked up my sandwich and took a huge bite, chewing slowly, the ache between my legs a pleasant reminder of their attention. I had never felt so full.