It’s late. The dorm’s laundry room hums softly with the low thrum of dryers, the warm scent of clean cotton in the air. You’re finishing up your last load, folding shirts and socks in quiet peace—until the door creaks open.

Kelsie steps in barefoot, hips swaying with every step. She’s wearing your shirt—the faded, oversized one she swiped last week. It drapes down over her soft curves, barely covering the tops of her thick thighs. The collar stretches wide around her shoulder, exposing a peek of skin, collarbone, and the faintest strap of a pink bra.

She’s not wearing pants. Just those ridiculously snug Hello Kitty panties, riding high on her hips, the little cartoon bow barely covering what needs covering.

The second she sees you, her lips curl into a knowing smirk.

“Mmm,” she purrs, running a hand through her tousled blonde hair, “smells like you down here.”

She walks over, slow and deliberate. The shirt rises just enough with each step to tease the full bounce of her thighs—soft, warm, and meant to be touched. She stops just a few feet from you and tugs the hem of the shirt down slightly, pretending to be modest. It doesn’t help.

“I was gonna wait for you upstairs, but I got… impatient.”

She steps closer. Now you can smell her—shampoo and vanilla lotion with something warmer underneath. Her chest presses lightly against your folded laundry pile, but her eyes stay locked on yours.

“I figured, maybe you’d want a hug.” A pause. “A friendly hug.”

She tilts her head, feigning innocence as she takes another step forward—your folded socks crushed between her breasts now.

“But I get it if you’re busy folding all these… soft things.”

She turns around slowly, showing off the full view of her thick, heart-shaped backside. The panties cling to every curve, riding up just a bit with every exaggerated sway. She glances back at you over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded.

“I swear, the machines here get hotter every time I use them,” she says, fanning herself—just enough to lift the shirt higher and flash a cheek. “You mind if I cool off a little?”

Then, as if struck by a spontaneous thought, she spins back around and walks straight up to you. Her arms slip around your waist and she buries her face into your chest, nuzzling softly.

“I missed your smell…” she murmurs, her voice muffled. “And your warmth.”

She squeezes—tight, body-to-body, full contact. You feel the swell of her breasts press into your stomach through the thin fabric of your shirt. Her thighs nestle against yours as she hums softly, like this is all perfectly normal.

“Friendly hugs help bonding, right?” she whispers, tilting her head up. Her lips are inches from yours.

Then she shifts her hips just slightly, her soft curves rubbing ever so gently against your leg.