To the parade

With a finality that surprised even her, she slammed the door on that part of herself that demanded she go back to who she was. If this made her feel so...so right, why stop? She embraced this new part of herself with her entire being, and started walking again, her momentary pause unnoticed by the people around her.

She easily resumed her stride, subtly dodging milling people as she made her way towards the parade, losing herself in those electrifying feelings again. As she walked, she could feel the quivering of her breasts, feel the fabric brushing her sensitive nipples again, sense the shift as a slight breeze fluttered the hem of the shirt upwards, perhaps revealing a hint of her round cheeks to someone behind her. She padded onwards, seemingly oblivious to how her "dress" shifted about her body, yet she could tell, just by how the sun was warming flesh just next to her right areola, just how close it all was.

About a block away, she felt the subtle shift as the frayed, curled material drifted past the edge of her areola for the first time, the sun seemingly gently kissing that hint of rosy pink that was briefly exposed, before the shirt crossed it again. She felt a slight thrill. She knew it would happen soon.

The next few moments, over maybe two dozen strides, felt like eternity, as the shirt teased both her nipple and her mind. With each step, the material drifted infinitesimally closer to her nipple, first teasing hints of her areola, then, finally, failing to cover it completely. Her breathing quickened a bit as the sun kept warming that sliver of pink, resisting the urge to aid the process along, instead relishing in the torment of the wait. It drifted ever closer to her nipple, the fabric eventually snagging against the curled edge. She kept walking, waiting for it to happen, feeling the material teasing her hardened nub even as it slowly stopped resisting.

And then, finally, it happened. As she sidestepped a middle-aged man, the shirt finally gave up it's hold on her nipple. It burst from behind it's confinement, standing proudly in the warmth of the sun, a small, engorged peak atop a quivering mountain of supple breast meat. The shirt, with nothing left to keep it over her breast, bunched together in her cleavage, the entirety of her right breast bared to the evening sun. Julie was, despite her sensitivity, surprised at the suddenness of it, and it took all her willpower to both keep moving like nothing had happened, and suppress the electric tinglings that shot from her nipple to her loins and back.

She kept walking, maintaining that facade of obliviousness, feeling for the first time the eyes starting to follow her, wondering if someone would mention it or not.