I awoke feeling supremely confident and, in retrospect, I suppose this should have been a warning. The morning was bright and sunny and hot—too hot for my own liking. I showered and generally took my morning slow and easy.

Today was a day off from work and could be spent however I wanted to; I had no commitments and was free and easy (I like days like this).

So, as I sat eating breakfast, dressed only in a T-shirt, the doorbell rang, and I got up to answer it and saw the postman waiting. He had a parcel (for my flatmate) that required a signature for delivery, so I opened the door, signed for the package, and took it from him, hugging it to myself.

As I said, "Cheerio," I noticed his eyes were not looking at my face but somewhat south of it, and then I noticed how much the T-shirt had bunched up over the parcel in front of me, beneath my breasts.

Uh-oh—warning signal! I turned, went back inside, and checked my reflection in the hall mirror, and sure enough, there was my trimmed pussy showing below the T-shirt’s hem, which had lifted up as I held the package.

“Oh great,” I thought, not even 9 o’clock, and already I’ve flashed the postman.

I returned to my breakfast and was aware of how flushed I felt, and how turned on I began to feel. By the time I’d finished eating, I’d already had a rough plan for my day: fun with a capital F!

Now, I have all sorts of clothes and hardly throw any away; they tend to migrate to the back of the wardrobe, and I knew I had a certain dress just right for today’s activity. Rummaging soon turned it up, and I stood holding it against myself in the mirror. Perfect.

This dress was given to me when I was only 17, almost 6 years ago, but what I loved about it was the lightness of it. The cloth was really silky and lightweight, almost gossamer. Its colour was lilac, and the whole dress buttoned down the front from a sweetheart neckline to the hemline just above my knees. This was a dress for hot days like today.

The T-shirt went flying over the bed, and I slipped on the dress that I hadn’t worn for six years. I put on a pair of white, high-heeled, strappy sandals, then I stood in front of the full-length mirror to see the results, only to realise I’d grown a bit in six years.

For one thing, my bust size had increased; that much was very obvious. 36C was shoehorned into a dress that I’d just filled as a 34B at seventeen. Seen the Wonderbra ad? Yeah? Well, I think you get the picture. The buttons were straining, to say the least, and little gaps were showing between them.

At my sides, the seams had creases running from the side along the outside edge of my breasts and across my nipples, which I could see outlined in the material.

From below my boobs, the rest of the dress flared out all the way down to the hem, which was now much higher than my knees. Had I grown that much?

I held the hem and lifted my hands out sideways and watched the dress become a huge fan. I knew then why I’d loved it as a teenager. Now? Things hadn’t changed a bit; it still felt great being almost in it.

I was anxious to be on my way, so I grabbed a small purse with a shoulder strap and headed downstairs for the door. I was fascinated by the way the dress flared out as I went down the stairs, just from that gentle updraught. This was going to be great! I got out before I had second thoughts!

Leaving the shade of the house out into the street, I was amazed at just how hot it was. I got to my car and got in, and got out twice as quick—the seats were red-hot against the backs of my thighs and bottom.

I reached into the back seats, aware of how the dress rode up at the back in doing this. I gasped as my breasts touched the hot seatbacks; I could easily feel the heat through the material. I got a newspaper and laid it over the seat base and got in.

The drive to the town’s main shopping district was pleasant, and the breeze through the window was lovely. I kept running my fingers through my hair, allowing cool air around my neck and shoulders. I was excited inside at the prospect of the fun I was going to have at the big shopping mall wearing this outfit.

I also planned on visiting several shops and finding some poor, unsuspecting male shop assistant to help me. I know it’s cruel to do it, but I love being a tease to them. I make it a goal to try and get them to come in their pants.

There was one shop in particular I planned on hitting - a shoe shop where assistants put the shoes on your feet for you. I love the way their ears go red when they see what’s up my skirt!

All these thoughts were going through my head during the drive, and I was getting just a little damp in anticipation.

I pulled into the car park and found a space some distance from the buildings. I closed the windows, got out, relocked the door, and slammed it to. Then, as is normal, I butted my bum against the door to get the lock to engage properly.

I’ve done this move so often it’s second nature. I was about to put the keys in the purse and walk away when I came to an abrupt stop; the keys flew out of my hand, and so did the purse.

Puzzled, I looked to see what had stopped me. I looked down behind me and saw most of the back of the skirt jammed in the door frame of the car door! I could move about 4 inches away from the car before the dress became tight.

Placing my hands against the car, I began pushing myself away and felt the dress coming free, then heard some ominous ripping sounds. Then I felt something give and saw a couple of buttons fall and roll on the tarmac of the car park. I was stuck fast!

I tried to push again, and the ripping sound started immediately, so I stopped. I tried the door handle, rattling it, and even tried pushing the driver’s window down. I stood there wondering what to do. Think! Think!

I remembered the keys falling and so looked for them on the ground. I could see the purse where it had fallen, but no sign of the keys—perhaps I’d put them inside! I reached with my foot for the purse; it was out of reach, so I balanced myself on the door with my hands and lowered myself down to allow my leg to stretch and reach it.

In doing this, the inevitable happened: the dress stayed where it was, and I slid down. I watched my thighs become more uncovered as I crouched lower and lower. I could feel the cloth creeping over my lap, then my upper thighs. Then I watched as my pussy came into view; the dress continued up over my belly. I saw my belly button come into the light too.

By now, my leg was stretched right out. I hooked the purse and pulled it back with my foot. I squatted down, the dress bunching right up under my boobs and naked the rest of the way down. I grabbed the purse and quickly stood up, frantically looking for the keys, which I knew deep down weren’t in there.

My mind was skipping around the only alternative, but I knew I had to do it to get free. I was going to have to get out of the dress to look for the keys, unlock the door, and get dressed pronto! Believe me, I did not want to do this. It’s one thing to tease and flash, but this was going to be too much!

I couldn’t put it off any longer, so, bending over, I began to undo the buttons from the bottom upwards. By the time I got to the waist, I found where the buttons had come off —two from there and the other from elsewhere. Three more to go. I was only three bloody buttons from getting out of this dress!

I stopped and came close to crying; I was that terrified of being seen like this. I waited until my nerves calmed down and undid the last buttons. At the undoing of the last button, I virtually burst out of the dress.

Looking around myself as best I could, I slipped my arms out of the thin shoulder straps and let the dress fall from me. I crouched down and tried to tug the dress free, but it was no good—the keys were the only answer.

I looked about for them under my car, under the one beside mine. Where were the little =@#*&’s? I have a theory: keys deliberately hide! And mine were doing a great job right now, the %*($%s! I was looking all around on the ground and under the cars on my hands and knees, dressed only in a pair of high heels in a public car park in a busy town.

While down on the ground, I happened to be looking under a car when I saw two pairs of feet walking this way—one was a man’s, another a child’s. I got up from my knees and scuttled away between some other cars to hide.

I could see the man stopping by the car beside mine; I was crouching behind another close by. I couldn’t see the kid. I got down on my knees to look under the cars, this time to see where they were rather than in search of my elusive keys, when I felt a shadow come over my face.

Now, if I’d been wearing panties, I think I would have peed them, but somehow I kept bladder control and looked slowly up. I brushed my hair from my eyes and saw the kid standing there, looking at me with eyes like saucers!

He looked at me and said, “Hey, lady, why haven’t you got any clothes on?” But before I could answer, he ran off yelling, “Dad! Dad! The lady’s got no clothes on!” This was the lowest point of the whole day, and bladder control became a major concern for me right then.

I crouched there, waiting for his father to appear, just holding back from crying and arranging my arms and hands for maximum coverage, when I heard, a short distance away, his voice shout, “How many times must I tell you? Stop lying!”

There was a door slamming, then a motor started, and the car pulled away. Relief threatened bladder control once again as I staggered to my feet and looked to see them leaving.

I crept back to the car and looked down where his car had been, and a ray of sunshine shone down, and heavenly choirs began to sing as I saw my bastard keys sitting there on the tarmac.

I swear they were smiling! I snatched them up, got the door unlocked, and retrieved my dress, and in no time I had it on. I managed to tuck myself into the top half and get the buttons to close just as some cars drove by on the way out.

I got into the car and sat there, trying to calm myself down from the experience. My hands were shaking, and my heart was thumping from reaction.

I thought how lucky I’d been and how close to getting caught I was, only because some brat had lied too often that his father assumed this was another lie and did not investigate further. I sat there for some time and began to giggle, which became a laugh; then I was crying with laughter, such was my relief.