Little Daisy Bell stood in the dressing room of the trendy preteen clothing store and regarded herself in the mirror. It was her 8th birthday, and as tradition dictated, her mother had taken her for a day of shopping to obtain, what she called, "New clothes for the new girl." Her mother insisted that every birthday indicated the arrival of a brand new girl, a princess with a new kingdom.

Ordinarily, Daisy Bell hadn't felt too "new". A regular old Daisy Bell, just a couple inches taller, maybe. But recently, she'd become aware. She'd discovered herself, her body. She'd begun to realize that she had curves. Begun to notice her shape, become aware of a certain feeling of curiosity towards it. She'd also begun to notice how men, particularly older men, payed more attention to her when she wore tight or short things.

She'd always been beautiful. Been called gorgeous on more than one occasion, either directly or indirectly. Her face was a delicate heart shape, her eyes wide and innocent with deep blue irises. Her little pink lips, butterfly shaped, had a full lower lip, and an upper lip that hung out further than the bottom, which gave her a look of constant pout. Everyone she'd ever met found her "pout" irresistible and adorable. Her rose colored cheeks were pinched quite frequently because of this. Her hair was shoulder length, and silvery blonde, like her mothers, and her bangs frequently strayed into her face and caused a look of bohemian child-like beauty. Combined with her pale, alabaster skin (she was nearly the color of a porcelain doll), she was quite complimented and admired.

But more frequently, recently, came the attention not attributed just to her pouty cherub face. Like the time she noticed the way old Mr. Jenkins, the choir teacher, who was ordinarily very grumpy, had suddenly become chatty and very interested in what she had to say when she wore those shorts: the pink cotton ones, with a red heart on the right cheek. The shorts were two years old, and as she'd become two "new girls" since then, they no longer fit right, and were entirely too tight. Having nothing left to wear that morning, she slipped those on, in a hurry, and hadn't noticed until lunchtime how revealing they were. Her rear was already large for her size and age, and as she glanced in the mirror that day in the bathroom she noticed her plump, pale cheeks poking out from underneath the soft pink fabric, showing that delicate crease where the legs meet the bottom.

Yes, Mr. Jenkins was very nice that day. She'd noticed more attention since then, after her awareness was awakened, and she'd learned to look for the stares or friendly gestures.

And she was starting to like it.

She stood in the pink and purple dressing room, Tween pop blaring from the speakers overhead, and gazed in the mirror. The dress was cute. It was a thin material, very light, colored yellow with a white Peter Pan collar at the neck. She had deliberately told her mother to get a smaller size than the one before, even though the one before fit perfectly. This was better. The dress was so tight her plump curves (her mother called them baby-fat) were visible in every subtle inch. She might as well have been naked, painted yellow. She giggled.

But the dress was only half of her plan. She turned so her bottom was facing the mirror. She leaned on one leg and kicked the other up on her toes, thrusting her fleshy round rump outward. She smiled. The yellow made her bottom stand out considerably, and the fabric of the dress fell around her cheeks beautifully, sinking into her crack gently. The length was just short enough that at this pose, the bottom of her cheeks were exposed, revealing that delicate crease again that she'd come to admire.

She admired the view. She paused before her next move, reeling in the sensation of the excitement she felt, teasing herself, letting the moment linger. She curved her pert butterfly lips in a wide helpless grin, then she reached back, grabbed the fabric of her dress with her delicate fingers and lifted it, slowly.

Slowly she lifted, slowly the yellow fabric rose, and slowly her pink buttocks were revealed, inch by tiny inch. She lifted the dress until it was at midway of her naked bottom, paused, and smirked wider. No panties. She was so overwhelmed with a sense of naughty impishness that she let out a trill of giggles despite herself. She'd never gone without panties before, never dreamed, and certainly her mother would not approve. That gave her a twinge of excitement in her belly. That she had a secret, a naughty secret, that adults would disapprove of.

"What's so funny in there?" Came a voice from beyond the door.

"Oh nothing, mother." Said Daisy, trying to conceal the smile in her voice.

She took one last look at her naked bottom, pushed out, inflated by her pose, admired the strange aesthetic beauty of soft fabric against soft pale skin. She let the dress drop back down over her bottom, covering it lightly, and let out an impish, "Ooopsies" under her breath.

As Daisy walked out of the dressing room, the yellow dress in her mother's hands, she couldn't help but smile. Her mother had no clue, no idea, of what Daisy planned to do with that dress. And soon, Daisy Bell would put her plan, her test, her experiment, into action.

To Be Continued....