It was a whole new leap up from being able to tell that it was coming and know just when it would happen down to a reasonable accuracy, to being able to actually hold it back. The contractions had ceased some hours previous, and Amu had somehow been able to hold them back until now by sheer force of will. She was powerless to stop the hormonal effects that flooded her body and made her shiver from head to toe and caused a hot squirt of strong-smelling fluid from the sore, pouting slit of her cunny every five minutes or so. Along the fifteen kilometre trip from the warmth of home to the chilly whiteness of the park, she had been forced to stop repeatedly. At most she had dashed into the nearest public restroom, stuffed a wad of tissue paper into the front of her panties and continued on, hoping that things would die down. A few times, her body had demanded more attention, and she had wound up removing her underwear altogether on the last stop, stuffing them sopping wet with her own juices into her own mouth to muffle the sounds of her sexual frustration while her fingers mashed the mound of her clitoris until the release washed over her like a wave.
That pair was now stuffed into her pocket. Not her favourite pair, but they were good nonetheless, frilly little lace-crotched knickers that more resembled a thong with what pitiful coverage they provided. There they would remain until she could think up an inventive way to dispose of them. Their absence meant that every time the hem of her skirt shifted, which was every time she so much as moved either leg, Amu was rewarded with a draft of cold November air breezing over her tender inner thighs and the incredibly sensitive surface of her immature pubic mound.
In the lonely cold of the park with nary a sole in sight, Amu let a delirious giggle from her lips. She span on one foot, feeling the skirt shifting around her, enjoying the stimulation of icy air whispering over the bald mound of her pubis.