Nipples flattened like pressed doorbells. Tucked into their auréolas, snuggled tightly against the stiff padding of a bra.

Locked in place by metal wiring, they are devoid of fresh air. Skin moistens and sours. In darkness they remain, until they hear a familiar snap and are freed for the night.

They understand they must endure. So that they do not droop. So that men won't see them as they stand erect, and take their perky presence as an indicator of arousal.

And so they must give up what they enjoy. Being caressed by the fabric of a soft shirt. Feeling strong after being kissed by a gust of wind. Their essence.