Chapter 3: Forbidden Feelings

The gravel path stretched out before me, each stone pressing into the soles of my feet with every step. The towel, barely clinging to my body, flapped against my back in the cool morning air. My bare skin, exposed in the triangle of fabric, made me cringe with embarrassment. My legs were raw and red, covered in scrapes and bruises from the sharp gravel beneath them. The towel clung precariously to my body, flapping against my back with each unsteady step. The exposed skin on my back was a bright pink, a clear mark of my embarrassment. The gravel path was rough and uneven, causing my feet to ache with each step. The towel was barely clinging to my body, held in place by only three remaining clamps. With each unsteady movement, the fabric slapped against my bare back. My skin was flushed red from humiliation, but that was soon replaced by a deeper shade as I felt a creeping warmth between my legs. First i sensed it as a faint tingle, a warmth that felt out of place, a hush of blood pulsing outward from her mortification. She attempted to ignore it, focusing instead on the sting of her bare feet, the ache in her calves, and the humiliating laughter of her friends—but the feeling persisted, blooming in defiance of everything else. With each step, the gravel bit into her skin, and the loose towel fluttered against her thighs, but it was the secret heat building between her legs that nearly undid her. No. No, no, no, she thought, frantic. She would not allow this—her own body betraying her, in front of everyone, at the worst possible moment. Yet the evidence was irrefutable: the subtle flutter low in her belly, the prickle of goosebumps on her arms, the way her breath hitched. That old, unkillable animal part of her was awake, alive, and hungry, shoving its way to the surface with every humiliating step. She attempted to will it away, to think of anything other than the humiliating performance she was giving, but her imagination only intensified the crisis. What must she look like to them? Her back was curved with shame, her hips swayed awkwardly in an effort to keep the towel in place, her thighs were tensed and trembling. She pictured herself from above, like a sad pink mouse caught in a maze, scurrying from one indignity to the next. The heat only grew stronger and more insistent, each step stoking the fire. It was like a finger pressing gently, rhythmically, against the most sensitive part of her, and the harder she tried to resist, the more her body seemed to invite it. She was horrified by her own response—by the undeniable slickness beginning to gather there, and by the shudder that ran up her spine when the towel shifted and brushed a little too close.She clamped her jaw shut, desperate not to whimper or moan. Surely no one would notice. However, Sarah was always watching and, of course, would never let a detail like this escape her attention. Anna felt her face burn, a crimson mask of humiliation and arousal, and her hands shook at her sides. She was on the precipice, about to topple completely, when Sarah’s voice cut through her fog of panic and sensation, and she understood that the gravel path ended.