Debbie sank into the steaming water, the porcelain rim a cool contrast against her flushed skin. Oddly, she hadn't bothered to undress. The heavy denim of her knee-length skirt clung to her legs, the white shirt plastered against her torso, the smart black jacket a sodden weight. Her wide leather belt, normally a sharp accent, now felt like a constricting band. Even her thigh-high stiletto boots, usually symbols of polished confidence, were submerged, the leather darkening, the heels submerged.
A strange calm settled over her. The heat of the water, the unexpected weight of the soaked clothing, it was a sensory overload that numbed her mind. She leaned back, the water lapping at the collar of her jacket. The crisp white shirt, now transparent, revealed the delicate lace of her undergarments.
After a moment, she rose, a slow, deliberate movement. Water streamed down her legs, soaking the carpeted floor. The denim skirt, now a heavy, dark blue, clung to her curves, accentuating every line. The wet shirt accentuated the curve of her bust, the soaked fabric a second skin. She walked, each step a squelching sound, leaving dark, wet footprints on the plush carpet. The leather of her boots creaked and groaned with the excess water.
She paused, staring at her reflection in the steamed-up mirror. The image was distorted, a watery ghost of herself. The feeling of the wet clothes, normally an annoyance, now feltintimate. The weight of the denim, the slickness of the shirt, the cool, damp leather against her skin.
Then, with a sigh, she stepped back into the bath. The warm water enveloped her again, the feeling of the soaked clothes intensifying. The denim clung tighter, the shirt pressed against her skin, the leather of her boots softened and conformed to her calves and feet. She closed her eyes, the feeling of the wet fabric against her skin a strange, almost comforting embrace.