Free The Price of Hannah Blake by Walter Donway Page B

surrounded by naked men and women. She saw Charlotte’s long, delicate, bare back, the tight buttocks. Maybe she had never noticed how wonderful were the bodies of women, thought Hannah.
    Yet, she stood paralyzed. She had meant to just do it. But bare bodies were bumping against her—not deliberately, she thought. She looked up into a face smiling at her and recognized a boy from last night. He said, his tone friendly, “Hurry up. You don’t want to find out what happens when you’re late.”
    Charlotte hurried over, naked, and said, “Strip, Hannah, or we’ll never make it.” Then she leaned closer and added, a big smile splitting her face, “Besides, I can’t wait to see your bare arse!” At Hannah’s expression, she burst out laughing. It was such a friendly, easy laugh that Hannah smiled weakly. “Oh, here!” said Charlotte. “You’re like a scared rabbit!” She seized Hannah’s thin blouse and yanked it over her head. Hannah’s full breasts jounced. Already, Charlotte was kneeling, tugging down Hannah’s pants, unbuckling her sandals, and then Hannah was naked. Charlotte flung the garments over a hook, took Hannah’s arm, and pulled her toward the door. She took one glance back, and breathed, “You are a little beauty!” Her eyes sparkled.
    They burst into the great room where the day before Hannah had sat watching. “Come on!” moaned Charlotte, and they ran across the room where everyone was in formation. Maria, clad in black tights, seemed not to notice their lateness. But when they had taken places at the end of the second row, she said, loudly, “Ready? We always begin on time!”
    Like an automaton controlled by Maria’s voice, Hannah imitated the movements—not well, but soon she was panting, wondering if they ever would stop. Yes, she was naked; her breasts swung and flopped, but no one seemed to notice, not in the least. The rhythm was of Maria’s chanting: “One! Two! Three! Again! One! Two! Three!” And all around Hannah the strong, perfect bodies were leaping, clapping hands over their heads, slapping their thighs.
    Awkwardly, Hannah was leaping, too, sometimes losing her balance. She was gasping, now, and her body an automaton. She tried to watch the others. Yes, she was naked, but had no energy to spare for that. In 15 minutes, sweat was running into her eyes, itching between her thighs, dripping to the polished wooden floor. Sweat ran from between her breasts; she felt as though there was oil in the crack of her buttocks. Her sandy public hair was dark and drops kept falling from her nose and chin.
    At 25 minutes, she stopped. Just stopped and stood there. Let them whip her, kill her. Nothing could hurt more than this. She could not look at the others; they all seemed to be fresh. Without breaking the rhythm of her chanted commands, Maria came to her, took her arm, and pulled her to the bench where she sat yesterday. She didn’t need to push Hannah down; Hannah fell back heavily. “All right,” said Maria, but she had turned and gone dancing back to the front of the class.
    She watched them. Their bodies seemed carved in muscle, cut by a chisel. When Myra leaped, her big breasts remained almost motionless. Her eyes were wide, gazing ahead. Hannah began to panic; what did they do to you, if you couldn’t go on? Maria had not sounded reproachful, had she? Suddenly, Hannah noticed that her legs were trembling from exhaustion. The sides of her breasts ached from jouncing.
    “Stop!” Maria commanded, and Hannah realized, with a thrill, that she had almost made it. She could have made it, if she had known. Just a few minutes! Maria turned and walked from the hall. Some of the men and woman stood, heads hanging, breathing hard. Now, Hannah could see that they all glistened with sweat. Some simply lay down on the wooden floor; other walked about, slowly, heads hanging like exhausted horses. She kept looking at their sex, then stopping herself; it fascinated her, the rude hair