“Since you’re helping me, you’ll need both hands,” she muttered. She moved to behind the cart -- slowly, so as not to disengage my hand -- and...started pushing it up the aisle. “I need some wipes,” she said, pointing.I snagged them with my left hand and tossed them into the cart. “Two?”“Yeah, I guess.” I repeated the move and found her looking up at me. “Why?”The question wasn’t ‘Why are you helping me fill my cart?’“I don’t know. Let’s not analyze it,” I replied. I didn’t, either -- and this. Before she could come up with anything, though, she felt the all too familiar warmth begin to spread between her legs. She froze in place, only managing to look down to see the large wet patch forming on her jeans. Eventually the wet spot extended to a puddle around her feet and the flow finally stopped shortly after. She felt a small sense of relief now that it was over, but that relief was accompanied by an unrivalled humiliation due to what she'd just done (and where she'd done it). She. More

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