In a dark, steam-filled bathroom, a young woman, her body barely concealed by a skimpy, damp swimsuit, writhes in a torment of religious guilt and carnal desire. Her fingers trace the contours of her heaving breasts, her hips grinding in a desperate, silent plea for release from her self-imposed celibacy. The air is thick with her scent, a heady mix of sweat, soap, and the musk of her arousal.