Snip! A tiny V-shape opened in the wounded bodice, just between Violet’s defenseless breasts. With each slow, deliberate, relentless cut, the scissor blades closed, pressing together as if in a frenzy of kissing each other.
Violet’s voice was a weak, choking whisper. “No—no—please don’t! Oh, don’t, please don’t undress me!”
The only reply was Borga’s wheezing, raspy breath—and the pitiless snip ... snip...snipping progress of the gaping gash widening between her shivering virgin breasts.
Violet felt the silky defender of her modesty gradually slide out from under her breasts. She wept when her strawberry n*****s slid into view. The slow progress of fabric peeling open, the bodice’s tight lacing up her back pulling away the fabric and sliding it up her sides. The pendant roundness of her
