Rip!

His fingernails dug into the delicate fabric of my robe. And then – rip – he tore the dress to pieces.

I was petrified. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a bad dream. It was completely unthinkable that I was standing in church with my breasts exposed.

He didn't let go of me. On the contrary: his large, strong hands enclosed my bare breasts and kneaded them more firmly than before.

I fixed my gaze on the altar in front of me. Why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve this? But my head was empty, I couldn't find any answers to my questions.