“Please, no,” watery, blue eyes and ripe, ruby lips pleaded up to him. The wayfarer rolled his eyes back far into his head before stooping down to bring the sharp point of his dagger across the bodice of the sobbing milkmaid’s dress. Twin mounds of milky flesh came spilling out of the torn fabric. The wayfarer marveled at their weight and the creamy complexion that seemed estranged from any ray of sunshine. He had seen many a pretty sight through his travels but few as immediately fulfilling as this. He stooped down further, grabbing a breast in each hand for a proper squeeze. He admired the silken smoothness of them and how the early morning light illuminated their pale glory. The wayfarer jiggled them in his palms then hefted them upwards, again admiring how the breasts trembled with each gaspy breath of the maid. He brought his face up close to her chest and let his stubbled mouth wander freely across her flesh, caressing the crevice beneath them before gently capturing a nipple with his lips.