“We can’t, though. I’m Skyla, not Giselle. You don’t love me; you love my mom, Professor Corwin.” “You’re GISELLE!” he shouts, peeling my soaked shirt up and over my head. He’s clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed since my shirt can’t come off with my hands being tied. In his anger, he grabs the thin material, ripping it in two and exposing my breasts. Only my panties remain, but apparently I don’t get to keep those either. Corwin rips those off as well, cupping more and more water over me. He abandons the loofa, covering his hands in shampoo as he begins scrubbing my hair. He yanks and
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