#409233 - The bride’s hands slide up the front of the dress to her breasts, over to the illusion material and up to the collar – not her choice of wedding gown, but his (he deserved a painful hardness for asking her to wear an old style like this). Tiffany stands there for a second, unbelievably funked out by the treacherously destroyed clothing she’s wearing, and still, she’s thinking “it still need more!”. Tiffany drops her hands to her sides, and stands upright, looking at Max.
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