"La femme idiote est nue!"

“La femme idiote est nue! Hon hon hon!”

“Don’t worry, Meg,” says Arabella brightly, as the three of you stroll along a long strip of white sand before an expanse of gleaming blue water. Girls in bikinis and boys in swim trunks lie around on the beach, some sitting on deckchairs, others paddling in the water. “This is a clothing-optional beach, I think.”

“But, Arabella, everyone else is wearing clothes!”

“It’s clothing optional. That means you have the option to wear clothes. Just like I am!” Arabella is wearing a rather fetching white bikini and a wide straw sun hat, her pleasantly curvy figure drawing a lot of admiring eyes. But not as many as Meg, who stumbles along behind her. Prudence is off running errands somewhere, so the tomboy is the only girl on the beach who’s completely in the nude.

“Sitri! We’re supposed to be finding something to stop Amy, remember? How is this helping?”

“It’s important to take these things slowly,” you say, as Arabella spots a photographer. She smiles, and beckons the man over. She poses on the sand for him, shimmying her hips and smiling coyly at him from below the brim of her hat. Within minutes she’s attracted two of his camera-wielding friends.

“Oh, but it’s not me you want to take pictures of,” she says, with a wink.

“It is! It is!”

“No, no. How would you boys like to take pictures of… a naked lady?”

“A naked lady?” The boys look around. Meg is hiding behind you, so they can’t quite see her. “Ah… mademoiselle, we must confess, in France, it is considered a very fine thing to take pictures of a naked lady.”

“Then I have a special treat for you, boys. In just a few moments, there’s going to be a naked lady right here, and you can take all the pictures you want of here.”

“It is true, mademoiselle? Do you promise us zis… naked lady?”

“I do! I personally guarantee it. She’s only seconds away. The time’s almost come when you boys are going to be taking lots and lots of pictures of a naked lady.”

“Ah, mademoiselle, you do not know what this means to us! It is an honor and a privilege to take pictures of… a naked lady.”

“My pleasure, gentleman. The moment’s almost come. Three… two… one…”

You step aside, intending to expose Meg to the waiting cameras. At that precise moment, there’s a strange swishing sound, and Arabella’s bikini is yanked right off her body as if by invisible ropes. So is the bikini of every other woman on the beach.

“Ah! Mademoiselle! YOU are the naked lady!”

“What? No, I… EEEEEEEEEEK!”

Arabella snatches her sunhat off her head and holds it in front of her nude body, though not quite in time to prevent all three simultaneously flashing cameras from capturing perfect images of her bouncy apple-sized tits, her round hips, her meticulously groomed golden bush. She does a cute little dance in place, shifting from one foot to the other, cheeks red, peachy derriere wiggling as one of the photographers scoots around behind her to capture a different angle. She can dish it out, but it turns out she can’t take it.

Meg nudges you.

“Sitri! Get her sunhat!”

“What? Oh, right. Arabella, I’m coming to save you!”

Before she has time to work out what you’re actually doing, you’ve reached over and plucked away her sunhat, leaving her with nothing but her two small hands to cover all her sensitive areas. Arabella squeals and shifts a hand from her tits to her ass, then realizes what she’s just done and hastily moves the other hand from her pussy to her tits. The flash of a camera encourages her to move the first hand back to her pussy, baring her ass.

“SITRI!” she shouts, beside herself, so flustered that she has no idea what to do next. “MAKE IT STOP!”

“How?”

“YOU’RE MAGIC! USE MAGIC!”

“Magic can only start naked girl embarrassment,” you say, with a shrug. “It can’t stop it. At least, my magic can’t. Where’d your bikini go, anyway?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

You hand the sunhat to Meg as Arabella does her little dance of shame, hands darting indecisively all over her body. The three photographers snap merrily away. Her loud demands for them to leave her alone go completely unheard.

Meg experiments with holding the sunhat to her naked body, looks at it, shrugs and puts it on her head. The beach is covered with naked women, running in all directions, squealing as they’re ogled by laughing men. Nobody’s looking at her in particular.

“Did you do all this?” she asks you.

“Some things have a way of working out for themselves.”