"Mes demoiselles sans bikinis."

“So. Les demoiselles think they can swim naked on Officer Solange’s beach.”

“For the last time, it was an accident!”

Seven naked women, Arabella among them, are standing with their hands against an old stone wall that runs along one side of a picturesque plaza in the middle of the town. You can see flowerpots on windowsills, washing lines hanging across alleys, little cafes where tourists sit eating croissants out the front. It’s very nice.

“Hah! You zink Officer Solange believes zis story of zis… magic bikini machine?” Officer Solange, a Lea Seydoux-esque wintry blonde in a fetching blue uniform, thwaps her riding crop against the derriere of the nut-browned suntanned Spanish girl with dark curly hair standing next to Arabella. Seven fetching bare bottoms, Arabella’s round pink rump among them, are presented to the plaza. People are leaning out windows to get a better look.

“Listen, officer, be reasonable.” Arabella sounds desperate. She really doesn’t know how to handle the current situation. All her magic powers seem to have deserted her. “Do you really think we just stripped off our clothes in broad daylight and decided to go for a swim? Ow!”

“Nudists!” barks Solange, punctuating every syllable with another cruel lash of the crop against Arabella’s quivering posterior. “The scourge of my life! The bane of my existence! The curse of my career! Every time I turn my back, there they are! Sneaking out to frolic on what is very clearly not marked as a clothing-optional beach! Clothing is not optional! You have to wear clothes! Say it, nudie!”

“Ow! I have to wear clothes!”

“Apologise for running around naked!”

“But I didn’t even… ow! Ow ow ow! I’m sorry! I’m sorry for running around naked!”

“Good nudie,” says Solange, voice dripping with contempt, and delivers another stinging swipe. She marches the whole length of the row, whipping bare bottoms right and left, until she’s satisfied herself that every squirming girl has tasted her crop. “Now, my little nudies. Mes demoiselles sans bikinis. I have a little treat for you. Turn around.”

“But, Officer..”

“Now!”

Very reluctantly, the seven squirming naked ladies turn around to face the plaza, which is now full of leering eyes. Hands fly to cover tits and bushes. Solange whips them away, compelling her captives to stand with their arms by her sides.

“Nudity seems so fun on the beach, doesn’t it?” she croons. “So playful. So liberating. But it is not so fun in the middle of town. Why are you blushing, demoiselles? This is what you wanted!”

“We didn’t! I…”

“Silence! I wish to hear no more silly denials! Do you think I have never dealt with your kind before?” The riding crop whistles through the air, and comes to rest under Arabella’s chin, forcing her head upright, forcing the mortified witch to look Solange directly in the eye.

“I know just how to handle you,” she says. “You want to be naked? You think it is so fun and sexy? I will give you naked. All the naked in the world. Hold hands, demoiselles.”

She steps back, smiling, as the reluctant women link hands in a row. They’re presented to the plaza, in front of the warm-coloured stone wall, standing nude and upright in the street. Seven charmingly curvy eye-inviting figures. Seven wide-eyed, lip-biting, rosy-cheeked, pretty embarrassed faces. Seven pairs of bare breasts, from the small dark perky tits of a half-Algerian girl to the heavy, cream-pale D-cups of a blonde German. Six bushes, in blonde and black and brunette. (The Spanish girl was clean-shaven.) Seven naked pussies, presented to the world.

“Do you not like it, girls? Zis is most interesting. Perhaps a little lesson is to be learned about why we wear clothes, no? Because when we do not wear clothes, ze whole town sees les vagins! And zis is most embarrassing for us!”

She spends a few moments teaching the girls their lines, then steps out of the way, smiling, to ensure her captives are exposed to the whole plaza. You and Meg, sitting at a cafe with two espressos, smile and raise your cups to Arabella, whose face goes an even deeper shade of red when they see you. You’ve found Meg a yellow one-piece somewhere, and she looks cute in it. There’s tourists everywhere, plus greengrocers, bakers, sailors, guys in striped shirts with baguettes and all the other normal inhabitants of a seaside French town.

“Girls! Lines!”

“Nous sommes des femmes nues et honteuses! On nous donne une leçon! Regardez-nous toutes, s'il vous plaît! Regardez nos vagins nus! Prenez plein de photos! Nous serons là toute la journée!”