Face the champion of the moon elf noblewomen

The throng of moon elf noblegirls shrinks away from you as you approach, clinging to their own dresses. Only one comes forward to meet your advance.

"I'm not going to allow you to undress us," she says, her voice firm.

You look her up and down: She's a plum-purple creature with a magnificent head of lavender hair swaying in the breeze. As you watch, she turns a dial on her brooch, which causes her dress to transform into a form-fitting set of silvery moon-elf armor. She has a tall frame, well shaped in the musculature and enticingly padded out with plush in all the right places. Your sixth sense for such things tell you that she's got a good pair of D-cups under her breastplate.

"I am Arenendra, duchess of--"

"Wow, you've got a dynamite body," you say.

"Duchess of--"

"I sure would love to bend that over my knee, if you know what I mean."

"Duchess--"

"Spanking is what I mean. I was talking about stripping you down and spanking that tushie. Sorry, I keep interrupting you. What's going on here?"

Arenendra scowls and draws a sword. "Your campaign of debasement ends here. I find you guilty of taking the dignity of my moon elf kin, and sentence you to death."

"Oh, fun! And how 'bout this: If I win and manage to strip you naked, you have to officially sanction the Bunny Run!"

She looks confused. "But of course I'm sanctioning it."

"'Sanction' is positive if it's used as a verb, and negative if it's used as a noun," you say. "Common mistake."

"Really? Wow."

"Anyway, this day every year will be called Bunny Day, and every working-class elf in your city will be permitted to hunt down and undress your upper-crust maidens without repercussions."

"Provided I don't kill you," she says, sounding very confident that she won't have to worry about the alternative.

"Sure, whatever," you say. "Also, I want you to be my naked girlfriend for the rest of the day. Ready? Go!"