S2-ENF-028 - GHOST

“Finally,” said Thelma Pinkley, “we’ve got all the ghosts in America captured in this box.”

“It was a lot of work,” said Penelope Khan, patting the side of the iron box, which groaned ominously and shook from side to side, rattling the chains that held down the lid. They were standing on a closed-off platform in New York City’s Central Station, where they’d just captured the notorious Midtown Whistler, America’s last ghost. “But worth all the effort. Finally, this great nation is free once and for all from haints, spooks, poltergeists and any other variety of spectral menace!”

“And just in time for International Women’s Day!” said Melissa Cifuentes, taking a bite of a celebratory pretzel. “Why, thousands upon thousands of the planet’s most beautiful, intelligent women are converging upon Grand Central Station at this very moment! And hundreds of thousands more have booked out every hotel room in the city, for a grand celebration of everything that makes women… you know, women. I hear Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is giving a speech at the UN.”

“Wouldn’t they be pleased with us,” said Emilia Lucent, “if only they knew how many blushes and indignities we’ve just spared them. After all, ghosts are all incredible perverts. Fortunately, they’re locked in this impregnable box for the rest of time. And you remembered to sprinkle holy water over the lock, so they can’t just break out using their ghost powers.”

“Er,” said Melissa. “Was that on the list of things to do?”

The box gave off a rumbling sound. Dents were appearing in its iron sides, as if whatever it contained was trying to break out from within.

“Melissa,” said Emilia.

“Yes, Emilia?”

“You did remember to sprinkle the lock with holy water, correct?”

“Did you put it on the list?”

The chains holding the box’s lid on began to snap, one link at a time. Thelma took a step back.

“Do I have to put it on the list? Doesn’t everyone know you always have to sprinkle your ghost trap with holy water?”

“There’s no empirical proof that holy water even does anything! And you were in charge of putting together the list!”

Another link snapped. Penelope and Thelma exchanged worried glances, then turned and sprinted for it.

“I’ve had about about enough of your insolence,” snapped Emilia, getting up into Melissa’s face, as the fiery Latina scowled back. “You’re only an intern! Next performance review, I’m going to…”

The box flew open.

A tide of ectoplasm poured into the empty subway station. Emilia and Melissa were grabbed up by thousands of groping, fondling spectral hands, squealing and kicking for all they were worth as their skirts were yanked off, their stockings torn, the buttons of their uniform jackets unfastened. The tide flowed over Penelope and Thelma as they raced towards the exit, lifting them off the ground, overwhelming them in an instant and tearing their clothes and underwear to shreds as the four squealing and now very nude girls were carried forward and up the staircase, right out into the crowded main concourse of Grand Central Station.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who was standing with her friend Emma Watson and a dozen other well-known Hollywood actresses, explaining the importance of women’s dignity to a score of television cameras, paused mid-sentence, momentarily losing her train of thought. The TV crews waited patiently for her to decide what she was going to say next.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at Emilia, Melissa, Penelope and Thelma, who were hovering high in the air before hundreds of shocked commuters, supported by dozens of invisible hands, legs parted and arms pinned well out of the way so as to create the maximum possible amount of exposure. The four Foundation ladies squealed and squirmed, faces very red as more ectoplasmic digits tickled and poked and squeezed and explored their bodies with remorseless curiosity, while corporeal fingers pointed and a sea of astonished faces peered up at them from below. “Those girls have no clothes on!”

Then a spectral tide seized hold of her, Emma Watson and the rest of the beautiful Hollywood actresses, tearing their clothes to shreds and leaving them suddenly stark naked in the middle of the concourse. The TV cameras were snatched from cameramen’s hands, and modified using spectral sorcery to make it so their live feed across the nation could no longer be modified or censored in any way, ensuring that literally millions of people would get a good long look at the embarrassment of the famous naked ladies, who knew exactly what was going on and were completely powerless to stop it. Emma Watson squealed adorably as she, too, was hoisted into the air, her legs spread so everyone could see her pussy while invisible hands began to give her the very hard public naked spanking she no doubt deserved.

Pandemonium reigned throughout Grand Central Station, and began to spill over into the streets outside, as the pan-American ghost swarm set about the enjoyable task of stripping, teasing, spanking and fondling every last woman they could find. All on live TV. International Women’s Day was going to get a lot more attention this year.