She has to remove what's left.

Mackenzie tried in vain to hold the shreds of her top with one hand while, with the other, she picked up the glass fragments from the floor. Every movement was a choreography of **** exposure. The tattered remnants of the skirt, utterly useless, swayed, revealing more than they concealed.

Vanessa watched the scene with her arms crossed, a perverse idea taking shape in her gaze. When Mackenzie finished cleaning and stood up, trembling, Vanessa approached with a false air of concern.

—“Look at this mess, Mack,” she said loud enough for the nearby passengers to hear. “These rags you're wearing are not only indecent, they are a safety hazard. They could snag on something and cause another accident. Or worse, they could get caught in a door or the cart. We can’t risk it.”

Mackenzie felt a chill of pure terror. She knew what was coming.

—“No... please, Vanessa. I can... I can try to tie them or...”

—“Rules are rules, sweetie,” Vanessa interrupted with venomous sweetness. “For your own safety and the passengers', you must take these tattered things off. Now.”

An expectant silence filled the cabin. All eyes were fixed on them. Mackenzie shook her head, a last, feeble act of rebellion. Tears blurred her vision.

Vanessa did not lose her smile, but her tone became icy and authoritative.

—“It is a direct order, Mackenzie. Either you remove them yourself, or I will help you. And I assure you, you don't want me to do it.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. With hands that trembled uncontrollably, Mackenzie, under the gaze of dozens of passengers, obeyed.

First, with clumsy and ashamed movements, she shed the rags of the top. She tore them from the ripped seam in the back and let them fall to her feet. Her breasts, liberated, were completely exposed to the cold air and the eager stares. An intense blush covered her chest and neck. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest.

—“Arms to your sides, Mackenzie,” Vanessa ordered softly. “Professional posture.”

With a choked sob, Mackenzie lowered her arms, fully exposing her naked torso.

Then it was the skirt's turn. Unfastening the already damaged side clasp was quick. With one last, deep sigh of shame, she let the final piece of cloth fall from her hips and gather on the floor over the remnants of the top.

And just like that, she was stark naked in the center of the executive class aisle. Her pale, freckled skin gleamed under the cabin lights. Her red hair was now the only thing covering her, and even that couldn't hide the tremor running through her body. Her sex, completely uncovered, felt incredibly exposed and ****. She stood motionless, staring blankly, feeling the weight of every gaze like a physical blow.

—“Much better,” Vanessa declared, with satisfaction. “No tripping risk now. You can continue with the dinner service.”

She gave her a slap on the naked back, a contact that made Mackenzie flinch, and motioned for her to return to the cart.

The rest of the service was a surreal torment. Mackenzie, completely naked, pushed the cart down the aisle, served drinks, and delivered trays of food. The chill of the air, the cold metal of the cart against her hip, the stares that settled on every inch of her body... it was an exquisite ****.

Some passengers looked away, uncomfortable. Most did not. Others asked her trivial questions, forcing her to speak, to look at them, while their eyes traveled over her body without shame. One "accidentally" dropped his napkin, and she, automatically, bent down to pick it up, offering a full view of her lower back and buttocks to the row of seats behind her. The sound of phone cameras became as common as the hum of the engines.

Every minute was an eternity. Every tray delivered, a new humiliation. She had become an object, another attraction of the flight, serving dinner in the most absolute and shameful of suits: her own skin. And the worst thing of all was knowing that, under Vanessa's orders, this was far from over.