Strip her down to her panties.

The traitorous corset, its laces removed, droops off her torso and tumbles to the floor like leaves. A split second later her skirt flops from her waist to the ground, like a puppet whose strings were cut. A simple matter of unfastening a few buttons. The wench's mouth is open to give you a piece of her mind. She's caught mid-sentence, reduced to inarticulate stammering, as her clothing collapses around her and her whole body is overcome by a sudden sense of absolute exposure.

She can think of nothing to say but "Eeeeek!"

You drink in the sight. She's still bound, now wearing nothing but a pair of tight red panties that cling to her milky thighs. Her cheeks are bright red, as well. You look her up and down, grinning.