Bonnie dances naked

Bonnie dearly wished she was anywhere else in the entire world. A tropical beach. A bus station. France. Even back home in math class! Anywhere at all, as long as it wasn't on stage in the Hootchy-Kootchy Show, in front of dozens of sophisticated and intelligent men and women, and also Hank.

But she was.

Of course, the stage at the Hootchy-Kootchy show wouldn't have been so bad if she was doing anything else. Baking a cake, perhaps, or juggling oranges, or drinking tea, or writing a best-selling novel. Anything at all, as long as it wasn't Oriental belly-dancing.

But it was.

And even Oriental belly-dancing wouldn't have been so bad if she'd been wearing anything other than what she was wearing. A ballgown, perhaps, or a poncho, or a nurse's uniform, or a sarong. They all would have been preferable to what she was actually wearing, while she danced on stage at the Hootchy-Kootchy show.

Which was nothing at all.

Yes, Bonnie had been tricked by the evil Mr. Trapp into dancing on stage at the Hootchy-Kootchy Show, in front of all the aforementioned people, with no clothes on. Except for copper bells, fastened to her purple silk wristlets and anklets, and a purple stick-on jewel sparkling in her navel. Which didn't really count as clothes.

Bonnie was NAKED.

From head to toe. Red hair, wide blue eyes, freckled shoulders, kissable neck, surprisingly large breasts with strawberry-pink nipples. Flat stomach, strong thighs, well-toned and very spankable bottom and the tangle of ginger curls between her legs. Probably the worst part, Bonnie felt, was that every single person in the room could see her naked pussy. But all the other parts were pretty bad as well.

"Hey, Bonnie," Hank yelled, beside himself with delight. "I can see your PUSSY!" She grit her teeth, trying and failing to find a snappy comeback. It was true. He could.