Bonnie sprays Miss Trickett

"Wait," said Miss Trickett, seeing where Bonnie was aiming the hose. "No! You don't understand what's at stake here!"

"I don't care."

"We can work this out. I'll give you money! Slaves! Magic powers! What do you want?"

"I want my fucking clothes back, bitch," Bonnie said, and pulled the trigger, soaking Trickett from head to foot. Before the exotic, sultry, coffee-skinned beauty with the almond-shaped eyes and sardonic expression could blink, her black silk cheongsam had dissolved into mist and translucent slime, as well as any underwear she may or may not have been wearing.

Leaving her naked.

Her eyes wide. Her normally smug demeanour replaced by an open-mouthed gasp of shock. Her delicious hourglass figure, with its full, heavy, chocolate-nippled breasts, her smooth belly, her ripe and squeezable espresso-toned ass, her plump thighs, her swaying hips and the delectable rise of her mound of Venus, with its silky dark bush and tender, exquisitely shaped pussy lips, exposed for the whole world to see.

There was a pause.

Then the entire audience erupted into whoops and cheers. "Nice tits," someone shouted (it was Hank), as every last eye in the room settled on the lovely bare figure of the utterly exposed Miss Trickett, as she pressed her knees together and hastily fumbled to conceal her body with her insufficient hands. The classic pose of modesty. The perfect ENF.