Strip Bonnie naked

"Ghosts," said Trickett, her white smile glittering like fire in the gloom of the dungeon, "strip Bonnie naked."

"No. Wait, no. No! Don't do that!"

"Aw, you really are scared. But you're not asking very politely!"

"No! I... I don't want to!"

"But we've spent the whole evening building up to this, Bonnie. We can't stop now. Not unless you ask very, very politely."

"I... but... I... p... please?"

"Little more than that."

"Please." The last shreds of self-respect were rapidly draining from Bonnie's body as the cell phones recorded her confession. "I... please, okay? I don't want to be stripped naked! I... I'm a scared little girl in my underwear! I'm not tough at all! I was just pretending! I'm really scared!"

"Adorable. I guess I'll have to let you go."

"R... really?"

"Once I'm done with you. Ghosts?"

"NO!"

"Strip her NAKED," said Trickett. "But do it slowly. So she can feel every second of it."

And so, over the next fifteen minutes, Bonnie's bra was slowly unclasped and slid off her gorgeous freckled breasts, her pink nipples popping free of the cotton to stand firm and proud in the firelight. Her panties were pried down over her hips, inch by teasing inch. She was allowed to have control of one hand, just so she could try to fight them off, tugging the panties back up whenever they slipped down, but losing ground each time as more and more of her pretty thighs and creamy buttocks were exposed. Not to mention the soft ginger curls between her legs, and finally, as the panties slid down to her knees, her shell-pink and glistening labia. Her toes curled, her face glowed, as every last microexpression was recorded and uploaded to the cloud.

The tomboy's squeals and sobs of dismay were music to Trickett's ears as she stood by her console, gloating.

"Now," she said, thoughtfully, as Bonnie's bra and panties were finally discarded into the pool. "What shall we do with you next?"