She continues to disrobe and crawls onto the desk with you.
"It isn't your hands, specifically," you say, running your hands across her shoulders, her stomach, teasingly up and down her inner thigh. "My hands make you want to obey even more effectively." She shudders with rapture, helpless against her magic-induced yearning.
"Ohh...yes..." she gasps.
"And the more you listen, the less resistence you have, until you have no desire to disobey me at all. You enjoy listening to me talk, and now that I've explained things you're perfectly content because all of those things you were worried about make perfect sense."
"Ah," she says, as if you've actually explained any of what she asked about. "That would make ours a slave/ relationship, then. Interesting. When did I become your slave?"
"You've always been my slave," you lie easily. "You simply didn't understand it completely until I explained it to you, just now."
Do you want to: