The door is right behind me but you can’t walk out of it, can you? My sensual voice melts your legs further into the floor beneath you and there is a voice screaming in your head run but you can’t move a muscle. You are too weak to leave, let alone think. Physically there isn’t one chain restraining you but mentally? Lol. While you are helpless on the floor of my apartment I giggle about how you can’t even make the decision to walk out the door. Decisions? You aren’t even able to think for yourself anymore, dumb dumb. Stockholm syndrome is stronger and harder to undo than any knots or chains I could tie you up in and it’s too late for you now. You are my prisoner slave.