The (partial) truth

Feeling the compulsion of the **** take hold, you realize that you only have seconds to create a story which convinces her, but does not contain any actual lies.

"Please Emma, don't get mad at me. I had noticed that our relationship was weakening. ****, I ordered a **** online. I've noticed that I don't really listen to you as well as I should, and I know that our relationship suffered because of it. This ****, it increases suggestibility. This means that whenever I take it I am more likely to agree to what you ask me to do," you say. "I only did this for the benefit of our relationship."

Emma's face cycles through confusion, anger, happiness, and grief.

"John, I cannot believe that you thought that our relationship was so weak that we would need **** to keep it working. This is ridiculous and I need you to throw away that awful stuff. Right now!" Emma commanded.

**** to do Emma's will by the Slave4U coursing through your veins, you head straight to the kitchen cabinet, push through the multiple layers of concealing foodstuffs to that addicting mind altering ****.

You send up a silent prayer of thanks that you have already disposed of the incriminating packaging and only have the **** itself left. Caught between the addiction to the **** and your mistresses' will, your muscles ache and shiver with the stress of the competing impulses. Stuck exactly between them, you are paralyzed.

"John, I order you to throw away the ****," Emma's voice barely quaked at all when she gave her command.

"I don't want you to use that **** ever again, John!" Emma said.