Georgia Confirms You Can't Be Hypnotized
"YES, MISTRESS!"
"Tell me why you are still marching."
"BECAUSE I HAVE A MICRO-PENIS, MISTRESS!"
"Say it three more times."
"BECAUSE I HAVE A MICRO-PENIS, MISTRESS! BECAUSE I HAVE A MICRO-PENIS, MISTRESS! BECAUSE I HAVE A MICRO-PENIS, MISTRESS!"
"Is it because you have a clitty-dick?"
"YES, MISTRESS!"
"Tell me why you are still marching."
"BECAUSE I HAVE A CLITTY-DICK, MISTRESS!"
"Say it three more times."
"BECAUSE I HAVE A CLITTY-DICK, MISTRESS! BECAUSE I HAVE A CLITTY-DICK, MISTRESS! "BECAUSE I HAVE A CLITTY-DICK, MISTRESS!"
All the while, you keep marching and your cock is throbbing and getting harder and you wish you had permission to beg for release.
I hand to you a pink nightgown. On the front of it, in blue letters, all lower-case, it says, "porn star" and the "a" is shaped like a star. "Put this on and keep marching while you do so." You march and slip the nightie over your head and slip your arms through the straps. It's a bit too small, just barely covering your crotch and ass. Everyone can see the tent your little erect cock makes, poking up underneath the fabric.
"That should be just enough to keep you from getting arrested. Right, FACE!"
You turn right, still marching in place.