The silver man looked away from her defiant eyes long enouh to remove two long plumes from his pack, then turned back with the same smug grin as before, only broader.<br/><br/>"One of the things I find most intruiging about demihumanity is the paridoxical nature of sensation."  He ran a feather-tip down each cheek, then moved them to lightly tickle her shoulders, then abruptly moved to her short ribs.  "It is the ultimate tool for the expression of affection of all sorts, and yet, more than magic, morality, or leaderhsip, it is the thing with the greatest potential to bend your will."  He seemed to be tickling each rib individualy.<br/><br/>"Observe," he continued, "I could compell you to fear me through the whip or the cane, but pain is an inferior sensation ot pleasure.  Already I've disarmed you psychologicaly, already you squirm and the lightest touch."  He arched the feathers around to her breasts and slowly circled her aureolas.<br/><br/>"But by making pleasure my weapon in place of pain, I will compell you to love me in the same way that all lovers compell each other to love."