"Of course, that'll have to wait for now," Elsa says. "I have work to do, and I can't have you distracting me! Let's put you somewhere safe..."
Again, you become more interested. What location could she be thinking of? Within her cleavage? A lower region..?
Your perverted thoughts are interrupted by the crack of her snapping open her handbag. A flick of her wrist, and you are deposited within its depths. Elsa does not even have any parting words for you before snapping it closed again, and banishing all light from your world.
Huh. So this is what it feels like to be treated as a disposable toy, to be used and discarded as desired. Is this what you've done to so many women in the past? Perhaps you should use this opportunity to try and apologise to Elsa on behalf of her gender, and find some measure of redemption.
Alternatively, given the short life-span you imagine a living sex-toy to have, perhaps you should instead devote your marvellous brain to digging yourself out of this predicament, ethics be damned!
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