"No! You can't! It can't be you!"
He had not been the best master, but he had also not been the worst.
"No! What are you going to - oh, Goddess and - ow!"
He had not been dumb - was still not dumb - which had made organizing things so that he lost everything and she managed to get both freed and enriched by the situation quite difficult.
"Right, right. I'll behave. I'll behave. You don't have to - ow!"
She'd been motivated, slightly smarter than him, and she'd had outside help. So now, it was her passing over her credit card to the nice lady at the slave shop, and it was him kneeling there in the cell, the thick plastic slave-shop collar around his neck and the plastic manacles around his wrists. He kept looking up at her; the guard kept pushing his head down. And he kept complaining. That was new, the whining.
"Get him up and into my car." She nodded at the guard. "I'll take it from there."
"How do you have the mon- Ow!"
She smiled cheerfully at him. She found this part immensely fun, more fun than only ruining him had been. "It turns out that the Agency is immensely interested in what I can do. And they pay very, very well for hazardous duty."
"No," he whined. "You belong to me..."
She held up her hand, stopping the guard from striking him again. "Try again. Or you'll spend your first month as a slave muzzled."
"No," he said again, much more quietly. "No... mistress."
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