Her jaw hit the floor. Did he just -- a sex -- was he serious? Her mouth opened and closed in an attempt to find words, while the young Canadian-born redhead sat there on the pavement. A sex slave? Yes, food, a bed, and those other accouterments but -- a sex slave? She wanted to say know. This was a terrible idea and she knew it. The other part of her remembered the weather forecast, and made a pointed reminder of the cold pavement she could feel on her ass even through her skirt and underwear. Piebald nuzzled closer to his caretaker, sensing her sudden distress. Finally, gears turned enough for a frozen brain to actually start up again.<br/><br/>"Are you -- I mean -- I guess." She looked off to the side, uttered a quiet profanity, "F-fine." She looked at him, fire in her eyes, and something else hard to tell, "But I'm the head slave -- or mistress -- or whatever the hell you want to call it. Any girls after are under me. And -- and I can have fun with them if I want to. Deal?"<br/><br/>No<i>way</i>he would agree to that, even if he was actually serious. She<i><u>totally</u></i>had him trumped, she thought.