"Are you saying you can't fix this, boy?" Fiona Drew glared daggers into her slave. The blue-haired lad gulped.
"Muh..my apologies mistress, but -" Effy trembled under her harsh electric blue eyes. Mistress Fiona was a woman in her late forties. A powerful Spellsword with silver hair and rippling muscles and a tight body of a woman half her age. She wielded the strap as adeptly as she would a sword and Effy's soft posterior was a regular target ever since she rescued the lad ten years prior.
"Why is this contraption not working?" Fiona was a master of combat and magic. But computers were for her, a different breed of magic. A glass stone that showed her stories of plumbers fucking their mistresses and of tales in galaxies far far away. It was fragile, it was temperamental, the computer. Whenever she used it, it would spew nonsense at her. She had trained her boy to decipher it for her but Effy was not a good interpreter.
"The printer isn't working coz you um..." Effy wondered what the right words would be. The short answer was- she broke it. Printers weren't things one could intimidate by force or threats like she could do with slaves. Mistress Fiona's idea of cracking it with her whip was ill-conceived.
But he couldn't say that to her, could he?
"You broke it," he decided to try. It had been a couple of years since he tried the honesty approach.
Self-preservation was the biggest driver for slaves. Their bottoms could only take a set number of lashes after all. He usually would take the blame for the problem and take his beating in silence but Effy did not know how he could spin this around without telling her the truth.
"Excuse me?"
