"Deee-lightful, my little chickadee. Grovel a bit more, and kiss my feet . . . marvelous. Now bark like a dog . . . good girl. You're learning." Glibspet smiled gleefully. "Now tell me how much you love Master. Come on, sweetcheeks. Let's hear it . . . ah, perfect!"
Next, Glibspet leaned back and enjoyed watching her clean the floor of his office with her tongue. It was ironic really. Linufel had the Pit coming, and she knew it, but she'd signed the contract, and there was no way out of it. So first she had her three months of serving him. No matter how bad he made it, and he intended to make it pretty bad, that would be a vacation compared with what happened when she ended up back in Hell. He would have thought she'd have been more grateful . . .
He had enough money in his bank account to give Bill Gates wallet envy. He was only taking cases for fun at the agency, and he was having fun. He'd gotten a promotion to Devil First Class, Grade-B for his work in tracking down Averial . . . he'd gotten extra points for thoroughly screwing over three Fallen and for actually finishing the job off with a nice death and the horrendous guilt of the police officer who had caused it.
The only damper on his total satisfaction was Mindenhall. Craig hadn't ended up in Hell after all—that damned "love" rule. He would have been promoted to Grade A if the little bastard hadn't been in love with him when he died—God refused to allow anyone who truly loved to burn in Hell.
But there was always next time.
Linufel finished cleaning the floor. Glibspet decided he could think of a dozen other interesting things he could have her do with her tongue. His smile grew broader.
"Come to Master," he said.
He didn't like the way she smiled at him as she crawled over.