(http://fhg.thelifeerotic.com/media/6A75A231841B5B34E5B9804D7CA70A2B/w_CF0CE107FC3C4C044553AD525D09AAD6.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Marie-Clare Lisson</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Entering BAF Offices Foyer<br/><strong>With:</strong>Roland Lisson, Annalie Rachel Lisson.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Today was probably the biggest day of my life. I had been eight when they'd changed the law and Papa had made Maman his slave. Things hadn't actually changed that much in our house though. La Petite Ange du Papa<sup>1</sup>still ruled the house. Me, I mean. I was getting what ever I wanted from the time I was six. I wanted a pony? Papa got me a pony. I wanted a different pony? No problem. The first pony went back and I got the one I wanted. I think I rode it once, fell off and never went near it again. The animal ended up being given to some charity or other.<br/><br/>About the only thing Papa never gave me was a slave of my own. When I told him I was gay, he smiled indulgently and said of course I was. When he caught me in bed with one of his house slaves, the day after my sixteenth birthday (I'd set it up so he would), he smiled indulgently and let me carrry on, but I never saw that slave again. That annoyed me because she was pretty, and I wanted her.<br/><br/>Papa bought me my own Porsche Boxter when I was seventeen, and let me drive it around his country estate near Contes. Of course I wanted to drive it on the road, but Papa explained carefully why I couldn't, yet. His reason made sense - I didn't want to be banned from driving when I could do so legally, so I did as he asked.<br/><br/>But today... ah, today I got two things I was most craving. My drivers licence, but most important of all, my exemption from slavery licence. Maman, as I was still forced to call her until today, came with us. I could see she wasn't happy, and I smiled at that thought.<br/><br/>Papa aproache the desk and spoke to the man there. "Bonne après midi, Monsieur.<sup>2</sup>I have come to register my daughter as a slave..."<br/><br/>"What? No! Papa, you promised!"<br/><br/>"Ha ha ha! Fooled you my angel! No, seriously, here is her licence fee and here is the application form..."<br/><br/>"Bâtard, papa! Not funny!" I pouted and thumped him on the arm. Not hard, of course. It was not a funny joke at all for me, but Papa seemed to get some small amusement out of it. The bored looking individual behind the desk didn't think it was funny either. He stamped the forms and did what he did, took my photo, my finger prints, DNA, retinal scan, and even a clay mould of my teeth for some unknown reason, and finally after an<em>interminable</em>wait, I was handed a thin plastic card and a sheaf of papers.<br/><br/>I nodded dutifully at his warning that I was to read those documents carefully because if I didn't it would be my own fault if I broke the terms of my licence.<em>Yeah, yeah, whatever...</em><br/><br/>But Papa had one other surprise for me. "While we're here, I wish to transfer ownership of one of my slaves to my daughter?" It was funny, but to hear him say those two words,<em>my daughter</em>, sent a sudden thrill through me. I was<em>free!</em>Eighteen and free! I had spotted, as we came in, a girl I knew from school. She, clearly, was not free. Her whole demeanour was of servitude. She seemed to be enjoying it though, which was fine. It was only after a moment that Papa's words sank in. He was giving me a slave? Oooh! Which one, I wondered? The pretty brunette with the big boobs? Or the cute redhead that I hadn't let him catch me fucking because she was my favourite.<br/><br/>The clerk was explaining that he didn't have to do that here, and Papa was explaining that he knew that, but as he<em>was</em>here, was there any reason why he couldn't? And the Clerk was admitting that, no there wasn't, and tapping details into his computer and Papa was telling him the slave's collar number... And handed me a remote and a deed of ownership. I looked at the name on it and my eyes went wide. "What is this, another joke?"<br/><br/>"No, my angel. I thought maybe you would like to have her look after you. I have no further use for her and she has always been as fond of you as I have."<br/><br/>I looked from Papa to Maman, or Maman-cunt as she now was. "Merde!" I spat. But then I smiled a really evil smile. "Okay Papa, I will take Maman-cunt and she will look after me." My eyes slid down over those nice big boobs, that I had suckled at when I was an infant. "I think I will enjoy this..." I reached out and took Maman-cunt's leash from Papa.<br/><br/>Papa had always been far too lenient with her, allowing her to wear clothing in public, allowing her to walk and stand and sit, allowing her to talk... I sneered at Papa and gave a sharp jerk on the leash. "Get your fucking clothes off, Maman-Cunt. NOW! And don't answer back. Monsieur", I addressed the clerk, "Do you have a gag I could borrow?" The flunky smiled at me indulgently, and I looked at him in horror. "Now, Monsieur, if you please?" My tone of voice told him clearly who was in charge here.<br/><br/>"Of course, Mam'selle", he stammered and rummaged in a draw, producing a rather nice sized ball with a single strap on it. I snatched it from him, forced the ball into Maman-cunt's mouth and buckled it behind her head. "Now, cunt, undress and then get on your knees."<br/><br/><hr/>1: La Petite Ange du Papa = Daddy's Little Angel<br/>2: Bonne après midi, Monsieur = Good afternoon, sir.