(http://jeansnow.net/tokyoboy/071104-jeansnow-suit.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">MAURICE REPIGNAN</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Front reception desk<br/><strong>With:</strong>David Cornell<br/><br/>It had been an unremarkable morning so far on the public desk at the BAF; a couple of tourists coming in and wanting some information; two gentlemen who had queries about flogging their slaves in public;<strong>"That is fine,"</strong>Maurice had assured them,<strong>"Just please don't let their screams disturb others and so please consider using a gag"</strong>; another old man who wanted to know about sex in public. Maurice had smiled and delivered the exact same answer;<strong>"That is fine, just please don't let her screams disturb others so please consider using a gag."</strong><br/><br/>Finally a young rich playboy type who wanted to go to Milan on business and needed his slaves boundaries adjusting. A fee was paid and the man departed, his puppy-dog crawling beside him, her 'tail' swishing cutely and the moist peach of her sex giving off that undeniable bitch-in-heat smell.<br/><br/>Maurice Repignan just had time to slip away from the desk to the staff lounge and fix himself a quick coffee and scan the latest copy of<em>"What Cunt?"</em>magazine for ten minutes before returning to his place at the reception desk. Then a very tall, well-built, dark-haired man came in. He spoke English and was clearly American but Maurice was multi-lingual, it was one of the job requirements for working in Monaco. He spoke and wrote French, Italian, English and enough of a smattering of German and Spanish to help customers.<br/><br/>The man's case was unusual though. Often with these CMR-having-lost-a-female issues, the loss was quite recent and was commonly the result of a theft of property. Maurice had worked in the Nice BFA office until a month ago and had then applied to work at the new office being set up here because his commute was so much shorter. It was still a thirty minute train ride each way but the perks in pay for the Monaco weighting on his salary made up for it. In Nice the illegal adbuction problem was severe and they had recently begun introducing CMR DNA swabs so that the person claiming the young woman was his daughter, or niece, or sister was who he said he was.<br/><br/>Maurice was therefore familiar with DNA testing and he smiled at the big American, folding his hands together on the reception counter, the fingers laced togeher into a single ball.<br/><br/><strong>"No problem at all Sir. What I will need to do is take some details from you. I take it you have no photo of the young woman? No? No, of course not. My apologies! Hn, let's see now..."</strong><br/><br/>The bespectacled clerk smiled again and turned to his desk computer, pivoting the flat screen around so the customer could see the data logging process and wouldn't feel excluded as he might if the clerk hid behind his screen, tapping away. The screen was all in French however so it may not have been that helpful a gesture in the American's case.<br/><br/>Wihin ten minutes all the relevant details David Cornell could give were in the system and Maurice Repignan had even taken a confirmatory look at the American's passport, scanning in the photo and address page.<br/><br/><strong>"What we shall do, Monsieur Cornell, is take a small swab of saliva and send that off for processing. It takes about forty-eight hours and we can contact you at your hotel or you can return here and ask for me, Maurice Repignan - here is my card, Monsieur. Now if you would please, just take a wipe on the gums on the outside of your lower teeth with this."</strong><br/><br/>The clerk slid a pair of clear plastic gloves on so that no oils from his own skin would get on the sample and offered David a cotton bud with which to get wet with saliva. He then popped it swiftly away in a glass vial, sealing the cap and printing off an adhesive label from his computer which carried David's necessary information. Maurice handed the vial to a passing colleague who went away through a door to a rear area of the office.<br/><br/><strong>"I do hope we can help you find your missing cunt, Sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?"</strong><br/><br/>Maurice pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled. It was a shame he acted and looked so gay, but he wasn't. Or at least that is what he insisted to all his friends and colleagues.