(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/KarinAvatar_04.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">KARIN LECONTE</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>At home/BAF office registration suite<br/><strong>With:</strong>Master/Alone with some NPC BAF employees<br/><br/>This morning had been something I’d been looking forward to for so long! Today I turned eighteen and papa had promised me I’d become his slave today, something I was looking to enjoy very much. Of course my education had prepared me well for today, teaching me all about how beautiful a slave must be and how happy she is to serve her master and all the ways she can delight in serving him… like doing his washing and cooking his meals and buying his shopping and cleaning his home! All of this I was pleased to be able to finally do!<br/><br/>When I had heard his voice cut through my sleep with a loud, “wake up,” and a wash of cool air as he pulled the sheets off my sleeping body, I did so instantly, being wide awake at once. Grinning I bounced out of bed, quite naked apart from a little white pair of bikini panties. I stood before him, hands behind my back, shoulders back, chest pushed out like school had taught me, chin up.<br/><br/>“You will always offer your body to your Master,” the teachers had taught, “It belongs to him, not you. Your tits especially, thrust them out so he hardly need reach forwards to touch and enjoy them. Arch your back, pull your bottom in and present them, like gifts.”<br/><br/>I saw him looking at my bare tits. That is the word I used for them, the word we were taught at school. We were told it was crude and vulgar but that was how slaves should think. A Free Woman had breasts, a slave had tits.<br/><br/>I knew my tits were beautiful – large and firm with nipples that stuck proudly up - and that I had been successful in working hard to make my body acceptable for this day. It had been years of hard work, dieting and exercising and undergoing all the treatments. The long hours with the suction cups pumping at my nipples to thicken and extend them, the various series of drug injections to make them more sensitive, to make my tits carry milk as well, all these things had been my duty to have done. I confess I had found them exciting too, arousing! My stubby nipples lay soft and part-risen in the warm sunny room.<br/><br/><strong><em>“Take those off,”</em></strong>he had said, pointing to my underwear and I had immediately done so. I had often been naked around the house in the last couple of years and the last slut-wife father had had was usually naked too so it was no concern to me that father wanted me completely bare. Naked, I turned and stood straight again, tits presented, legs a little parted like the diagram posters at school had shown. Papa stared at my smooth hairless cunt, clearly pleased with my body. I beamed inwardly, happy that he enjoyed looking at me, happy that my cunt was beautiful and I was lucky enough to have tidy trim lips.<br/><br/>That is another word we were taught to use. Cunt. So crude and dirty, but it was what we had. Free Women did not.<br/><br/>“You will have cunts when you become slaves,” is what our Slave-Ed teachers had taught us. “Not sexes or vaginas or pussies…<em>cunts</em>. As slaves, you’ll be cunts too, so fix that word in your minds and be proud of it!” The teacher had had one girl bent backwards over her desk, stripped and with her legs forced wide open, so all of us could see her cunt. She was sixteen and the teacher had shaved her in front of us all. She looked beautiful, all pink and soft and spread apart. I wanted a cunt like that. I remembered that day well.<br/><br/>I came back to the present. Papa was speaking again.<br/><br/><strong><em>“Starting today, I own you. You’re my daughter, but more than that, you’re now my property. You’re ready to serve aren’t you? To do everything your father demands?”</em></strong><br/><br/><strong>“Yes, papa!”</strong>I said brightly.<br/><br/><strong><em>“Good. And you no longer call me that. It is ‘Master’ from now on and in your head it always has a capital ‘M’.”</em></strong><br/><br/><strong>“Yes, Master!”</strong>That was easy and it excited me to use such a word. It made him more powerful and me more submissive. I felt a little tingle of pleasure at using the word; school had prepared me well.<br/><br/><strong><em>“I am going to call you cunt.”</em></strong><br/><br/><strong>“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”</strong>I adored the name. It was right that I should be called that. Such a crude dirty name was a sign Master – my own papa – was taking the right approach with his new property so I didn’t mind the name at all. I knew he was free to refer to me in any way he wished. I knew it was a crude word but I also knew that he loved me regardless and if it made him happy to call his slave-daughter a crude name, then I was happy too.<br/><br/><strong><em>“To the bathroom. We will start with you showering me.”</em></strong><br/><br/>I followed silently, wrists crossed in the small of my back, bare feet making no noise and in the bathroom of our new apartment I was pleased to give him my first service. I had hoped perhaps for a kiss on my birthday but this was just as nice in a different way.<br/><br/>He removed his underwear and we both stepped into the large walk-in shower room, big enough for more than just the two of us. I took the shower wand from its hook and ran the water to a pleasantly warm temperature, then began to rinse his body. I had seen pa- I mean Master, naked before too, many times, usually when he mounted the old slut-wife he had and took his pleasure from her, sometimes she would be bent over the kitchen worksurface of our old house in Nice and he’d just use her from behind whenever he wished. He owned her after all. It was what slut-wives were for.<br/><br/>I put the shower wand back and soaped up the big squishy sea-sponge with shower gel and began to rub his body down, chest, shoulders, back – though Master was growing old he was still fit and healthy and exercised often. His shoulders were still wide and powerful. I wanted to ask if I was doing it right but I’d been taught to remain silent unless spoken too so I thought that if he wanted me to do any different, he’d say so…<br/><br/>Without a word he had pulled the sponge from my hands and thrown it down and ordered me to use my hands on him. I had never done this before but our teachers had said our owners would demand such service. I happily lathered up his body and ran my hands everywhere over his warm firm skin, down his back to his rear, around his hips, down his thighs.<br/><br/>Pa- I mean master was erect and while I’ve seen his cock so often as he ploughed the slut-wife I had never seen it hard when I was the only one with him. It was meaty and long, longer than the plastic toys we had been trained on, to aid us in suppressing our gag reflexes, and thicker too.<br/><br/>Master turned around and squirted my chest with shower gel, telling me to now wash him without using my hands. I was surprised and a little shocked; we were already getting into the duties a slut-wife should cover, but I was owned by Master and didn’t hesitate at all, beyond a small flicker of my eyes, to push up against his chest with my own and softly and slowly begin to use my tits as a sponge.<br/>As I pushed against his chest I looked up at him sweetly and smiled, doing my utmost to make the shower enjoyable for him. I could feel his cock hard and pushing at my belly, and between my thighs. I knew we were father and daughter so should not do sex but I was getting excited. My body had been trained and designed for this response and I knew it was normal for a slave to get horny when she served her master physically so I let the exciting feelings grow. It was just a little wrong that my own papa should make my body react this way.<br/><br/>Master groaned now and again as I washed him everywhere, holding my arms carefully behind me when I used my tits on him and in front of me when I balled my behind into his crotch and rubbed against his cock, feeling it slide between my cheeks and make me feel very confused.<br/><br/>He didn’t want my hands to soap his cock but bent me forwards, soaped my thighs and slid his cock between them, doing a fucking motion between my legs. He was hot and hard and by the tie he finished I was feeling very wet.<br/><br/>Then he wanted me to kneel before him and use my hands and this I was familiar with. Smiling up at him in delight I made sure every centimetre of him was clean, though the fluids of his excitement kept leaking out of him. To rinse off I pulled his foreskin back hard and ran the hot shower spray over the exposed head and underneath up at this cleft where I have been taught a man is very sensitive.<br/>From the noises Master made I know my teachers were right.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>That had been a couple of hours ago. Now it was now and we had walked to Master’s new office through the sunny streets. That walk in itself was a shock and an adventure. My first time bare outdoors in public. I will recount that later. I was so lucky in that where Master worked was also where I would be registered and receive my collar.<br/><br/>Master had led me on a leash attached to a plain leather collar around my neck. It was the first I had ever worn although we had experienced the feel of the tighter slave chokers when we’d had the nice BAF man visit us in school.<br/><br/>At the office Master had gone upstairs and given the leash to another man, round and fat and sweaty, telling him to carry out my registration then return me –<em>unpenetrated</em>– to him when I was done. My Master was the fat sweaty man’s boss so I knew he’d be obedient. I was taken down in a lift to a basement level and the moment Master was out of sight the sweaty man grinned at me in a wicked way and put his hands on me, fondling my breasts and bottom. My conditioning kicked in and I didn’t resist, but raised my arms to place my hands behind my head, the fingers laced together, so that the fat man could touch all the places he’d want to more easily. He stank and was really gross but he was a man and I was a slave so I couldn’t object to him touching. My mind wanted him to touch, it was conditioned to. He crushed my soft tits in his strong meaty hands making me gasp in pain and his pudgy moist fingers felt between my cheeks to finger my back door. I bent forwards at once and parted my legs because that was what I was taught to do. He sniggered and made some crude joke about being well-trained already and his finger played at my rear entrance but didn’t push in.<br/><br/>The lift stopped and with my hands still clasped behind my head I was led down a corridor to the Certification Room, my white high heels, the only things I had worn in my walk from home, clicking loudly on the stone floor.<br/><br/>We walked past other workers, men in white coats with digital tablets and the beefy training staff in their black security overalls with the circled gold BAF logo on the breast, many of them stopping to glance at me as I went past, their eyes devouring my bare body. My dampness, which had not fully subsided after this morning’s shower, now returned when their hot gazes met mine. Lewd comments fell in the air behind me and I gave the watching men an extra wiggle of my behind. Someone applauded, several laughed. An anonymous hand spanked my bottom. I loved the men’s attention, it was a sign I was a beautiful slave.<br/><br/>We reached a door and the fat man opened it, leading me in. We entered a white tiled clinically bright room. A desk and computer were to one side with a rack of bookshelves behind and some cabinets and in the main part of the room it looked like a gymnasium with a treadmill, a rowing machine, a set of weights, a padded floor mat.<br/><br/>At the desk sat a thin spotty, weaselly man who looked about forty. While the first man was round and sweaty the second was stick-thin and greasy. Did the Bureau choose the most repugnant men to deal with registrations? Was this the only time such low-class workers ever got their hands on a pretty girl?<br/><br/><strong><em>“Ah, here she is! We thought you would be in this week. Happy birthday my dearie. Your eighteenth is going to be a busy-busy day for you, my pretty little cunt! And yes…! What a pretty cunt you have too. My word dear papa is going to have fun with you. So… well, you’ll have some idea of what we need you to do today so let’s get started. Stand there~”</em></strong>By pointing with the cap-end of his pen, the greasy man indicated a space in front of his desk.<br/><br/>I moved instantly to the place indicated and presented my body for him, arms still raised, ankles two feet apart, chest thrust forwards. The greasy thin man stared at me over the top of his spectacles. His face went deadly serious.<br/><br/><strong><em>“Yes. Quite the beauty. You’re very lucky my pretty cunt. I can see a high DMV here right away. So… let’s begin. Name? date of birth? Address?...”</em></strong><br/><br/>He began by taking down all my usual details. As I spoke my answers the fat sweaty man came up behind me and put his hands around me to stroke my stomach and then lifted his hands to cup and squeeze my breasts. Despite how gross he was I melted into his touch, my voice becoming breathy and hoarse as I answered the long string of questions.<br/><br/>A third man was in the room, a younger man in a white coat with a long hooked nose who seemed to be a technician in charge of a movie camera on a tripod. He wandered casually over and cupped a hand over my soft cunt, fondling the bulge of my sex and rubbing a finger against my slit. I had to answer the questions while being groped and teased and abused and very soon I was panting and wet, my body conditioned by years of training to respond to such attentions.<br/><br/>In school certain practical lessons had us cleaning the blackboard or the windows or washing the floors or tidying the stationery cupboard while two or three boys from the master-ed curriculum came in and groped us. We had to give the proper response which was to get sexually aroused but not stop for a second doing the work we’d been given. We would be naked of course and a group of masters would sit and observe our technique and grade us on how efficiently we worked and how wet we became. Many of us had to repeat such lessons dozens of times before our response was considered acceptable. Being pleasured and groped by random men while I had to respond to questions was therefore easy.