Katja - Free to be a Slave (MMF/F -/F) - Part 1
Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2025 6:58 pm
This story continues the Katja 1-14 stories, which told about her teenage TUGs.
Now she is around 25 and her daddy worries what has become of his little princess.
Katja 00: Prolog 1 - Early Signs viewtopic.php?t=23922
Katja 00: Prolog 2 - When TUGs were simple viewtopic.php?t=23905
Katja 01: What's a collar without a leash? viewtopic.php?t=23816
Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring viewtopic.php?t=23853
Katja 03: A question of peg and chain viewtopic.php?t=23881
Katja 04: Caged Birds Do Sing viewtopic.php?t=23931
Katja 05: How not to dance viewtopic.php?t=23950
Katja 06: A Bald Decision viewtopic.php?t=23963
Katja 07: The Big Red viewtopic.php?t=23977
Katja 08: Grandma's Wooden Spoon viewtopic.php?t=24038
Katja 09: Enjoy the Silence viewtopic.php?t=24055
Katja 10: Among Sheep viewtopic.php?t=24067
Katja 11: Reading Tolkien viewtopic.php?t=24096
Katja 12: All about David viewtopic.php?t=24109
Katja 13: Boxing Katja viewtopic.php?t=24151
Katja 14: Butchering Katja viewtopic.php?t=24244 ADULT!
Part 1 - The Wedding
Years have come and gone. My little princess grew into a young woman, finished school, went to university, dated boys and — I think — the occasional girl, graduated and found a good job in the big city. Visits to her father in his cottage became short and rare.
Five years ago, she called unexpectedly, asking when she could visit and introduce me to Marcel, her boyfriend. That was new! She’d had boyfriends before and told me about some of them, but she had never introduced me to one.
We met the following weekend. Marcel seemed like an honest, caring, reasonable chap. The way he led Katja by the wrist, when other couples would walk hand in hand — I counted that as an oddity. In a quiet moment Katja whispered “Remember that test mummification we did ten years ago?” viewtopic.php?t=23950
“Oh, that Marcel!” I whispered back.
A few months later, they visited me over a long weekend. Katja now wore a thin gold ring through her septum. When I looked at it a bit too obviously, she just smiled. “I finally did it” she said — because I hadn’t allowed her to get one when she was thirteen. viewtopic.php?t=23963
Marcel still led her by the wrist. Apart from that, we got along increasingly well.
On Sunday afternoon Marcel grew rather formal and visibly nervous; he asked me to sit down in the living room. Then he asked for my daughter’s hand. I found that a little old-fashioned, but I tried to stay serious and asked the questions a father is expected to ask in such a situation. His answers satisfied me — and who was I to object to two grown adults, anyway?
I gave them my blessing. They were happy and began discussing a date for their engagement.
“Does your mom know?” I asked Katja.
“Not yet, but we’ll tell her this week.” she answered. Apparently, her consent to this union was not required.
Their wedding was scheduled three months later — a traditional affair that fulfilled all the clichés. Katja’s maids of honor were Chloe*, whom I hadn’t seen in more than ten years, and Davena, a girl I didn’t know at all.
(*) Katja had known Chloe since primary school. When Katja was nine or ten, she asked if Chloe could spend the summer with us at the cottage because Chloe’s mother was in hospital. I hadn’t known what to make of her. At ten, she already seemed old to me — not like twenty, more like forty. The most boring, most 'vanilla' girl on earth. You get the idea. And she hadn’t known what to make of our peculiar daddy-and-princess dynamic. But somehow Katja and Chloe had stayed close all their lives. By now, Chloe had two children (and had gained quite a bit of weight).
It was my duty to lead Katja down the aisle. But when we waited outside the church and I reached for her hand, she pulled it back.
“Daddy, please lead me by the wrist!” she said.
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“Because — please!”
When I took her wrist, she added, “The priest wouldn’t accept a leash.” viewtopic.php?t=23816
The party after the ceremony had all the bells and whistles — you get the idea. Katja danced a lot in her white gown: with Marcel, with me, with everyone — even with her brother. But I noticed she danced quite a bit with Davena, the other maid of honor. Davena was tall and athletic, like a swimmer. She wore the same peach-colored dress as Chloe, but she looked much better in it. Beneath her perfect makeup, her face was strong and striking.
When I went to ask Katja for another dance, she seemed to dodge the request and instead nudged Davena toward me. She was a great dancer. After two dances, we sat down and I got us drinks.
“We’ve met before,” she said, surprising me. Her voice matched her stature.
“You know me as David. I was the other bird in that Mozart opera. We shocked you a bit when I sat in the cage with Katja” she explained. viewtopic.php?t=23931
“We’re still close friends. Katja challenged me to come here en femme and be her maid of honor. What do you think — challenge accomplished?” she smiled confidently.
Impressed, I looked her up and down. “But you’ve been Davena before?” She gave me an enigmatic smile. Then we danced some more.
...
After the wedding, Marcel and Katja went on their honeymoon and it took six months before they visited me again.
I was more than a little shocked by their entrance. Marcel wore a rather severe-looking black suit; Katja now had a blond bob, high heels, and a very short black PVC dress — and he led her into the cottage on a leash attached to a thin silver collar around her neck.
But I knew Katja, and the confident way she looked at me stopped me from asking stupid questions. We went into the living room. I sat down on the sofa, Marcel took the armchair and Katja sat on the floor beside him. (I had the impression she was naked under her dress. Judging by how smoothly she sat and stood, she was clearly used to wearing it.)
I waited for them to speak. Marcel began:
“I hope we haven’t shocked you too much. But my slave said you could handle this.”
“Slave?” I asked, indeed shocked.
Katja nodded and Marcel explained “Yes, we’re in a Master/slave relationship. In fact, we have been for two years now.”
“You led her by the wrist when a leash wasn’t appropriate.” I realized.
“Yes — but we’re becoming more open about it, at least with people we trust.”
Did I want to be one of those?
“We refer to each other as ‘Master’ and ‘slave.’ Please accept that. Of course, you can still use ‘Marcel’ and ‘Katja.’”
“Thank you for that privilege.” I couldn’t help but say.
After a quick glance from Katja to Marcel and a nod from him, she said, “Master decides what this slave wears and how it looks. This slave no longer has a say in the matter.”
'This slave' — that was hard to swallow.
“This isn’t just our bedroom kink. We live this lifestyle full-time. She said you’d understand.” They both looked at me.
“You’re two grown adults — what can I say? Katja’s right, I’m less surprised than I should be. But I do wonder what I did wrong.”
“But Daddy, you did nothing wrong! I’m the happiest person in the world.” Katja blurted out.
That earned her a sharp tug on her leash and an angry look from Marcel.
“This slave will not speak without permission and will address its father respectfully. Expect an appropriate punishment.”
He turned back to me. “We want you to understand our way of living. We may look unusual, talk unusual, behave unusual, make unusual decisions — we don’t want to hide this from you.”
“You’re already quite good at being unusual.” I commented dryly.
Again, a quick glance from Katja to Marcel, then a nod.
“There’s more to come, Father. Mother doesn’t know yet. And Master doesn’t care about her opinion.”
‘Father’ and ‘Mother’ — really?
“Marcel, do you mind if I still call this slave ‘my little princess’?” I provoked him, at least I tried to.
He cringed but replied “Do as you please. This slave is your daughter.”
“What about her job? Will you lead her to the office on a leash in that scandalous plastic dress and tether her to her chair?” I asked.
That earned me a shocked look from Marcel.
“Wow, amazing — you two really think alike! That’s exactly the plan she came up with for the Halloween party in their office.
But four days a week she works from home. During video conferences, she wears turtleneck sweaters. Sitting at her desk, nobody can see her legs.
For office days I unlock her normal wardrobe — though I still approve what she picks.”
“Fair enough” I said.
I had bought supplies for a barbecue and we started to prepare it.
Conversation was awkward under their self-imposed roles, but they stubbornly stayed in character.
Small talk — standing at the grill with the Master of my little princess, beer in hand — was not easy.
She stayed in the kitchen, leashed to the counter, sweating in her PVC dress. Then she asked for permission to speak: “This slave can’t reach the fridge. Its leash is tethered too short.”
I went inside and retied her leash. Marcel watched us.
“This slave thanks her father.” she said, curtsied and smiled at me disarmingly.
A while later, while she was cooking, she again asked for permission to speak: “This slave’s dress is too short. Hot oil splashes onto its thighs. This slave asks permission to wear an apron.”
Marcel denied the request and explained to me “She’s a pain slut and wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Don’t you call my daughter a ‘pain slut’!" I countered "Even if she might be one sometimes.”
I was relieved when this slave set the table for three. I had feared she might get her food in a bowl on the floor. Over some wine and steaks, we all relaxed a little.
After we had eaten, Katja asked “This slave asks its Master to speak with its father privately.”
To my surprise Marcel nodded and left us alone. He went outside and started tidying up the grill.
[ To be continued ]
I'd appreciate your comments.
Now she is around 25 and her daddy worries what has become of his little princess.
Katja 00: Prolog 1 - Early Signs viewtopic.php?t=23922
Katja 00: Prolog 2 - When TUGs were simple viewtopic.php?t=23905
Katja 01: What's a collar without a leash? viewtopic.php?t=23816
Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring viewtopic.php?t=23853
Katja 03: A question of peg and chain viewtopic.php?t=23881
Katja 04: Caged Birds Do Sing viewtopic.php?t=23931
Katja 05: How not to dance viewtopic.php?t=23950
Katja 06: A Bald Decision viewtopic.php?t=23963
Katja 07: The Big Red viewtopic.php?t=23977
Katja 08: Grandma's Wooden Spoon viewtopic.php?t=24038
Katja 09: Enjoy the Silence viewtopic.php?t=24055
Katja 10: Among Sheep viewtopic.php?t=24067
Katja 11: Reading Tolkien viewtopic.php?t=24096
Katja 12: All about David viewtopic.php?t=24109
Katja 13: Boxing Katja viewtopic.php?t=24151
Katja 14: Butchering Katja viewtopic.php?t=24244 ADULT!
Part 1 - The Wedding
Years have come and gone. My little princess grew into a young woman, finished school, went to university, dated boys and — I think — the occasional girl, graduated and found a good job in the big city. Visits to her father in his cottage became short and rare.
Five years ago, she called unexpectedly, asking when she could visit and introduce me to Marcel, her boyfriend. That was new! She’d had boyfriends before and told me about some of them, but she had never introduced me to one.
We met the following weekend. Marcel seemed like an honest, caring, reasonable chap. The way he led Katja by the wrist, when other couples would walk hand in hand — I counted that as an oddity. In a quiet moment Katja whispered “Remember that test mummification we did ten years ago?” viewtopic.php?t=23950
“Oh, that Marcel!” I whispered back.
A few months later, they visited me over a long weekend. Katja now wore a thin gold ring through her septum. When I looked at it a bit too obviously, she just smiled. “I finally did it” she said — because I hadn’t allowed her to get one when she was thirteen. viewtopic.php?t=23963
Marcel still led her by the wrist. Apart from that, we got along increasingly well.
On Sunday afternoon Marcel grew rather formal and visibly nervous; he asked me to sit down in the living room. Then he asked for my daughter’s hand. I found that a little old-fashioned, but I tried to stay serious and asked the questions a father is expected to ask in such a situation. His answers satisfied me — and who was I to object to two grown adults, anyway?
I gave them my blessing. They were happy and began discussing a date for their engagement.
“Does your mom know?” I asked Katja.
“Not yet, but we’ll tell her this week.” she answered. Apparently, her consent to this union was not required.
Their wedding was scheduled three months later — a traditional affair that fulfilled all the clichés. Katja’s maids of honor were Chloe*, whom I hadn’t seen in more than ten years, and Davena, a girl I didn’t know at all.
(*) Katja had known Chloe since primary school. When Katja was nine or ten, she asked if Chloe could spend the summer with us at the cottage because Chloe’s mother was in hospital. I hadn’t known what to make of her. At ten, she already seemed old to me — not like twenty, more like forty. The most boring, most 'vanilla' girl on earth. You get the idea. And she hadn’t known what to make of our peculiar daddy-and-princess dynamic. But somehow Katja and Chloe had stayed close all their lives. By now, Chloe had two children (and had gained quite a bit of weight).
It was my duty to lead Katja down the aisle. But when we waited outside the church and I reached for her hand, she pulled it back.
“Daddy, please lead me by the wrist!” she said.
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
“Because — please!”
When I took her wrist, she added, “The priest wouldn’t accept a leash.” viewtopic.php?t=23816
The party after the ceremony had all the bells and whistles — you get the idea. Katja danced a lot in her white gown: with Marcel, with me, with everyone — even with her brother. But I noticed she danced quite a bit with Davena, the other maid of honor. Davena was tall and athletic, like a swimmer. She wore the same peach-colored dress as Chloe, but she looked much better in it. Beneath her perfect makeup, her face was strong and striking.
When I went to ask Katja for another dance, she seemed to dodge the request and instead nudged Davena toward me. She was a great dancer. After two dances, we sat down and I got us drinks.
“We’ve met before,” she said, surprising me. Her voice matched her stature.
“You know me as David. I was the other bird in that Mozart opera. We shocked you a bit when I sat in the cage with Katja” she explained. viewtopic.php?t=23931
“We’re still close friends. Katja challenged me to come here en femme and be her maid of honor. What do you think — challenge accomplished?” she smiled confidently.
Impressed, I looked her up and down. “But you’ve been Davena before?” She gave me an enigmatic smile. Then we danced some more.
...
After the wedding, Marcel and Katja went on their honeymoon and it took six months before they visited me again.
I was more than a little shocked by their entrance. Marcel wore a rather severe-looking black suit; Katja now had a blond bob, high heels, and a very short black PVC dress — and he led her into the cottage on a leash attached to a thin silver collar around her neck.
But I knew Katja, and the confident way she looked at me stopped me from asking stupid questions. We went into the living room. I sat down on the sofa, Marcel took the armchair and Katja sat on the floor beside him. (I had the impression she was naked under her dress. Judging by how smoothly she sat and stood, she was clearly used to wearing it.)
I waited for them to speak. Marcel began:
“I hope we haven’t shocked you too much. But my slave said you could handle this.”
“Slave?” I asked, indeed shocked.
Katja nodded and Marcel explained “Yes, we’re in a Master/slave relationship. In fact, we have been for two years now.”
“You led her by the wrist when a leash wasn’t appropriate.” I realized.
“Yes — but we’re becoming more open about it, at least with people we trust.”
Did I want to be one of those?
“We refer to each other as ‘Master’ and ‘slave.’ Please accept that. Of course, you can still use ‘Marcel’ and ‘Katja.’”
“Thank you for that privilege.” I couldn’t help but say.
After a quick glance from Katja to Marcel and a nod from him, she said, “Master decides what this slave wears and how it looks. This slave no longer has a say in the matter.”
'This slave' — that was hard to swallow.
“This isn’t just our bedroom kink. We live this lifestyle full-time. She said you’d understand.” They both looked at me.
“You’re two grown adults — what can I say? Katja’s right, I’m less surprised than I should be. But I do wonder what I did wrong.”
“But Daddy, you did nothing wrong! I’m the happiest person in the world.” Katja blurted out.
That earned her a sharp tug on her leash and an angry look from Marcel.
“This slave will not speak without permission and will address its father respectfully. Expect an appropriate punishment.”
He turned back to me. “We want you to understand our way of living. We may look unusual, talk unusual, behave unusual, make unusual decisions — we don’t want to hide this from you.”
“You’re already quite good at being unusual.” I commented dryly.
Again, a quick glance from Katja to Marcel, then a nod.
“There’s more to come, Father. Mother doesn’t know yet. And Master doesn’t care about her opinion.”
‘Father’ and ‘Mother’ — really?
“Marcel, do you mind if I still call this slave ‘my little princess’?” I provoked him, at least I tried to.
He cringed but replied “Do as you please. This slave is your daughter.”
“What about her job? Will you lead her to the office on a leash in that scandalous plastic dress and tether her to her chair?” I asked.
That earned me a shocked look from Marcel.
“Wow, amazing — you two really think alike! That’s exactly the plan she came up with for the Halloween party in their office.
But four days a week she works from home. During video conferences, she wears turtleneck sweaters. Sitting at her desk, nobody can see her legs.
For office days I unlock her normal wardrobe — though I still approve what she picks.”
“Fair enough” I said.
I had bought supplies for a barbecue and we started to prepare it.
Conversation was awkward under their self-imposed roles, but they stubbornly stayed in character.
Small talk — standing at the grill with the Master of my little princess, beer in hand — was not easy.
She stayed in the kitchen, leashed to the counter, sweating in her PVC dress. Then she asked for permission to speak: “This slave can’t reach the fridge. Its leash is tethered too short.”
I went inside and retied her leash. Marcel watched us.
“This slave thanks her father.” she said, curtsied and smiled at me disarmingly.
A while later, while she was cooking, she again asked for permission to speak: “This slave’s dress is too short. Hot oil splashes onto its thighs. This slave asks permission to wear an apron.”
Marcel denied the request and explained to me “She’s a pain slut and wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Don’t you call my daughter a ‘pain slut’!" I countered "Even if she might be one sometimes.”
I was relieved when this slave set the table for three. I had feared she might get her food in a bowl on the floor. Over some wine and steaks, we all relaxed a little.
After we had eaten, Katja asked “This slave asks its Master to speak with its father privately.”
To my surprise Marcel nodded and left us alone. He went outside and started tidying up the grill.
[ To be continued ]
I'd appreciate your comments.