PRECIOUS CARGO @Copyright 1999, Maureen. All rights reserved. Part 19 Kathryn had once again earned punishment. The vixen was shackled spread-eagled on her back on the golden-carpeted floor of a punishment room that Cambelli had generously let them borrow. Even her bushy tail was secured. Her thighs were straddled widely, leaving her swollen vulva open and pouting. Her large clitoris was completely exposed to view, swollen stiffly, insolently erect like a tiny penis from between the pink, wet folds of the hood. The black panther sat between those wide-spread furry legs, softly tickling that throbbing bud with a stiff feather, flicking it up and down the shaft. A variety of other tools for this job lay spread on the floor within paws' reach. Cambelli had been very obliging about letting Caitlin and Fodessa use his rooms and equipment. Katie moaned, gasped, pleaded inarticulately behind her ball gag. The lubrication from her vulva had dampened the fur of her entire rear, turning the fur from beige to a dirty gray-brown, flowing down onto her tail and wetting it too. Good thing the carpeting was a synthfiber and would repel the strong-smelling fluid. The entire room reeked of vulpine sex. She bucked wildly against the restraints, out of control, arching her back, breasts swaying and dancing with her convulsive movements, as she reached the very verge of climax. Caitlin whipped the feather away and watched, grinning, ears perked. His smile was gloating as she frantically thrust her pelvis forward, begging vainly for a few moments' more stimulation, her whimpers nearly sobs. She still hadn't come even once since her arrival on the Satisfaction. "Bet you're real sorry you were such a clumsy slut at the party, aren't you?" Caitlin asked her. After they'd taken a walk on the estate and enjoyed a long, leisurely massage from several of Cambelli's well-trained slaves, Fodessa and Windrunner had retreated to her own lavish guest room. They were both naked now, but instead of demanding a performance from the wolf, she took a well-padded velvet- upholstered chair and motioned for him to sit as well. "We need to talk," she said. He found another chair, sat down in it (and once again she enjoyed the grace and elegance of his every movement), and looked back at her, ears perked, his serious green eyes questioning. Fodessa drew a deep breath. Bluntness and frankness, except in sex, was not her style, but she couldn't think of a subtle way to broach this. "First of all," she told him, "you've been a magnificent slave. One of the best I've ever worked with, if not *the* best." Windrunner's eyes widened slightly, then sparkled as he smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, Fodessa." Fodessa paused, turned her head away to stare unseeingly at a magnificent original Xherthanas oil painting, of a religious furry orgy from ancient Portico. She gathered her thoughts, then returned her gaze to him. "You wouldn't be aware of this, but we started this latest run with one more crew member, a dhole named Sidney. You probably smelled his scent in the Satisfaction and wondered about it. Slaaneth, you probably wondered why only two furs were running the ship." "Yes," he admitted, nodding. Fodessa took a deep breath. "He's no longer with us. He got killed on LaGrange Point Five, in a fight." Windrunner's eyes widened and his ears went back, but he nodded. "I'm telling you this, because I'm going to make you a very unusual offer. I'd like to keep you, both as a slave and a crew member, as Caitlin is." This time, Windrunner's eyes practically bulged. When he managed to close his jaw, he asked, "But -- aren't you obligated to deliver me to Nastara Enterprises?" Nastara Enterprises was Blackmuzzle's cover operation. "Technically, yes," she admitted. "But I can buy you back from them. The key is, you have to be willing and interested." "I don't have any experience on a ship -- " Windrunner began, but she waved a paw to cut him off. "Since you won't be piloting, that's not totally necessary. We can teach you what you need to know. The key is, you have to be willing. I can't simply force you into it." She had no proof he felt anything for her. She refused to let herself hope. His expression turned inward for a moment. Then he looked up, and she was amazed and overjoyed at what she saw in those green eyes -- a gleam of delight, excitement. He nodded. "I'm willing, Captain Fodessa," he said, and then he smiled broadly. Fodessa felt an equally broad grin forming on her own muzzle, but turned serious again. "Before you make a decision, there are some things you should know about our situation. It's dangerous, and it may be getting more so. Let me tell you what happened on LaGrange." She told him how Sidney had died, the GBM attack, and -- without telling him the source of her information -- her fears about the string of murders and arrests. Had she been a canid, she would have felt guilty for even considering exposing him to such danger. But she was a felid. Her ancestor, the clouded leopard of Terran southeast Asia, is a solitary creature with no need for morality or a conscience. But when those ancient genetic engineers created sentient felids, they'd gifted -- or burdened -- them with social instincts that let them get along in a civilized society. Fodessa was barely capable of guilt or remorse -- such emotions seemed silly to her. But she did accept darksex morality, with its traditions of consent. For what she was doing now -- offering to drag Windrunner into danger with her -- she needed the wolf's consent. She finished telling her tale, and stopped, nostrils flaring to take in his scent of mingled uncertainty and eagerness. She paused, surprised at what it told her -- he *wanted* to stay with her. "And that's why you should think about this before you say yes," she said. Windrunner looked back at the clouded leopard, thoughts churning. He'd known he felt something for Fodessa; it hadn't occurred to him that she might feel something besides lust for him. Most felids were so solidly promiscuous . . . . . . but this was no impulse of the moment in an impulsive cat. He could smell that. Her scent spoke of eagerness, of carefully guarded hope, telling the tale as clearly as if he could read her mind. He didn't really know how many enemies this smuggler captain had, or what he'd be getting himself into if he accepted her offer. There was no real way to know. It was like selling himself into slavery on Feroldia, only with the added spice of danger -- the sort of danger he'd risked when hiking in New Yukon's incredibly wild back country with his friends and hunting the huge tricorns. He looked back up into Fodessa's amber-eyed gaze. "I think right now the answer is yes," he told her. Direct comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com .