PRECIOUS CARGO


Original copyright @Maureen Lycaon, 1998. Rewritten April, 
2000. All rights reserved, but permission granted to make 
one copy for personal use.


Part 2


   Caitlin stroked the brush through Fodessa's newly-dyed fur, 
now a black as rich and deep as his own. They were both naked, 
except for Caitlin's black leather collar.
   "Enough," she finally said. "Get my gold earrings."
   "I'm sorry about Sidney, Mistress," the panther said.
   Fodessa nodded, her eyes clouding briefly, and then she pushed 
her feelings aside and drew a long breath. "You're going to have 
to help me with some things, a little sooner than we'd planned."
   "As you command, Mistress," and Caitlin smiled.
   "Take the slaves into the slave quarters, clean them up. I 
want their buttocks shaved as usual. If they give you any 
trouble, call me, don't take matters into your own paws. When 
you're finished, bring them to me."
   "Understood, Mistress." Caitlin grinned, saluted and departed.


   In the crate that was only large enough to allow him to lie or 
to crouch on all fours like a mere animal, the wolf had wakened. 
He lay quietly as the sedative faded from his system. The crate 
reeked of furries' smells of lust and sexfear -- his and those of 
the other slaves who'd occupied this crate, too many to single 
out any of their scents.
   He wondered when he'd be let out. He felt another pang of lust 
and considered masturbating right then and there. He probably 
wouldn't have another chance any time soon. 
   So far, his journey into his new life of slavery hadn't been 
nearly as exciting as his training. He'd simply signed the papers 
confirming his new status and that he'd entered into it of his 
own free will, put himself into the paws of other members of the 
Darksex Underground, and been given the drug by his trainers, 
trusting them to take care of him and avoid the GBM.
   The planet from which he hailed, New Yukon, was halfway to 
being an Open Planet, but that was mainly because the Federation 
had little interest in an iceball. If he hadn't lived in the 
largest city, Dawson, he might have lived his life in one of the 
rural pack villages without ever understanding or being able to 
give a name to his urges.
   Fortunately, New Yukon had a small but thriving darksex scene, 
which he discovered in his late teens.
   Even more fortunately, he eventually attracted the attention 
of a wealthy couple who decided to import him to their winter 
home on warmer Ferolda, where he began his training. Ferolda was 
a Federation world, but his owners had the money and connections 
to be undisturbed.
   Soft footfalls interrupted his thoughts, stopping beside his 
crate. He couldn't smell anything through the wood. There was the 
brief sound of a paw working on the exterior with some tool, and 
then the side of the crate fell away, letting in artificial 
light.
   Standing there was a muscular black panther, very obviously 
male and -- except for a tooled black leather collar -- as naked 
as he was. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, revealing his 
fangs.
   "Come out," he commanded in a deep, rich voice with a definite 
Alban Sector accent.
   Windrunner had to crawl on all fours to escape the crate. His 
every muscle needed to stretch, to get the blood moving again, 
but he didn't dare. He got up with some difficulty and stood 
before the panther in what he had been taught was the correct 
position, putting his paws behind his back, eyes lowered.
   A broad padded paw pushed his chin up. "Fodessa wants her 
slaves looking her in the eye," the panther said. "Get used to 
it."
   He obeyed, looking directly at the big cat for the first time. 
He was sleek and muscular, a bit taller than Windrunner was, and 
unlike the wolf, he had a sheath like his four-legged ancestors. 
His leopard smell was rich and thick, a sort of soft musk at odds 
with his hard, smirking face, and there were traces of male felid 
pheromones in it.
   "Now, come with me," the panther ordered. He turned and walked 
toward the entrance, taking Windrunner's obedience for granted. 
Windrunner followed him, ignoring aching muscles.
   The cargo hold held only one other box, but the wolf had no 
chance to look at it. They walked across the room, passing 
through a portal into the main ship's long central corridor. 
   This ship was a good size for a private smuggling vessel, he 
thought. The owner was clearly making money. But they encountered 
no one else in the corridor. He wondered where the other furries 
were, and how many.
   They entered a doorway into a shower room, lined with what 
looked like genuine green marble. But Windrunner's attention was 
drawn to the fixtures. They were all finished in faux-brass that 
couldn't tarnish or spot, but some of them were rather odd -- 
like that two-foot-long bar that ran along one wall at what 
seemed like an inconvenient waist height; the assortment of 
nozzles of different materials and sizes held in one rack; the 
funny little reinforced U-shaped brackets that he guessed were 
for bondage.
   The panther pushed him toward the bar.
   "Hold onto that and don't let go until I tell you," he purred.
   He obeyed, bending over to grasp the bar. Its main part was a 
few inches away from the wall, allowing his fingers to slide 
around it.
   And then the realization hit him, and he felt a deep, cold 
shiver in his entrails. Those nozzles in the rack -- they were 
for enemas! 
   Dear Slaaneth, he'd never had an enema before! How could they 
expect him to go through with this?
   His tail had become clamped between his legs. He wasn't aware 
of it until the panther grasped it, pulling it firmly upward. 
   "Guess I'll have to tie this brush of yours," that deep voice 
purred.
   Sure enough, those strong, sure paws tied a thong around his 
tail, a few inches from the tip. The panther attached the other 
end of the line to a bracket embedded in the wall, holding his 
tail stretched up over his back.
   Now the paws guided him to straighten his legs, so that he was 
bent over from the waist, his torso horizontal. He shivered as he 
realized that his master of the moment must be getting quite a 
view.
   He could also feel himself getting an erection.
   Like most furries, Windrunner's lineage of anthro wolves had 
human-style genitalia, with no sheath and the penis pointing 
down. Now his was lifting, beginning to throb. There was no way 
he could hide it, naked as he was, and he felt his breathing 
quicken. Mentally he cursed his overactive lust. He'd last had an 
orgasm the day before his journey began; he wished his wolfhood 
would remember that and stay satisfied.
   His hind feet were kicked apart. He was utterly revealed and 
helpless. He could only wait as the black felid went across the 
luxurious bathroom to get something and returned. 
   Then there was a click, and a faint humming sound.
   "Don't move," the panther said. "I'm going to shave you."
   Windrunner's ears went flat back. Shave him? What on earth was 
this about?
   Then he felt the pressure of some small, rounded object 
against his left ass cheek. There was a sensation of sudden, 
unfamiliar coolness as long fur fell away, bitten off short by 
the razor's field. There was no danger of cutting with the 
bladeless instrument, but the skin of his buttocks was being 
completely exposed, bared to his tormentors. He felt his face and 
ears getting warm. Tufts of silvery-gray hair fell in piles 
around his hind paws.
   The panther was careful and thorough, going slowly over every 
inch of Windrunner's ass, removing every single hair. He even 
grasped his tail and shaved around the base of it. 
   Then the wolf felt blunt fingertips digging into the cleft of 
his ass, spreading the rounded cheeks wide apart. He gasped, 
feeling his cock throb, as he was obscenely exposed. 
   Holding him open with one deft paw, the panther shaved his 
cleft, leaving the secret valley naked and hairless as the rest 
of his ass.
   At the end of it, his buttocks stuck out from his fur like a 
human's, two plump, pink hemispheres for his master's enjoyment.
   The humming stopped and the paws left his flesh for the 
moment. The black panther crossed the room again. He didn't dare 
look around to see what he was doing.
   He heard the sound of a nozzle being removed from its place, 
waited while the panther lubricated it and tested the temperature 
of the water emerging from it. His fingers tightened on the metal 
until he thought his prints must be embedded in it, but somehow 
he managed to remain still.
   Something cool and rubbery and slippery pressed against his 
anus, pushing against the tight little orifice, forcing it to 
open and accept it, widening him. His control broke: he yelped.
   He felt a stinging slap on his exposed buttocks. "Quiet!" the 
panther snapped.
   The nozzle returned, slowly widening his defenseless anus, 
pushing its way in. His anus itched, then ached as it was forced 
to accommodate the obscene object. 
   He felt his cock get harder and harder, responding to the 
humiliating intrusion.
   Inch by inch, the nozzle slipped into his entrails. It stopped 
when its tip seemed to be pushing against his very navel, and he 
felt obscenely stretched around the lubricated rubber. He 
couldn't help but moan.
   When the first shoot of water gushed into his bowels, he 
thought he would die of humiliation -- or come then and there. He 
didn't know that precum was actually dripping from the tip of his 
aching cock. The water streamed into his guts, inflating them, 
filling him as he had never been filled before. It seemed to go 
on and on, his belly growing heavy with water, until he thought 
he would burst like an overfilled balloon.
   He had no way of knowing it was barely two pints, and that he 
would be trained to hold far more.
   The flow of water ceased. A paw patted his right ass cheek, as 
the panther's voice said, "Don't you dare lose a drop of that 
until I tell you."
   His ass muscles clenched as the nozzle slowly, torturously 
withdrew from his violated rectum, struggling not to lose any 
water. He was bursting with the enema, his bowels already 
cramping, his need to expel it fierce. He couldn't even clamp his 
tail against his rump to help himself.
   Behind him, the panther squatted, no doubt to get a better 
view. Large paws again came down on his buttocks, fondling them, 
feeling them, squeezing.
   "What a sweet plump ass," that deep voice purred. "We're going 
to have some real fun with that ass of yours."
   It seemed an eternity before the cat untied his tail and told 
him, "Okay, use the toilet."
   The toilet was a typical furry affair -- a hole set in the 
floor requiring him to crouch in a natural position, surrounded 
by gold-flecked porcelain. The relief was overwhelming as he 
expelled the tormenting load. After he cleaned himself and 
flushed, the panther beckoned him with one black finger. He 
humbly followed down the hallway in his wake.
   He still didn't even know the panther's name.



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