PRECIOUS CARGO


@Copyright August 2000, Maureen. All rights reserved.


Part 28


   Halcyon was nine standard-days' journey from Perion.
   That was what Windrunner kept telling himself, because Fodessa 
had told him he'd be officially in disgrace until then. 
Unfortunately, at times like these, he wanted the journey to be 
over *now*.
   He was bent over the bar in the enema room, where he'd already 
been administered another huge enema. His tail was tied over his 
back to his new black leather collar, making it arch like a 
husky's.
   The crop's kisses were like an entire nest of New Yukon fire-
hornets with some special fetish for his shaven buttocks. He was 
squirming, clutching at the horizontal bar so tightly that he 
thought he'd leave his pawprints on the metal. 
   Fodessa swung the vicious crop through the air yet again, 
landing a smacking blow.
   "That was seven! Thank you, Mistress," he hissed through 
tightly gritted teeth, feeling more tears slip out of his eyes.
   Part of his punishment was to receive ten strokes a day, every 
day. This was on top of whatever more ingenious torments Fodessa 
and Caitlin dreamed up. They were now playing much rougher games 
with him than on the passage to Perion.
   He knew his rear was streaked with a network of crop marks: 
fresh red welts from today's and yesterday's beatings; older, 
fading dark pink marks. He could barely sit down. 
  Actually, he wasn't often allowed to sit down. He spent most of 
his waking hours each day either kneeling, on his paws and knees, 
or standing while being whipped. The fur was getting worn off his 
knees.
   A lone bright spot in the journey to Halcyon was that 
Blackmuzzle had given Fodessa permission to purchase him. 
Otherwise the clouded leopard would never have dared to use the 
crop, which left marks that were visible for a few days.
   On second thought, that didn't look like a bright spot just 
now.
   "That was ten! Thank you, Mistress! May I have some more?" he 
spoke the ritual words.
   "Later, slut," she replied, a creamy note of satisfaction in 
her voice.
   Fodessa let him shudder and groan as the fire built from the 
accumulation of strokes. He was seeing white bursts of color 
behind his tightly-closed eyes before the heat at last began to 
subside and he felt he could breathe again.
   His ass seemed swollen to twice its normal size.
   At last, she gave the order. "Back on all fours, slut."
   He dropped down to paws and knees on the tiled floor, then 
crawled toward her as he'd been taught.
   He kissed the toes of her boots, one kiss on each foot. "Thank 
you for the correction, Mistress."
   "You're welcome, slut. Now, go do your duty in our bathrooms," 
she ordered. She didn't untie his tail.
   He crawled out of the room into the corridor with Fodessa at 
his heels, feeling the tip of the crop teasing his inflamed 
fesses. 
   On the way, he passed the entrance to the sex-machine room and 
tried not to think about what lay behind it. Fodessa had dictated 
that he spend at least an hour in that room every day. She'd also 
sworn he wouldn't come until they made landfall at Halcyon. 
   The tip of the riding crop withdrew, then returned to poke 
between his cheeks, pressing against his anus as he crawled, 
sending a shiver of sensation through him. He felt himself 
getting hard again; for the moment, he wasn't wearing either his 
chastity belt or the evil thongs with which she frequently tied 
his genitals.
   They reached the storage closet, and he was allowed to shuffle 
around on his knees to get out an old-fashioned bucket and a 
scrub brush no larger than the pad of his paw. Such things were 
anachronisms from the days before machine servos; you saw them 
only in places where there was little technology, or where slaves 
did such work -- like smuggler captains' vessels.
   Rising to his knees, he put the brush inside the bucket, then 
took the handle between his jaws and resumed crawling on paws and 
knees toward the First Mate's quarters. The wire handle gritted 
against his teeth.
   In this fashion he entered Caitlin's quarters, Fodessa behind 
him. The cabin light switched on automatically. The black panther 
wasn't in evidence; only his scent and Katie's filled the room. 
Probably he was in the playroom with her. 
   Unlike Fodessa's quarters, the room wasn't blessed with a rug, 
only with hard burnt-orange tile to match the orange-painted 
walls. Much of it was taken up by the bed, which was covered with 
a russet spread; from his angle he could see a box built into the 
floor which contained Caitlin's shore gear - whatever didn't fit 
into the closet.
   Windrunner shinnied into the bathroom, which was even more 
spartan - a sturdy sink, a combination shower-dry clean stall, a 
toilet of the type felids preferred. There was nothing that could 
fly loose during high-grav maneuvers in normal space. The floor 
in here was white square tiles, the sort that showed the 
slightest speck of dirt, as he already knew from bitter 
experience. Each tile measured twice the width of his paw.
   Fodessa left him in peace while he filled the bucket from the 
shower, but when he put down the bucket and got back down on paws 
and knees to scrub the floor with the tiny brush, she started in 
on him again. The crop teased him as he worked, poking at his 
burning buttocks, dipping down to go between his legs and push 
the back of his scrotum.
   "You'd like to come, wouldn't you, slut? Those balls of yours 
are just bursting. You'd like to squirt all over this floor, 
wouldn't you?"
   He groaned at the aching in his swollen balls. "Yes, Mistress, 
I would."
   "You won't. I don't like messy come all over my ship's floors. 
You're not going to come until I say so. Maybe I'll never let you 
come again. Maybe I'll frustrate you until those balls of yours 
are as big as two fat coconuts."
   Another groan pushed its way out of his throat. He wanted to 
force his thighs together to keep out that teasing crop, but he 
didn't dare. He took out his frustration on the tile he was 
scrubbing.
   The fire in his reddened buttocks had just begun to die down.
   "Keep scrubbing, slut," the clouded leopard snapped. "I'll be 
right back." She padded out the door.
   He knew better than to pause in his labors. If there weren't 
more clean squares when she returned than when she had left, 
there'd be hell to pay.
   And indeed, there were two newly cleaned squares upon her 
return, and he had started on a third. He glanced up at her and 
immediately wished he hadn't. She'd traded the crop for a leather 
strap, and something else he recognized too well hung from her 
left paw -- his chastity belt.
   His brief pause was enough excuse for her to use the strap.
   "Eyes on your job, lazy slut!" she snapped, and then the strap 
snapped across his buttocks, setting them stinging and burning 
again.
   She didn't stop with one blow, but kept at him and at him, 
smacking his fesses with the strap as he scrubbed. Soon she was 
pulling groans out of him, and he wondered how long he could 
continue to take it. Being a slave meant you had no safeword, 
something he regretted just now. He could feel the first pangs of 
nausea.
   The strap stopped. He was panting savagely. His erection had 
subsided. He forced himself to keep scrubbing.
   A paw came down on his right asscheek and squeezed it, 
savoring the heat. "My, aren't we nice and hot?" Fodessa's voice 
taunted.
   There was a pause. Apparently he was expected to respond.
   "Yes, Mistress, I am."
   "That's just the way I like my slaves." She paused, then: 
"Ahh, but I tire of playing with you - for the moment. I've tasks 
of my own to perform. Stand up."
   He obeyed. She fastened the chastity belt on him, stepped back 
and grinned, her expression rich with cruel glee. "Back to work, 
slave."
   As he dropped back to his paws and knees again, she left him. 
Only the painful stinging of his buttocks and the unyielding grip 
of the belt and the tail-tie remained.
   Even through the pain, he felt a slight pang of regret as the 
faint sound of her pawpads diminished down the corridor.


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