PRECIOUS CARGO @Copyright Maureen Lycaon, November 2000. All rights reserved under the Berne Convention, but permission granted to keep copies for personal use. This story contains themes of voluntary slavery, BDSM, furries and science fiction. The furries involved have signed themselves into slavery of their own free will. If you shouldn't or don't want to be reading this, please don't. Feedback is welcomed: send it to maureen_lcn@yahoo.com. More of my stories, including other chapters of Precious Cargo, may be found at my Velan archive or on my FurNation site at: http://velar.ctrl-c.liu.se/vcl/Authors/Maureen/ or: http://www.furnation.com/Fodessa/ Part 29 "Slave number sixteen now being presented," the neuronically induced voice announced in Fodessa's ear. "Faram Doen, a male fossa, planet of origin Ngumar -- he's a long way from home, gentlefurs! Trained by Master Wellan of Albion, advanced training by Mistress Sang-li of Chongar, we're talking top-quality credentials here . . ." When she had entered the lobby of the auction theater, Fodessa had been issued a special chip which, clipped onto the ear, transmitted the voice of the announcer directly to her auditory nerves through the skin. The auctioneer's voice was also transmitted over loudspeakers, but not the bids. Since she was not bidding, she did not have the custom headset or less expensive voice-chip that would have allowed her voice to be transmitted to the rest of the audience. Caitlin and Windrunner were similarly equipped. Their eyes, like hers, were glued to the little stage at the center of the theater. The bodyguards she had hired, Soungmai and Mya, had refused the devices, which could have distracted them from their duties. Instead, the tiger and the deceptively gentle-eyed sambar buck scanned the crowd, alert for any sign of danger. They wore special chips of their own, tuned not to the auctioneer but to the local police and security channels -- chips which could be turned on and off at will. ". . . Well-trained in the usual, oral for both sexes, submission to anal intercourse, can handle any physical punishment up to and including a singletail. Here's an extra: he's also trained to *give* anal penetration . . ." The announcer still treated the audience to a summary of his assets, even though anyfur bidding on him would have read his dossier beforehand and would have had to register their intent. It was traditional. It jogged the memories of those who had registered to bid on him; it provided enjoyable titillation for those who hadn't; and, above all, it gave the slave delicious humiliation. The auction theater was a semi-circular room, the banked rows of padded benches allowing furs of any size to sit or lounge and view the little stage. The slaves to be sold simply stepped through a black opaque electronic field and onto the stage. Hanging over the stage was a huge vidscreen. The tiny, almost invisible vidcams hovered below it, each floating as if by magic on its own antigrav device. At the direction of two or three unseen furs directing them, they could circle around and zero in on strategic areas, transmitting extreme close-ups of various parts of the slaves' anatomy to the vidscreen for the watchers' delight. Today's audience numbered some three hundred furs. There were no shouts or cheering or cries of delight and lust, but the theater reeked of excitement. Fodessa admired the lithe fossa who now stood in the spotlight, naked except for the black nylon collar around his throat. Faram was slim and svelte, with rust-red fur and the grace of a felid; only something about the shape of his head and his shorter limbs betrayed the fact that he was really a civet. Where an unprepared slave might have cringed or at least kept his ears and tail lowered in embarrassment, the fossa stood proudly, his large amber eyes focused straight ahead, his big, padded paws braced on the back of his neck. Only his sheathless, firmly erect penis betrayed his excitement. A smiling slavehandler stood beside him -- a small but muscular-looking silverbacked jackal dressed in a fawn-colored open vest and tight black trousers, with a huge black dildo dangling menacingly from his belt. As Fodessa watched, he reached one paw over to Faram's erection and slowly drew a small finger along its swollen, reddened length from root to tip, teasing him to keep him swollen to the maximum for the watchers' entertainment, making the merchandise look as desirable as possible. Fodessa's ear chip buzzed with the excited electronic voices of the bidders. " -- Two thousand Halcyon duvars, do I hear two thousand one hundred?," the unseen auctioneer chanted. "Come now, gentlefurs, you can do better than that. Do you need another show to whet your appetites?" Evidently they did, for no one responded. Then again, two thousand Halcyon duvars was a high price this early in the bidding -- the equivalent, as of this morning's reckoning, of 112,697 Galactic credits. The jackal took matters in paw, snapping his fingers. Without the slightest hesitation, Faram turned around, dropped to his knees and bent over, laying his head on the stage. His large paws reached around to spread his tight little buttocks wide open, and his long tail went high to expose his puckered little anus (and the little anal gland's opening above it). If he felt shame, he didn't show it. The large vidscreen hanging over the stage displayed a close- up view of that exposed dark slit, quivering under the soulless gaze of a vidcam. It glistened wetly in the light –- he had been carefully lubricated before he stepped onto the stage, of course. For several seconds, the audience came to life. Hoots, snorts, yelps and other excited cries sounded in the theater, accompanied by a burst of aroused scents, and Fodessa's ear was assaulted by the electronic cries of the bidders. 2,500 . . . 2,600 . . . 2,700 . . . The voice chip fell silent again at 2,900 duvars. Once again the jackal went into action. He unfastened the dangling dildo from his belt, then crouched behind Faram, a little to one side to allow the vidcams a clear view. He inserted the broad, rounded tip into that exposed anus and began to slowly push it in. The vidscreen shifted views, showing the fossa's strained face and bared, gritted teeth as the thick artificial glans disappeared into his gorged and no doubt aching orifice. There was another outburst of sounds from the audience. The bidding rose to 3,500. The jackal gradually forced the dildo all the way in. The vidscreen changed views as the vidcams closed in like excited sports photographers, cutting between Faram's grimacing face, his deliciously stuffed orifice, and the dripping tip of his dark pink erection. But the bidding stayed rock-steady at 3,700. Fodessa watched, intrigued. It was a delightful display of obedience. Of course Song-Mai was one of the finest trainers in existence, so she wasn't surprised. The jackal wiggled the massive dildo around, rotating it deep inside the civet's overstuffed rectum. The bid rose to 3,800, but there it stayed. "Going once . . . going twice . . ." Fodessa glanced over at Windrunner, who was watching in fascination, loincloth bulging, his scent heavy with sexfear. No doubt he was thinking that if he had not agreed to her offer to keep him, he would be standing there today, being publicly humiliated in front of a crowd of furs. "Gone! Sold to Sapay Mareng, for three thousand, eight hundred duvars. Congratulations, Sapay!" A female leopard in a Buddhathan-style rich red gown was smiling as she walked down the aisle toward the stage, as the jackal withdrew the dildo from Faram's violated orifice and snapped his fingers again. Faram rose from his crouch, turned and knelt again, wrists crossed behind his back, as Sapay mounted the steps to the stage to take possession of him. As the buyer snapped the leash onto the fossa's collar, Fodessa checked her program once again. Next up would be Kathyrn. She grinned, remembering her sale to the auction house the day before. They'd brought her in to the little auction delivery room yesterday morning, naked as the day she was born. No tip-caps or loincloths this time, not even a G-string -- only her nylon collar. The spitfire vixen had definitely been tamed -- somewhat. She hadn't made any fuss or protest when the buyer, a lean, tall nilgai antelope, had asked to see her rear, and Fodessa had snapped out the order for her to turn around, bend over and lift her bushy tail. Her face and her scent spoke of her embarrassment, but she didn't sob or whimper when the nilgai male squeezed her shaven asscheek and chuckled as Fodessa assured him it had indeed been the highest-quality cell-level enhancement job, not cheap implant surgury. The vixen had then been commanded to play with herself right then and there in front of them, as a test of her obedience. She flattened her ears and lowered her eyes, but immediately lowered one paw to her crotch and began to rub. What with her embarassment and the pressure to perform, it took her a while to near climax, but not as long as it would have taken if she hadn't been so terribly frustrated. The two orgasms she'd been allowed to have since she'd entered Fodessa's care didn't begin to scratch the surface of her need. As her orgasm neared, dark jaws parted, tongue lolling, amber eyes glazed, her nipples were so stiff they poked out through her pale fur. Trickles of fluid from her swollen vulva moistened and darkened the fur of her thighs. She crouched, squirming furiously, only moments away from that long-sought goal of a tremendous climax. And then the nilgai snapped "Stop!" She whimpered piteously with frustration -- but she managed to obey even then. The buyer was satisfied, and the deal completed. He snapped the leash onto Katie's disposable nylon collar, then handed the leash to the blackbuck overseer standing nearby. She was led out of the room, to the quarters where the slaves to be auctioned off awaited their fate. He punched the appropriate amounts of Halcyon duvars into the smuggler pilot's com-check. Fodessa would get an additional percentage of whatever Katie fetched at auction. Now the clouded leopard tapped the schedule on her knee as she awaited Katie's arrival on the stage. She'd have made a bigger profit on this trip if she hadn't chosen to keep Windrunner . . . but even so, it would be enough money for another good visit or two to the Sambezi Whischest afterwards. Direct comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com .