PRECIOUS CARGO


@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, November 2000. All rights reserved 
under the Berne Convention, but permission given 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 30


   Katie was, of course, nearly hysterical. For the moment, even 
her intense need for an orgasm was forgotten.
   The platinum vixen stood backstage, just behind that black 
shimmering energy field, her pulse hammering in her throat and 
chest hard enough to feel as if it were suffocating her. Her 
bushy tail lashed, and she made a conscious effort to keep it 
still. She hoped she wouldn't faint or lose control.
   The male blackbuck behind her, one of the auction's overseers, 
kept his hoof on her neck over the black nylon collar. The 
gesture was as much to steady her as to keep her under control, 
she realized; it was a solid point of physical contact amid her 
churning sea of raging emotions -- panic, humiliation, 
excitement, hope, joy.
   Within this hour, her lifelong dream would be fulfilled. She 
didn't know if she could stand it.
   At the moment, it didn't even occur to her to wonder what 
price she would fetch.

   She hadn't expected to have a pang of regret at parting from 
Caitlin, but she had. They'd had a natural chemistry of master 
and slave between them, and she had learned something under the 
black panther's lash -- or, more accurately, under his teasings 
and humiliations. Something she couldn't articulate to herself, 
but which had somehow steadied her a bit.
   Before leaving the hotel for the auction house, they'd 
embraced in a warm hug, and he'd murmured in her ear, "Have a 
good life, Kate."
   Their parting was inevitable, but she wouldn't forget him.


   Now the overseer's hoof pushed her forward, firmly but not 
roughly. It was showtime.
   She put her paws on the back of her neck as he'd instructed 
her, and stepped through the black field into the bright lights 
of the auction block. The blackbuck was right behind her, holding 
her leash. Her heart felt as if it would pound its way right out 
of her chest.
   She hadn't been sure what the theater would look like, but 
she'd expected it to be more public and raucous than this. The 
light blinded her eyes so she couldn't see the buyers, but there 
was no cheering, no lewd cries of admiration. It was as quiet as 
if this were a theatrical performance.
   At the moment, it didn't occur to her that this *was*, in a 
sense, a performance.
   The overseer handed the leash to a muscular jackal in a vest 
and departed the stage. For one moment she wished fiercely she 
could depart with him.
   And then, with heartstopping intensity, she realized there was 
no place she would rather be than here. Here, stark naked and 
collared under the lights in front of who knew how many total 
strangers, with her heart pounding and her knees weak and her 
tail wanting desperately to lash.
   She didn't have the transmitter that the buyers were entitled 
to, but the announcer's voice could be heard even on the stage.
   "Slave number seventeen. Kathryn Hawkins, a female red fox, 
Keshlil lineage, rare platinum coloration! Planet of origin: 
Tessier. Trained by Master Guldan of Lanmar, but she's hardly a 
finished product yet. Recommended especially for those who like a 
*challenge*, not for the inexperienced owner! Those of you who're 
going to bid on this one know what I'm talking about . . ."
   Something quivered in the pit of her stomach, tingling down 
into her groin -- that familiar, delicious feeling of 
overwhelming humiliation and arousal. Her nipples stiffened, then 
stiffened still more.
   Two tiny vidcams zipped in front of her, positioning 
themselves only two feet away from those excited nipples. When 
she realized there was a vidscreen overhead that was even now 
displaying images of them to the entire audience, she almost 
choked, almost panicked.
   But she didn't.
   Her tail wanted to clamp down against the back of her legs. 
She suddenly realized her ears were flattening against her skull; 
it took all her willpower to perk them back up again, to keep her 
tail lifted. She concentrated on staring straight ahead into the 
audience, knowing all too well that every eye was on her naked 
body.
   ". . . And, yes, those buttocks are enhanced for your 
pleasure, folks! Not many slaves are that dedicated to the life, 
eh?"
   She felt the leash tug at those words, and she realized what 
it meant: the jackal overseer wanted her to turn her back to the 
audience. Feeling a prickling flush of humiliation, she obeyed.
   Her shaven buttocks felt more naked than naked -- especially 
when he seized her bushy tail and pulled it still higher to 
expose them. Her breathing came even faster.
   "One thousand one hundred Halcyon duvars, do I hear one 
thousand two hundred? No one? Amar, give them a show!"
   Amar released her tail. "Assume the second position!" he said, 
in a voice low enough that the crowd couldn't hear the words, 
snapping his fingers for emphasis.
   Katie knew what position he meant. Once the overseer had taken 
her back into the slave quarters, she'd been prepped for her sale 
-- a preparation that included instruction in certain positions 
that would show her off to her best advantage on the auction 
block.
   This one was all too familiar to her, since it was also one of 
Caitlin's favorites.
   She got down on all fours, crouching like a nonsentient dog on 
paws and knees. She lowered her sleek head to the surface of the 
stage, feeling cool synthwood against her cheek.
   Suddenly she could scarcely believe she was doing this; panic 
rose in her throat once again, and she fought it down.
   Even so, she raised her bushy tail as far as she could, and 
again Amar seized the tip and pulled it back so that her fesses 
were fully exposed to the bidders' view.
   And then her panic underwent a strange alchemical 
transformation, changing into something else, the magical 
transformation she'd experienced so often before.
   There was a great knot of throbbing, itchy craving that 
centered where her clitoris was and sent pulses through all her 
sexual parts. A rush of fluids moistened her vulva, and it 
clenched closed and opened in spasms of excitement. Surely a 
vidcam was even now hovering close to it, showing the audience 
her most secret parts. She struggled to breathe.
   She barely heard the announcer's voice. "One thousand two 
hundred, do I hear one thousand three hundred? One thousand three 
hundred, do I hear one thousand *four* hundred . . .?"
   The bidding seemed to cease at 1,500 duvars. She felt her 
stomach flutter and her clitoris swell further, guessing what 
command she would be given next.
   Amar gave it. "Dance for us!"
   Even as the humiliation burned into her very soul, her legs 
moved of their own accord, straightening, lifting her naked rump 
into the air. She spread her feet wide apart for balance. She was 
almost standing on her head.
   Then she began swaying her hips from side to side, flaunting 
her shaven, enhanced buttocks before the entire assembled 
audience of watching furs.
   As she became more certain of her balance and her muscles 
loosened, she sped up her movements, and now she was bending her 
knees, her rump describing a circle in the air. The shame was 
receding, leaving only helpless masochistic arousal. Moisture 
flowed from her vulva into the surrounding fur of her groin and 
her thighs.
   The bidding must have exploded, because the announcer chanted, 
"One thousand seven hundred, do I hear one thousand eight 
hundred? One thousand nine hundred! She's going fast, folks, make 
your moves! Two thousand, do I hear two thousand one hundred . . 
.?"
   Sweet Slaaneth -- she had doubled her opening price. The last 
of her shame evaporated.
   "Two thousand and two hundred, do I hear two thousand three 
hundred?"
   She kept dancing in place, ignoring the growing ache in her 
spine and neck and hips, wanting never to stop. "Good girl!" Amar 
whispered somewhere above her.
   The bidding leveled off again at 2,400.
   She heard someone step out onto the stage, felt Amar release 
her tail. He left her side to meet them, and then there were his 
pawsteps as he returned to her, the other fur departing.
   "Stop dancing," he ordered, and her hips went still.
   And then she felt the smooth, cool, slick tip of a dildo 
against her labia, spreading her open.
   She almost orgasmed there and then. Her head jerked outside 
her control, and she had to force herself to remain in position.
   In . . . slowly, irresistibly, deliciously in . . . the dildo 
forced its slow way into her. Amar took his time, making as much 
drama as possible out of it. She could feel the walls of her 
vagina opening, stretching around that artificial tool that felt 
as big as a fence post, and her craving mounted. Her tail lashed, 
and once again he seized it in his free paw.
   At last, it was buried in her as far as it could go, the tip 
nudging her very cervix and sending indescribable little shivers 
through her insides.
   The jackal began pumping the dildo in and out of her, in slow, 
shallow thrusts; but with no friction on her clitoris, she 
couldn't quite go over the edge. She was being fucked right on 
stage, being teased to the point of orgasm, right in front of 
gods only knew how many furs, and she was about to be sold to 
some total stranger.
   It was overwhelming, the most incredible experience she'd had 
to date. 
   It was too much for her self-control.
   She wailed aloud her frustration and primal need, to the 
buyers and Amar and the gods and anyone else who would listen.
   She scarcely heard the announcer's voice, but the bidding shot 
through the roof. The pumping stopped, the dildo slipping out of 
her. She whimpered in frustration, wanting it back, but it would 
not return.
   Amar's sharp smack on her right buttock brought her back to an 
awareness of what was going on.
   "Sold! Sold to Doungvan Sangmar of Mabharan, for two thousand 
eight hundred duvars!"
   "You can get up now," Amar's voice came to her, its tone 
tinged with smirking amusement.
   Legs weak, still shuddering with unsatisfied need, Katie 
slowly turned around and rose to her knees to face the crowd and 
see her new owner.
   He proved to be a smiling, handsome chital stag with a muzzle 
that was mostly white and sparkling dark eyes. His antlers were 
almost full-grown, though still in velvet; it must be late summer 
on Mabharan. He was dressed in a flowing russet kilt and loose 
yellow shirt -- formal dress in Mabharan's largest city, 
Belhimahr.
   To this master would she belong for the rest of her life -- or 
until one of them formally abandoned the contract, which might 
not be for many, many years.
   As he mounted the stage, his eyes glowing with pride as he 
looked at her, she saw the pink silktwine leash in his right 
hoof.
   Doungvan snapped his leash onto her collar, and she was sold.
   She got up and descended the set of steps behind him, half-
dazed with a dozen different emotions.
   As he led her through the aisle between the benches, toward 
the exit, she caught a final glimpse of Caitlin as he sat near 
the edge of one bench with Windrunner and Captain Fodessa. He was 
looking back at her, and she saw the wry envy, wistful regret and 
joyful pride on his face underneath the glittering of lust.
   If Doungvan didn't let her come for the rest of her life, she 
thought, the look on the panther's face just might be reward 
enough!
   

Direct comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com .