PRECIOUS CARGO

@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, August 2003. All rights reserved 
under the Berne Convention, but permission granted to keep 
copies for personal use. This is a work in progress.

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 at:

http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/index2.html


Part 36


Vorun's late-autumn weather was nothing like warm, 
predictable Perion. A night of wind, cold and even snow 
could follow right on the heels of a hot, sunny day. 
Fodessa was descended from tropical felines; she took care 
to bring her cool-weather clothing from the Satisfaction. 
As soon as she reached the planet's surface with 
Windrunner, she was glad of it: a chill breeze blew, and 
uninviting gray clouds covered the sky. The sun 
occasionally peeped through, but couldn't warm the city. 
Fodessa pulled her down jacket closely around her and hoped 
she wouldn't have to wait long for Blackmuzzle's chauffer 
and bodyguards.

She'd had Windrunner dress in casual clothing. Only his 
wide black leather collar denoted his slave status. As a 
wolf, he could handle extremes of temperature much better, 
even though he'd lived on warm planets for years.

As they stood on the street just outside the transporter 
they had emerged from, she turned to him and assumed her 
sternest expression.

"Don't embarrass me in front of my boss," she told him. 
"This is very, very serious -- a lot more serious than 
Cambelli's place."

Windrunner smelled controlled but confident -- about this, 
anyway. His body language signaled the same thing: ears 
erect but not perked, his green eyes steady.

"Don't worry, Mistress," he said. "I won't."

She held the stare a moment longer before relaxing. Then, 
in a softer tone: "We'll have to stay a couple of nights 
with her, to be polite. After that, we're going to find a 
hotel, under assumed identities. I have no idea how long 
we're going to have to stay here, undercover."

He nodded soberly. "Yes, Mistress."

She looked at him a moment longer, gazing into the ocean of 
those green eyes . . .

And suddenly, on an impulse she didn't question, she threw 
her arms around him to pull him into a tight embrace. He 
responded at once, his own arms slipping around her, and 
their mouths opened together to kiss and nuzzle.

They stood together kissing like two young lovers out of a 
million ads and a million commercials and a million 
datacube package covers, until the chauffeur arrived.



"I do wish you'd agree to stay here for more than two 
nights," Blackmuzzle said.

The hyena had taken Fodessa not to the severe but luxurious 
reception room where she normally met her smuggler captains 
and other higher-up employees and guests, but to her 
smaller office, where she actually oversaw day to day 
operations. Blackmuzzle felt safer there from surveillance 
and recording devices -- other than her own, of course.

None of her extensive harem of male slaves was in sight or 
even scent. She'd had a servant escort Windrunner to the 
guests' quarters to await his mistress's return.

Fodessa sighed inwardly as she read the Underground 
chieftain's scent. Non-hyaenid furries sometimes had 
trouble understanding the messages of a hyena's peculiar, 
pungent odor, but the clouded leopard had worked with 
Blackmuzzle long enough to read hers. Blackmuzzle smelled 
worried. No, not worried -- *scared*. A controlled sort of 
scared, but still scared.

Well, *she* was scared, too. Her tail kept wanting to lash, 
the way it had all day.

She gazed for a few moments at the twelve-foot computer 
monitor set into the oak-paneled wall, now displaying a 
shifting panorama of Vorun woodland, before replying.

"I know, Blackmuzzle," she said carefully. "It's not that I 
wish to imply that I don't trust you. It's simply a matter 
of personal preference."

The truth, of course, was that she doubted whether even 
Blackmuzzle's inner sanctum was safe for her and Windrunner 
any more. The enemy was deeply infiltrated into the 
Underground's daily operations, and had already shown he 
was willing to go to a great deal of trouble to kill her.

Blackmuzzle's eyes hardened. "Screw that, Captain Ruggae," 
she said, with that jarring directness she sometimes used. 
"You're afraid. You don't trust my security even here, do 
you?"

Abandoning politeness, Fodessa braced herself. "With all 
due respect, Blackmuzzle -- no."

Blackmuzzle merely nodded. "Then I won't argue with you. I 
think you're wrong, but there may be advantages to all of 
us not being in one place at the same time." She paused, 
then: "Let's not fuck around any more."

Fodessa nodded.

"First, my investigations have at last started to make 
progress. I know with near-certainty some furs who *aren't* 
involved: Pegan. Mai. Kunsung. And you. Some others as 
well."

Inwardly, Fodessa breathed a sigh of relief.

"You've doubtless seen the same report I have from 
Jegarlik," Blackmuzzle went on, "about the Dijjang Sector 
connection -- that hack from Jalang Imports' computers." 
Fodessa nodded again. "I've started reviewing all of my 
operations in that Sector as of a week ago, looking for 
irregularities, besides looking into Jalang Imports. It'll 
take time, but if the traitor is in my organization, the 
evidence will be there. Now, have *you* found anything 
new?"

"No," Fodessa said, with a headshake. "I sent you the 
latest report I had this morning before leaving the ship."

"All right. Let's hope that changes soon. I'll send Fuchai 
to take you back to your quarters."



The bedroom was as lush as one might expect of the guest 
bedroom of a major Darksex Underground leader. The 
centerpiece was a plush, comfortable king-sized bed, but it 
also had expensive gold-and-glassware Pesion lamp dangling 
from the ceiling -- and of course, a good selection of toys 
in a nearby mahogany cabinet. Fodessa knew this bedroom 
well; it was the one Blackmuzzle usually gave her when she 
visited.

Windrunner stared wide-eyed at the shackles set into the 
wood-paneled walls in different places; the wrought-metal 
bedsteads so obviously designed for bondage; the low, long 
bench that could have passed as a place to lay clothes or 
sit down if you didn't know it was designed for a 
submissive to kneel upon while being disciplined. (The 
cabinet, of course, held a lovely selection of paddles, 
whips, crops and straps, among other things.)

Fodessa watched the wolf with amusement. When he noticed 
her gaze, his ears lowered uneasily. The odor of lupine 
sexfear was starting to reach her nostrils.

Slaaneth, they *both* had a lot of anxiety and fear to work 
off . . .

"Get naked," she abruptly ordered him.

The command sent a shudder throughout Windrunner's entire 
body. That's how tightly he was wound.

He quickly but gracefully stripped, hanging his clothing in 
a nearby closet, until he was again in the condition she 
liked best -- gloriously nude and already beginning to 
stiffen. Then he came to her, head up, eyes upon her as 
she'd taught him. He started to kneel, but she interrupted 
him. "No. Help me get my own clothes off."

She sat on the edge of the bed so that he could remove her 
boots, then stood up to help him as he pulled off the rest 
of her clothing. He went to hang them up in the closet, and 
returned to kneel before her.

Stress sharpened all her senses, making everything clearer 
and brighter. She could distinguish every individual hair 
in the thick, dense fur of Windrunner's body. Each tiny 
nuance of his scent was plain as a cargo manifest: the 
doggy wolf musk of his species, its subtle shadings of the 
delicious reek of sexfear and the slight acrid taint of his 
own controlled anxiety. 

She stared into his eyes, making her gaze as impenetrable, 
as merciless, as she possibly could. She could see the dark 
sexfear in those green eyes; but there was no sign that he 
would break.

"You're probably wondering whether I'm angry with you," she 
said. "You're going over the whole day in your mind, trying 
to think of something you did wrong, whether this is 
punishment for something. Let me correct you on that right 
now. This is not about punishment. I'm doing this to you 
for one reason, and one reason only: because it will give 
me pleasure."

The sexfear in Windrunner's eyes overflowed and changed 
into . . . something else. His posture shifted ever so 
subtly, into acceptance.

Fodessa smiled.

Then she turned away from him and walked over to the 
cabinet, pulling open its doors. For a few moments she 
simply looked over the playthings inside, studying her 
choices. Then she saw it -- the One Thing she just had to 
use this evening.

This one was new since the last time she'd stayed here: a 
beautiful black leather crop, its handle chased with bright 
silvery chrome in an elaborate design. She drew it out with 
a touch of what could almost be called reverence: she could 
almost swear it was handmade, most likely from the far-
distant world of Kellan, in Alban Sector. It must have cost 
a fortune. That Blackmuzzle had left it here for her said 
volumes not only about the Underground leader's wealth, but 
how much she respected one of her finest smuggler captains.

Fodessa wrapped her paw around that ornate handle and drew 
it out, feeling the soft, tough leather and slick chrome 
cool against her pads. She held it, studying it at arm's 
length; it fit perfectly in her paw. Finally, she gave it 
an experimental whisk through the air, noting the superb 
balance, the way the tip had just the right amount of 
flexibility. It really was a thing of beauty -- and it 
would sting like a Sorerian hornet.

After picking out a thin leather thong as well, she turned 
to Windrunner. He hadn't moved. He was watching her.

"Get on the bench," she commanded.

His eyes had widened when he'd looked at the crop, but he 
hadn't flinched. At the crisp order, he tore his gaze from 
the thing, and silently went over to the padded leather 
bench. Once there, he lowered himself onto it to rest upon 
his elbows and knees, letting his shaven rump protrude high 
in the air. He waited, unmoving, though Fodessa could see 
the tension quiver in his back and bushy tail.

She padded over to the bench to stand behind him. Bending 
down, she took his tail in one paw, and tied the thong 
around its tip. The other end she knotted to the D-ring in 
his collar.

Stepping away, she surveyed her crouching wolfslave, 
enjoying the beauty of his thick fur, his lean lines -- and 
above all, the view of those furless proffered buttocks, 
like an unmarked canvas awaiting the brush of the artist. 
The thong kept his tail stretched backwards along his 
spine, out of the way. He was ready for punishment.

She delivered the first three cuts with all the precision 
and cruelty that she was capable of, measuring several 
seconds between each blow. Then she stood back to watch the 
effect. He didn't cry out or whimper, but his whole body 
tensed up, fingers digging into the bench's padding, not 
caring what his claws did to it. Red lines stood out on his 
ass cheeks, flowering quickly into raised welts.

After that, Fodessa delivered one of the stoutest, fiercest 
beatings of her life. By the time she finished, Windrunner 
was in tears, barely able to keep his haunches up. His 
buttocks were streaked with welts and bruises, and her own 
arm actually ached from exhaustion.

The actual sex afterward was almost anticlimactic, and she 
let him come. They lay panting in each other's arms on the 
luxurious bed, feeling their heart rates return to normal.

The tension drained out of Fodessa as she lay back upon the 
mattress. Nothing like a good, hard darksex session to get 
it all out . . .

"So, what happened with you and Blackmuzzle?" Windrunner 
asked.

Fodessa sighed. That had been the last thing on her mind 
until he spoke. Still, maybe she could discuss it more 
calmly now.

"Not much," she said. "She hasn't found a whole lot solid 
yet, though she says she's making progress. We're going to 
be staying on Vorun, keeping very low, for at least the 
next few days while Blackmuzzle's people try to get to the 
bottom of this. If they don't --" She trailed off.

Windrunner sighed almost imperceptibly, still looking into 
her eyes. His expression was so serious, yet so close, so 
warm . . . Then he spoke. "So, we could be stuck on this 
planet for weeks . . . even if nothing happens to us."

"Yes," she admitted. "If nothing happens to us."

Then, astonishingly, he smiled. "I can think of worse fates 
than dying with you -- or living with you, for that 
matter."

Fodessa blinked.

Then her arms tightened around him, and she drew him into a 
powerful hug, which was eagerly returned.



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