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Until the Board of Adjustment decided her father was dead, Timura Nelaji had been an ordinary student at Miss Turulov's Finishing School. The young lynx attended classes, fantasized about the handsome tiger that taught geography, and gossiped just like all the other furs at Miss Turulov's. And if she enjoyed with unusual vigor the extra-curricular activities open to a fur just coming into the fullness of sexual maturity, that was understandable for one with her attractiveness and stamina. She was, however, the only fur at Miss Turulov's with no parents. Her mother died when she was still a kitten. Her father had raise her alone, but even he disappeared four years ago. At the time, he was waving to her from the gondola of a departing airship, leaving her the care of servants. Her sire was an importer. From his villa in the city of Sondosia, on the central coast, he brokered the sale of unusual artifacts from the cities of the East, the tropical Archipelago to the west, and Shael in the frozen north, from whence he had come many years ago. Before he left on his final voyage, he told his kitten that a buyer had requested his presence on a trip to the outer Archipelago, but he would return as soon as the business was finished. Four years later, she still believed him. She assumed that everyone else did too, until the day a letter arrived bearing the seal of the Board of Adjustment. It passed judgment and enumerated consequences. If only her civics teacher hadn't such a distractingly well-formed muzzle she might have learned that the Board of Adjustment lacked the power to unilaterally impose retroactive tax assessments without the consent of the Committee for Faravashi Hill, in whose jurisdiction the villa lay. If she had spent time reading her sire's mail instead of her paramours' love letters she might have also known that her family held a hereditary membership in the Confraternity of Antiquities--which maintained a permanent representative on the Board (for the purpose of rendering appraisals), to whom she might have turned for help. Ignorant as she was, however, the letter's demands left her drained and shaking. Mixed fear and relief followed the news that a Mr. Nikolai Almas had called on her the following day. She had been out at the time, unsuccessfully seeking solace in the bed of a wolven musketeer whose third leg was as proportionally long as his hind two. The visitor had left a card, with his name and his position as Notarius for the Committee of Ten. That committee she'd actually heard of, though, she couldn't quite recall where. When she turned the card over in her paw, she saw that he had written a time and place: this very evening, at a club near the docks. An hour after sunset, the gaslights along the boardwalk did not penetrate very far, but that did not trouble one with her night vision. Down one alley, two unbroken rows of bars vanished into the darkness, each hidden behind a thick door and windowless walls. There was little to distinguish one from another, save the simple wooden signs bearing each establishment's name. Pausing to examine each sign as she went, Timura found what she was looking for only long leaving the circle of light at the mouth of the alley. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. Unconsciously acknowledging the bar mistress's softly spoken greeting with a nod, she looked around. To her left, the rich, dark brown wood of the bar stretched to the far wall. The empty barstools matched, with elaborately lathed legs and dark green cushions. Two lamps hung behind the bar, bathing the place in warm light that danced in the polished copper tops of the tables to her right. With a start, she realized that a ferret was calling her from the far table. "Miss Nelaji...Miss Nelaji. Thank you for coming. Would you care to join me?" He asked. The ferret wore a gray suit, with a black bow tie that accentuated the matching stripe across his eyes. The wrinkle-free drape spoke of paw-tailoring and Timura felt self-conscious in her flouncy skirt and deeply scooped neckline. As she sat, a hostess emerged from the bead curtain at the back of the bar and stepped to the table. Her gray fur, stubby muzzle, and round ears reminded Timura of the koalas she'd seen in the Archipelago. She'd been there with her sire once, and she remembered thinking that the natives' slow, heavy bodies matched the aroma of tropical flowers that filled the islands. This one filled her high-collared dress completely, threatening to burst open the ties holding it together in front and preventing the waist-high slits on each side from closing. No underwear lines, Timura noticed idly; but that wasn't a surprise at a place like this. The ferret never even glanced at the koala's buxom chest. The hostess bowed and offered Timura a glass of iced water. Refusing, Timura asked for a glass of rakija. The ferret's eyes widened as the hostess poured and backed away, but he said nothing as she raised her glass and sipped the apricot brandy. Uncomfortable under his stare, she fixed her eyes on the glass and lowered it to the table. When the silence became unbearable, she blurted out: "You said you wanted to talk to me?" "Ah...yes, thank you for coming." His long body swayed. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Nikolai. Nikolai Almas. I am...a minor functionary for the Committee of Ten." He spoke in fits and starts, as if he needed to stop in the middle of sentences to figure out what came next. Reaching under the table Nikolai pulled his battered leather briefcase and placed it on the table. Placing his paws on the case, he paused for a moment and opened the latches with a loud snap. From inside the case he extracted a file bound in silk ribbon. Then he placed a pair of half-moon spectacles next to the file. That accomplished, he began. "I wanted to talk to you about your...sire." "What?" Timura's ears snapped forward. "Have you heard from him?" She asked eagerly. "Well, that's the problem. We haven't." Timura's ears drooped. "Now, you and I know that your sire is a resourceful man, and--" "Did you--I mean, do you know him?" Timura asked. "I have the privilege, yes. As I was saying, though..." Nikolai's black eyes narrowed. "You and I know that we shouldn't give up hope, but I'm afraid the Board of Adjustment doesn't feel the same way." "Wha-what do you mean?" Timura asked, a pit opening in her stomach. "I hate to be bearer of ill tidings, but I expect you've read the letter? They've declared him dead and...plan to seize the villa and its contents." "B-b-but--" She stuttered. That would leave her penniless, living on the street. "I know, it isn't right, but they've put a lien on your possessions for failure to pay your sire's...death tax." "But--he's not--" Tears welled in Timura's eyes and her tail lashed helplessly. "I know how hard this must be for you." Nikolai placed his small paws atop her larger ones sympathetically. "Unfortunately, they decided he died three years ago, which means there are substantial tax penalties for not having paid. It's absurd, I know, but apparently they exceed the value of the villa itself." "I need to talk to them." Timura said. She jerked her paws back from the table as her claws slid out and her ears snapped flat back against her head. She stared at the ferret, vision narrowing until she could distinguish each quiver of his whiskers. "Well, I doubt that will do much." He ignored her stare and continued. "You know how the great Committees are, anyone you talk to will blame everyone else and say there's nothing he can do about it. If you ask me, there's someone on the Board with an eye on that villa for himself." "There must be something I can do." Her claws scraped against the copper sheathing of the table. "Um. Yesss." He stopped, and took a slow drink. "Some...associates of your sire did have a suggestion." "They did?" She asked desperately, swiveling her ears forward. "What did they say?" "Oh, it's not--I think we should just forget I said that." He replied, shaking his head. Timura raised her glass and drank deeply. "Tell me." She insisted. "It's nothing a gentlefur like yourself--" "Tell me!" The hostess shrank back as Timura's roar filled the room. "Hmm." Nikolai shrugged, ignoring her anger. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. Though...it's nothing I recommend you associate yourself with." "Yes, yes, so what is it?" She hissed. "There is an...artifact...in the far Eastern city of Chamilla. Years ago it was stolen and made its way to a man in business there. My contacts tell me that a certain individual on the Board of Adjustment would...look very favorably on whoever managed to secure it for him." "You want me to buy it? Can't you--" "Unfortunately, no. We've...concerned individuals have tried, but the current holder is unwilling to sell." "You mean..." Timura whispered. The fur on her neck rose. "Yes." Nikolai said glumly. "Now you understand why I didn't want to tell you." "But how?" Timura's ears drooped. "I'm not a thief. I wouldn't have the first idea of where to start." "I understand completely. The silly thing is that they actually put together a plan tailored for your skills--as if you would be interested in something like that." He sniffed. "A plan? What--what sort of plan." Timura asked. Her claws disappeared and she leaned forwards. "Oh, you don't want to know." He said firmly. "Trust me on this." "I appreciate your concern, but..." "I don't think..." "It can't hurt to hear it." She mewled, and he shrugged in acquiescence. "Apparently the stallion who holds it has a fondness for pale fur like yours. You asked me to tell you this, remember. " He held up a paw to forestall her anger. When she closed her mouth again he continued. "One might arrange a contact for you with a local madam known for employing Shaelian tabbies. You could entertain him at his home, then walk out with the artifact." "You want me to turn a trick for you?!" Timura demanded, claws extending once more. "Outrageous, I know. I apologize, and I only mentioned it because you insisted." He shook his head. "I'm not that kind of tabby." Timura said firmly. "Absolutely." Nikolai nodded in agreement, letting the silence lengthen. "Why did the Board..." Her question trailed off and Nikolai ignored it. "It's just that--" His mouth twisted as if he was eating a sour plum. "What?" She asked nervously. "Well...I looked at the Board's reports about the case. Please understand, I didn't mean to pry, I just...wanted to see if I could understand why this happened now, of all times. But what I saw, well...how should I put this?" Nikolai placed the spectacles on his muzzle and untied the file. Carefully folding the ribbon and laying it to one side, he opened the file to reveal a stack of onionskin paper, covered in paw-written scribbles. The writing was too cribbed for her to make out what it said from across the table. Holding them up to his face, Nikolai leafed through, mumbling as he read. "Ah, here we are." He began to read. "Her success at Miss Turulov's School belies her obsession with physical pleasure. Observations of her daily schedule lead us to conclude that the only explanation for the high marks that she receives in school is that she is buying her instructors' approval with her body. Her accomplishments in the gymnasium are likewise explainable by her exceptional hip and thigh strength, or perhaps by the natural cat's flexibility she shows in assuming an astonishing variety of sexual positions." Timura's eyes widened and her ears went back. Sure, she'd let three, no, four of her teachers mate with her this year, but it wasn't for the grades. She did fine on tests. It wasn't her fault that Miss Turulov hired such attractive teachers--and she wasn't the only one who wanted to bear a litter of orange and black kittens for Teacher Shirvati. And if she was the only tabby to score with him, she couldn't help being attractive, could she? Just thinking about the tiger brought a tingling between her thighs, and she--- "It goes on in some detail, actually." The ferret interrupted her pleasant reverie. "The fur who wrote this must have been something of a pervert. He even has the gall to libel you with claims that you and your live-in friend--" "Scherade." Timura interrupted softly, hoping he wouldn't drag her friend into this. For all that Timura liked to party, Scherade was the only fur that she counted as a true friend, even as a sister after Scherade moved in the previous year during her parents' separation. She'd met the silver fox at school and proved the adage that opposites attract. Besides the mirror image coloring, the fox was shy and soft-spoken next to the boisterous lynx; Scherade enjoyed complicated plans where Timura preferred to roar and leap. The one thing they had in common was enjoying each other--and more than just conversationally. "Yes. In fact, I believe that the plan contains a...role for her as well. But as I was saying, the writer claims you entertain furs in your home regularly. Sometimes," He pursed his mouth in disapproval, "even in groups." "I could--No," Her ear tufts flew as she shook her head fiercely. Okay, so she'd done everything he accused her of, but...partying hard was one thing, and this went way beyond that. "I can't. I'm not a thief, and I'm not a whore." "I understand completely." Nikolai comforted her, closing the file. "Forget I said anything about this." "But..." Timura said as the lamplight sparkled off the tears welling up in her eyes. "Hmm?" Nikolai encouraged her. "My sire. And the villa..." She said in a soft, desperate voice. Losing her material wealth wasn't the worst of it. Her faith that he was still alive depended on preserving his place at home, keeping it the way he liked it. She wasn't ready to deal with the thought of moving out. "Ah." Nikolai leaned his long ferret's body over the table until he was close enough that she could see the needle-sharp points of his teeth. "Yes, Ms. Nelaji, that is the crux of the issue, isn't it." "But..." She mewled. Nikolai leaned back and sipped his rakija, waiting for her surrender to the inevitable. "Why me?" She raised her head to look at him and he could see where her tears were spilling over and running down her cheeks. "Apparently the artifact's current...holder...has wards to cripple any would-be thieves who have not been personally invited into his home. Unfortunately, that rules out run-of-the-mill burglars. You, on the other paw, have the heredity and...shall I say, assets to secure an invitation, no?" Nikolai said briskly with a nod to her impressive chest. "And contrary to the Council's doubts about your schoolwork, I have no doubts about your aptitude for archeology. You should have no trouble identifying the artifact in question from among his collection." Surrendering, Timura's ears drooped. Her whiskers followed suit as Nikolai explained that he would stop by the next day with more details and begin planning their travels. When he finished, she threw back the last of her rakija, exhaling in a gust as it burned her throat. "Tomorrow, then." She said with a curt bow and left, wondering what she should tell Scherade. She knew her friend would agree to help if asked, but she felt guilty about entangling the fox in such a sorry affair. Nikolai accepted a refill from the waiting koala and stared at the door. "Oh, you'll be a wonderful thief, Ms. Nelaji." He hissed through his fangs. "It's in your blood." *** After sufficient preparation, and a fair amount of sobbing over innocence lost, Timura and her friend Scherade travelled as far from Sondosia as is safe to travel, to the city of Chamilla. Temples do a brisk business in that city, where red brimstone lamps light the shrouding smoke like an eternal pyre and the soot of a continent's foundries follows its inhabitants to an early grave. The busiest of all temples in Chamilla is monastery of Lady Kamini the Ever-ready, not far from the docks where long piers wait for the steamships that take the city's steel across the sea. Rumor holds that the abbess herself raises her cottontail for half of the city's alchemists, to ensure a steady supply of the Celer dust that precipitates smoke out of the air and leaves the monastery an oasis of fresh air. Inside its walls, a warren of passageways wind between sand rooms where penitents are brushed clean, and pillowed alcoves where the nuns provide a different kind of solace. In spite of their popularity, though, not all hold the Lady's servants in such high regard. One such fur owned a townhouse not far from the Ignasia Forge, whose products he sold to Archipelagite traders. The offspring of ironworkers himself, he was a brawny stallion, with broad shoulders and a bristly chestnut coat. A steady worker, his one vice was the novelty of pale fur from frosty Shael, a color rarely found among the jills serving the Lady in Chamilla. As we rejoin our story, then, it should be no surprise to see Timura's salt and pepper fur running naked through his parlor. She was running because the bedroom door had opened at the wrong time, allowing one of the stallion's servants to see her lean out the window into the moonlight and drop a small object to Scherade's waiting paws below. For a moment the bull stood gawking at the pearly globes of her ass, that shone white like the moon herself had come down through the open window, and Timura felt a fleeting hope that she might get out of the house alive--if well-used. In fact, until the servant opened the door and saw her nude silhouette in the window, Nikolai's assessment had proven remarkably prescient. After arriving in Chamilla by airship, Timura received an introduction to a certain Madam Acalia, known for procuring the finest in Shaelian fur, and it wasn't long before she was delivered to the stallion's house. Timura was happy to postpone the inevitable with dinner, but found little satisfaction in the spiced bean curry the stallion's chef brought out. Her tastes ran to raw fish and the last thing she needed that night was gas. The strong spices made her nose twitch, too. Pleading that she lacked an appetite in the Chamillan heat turned the stallion's attention away from encouraging her to eat, but unfortunately it also stirred his fetish with northerner fur. Coming around behind her stool he began to stroke her coat, burying his long jaw in her back. His forelegs reached around to cup her breasts roughly. "Let's go." He said. She stood quickly in attempt to dislodge him but he was too strong for her. Her ears burned as the stallion's servants watch him paw her as they left the dining room. Pushing her down on his bed he stripped off his shirt, exposing pectoral muscles bigger than her boobs. "Lick it." He ordered her. Timura's ears trembled with uncertainty as she unfastened his pants. She'd blown more furs than she could count back in Sondosia, but playtime with a wolf was nothing like being dominated by this horse. He smelled of must and sweat--not pleasant, but it carried his maleness to a place deep in her brain. She took his cock gingerly between her paws. It was black and rubbery, not the reddish sheen of her normal playmates. Limp, most of its length was still in its sheath. Kneeling between his legs she ran her long tongue along the shaft, curling around the head. With each wet stroke of her tongue it came a little farther out. When it had grown as long as her forearm the stallion shoved her back onto the cushions. He pinned her hind legs under his kneeling weight, exposing the space between her thighs. With one hand he grabbed his cock by the base, slapping against her belly. "Squeeze 'em. Squeeze 'em together for me." He made urgent thrusting motions with his hips, sliding his horsecock across her belly and between her tits. "You think your fur is white?" He laughed harshly as his cock slipped between the downy fur adorning her breasts. "Just wait till I cum on you. Buckets of it. That'll turn your gray spots white." "That's enough foreplay." He rumbled abruptly. "Ever been mounted by a stallion before?" Timura shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. "Ha." He brayed. "Get on all fours 'cause I'm gonna ride your ass." Timura crouched on her paws, flipping up her tail to expose herself. The stallion grabbed her tail roughly, jerking her ass higher in the air. Timura whimpered, not from the pain, but from feeling the head of his cock pressing against her. Her stomach churned, but whether from fear or excitement she couldn't tell. It gave a lurch when he grabbed her thighs with strong, stubby fingers so she couldn't pull away. With one hand he encircled the head of his cock, forcing it into her pussy. "Ow!" She yipped as he nipped her shoulder. His only response was a loud whinny as the head slipped inside. The point was thinner than she had expected, and it wasn't much more difficult to slip inside than the musketeer wolf she'd last slept with. The tip may not have been much bigger, but it just kept coming. "Please go slow." She pleaded. "Oh, yeah? I see right through you whitefurs. You act so cold and proper, but it's all a lie." His weight pressed down on her, driving his monster deeper and deeper. "Ohhh..." She groaned as the enormous penis forced her canal farther open than it had ever been. "Like you didn't know exactly what you'd be getting when you come whoring to Chamilla." He said as the tip hit bottom. "You get off on horsecock, that's why you're here. Or maybe one horse isn't enough for a whore like you? Should I call my servant Bor and have him do your ass while I ream your pussy?" He laughed as a particularly hard thrust left Timura moaning in reply. "Oh, damn, look at the way that white hole is sucking on my brown cock." The stallion leered. Timura forced herself to time her breaths as he rammed his cock inside of her, trying to pull her cervix away from his insistent thrusts. It did feel good, she admitted to herself. Up until that last second when he bottomed out it was great. If his strokes were just a little shorter she'd be coming like a train pulling into the station. But--oh!--every time she got close a particularly hard thrust would send her back down. "Uhnn..." He whinnied and churned his hips faster. "Take it, bitch!" Yelling, he pulled out of her at the last second and flipped her over with one strong hand. Before she could catch her breath he spattered her with a fountain of cream that left ribbons in the fur of her face and his salty taste in her mouth. "Ahhh..." He collapsed on the bed beside her. "Damn. I have to hand it to Madam Acalia. You whitefurs whores are always worth the money." Timura gritted her teeth and tried to wipe the cum out of her eyes. He'd find out what kind of a whore she was when he woke up. Let's see you laugh then, she thought bitterly. After the stallion caught his breath he brusquely dragged her into the bath, squatting in one of the alcoves surrounding the pool while she rubbed the sweat off his flanks. Timura moved gingerly, trying not to inflame the ache in her cervix. She washed the stallion's cum out of her fur and the two took a brief dip in the pool. Returning to bed, the exhausted stallion fell asleep almost immediately. When his snores waxed loud and regular Timura stole out of bed and crept over to a niche in the wall that contained an arm-sized container of whalebone ivory, cracked with age. A blackened leather strap held it closed. For a moment her curiosity got the better of her and she paused to look around at the stallion's collection--after all, she deserved something for herself after the stallion's abuse. The horse seemed to have a thing for islander artifacts: wooden statues to island Loas, a necklace of shark's teeth, and a leaping fish of flaked obsidian. Perhaps some might even be items of Power. From just behind her shoulder she heard the soft rumble of her sire's laughter and she spun around, eyes wide. Her heart caught in her throat as she looked wildly around the room, but she was alone. "Sire..." She whispered, but the only answer came from voices in the street outside. Blinking back tears, she turned back to the artifacts and bowed, mumbling an apology to the unknown islander god whose icon she was about to steal. She reached for the container with trembling paws, then stopped, forcing herself to breath deeply. Steeling her courage, she seized it quickly, before she could change her mind, and padded silently to the window, where she dropped it to Scherade, standing in the street below. Evidently the deity in question did not accept her apology. Coming to escort her out of the house, the stallion's manservant entered just in time to see her thievery. His nostrils flared around the brass ring in his nose and he dropped the money that was to have been her payment. Eyes wide in panic, Timura sprang for the opposite door, leading to the parlor and the bath beyond, making the globes of her breasts bounce and her tail unfurl behind her. Closing the latch, she threw open the parlor window and peered out, disappointed to see nothing but the paving stones three stories below. Scherade was nowhere in sight. He bellowed, and she knew that he would soon wake the entire household. The door boomed under the hammer of the bull's massive bulk, and she knew the inlaid wood wouldn't hold for long. Her eyes flicked around the room, desperately searching for something she could use. The bath! She thought. She moved for the stairs just as the door cracked under a second impact. The tile floor offered no purchase for her claws and Timura skidded to a stop at the bottom, chest heaving as she looked around. The moonlight from narrow vents at the top of the walls let her see as if it was day and she edged around the pool, pressed onwards by the sound of the bull and his master coming downstairs. Reaching the other side, she scanned the walls, searching for a door. "Mistress Svin, I know that haven't been to your shrine since Sire left, but I meant to, I really did." Timura prayed hurriedly. "And maybe sometimes I replaced the coins he gave me for offerings with smaller denominations when he wasn't looking...but I never snuck out to pee in the shrine garden like Filalie did. Ever!" She reassured the goddess. "I promise I'll pay it all back. And I'll go to temple twice a year, no, once a month, just...help me out here, okay?" As sincere as her prayer may have been, the panther goddess's avatar did not appear to savage the tabby's pursuers. "Catch her and she's yours." The stallion growled in the dark. Timura doubted that would end well. "You take that side, I'll take this one. "Is there another way out?" "Not over there." The merchant jeered. Then there was no way to escape. The fur rose on Timura's back, imagining the pain of being bull raped. Unbidden, her sire's words came to mind. She'd been just a kitten, hounded by bullies on the playground. When her sire discovered the bruises, he'd sat her on one knee and scratched behind one ear until she'd relaxed, leaning into his strong chest. Then he spread his other paw, claws out. "Snowbell," his private name for her came from the way her spots resembled the flower clusters growing at home in mountainous Shael, "if you can't escape, pounce when they least expect it." He'd said, closing his claws with a snap. She'd endured two more days of bullying, until they'd made the mistake of picking on her little cousin too, who'd just started school. When her Sire had emerged from the Headmistress's office that afternoon, she was sitting on a bench shivering in fear. Without a word he took her in his arms, carrying her up the hill and home. He made mugs of steaming hot milk and passed her one. "Pouncing when you can't escape is one thing," He said earnestly, then bared his fangs in a wide grin. "but leaping down on them from a tree while they're trying to run away from you is a bit excessive." Timura's ears went back and her claws extended against the tiled floor of the bath. She could wound one of them, at least, but their thick hides would limit the damage. If Teacher Shirvati were here he would rip out their throats and spill their entrails into the pool, but she was too small and no match for their strength. Once they caught hold of her the fight would end quickly. What would Scherade do? Timura forced her claws back into their sheaths and tried to analyze the situation the way her clever friend would. "You take that side, I'll take this one." She heard. She could see the two fumble as they worked their way towards her. They moved slowly, feeling into each alcove to make sure she wasn't hiding there. Dayfur though they were, their eyes would eventually adjust and the chase would end. She had to make her move immediately. But how? Scherade wouldn't fight them, she'd find a way to escape. Without making a sound, she dropped to the tiles, her thick coat protecting her from the chill. Slinking towards them instead of away from them, she approached the pool. The men were getting closer, and Timura hoped they'd be too worried about checking the alcoves to notice her slip into the pool. She froze when she heard the ripples from her entry lapping over the drain. "Hey, did you hear that?" The bull asked. Holding her breath, Timura waited, but the other shushed him into silence. When she saw the two figures moving again, she submerged, closing her nostrils and swimming easily with strokes of her broad paws. Climbing out at the opposite side, she edged towards the stairs. "There she is--by the stairs!" The stallion bellowed. "Get her!" Abandoning stealth, Timura took the stairs in two long bounds and sprinted though the broken door into the bedroom. She swept her payment off the floor and fled. By the time the two arrived, she had disappeared through another door, heading downstairs to freedom. "Yearrrgh! You'll pay for this, bitch! I swear by the spilled seed of Gahnos I'll make you pay!" The stallion bellowed and slammed his hand into the wall hard enough to make the house shake. Heedless of her nudity Timura ran outside, leaving vortexes of smoke in her wake. Flitting through the red-lit shadows like a bat she vanished from sight, not stopping until she reached the inn where her partner Scherade was waiting. She slipped in quietly and bounded upstairs, but not fast enough to avoid the barkeep's leering gaze. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in." Scherade said, getting up off the bed as her partner entered. The black fox was tall and slender, with a bushy tail almost as long as her body. The two gold rings in her ear gleamed redly in the brimstone lamp above a soft ruff of hair that cascaded around an oval face and wide, almond-shaped eyes. Under the silk robe she wore, her breasts sat high on her chest; smaller than Timura's but more perky. "Do you have it?" Timura asked eagerly between breaths, eyes casting around the room. "Fear not, darling. It's here, safe and sound. I see you got your money, too." Scherade noted, looking at the bills in Timura's paw.

"Hey, I earned that." "I'm sure you did, whore." Scherade's earrings tinkled as she laughed. "It's a good thing Sire isn't here to see this." Timura said, ears drooping at the thought. "If it's any consolation, I'm proud of his little kitten." Scherade nuzzled her ear. "You are?" Scherade responded with a kiss, sliding her fingers down the tabby's back. Timura's body responded, and the kiss breathed life into the embers that still glowed from the excitement of feeling eyes on her body as she ran through the streets naked. Her ears rose and her long tongue lapped against her partner's muzzle as her paws fumbled with the tie of Scherade's robe. "Wait." Timura said breathlessly. "Hm?" Scherade licked her face. "We have to leave." Timura insisted, breaking their embrace. "One of his servants saw me. They almost caught me in the bedroom. I'm sure the stallion will send his servants out to ask if anyone's seen a naked white lynx--and the bartender definitely spotted me." "O-okay." Scherade's eyes widened. This wasn't in the plan. Thinking quickly, she swept the pair's belongings into a leather rucksack while Timura put on a dress. "The back window. We'll wait at the docks tonight." Scherade gestured and the pair slipped out on to the narrow balcony that hung over the courtyard. Too nervous to question her partner, Timura dropped first, her muscular legs cushioning the fall; Scherade dropped the rucksack to her and followed, rolling gracefully as she landed. Staying close together, the pair disappeared into the night. While Timura had been working her way into Madam Acalia's good graces, Scherade had booked passage out. Knowing the stallion would search for them at the airship moorage where they'd arrived, Scherade led Timura to the harbor, already loud with the noises of ships impatient to sail at first light. Under the pall of the brimstone lamps loading engines chuffed along rusting steel tracks, and longshoremen spat brownish phlegm on the cobblestones. They picked their way between brick warehouses to the harbor's outer rim, where loads were smaller, pier rates were lower, and ships skated the edge of bankruptcy. In her prime, the Lucky Twelve had carried ore from the Loess range, feeding Chamilla's hungry forges, but the new ocean-going paddlewheels were driving the Lucky and her sisters out of business. Hoping to catch passenger traffic, the Lucky's owner raised the quarterdeck to add cabins, but airship companies were skimming off the cream of that trade, leaving the Lucky with the scraps--like a pair of amateur thieves fleeing a botched job. The first mate met them atop the gangplank. With his slicked-back head fur and lace ruffles, the ape looked out of place amidst the peeling paint and soot-streaked whitewash, not at all like the shirtless monkeys in patched trousers the females could see moving further down the deck. "Ah, serenitas, so glad to have you aboard." He gushed. "What a privilege to have such beauty aboard our poor vessel. My name is Nummos--now please, let me show to your cabins." Several of the crew stopped to gawk at the two, whose long dresses didn't hide their unusual coloring or Timura's voluptuous curves. Hoping to avoid attention, Timura allowed him to take her arm and escort her to the rear. His long fingers brushed her breast as he reached for her traveling case. "Will Captain Valens be along to see us before we cast off?" Scherade asked sharply. "He's--" Nummos' face clouded. "He's busy, I expect, but I'll inquire. Watch your head now." He led them through a hatch, with rubber seals that were stiff and cracked with age. The passageway ran perpendicular to the ship's length, turning aft at each end. He turned left, then right, ending in a short passageway onto which five more hatches opened, four on the left and one straight ahead. Opening the second one he swept his hand in a bow. "Your cabin, serenita." He said to Timura. The cabin was just wide enough for her to slip between the bed along one wall and the two rattan chairs propped against the other. "You may store your things here." He said, sliding open a wall panel to reveal a built-in dresser. "I apologize for the inconvenience to gentlefur like yourselves, but the washroom is the--." "Captain Valens assured me that we would not need to share the facilities with other passengers." Scherade interrupted. "Oh yes," He said smoothly, not taking his eyes off of Timura, "I don't believe anyone will be in the other cabin on this side, so you can be assured of privacy." He put Timura's case down on her bed, then motioned Scherade to her identical cabin behind the next door. Without bothering to help Scherade with her bag, he informed them that the first meal would be served three hours after dawn, but for their own safety, they should stay in their cabins until the Lucky had put to sea and nothing was moving on deck.

Trying to convince herself that she should be glad her cleavage didn't draw this obsequious ape's attention the way Timura's did, Scherade stood at the porthole fuming. It took ages for him to leave, which he only did after Timura finally promised him that she would allow him to escort her to breakfast. Once he was gone, Scherade began to put her things away, slamming the drawers shut with unnecessary violence. If the fox's vision matched that of her lynx friend, though, she might have seen a bulky figure emerge from under a warehouse awning and stride down the pier towards the Lucky. Unnoticed by any of the crew, it doffed its wide-brimmed hat and made its way silently towards the rear of the ship, followed by the lingering scent of tropical spices. The gratuitous vehemence calmed her somewhat, enough to open the door when Timura called softly from outside. The lynx had changed into a robe the color of her green eyes, and Scherade let her in with a smile. The two brought their muzzles together, exchanging licks, until Scherade pushed Timura away with a sly grin and a shake of her head that made her earrings tinkle. "We did it." She said. "Hard to believe, isn't it." "Now that we're safe, I thought we should celebrate." "What did you have in mind?" Timura purred. "You remember that machinator's apprentice I told you about?" Scherade said. "The one that's hot for you?" Timura replied. "Oh, yes. He said his master would be upcountry visiting a mine yesterday, so I...paid him a little visit." "Just a 'little visit?'" Timura bared her teeth. "Trust me, there was nothing 'little' about him." Scherade smiled back. "Anyway, while I was there I bought something special to celebrate our success with." Taking a bundle of cloth from the table, she unfolded it to reveal a pair of segmented brass cylinders, no longer than a finger, with a flared ring at one end. A thin band of black rubber separated each of the segments. "Looks like a Clockwork Roger. For a virgin, maybe." Timura arched one eyebrow. "I sure hope your apprentice friend fed you something bigger than that." "Just wait, you'll see." Scherade smirked. "Now be a good little whore, dear, and bend over." Timura did as she was bid, kneeling on the narrow bed and raising her tail to expose the places between her legs. "Oh, you poor dear." Scherade stared at the puffy red lips of Timura's pussy. "Was it painful?" She asked. "At first." Timura admitted. "I'm still a little sore, actually. Be gentle, will you?" "Don't worry, kitty. I have other plans tonight." Reaching with a paw into the vessel of oil she'd placed on the dresser, Scherade let it drip onto one cylinder. The oily brass gleamed scarlet in the brimstone light from outside, like the red flesh of dog's cock. Dipping her finger once more, she returned to Timura, letting the oil dribble at the base of her tail. Holding the cylinder by the ring, she let the brass slide along Timura's oily rear, pausing to press lightly at her ass. "Ummm..." Timura hummed as her stomach tightened. "Knock, knock." Scherade responded, pushing harder. "Ugh!" Timura grunted as the cold metal forced her open, and the rod plunged inexorably inside until the ring sat comfortably between her cheeks. "Now it's my turn. You lay down." Scherade said, letting her rope drop off her shoulders. She stood by the bed and lifted one hind leg, pulling open her furry slit. Positioning her crotch above Timura's face, she lined the second cylinder up with her own rear, positioned so Timura could see every detail. Absently Timura glanced at the tracery of calligraphy tattooed in vibrant color almost hidden in the fur on her friend's lean buttocks, the mysterious remainder of a cult initiation. No matter how Timura asked, her partner refused to say any more about it. "Ah!" With a single hard thrust, Scherade buried the clockwork roger in her own anus. When the metal chill subsided, she put her leg down and slipped to the foot of the bed, feeling the device shift inside her as she walked. Kneeling down, she looked up past Timura's pubic mound and the valley of her chest, towards her lover's face. "Now relax." She said, as the red light sparkled in the beads of moisture forming along Timura's slit. Scherade teased her, blowing gently on the hollows of her thighs and watching her hips wiggle with need. She approached her target cautiously, with little fluted kisses on her mound and nibbles along her lips. Growing bolder, she sampled the salty taste of the stallion's cum. Confident that her target was off-guard, she made her move, and Timura's breath caught as Scherade swirled the tip of her tongue around her knob. Timura's hips rose against her face with a moan. Scherade tasted the tang of metal as her long tongue strokes ended in the brass ring implanted in Timura's rear. Timura's breath came in pants, and her thighs ground against Scherade's head as her passion mounted. Reading the telltale signs, Scherade fastened her lips around Timura's knob and sucked harder. Timura shuddered as waves of pleasure flowed outwards from her abdomen, her body instinctively clutching the brass worm in her ass. "Oh!" Timura jerked again when she felt the intruder grow, reaching deeper and bulging out against her nether regions. "I told you." Scherade laughed, raising her face. Her fur was matted from Timura's wetness. "It's something new from the machinators. Every time you clench your belly like that," she said, rubbing her palm over Timura's muscular stomach, "it gets bigger...and bigger. There's one in each of us now, and the first one to cry uncle serves the others' will for a day." "But how do we get them out?" Timura asked, ever the worried one. "Oh, right now you have more important things to worry about." Scherade leered. "You'd better get to work before you end up with an airship in your butt." Swinging her body around, she brought her furry crotch down on Timura's muzzle and attacked her partners' slit, filling the room with a cacophony of wet noises and throaty growls. In the end, Scherade surrendered first, just as she always knew she would. Timura hated to lose, and besides, Scherade had already planned to spend the trip home nestled comfortably between her lover's furry thighs. *** Languorous afternoons on the Lucky Twelve's deck filled their days, and leisurely evenings exploring each other's bodies filled their nights. The two played a slow game of one-upmanship, exposing their bodies to the crew's hungry eyes. Timura was the first to discard her robe, going out in a ruffled blouse cut low on her swelling breasts; Scherade raised with a slinky black dress she'd brought for "negotiations" with ship captains that hugged her slim lines and tight rear. The two giggled to watch crewmonkeys stumble as they stared. Not to be outdone, Timura next traded her skirt for a sarong, tying off her blouse just under her breast. When Scherade retaliated with a gauzy slip that turned transparent in the tropical sun, Captain Valens finally begged them to stop. Averting his eyes from their exposed charms, the white-furred old ape blushed as he complained that his crew was neglecting their duties. Laughing, the pair relented, arriving to dinner in their modest robes to the captain's obvious approval. Evening meals aboard the Lucky were a formal affair. The captain invited first mate Nummos and the guests around a table in his quarters, to be served by the ship's steward. Two other passengers were aboard. One was a spectacled fox from Sondosia. Early in the voyage Scherade had made overtures, only to discover he was a happily married accountant returning from an inspection tour of the forges. When she learned he'd been staying onboard ship instead of in tourist quarters where the whores plied their trade she knew it was a lost cause. The other was a hyena. He said little, though when he did he spoke with the accent of one from deep in the continent's interior. Often the pair would catch him standing at the rail, watching them from a distance, but he turned away when either of them approached. When Captain Valens asked his business, he muttered something about being a "troubleshooter," and refused to say more. Dinner that night was late, and Timura blushed as her stomach growled its impatience. Captain Valens looked annoyed at Nummos when he arrived some minutes after the other guests had been seated. "Sorry, gentlefurs." Nummos said smoothly as he entered the dining room. "The cook stepped out for a bit and the galley crew was in a tizzy. The food will be right out." "Stepped out? At dinnertime?" Asked the fox with a scowl, unimpressed with the cook's work ethic. "Hm. Yes." Mumbled the captain. "Our old cook left suddenly at Chamilla. Just packed up and left. Damn shame--amazing things he could do with hot peppers and salted fish." "Still, we didn't do badly with the new one, did we sir?" Said Nummos as he sat down. "Makes a fine curry for a bull, I'd say." Timura kept her mouth politely closed--the food reminded her of what she'd eaten that night in Chamilla, and they weren't good memories. "You may be right." The captain admitted grudgingly. "Still--" Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the steward's arrival with appetizers. After dinner, Timura was relaxing on her bed when Scherade burst in. The fox's eyes were wide and her tail was triple its ordinary size, as every hair stood on end. "The statue," she cried, "it's missing!"