Joanna Wylde - Price of Freedom

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THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

An Ellora’s Cave publication written by

JOANNA WYLDE

MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-022-6

Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-098-6

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML

Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA

Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax,

or any other mode of communication without author permission.

Edited by Martha Punches

Cover Art by Darrell King

Warning:

The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers.

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM has been rated NC17, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We

strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to

view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

Part I: The Mine

Chapter One

Damn, he ached.

Jess stared into the darkness above his bunk, willing himself to sleep. His body wasnÕt

cooperating. He was exhausted from his work in the mines that shiftÑfourteen hours of pure

hell. His cock didnÕt seem to understand that, though. He was rock hard, and his mind kept

filling with picture of her.

He had seen her for the first time a week earlier, pushing a cart loaded with food into

the dormitories. She had been wearing a long, shapeless dress and a head scarf, like all

those damn women did. She pushed the cart with slow, steady steps, refusing to look at any

of them. A hundred men starved for food and sex surrounded her. No wonder she'd been

afraid to look at them.

Their guards hadnÕt treated her with any respect. Of course, they never treated any of

their women with respect, but this had been somehow different. It was as if she was an

outcast even among her own people. They didnÕt speak to her, they didnÕt joke among

themselves. They looked at her with disdain, as if she wasnÕt worthy to call herself a

Pilgrim.

He had known she was different from the others, too. Even swathed in dark fabric, he

had felt her presence across the room. He could sense her, smell her. She smelled like

woman, and that first instant he saw her, he knew he wanted her.

Of course, they all wanted her. They wanted her even though her fear of them was

palpable, as was the fear of every woman who brought them food. Twice a day, one of them

would wheel a loaded cart in to the mass of starved, frustrated, angry men. The women

would be escorted by two guards, men who carried instruments capable of killing any of the

men instantly, but the fear was still there. After all, men under enough pressure will do

desperate things, even if it leads to their own death. The women had to know thatÉ

He had been at the far end of the barracks when she entered, but there was something

about her that drew him to her. Maybe it was the way she carried herself; she was

surrounded by a hundred men starved for a woman's touch, yet she remained calm and

poised. Distant. As if she were walking through a world of her own. He had moved through

the ranks of waiting slaves until he was in front of her, taking the cart and pulling it away

gently. She looked up at him, startled by his action. The guards watched in silence, hands on

their weapons, but he did nothing threatening. He simply eased the cart out of her hands.

Her eyes had been wide with surprise when they met his. They were a brilliant green

and almond-shaped; feline, like a cat. He had felt like he was falling into them. Her face was

pale, slightly dirty, as if she had been working all day. Perhaps cleaning. There was

exhaustion there, and a bit of defiance. She hadnÕt ducked his gaze, but met it head on.

She might have been afraid of him, but she wasnÕt going to show it.

In that moment, heÕd known she should be his. Of course, he had no idea how heÕd

ever get her. She was probably marriedÑall Pilgrim women married young. She had to be in

her mid-twenties, so she might even have several children, and a husband who had a right

to touch her body whenever he wanted. JessÕ fists clenched at the thought, and he pushed

it from his mind, frowning into the darkness. He didnÕt want to think about another man with

his woman. Instead, he imagined what she looked like under her robes. Her hair was dark

brown, he knew that much. Her face was pretty, pale skin, luscious ripe lips. She was thin,

her hands roughened from hard work.

What would her hair look like, loose and hanging around her naked body? He formed a

mental image of her standing before him. Her breasts, high and pert, would peek out

between the long locks. She would smile up at him, those green cat-eyes filled with secrets.

She would lick her lips and they would shine with her moisture. Then she would run her eyes

up and down his own powerful, naked form, smiling at him with a sultry question written on

her face. How did he want her? On her knees before himÉunder himÉriding him?

Unable to help himself, Jess slipped one hand under his ragged blanket in the darkness

of the barracks. Reaching into his pants, he found the long, smooth length of his cock. His

eyes closed as his fingers grazed the head, a tingle of sensation stabbing through his groin.

He touched the groove on the under side, rubbing one fingertip across it. His muscles

clenched; he stiffened. The delicate touch was almost painful in its intensity.

He turned his thoughts to her again. She would kneel before him, and smile up at him

with that peculiar look only a woman could give. As if she existed to rule and serve him at the

same time. Then she would lift one hand and take his cock into her grasp, running her

fingers over him. He moved his own hand against his skin, pretending he wasnÕt in a dark

barrack, filled with a hundred slaves. Instead he was with her, and they had all the time in the

worldÉ

She gently touched her lips to the end of his cock, running her tongue around the head.

He fought to control a gasp as she sucked his length into her hot, wet mouth. Then she

started working her head back and forth. She raised one hand, firmly gripping the based of

his erection and squeezing him in time with her movements. Her cheeks hollowed with each

stroke, the suction of her mouth tugging on him in a slow, steady rhythm that was

mesmerizing.

In the darkness of the barracks, it was easy to imagine that it wasnÕt his own hand

stroking his hard length. Instead, she was with him, sucking him, pulling him. Each time her

lips slid down the length of him, the pressure in his balls built a little higher. In his mind, he

imagined what it would feel like to pull her up until she stood before him. He would kiss her

mouth with strong, penetrating strokes of his tongue. Then he would raise her in his arms

and thrust his length into the hot, wet opening between her legs. Hard.

He could feel her wet lips, feel himself sinking into her again and again. His hand moved

faster, roughly stroking up and down the length of his cock. He squeezed his fingers,

imagining it was the pressure of her body around him. She would pulse under him, and when

her own pleasure overtook her she would cry out in ecstasy. SheÕd go wild, muscles

clenching his body. He pressed himself harder against his hand, imagining shooting his

seed deep into her body. Again and again he stroked himself and with each touch the

pressure grew until his balls tightened, ready to release. Orgasm hit, and his entire body

stiffened. He stifled his moan, not willing to let the other men know what he was doing. Of

course, it wasnÕt as if they werenÕt doing the same thing. There were very few secrets in

the barracks.

Slowly, the pleasure of his release left him. Once again, he was alone in the darkness.

Around him were the snores, sighs and soft moans of a hundred other men. For all he knew,

they were sharing the same fantasy he had. In all likelihood he would never have sex with a

woman again, let alone this woman he had come to think of as his. Hell, he didnÕt even

know her name. He was a slave, and she belonged to one of his captors.

Morning would come all too soon, and with it another day of back-breaking labor in the

mines. This was his life now, Jess told himself firmly. There was no room for self-pity, and

there was no room for obsession with this woman. He closed his eyes and, for the

thousandth time, willed himself to sleep.

* * * * *

Bethany pulled the brush through her long hair. Every sleep cycle, since childhood, she

had performed the same ritual. Her mother helped her when she was young. She had

always imagined that some day she would do the same with her own daughters. There were

no children, however. She had been her husbandÕs third wife, and the first two had given

him strapping boys and lovely girls. She had given him nothingÉ

Shaking off her thoughts, she separated her hair into three equal parts, braiding rapidly.

When she finished, she stood and pulled off her drab brown dress, hanging it carefully on a

peg near her door. Wearing only her shift, she padded softly across the room to her bed. It

was small, and she was often cold, but she realized how lucky she was to sleep alone. For

ten long years she had slept beside Avram, a man 30 years her senior. Every night, as she

had prepared for bed, she had wondered if it would be one of the evenings when he

reached for her. One of the times when he would pull up her shift and thrust his stiff penis into

her unwilling flesh. As a frightened bride of 14 his touch was terrifying; in later years it simply

became unpleasant. She could not bring herself to mourn his death as she slipped under the

covers.

Avram was dead and she had other worries.

She was lucky to be back with her father, and in a way, she was lucky to be barren. She

certainly didnÕt have to worry about getting married again. No Pilgrim man would have a

wife who couldnÕt give him children. Her father may not be the most pleasant person to live

with, but at least he ignored her most of the time. Of course, he would only keep her around

as long as she could make herself useful.

She had almost fallen asleep when a harsh knock on her door startled her awake. She

sat up in bed, breathing quickly. Was she in trouble?

ÒBethany, get dressed and come out here,Ó her fatherÕs voice growled outside the

door. ÒThe council meeting is over and I need to speak with you.Ó

ÒYes, IÕll be right there,Ó she answered automatically. Her father didnÕt like to be kept

waiting. Bethany jumped out of bed, pulling one of her two dresses over her head. She

wrapped her braid around her head in a coronet quickly, pinning it into place and making

sure there were no loose strands. Her father had no patience for sloppy women. He would

cane her if he saw a hair out of place.

Opening the door, she walked quickly down the hall to their living chamber. Her fatherÕs

apartment was one of the largest in the mining community; space in the habitation bubble on

the asteroidÕs surface came at a premium. The fact that they had so much room was a

testament to her fatherÕs influence with his fellow Pilgrims. Bose had been the official

leader of their community for less than a year, but he had dictated policy long before that.

Her father was sitting in the one comfortable chair they owned, staring moodily at a

report in front of him. His dark, swarthy face was mottled with color, his large nose flushed

red. There was a bottle of the homemade bakrah he loved so much on the table next to him.

She came to stand before him, eyes cast down modestly. He ignored her for several

minutes, then looked at her with bloodshot eyes. He was drunk again.

ÒThe council and I met tonight,Ó he said. Bethany bit her lip, trying not to do anything

that he might interpret as disrespectful. Bose was violent when he drank; she didnÕt want to

provoke him. SheÕd had ample experience with his temper. He and the council met every

cycle following dinner, mostly to drink, and he often came home in a foul mood.

Bose looked her up and down, an ugly look in his narrow, beady eyes. Her breath

caught; fear washed through her. What was he thinking?

ÒIt was brought to my attentionÑagainÑthat a woman of your age should be married,Ó

he said. ÒBut of course, that wonÕt be possible. Your sinfulness is apparent to all of us. You

have no children, despite ten years of trying with a good man who proved his virility with his

other wives. The men are concerned that you might corrupt their women with your presence.

Frankly, IÕm inclined to agree with them. Since you came from your husbandÕs home

youÕve been nothing but trouble to me.Ó

Bethany said nothing, eyes still cast downward. She kept her face impassive, biting

back the angry words filling her thoughts. She had worked hard all her life, yet they all

considered her a burden. Even now her fingers were raw from scrubbing the floor in BoseÕs

room. HeÕd vomited there the night before, leaving the mess for her to clean.

ÒIt was suggested that we expose you,Ó Bose said, lifting his bottle to his lips and

taking a long pull of the alcohol. Bethany stopped breathing. Exposure would mean death,

slow and terrible from starvation. Assuming they gave her a pressure suit before shoving her

out the airlock onto the asteroid's barren surface. If she was lucky, they wouldn't. At least that

way death would come quickly. Would her father really do something like that to her? ÒAfter

all, you have nothing to offer us, and itÕs a waste of good food to keep you around. Of

course, I hate to think of doing something like that to my own child,Ó he added, sighing

piously. ÒBut we do what we must for the good of the community. Sacrifices must be

made.Ó

Bitter fury welled up within her, but she kept her composure. If Bose sensed her anger,

he would hurt her. She needed to stay calm, explore every option. Her mind worked quickly,

trying to think of how to change his mind. She had talked her way out of difficult situations

beforeÉ

ÒThen we had another idea,Ó Bose said. Her heart leapt. ÒIt occurs to me that good

women are being exposed to the slaves every cycle, delivering food to them and caring for

them when theyÕre injured. Someone suggested that we have you work with the slaves

instead. I know you've been part of the rotation, but from now on you would be in charge of

them completely. That way no one will be further tainted by their presence. IÕm inclined to

see this as the best solution. What do you say?Ó

Bethany bit her lip, trying to think of a response that wouldnÕt set him off. Working with

the slaves would make her valuable to the council. It meant survival, but she didnÕt want to

look too eager.

ÒWhatever you feel is best for the community,Ó she whispered, trying to look as

submissive as possible. She dared to look at him, and he glared back at her. Bastard, she

thought. SheÕd like to see him do half the work she did.

ÒWell, itÕs a good solution,Ó he said. ÒWe need someone to feed them, and we need

someone to supervise their laundry and other womanly tasks. Decent women have been

doing the work for too long.Ó

ÒYes, sir. Thank you,Ó Bethany said meekly. She wasnÕt going to die after all, at least

not for now. She could work with the slaves, she thought. They scared her, particularly the

one who had taken the cart from her the last time she was there, but she would have guards

to protect her from his intense gaze. To protect her from all of them.

ÒGo away,Ó Bose said, taking another drink. ÒYouÕll start your new work during the

next cycle. You'll follow the same schedule as the slaves. I suggest you get some sleep,

because it may take you a while to get used to sleeping while the rest of us are awake. I

don't want you shirking your duties because you're tired.Ó

Nodding her head, Bethany moved quickly down the hall to her bedroom. SheÕd

dodged disaster once again. Her life had been full of such crises since her husbandÕs

death, the first of which had been his familyÕs decision to turn her out. She had made it

back to her fatherÕs house, and she was prepared to do whatever it took to survive. Bose

and his council had no idea how determined she was to stay alive. She wouldnÕt go quietly.

If they tried to expose her, sheÕd take as many of them as she could with her.

Pulling off her dress for the second time that night, Bethany hung it on the peg. She

crawled into bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring into the darkness. She

wasnÕt going to sleep for a long time; she was too filled with adrenaline for that. Her life had

been in danger once again, simply because she didnÕt have a husband or children. It

wasnÕt fair.

Bastards, she thought. Moisture welled up in her eye, but she forced the tears back. She

couldnÕt afford to show any weakness. She had to be as hard as a rock if she was going to

survive.

* * * * *

Jess woke the next morning a few minutes before the bell rang, every muscle in his

body tense. He always woke up like this, ready for a fight. His first sleep cycle in the

barracks had been uglyÑtwo men had tried to jump him. Since then he had slept lightly. The

last three months had taught him a lot about protecting himself from all kinds of attacks.

Rolling out of his bunk, he moved quickly toward the back wall, where a fresher unit

designed to serve ten men at a time was installed. His bunk-mate, Logan, was already

there. He nodded silently in greeting. A tall, quiet man, Logan rarely spoke to JessÑbut they

shared a certain respect. Jess got the feeling Logan would cover his back if needed, and

tried to return the favor whenever possible. Both of them slept better for their shared

vigilance, and occasionally they discussed escape. So far they hadn't come up with anything

that seemed likely to succeed.

Jess relieved himself, then looked longingly at the sonic showers. Each man was

allowed five minutes a day, and he had long since learned to save his time for after his

return from the mines at the end of the shift. He never really felt clean, but he knew they were

lucky to have the showers at all. Apparently the smell of a hundred unwashed men was

enough to overwhelm the settlementÕs air filter system, so the Pilgrims had put in the units

to control the stench.

Rinsing out his mouth, Jess strode back into the barracks. At the other end of the long

room were several long tables, formed of plast-crete and bolted directly into the floor. The

men were already starting to form lines in anticipation of their breakfast. The door opened;

two guards walked into the room. They held their control wands before them, evil sticks with

the power to kill any of the slaves instantly. Jess looked at them with hatred, but the guards

didnÕt pay any more attention to the men before them than they would pay to animals.

The food cart came in with a rattling noise. They could always hear it coming; one of the

wheels was loose. It was pushed by a woman; heavily draped as usual. But it wasnÕt just

any woman, it was the woman heÕd seen before. The one heÕd dreamt of every night. His

senses tingled as she approached. She walked slowly, carefully keeping her eyes pointed

directly ahead. All around her the men watched with hungry eyes. They lusted for both the

food and the body hidden under the folds of her clothing. His stomach clenched; he didn't

like them looking at her like that. Gritting his teeth, Jess walked toward her, one eye on the

guards. He had to get closer.

Her face was startled, wary, as he came and took the cart. His gaze met hers, and for

one glorious moment he was sinking into those cat eyes again. Then she turned away and

walked quickly out of the room, leaving the men to jostle for their food. Noise broke out and

the tension eased.

The guards watched in sullen silence as the slaves ate, giving them fifteen minutes to

complete their meal. Jess shoveled the tepid gruel without thought, grateful for the energy it

would give him. Then one of the guardsÑa fat one they called Sluggo behind his

backÑgestured with his control wand, and the men made their way through the open door.

Jess was startled to see the woman in the outer room. She was kneeling in front of the

large cabinet used to store medical supplies. Beside her was Bragan, a physician who had

once been a free man. Now he tended to the slaves between shifts in the mine. Bragan was

occasionally excused from working in the mines, so it was not all that uncommon to see him

in the outer room. The sight of him with the woman, however, startled him Jess. HeÕd never

seen a Pilgrim woman talk to a slave before, yet these two seemed to be engrossed in

conversation. She even smiled briefly at the man. Jealousy filled his heart; at that moment he

could have happily smashed Bragan's skull in. His anger must have been written on his face,

because Logan elbowed him, shaking his head in warning.

The guards didnÕt let them linger long enough for Jess to figure out what she was

doing. They moved quickly through the room to a large staging area. Along one wall were

lockers containing the pressure suits they wore to work the mines. Along the other

wallÑsecurely lockedÑwere the lockers holding pressure suits and equipment used by the

Pilgrims. Jess had never seen those lockers open.

Each man shrugged silently into his own suit. Then he and Logan took turns checking

each otherÕs suits to make sure they were sealed properly. A suit failure could mean death.

Jess tried to have two different men check hisÑthe week before one of the slaves had

actually sabotaged another manÕs suit, killing him. None of them knew why he had done it,

although Jess and Logan had been among those who had ÒquestionedÓ him. Shortly

afterwards he had perished in a mining accident. Justice among the slaves was swift and

unforgiving.

Within minutes the men were suited. Under the watchful eyes of their guards, the line of

workers trouped out the far end of the staging area. In groups of ten, they passed through an

airlock and into the mouth of the mine. The walls gave way to rock, and the floor sloped

noticeably as the tunnel went down into the asteroidÕs surface. They arrived at an elevator,

and once again entered in groups of ten.

Jess waited his turn silently, gazing at the rusty, ancient elevator apparatus. Soon he

would enter the metal box, which would carry him deep into the mineÕs depths. His partner,

a young man name Trent, stood next to him quietly. Jess could hear his heavy breathing

through the two-way radio they sharedÑtheir only way to communicate the entire time they

were underground. Last week the radio had gone out shortly after they started work, and

Trent had a panic attack. Jess had to work twice as hard to meet their quota, while his

partner sat and cried. Trent was only 19 years old, enslaved for stealing. Jess had already

come to the conclusion that the kid probably wouldnÕt last too long. He wished Logan was

his partner but bunk-mates weren't allowed to work together.

ÒCome on,Ó he said, giving his partner a push when it was their turn to enter the

elevator. ÒItÕs not going to be that bad. WeÕre in one of the upper tunnels today. You can

do this.Ó

ÒI know,Ó Trent said. He shuffled ahead of Jess, turning to face the front of the elevator

with slumped shoulders. The elevator door made a screeching sound as it closed, then the

car started its slow descent into the vast darkness of the mine. When they got to their stop,

Jess flicked on his helmet light, and stepped out of the car. Trent followed him, then the car

door slid shut with another screech and they were alone.

ÒDo you want to drill today, or do you want me to?Ó Jess asked, looking to his

companion. They traded tasks off regularly, one running a powerful drill to prepare for the

blasting the Pilgrims would do the next cycle while the slaves slept, while the other focused

on removing the ore knocked loose from the previous cycleÕs blasts. When Jess had first

arrived on the station, the sounds of blasting while he tried to sleep kept him up. Now he

hardly noticedÉworking at "night" had become normal to him.

“You can drill,Ó Trent said faintly. ÒIÕll do the ore.Ó

Jess nodded his agreement, then turned to the equipment they had left the day before.

Picking up the heavy drill, he hefted it over his shoulder and started carrying it down the

tunnel, the cords that powered it trailing behind him like a long, skinny tail. Normally he and

Trent would work at the same end of the tunnel, drilling and hauling ore together. It was

certainly safer that way. But they had been ordered to separate last week. Apparently their

Joanna Wylde - Price of Freedom

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