Joanna Wylde - Survivals Price

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SURVIVAL’S PRICE

An Ellora’s Cave Publication, March 2004

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

PO Box 787

Hudson, OH 44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-827-8

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

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

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is

purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Edited by Martha Punches.

Cover art by Syneca.

SURVIVAL’S PRICE

A Story of the Saurellian Federation

Joanna Wylde

Chapter One

Daverna Transit Station

Year 5342, Saurellian Calendar

Damian needed to get laid.

His cock was hard as a rock, and he wanted to sink it into warm flesh.

He took a long slug of his drink, scanning the room for prey. It was an easy enough

place to find women—hell, he’d been here a thousand times for the same reason. He

surveyed the stage, judging each dancer carefully. It was a tacky place, the kind of bar

where men went for one reason and one reason only. Sex. Cheap sex. The women

dancing on the stage weren’t looking for commitment, and they certainly weren’t

interested in relationships. They wanted cash. Fortunately, he had credits to spare.

His men had already found companions, but he held off for the moment. For some

reason none of the girls looked all that good. They all seemed worn, as if they’d been

dancing too long. He might not be fool enough to expect his companion for the night to

truly enjoy his company, but he wanted one who at least took the time to pretend.

He took another drink, then stood and sauntered across the room. He sat down at

the edge of the stage, hoping proximity would pique his interest. The woman before

him gyrated listlessly, and he tossed her a credit chit, hoping it might make her come

alive. It didn’t. She scooped it up without smiling. The music changed, and she stood,

bowing briefly to the crowd before walking off stage. He sighed, wondering if he’d end

up alone tonight after all. Bedding down someone like her would be more like

masturbating than having sex. He’d jacked off too much for one lifetime already. A new

woman sauntered out.

She caught his attention instantly.

She was tall, with long dark hair and dusky skin. She wore a spacer’s coverall,

although he’d never seen a spacer wear one that tight. Her lips were rounded and pouty,

and her breasts swelled like two plump fruits just waiting to be squeezed. His cock

leapt in response.

He wasn’t alone in his interest. Every man in the room perked up, and she smiled

seductively at all of them as she stuck one long, slender finger into her mouth and

sucked on it, apparently judging the crowd. Her face held a speculative look. He wanted

to know what was happening in her head, he thought suddenly. She seemed so much

more alive than the women around her.

She walked forward, swaying with the music, rubbing one hand up and down the

front of her coverall while still sucking delicately on the other. She was still fully

clothed, but there was something so incredibly sensuous, so dirty about the way she

touched herself that her motions held more eroticism than anything he’d seen on the

stage.

Her hips swiveled sensuously as she strutted down the runway. Here and there

poles pierced the floor, rising up to the ceiling, and occasionally she stopped rubbing

herself long enough to grab one, swinging her body around it as she moved. His breath

caught in his throat as she came to a stop near him, backing herself into the nearest pole

and rubbing against it with her ass as she slowly slid down to the floor. She crawled

forward on her hands and knees until she faced him directly. She pushed herself up on

her hands, thrusting her breasts toward him, then licked her lips, allowing her heated

gaze to trail across his face and down his body.

He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His pants were suddenly far too

tight for this.

She blew him a kiss, then sprang back up to her feet and swung around the pole.

As she did so, she reached up and pulled apart the fasteners corralling her breasts in

the coverall. They swelled forward, barely contained by a red bustier. She turned away

from him, grasping the pole with both hands and rubbing up and down it. She leaned

back so far that her hair dangled against the floor. Her breasts pulled down out of the

bustier, and for a moment he glimpsed her areola peeking out. She pumped up and

down against the pole, her eyes closing in what appeared to be truly satisfying, personal

pleasure. The music pumped in time, and he felt himself growing warm. He’d never

seen anything so hot in his life.

After a moment she swirled back up, her face flushed, her breathing hard. He could

have sworn there was a darkening patch between her legs. She hovered on the edge of

orgasm; it was obvious to everyone watching. Rather than looking embarrassed, she

seemed to revel in her sensuality. He realized with a start that she wasn’t there to titillate

them, her audience existed to heighten her own experience.

She swaggered back up the stage, her back to the crowd, then turned her head to

look flirtatiously at the men surrounding her. With a shrug, she let the coverall fall

down across her shoulders, leaving her upper arms, shoulders and back exposed. She

rolled her shoulders, and then pulled one arm free from the dangling coverall.

Raising it above her head, she turned back to face the audience, her body stretching

and thrusting her breasts out of the bustier once more. The thing was just a bit too small

for her. She shrugged her other shoulder free, allowing the coverall to dangle down

around her waist, the opening exposing just a tiny taste of her lower belly. Her hips, full

and lush, seemed just rounded enough to hold the garment up.

His breath caught; he couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d shimmy it down,

revealing what he knew must be a spectacular ass and endless, muscular legs.

Unwilling to lean forward like so many of the men around him, he propped one

boot up on the stage, reclining back in his chair. She owned the room, there could be no

doubt, and a part of him rebelled against that. He didn’t want to be owned, not by

anyone.

He wanted to own her.

She swaggered back down toward him, as if reading the unconscious challenge in

his stance. Halfway there she dropped to her knees again, dragging the drab coverall

behind her. How could such an ugly garment be so sensuous? The closer she came to

him, the tighter his breathing grew. A sudden desire to leap up on stage, to rip off her

coverall and plow his cock into her, hit him. Instead he took another long draft of his

drink, forcing himself to breath slowly in and out.

She smiled at him, a secret, mocking kind of smile. The smile of a woman who knew

her own power, and who could see right through his pathetic attempts to control

himself. He tried to look away but he couldn’t. She was too intense, too real to ignore.

She came closer and closer, credits raining down on her as she slithered past the

mesmerized men. Sometimes she would stop and look at them, moving close so they

could see her breasts. She wore twice as much clothing as any other woman in the room,

but every eye was glued to her. There could be no question who was in charge.

Finally she reached him, and he knew deep inside, that he had been her target all

along. She stood slowly, turned away from him and slithered out of the coverall. Red

thong panties matched the red bustier holding her stunning breasts. She stepped out of

the pants, deliberately spread her legs and leaned forward, laying her hands flat on the

stage before her, exposing everything to him. A stunning cunt matched her ass, perfect

in and of itself. The thin swath of fabric hid her just enough to make him desperate to

pull it off. He almost reached up, but managed to catch himself at the last moment. He

wanted her all right, felt almost desperate to have her, but he knew that to get her he had

to stand out from the crowd. That meant holding back, even if it killed him.

She smiled back at him between her legs, as if reading his thoughts.

Then she stood, took a step forward and grasped the nearest pole firmly. She pulled

herself up on it, the muscles in her arms bunching as she lifted herself with an ease that

bespoke her strength. Her legs came up, and then her body fell back, held aloft by one

leg wrapped around the pole. Her thigh muscles bunched, and somehow she managed

to slowly spin around, displaying her magnificent body to the entire room. Once again,

her breasts fell out of the bustier, treating them to another glimpse of her dark red

nipples. The man next to Damian moaned aloud, and it took every bit of strength in

Damian’s body not to backhand him. Music welled up around them with a slow,

throbbing beat.

She pulled herself back up, letting her feet drop to the floor, and then rubbed her clit

against the pole. That delicate flush rose in her face once more. She turned to look at

him, and for a moment they were alone together in the room, locked in a tunnel only

they could detect. He knew she wanted him, knew she imagined his cock as she rubbed

up and down the pole.

The flush in her face grew brighter, then her eyes closed, cutting him out. It was all

about her now—she’d left him behind. The music continued to play, but she was

oblivious, completely focused on the pole between her legs. This was different than any

other performance he’d seen in a strip club. For one thing, she wasn’t making any moves

to remove the rest of her clothing. She ground herself against the pole, throwing her

head back and moaning in time to the music. Her face tightened, and she panted

noticeably. She strained, pushing, driving herself against the pole. She wasn’t

performing for anyone, that was clear enough. That the men around her were enjoying

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SURVIVAL’SPRICEAnEllora’sCavePublication,March2004 Ellora’sCavePublishing,Inc.POBox787Hudson,OH44236-0787 ISBNMSReader(LIT)ISBN#1-84360-827-8Otheravailableformats(noISBNsareassigned):Adobe(PDF),Rocketbook(RB),Mobipocket(PRC)&HTML SURVIVAL’SPRICE©2004JOANNAWYLDE ALLRIGHTSRESERVED.Thisbookmaynotberep...

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