The Price of Freedom

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Damn, he ached.

Jess stared into the darkness above his bunk, willing himself to sleep. His body wasn’t cooperating.

He was exhausted from his work in the mines that shift—fourteen hours of pure hell. His cock didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t speak to her, they didn’t joke among themselves. They looked at her with disdain, as if she wasn’t worthy to call herself a Pilgrim.

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