Maxson was waiting when I made my way down to the command deck.

 

"Outstanding work at Fort Strong," he said. "I knew I could count on you."

 

 

"Thank you. I wish it had been Institute we were raiding, but that situation with the nukes was too close for comfort."

 

"I agree. We're transferring all the warheads to the Prydwen, and we'll deploy troops to occupy the site and screen the coastal approaches to the airport. And don't worry about the Institute - we'll be dealing with them sooner than you think. Fort Strong was just the first step towards the liberation of the Commonwealth. The Institute, and everyone responsible for the creation of the Synths, must be eliminated at all costs. To accomplish this goal, we need to locate the Institute's headquarters. We will need to construct outposts through the metropolitan Boston area, install sophisticated sensor equipment, and ultimately triangulate the source of the unusual readings that Paladin Danse observed in Cambridge."

 

"I begin to see why Proctor Teagan was concerned about the supply situation. With all the armor and personnel you transported, you can't have brought much in the way of supplies."

 

"You understand our situation exactly," Maxson said. "That's why we need your help. We need supplies - food and water, of course, and also machine parts and other resources to sustain our army. I want you to provide those things."

 

 

It was tempting to just cut him off and leave. There were people in the Brotherhood who I liked, or at least had sympathy for. Danse, Haylen? Liked. They seemed like good people, if a bit misguided. Gray? I was impressed she survived everything her mother put her through and I wanted to get to know her better. But Maxson? He worried me. He was that particularly dangerous breed of extremist who seems to really believe his own PR. I'd just delivered into his hands a small nuclear arsenal, and he clearly had designs on building a fiefdom in the Commonwealth, even if it was just coincidental to his crusade against the Institute. Sooner or later, that was going to bring us into conflict.

 

But at the same time, I wasn't ready for that conflict. And because of that, a breach in our relationship would be much more dangerous for me than for him. So, reluctantly, I accepted that I had to deal with the Brotherhood, even be their ally.

 

And so I answered, "we can provide the things you need. Some of the specific resource streams are a little shaky, but their far more stable than they were six months ago. The question is, what are you willing to trade in exchange?"

 

Maxson seemed surprised by my answer, glowering at me for a moment before speaking. "I'm disappointed with your answer. I'd hoped that after you fought with us - after you understood the stakes - that you would volunteer your support, as a donation to the cause."

 

I noticed that Gray didn't seem to share Maxson's irritation. I wondered what she thought about the situation, but I was hardly in a position to force her to get involved in this discussion.

 

"In a perfect world," I said, "I'd like to share our food and water freely with anyone who needed it. Unfortunately, as I know you're painfully aware, this world isn't perfect. I have a responsibility to the people who look to me for leadership, and I need to secure them a tangible benefit in exchange for aiding you."

 

"Tangible benefit?" Maxson muttered, "are you saying you consider the extermination of the super mutants, ghouls, breeders, synths, and all the other abominations to be intangible? Unimportant?"

 

Alexia very lightly, very subtly placed her hand on his forearm, and Maxson seemed to cool a bit. "Forgive me," he said, "I've let my passion get the better of me. The truth is, we aren't a settlement. We don't manufacture trade goods or luxuries, and so trade can be challenging at times. Of course, we maintain supplies of currency, but I suspect that isn't what you're looking for, is it?"

 

"No," I said. "Don't misunderstand me, currency is useful. In fact, I'd love it if, five or ten years from now, we had a more robust cash economy that we have right now. At our stage of development, however, any kind of large scale trade must involve goods or services."

 

 

"Goods... or services?" Maxson asked, chewing over the words, "tell me more about what you're proposing."

 

"I came here with two goals," I explained. "I want to regularize our relationship, and I want to open trade ties. I know from talking with your Proctors that you are already carrying out significant amounts of exploration inside Boston. I think you may have more in the way of trade goods than you assume, but I think that's more of a working level exchange to work out. Today, I'd mostly like to agree to opening trade relations at a high level and identify points of contact on both sides who can work out specific details of the exchange. At the same time, I want to leave here with a clear understanding of your rules of engagement when you meet and interact with the Minutemen or the Concord Rangers."

 

I'm not sure exactly when I mentally made the switch from 'Red's Rangers' to 'the Concord Rangers,' but the idea was definitely starting to infiltrate my mind by the time these talks were happening. And frankly, much as Red wouldn't like it, removing her from the Rangers' branding would make it much easier to present them as a legitimate force.

 

"In principle," Maxson said, "Those sound like very reasonable goals. I think however that we need to agree to some better defined ground rules. I trust Proctor Teagan, and I'm sure you trust your own quartermaster, but we'd be doing them a disservice if we just threw them into a room to haggle. In particular I want to talk about the 'services' part of your goods and services, and how it relates to the Minutemen and the Rangers."

 

I noticed his eyes very briefly flicked to Alexia, and in that instant she nodded encouragingly. Maxson pressed on, with greater certainty and confidence, "as you know, my men have had a number of encounters with the Minutemen, and I'd previously instructed them to model the highest level of professionalism and courtesy. That can, of course, continue indefinitely. Furthermore, I would be willing to assign a limited number of military advisors to help train and enhance the readiness of your forces."

 

That was the start of an extended discussion regarding Concord's relationship with the Brotherhood. At length, we agreed to extend preferential rates of exchange for food and water to the Brotherhood, on the condition that the forces at their outposts coordinate with the Minutemen on security matters such as patrol schedules and intelligence sharing. I ultimately declined his offer to provide military advisors - I thought it was too risky to have his people interacting with (and reporting back on) Red Tourette's people until their rehabilitation was further along. I agreed to exchange representatives between the Brotherhood and Concord, and to provide his ambassador with housing in the executive office building for ease of coordination. Finally, despite my initial polite refusals, Maxson insisted I take a satchel of signal flares; he promised that if I activated one, a Brotherhood vertibird would be dispatched to collect me and transport me to any destination I desired. That last part felt a little bit like a bribe, but I think to Maxson it was more a vehicle for him to show off his strength and technical sophistication.

 

Another point that came up was Lexington. Maxson didn't hide the fact that he had designs on the city, and he wanted to kick off a joint operation with Concord to run the raiders out of the city and restore law and order. I agreed in principle to the idea - I'd known for a long time that eventually we'd have to deal with Lexington - but I didn't commit to a specific timetable. That would require consultation with Preston and a lot of planning, so we left that one as something to revisit in the future.

 

Early in the discussion, Alexia left us, and when we finally hammered out the agreement it was just me and Maxson on the deck. After we shook hands on the agreement, Maxson took a step back and seemed to be lost in thought. A moment later he spoke, "Ms. Ellison. Well, I suppose I should call you Overseer Ellison now, since we're officially recognizing one another. Overseer Ellison, you are a remarkable woman. You seem completely unmoved by my rhetoric, unshaken by the threats that surround you. You simply, coldly, act in the interests of your community. I have to admit, at times I feared that we would not be able to reach an accommodation. Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I feared that you would be unable to appreciate our vision - our hope for the future."

 

 

"If we're speaking bluntly, Elder Maxson," I answered, "I had similar concerns about you. You seem so deeply committed to your mission, I feared that you wouldn't be able to understand the duty that I have to my people. I'm glad we were able to find a middle ground."

 

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he said. It felt like an abrupt pivot from what he'd said before.

 

"Of course."

 

"You have impressive self-confidence, and you proved at Fort Strong that it isn't an act. You have the strength to back it up. So why do you expose yourself like... this?" he waved at my abdomen. "Surely you have the power to dictate how you live, by force if necessary, and to overturn any state of affairs that offends you. And yet, you allow yourself to be objectified like this? I don't understand."

 

"I, ah," I laughed once, let out a long breath, and tried again. "It's a little complicated, Elder. First, you should know that my experience in the Vault left me with a skin condition that makes it uncomfortable to wear most... ordinary clothing. I imagine Ms. Gray has faced similar challenges, perhaps she's told you about it?"

 

He nodded. "I don't pry into my Handmaiden's personal affairs, but I have gathered as much. Proctor Teagan has procured specially tailored uniforms for her for some time. Surely you could have done the same?"

 

"I have, in fact, done just that in the past. But I have responsibilities as a leader, and one of them is to lead by example. In my community we practice total equality of the sexes, and we are working hard to avoid the development of social classes and stratification. One of the tools we use to achieve that is the mandate that all citizens wear the same vault suit that you seem me utilizing, and if I made an exception for myself it would undermine that message."

 

"Every citizen?" he asked, "do you mean to tell me that this isn't... a requirement unique to your women? You dress your men like... this? Also?"

 

I grinned at his evident discomfort. "High heels and all."

 

"In my journeys across the wasteland, I've seen many settlements, many petty nations, well, if we're being honest, many men who expose their women as a display of their own power. I've always found it pathetic. Just another case of the strong dominating the weak for their own gratification. Imagine if they'd used that strength to reclaim and rebuild what's been lost before. Selfish, childish, and ultimately self-destructive."

 

"Is that how you view Concord?" I asked. "Childish?"

 

Maxson frowned. "If you mean about not donating your resources... no. As I said, I recognize that you are only taking steps to protect your people. Your brazen display of sexuality? Now I'm unsure. Every instinct in me wants to dismiss your community as another example of degeneracy - I hope you don't take offense at that. But we need you, and so I'm forced to take a more philosophical approach, aren't I? And talking to you, well... I won't say my mind is changed, but I can imagine the possibility of my mind being changed."

 

"Perhaps instead of sending an ambassador, you should visit us in person. See how we live, then decide whether or not we really are, um, degenerates."

 

"If only it were so simple," he conceded. "You've given me much to think on, Overseer Ellison. But for now, since our business is concluded, I believe it is time for us to part ways. Don't forget to collect your power armor before you leave. I meant it when I said that was a gift from the Brotherhood."

 

We shook hands again, and with that I retraced my steps back to the repair shop. The final exchange with Maxson had been... unexpected. His question about my dress felt like a breakthrough in the candor between us, acknowledging something he'd clearly been uneasy enough about that he'd also ordered his people to ignore it during my visit. Moreover, if my recollection of his words wasn't betraying me, I do believe he acknowledged that his rhetoric was a calculated tool. I'd have to reconsider my earlier view of him as a convinced fanatic. And I'm not sure if that made me more or less concerned about the danger he posed. If he was a rational man wearing the costume of a fanatic, we might have better hope of a lasting peace between our people... but if that was true, it also meant that he was cold-bloodedly choosing to incite his people to cultivate hatred and to see extermination as the only way to confront his enemies. 

 

Alexia Gray was waiting for me in the repair bay, looking pleased with herself.

 

 

"Did you reach a satisfactory agreement?" she asked.

 

"I think so," I agreed. "It's not perfect, but it's a good start."

 

"I'm glad. I'm sure you've figured out how much of a problem the supply situation was going to be. With your help, we have a real chance at taking down the Institute once and for all." She pointed behind her then, gesturing to the T-45 Maxson had given to me. "Do you like it? It's not perfect, but under the circumstances I think Ingram did a fine job."

 

I looked to the suit and realized it hadn't just been repaired, it had also been repainted. The dark gray Brotherhood drab had been replaced with a blue basecoat and gold highlights, and the breastplate boasted the Vault-Tec logo.

 

"I'm impressed," I said, "and I appreciate the gesture."

 

"If you're going to steal their legacy and blot out the achievements of my mother and the other monsters who ran the vaults before the war, you might as well do it in style. We did your weapon, too," she said, pointing to the gatling laser on a nearby table.

 

 

"That'll make quite an impression," I agreed. "Was this your idea? This doesn't seem like Maxson's style."

 

She nodded. "I could tell you weren't entirely comfortable with us, but you still gave us the benefit of the doubt. Maxson probably didn't express that very well, but I'm sure he feels the same way."

 

I laughed softly, "he did tell me he could imagine the possibility of being convinced I wasn't a degenerate at some point in the future."

 

Alexia smiled wanly, "that's probably the best you'll get from him. So consider my parting gift his gift as well."

 

"Thank you again," I said. "I hope we'll have an opportunity to talk more. I know we never got to know each other when we were imprisoned in the vault, but even so, you're one of my only links back to the old world."

 

"For me, that was a very long time ago. I'll think on it, but I need to decide if I want to reopen that chapter of my life. I hope you understand."

 

I nodded at that. "I know exactly what you mean. Thank you again, Alexia. I hope we'll meet again."

 

Alexia left then, heaving back towards Proctor Teagan's depot, and I started making my way back to the flight deck. Before I reached the ladder, however, I heard a voice call out.

 

"Overseer Ellison?" a man's voice inquired.

 

Turning, I said, "that's me. How can I help you?"

 

 

A man in a scribe's uniform approached, introducing himself. "I'm David Hunter," he said. "Tell me, what brought you up here to the Prydwen?"

 

"I want to destroy the Institute," I said, "they kidnapped my son."

 

"Ah, so you're the fighting kind, are you?" Hunter observed. "You know, the Brotherhood talks a lot of bluster about retrieving technology, but deep down, it's all about helping people. Speaking of which, I think I'll be able to help you."

 

"Oh?" I asked, "tell me more."

 

 

"Elder Maxson has assigned me to accompany you back to Concord. I'll be your official link to the Brotherhood. And, judging by how you seem to be headed for the flight deck, I think I found you not a moment too soon. I'll walk with you and answer your questions."

 

We walked, but it was mostly Hunter doing the talking. He explained how he'd need access to a radio so he could communicate with the Prydwen and how he'd help coordinate any day-to-day business. He also alluded to working on a side project that he didn't want to bother the rest of the Brotherhood with until it was further along.

 

"I hope you aren't planning on causing trouble," I said. "I only just finished hammering out a deal with Elder Maxson."

 

"Oh," Hunter said, dismissing my concern, "it's nothing like that. It's just that... there are some people here who really don't like me. Elder Maxson is doing me a favor sending me away, in fact, so I can work free from interference. When we first arrived in the Commonwealth I sent out an eyebot to scan for data, but I lost contact with it recently. I just need to recover it along with any data it collected. I promise it won't interfere with my representational duties."

 

"Where was your robot when it disappeared? I won't be returning to Concord immediately; I have business to attend to in Diamond City. Perhaps I could keep an eye out for it while I'm traveling?"

 

Hunter seemed to consider that. "If you're returning to Cambridge, bound for Diamond City, you won't be going in the right direction. I lost contact with the eyebot while it was inside BADTFL headquarters, in Charlestown."

 

"Hmm," I thought, "that doesn't sound too promising then. Though depending on my route back to Concord I might pass through Charlestown on my way back. If so, I'll keep an eye out."

 

"I appreciate that," he said. "If you're not returning to Concord however, perhaps we should travel separately. It's too bad, really, I would have enjoyed riding with you."

 

Back at Kendall Hospital, Dr. Cain had been maintaining a good clip with the salvage camp. The security looked tighter, and she'd been using the radio to coordinate with the Minutemen on setting up patrols between the camp and Graygarden. In fact, when the vertibird dropped me off a squad of Minutemen was taking a breather on the second floor of the converted parking garage. Cain, meanwhile, was outside directing one of the scavengers and the raider prisoner on moving a heavy-looking piece of equipment out of the hospital. I couldn't help but notice the dead body lying in a gutter not far away.

 

 

"Run into trouble while I was gone?" I asked.

 

Cain shrugged. "Remember that raider camp we snuck by? They showed up looking for protection money yesterday. Red's Rangers took offense at the shakedown and things... escalated. It didn't go well for the raiders."

 

"I'm glad to hear that. What about the hospital? Any luck excavating the sixth floor?"

 

"Not yet. It's going to be days, maybe weeks, before we can really get up in there. I think you should continue on to Diamond City and then check in with us on your way back."

 

"Anything I need to do in the meanwhile?"

 

"Just watch for any of the symptoms we talked about before - trouble breathing, not being able to walk with your feet flat on the ground, not being able to lie still when you're resting. If any of that starts, find a doctor right away and let them know you have rare earth metal poisoning. I don't know how much your average wasteland doctor will be able to do for you, but they might have some chelation drugs that'll at least give you temporary relief."

 

I chuckled when she said that. "Speaking in wasteland doctors, we found something you might find amusing." I turned to Winter and beckoned her over, "show Susan the book you found."

 

Winter handed over the ratty magazine, and Cain flipped through it. I couldn't see her face behind her powersuit's helmet, but from her body language I imagined she was wrinkling her nose at the illustrations. 

 

"Whoever wrote this has no idea what they're talking about," Cain pronounced. "If I had to restrain a patient like that, I'd never cover their mouth with a solid restraint like that. Too much risk of aspirating vomit. If they were a bite hazard or were being disruptive, a rubber ball gag would be completely adequate and much easier to remove if the patient became nauseous."

 

I glanced at Winter. "How many red flags, again?"

 

She shrugged. "Yeah, I think we're up to three now."

 

I laughed with her, and Cain turned back towards me. "Want to explain the joke?"

 

I sighed, then answered, "when Winter found this, I asked her how many of the red flags from the article applied to you. She said she thought two of them."

 

"But you know way too much about tying down patients," Winter added, "so I think now we're up to three."

 

I imagined that Cain was pouting behind her mask. "It's not nice to mock someone like that. I take my job as a doctor very seriously, and part of that is knowing how to work with challenging patients. There's no 'red flag' about that."

 

"OK, fair enough," I conceded. "I'm sorry we were taking your job lightly. I promise, it's only because we love you that we were joking about you... and maybe imagining having you do some of those things to us."

 

Cain cocked her head a little, putting her hands on her hips. "Careful what you wish for. You two deserve a little corrective therapy after picking on me like that."

 

"Will it be more, or less fun than the electric rail in my apartment?"

 

Cain chuckled, "definitely more." 

 

Winter beat me to the punch. "Then I'll look forward to it," she said. "I guess I'll just have to keep being a naughty girl until then, so you don't forget."

 

"OK, all joking aside, is there a safe place for me to store this armor? I'm not sure Diamond City security is going to be happy if I march in wearing full armor and we don't have any secure storage - other than maybe Vault 81 - on the other side of the Charles."

 

"Bring it down to the bottom of the garage," Cain said, "there's a corner we cleared out for high value parts. It's deep enough in the garage that no one will be able to just casually strut in and borrow it."

 

After getting out of my armor, I realized that I was liberally encrusted in oil and dirt, and I headed up to the laundry area Curie had set up for a quick shower. 

 

 

"Holy shit," Heather commented as I stepped into the shower, "your hair really is pink, just like Alexia. That's so weird!"

 

"Oh, come on, it's not that weird," I argued. Running my fingers through it, I realized that it wouldn't be much longer before I'd have to hang up the wig if I was going to follow the cabinet's directives. Then I asked Heather, "what do you think? Does it look good like this? Or still too short?"

 

Heather considered me for a moment. "It really is weird. But not 'bad weird,' you know? Just different. Unique. And I think it looks fine like that, though it'll look even better if you grow it out longer. Why, thinking of ditching the wig?"

 

"Yeah, actually, that's exactly what I was thinking."

 

"Do it," Heather said, definitively. "The wig's nice, but this is you. Don't hide it."

 

"Alright," I said, "you convinced me." And she had. When I finished drying off, I stuffed the wig in my bag and left my still-shorter-than-I-preferred hair exposed. If anyone had an issue with it, they kept silent, and after pausing for a snack we set off for Diamond City. Now that we were officially friends with the Brotherhood of Steel, I revised my travel plan and didn't bother taking a side trip to Graygarden. Instead, we went straight west until we reached the police station and turned sharply south, planning to cross the Charles at the Beantown Brewery instead of using the rail bridge.

 

Planning was the operant word. As we approached the bridge, I heard Winter hiss a curse just a moment before the hiss of laser discharges filled the air. Black-clad figures were closing on us fast, blasting at us with rapid-firing lasers. And the only time I'd seen blue beams like that was when we'd been fighting Synths.

 

 

There were only four of them, and they didn't really stand a chance - not with Winter in her powersuit. After we stopped their attack I examined the bodies. No surprise, under the heavy black outwear, they were Synths. And not the ones that look just like people. These were the same older, robotic types we'd encountered before.

 

"First time I've seen them wearing clothing," I observed.

 

 

Heather seemed to think on that for a moment. "Maybe they're running scared of the Brotherhood, trying to be more subtle... you know, blend in better."

 

"Could be," I agreed. "Whyever they're doing it, it's just one more reason to be careful."

 

"No disagreements there. Speaking of being careful, sun's going down. I don't think we can make it to Diamond City before dark. We need to find somewhere to shelter overnight."

 

I pointed across the river to where the brewery loomed. "We kicked the raiders out of there not too long ago. It's probably a safe place for us to rest."

 

"Really? That's awesome," Casdin said. "Years ago my dad had this friend, thought he could get the brewery up and running again and be rich. Didn't work out - raiders ran him off. I'm glad you gave them a taste of their own medicine."

 

"Now that I think of it," I mused, "we never did properly search the place. We rescued so many hostages out of there that it took all our attention just to wrangle them out safely. What do you think, Winter, up for a little scavenging?"

 

"Are you sure you weren't born in this century?" Winter asked, "because you're starting to sound like a local."

 

As it turned out, it wasn't quite that simple - some raiders had moved back into the brewery and we ended up having a short but intense firefight with them. There were a lot fewer of them than Tower Tom's gang, and the whole exercise was just a pushover. Winter, for her part, seemed positively delighted since it meant there was the potential for even more hidden treasure. If the battle at Fort Strong had been terrifying for me and Heather, Winter seemed to have developed a real love for fighting. I wondered if she was a secret adrenaline junkie, just now awakening to her vice of choice.

 

 

Once we'd walked through the whole site and made sure there were no more raiders hiding out, Heather took us through a real masterclass on how to strip a site for salvage. We started with a room-by-room walkthrough looking for anything portable that might be valuable: packaged food, goods containing fine machine parts or precious metals (pocket watches!), ammunition, household chemicals. In the process of collecting those items, we discovered that the raiders had set up a little workbench for repairing their weapons, and so we stripped the raiders and then stripped their guns for anything useful - springs, gears, things like that. 

 

I was really impressed with the sheer volume of things that we found. It made me wonder how many abandoned buildings I'd gone through, completely oblivious of what I was missing - especially in those early days where it felt like everything was scarce. 

 

Towards the end of our walkthrough, Heather caught up with me and flipped something onto a desk next to where I was standing. "I hear you like comic books, boss," she said, "your read the Unstoppables?"

 

I glanced over, taking in the lurid photograph on the cover. 

 

 

"My husband was a big Grognak fan," I said. "Whenever the Unstoppables had him in an issue, he'd grab their book too. I don't think I've read this one, though. This is one of the newer ones, looks like, after they started using real photos for the covers instead of drawings."

 

Heather looked a little aghast, "they actually murdered people and put it on the cover?"

 

"I doubt it," I said, shrugging, "probably staged the whole thing and then edited the photos to make it look more exciting."

 

"Still," Winter said, "that's kind of hot."

 

I winked at her suggestively. "I don't know, do you need a bedtime story? Or is it going to make you too horny, all sealed up in the powersuit."

 

Winter waggled her hips a bit at my comment, saying, "I definitely need a bedtime story. Though you're right about the suit. I'm going to be unbelievably horny if that's half as raunchy as it looks."

 

"Should I cool you off with a refreshing beverage after, maybe?"

 

She laughed, but said, "I think that'll just make the problem worse. How about you have your way with that cute little thing while I watch." Winter poked her thumb towards Heather for emphasis.

 

"Sorry, my love," I said, "I promised Heather I wouldn't sexually harass her while she was working for us."

 

Our guide sighed, clearly relieved, but then she added, "yeah, thanks for that. But I gotta admit, I'm curious about this story. So I might sit in for, um, the bedtime reading."

 

We ended up appropriating the raiders' mattresses for our rest, and as we prepared to bed down I noticed that one of them had some additional reading material by their bedding. "Hey, it's a Tesla magazine. What do you think? This one, or the Unstoppables?" I shone my flashlight on the magazine so Winter and Heather could see what I'd found.

 

 

"I don't know," said Winter, "that looks more like Doctor Cain's type of thing."

 

"Does it have aliens in it?" Heather asked.

 

"I doubt it," I said to Heather before turning to Winter. "You might as well get used to calling her 'Susan.' She's going to be your wife soon, after all."

 

"Your wife," Winter said. "Dr. Cain, Susan, she kind of gives me the creeps."

 

"Don't be closed-minded," I scoffed. "She grows on you once you get to know her. But OK, The Unstoppables it is."

 

With the choice of reading material decided, I let the two of them get comfortable as I narrated the story, occasionally taking time to let them appreciate the drawings. As we got towards the end, I reached the scene that the cover had illustrated.

 

"Even bound, noosed, naked, and degradingly plugged with a large dildo, Emily held onto the hope that her kidnappers would soon release her; her ransom, after all, had been swiftly paid. Even as the hoist overhead whirred into life and dragged Emily's companion into the air to jerk and squirm as she slowly strangled, Emily couldn't accept the reality that she, too, would soon be thrashing just as desperately, all her final struggles recorded for the later viewing pleasure of her executioners."

 

I glanced down to see that despite being fully encased in the powersuit, Winter was squeezing her breasts and rubbing her hands between her legs. Heather, I also noticed, seemed to be watching with interest.

 

 

"Do I need to give you some time?" I asked as Winter continued her rubbing.

 

"No," she whispered, "fuck, no, don't stop, you're ruining it!"

 

"OK," I said, before continuing, "Only when the hoist above her coughed into life and the rope began tightening around her own neck, pulling her up, up, and up, until only the tips of her toes touched the grimy floor, did Emily fully realize what was about to happen..."

 

"Ahhhh!" Winter groaned, "fuck, get me out of this suit!"

 

Just to tease her a bit more, I ignored her demand, "...only to feel a surge of desperate hope as the far door shattered into splinters."

 

"I, Grognak, have arrived!" Spoke the mighty barbarian, "and my axe shall taste the blood of your kidnapping cowards."

 

"GET ME OUT OF THIS SUIT!" Winter wailed.

 

"Now you're ruining it for Heather," I playfully scolded her.

 

"NOOOOOOOW!" She howled.

 

"Pfft, fine." I put down the comic and knelt down in from of Winter. "Heather, help me get her undressed. I'll walk you through it."

 

Despite it being Heather's first time working on the suit, we got Winter out of it fairly quickly. When the throat tube came out I was rewarded with a brief respite from her whining, and I got a good laugh when Heather pulled the butt plug out.

 

"Holy fuck," she gasped, "how did you get something that big in your ass?"

 

"Practice makes perfect," I assured her. "You can try out the suit if you want."

 

"Um, I'll pass, thanks," she answered, and we got back to work. The vaginal plug popped out fairly easily, and then we opened the helmet."

 

"Oh my God, thank you," Winter said, "I am so fucking horny. Now help me peel out of the suit."

 

We did that, and I was about to warn Heather about the catheter when she rolled the suit right down over Winter's hips in an efficient motion, tugging on the ribbed tube in Winter's pee hole and drawing a gasp out of her. 

 

"Sorry," Heather said, "how do I get it unstuck?"

 

"You need to release the air in the foley, like this," I demonstrated, "then pull it out in a smooth motion?"

 

"Like this?" Heather asked, doing a pretty good job of drawing the tube out, one rib at a time, until it popped loose with the usual generous squirt of urine.

 

"Oh, fuck," Heather cursed, "you got it all over me."

 

"Sorry," Winter said. "I'll clean it off if you like."

 

Heather blushed brightly, "um, ah, I don't..."

 

"I'm pretty sure Charley promised not to sexually harass you, not me. Do you want me to clean you up? I'd love to get my hands all over those cute little hips of yours..."

 

"Alright," I said, "leave her alone. Get those legs open and let me see that sweet pussy of yours. Besides, if you fuck around right in front of your fiancee, I'm going to get jealous."

 

Winter opened her legs and laid back as I brought her hips up in the air and leaned down to have a taste. Her attempt at masturbation hadn't been completely ineffective, because she was slippery and sweet on my tongue. I ate her out thoroughly, until I started to feel her tense up a little, then moved down to her ass. After having the plug in there for several days, Winter was nice and loose, and I was about to run my tongue all around and in and out of her anus. The sweet drippings of her pussy cut the bitterness of her ass just enough that it wasn't entirely unpleasant - though to be fair, after many sessions of our little dildo cleaning ritual, it was a taste that I'd become accustomed to. 

 

 

It did not go unnoticed to me either that Heather hadn't moved from where she'd been listening to me read the story, and in fact she seemed to be watching me pleasure Winter with as much interest as she'd been showing listening to the story from the comic. I took a moment to emerge from Winter's ass to look to her.

 

"OK, Heather, this is a serious question - I'm not teasing you. Do you want to play with us? Because you seem really interested."

 

Casdin blushed again, then said, "is it OK if I just watch?"

 

"I don't know," I said. "Winter, do you mind?"

 

She sighed loudly, "she can do whatever she wants as long as you get your tongue back inside me."

 

"OK, there's your answer," I said before I dove back into Winter. We kept that up for a while, and I'm pretty sure that Heather really did just watch the whole time - never actually touching herself. Still, everyone's got their own kinks, right? If this was her thing, then she and Curie would get along brilliantly. Eventually, I was pretty sure that Winter was about at her limit, and I let her flop down onto the mattress. We cuddled for a little while, until sleep started to overtake us.

 

Only then did I hear Heather sleepily murmur, "hey, you never told us how the story ended."

 

I smiled at that, but didn't have the energy to actually open my eyes. Instead, I just mumbled half into the mattress, "you'll just have to wait till tomorrow."