With all the drama that surrounded donning my power suit complete, we left Kendall Hospital northbound towards the Mystic River. From there, the plan was to follow the river east and then swing down in to Bunker Hill. Based on when we arrived, we'd either scout the immediate area, following the loop of the Freedom Trail on that side of the Charles, or we'd press south to Cabot House. Personally, I was inclined to take a more systematic approach and start with the Bunker Hill area, but Heather and Piper both felt that we should meet with Jack Cabot before we spent time on our own search. I wasn't quite ready to relent, but I thought it was a fair compromise to let our arrival time dictate our strategy.

 

Central Street was surprisingly clear of trouble, and it was a sunny day with no sign of radstorms or other inclement weather, so we made good time initially. It was nice to be back in the power suit - the snug material felt good against my skin and the cold, filtered air was refreshing compared to the building summer heat outside. I understood the Cabinet's desire to keep me out of the suit in public when they could, but a mission like this was clearly the kind of situation that called for extra protection and I wouldn't let their public relations strategy get in the way of that. There was also something a little more subtle about the experience of wearing the suit - the tall boots added about six inches to my height, and that looming perspective made me feel stronger and more confident. Weird, I know, but our repeated dead ends over the last month had been stoking the fires of my chronic depression and this (literal) boost helped me feel a bit better.

 

 

And then we had a rather strange encounter. As we passed by the remains of a bar, I spotted a man in a brightly colored orange-and-white jumpsuit. The material was a synthetic leather similar to Cain's uniform, and he seemed entirely disoriented. I approached him cautiously, already suspecting that this might be some agent of the Institute, but we kept our weapons holstered as I greeted him.

 

"You look kind of lost, friend," I said.

 

Half turning, he gave me a side-eye glance before answering.

 

"Excuse me," he said, "do you know the way to Bunker Hill?"

 

 

Lost as he might have seemed, I didn't register any fear or panic in the man's voice. Just curiosity and maybe... a sense of being overwhelmed.

 

"As a matter of fact, that's where we're heading. Do you want to walk with us?"

 

He paused to think on that, then said, "I'm sorry, but I need to go there urgently. Do you know the way to Bunker Hill?"

 

 The odd way he just brushed me off and repeated his question reinforced my suspicion that the man didn't belong here, but I didn't feel like making an issue of it. I explained a couple routes and he quickly picked out the most direct one - not the one we were taking. 

 

"Your assistance is appreciated," he said, speaking in a not-quite-monotone, like it was a rehearsed and long-repeated phrase. Then he turned and started walking, without so much as a look back in his direction.

 

"Hey," I said as he retreated, "what's your name?"

 

He stopped, fully turning to face me. "My name is Timothy. Very nice to meet you." He didn't wait for me to answer before he returned to walking away from us.

 

After Timothy was out of earshot, Heather sidled up next to me. "Fuuuuuck," she whispered.

 

"Can you give me more explanation than that?" I asked.

 

Heather watched the receding figure a little longer, then said, "Charley, I think you just survived a run-in with one of the Synth skin jobs."

 

"I had him pegged for Institute," I admitted, "but you think he was a Synth?"

 

"Definitely." Heather said it with complete confidence. "Did you hear the weird way he was talking? Sometimes Synths are like that. Because, you know, they're robots underneath. I wonder what he's up to?"

 

"Whatever it is, he's not going to get much accomplished blundering around like that."

 

"He could be an escapee," Piper said. "Maybe he's looking for the Railroad."

 

"Or he could be waiting to find someone to kill and replace before he gets there. If we don't get there before nightfall, we need to keep a close watch on our camp in case he targets us."

 

"You're both making the case for my plan to take things a little slower, you know. If he's looking for the Railroad and he needs to get to Bunker Hill, doesn't that suggest the Railroad is located on the part of the trail north of the Charles? And if we're worried about an ambush, we shouldn't rush our movement."

 

The two of them both considered that before Heather answered, "I suppose we've already kept Jack Cabot waiting for a while - one more night won't hurt."

 

"It's still a waste of time to search if Cabot might just introduce us directly."

 

Winter interrupted before we could argue further. "Come on, the original plan is fine. Let's get moving."

 

Things got a little dicier once we cleared the Cambridge city limits. It started with a run-in with a pack of mole rats, who we ran off without a lot of trouble, but the shooting caught the attention of a group of raiders hiding out in a nearby gravel yard and that turned into a more pitched encounter.

 

 

The raiders weren't complete chumps and seemed to have at least a basic grasp of tactics. Notably, I think they realized that I was using a powered suit and they used a flash grenade to blind my optics. Fortunately Piper was covering me, because my screens were whited out for a good ten seconds during which I couldn't line up a shot. That luck didn't last long however, and we pushed through to the raiders' makeshift camp in the yard's central building. Once we were past their barricades, they folded quickly. 

 

Still, I had mixed feelings about this. Preston had told me that some of the fractured raider gangs in Lexington had a better grasp of tactics, but other than the Rust Devils, most of the other groups we'd run into were pretty amateurish affairs. If the raiders in this area were getting smart, so to speak, it was going to make subduing the Cambridge region that much more difficult in the future. But that was a problem for the future. For now, we'd neutralized another potential threat. And maybe more importantly, we'd rescued a settler who the raiders were holding hostage. 

 

 

After I got Carol untied, we gave the gravel yard one last sweep. Finding nothing more of interest, I took a moment to speak with Carol before we went on our way. She explained that she had been trying to get from Bunker Hull to Concord when she and a few companions had been ambushed on the road by the raider gang we'd just neutralized. Unfortunately, it was her friends' whose heads the raiders had spiked out near the gate. I told her we could take her back to Bunker Hill if she wanted, but she was still intent on making it to Concord. So, I took a little time to give her directions that would take her around Lexington and then up to the Minutemen base at Bedford Station and sent her on her way. I learned later on that she actually kept going at Concord and settled in Sanctuary - I run into her from time to time when I go up that way.

 

For us though, we headed east to follow the river towards our goal. We had some more insect encounters on the way, but nothing we couldn't handle. The bigger problems happened as we moved through East Somerville. We'd always known this would be the difficult part of the trip, and it didn't disappoint. We'd expected ghouls, of course; that's standard fare for the abandoned stretches of urban sprawl. It was the robot assassination squad that used the ghouls as a distraction that took us by surprise. Before I knew it, an Assaultron was leaping on Heather, its pinchers spinning and reaching to grab her. At the same time, a Mister Gutsy popped up over a ruined car and started opening up with its underslung guns.

 

I reacted more out of instinct than anything else. For just a fraction of a second, the Assaultron twisted, following Heather's dodge with its grabbers, and I had an intense moment of clarity. The same way a hawk can see a mouse from a thousand feet up in the air, I could see the access plate for the robot's combat inhibitor switch, and without any hesitation I put a quick burst of laser bolts into it. Even as the Assaultron was going limp, I pivoted and did the same treatment to Mister Gutsy's exhaust vent, causing him to fall like a rock before rolling down the embankment and into the river.

 

 

Piper, whose head I'd narrowly missed with my laser bolt, turned to face me, looking a little agog. 

 

"When did you become such a good shot?" she asked.

 

I was actually a little speechless. "I didn't realize I was. I guess all my practice is paying off... and maybe a little bit of the whole 'mama bear rage' thing happening when it almost grabbed Heather.

 

"Shit, thank you by the way," Heather said as she dusted herself off.

 

Winter was frowning. "That didn't feel random. I think they used the ghouls as a distraction and tried to get the jump on us. Any sign of who sent them?"

 

I went to check the Assaultron, but I didn't see any obvious clues.

 

 

"Old U.S. Army markings," I observed, "and it looks like it's been maintained in good shape."

 

"Gunners, maybe," Winter said. "Didn't the robots they used when they raided Concord have vintage paint jobs like that?"

 

I nodded in affirmation. "That's true, but not exactly a smoking gun. Looks like we need to be careful going forward, if someone's trying to eliminate us. The fact that they knew we'd take this route suggests they've been watching us for a while."

 

Heather frowned. "Do you think Timothy reported your position to someone? What if his whole lost and confused act was just a ruse so you wouldn't eliminate him?"

 

I frowned at that suggestion and made a mental note to see if I could squeeze some insight out of Cain next time I saw her. "Maybe," I said noncommittally. "But also pretty circumstantial. I think for the moment we need to be cautious of just about anyone."

 

We took a more cautious pace from that point, which helped us avoid another ghoul ambush... or rather, which made the ghouls someone else's problem. As we approached Medford Street, I heard a noise from above and signaled everyone to stop. A moment later, a Brotherhood Vertibird zipped past a rooftop level before pulling into a hover and dismounting a pair of power armored troopers. I didn't see the fight, but I heard the whoosh of flamers and the shrieking of ghouls. If we'd been in more of a hurry, it would have been us contending with the ghouls. 

 

I wasn't ungrateful for the intervention at the time, and I'm still not ungrateful today, but my talk with Alexia Gray about 'breathing space' did cast the encounter in a little more sinister of a light than some of my past run-ins with the Brotherhood. We were still pretty far west of Bunker Hill, and I had to wonder if part of what they were up to was clearing space to set up some kind of outpost or forward base before I or the Minutemen got a tighter grip on points this far East. I made a note to talk to Gwen MacNamara next time I saw her and find out if she was having similar activity on her side of the Charles. For the moment though, we just avoided the 'action zone' and cut around north of the church to hook up with Medford Street where it crossed Baldwin. 

 

That wasn't quite the end of our troubles, which included a run in with a raider patrol. The high point of that encounter was when one of them, hunkered down in a garage, tried to throw a Molotov cocktail and shattered the bottle on the garage door - dousing himself in burning gasoline. If the raiders in the gravel yard were organized and concerning, these ones were almost comical. If I hadn't had as much experience as I'd had by then of raider atrocities, I might have felt bad for them as we just rolled over them.

 

 

Those raiders marked the end of the dangerous part, since not long after we tangled with them the BADTFL building came into view and I knew we only had a few more blocks until we reached Bunker Hill. It was 1:30 in the afternoon when Kessler let us through the gate, and we pretty quickly got down to the issue of our next move.

 

Piper didn't beat around the bush. "We've got plenty of daylight, still. I think we should check the marketplace for any supplies we need, then push on to Cabot House. If we have time after - and if what Jack Cabot has to say doesn't change our plans - we can check the part of the trail up here on the way back."

 

 

"I did say our timing was what mattered, and we did really well. Everyone else agree? I'm not going to lie, I still like the more cautious approach, but I know what we agreed to."

 

Heather nodded, "do it. I want to see Cabot House."

 

"You too, Winter?"

 

She nodded. "I'm fine either way, but since we have the time we might as well pay him a visit."

 

I'd hoped we could pick up some stimpaks, but the marketplace seemed awfully light on goods. We still managed to restock our food and water, and talking to the merchants I learned that a lot of raw materials were warehoused there in Bunker Hill, but the caravan pace had been slowing down. The fact of the matter was, they explained, the roads were getting dangerous and so the caravans were going less frequently so they could concentrate more protection. I'd known abstractly that Bunker Hill had been in decline for a while, but this kind of brough that home. At the time, I made a mental note to see if we could do something about that - the thought even crossed my mind that it might be a leverage point I could use to get the caravan cartel to throw in with Concord. I'm not going to pretend that I had a plan though; for the time being, I just reluctantly accepted that we couldn't restock on medical supplies and set out south towards the Washington Street bridge.

 

We'd been this way a few times before, and we knew that we had to be careful to raiders and super mutants. I took a cautious pace, letting Heather lead the way until we came to a large sign proclaiming 'private property - no trespassing.' 

 

 

"OK," Heather said, "this is it. We're probably going to run into the robot patrols pretty quick so... I hope that invitation is still good."

 

Coming around the front of the building, I watched as a heavily armed tankbot slowly rolled past us on whispering treads. It paused to line up its glowing electric eye on me, then after a moment further it continued its patrol.

 

"This place gives me the creeps," Piper whispered.

 

I could see there was an intercom stand in front of the building and I tentatively pressed the button. 

 

A moment later, a voice growled back at me. "Go away."

 

"I'm here to speak to Jack Cabot," I said. "Edward Deegan invited me."

 

"Oh, it's you," the voice responded. I recognized the rasp at that point and realized that it was Deegan himself on the other end of the line. "Good. Come on in."

 

The lock on the front door clicked open and a moment later Deegan beckoned us in. "Come on," he said, "let's go meet the boss."

 

Deegan led us through a nicely preserved home to a very comfortable sitting room. Looking up to the upper level of the tall-ceilinged room, I could just make out a man, who I presumed as Cabot, standing with his back to us. 

 

"Jack," Deegan interrupted, "the new gal is here."

 

"One moment, one moment," he said. I could see now that he was doing something with a pair of test tubes. "I just need to..." whatever he was about to say was lost in a smoky whoosh and a few short coughs.

 

Deegan turned back to me and said, "he'll be right with us."

 

After a little muffled cursing, the man emerged and confirmed his identity by way of greeting. "Hello, hello, I'm Jack Cabot. Before we begin, may I ask you to remove your powered armor? I prefer to deal with people, not with war machines."

 

 

I grimaced behind my helmet for a moment before I responded. "The process is a little involved," I dissembled. 

 

"That's fine, that's fine," Cabot brushed me off. "Besides, I'm a man of science, and I'm naturally interested in seeing more of that fascinated piece of technology. So please, I'd like to speak with you face to face."

 

I stifled a groan, but didn't see the point in arguing. Turning to Winter I said, "care to help me?"

 

She nodded and set to work. Dismounting the backpack was fairly easy, which we followed by removing the feeding and breathing tubes.

 

"Very interesting," Cabot said, "now I see how the breathing apparatus is so self-contained... it's literally self-contained."

 

Next I planted one foot on Cabot's coffee table - maybe a little ill advised, but I felt a bit of a power move was called for - and spread my cheeks for Winter to get the rest of the connectors out. I found it interesting that Cabot didn't flinch at all as first the butt plug, then the vaginal plug, and finally the catheter - followed by a healthy gush of urine, came out. 

 

 

"Sorry about the rug," I said. "It's a design flaw with the plumbing."

 

While Winter peeled me out of the rest of the suit, Cabot waved off the mess I'd made like it was nothing. "A little dry-cleaning is a small price to pay for this insight into your suit. And, I dare say, for this insight into you."

 

I was naked now, and Cabot was examining me with his eyes - though the look seemed clinical rather than lustful.

 

"I see the rumors about your hair were not exaggerating. You have the same hair color - exactly the same - as Anna did. Do you dye it that way, or is that your natural color?"

 

 

"It's my natural color," I said, "at least since I was put in cryogenic suspension. By Anna, do you mean..."

 

"Anna Gray," he confirmed. In doing so, he revealed an important detail: as I understood it, Alexia and Anna both left the vault decades ago. And so Jack Cabot, relatively youthful as he appeared, was much older. "I knew her and her sister. It's a shame that one's back in town and not the other... but I suppose there's no point in worrying about that."

 

"Edward Deegan told me you wanted to speak with me. I assume it wasn't just for you to see what color my hair was."

 

"Yes, that's true. Edward finds it tiresome, but I like to know personally everyone who work for me."

 

I raised an eyebrow at that a little. "So this is a job interview?"

 

"That might be... oversimplifying things. But please, have a seat. How about a drink? Edward, the good bourbon please."

 

I felt a little awkward taking the proffered seat - our run from Cambridge to Bunker Hill had left me rather grimy, and normally I would have liked to shower first. Cabot seemed unbothered though, and so I let myself settle in to the seat.

 

 

"Now before we get down to business, I want to ask you a question. The question is this: do you believe there's other intelligent life in the universe."

 

I resisted the urge to glance over to Heather and see if she was exploding out of her skin at the mention of aliens. Of course, if you've been listening to these recordings you know that I was highly skeptical about the idea, but I offered a conciliatory answer. "Its a big universe. Anything could be out there."

 

"Wonderful," he said, "most people's minds are too narrow to admit the possibilities of an infinite universe. But I'm not talking about flying saucers and little green men. I'm talking about this planet. It's hidden history, and the origins of humanity."

 

After a dramatic pause he continued, "our civilization owes its existence to ancient powers that modern science, even at its pinnacle, could barely comprehend."

 

"I'm a lawyer, not a scientist," I admitted, "but that's very interesting. Can you tell me more?" I'm not sure why I was encouraging him, but he seemed so certain of what he was saying that maybe I was just a little bit convinced.

 

"You're not buying this, honey?" Piper asked with a groan.

 

Cabot ignored her, answering me, "I'm glad to hear you say that, because this is my life's work. My approach is to keep an open mind, of course, but also to apply the greatest rigor of the scientific method. And I have been blessed with many years to carry on my work when a less fortunate scientist would long ago have succumbed to the ravages of time."

 

"If you knew Anna Gray... you're at least, what, a hundred years old?"

 

"A good guess, but in fact I am over four hundred years old. I have watched the whole arc of the tragic final chapter of human history, and every time - call it what you will, nature, providence, God - has preserved me to continue my work and to bear witness."

 

I considered that for a moment, before saying, "four hundred years of study, and you're still seeking answers? That must be terribly frustrating."

 

"Yes, far more than you imagine, I'd wager. So much time was lost, squandered, because I failed to grasp a key truth: so much is closed off to us because people assume they already know the answer. That was Anna's words, you know."

 

"How exactly did you know Anna Gray?" I asked. 

 

"This was years ago, of course. Decades. Her sister and her were leaving their mark on the Commonwealth, just as you are today. This was before the fall of the Commonwealth Provisional Government, and it was a time when things looked more hopeful. Also like today."

 

I nodded, but didn't interrupt.

 

"Deegan summoned the Gray sisters much like he summoned you. Their prosthetics were much less sophisticated than yours, but they had the same hair and the same... distaste for attire."

 

I chuckled. "I don't have Prosthetics, um... Mr. Cabot? Jack?"

 

"Jack, please. And that's an interesting data point. I was under the impression that Overseer Gray had all of her female subjects dismembered, as a matter of course. If I recall Anna's telling of it, her mother said 'subjects are easier to contain with reduced mobility.' Or something very much akin to that."

 

"I don't remember anything like that from my time in the Vault," I said. Had Valery Gray specifically targeted her daughters for this treatment? I wondered. All the more reason to depise her.

 

Cabot waved off the comment, "I'm getting off on a tangent anyway. My point is that the wheel of time is turning again and if feels as if past events are repeating themselves. This is an opportunity for me to continue critical research, and to do it with your help."

 

"So what is it you want from me exactly?"

 

"I have seen structures and artifacts that long predate human civilization. Strange, even disturbing ones. Clearly not made by, or for, humans."

 

Deegan interrupted at this point, saying, "Jack, can I tell her what I need her to do?"

 

 

"I'm sorry, Edward," Cabot said, "I just get carried away sometimes. You want her to look for the missing shipment?"

 

"Yeah," he answered, right to the point.

 

"Well then, I'd better leave you to it. Charley, please make yourself at home - you can use the shower to wash up... and perhaps for getting back into your suit as well, if it's going to be as messy as putting it on. We'll talk more some other time."

 

Cabot reascended the stairs and disappeared from my sight, at which point I looked over my shoulder at Deegan.

 

"That was... interesting."

 

 

Deegan coughed up a laugh, saying, "Good. If you like that sort of thing, you've come to the right place."

 

"No," I pressed, "I mean it. I learned some very interesting things today."

 

"Jack may be eccentric, but he's definitely not crazy. I think everyone stands to learn a lot from him. That's part of the job, by the way, so it's best you keep an open mind. Anyway, it's an easy job. Jack owns a... facility up in Lynne Woods. You know, part of your little kingdom you're carving out. An important package went missing between there and here, and he needs it."

 

"So you want me to be a delivery girl for you? Surely there's better qualified people than me to do that."

 

"I don't care how you get it," Deegan said, "but I want your, um, government resources put on the job. Consider it a request from Cabot, one boss to another. Any questions?"

 

"Ha, only about a million," I shot back.

 

"A courier was supposed to bring the package from Parson State Insane Asylum - don't let the name bother you, it's just the secure building we're using - and disappeared on the way here. We think they got ambushed not long after they hit the road. Maria, the leader of the guards up there, should know more."

 

"Should I be concerned that you've got a 'secure facility' with a guard force in my sphere of influence?"

 

"No," Deegan said flatly.

 

"Care to elaborate?"

 

"I'm sure Jack will tell you everything soon enough, no matter how hard I try to stop him. But for now, no. Not my swimlane."

 

"Alright, that's fair. When we talked at Bunker Hill, you implied this would be 'worth my while,' so to speak. What's my stake in this?"

 

"Jack would tell you its the chance to take part in a great adventure. But also, it's caps."

 

"What if I don't want caps?" I countered.

 

"Great, I love volunteer labor." Deegan paused for a second, then added, "something else you want?"

 

"I want an introduction to the leaders of the Railroad."

 

"Oh," he laughed, "well if that's all... fuck, you're serious, aren't you? I need to talk with Jack about that. No promises, but he'll probably come around. Go get the package - we'll call it your good faith deposit on this relationship - and I'll talk to Jack." He sniffed theatrically, then added, "and take a shower. You need it."

 

Deegan followed Cabot's path up the stairs and once he was gone, Heather said, "I've worked with Deegan before. No bullshit. You can count on him."

 

"I hope so," I said, "because I think this whole 'search the Freedom Trail' plan just got derailed. Winter? Piper? You like this plan?"

 

Winter shrugged, "It's as good a plan as any, probably."

 

Piper seemed more skeptical. "The guy's obviously bonkers, but if he can get you that introduction there's no harm in humoring him. Just don't believe his stories too much. Because that's all woo-woo crazy stuff."

 

After I enjoyed a hot shower and toweled off, I reflected on the situation. Cabot seemed extremely sincere in his words, but as Piper pointed out, he might also have been crazy. Crazy people can seem very sincere when they pontificate on their beliefs. But even if he ideas were, as Piper would say, woo-woo crazy, if he had connections with the Railroad, he could help me. And if I could learn more about what happened in Vault 111 while I was frozen, that would be even better.

 

 

I decided to skip suiting up until the next morning in the hope of covering more ground; it was 7:30 by the time I'd finished bathing and I thought that we should, at a minimum, head back to Bunker Hill. Maybe even County Crossing. If it was a few hours earlier, I might have pushed for Greentop Nursery. If we were going to do some sort of detective job (and at that thought, I recalled again that I hadn't seen Nick Valentine for quite a while), then we didn't want for the trail to get any colder than it already was. 

 

Fading light and foul weather - intense, driving rain - made Bunker Hill our last stop of the night. Fortunately, it wasn't too much trouble to negotiate a room at the flop house they maintained for the caravans, and we settled in to rest. Not so fortunately, I was troubled by strange dreams all through the night. I dreamed of the Synth Timothy, following me and starting, never saying anything. I dreamed of being strapped to a surgical table while Valery Gray loomed over me, bone saw in hand, ready to cut off my arms and legs. Lastly and most upsetting, I dreamed of being captured by Super Mutants - and by raiders. We were in a makeshift camp, surrounded by hanging bodies and crucified prisoners as driving rain hammered down on us. 

 

While the raiders had their way with my companions, the super mutants singled me out for special attention, forcing me to take them one after another in my mouth, choking me with cum the consistency of white glue while my companions screamed and futilely fought their captors.

 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, the mutants hauled me to my feet, laughing, and marched me to a waiting gallows. Stringing me up so my toes were just inches off the ground, I gasped and choked while they poked me with the hot barrels of their guns, relishing my agony. The pain seemed to go on for ever, until finally my vision started to fade and my bladder let loose.

 

 

"What the fuck, Charley?" Winter protested as she shook me awake. "You're pissing the bed!"

 

I was sharing a mattress with Winter and Piper, and it seemed in my imagined death throes I'd doused them both with the contents of my bladder. Fortunately, a few sincere apologies seemed to diffuse their anger, and my wives helped me out in the rain to wash me - and themselves - off. 

 

While they scrubbed me down, I told them about my dreams.

 

"Sounds like you've got a lot on your mind, Charley," Winter said. "You sure you don't want to take a break before we go chasing this missing courier?"

 

I was tempted to accept, but I shook my head. "No, we need to keep going. Now's not the time to stop."

 

They didn't spend much more time trying to convince me, and when Heather saw how shook up I looked, her face took on a downcast look. "I guess I'm not going to convince you to read me a bedtime story so I can fall back asleep?" she said.

 

I was about to confirm that it wasn't in the cards, but Piper spoke first. "You know," she said, "that's not a terrible idea. How about I look through that collection of magazines you've been building up and take a turn doing the reading."

 

Heather visibly brightened, saying, "oh, thanks Piper,"

 

My wife chuckled at that. "Don't thank me yet. While I read to you, I want you to give Charley's pussy a thorough licking, and then I want you to suck on her fat clit until she comes. You keep doing that until I'm done with my story."

 

"Uh," Heather said, "I don't know if I'm..."

 

"Piper," I groaned, "I'm not in the mood."

 

"Pfft, enough of both your whining. This is Doctor Piper's orders." As she was saying this, she was already rifling through my pack, and soon she emerged with a magazine in hand. "Horrors of the Hot Box. Sounds perfect."

 

 

Heather looked over the cover and shivered a little. "That's some raider shit right there. I'd ask where anyone finds stuff like this, but I remember us digging it up. Yeah, Piper, get to reading."

 

Piper opened the book and flipped past the front matter to start reading.

 

"The torture masters of Red China have built their sadistic science on a thousand years of ancient Chinese tradition. In the time of the Emperors, their servants well understood the power of fire to inspire fear and obedience in the common people. Likewise, the demented commissars who carry on their legacy have applied modern medical science and industrialization to this venerable trade. Ahem, Heather, get to work."

 

Winter gently guided her a little closer to me, until I felt her breath on my pussy. A moment later, I felt a light, tentative lick, and then a more forceful one. 

 

"Good," Piper said, then she cleared her throat and continued. "American citizens unlucky enough to be caught in mainland China when the war started were the first to suffer under their hands. The early iterations of the Hot Box were crude affairs, heating elements arranged under a steel camp bed to which the victim was chained. Many of our readers remember the 2073 film 'Red Hell,' where an American college student was subjected to this torment."

 

I tried to follow Piper's reading, but Heather's licking was getting increasingly distracting. Letting out a long breath, I tried to focus again, but Piper had stopped speaking.

 

"Heather, stop for a second," she said, "look at this picture."

 

Heather give me a moment of relief as she turned to look. The middle of the page had a wide photo illustrating what it was talking about.

 

 

"Damn," Heather whispered, "look at the way she's all stretched out. She must be totally helpless."

 

Piper nodded towards me, saying, "OK, viewing time's over. Start sucking that clit."

 

Heather obeyed with much less hesitation, licked around my hood a little, then drawing me into her mouth and gently suckling. When she saw me draw up my knees a little, Piper stared reading again.

 

"This is a still from the film, but it was made with the highest level of realism and accuracy. You can even see how they've replicated the bar codes the communists tattoo on all of their captives shaved bodies. However, these simple torments were quickly improved on. Soon captives found themselves tied into a kneeling kowtow position with their arms drawn painfully behind their backs. Now heated from all sides, any move to alleviate the tension in their arms and backs would cause painful burns to the victim."

 

I was holding onto Heather's hair as she kept sucking. It didn't take much more of Heather's narration before I reached my climax, and I felt Heather switch from sucking on me to licking again.

 

"I guess storytime's over," Piper said. 

 

Heather turned away from me to whine, "not yet, that was hot."

 

"Hmm, well, I could let you keep pleasuring Charley. Charley sure deserves it. But I think we need something else to spice things up. Spread your knees apart, Heather, and push your ass out. Winter, get the strap on."

 

"I like this idea," Winter purred. Meanwhile, Heather complied, and didn't wait for direction before, from her somewhat stressful looking position, she resumed her licking. 

 

Piper laughed once, then returned to reading.

 

"The ultimate iteration of communist sadism is a device called Lishi Huoguo, or 'the standing hot-pot'. This device is used to deny rest to prisoners of war and Chinese dissident, and it consists of a closet only slightly larger than a schoolchild's locker. It is entirely lined with heating elements, and the prisoner is forced to stand within on an insulated tile. If the move in the slightest, much less stagger, they will touch the hot walls and suffer from burning torment. Not only... Heather, here, look."

 

Piper turned the magazine again to show Heather a picture illustrating what she was reading about.

 

 

"Now back to work, chop chop. Not only this, but between interrogations the door to the enclosure is shut. LED lights built into the heating elements, and a hot air blower affixed from above, all prevent the prisoner from knowing which heating elements are turned on at any time. Oh, perfect, take her either way, Winter."

 

Heather started to turn, but I held her head in place and she gave me a long, hard suck. Winter, wearing her strap-on and rubbing lubricant along its shaft, knelt down behind Heather and slid it all the way into her pussy with no preamble. Our guide gasped, but after only a momentary delay she got back to work with her tongue, and as Winter languidly fucked her, Piper resumed her reading.

 

"So entombed, even the most hardened prisoner will feel intense claustrophobia at their condition. For civilian prisoners, with no training to resist these cruel techniques, a panic attack almost inevitably follows. As you can imagine, to the Red Chinese there is no moral consideration or even entertainment of the thought that such a cruel torment might be unethical. Their devotion to the State is complete, and in their warped minds, anyone who loves freedom or who has even lived in a free country, is the most vile sub-human animal imaginable. If the communist mind was not so twisted by these warped and inhuman philosophies, our brave men and women wouldn't have to put their lives on the line to protect your freedoms."

 

Winter groaned, "I think I missed all the good parts. This is getting boring."

 

"mmmmmf, don't stop," Heather mumbled between licks.

 

"Oh, that's not what's boring," said Winter, giving a little extra push of her hips on her next thrust. "I'm going to pound you good, miss 'don't sexually harass me.' You've had this coming for a long time."

 

Piper turned the page and started reading again. "So before you listen to bleeding heart liberals who talk about coexistence or reconciliation with the Red Chinese, flip back to this page and imagine yourself in this woman's shoes. Or imagine your wife or girlfriend locked in the standing hot pot. She's there, standing absolutely straight, absolutely still. She's sweating under the hot air, her biceps and her thighs are shaking as she tries not to move, as she tries desperately to keep her shoulders painfully stretched behind her. And then she slips. Her elbow touches the side of the cell... but it was a trick, it was just an LED light. He lets out a breath of relief, and her chest touches the front of the cell. Instantly she hears the sizzle of sweat, just a moment before the pain hits as her nipples touch a live heating element. She jerks back, hitting the back of the cell. It's also turned on. She smells burning hair and shrieks as her arms are burnt."

 

Winter picked up her pace during this part, slapping her hips against Heather's ass as she drilled her harder. I came again, and shortly after Heather slowed down, panting and letting out little moans. Piper drilled on.

 

"The agony hits her in wave after wave until she falls, her knees hitting the front of the cell. She feels her skin blistering, but her strength is gone. All she can do is scream... and listen to the demented laughter of her communist captors. Anything short of total, unconditional victory, and this will happen to the women you love. This will happen to you!"

 

"Ahhhhhh" Heather lowed as Winter pushed her over the edge. 

 

Piper turned around the book again, showing Heather the picture on that final page. "Now look at that and imagine you're trapped in the hot box while you clean your juices off Winter's cock. I want you to imagine that dildo is hanging from the roof of the cell. That you're in the cell. And that if you don't clean it like it's never cleaned before, then the guards are going to turn on the heat and cook you alive. Do it! Start sucking!" 

 

 

Heather took a long look at the picture, and then turned, wrapping her lips around the strap-on. Piper grabbed her hair, pulling her face up. "Look at the picture while you suck. Look her in the eyes. That's you! You're in the cell! Suck if you want to live!"

 

It didn't take Heather long to lick the strap-on clean, but by the time she was done she was flushed and breathing hard. Piper let a slow grin crawl over her face. "So, how was that for story time? Were you entertained?"

 

Heather was panting, and I realized that she'd been vigorously rubbing between her legs while she cleaned the dildo - and stared at the photo. "Piper, I want you to read me a fucking story like that every night," she whispered, not stopping with her masturbation. We watched with amusement as Heather seemed to have completely dropped all her inhibition and just went full throttle until she quaked again with release. 

 

Piper looked to me, "so what do you think, Charley? Should we let Heather join us in bed? I think she needs some snuggling."

 

I gave a slow nod of approval. "I think she does too. And I'm glad I didn't put the suit back on yet, because I'm ready for some snuggling too."

 

I learned later on that Old Man Stockton, the cartel boss himself, slept not far from our rented room. He's never commented on it, but I strongly suspect he overheard the whole thing. I wonder, considering Heather's voyeurism, would the thought that someone else was listening in on her getting fucked also be a turn-on for her?