Flesh and Wire - ch.1 (?)
Added 2017-07-29 00:11:00 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: It's been a slow month for me, unfortunately. While I know a lot of people (especially the client, eesh) are gonna be eagerly waiting for the new installment of Kaldorei Hospitality... yehh, it's about halfway done and I'm kinda hitting a block. So, here we go with a new backlog thing, another Master's Journey that got brushed up into a chapter and has been collecting dust on the shelf for a bit. Hopefully this is enough for y'all to get through the next couple days, where I shall hopefully finish Kaldorei Hospitality and move on to... hrm, Misadventure I guess. Fuck, I am not gonna be able to get my personal projects done by September.
Might get back to this if the itch ever needs scratching or a new chapter gets commissioned. Anyway HERE GOES.
[story] [Fallout] [F/F/F/M/M/M] [gangbang] [titfuck] [oral] [cliffhanger]
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Rebooting...
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System Error. Memory logs corrupted.
Dumping memory files...
Defragmenting data algorithms...
Rebooting...
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Reboot complete. Systems online.
Who am I?
My eyes flicker open. A quick attempt to sit up, only to realize that I've been standing this entire time. The air around me is thick with dust of different types. Cordite, static, decay, human skin, some recent. Bone powder. How do I know all of this? Simply inhaling gives me access to so much information. It’s... strange. Unnatural. My mind tells me that it is, and I'm inclined to believe it.
I blink a few times, starting to take in my surroundings more visually. Some strange building, largely broken down -- segments of a collapsed floor form a ramp to another level. It looks like it might have been some form of office at some point, now long abandoned. Perhaps now some kind of makeshift storage facility. Whatever it is, something happened here. Something bad.
Skeletal humanoids of mechanical make lay shattered and destroyed around me, spent energy weapons scattered near by their corpses. Part of me wonders how something that never lived can leave a corpse. Another part feels a strange sympathy, some kind of attachment. Kneeling down, I lift the head of one in my palm, staring into its empty eyes. A bullet-hole, still smoking lightly from the wiring burning within. You reach one slender finger inside, curiously gauging it out. Homemade, or at least re-shelled.
I stand again, scanning over the bodies surrounding me and finding one to be different. One isn’t skeletal, not robotic. This one is human, an older man in a labcoat, armor underneath. A name-tag on the coat reads “Dr. Simon Cavanaugh,” and I pluck it lightly off of him, examining the rest of the body. The lightweight armor beneath the coat seems to have absorbed the impact of a massive hail of bullets, the casings matching the one I found in the... synth?
Synth. That word means something to me, though I'm not yet sure what. I know that these are what the robotic skeleton soldiers are. They’re synths. Unliving, mindless, soulless machines. Expendable weapons. Mass-produced.
A small pain starts to flare in the back of my head, and I try to ignore it. Looking back to the doctor’s lifeless body, I reach down to his wrist, unclasping the Pip-Boy from it. This one isn’t quite the same as others I’ve seen, not quite like those handed out by Vault-Tec. It’s streamlined and smooth white, though it does show some measure of battle damage. I unclasp it from the man’s wrist and bring it to my own, which I notice is covered in a layer of thin, shining black fabric. Latex, maybe, or some form of artificial leather. It extends as far up my arm as I can see, and onto the rest of my body -- some kind of one-piece suit. A uniform?
I click the Pip-Boy into place and turn it on, flicking it towards a screen that shows off a map of my surrounding locale. It seems a bit more scant than I'd like, mostly showing lines and a few landmarks, but it’s enough to let me know that I'm in the Boston area. Snapping the screen towards my S.P.E.C.I.A.L. readout shows some kind of strange malfunction, yielding no more than a few dozen question marks and an icon of a blank-faced, dead-eyed Vault Boy.
What’s going on in this place? More importantly, who am I?
I wince as the headache returns, but it fades as soon as it comes. Taking the Pip-Boy, Dr. Cavanaugh’s name-tag, a synth laser pistol, and one of those homemade bullets, I start to make my way up that slumped, decaying ramp of plaster and rebar, making my way to the building’s upper floor and, in effect, into the open sky. Radioactive clouds tint the sky a hazy green, but I feel no sting on my skin from their presence. Most of this building has unraveled completely, the walls bare or crumbled away, giving me a long, far view of the shattered wasteland that was once the Commonwealth.
Turning briefly from the vastness of that scene, I examine the top floor, finding little of interest. A few more dead synths. Wait, not dead. Never alive. Or weren’t they?
Shuffling a few of them aside, I notice a little alcove, a sort of lean-to formed by a few fallen interior walls and some gathered rubble. Crawling inside, I find this place to be cramped, but somewhat... cozy, I suppose. A cot dominates the center of the little room, upon which is curled a skeleton of indeterminate age. A cracked mirror adorns the slanted wall, and at the foot of the bed is some form of footlocker.
I decide to look at the mirror first, get some kind of idea of... who I am. The woman who looks back at me is (beneath all the dust coating the mirrored steel) beautiful, apparently eastern, maybe Chinese? My hair is worn long, a silky black, matching the form-fitting suit that clings to my body. One thing stands out to me, as well -- tiny white letters imprinted on the upper chest of the suit. Letters, or... numbers...?
Bringing my chest closer to the mirror, I manage to make them out. LE1-0. It makes my headache come back, just a little before it fades, but it means nothing to me. At least it’s a start, something to work forward from along with the other information I've gathered. If only I knew who I was....
Sighing, I decide to investigate the footlocker. It seems like it was locked at one time, but the lock already seems to have rusted away. I easily pop it open -- finding my body to be deceptively strong -- and am greeted with a small arsenal. Clearly, someone has been stockpiling, but considering his decayed state on the bed, picked clean by radroaches or radiation poisoning, he probably won’t be needing them anymore.
Rummaging through, I find an assortment of things: a fairly low-tech pipe rifle, a battered 10mm handgun, a short sword that looks like a bayonet duct-taped to a sawed-off segment of steering wheel, a pulse mine, and some assorted ammo. I won’t be able to carry all of it, but at least it’s a few options.
I'm lost and alone in a strange world that feels unfamiliar to me, not even certain who I, myself, am. Now, armed with my choice of weapon and with a precious few number of clues as to who I am and how I got here, the entire Commonwealth is open to me. The question is... where do I go from here?
I adjust the slim, stretchy black belt on my outfit to strap around my shoulder, nabbing the pipe rifle and slinging it into place across my back. Given the proper materials and time, I’ll be able to make a proper weapon out of it -- now, I just need to get those materials and time. What I also need, though, is answers. It burns in the back of my mind like an empty hole where my memories were, now only filled with a single, shimmering question: Who was Dr. Cavanaugh, and how did I get into this situation?
Stretching my muscles out slightly from side to side, I gather what supplies I can from the footlocker and climb back up to the shattered upper corner of the building, looking down at the Commonwealth. Possibilities abound, though I find my heart sink a little when I see how bleak it all is. So many buildings, all crumbling, all abandoned. I hear a bestial growl in the distance that shouldn’t be human but almost can’t be anything else.
A memory -- no, not a memory, an isolated piece of knowledge -- drifts past my mind, two words. “Super mutant.” I'm not sure sure what it is, but I know to avoid it. Turning away from the source of that sound, I see that the landscape of broken structures starts to give way into a more open area. A wasteland, to be sure... but perhaps a place where I can get my bearings.
There’s a rumbling sound above me, and I blink, casting my gaze upward. Those murky, crackling green clouds I noticed earlier are now starting to roil menacingly, a wind picking up as the sky around me starts to darken. A storm is coming... and judging from the state of the sky above, it won’t be a pleasant one in the least bit. Sickly green sparks of lightning dot across the sky in screaming bolts of radioactive menace, though strangely I feel no concern for my life, no real primal fear that the storm may harm me. Nonetheless, it definitely means it’s time to get moving.
I start to crawl down the side of the building, getting my footing rather easily and actually finding myself to be quite agile. There’s another crack of thunder, and I push my body to move faster -- sounds of gunfire and shouting from afar rings out as survivors battle each other for shelter, and I start to wonder where I’ll find any of my own. As intimidating as the city itself is, it might be the safest place... I need to find some kind of settlement.
Finding my way to street level, I begin to hurriedly jog, looking around me for any structure that looks intact. Most are boarded up, others crumbled entirely. One particular building is covered in graffiti, and I move past it as quickly as possible -- deranged smiley faces, a few declarations of ‘fistfuck,’ and other such gang and raider signs decorate the place and the surrounding area. Not trouble I need right now.
My jog breaks into a run as the thunder grows louder and the winds pick up in intensity, vapors of pure radiation starting to burn away small segments of the latex outfit encasing me, showing the pale, yellow-tan skin beneath, which begins to sting from the winds of the radstorm. I move faster, breathing harder, starting to panic. The storm hadn’t scared me before, and while my overall internal health doesn’t feel affected in any way, the burn on my skin, on my face, is starting to become more and more pronounced. My stamina finally begins to flag, and I slow down -- then feel strong, gloved fingers grasp tightly around my wrist and yank me to the side, breaking my weakening sprint and dragging me into a dimly-lit building. The door snaps shut.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” hisses a voice as I catch my breath. I steady myself, back pressed against the door, and find my eyes near-instantly adjusting to the dim light, which seems to be coming from an oil lamp hanging pendulously from the center beam of the ceiling. The building itself appears to be an abandoned, boarded up clothing store.
I gather my thoughts and murmur quietly in response. “I, um... I don’t know. I was lost, and the storm....”
“Fuckin’ radstorm, it is,” my benefactor sighs. It’s a woman, short and rather odd, but pretty, her voice carrying a rather thick, lower-class british accent. Clad in mauve plaid and a lot of black leather, her blank, pupilless white eyes would suggest that she’s blind, but it’s difficult to tell considering how well she makes her way around the shop. Matching, stark white hair matches her eyes but defies her age, shaved on the sides and worn in a ponytail, and black, horizontal streaks of greasepaint are worn beneath each eye. “You’re lucky you’re still alive. The muties always get riled up when these storms come up.”
“Muties?”
“Fuckin’ super mutants? Welcome to the Commonwealth, kid.” The woman checks the door I came through, locking it tightly and slamming a bar back down over it. “You picked a shitty time to come visiting.”
I blink, folding my arms awkwardly across my chest as I move a little deeper into the store. From what I can tell, the woman lives alone here, along with racks upon racks of clothing and a few workbenches. The place is spacious enough, but clearly hasn’t seen any customers for some time. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”
The woman stares at me like I'm an idiot for a moment, then sits down at a small table, lazily gesturing to the other chair opposite her own. “The Radio Raiders, mate. Last thing we needed after the war was another apocalypse, ya get me? But now with Diamond City occupied, and the Minutemen rightly fucked, any semblance of civilization has gone straight down the shithole.” She slumps back in her seat, grabbing a cup of cold coffee from the tabletop and taking a long swig of it. “Name’s Ellie, by the way. This is my store. Or was my store, back when anyone actually bought shit.”
I pause, thinking for a long moment on how to reply with an introduction of my own. I have no idea what my actual name is, only the tag on my outfit, which has now been scorched into unrecognizability by the radstorm. LE1-0. “My name’s Lei,” I finally say. “Thanks for letting me in. I forget if I already said.” I hadn’t.
“You want some coffee? I can make more. It’ll be a while before the storm’s over anywa--” Ellie’s interrupted by the sounds of gunshots, then a loud knocking on the door. A man’s voice calls out, muffled by the winds and the walls between us, but loud enough to get the message clearly.
“Open up, you fucking bitch!” the voice roars out. “Bad-X and the crew are here to take your piece of shit store! Either you open the fuck up and make things easy on yourself, or we see how well your shop holds up to a missile launcher!”
“Fuck,” Ellie breathes softly, body stiffening, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s them. Probably looking for shelter from the storm.” Her usual brazen tone has become much more dire now, fear showing through her white eyes. “I can’t take them alone.”
I glance from Ellie, back towards the door. I hear more voices coming from outside, maybe three or four raiders in total. I'm faced with a decision. Fight, surrender, hide, there are a number of possibilities, and none of them are entirely pleasant. I steel myself, gritting my teeth together and trying to find a solution to my problem. This moment could decide who I am, what kind of person I am. This is the first decision of the rest of my new life... however long that might last.
“You aren’t alone,” I finally say, slinging my pipe rifle from around my shoulder and checking my ammo. It’s low, but... well, we’ll see. “You have me.”
Ellie stands silent for a moment, looking up at me, her pale eyes meeting mine for a long moment. I'm increasingly uncertain whether she’s blind or not, but from the way she reaches for her 10mm and starts loading it, I'm quite positive that she can handle herself. “Fuckin’ A right,” she says, cocking the pistol. “They want this place, let ‘em take the bitch.”
I sidle my way through the narrow corridor leading to the door of Ellie’s shop, and I can hear the breathing and mumbling of raiders and marauders on the other side. It sounds like... maybe four or... five....
There’s a strange, aching flash within my head as I seem to reach out with my mind, tracing the sounds of breathing on the other side of the door. It seems to come all at once, like this surge of information, an image of where each voice is coming from. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and glance back to Ellie, who’s brandishing her own pistol and now giving me a rather quizzical look. “Wot was that?”
“There are five of them out there. Two close to the door, one of them a big guy. The others are flanking, keeping their guns trained on us.” Where the information came from I have no clue, and from Ellie’s confused stare, I can tell she has questions she doesn’t consider worthy of an immediate answer. “I’ll open the door as hard as I can and as fast as I can. Cover me from the entrance, okay?”
The pint-sized seamstress nods in my direction, taking one last swig of coffee and preparing herself, taking a two-handed grip on her pistol and aiming forward. “Le’s do it, then.”
What ensues goes very quickly, far too fast for my liking. Despite the fact that my brain almost seems to slow things down, allowing me to keep track of the movement of each raider fairly well, my body isn’t always capable of reacting as quickly as might be necessary. I boot open the door, sending one of the Radio Raiders flying but stopping cold when it hits the larger one, jarring me. Ellie’s behind me right away with a volley of bullets, sending one raider scattering for cover and dropping one with a well-placed shot to the sternum, bringing the number down to four.
With our element of surprise gone, however, four ends up being quite plenty to end the fight. They strike back with brutal but surprisingly non-lethal force, seeming more eager to get into the shop and away from the storm than they are to kill Ellie and me. The firefight is short, and I quickly find that my rifle doesn’t excel in such a close-range battle. One misfire from my rusted, janky pipe rifle ends up being all it takes for the advantage they have over us to become incompensable.
A football-style shoulder slam from the big one sends me sprawling backwards, if not necessarily as much as I thought it should have. I then find myself being dragged back into the shop, the door slamming shut as the three other raiders drag Ellie in along behind me, the white-haired survivor kicking her little legs and cursing up a storm that isn’t really getting anyone anywhere.
“Tie her up!” the big one growls. “The little one too!”
“Tie them up? Why not just kill them?” asks another of the raiders, this one much slimmer than the others -- as my vision clears I notice that this one’s a woman, if a bit of a boyish one, sporting a reddish mohawk. Her face is impossible to form an opinion on, as her eyes are covered with darkened welding goggles and the rest is concealed by a surgical facemask.
“Didn’t know how cute they were,” the big one grumbles, smirking as the other raiders start to break out a little case of zipties. I thrash and strain against their grip, but after a moment I find my wrists tied behind me, locking me in place on one of Ellie’s simple wooden chairs. “Pretty sure these ones are more valuable to us alive than dead.”
“Ugh. Are you serious, Bad-X?” the woman says. “You’re not the least bit better than that?”
“Nope,” the big one -- Bad-X, apparently -- replies, a low chuckle muffled through his ghoul mask. “Come on, look at the tits on this one.” His gaze turns to me, his eyes beady and predatory through the holes in his mask as he draws closer to me, a slow, seedy guffaw coming from his chest.
I glance down to see that the wear and tear from the fight (however brief), in addition to the radiation damage it took, had transformed my suit into something much more scandalous. A fair bit of midriff and cleavage both show, along with a bit of thigh -- even a light rip along my underboob showing off a bit of my creamy skin.
“I ain’t never fucked a Chinese bitch before, either, now I think about it,” Bad-X continues, already beginning to undo his belt. “You did us a real problem with those bombs, y’know. Not that I’m complainin’... if the world wasn’t the way it is, no way the Radio Raiders would own the Commonwealth today. So maybe I oughtta thank you for making Bad-X king.” He tosses his belt aside, starting to unbutton his pants. “You think you’re ready to hail to the king, baby?”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Ellie grumbles, only to get pistol-whipped by one of the other masked raiders standing behind her.
I glare up at the hefty brute of a man, narrowing my eyes at him defiantly but not saying anything. I’ve more or less lost any semblance of control or choice in this situation, but at least I can exercise my will by remaining silent.
“Alright, we can play it that way,” Bad-X says, another little chuckle escaping him as he reaches down for the top zipper of my suit, starting to draw it gradually downward to reveal more and more of my cleavage. “Don’t need your mouth anyway... not when I can fuck these tits of yours. And since Bad-X always gets his way....”
“You really are hopeless, you know that?” the woman says, sighing and moving to my flank, tilting her head curiously as she examines your defiant eyes from behind the shaded lenses of her goggles. “But I have to admit, she is pretty. Maybe we do deserve a little rest and relaxation... conquering the Commonwealth can be such a tiring job, after all.”
“Now you’re speakin’ my language, Spitball,” Bad-X growls. I can see the bulge of his cock from inside of his trousers, which he appears to be struggling with, but it won’t be long before he’s unleashed the beast. I'm certain of that. The other two raiders seem content to watch and giggle deviously to themselves for the time being... but as I glance between Bad-X and Spitball, a strange idea -- more like a realization -- streams across my unusual consciousness. The idea of sex at all, I find, seems strange to me... but also fluid. It hasn’t been something I’ve really thought of at all since my awakening, but now my attention focuses on it.
What exactly is going on down in the nether regions of my black, skintight suit? I feel something stirring, something curious, but... what?
I wince, recoiling a little as I feel Bad-X’s big, rough hands gripping tightly around the front sides of my suit, where he’d unzipped it. While I can’t see his smile through his ghoul mask -- an unpleasant but well-designed thing that’s now uncomfortably close to my own face -- I can hear his low chuckle of excitement as he yanks his hands apart, tearing the front of my suit open to completely reveal my full, pale, and sumptuously sizeable breasts. “Fuck a duck,” the raider growls excitedly, one hand moving down to take a firm grip on one of my large, soft boobs, giving it an eager squeeze and then beginning to massage it in lustful circles. “These are way better than I’d even imagined. I figured there’d be some kind wonderbra or whatever holding these puppies up, but nah... it looks like we’re looking at all-naturals here.”
If only he knew.
“Stop...” I give a low growl through my teeth, looking away from the hulking raider. A feeling of embarrassment and strange excitement crawls up my spine as I'm buried under the woots and jeers of the other two male raiders and Bad-X himself, with even Spitball -- the female raider’s -- generally cool, detached expression curling into a tight, perverse smile.
“Baby,” Bad-X grins. “I ain’t even started yet.” His free hand returns to his belt, undoing the last loop and tossing it aside, unzipping his armored trousers. I can see the silhouette of his impressive bulge even before he unveils it, a glimpse that’s just enough to fill me with a sense of dread and... again, that thrill. My mind balks against my lack of choice, but something within my body, some... process, is firing on all cylinders now, like I feel fully alive for the first time.
Bad-X finally reveals his massive, rock-hard anaconda of a dick, chuckling lowly, not the slightest bit ashamed of what he’s sporting. “Hey Spit, mind holding her tits together for me?” he grunts, and after a moment of quizzically gazing at him in mildly repulsed hesitation, Spitball finally complies, her smaller figure sliding behind the chair I'm tied to and both of her hands -- much smaller and much softer than Bad-X’s -- clasping gently around my tits.
She gently fondles and teases them for a moment before fully complying with the other raider’s request, a quiet, calm coo of admiration coming from behind me as she massages my breasts in slow circles. I feel her breath on the back of my neck, through her surgical mask, the soft leather of her goggles pressing against my cheek as she fondles me. I try to squirm, try to resist, but I can’t ignore the fact that tingling jolts of pleasure are shooting through me, setting my entire body ablaze with excitement. Whatever’s going on between my legs, it seems that my breasts are every bit as sensitive as they are large, and I'm far from the only person to notice it.
I gasp out, clenching my teeth when I finally feel that big, thick length press against my chest, Bad-X pinning me to my chair as he slides his cock up between my breasts, squished together into a tight valley by Spitball. I keep my head turned away, breathing deeply in and out through my nose, not looking up at the burly, filthy raider as he thrusts his hips upward, grinding his huge cock up between my boobs until the spongy, throbbing tip of it peeks out from between my cleavage. “NNrgggh... fuck. This is better’n braining a Minuteman,” Bad-X growls.
A thousand protests flutter across my thoughts but none of them will help, and will likely only serve to degrade me further. I clench my teeth, closing my eyes, and I can feel Spitball nuzzling gently into my cheek again, her lips, then teeth, closing around my earlobe to smooch and nibble at it. Her dextrous, delicate fingertips clamp and tease tenderly along my nipples -- which I find are growing distressingly firm and sensitive -- as she squishes my breasts together, keeping them in a nice, tight canyon of milky flesh, pressed firmly around Bad-X’s enormous dick.
“Oy! You keep away from ‘er, you!” I hear Ellie protest, thrashing anxiously against the ropes binding her to her own seat. A sharp pistol strike to the side of her head from the raider guarding her shortens her call-out into a pained groan, and the scuffle from across the table continues as another one of the as-of-yet-unnamed raiders begins to undo their own belt, tugging out a sizeable cock of his own and cramming it into the white-eyed woman’s mouth, effectively silencing anything but a moan from her.
“Nobody fucking asked you, Ellie,” the man grunts, taking one firm fistful of her hair and slamming his hips forward, a gurgling sound escaping the smaller woman as he jams his meatstick deep into her mouth, prodding against her throat. I glance awkwardly between Ellie’s assaulter and my own, inadvertently comparing the shafts of the two men and finding that I definitely drew the longer stick -- Bad-X’s cock has to be at least three inches longer, if not more, and unreasonably thick and hot.
“Hey boss, think I can get a turn?” comes the voice of the final man, a somewhat shorter, leaner man wearing a full hood and gasmask, likely a precaution in the wake of the radstorm outside.
Taking another rough thrust upward into my cleavage, Bad-X lets out a sound somewhere between a groan of pleasure and a growl of annoyance, glancing back at the man. “I’m fuckin’ busy here, kid. She’s got three holes you can use and you’re botherin’ me. Figure somethin’ out.” The hulking criminal returns to me immediately, tangling his big fingers in a lock of my hair to hold me still and starting to thrust back up into my tits, his breathing heavy and rank of moonshine.
Spitball, too, seems to be getting more excited despite her distant demeanor -- her mask now down around her neck to reveal a surprisingly pretty face, she drags her teeth hungrily along the side of my neck, massaging my tits up and down now, simultaneously entertaining her own hands while she enhances the bigger raider’s increasing frenetic rutting of my big, firm, silky breasts. A warm feeling spreads through me as she tilts my head back a little more to face me, her lips now locking against mine in a warm, deep kiss, hesitant yet intense, like she’s been conflicted about her desires for me and is just now giving in to them.
I whine quietly against the other woman’s lips, panting through my nose, my ears filled with the sounds of Bad-X’s heavy breathing, the rutting of his cock between my tender boobs, and the sound of Ellie gagging and spluttering around the second dick that’s now rocketing in and out of her throat.
The fourth raider, now, appears to have become the wild card of the bunch, the only one left who hasn’t found a way to have fun with one of the captives, considering how crowded both Ellie and I have already become. Crouching and skittering to my side, he begins to fiddle with the ropes that bind me, his breathing heavy with desire as he works to free me from my seat and create an opening he might be able to use.
As I feel spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum shoot over my face in long strands, hanging from my lips and pooling in my cleavage as Spitball eagerly gropes me and tonguefucks my mouth, it occurs to me that this might be a chance to escape. I feel the ropes grow loose, Bad-X roaring with ecstasy as he rides out his climax with a barrage of rapid pumps of his cock between my breasts. I could make a move, now, try to get out of the chair... but what would happen then?
“Fuck, that’s gotta be the best load I’ve ever blown,” Bad-X pants, still grinding his dick absently across my chest as he catches his breath. “But I sure as hell ain’t done. What do you say, little Chinese chick -- ready for some more Bad-X?”
