Guarding the High Rollers Pt. 02

This is a continuation of the on-going series featuring casino security officers Kate Galloway and Scott Quinn. Characters, events, and locations may (or may not) be inspired by real people and events. Though for liability reasons: "This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons... blah blah blah..."

Okay, here we go.

If you've been following my adventures as a lowly twenty-four year old casino security guard, then you know by now that in my last installment, Galloway and I were forced to separate in order to babysit some grown-ass adults who are perfectly capable of looking out for themselves. But because they were a loud-mouth bunch of drunks with deep pockets, the casino figured it best that Galloway and I get stuck keeping a close eye on them.

This proved to be a catalyst for disaster. Previously, these horny rich entitled brats, as entertainment for their bachelor party, decided to proposition my partner, Kate Galloway, into (what she later described) as a five man gang-bang that left her sore for days, but with pockets full of enough cash to make it worth the effort. Not that kinky group sex wasn't worth it. Especially for Galloway. She may hide it well behind her dry stoic lady-cop like demeanor, but she loved sex, and was a fiend in bed.

While her party was going on, I had my hands full with entertaining the spouses of those men—the bachelorette party of pink nightmares. Loud obnoxious drunk women with pink fuzzy sashes, very short cocktail dresses, and glittery tiaras.

I'll be honest with you, I'm really not looking forward to telling you my side of the story. I have a lot of reasons for that.

I think shame plays a big factor. On any other occasion, I'd be more than happy to admit that I fucked some preppy boy's future bride and her friends all in one sitting. But the fact is, that these girls are everything that turns me off in a woman (not physically) but personality-wise. They were wastes of pretty faces, over-shadowed by loud annoying screechy voices and the inability to shut up.

Think of any prom princess attention whore from high school, who thought she was king shit. She'd be hot if she wasn't overly loud and obnoxious to the point where you want to throw up. Now imagine five of them, copious amounts of liquor, bachelorette night novelty jewelry, and pink fuzzy scarves that looked like they hunted a bunch of Muppets for sport on an island ("Most Dangerous Game" style), and it's easy to see why writing this story does not come easily for me. It's less of a brag letter and more of a confession in a therapist's office, really.

(Can you tell that I hate people?)

Which brings me to my final reason for not really wanting to tell this story: my partner, Officer Kate Galloway, was not a participant in the events described below.

If you haven't been following my antics, let me quick catch you up...

Kate Galloway is my partner, friend, love interest, and the best part of my day. She's just as fucked up as I am— especially in the sense of humor department. And lately me and her have had a wild streak of sexual encounters with each other and various other people at the casino. We usually don't intend for it to happen. Kate tries to behave herself, take her job seriously, and convey respect and authority with her actions and mannerisms. And I try to just get through each day without getting fired. So for us to constantly end up in the midst of group sex—sometimes with drunk casino patrons, and sometimes with other guards—is pretty impressive.

Galloway is hot as hell, so for me to describe any sexual adventure I've had without her in it, sort of makes me question "What's the point?" But I know I've left a lot unanswered since my last story, so here we are.

It started a couple of weeks before Christmas, during that time of year where the radio at any work place turns into a death march of the same dozen or so Christmas songs playing on an endless loop. I swear, employers just do that shit to test our endurance... or to break our will to live.

Kate Galloway fell into step beside me like the two of us were being marched to our execution. She was singing along to Andy Williams. "It's the holiday season. So hoop-de-do, and dickery-dock, and don't forget to sit on my cock."

I couldn't help but snicker. That was her reward. To make me laugh, and she looked pleased with herself for wiping that frown off my face. I remember being in an especially shitty mood that night, so she took it as a victory.

"You're never going to un-hear that now," Galloway smiled at me.

"The song, or you referencing your cock?" I asked.

"The song, smartass." She said. "Besides, we all know that my cock is right here." She glanced around quickly to make sure that nobody was looking. Then she discreetly flicked the crotch of my uniform pants, making me jump.

I only shook my head. "Pretty low brow humor though, even for you, Kate."

"Yeah," she half frowned. "But I had to. It was pretty low hanging fruit."

"Again, are we talking about the song or something else?" My dick still stung from where she flicked me.

"Shut up," she said and we both laughed, resting our shoulders against each other and trying to shove each other back and forth as we made our way to Pit 4.

*Sigh* Pit 4. This was the real reason I was such a surly bitch tonight.

Our security supervisor had assigned me and Galloway to babysitting duty. Instead of our normal duties of roving the casino grounds and responding to calls and emergencies, it entailed becoming the servant to high rollers— people who thought losing a shit ton of money at the table games entitled them to their own personal body guards.

The managers were good about rotating us in and out of those roles. But tonight, the duty fell squarely to the pair of us. Thank god Galloway was there, otherwise I'm sure I would have gone insane.

There were five of them. The guys were all well dressed twenty-something year old douche bags. One look at them, and you knew they had money. Trust fund kids who won the sperm lottery by being birthed by rich parents. Nepotism runs deep in families like that, and it wouldn't surprise me if each of these guys had jobs that their daddies, or friends of their daddies, or casual acquaintances of their daddies handed to them. Their path was planned the moment they were born... or maybe I'm the one with daddy issues.

They were good looking... in a popped collar and tribal arm band tattoo kind of way. And even though they were all engaged, married, or soon-to-be married, they had just enough alcohol in their systems to not-so-subtly notice Officer Kate Galloway.

Apparently she fit the bill, in multiple ways, for an Officer they wouldn't mind as their guardian. She was easy on the eyes, and looked like she could kick someone's ass all at the same time. And her serious face and ice blue eyes only made her a challenge. Guys like these loved challenges. It wasn't long before their sideways glances turned into drunken attempts to make casual conversation.

They strutted, they flexed, they brandished wads of cash, and they pinched at her shoulders. The most reaction that it earned from Galloway was a subtle reddening of her cheeks, that matched the raspberry red color of her dyed brown hair.

Eventually Galloway joined me on my side of the table.

"Life of the party," I teased her, being mindful of the onlookers. Craps tables where large quantities of cash was exchanged always attracted large crowds of spectators. Really, our only objective was to keep an eye on them, if any got sticky fingers or decided to cause trouble (not that I'm going to thwart a robbery if one of them took out a weapon).

Galloway shook her head. "I don't know why. It's not exactly like I have my tits out," she said, straightening the ugly blue uniform shirt and badge.

"Good point. Maybe you should take them out," I suggested.

"You are such a creeper," she gave me a shove.

Banter aside, we were used to being hit on, given the environment. Men (and sometimes women) particularly gravitated to Galloway. Especially after a few drinks, the young ones who thought they were hot shit would grow bold and try to pick her up. I don't blame them. She was probably better looking than any half-nude cocktail server at our establishment.

And I've had my share of pickups as well (some successful and some not so much). Let's face it, at this job, I got laid more in my life than ever, and I've also turned down more offers than ever. Older women were usually the most aggressive with me. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's the fact that I was 24, a bit rugged, a heavy drinker, and just gruff enough to not tell them what they wanted to hear. They loved that shit. I once had a woman complain to me that her drink wasn't very good, and the bartenders were lax, to which I responded with "Sweetie, I'm security. I really don't give a damn." She'd recoiled, then smiled like she enjoyed the scolding, introduced herself, and stuffed her number into my pocket (but that's another story).

While Galloway and I had our huddle where we played like junkyard dogs with each other, it wasn't long before our group of bachelors were joined by their significant others. Apparently the bachelorettes were having their own hen party, sequestered away in another part of the casino.

"Oh god!" Galloway's eyes widened with alarm as the gaggle approached.

We could hear them coming before we saw them. Loud and screechy and definitely drunk. The cluster of five women were clad in pink sashes like Miss America contestants. The bride-to-be was wearing a tiara... like she was fooling anyone.

"Hi boys!" They declared, crowding the groomsmen's side of the table. They were sauntering around with their drinks, loud-talking over everyone, and I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the guys, as douche-like as they may be.

"Pink nightmares," Galloway whispered to me.

I snickered, watching as the women plucked at the bachelors, messing their hair, pecking them on the cheeks, plucking at their ties, and taking selfies by the boat-load.

"They kind of remind me of that scene in the Hitchcock movie 'The Birds'," I smirked. "You know... the school yard scene."

Galloway allowed a grin to spread from ear to ear. "Risselty rosselty now now now." She sang in a haunted sounding voice.

We looked at each other had to hold in our laughter. It came out anyway, like a motorboat sputtering sound.

As we joked, delighted in each other, Supervisor Vic radioed us. "Vic to Quinn and Galloway."

"Go for Galloway," she sang back into her mic.

"What?" I asked, not bothering with the radio lingo.

"Just an FYI, those high rollers that you're babysitting, keep on them until you're relief arrives," Vic said.

"What the hell?" I shot a look to Galloway. She merely shrugged in response. Typically we were meant to guard high rollers until they were done gambling. This was something new.

"It's not at our request. It's the casino's," Vic explained. "Clearly they're having some sort of pre wedding party. And we don't want them causing problems."

"What kind of shenanigans do they think this bunch is going to get into?" Galloway asked.

It was my turn to shrug. "Pecking school children to death with their beaks."

This earned a laugh from my partner. "Shut up," she punched me lightly on the shoulder.

Our banter must have caught the attention of the group we were there to babysit. Because the addition of the drunk women became a catalyst for disaster. It wasn't long before they were surrounding us.

"Are these the strippers?" One particularly vocal blonde (I assume the maid of honor) called out to the men.

"Couldn't be!" a bachelor shouted back. "We ordered two women! I want a refund!"

I could feel the women assessing me. One of them even began to pluck at my shirt, much to my annoyance. "You don't have to send him back, we'll take him." Another said. "You can have the girl."

"You do know we're not strippers, right ma'am?" Galloway asked, trying to get a read on if they were kidding or being serious.

"With the amount of money we're throwing around, you're whatever we say you are," the guys chimed in drunkenly from their end of the table.

Galloway shot me a look and rolled her eyes. She wasn't offended. It was hard to offend either of us.

"It's so hot when they tell it like it is," the bachelorette said. Then she began to pull on my shirt. "We'll take this one. We'll leave you with the girl guard." I was a little alarmed as the gaggle of pink nightmares began to lead me away from the Craps table. I could barely tolerate them for a hot minute. Now they were dragging me along to whatever pit of hell they'd crawled out of?

"Have fun boys," the women called over their shoulder. "We're be in the VIP area. Don't wait up!"

I really didn't want to go, but my boss had been pretty insistent that this group needed a watchful eye on them. And seeing that they were already visibly drunk (something that the casino grew uptight about), I knew I didn't have a whole lot of other options. I resigned myself to my fate, leaving Galloway in the pit.

***

Now at this point, I should probably go on to explain that me and Galloway were forced to split up-- something that we rarely did. I only confided the things that I did (or rather, had happen to me) when we met up later for drinks. She told me her adventure, alone with the five drunk horny entitled men. By the time her story was over, I was so turned on that I took her back to my place with a six pack. And while I told her my story, we worked each other over... mostly with our mouths. I sensed a few instances of jealousy, because if I hit a nerve, I could feel her mouth tighten around my cock as she sucked me... It's nice to be wanted...

***

So to illustrate this tale, allow me to describe my five tormentors.

I'll start with Sara— the unpleasant one. Why is it that the loudest ones are always the least attractive? Maybe it's the female equivalent of peacocking. I assume she was the maid/matron of honor. People like her tend to be. The assertive pushy one who shoulders her way into whatever the hell station that she wants in life by counting on everyone else to uncomfortably knuckle-under. Don't get me wrong, I like assertive. But you can be an Alpha female through actions and quiet dignity. This bitch was the kind who'd loud-talk over you, and bring nothing but drama and pestilence.

She had straight shoulder-length blonde hair. Her features could be mistaken for cute, but I wasn't buying it. She had a pointed slightly upturned nose (that to me looked like a troll doll). Now it was red from all of the tequila she was throwing back. She had chubby cheeks and a big mouth. She looked like she was big into partying, but also creating problems. Whoa unto whatever cute waitresses would have to serve this bitch. She'd be the type to torment a server, shit talk her while the girl would still be within ear-shot, then ask to speak to the manager to whine about said server. She would be my biggest threat.

She was a little bit heavier, with a big round ass to match her cheeks. Life would not be kind to her as she aged. She'd be heavy some day. Too bad (sarcasm). She was all pink tonight. Pink dress that didn't really flatter her, pink sash, and a glittery tiara. I know I'm being overly biased (because again, she wasn't awful), but between her looks, personality, and the color of her dress, I would be hard pressed to compare her looks to a celebrity without deferring to "Miss Piggy".

Then there was Nikki. Nikki was the princess. Her personality and voice were somewhat subdued. Dare I even say 'mild mannered'? But you could tell she was the gold digger in the group. She had that look about her. Expensive everything. Designer little black dress (think of something Posh Spice would wear). Expensive diamond jewelry, and a diamond ring as big as a fuckin' marble. The way her hair was styled, alone, probably cost more than I made in a month. Whichever guy at the craps table that she was married to, clearly money was the selling point for her.

Not that I blame her. She looked like a million bucks. She could have been Sara's hotter younger sister. Her features were similar to Sara's but in all the right ways. Blonde hair, but her dye job looked believable. Like 'amber waves of grain'... or some shit. She had a cute turned-up nose like Tinkerbelle, complete with a splash of freckles. Her mouth pulled into a perfect smile, and you could tell that she had worn braces as a kid. They were just too straight and white.

Her body was perfectly slim. Skinny, but without being too skinny. Nice hips, cute butt, and a perfectly proportioned pair of tits (C cup maybe?). I found myself debating if her breasts were real. Their shape was perfect and fit her body, but they weren't enormous, so it was a hard call. She was comparable to Gwyneth Paltrow... you know... minus the crazy (or with more crazy. I didn't know this girl that well).

Julie was the black sheep of the group— and incidentally my personal favorite. She was the quiet meek one that they probably brought along to be their driver and voice of reason. The responsible one that wasn't the first name to come up if they were planning a party, but the first phone number they'd call if they were stranded somewhere.

She was a little blonde, probably about 5' 2". Not busty, but nothing to be shy about either, and a nice butt and legs. She had a nervous smile, big blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair. Maybe I'm making too many assumptions, but she looked like the type to read a lot, and she probably kept a clean modest home. I'm guessing if she didn't have a history with these other girls that went back years, she'd probably have nothing to do with them now.

This was apparent by her sensible makeup that wasn't too showy or gaudy, and her dress— black with a little bit of sparkle up top, and instead of picking something short and tight that hugged her ass, she went for flowy and modest below the waist. Not my type of girl, per se (we know what my type is), but a definite cutie that I wanted to save from the rest of these hens.

Kelly was the party girl. If anyone was likely to have drugs with her, it was this slut. She kind of looked like Kesha, if you know what I mean? Raven black hair, thin face, prominent nose and chin, a mouth that always looked like it was frowning in an ever-so-slightly annoyed expression, and sleepy eyes. Judging from the way she did her makeup, it was less about the good times, and more about the substances she'd abuse. This girl was a train wreck in her personal life, and she wasn't afraid to advertise it in her makeup and attire. She was rocking a jean skirt that was frayed deliberately (and probably way more expensive than it should have been), and a tight black top that showed off her mid-riff. As far as tits went, she wasn't especially remarkable— a couple of A-cups. But she had wide hips, a shapely ass, and smooth thick thighs.

Lastly, there was Stephi— the bride-to-be. She had brown hair with blonde highlights— one of those girls who you could tell probably changed her hair color and style every three weeks. She had blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and a big smile— with a bit of an overbite that gave her a chipmunk sort of mouth. I'm not sure if it was a result of her teeth or jaw, but she also had a bit of a speech impediment. Similar to Elmer Fudd, she said her "R's" like "W's". "Really" sounded like "Weally." "Rabbits" sound like "Wabbits." If you've ever watched the show "Big Bang Theory", you know what I'm talking about.