Hollow Pleasure Ch. 07

*** Disclaimer ***

The following installment contains themes of hypnosis, mind control, non-consent, exhibitionism, voyeurism, cheating, incest, BDSM, gang rape, cuckoldry, double penetration, impregnation, paranormal, and even an innocent old man. This might not be for the faint of heart. You've been warned.

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. 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, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Hollow Pleasure chapter 07

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2B

The truth was that Galloway and Ethan weren't the only ones contending with issues.

The alarm went off and Quinn muttered "Noooo," weakly to himself, as though he'd just watched a friend die from the deep recesses of a dream. A flash of rage and misery entered his mind. He felt as though he'd only slept for about two minutes. He could have cried.

It was Quinn's first night sleeping over at Galloway's new place. He was glad to finally be here. He missed Galloway a lot. More than he'd ever realized. He had wanted to spend more time together after her job change and her move. But Galloway was particular and wanted time to be alone in her new place to settle in, unpack, and acclimate. Plus, both of their schedules weren't ideal just yet for regular visits.

Galloway's training was unpredictable and left her exhausted, anxious, and lacking confidence. Not to mention, by the time she got home, she was sore and covered in sweat, just aching for a shower, a quiet meal, and a good night's sleep. He needed to respect that.

Plus, Quinn's schedule was... well... it was a personal hell to which he had volunteered himself, and from which there was no escaping...

Reluctantly he got up. Kate Galloway didn't even stir from her side of the bed. She was zonked out, enjoying what looked like the best sleep ever. The sheet was askew, showing her smooth bare thigh. Quinn admired her for several long seconds.

He showered and dressed and packed himself a lunch. He was too tired to make himself anything appealing. He slapped some peanut butter on a stale hamburger bun, and grabbed a banana and a box of crackers.

From the hall, he gazed into the bedroom, watching Kate sleep. He sighed to himself. He absolutely despised leaving her.

Finally, at the last possible second that he could spare, he tiptoed into the bedroom, kissed her forehead and whispered goodbye. It was something he did every morning they woke up together. She weakly muttered a tired response, then drifted right back to sleep.

Not for the first time on his drive to work, Quinn promised himself that he and Galloway would spend more time together. But it would be a long time before they could do that.

Scott Quinn worked two jobs. During the weekdays, he worked at a bottling plant. It was extremely basic. He sat at a station and poured liquids into bottles day in and day out. It was mind-numbingly boring— like slow counting to a thousand. But the pay was okay, his coworkers all seemed rather positive and upbeat, and the work environment was friendly. On Saturdays and Sundays, he was a security guard at an industrial plant- one of only two guards for a sprawling campus of half a dozen buildings. The campus was closed during the weekends and was a ghost town of wide open parking lots, darkened office cubicle mazes, and sealed off labs. The job was easy and very peaceful.

But both jobs were a step backward in his life. He'd been a security guard years ago. And industrial labor was something he'd done before finishing high school. There was neither glamour, nor a sense of pride or identity to either one.

And to top it all off (as if his regiment wasn't exhausting enough), on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Quinn attended physical therapy for his back immediately after his shift at the plant.

Galloway wasn't blowing smoke to impress Ethan. Scott Quinn was a former State Trooper. It was a job that he had aspired for ever since college, and he had worked very hard to get there. It had been difficult enough to meet the physical requirements, let alone pass the rigorous boot camp and academy training. When he had gotten to that point, he was nothing but proud. He was thrilled when people asked what he did for a living. Quinn had a dream, and he had worked and worked and worked until finally it had come true! He had never believed in that expression 'You can be whatever you want' until he had done it.

But then that had all come crashing down around him... both figuratively and literally. Within his first year, he had been deployed on a manhunt into the mountains, and his helicopter crashed.

Quinn's spine had been seriously injured in the process and he had spent several days stranded. Probably the only reason that he'd survived was one of his crew mates had gone above and beyond to protect him. But the result of the whole ordeal was a fused spine and a discharge from the police force for no longer being of use to them. He supposed he should count his blessings. Most of his fellow troopers on that operation had died.

It still haunted him in many different ways. And each day that he woke up and went to a low-paying menial job, he felt more and more useless. He'd fallen from grace- his dream job ripped away because of a freak accident. Absolute random chance had rendered his hard work to be a complete waste of time. He began to lose more respect for himself by the day, and feared that those around him were losing their respect for him as well. Especially Galloway.

Quinn wasn't very social, but now he avoided his coworkers like the plague. He smiled and said hello to them, but that was it. He did it again this morning as he walked in and headed for the punch clock.

The production floor was loud and open. The beeps and hums of fork-lifts filled the air. The hissing of vents and drone of machines was overwhelming. Music was piped in, though much of it was barely audible over the machinery.

At the start of his shift, he did what he always did. He arranged his work area, wheeled a beat-up old office chair into position at the table, and jotted a few notes. Last, he removed a photograph from his pocket. The edges were already starting to crinkle and fray from how often he carried it with him. He taped it to the drum in front of him where he could see it. Galloway had given it to him the day Quinn had left for the academy. It had been taken on Galloway's birthday— after their shift had ended at the casino, they'd gone out for drinks together at one of their usual shitty dive bars. Quinn and Galloway sat side by side on bar stools, looking tired and weary from their shift. Their boots were loosened, their uniform shirts were unbuttoned. Galloway's tank top clung to her round C-cups. They were both nursing their beers, shoulders pressed together as they regarded the camera with slightly annoyed lopsided smirks. There was something very honest about the photo... something very Norman Rockwell. On the back, Galloway had written, "Best of luck with the State Police. You'll do great! Just make sure you don't forget about the best partner you'll ever have, because she'll certainly be missing you."

Any time Quinn began to feel hopeless at work, like his life had ventured down the wrong path and he didn't know how to fix it (which was quite often), he would look up at the photo and remember why he was still bothering. It really wasn't a bad job. It just wasn't the job for him, and he knew it.

During his lunch breaks, while everyone else went to the cafeteria, Quinn went out to his car. He didn't want his coworkers to see him cry.

Today he got into his truck and checked his phone. He had a missed call. He pulled himself together a bit and called back.

The familiar voice picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Ash. Checking in on me again?" he said, finding his normal semi-cocky tone.

"You know me too well," she replied. "Are you and Kate engaged yet? Or are you morons just 'keeping it casual'? Like you're fooling anyone." She scoffed.

He sighed, "Ashley, I'm going to kill you."

"I'm just saying, you need to get your act together and get on that. If you don't marry her, I will." She giggled. Quinn's sister, Ashley, was younger— just starting college. She'd met Galloway when she was basically a kid. Ashley liked Galloway- the first girl of Quinn's that she'd actually approved of, and she wasn't afraid to admit that she looked up to her.

"One problem at a time. Step one: Fix broken back. Step two: figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. Step three... we'll see..."

"How are the jobs going?"

"They're going."

"Still working seven days a week?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. Quinn knew it was coming. Every single person- especially his family members- liked to press him about why he was working so hard. "Scott, you're going to kill yourself if you keep going at this pace."

"I know," he muttered, but already wasn't considering her words. He didn't want to be lectured over things he already knew, and just wanted to hurry through this line of questioning so they could move onto a new topic.

"Why? Why do you feel like it's necessary?"

He sighed. "Because I don't trust my full time job to not screw me when my probationary period is up." Technically the bottling job was a "Temp to hire" position. He wasn't an actual employee of the company, but a temp through an outside source. Once his probationary period was up, he'd be hired on directly.

"You really think they would screw you?"

"It's happened before," he said.

There was a silence on the other end. He knew what was coming next.

"There's no other police departments hiring? Ones with lower standards?"

He hated that phrase. 'Lower standards'. In other words, another department where his fellow officers were okay with him not being able to carry them out of danger, or letting suspects escape because he couldn't keep up, or needed constant coddling from them because he was now more frail.

"Get over it, Ash. I'm surrendering all of my hopes and dreams so that I can commit the remaining years of my life to a blue collar job that I care nothing about. Life is unfair. I'm dealing with it. You should too."

Again, a silence, and he hated himself for just blurting out the words. He felt like he had just slapped her through the phone. It made him sick, but at the same time, he was angry. He was angry that everyone was always reminding him of his unhappiness. Yes, he was unhappy. But he was letting the wound heal. They were the ones constantly poking at the scab.

He sighed. "Look, it's not ideal, but it is what it is. I just don't want to be in a position where I become a burden. Especially not to Kate."

"You would never be-"

"You can't get someone's respect back once you lose it. If Kate ever starts to see me as a burden, she'll never un-see it," Quinn said with finality. "It's better to just endure this hell. That's all."

Ashley didn't try to argue with him this time. She was usually pretty good about that. "Well... if it makes you feel better, I still really respect you."

"Thanks Ash."

Her voice was serious. "Everyone really loves you, Scott. Me and mom and dad, and I'm sure Kate, are all really proud of you."

His eyes were tearing up. He appreciated the kind words, but he wasn't sure he believed her. It was hard to imagine anyone being proud of him, considering he wasn't proud of himself.

"Thanks. That means a lot."

Ashley concluded her pep talk with some advice. "I know you, and I know you're probably pretty down on yourself, and you're probably crazy tired and stressed, but no matter what happens, don't take it out on Kate."

"Of course. I never would."

"Good. Because no matter how much we love you, we love her way more," Ashley giggled at that last part.

Quinn sighed but smiled. "Are we done here? My break is almost over."

"Yeah, go back to it, working man. Love you."

Quinn replied in kind. When he hung up he had just enough time to splash some water onto his face to disguise the fact that he'd been crying. His eyes were still puffy and red however. There was no hiding that, other than to keep his head down and not make eye contact with his coworkers.

The day was long and painful. By the time he was done, his back was hurting. He went to physical therapy.

***

2B

While Quinn was being plagued by his own personal failings, Galloway sprawled out across her bed sheets, plagued by her reoccurring nightmares.

All around her, the bells, jingles, and electronic tunes from a thousand slot machines went off at the same time, like an insane circus of noise. And somewhere, above the never ending cacophony of mindless noise, the crisp pop of gunfire rolled through the cavernous room.

She was back in the middle of the casino. Smoke was hanging in the air. It was a mix of the cordite from the gunpowder, and one of the slot machines that was riddled with bullet holes had caught fire from the showers of sparks that were spewing in all directions.

People were screaming.

Galloway was standing in the middle of the gaming floor, a look of confusion and disorientation. Across the sea of green velvet table games, she could make out the silhouettes of four robbers. Men wearing ski masks. Large men— bad men. Their eyes gleamed with evil fury behind their masks. This time, they weren't chasing her. They were terrorizing everyone around them— shooting at the crowd, sending them running, destroying the building, setting it ablaze. They were harming her coworkers.

A scream made Galloway jump. Someone she knew.

Her heart was pounding as she watched. The robbers swept through the floor like an evil wind, leaving behind nothing but pain and misery. But something was happening as Galloway watched. Something unthinkable.

She became aware that she was touching herself. Over her own uniform, she was fondling her tits— squeezing and rubbing. Her nipples were hard, pressing through the fabric. She bit her lip. These men were hurting innocent people, and she was turned on! She wasn't afraid. She wasn't horrified. She wasn't upset. She was something worse... an act so hedonistic that her own repulsion fueled her arousal. With a mind of its own, her hand slipped down the front of her pants. Her panties were wet.

She couldn't help herself. She leaned against the nearest slot machine and her fingers found her clit and began to move in fast, eager little circles. She sucked in a breath and moaned, even as the next burst of gunfire drowned out the sound of her mounting lust.

As the crowd fled in all directions, she spotted a familiar face, as scared as the rest. Quinn. He was younger. His back wasn't destroyed yet, and his face wasn't aged from pain. He was terrified, because he was looking for her, afraid for her safety. Then he spotted her.

"Kate!" He shouted as he dashed up to her. "Are you okay?" His eyes were wide, slightly confused to find her just standing there touching herself. She knew that she must look as though she'd completely lost her mind. Maybe she had, because she couldn't bring herself to stop.

Galloway didn't trust her voice enough. She was desperately afraid that it would come out lusty. She nodded, still biting her lip.

"Don't stand there, run!" He urged her.

But Galloway didn't move. She glanced between Quinn— her friend and lover, and the evil monsters who were probably going to kill them both. The indecision was obvious in her expression.

Quinn didn't wait. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled. But he barely budged Galloway. It was the dream. In real life, when she'd been shot, he'd tossed her over his shoulder and carried her out. But now... her feet were planted as though she was made of granite.

Again, her eyes were drawn to the attackers. How evil, how powerful... how awful... her entire body was quivering with excitement, her wetness ran down her fingers.

She met Quinn's eyes, and in them, she saw the comprehension. The horror and betrayal. The questioning look, and the dawning realization that he didn't know who his partner was right now. Then she shrugged him off. There, in the middle of the nightmare, Kate Galloway began to unbutton her uniform.

Quinn's eyes widened, but he said nothing. When Galloway opened her shirt, she found that her bra was lacy and white, almost bridal in design. Fitting for the hell that she was about to willingly consign herself to. Her big round breasts strained against the tight fabric. Her tan skin contrasting pleasantly against the material. When she dropped her shirt on the floor, she collected her shiny silver badge and hooked it onto one of her cups. For some reason she wanted that reminder staring her in the face, reflecting her slutty two-timing features. The duty to protect people... a duty that she was about to betray...

Her pants came off next. A matching thong beneath. Quinn cast his eyes down. She was wearing an ankle holster— her Smith and Wesson strapped in place. She could have stopped this nightmare at any point. She knew it, and so did Quinn. Then she plucked the gun from her leg and tossed it away. She didn't want to play hero. She didn't want the nightmare to end. She wanted to get fucked. And she wanted those bad men to do it. She wanted to be their slut, and nothing more.

She met Quinn's eyes one final time, saw the defeat in them, then she turned her back on her friend. She strode confidently across the gaming floor, angling right toward the masked murderers.

When they saw her coming, they paused. Galloway in white lingerie, her dyed maroon hair framing her face. A sexy way of popping her hips as she walked. And her badge reflecting the fire that was spreading throughout the gaming floor.

Galloway could feel her legs trembling in excited anticipation as she approached. Without a word, they surrounded her. She looked back over her shoulder, Quinn was watching it all from the maze of slot machines, with a look of envy, horror, and humiliation at the abandonment of her morals. He loved her, and suddenly he didn't even know or understand his partner.

Then the four masked men were putting their big hands on her. They spun her to face her partner as they roughly cupped her big tits, giving them a squeeze. They smacked her ass, smacked her face. They pulled her hair. They pawed at her.

The murderer who had led this plan, this nightmare, had been a spectacularly ugly man with a resume of violence. A rare and monstrous breed of psychopath with a sadistic history. He had a shaved head, prison tattoos up his neck, and wild eyes that gleamed brightly with an almost ephemeral glow. The sick fuck had even filed his teeth down to razor points. Galloway had read his name in the paper— Henry Demoura.

Now this same man was shoving Galloway's hands onto the nearest poker table and pushing her legs apart. And she was gasping excitedly. A naughty smile on her full pink lips. "Spread 'em, slut!" He snarled and Galloway swooned, feeling her body melt with his words. A man who she had wished eternal punishment on, she was now presenting her body to. She wanted to feel him inside of her. She was about to do something so wrong... so unspeakable... and she was so turned on that the anticipation alone had brought her close to orgasm.

She glanced back at Henry over her shoulder. "Take me... I'll do anything you want..." She said and sashayed her hips tantalizingly as the four of them gathered around to appraise her body. Their eyes continued to gleam through their masks.

Then Henry aggressively yanked her panties down and stuffed them into Galloway's mouth. She almost fainted from the excitement alone. Looking over her shoulder, she expected the men to remove their cocks. Instead, an evil smile spread across Henry's face. He used the tip of his shotgun to nudge her legs further apart. Then he began to curiously probe her pouty pink pussy lips with the end of the deadly weapon.