Guarding the High Rollers

This story features another adventure of naughty security guards Kate Galloway and Scott Quinn. It can function as a stand-alone erotic story, but if you'd care to meet Galloway in her first romp of being a naughty on-duty officer, then see the story "Security Mischief Turns Steamy" and her other story "Late Night Security Threesome".

***

They called it "muster". Muster... it was a fancy semi-military circle-jerk of a name assigned to a weekly pre-shift 15 minute meeting, where our supervisors briefed us on bullshit that they thought was important (spoiler alert: there was NEVER anything important that needed to be relayed to us) regarding the issues of being an underpaid, unarmed security guard at a casino. The pain in the ass was that it was unpaid. Which was exactly why I never arrived on time for it. I rolled in late, like I always did. As usual, my partner, Kate Galloway, discreetly met my eyes and shook her head with a little suppressed smile. And as usual, Vic looked the other way.

Supervisor Vic was not a tall man. He was short, thin, and wiry. He looked like a marionette in a suit. But he dressed well, groomed himself, and carried himself like he towered over us. The man was an ex-Marine. And unlike most security supervisors, he treated us with respect, and looked the other way on much of our shenanigans (as long as it was harmless slap-dickery)-- especially my apathy for the job. For that reason, we liked Vic.

So when he concluded our weekly pre-shift security meeting with "Galloway, Quinn, you're on babysitting duty at Pit 4," I only replied with an "Ah, fuck me."

"Don't say that out on the gaming floor," Vic sighed, and walked away.

As the other guards dispersed, Galloway met me in the office. "Where's your holiday cheer, little drummer boy?" She asked with a crooked smile.

It was the first week of December, and the music playlist that echoed through the overhead speakers was a never ending lineup of the same twelve holiday songs. I was already sick of them.

"Every time I hear a 'par-rum-pa-pum-pum' I think of the clattering of an automatic rifle," I commented.

"Okayyy... now that you ruined that song for me forever," Galloway commented and led us out onto the gaming floor.

Shit duty or not, I was never resentful of working with Galloway. Not ever. I can't recall ever working a job that I hated nearly as much as I hated working security at a casino resort. But my partner was literally the best part of my day.

If this is your first time being introduced to Officer Kate Galloway, allow me to take a minute to describe this mixture of beauty and badass. Galloway got hired at the same time as me, we made friends in orientation, and stayed tight out of the gate. Supervisors often partnered us up, partly because of our bond, and partly because they trusted Galloway would keep me on the straight and narrow. I wouldn't say that I was a trouble maker, but I walked the line of things I should not be doing on the job, and seldom took it seriously. Galloway cared about her job way more, without having to kiss ass to management. And as a tomboy with a sick sense of humor, she also knew how to tussle with the insufferable college-aged asshole male wanna-be cops that dominated our security force. Everyone described her as "cool" and everyone liked her. There was a pretty obvious reason for that...

Kate Galloway was hot. Even in comparison to all the slutty, scantily clad cocktail waitresses that attracted most of the attention from the men, security definitely boasted one of the best looking women in the casino. At age 23, Galloway was tall and fit, though not what you'd classify as slender. She had some curves to her that showed beneath that baggy sky-blue polyester security uniform. She had a thicker than average ass and thighs, although if you ever saw them bare, those thighs had some firm muscle definition. A flat tummy above curvy hips, and a pair of C-cup breasts. She had a few piercings and tattoos, as well, hidden while on-duty. A rockin' body, but her face was what drew in my attention.

Maybe I'm a sucker for stronger features in women, but she definitely had them. Ice-blue eyes that would make you shiver. Sharp jaw line and nose. Full pink lips. Rosy cheeks that naturally made her squint when she talked. She had chestnut brown hair that she almost always dyed to an exaggerated raspberry/maroon color. It was wavy and while on duty, she kept it tied back in a simple ponytail. I normally prefer natural hair color, but her style for her hair worked. It made her look rebellious and wild.

I always tend to compare women to known actresses, to help paint a picture. Galloway's celebrity look-alike would be Neve Campbell, during her younger years. Maybe sprinkle on a little bit of Lauren Graham, give her a dry wit, sarcastic way of speaking, and the restrained mannerisms of a lady cop playing poker, and you have Galloway.

People often regarded her with the lusty notion of "She's probably wild in bed... like there's a chance I might get hurt." They wouldn't be wrong. I should know. We've hooked up a few times.

To be honest, I don't really know how to describe what Galloway and I are to each other. We're buddies. We've always been friends. We've always been close. We go for beers and burgers after work. We've dated other people, but we've always stayed close and made time for each other. We trust each other more than we trust others. We protect each other. That hasn't changed, even after we started sleeping together. But were we a couple? Not in the conventional sense. We've fucked other people since we started hooking up (usually at the same time), and there's never been any issues of jealousy, exclusivity, or any of that crap that comes with a normal boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. Maybe it's because we're so much alike, that we know we're never going to be closer with an outsider than we are with each other. Does that make sense?

We love each other for sure. And being partners at work is the most important aspect of our dynamic. It's a bond that nobody else can break, really-- like soldiers in combat. And as silly as it sounds, I'd be more offended if she started partnering up with another guard, than if she was actually fucking someone else. I'm positive that she felt the same way about me.

As we made our way to pit four, we fell into step with each other. I could sense Galloway looking at me.

"What?" I asked, finally.

She held back a smirk. "You look extra sour tonight. What's wrong? Did your right hand reject you last night?"

"I'm going to ignore that comment," I put my shoulder to hers and gave her a little shove. I glanced around at the festive decorations that adorned the casino and couldn't help shake my head. "Christmas and a casino... it's like oil and water."

"Stop pouting," she responded. "Speaking of which... what'd you get me?"

I didn't miss a beat. "A dildo."

"I have one of those, already," she replied.

"How about one that was a custom cast of me?" I smirked.

"Why the hell would I want that?" She put her shoulder to mine and shoved me right back.

"So you can have two of me at once."

"Variety is the spice of life, darlin'," she drawled in a mock southern accent. "Having to please two of you literally sounds like hell."

"Fuck you."

We found our way to the craps table that Vic sent us to.

When Vic assigned us to "babysitting duty" what he really meant was that we had some high-rollers on the gaming floor-- some self-obsessed insufferable asshole with a lot of money to throw around, who thought he was a big deal. They often requested that a security detail stand by to "guard" them. Who were they fooling? We weren't armed. We had no arresting authority. We were one step up from mall cops. I think secretly, these hotshots knew that. They wanted us there, not out of concern for their safety, but to show off.

Everybody look at me. I'm important enough to earn my own personal body guards.

It was always an act, and a rather cheesy one at that.

"Do you think he tips?" Galloway asked.

"I'm going to guess not." It's normally not customary for high rollers to tip security guards. But sometimes one of them would be pretty cool and toss and chip or two our way if they had a hot hand. One especially down-to-earth Cinderella story had come in with two grand, and turned it into $40,000. The guards posted to him hadn't even been at his request, but at the Casino's (to make sure he wasn't cheating). The officer assigned to him had been tipped $900 that night. Unfortunately it wasn't me.

But such things were rarities. Tonight would be a typical load of crap.

"This is such bullshit," I grumbled. "I get paid to guard everyone in this building. I don't get paid to guard some rich asshole, from a bunch of not-so-rich assholes." And it was true. I don't know who this guy thought he was fooling, but the truth was, if someone walked up and stuck a weapon in his face, and demanded his winnings, I wouldn't lift a finger to stop it. I'm not a cop. I'm not a bodyguard. My badge reads "Security", and therefore my only duty is to observe and report. Nothing more. If this guy wanted more than that, grow up and hire body guards or bribe a police department, like a real adult does!

Galloway snickered. She always enjoyed my surly sense of humor. One of the initial reasons we became friends in the first place. Apparently a man with a dark sense of humor does it for her.

Pit Four was entirely dominated by Craps tables. "Why Craps?" Galloway mused. "I've never seen anyone win big at Craps."

I could only shrug. She was right.

We found the previous shift guards standing at the corner, watching. We tapped them on the shoulder. "Your relief is here." I declared.

"It's those guys over there," the middle shift guard explained. I noticed that there were five of them. They were young, probably about the same age as us-- mid twenties. They were well dressed kids who probably had a bit too much money, judging from their clothes and boisterous attitudes. "Some sort of bachelor party," the guard told us. "They've been tossing around a lot of money, so I'm guessing they're a big deal."

"I'm not impressed," Galloway scoffed.

"Are they cool?"

The guard merely shrugged. "They're young, drunk, and full of themselves. What the hell do you think?"

"They sound obnoxious," Galloway said. Several of the men glanced over to us, particularly her. I can't say I blame them. Even in uniform, Galloway could probably distract James Bond, himself, at a card table better than any European floozy in a cocktail dress could.

The guard barked a laugh. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Their spouses are here too somewhere. Group of loud drunk women that keep stopping over. You'll hear them coming, long before you see them."

"Terrific," I muttered.

Galloway gave them a snappy salute, and the mid shift boys left for the night.

As you might come to expect, there wasn't much going on. Our task was to stand at the peripheral of this group of high rollers and look formidable. It basically kept the curious drunk or gambler from wandering too close. And if they did, we'd simply ask them to step back. That was all. An excellent use of our time, don't you think?

I leaned my hip on the end of the Craps table and folded my arms, watching them roll dice. I never really learned how to play Craps, and no matter how hard I attempted to pick it up, I just couldn't. It held little interest for me.

Galloway seemed to be of the same mindset. She stood on the other side of the group, with a stone face, chewing the inside corner of her mouth. Occasionally she'd shoot me a glance if one of the guys got a little too tipsy and teetered on his own feet.

They weren't a bad looking bunch, I suppose. And there was ample time to study them. Kyle was the name of the groom-to-be. He was a tall, sandy-haired man, with a week's worth of stubble, big arms, and a maroon silk shirt that was nearly the color of Galloway's hair. Rick was the best man-- dark hair, a serious face (probably the most responsible one in the group) since he looked to be the one in charge of keeping Kyle drunk but not sick. Steve was the party boy, as apparently by his face alone. Big mouth, stupid grin, pink neck tie (picture Ashton Kutcher in any one of his more brainless roles). Jeff was the big guy with the barrel chest, full beard, and enough of an expression to hint that he was probably the heavy drinker. And last we had Brandon, the horny pretty boy who would hit on pretty much any cocktail waitress who came and went, making sure the five of them had a constant supply of booze to keep them gambling.

Again, they weren't a bad looking bunch. They were all fit, muscular, and from the way they dressed, looked like they'd have no shortage of money to throw around. Good for the casino. Bad for us.

And they were also spending a lot more time throwing glances at Galloway. Especially once the booze settled into their systems and guided their actions. They spent less and less time ogling the cocktail waitresses, and more time leering at my partner. I can't say I blame them. They have good taste.

I noticed a few of the more brazen ones-- Steve and Brandon especially-- broke off from the herd and started chatting it up with Galloway. I couldn't hear the words that were being exchanged, by I could tell from the way they were trying to casually lean on the table as they interacted with her, that they were trying to smooth talk the hot female guard. Galloway wasn't really giving them much to work with. She was usually like that. Just curt one or two word responses. Although I did see a few instances where her cheeks flushed with color. They were definitely making passes at her.

But all in all, it wasn't anything noteworthy. We had a job to do, which was also a bit more difficult than we initially thought. It was hard to keep the guys wrangled in when they kept coming and going from the table. Someone would have to step away to use the bathroom, another would go to the bar and return with drinks. Someone would step away to make a phone call, or try to chase down some waitress.

And it only got worse when the bridal party decided to make their cameo appearance. The mid-shift guards were right. We could hear them coming before we saw them. Loud and screechy and definitely drunk. The gaggle of five women were clad in pink sashes like Miss America contestants. They wore feathery pink scarves that made me wonder which Muppet they'd skinned alive. 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.

Galloway joined me on my side of the table. "Pink nightmares," she 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!" Steve 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," Jeff and Steve 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. The events of the rest of her night, I was

not

present for-- I had my own adventure (which I'll cover in the next installment). But since me and her eventually regaled each other everything that happened, I'll try my best to recreate her own sexy and exhausting night.

***

Alone with a hottie like Galloway now, it was only a matter of time before the boys came up with less than wholesome needs. Rick stepped over to the group of men. "I have some bad news, guys," he said, putting his phone away. "The strippers had to cancel on us."

"What the fuck? Why?" They responded. Most of them were very drunk by now, and not afraid to get a little loud and rowdy.

"Hell if I know," Rick shrugged. He was indifferent. It wasn't like they had been paid yet, anyway.

"Well there goes the entertainment for the night," a dejected looking Brandon pouted.

"Aww, hang in there buddy. I hate to see a friend cry," Steve put his arm over his friend's shoulders, with mock sympathy that only douche bags with no concept of real sympathy could possess. "I'll wrangle us up some entertainment."

As several of the cocktail waitresses came by, he and Jeff alternated chasing them down. Galloway watched with a mixture of annoyance and amusement while these drunk daddy's boys made asses of themselves, getting in their way, and trying to proposition them.

"Hey baby, want to make some real tip money tonight?" "Hey cutie, want to come back to our room?" "Hey baby, what time does your shift end? Want to party?" "Hey baby, hey baby, hey baby..."