*** Disclaimer ***
The following story may contain themes of hypnosis, mind control, non-consent, paranormal, cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, incest, gang bangs, and other forms of debauchery. This may not be the story for you.
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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Debauchery Falls chapter 02
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PRESENT
Their day began with the same routine.
First was a two mile run at a nearby community center with an outdoor track and field. They drew looks from the newer attendees-- the weekend warriors who would pick up a gym membership for a month or two, then fall off the wagon only to never return.
The regulars-- college kids and retirees mostly-- assumed they were a group of ROTC cadets or volunteer firefighters in training. They always came in a group.
The dozen men and women wore matching black gym shorts and matching navy blue t-shirts with an insignia on the breast. Leading the run each day was a very vocal and very fit woman with ice blue eyes. Her hair was dyed to a fiery raspberry-maroon color. She was also very pretty, so most on-lookers didn't seem to mind the way she barked at the men in her group to keep them motivated.
She could sometimes be heard leading the team in cadence, like a drill instructor taking recruits for a run. "If I die in the combat zone... box me up and ship me home... tell my mom I did my best... bury me in the leanin' rest..."
After the morning run, the group would enter the gym and split off. Their only instructions were to focus on strengthening whatever they needed to strengthen. For that reason, many of the leaner guys went to the free weights to bulk up, while the bigger beefier men hit the cardio machines to slim down.
The very pretty leader always drew glances from the college boys working out inside... and even from some of the senior citizens on the stationary bikes. She had full lips, a jaw line that pulled her mouth into an easy grin, and cheeks that always kept her eyes focused and just ever-so-slightly squinted. Some of her men often referred to her as Neve-- insisting that she resembled a young Neve Campbell... if Neve Campbell ever had a wild enough streak to dye her hair an exaggerated purplish-red, and tattoo her entire arm from shoulder to wrist. Between her looks, her rebelliousness, and her confidence, she turned heads wherever she went.
Nobody bothered her at the gym though. Not only did she look like she could kick anyone's ass who approached, but she always had a couple of men who kept close during the workouts, causing strangers to speculate if it was for her protection, or their own secret crushes on their team leader.
After the gym, the team would part, shower, dress, and meet back up at an abandoned property. The county SWAT and emergency response teams would often use it to train entry tactics for storming buildings. She and her team were neither SWAT nor emergency response. They worked for a private firm.
The houses were laid out in a cul-de-sac and had once been beautiful suburban homes. Now they were overgrown, the street cracked and sprouting grasses and weeds, and several of the dwellings had bullet holes and scorch marks from training.
The team wore fatigues, vests, ball-caps, and guns. They called it "Multicam Black" and it was the color of their uniform. A camouflage pattern that was mostly dominated by black, intermingled with shades of dark gray, dark blue, and dark olive. Her boys loved it. Her Captain hated it. Her boss was indifferent. She, herself, was selective.
She wore the cap and the vest, but that's where she drew the line. She would never wear a full uniform again, and didn't care who knew it. Beneath the Kevlar plates and ammo pouches, she only wore a black tank top that snugged her C-cup breasts tightly, and torn blue jeans that hugged the curve of her ass and her strong thighs. Screw the rest.
She split the men into teams and sent them into the abandoned houses. Each scenario was different, each house staged in unique ways.
The first team tossed the flashbang grenade into the front door, waited for the harsh pop, then followed. They slid inside soundless and effortless.
She was the only one speaking, standing in watch. "Go, go, go! Don't forget to check your corners! Odds left and evens right! Brubaker, you got arthritis in your knees or do you just have to take a shit? Speed it up, tiger! Foster, you're not fooling anyone with that chew tucked in your lip. Spit it out or swallow it down! Remember your zones! The clock is ticking! Show me what you got, studs! Make me swoon like a school girl!" Her voice would carry across the empty neighborhood.
One by one, they cleared the homes, they followed their orders, fired their shots and returned to her in the street. Then she would make them do it again, only she would be in front leading.
The men looked up to her. They respected her. And they all loved her. Her name was Kate Galloway.
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She didn't know any other way to lead than through example. She would give the men a task, then she would do it with them. They would storm a house in full combat gear, and she'd be right there beside them in her torn jeans and her ponytail bobbing out from the back of her cap. When new hires needed to get certified with chemical mace, Galloway would be right there beside them, taking the same blast of burning pain to the eyes and nose.
When the batons were issued to the squad, Galloway had donned pads along with the guys, and had gone through the bone jarring training with every single one, beating the hell out of them, and taking whatever they could dish out.
That's not to mention the fiasco of when the tasers arrived....She still had nightmares about that day.
