Debauchery Falls

*** 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.

***

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.

Galloway had not been a soldier prior to this job. Hell, she'd only been a part-time bartender when she had been 'discovered'. But there was a level of coolness about her. She kept a calm head on her shoulders and never lost it. Before taking the job, her resume contained nothing even remotely militaristic, which is why she technically didn't run the tactical division of her private firm. That fell to Captain Graver. But the Captain was easy-going and placed a lot of trust in Galloway. He also had to deal with the clients directly-- people who wanted body guards for CEOs and visiting celebrities, armed guards for major concerts and events, and even shelling out a certain number of men to protect high profile targets like power plants and military owned airports.

The Captain didn't get to put in a lot of face time with his actual men. Therefore, Galloway became their caretaker, their instructor, their teacher, mother, and boss. She was their Lieutenant.

Galloway was a firm believer in reacting. "It doesn't matter if you do the right thing or the wrong thing in a crisis. Just do some thing. Fight or flight. Never freeze. Make a decision and commit yourself one hundred percent to it." It was what she tried to ingrain in her men every day, especially the new hires-- the green trainees who may not have even held a weapon in their entire lives. "Know your place in the squad, know your job, and know what is expected of you. When you don't know what's expected of you, when you don't know where to go or what to do while bullets are flying, that's what gets people killed."

For Galloway, that lesson had been taught to her with a heavy price tag. The closest she had ever been to law enforcement in the past was as an underpaid and under qualified casino security guard. She hadn't been taught what to do in a crisis. She and most of her coworkers had just been kids fresh out of college at the time-- with minimal training. So when a real crisis did happen-- like a couple of sociopaths committing robbery who impulsively decided to start shooting everyone in sight, Galloway and her friends had been caught in the middle of it. They had been terrified and unsure what to do. Galloway's shoulder tattoo (a rose winding its way down to her arm) was there to help her remember that lesson, the 5.56mm bullet that had passed through her shoulder. A very expensive lesson, but one that she wouldn't allow herself to forget, nor would she let her men forget either. She hated to do it-- constantly reopen the old wounds of the past every single day-- but if it kept her squad safe and sharp, it was worth the pain.

"Jessup!" she snapped at one of the younger men. One of the firm's more recent hires. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the steady patter of the rain. It had been pouring now for days, but it may as well have been months. They were all starting to have a hard time remembering the sunshine.

The young rookie straightened as the troops filed out of the house, having completed their training mission, hot and sweaty, and gasping for air as they tore off their masks and helmets and let the rain cool them. "Yes ma'am!"

"Are you going to break my heart again today?" she strode over to him.

"No 'ma'am!"

She held her hand out and he offered her his rifle. As she did a quick inspection, a car rolled into the street behind them. A few of the troops cocked their heads. Usually when someone drove up on a training mission, the intruders were so startled by the squad's menacing appearance that they turned around and fled as quickly as possible.

This car didn't pull away. It idled, its windshield wipers sloshing back and forth.

Galloway checked the action of Jessup's rifle, found it empty of brass, and noted that Jessup had cleared it and put it on safe appropriately. A few days ago, he had completed a mission and had left a round chambered. Galloway didn't have many pet peeves when it came to guns but that was one of them. You never set down a loaded gun. It stays in your hand until it's unloaded. She had chewed him a new one, and concluded by explaining that's how accidents happened.

Today he had followed instructions to her satisfaction. "Good boy," she told him and handed the rifle back to him, offering him a pat on the shoulder and an 'I'm proud of you' smile.

He trotted off to rejoin his buddies, his boots splashing through the mud and the puddles.

"He's going to think about that compliment tonight when he touches himself," Quinn's voice behind her.

She didn't need to turn around to know that her Sergeant was probably wearing his usual shit-eating-grin on that big jaw of his. "I'm sure you will too," she responded.

"You might be right," Quinn replied. Scott Quinn tugged off his helmet and looped it onto his belt. He ran a gloved hand through his crew cut. Beads of water fell from the tip of his nose.

While technically nobody had official ranks in the firm, Galloway was treated as the Lieutenant (and often referred to as such), and Quinn was sort of a functioning Sergeant. He was 'one of the guys' just like any of the men in the squad, but Galloway trusted him the most and he often supervised the new guys, working as the go-between with them and Galloway.

Not to mention that she and Quinn were close. They'd been close for years, going all the way back to those ill-fated casino days. He had suffered through that nightmare beside her. Their proximity toward one another often left many of the men speculating if there might be something going on between the two.

"Visitor?" he nudged Galloway and pointed to the car idling in the lot.

Galloway groaned. "Guess we had better go see what they want." Quinn walked beside her. He had a slow ambling strut about him, the way men at the gym do when they think their arms are bigger than they really are. While Quinn was a big guy with a barrel chest and meaty arms, his walk was especially pronounced. It wasn't a prideful quirk of his personality like most people assumed. He had suffered a back injury in his mid twenties that had ended his stint as a State Trooper. Several surgeries later, some of his vertebrae were fused, leaving him with a puffed out posture and a funny way of walking. But he was damn lucky to be walking at all. And he was grateful that he'd been hired for this job-- scooped up when the police didn't want him anymore.

Halfway across the street, the driver stepped from her car. It was a woman. A swoop of dark hair fell across one eye as her tattered sneakers hit the wet pavement with a splash.

"Looks like the boss-lady wants a word with you," Quinn grinned. "Ooh, maybe she wants to spank you."

Lead Investigator Halley Hargrove. She owned the firm, and she was also the one who'd hired Galloway directly. Appearances like this were rare. When it came to tactical operations, she was rather hands-off. Halley ran the investigations branch of the business and she preferred to keep a low profile. Why show her face if she didn't have to? Part of that mentality came from the fact that Halley was young, cute, in an all-American girl sort of way, and preferred to wear scuffed sneakers and faded blue jeans in lieu of pencil skirts and high heels. It might also have something to do with Halley's extremely dry wit, and sharp tongue that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion.

"Hey Hellfire," Quinn beamed. "What brings you out here? Want to see me run the gauntlet again? I can do it in my skivvies if you'd like?"

Halley looked him up and down, her face unreadable. They flicked to Galloway, then back to Quinn. "I'm debating if it'd be more cost effective to hire an entire HR department for one asshole, or if I should just offer Galloway a bonus to beat the shit out of you."

Galloway shrugged. "I'd happily do it for free," she smiled proudly.

Quinn laughed but left it alone. She was, after all, his boss. When Scott Quinn had first met Halley, they did not like each other. Quinn thought that Halley was extremely robotic and downright scary at times. At the same time, Halley thought that Quinn was a cocky cynic who had never outgrown high school. It had taken some time, and some mutual friends (like Galloway) to wear them down. Quinn's lack of filter was actually one of his better qualities-- he was sincere and genuine. He spoke his mind. And Halley's mannerisms were cold at first, until Quinn learned to read the subtleties of a twitch at the corner of her mouth or a lively little sparkle in her eye.

Halley warmed up to people once she got to know them, and as far as bosses went, she wasn't hard to please. The big stick that she wielded was her tongue. Halley was as much one of the guys as Kate Galloway could be. And she believed that a snarky response that publicly made a dick out of someone was better at keeping the bad apples humbled than endless sensitivity training videos and HR meetings.

"So what brings you out here?" Galloway asked.

"Wet t-shirt contest?" Quinn grinned, looking from woman to woman. Neither was amused. "I'm going to apologize for that one. I don't feel good about it," he said almost immediately.

"Well as much as I wanted to see Quinn toddle around like he's good at his job, this is different," Halley said, taking a folder from her car.

"Toddle around?" Quinn's brow furrowed. Halley glanced back over her shoulder and shrugged innocently. Her hair fell playfully over one eye again-- the way that she usually wore it. But there was a little ghost of amusement to her expression. Quinn and Galloway had discussed Halley once between the two of them... behind closed doors. They both agreed that in those little moments where their boss dropped her stoic demeanor and let a few emotions bubble out, she surpassed pretty. She was downright sexy.

Of course Quinn seized on it. "You know, with your hair and your wit, you look like Jessica Rabbit's snarky but more approachable sister."

Halley didn't miss a beat. "You know, with that goatee of yours, you look like a pedophile."

Quinn had recently cultivated a goatee and mustache to help hide his big grin. He did it to look older and more rugged. Now he ran his hand over it self-consciously.

Galloway had to purse her lips together to hold back the smile.

"Fine, I'll shave it," Quinn replied, defeat heavy in his voice.

Halley folded her arms and when the banter wore off, Galloway detected something more to Halley's visit.

"Quinn, go give the guys their after-action reviews. Let them know what you thought of their performance," Galloway said. It was more of a pretext to get rid of Quinn. He understood. He moved off without saying much else.

When he was gone, Galloway said, "Walk with me." The two women strode side by side along the abandoned street. Their footfalls rolled off the facades of the once beautiful homes. The equipment on Galloway's vest jingled softly. The rain pattered on the brim of Galloway's cap. Normally she would have found the rain intimate and cozy. But lately it was felt endless and annoying.

Neither of them spoke for several long seconds.

Finally Galloway asked, "Alright. What's on your mind, Hellfire? Are you finally going to take me and Quinn up on our offer for drinks after work?" She cracked a grin. "Although, I gotta warn you, the two of us can get pretty handsy after a few."

"As much as I'd enjoy interloping in whatever weird thing you've got going on with your sergeant, I'm going to have to pass," Halley said. "I've actually got a mission for us, if you feel like taking your men on a little vacation?"

"Me and the boys are game. What's the deal?"

"I've a missing persons case up in Glendale County. You, me, and the Captain will be leading a team."

"No shit? The Captain is coming out of the cave for this one? Must be serious." Captain Graver seldom ran missions from the field. That was Galloway's job. If he was coming along, this must be a big deal.

Halley glanced around, making sure most of the recruits were out of earshot. "Chances are it's nothing." She glanced at the sky. "There's a one horse town called Jasper Falls-- if you could even call it a town. Rural, isolated, surrounded by forest and mountains. Less than fifty people. Right now they're in total blackout."

"That's no surprise with all this fuckin' rain," Galloway looked to the sky. Indeed, this half of the state had been inundated since last Thursday. Heavy floods, power outages, bridges washed out, and people needing to be rescued from stalled cars were almost a daily occurrence. The rural forest regions were probably a total shit show. "If they lost power, it'll be weeks before anyone hears from them. I wouldn't be worried. I thought all those rednecks up there had generators? Bunkers and food caches for an off-the-grid lifestyle. All that shit."

Halley shrugged. "Regardless, I've got massive contracts for wellness checks of Jasper Falls."

"So why can't the real police deal with it? What do they need us for?"

"The Staties have their hands full with disaster relief. They don't have time to look in on a town that was founded on the notion of being left alone. Jasper Falls has a self-appointed Sheriff and a handful of deputies, but like the rest of the town, they're radio silent too."

"So a wet and wild camping trip? Sounds like a blast," Galloway admitted.

"Pick out eight men that you think won't whine about a little rain, and break out your wet weather gear," Halley said.

"Aye aye," Galloway gave a little salute, resisting the urge to make a quip about already being wet. She'd save that one for Quinn. "I already have some names in mind," she assured Halley. "Nothing to worry about."

Halley headed back toward her car, fighting a chill that she assured herself could only be from the rain. "I'm not worried!" she called back over her shoulder.

***

Special Investigator Halley Hargrove was worried. She didn't let on when she spoke with Galloway, but there was no hiding anything from Galloway. She was sharp. Insufferable, yes, but sharp as a razor.