*** 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?"
