My co-blackmailers call me the sniffer. They say it with a lot of respect because I do them a lot of good turns, just as they do me some. What I am basically is a hacker, though not an especially skillful one. What makes me important is because I work in a big company with a big intranet to connect everybody’s computers up. What nobody there has ever suspected is that I’ve got some specially written packet sniffing software installed in my PC and a second ethernet card on the network set up in promiscuous mode.
Promiscuous mode! Ha, I like that — being promiscuous is what it’s all about. That and being very, very careful. The allies would have rather lost a battle in the war than let the Germans know that their Enigma codes had been broken. I work on the same principle.
The trick is the background software which looks at all the data packages and only pulls out the IP sources and destination addresses that I supply. And all that I’m interested in are certain e-mail addresses.
Like I said, I work in a big building for a big company, and there are over three hundred people using e-mail every day. Not only on the intranet, but also out into the internet as well. I’ve long since acquired all sorts of details about a certain type of e-mail user.
What sort? The female sort, particularly the ones who been married for a good while and who outwardly look to be the most respectable women around. I download as many of their e-mail messages as I can find each day. Then, before I go home, I run them all through a little search program I’ve written. All it does it seek out a few key words: ‘meeting’; ‘what time’; ‘usual place’; ‘after work’; ‘bar’; ‘husband’; ‘wife’; ‘excuse’; ‘love you’. Those are just a few of my favourite text recaptures. I also have quite a few crude words in the program as well.
Yes, you’ve surely guessed it. I’m always on the lookout for those naughty ladies having a bit of fun on the side with gentleman they are not supposed to be having an intimate relationship with.
Now you might think that in this technological age anybody with enough brains to be allowed to sit behind a computer in an office would know that e-mail and mobile phones are both about as private ways of communicating as sending up smoke signals. Well, you might think that, but in most cases you’d be totally wrong. Men and women alike seem blissfully unaware of how total insecure telecommunications are at all levels. Still, I’m not complaining, where would snoops like me be if the world wasn’t chock full of fools?
For a while, back when I was a kid, I thought a lot about becoming a priest. The attraction was the idea of being able to go into a confession box and listen to everybody telling me all their darkest and dirtiest secrets. I had to give up on that idea eventually but being an e-mail eavesdropper is probably even more fun because those gals just let it all hang out. ‘When a woman thinks, she must post’. That’s what Shakespeare wrote, or at least it’s what he’d write now if he could see what I turn up.
Generally I have at least a dozen on-going targets provoking my interest. But I’m never in any great rush. I want to know something about each of them, apart from what I routinely hack out of their personal records files. Basically, I want to know why a woman is having an extra-marital affair. Is it because she’s totally sick of her married life or is it because it she’s just become so mind numbingly bored that she has to have a little fling now and then to keep her self respect?
It’s not that I’ve got any interest at all in being a marriage guidance counsellor. What I want are the targets which are vulnerable to pressure. The women who still value their marriage, just as long as they can escape from it now and then.
I usually get an understanding pretty soon of where a girl is coming from. The more concerned she is to keep everything secret, the more she obviously thinks she has to lose. The more self excuses there are in the posts to her lover, the better. A guilty conscience is pricking her, though probably not as much as he is.
OK, so by the time I’ve sorted through the target e-mail files I can generally count on having four or five women at any one time which look pretty good. I mean they look pretty good as far as their correspondence goes.
The next thing I want to know is what they look like. I stay as much as possible in my own small office and socialise as little as possible with as few people as possible. That’s my nature, I’m just not very good at meatworld interaction. Nobody worries about it because I’m a well known computer nerd. So I have to go out and do a quick reality check on each target before I can grade them for their sexiness. But I don’t even bother to look at them unless they come to work in their own car.
Almost always they do because the company offices are out of town and driving is much the most convenient way of commuting to work. So what goes at the top of the list is a good looking lady driving her own car and having an affair she really wants to keep a secret.
What I do next is keep a close watch on her e-mail to find out when the next assignation is going to take place. That part is easy, it’s the where which isn’t. Sometimes a place will be mentioned, a bar or an hotel, but more often than not its just ‘your place’, or ‘the usual place’.
Once upon a time the only way to solve that part of the puzzle would have been to put on a trench coat and a trilby hat and trail the beauty to her den of vice. What I do nowadays is to pull her auto licence number off the company’s personal records. Then, on the morning of the day the meeting is due, I stop by the vehicle in the company car park and slip a small magnetic box under the fender. Inside is a GPS receiver and a data collection chip. The next day I collect the GPS, download it and plot the co-ordinates on the local map. It takes me about two minutes to determine exactly where the car was parked at the time of the rendezvous. Then I put a fresh roll of film in my camera and wait for the next time the happy couple arrange a date
When I first started thinking about all this I had some pretty wild ideas of stalking each target and photographing them kissing their boyfriends wildly on the doorstep. Real private eye work, hey, and maybe putting bugging devices on the apartment windows and all that stuff. But why bother? You go to the area, find the auto and then take a photograph of it, a long shot with some other cars in the scene.Then you go away for half an hour, come back and find some of the other cars have left and other ones have arrived. So you take another shot, and maybe another one when the target’s getting in her car and leaving.
If it’s parked out in the street, some sunshine is handy, so the shadows show the passage of time. Maybe it starts out sunny and then starts raining. Again, the shots prove where her car has been parked, and that it was parked there for some time. And I’ll usually go through the same procedure two or three times with each target before I’ve got the dossier I want. The place, how often she’s been there, the time she spent there on each visit, and the photos of the car in identifiable surroundings and obviously parked up there a lot of times.
To round things off though it’s nice to know exactly who it is she’s seeing. Which is where my little gang of buddies come in. Sooner or later I’ll have one of them waiting in the area when she’s organised a meeting. Almost before she’s parked up he’ll be on her case and ready to follow her to where she’s going. It wouldn’t do for me to try that, naturally. I might be spotted and recognised from work.
Once I’ve got the dossier together, I send it to the lady in question, with the photos and the address she’s been visiting so much and for so long, and a suggestion that we have a talk about things.
Of course I pass all this on by snail mail. The last thing I want to do is to have any of these women realise that they were betrayed by their own e-mail. All they’re told in the letter is that they were seen leaving their car in an areas where they don’t live and the person who spotted them was curious enough to find out what was happening. As a committed Christian he’s wondering whether he should pass on this information to her husband. Having looked through the dossier, maybe she’d like to meet him and discuss what should happen next.
So what does happen next? Here’s a woman who knows she’s in deep shit, who knows her secret is already known to somebody who knows her, and she doesn’t have much choice but to go to the meeting she’s been told to. I usually arrange it at a McDonalds, which is a tad reassuring for her. After all, nothing dramatic could ever happen at a McDonalds.
When she gets there she’s met by my friend Chris. Chris is a smoothtalking, hard looking guy with a shaven head who comes on with all the self confidence of a born gangster.
So Chris greets the target, sits down beside her, starts talking whilst she’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. Sure, he says, he knows about what she’s been doing because he was told by somebody who works at her company. The same guy who just happened to spot her sliding off for a little taste of fun on the side and wrote her to come in today. Whoever it was told Chris as a favor to him and now Chris wants to do a deal with her.
Of course this throws the target. She thought she was going to meet somebody she knew, not a total stranger. She certainly didn’t expect anybody like Chris. So what sort of a deal is he talking about and what’s in it for him?
What sort of deal? Chris laughs and just then another of his friends joins him at the table, another husky guy, introduced as Ed. Well, says Chris, this has happened before. The deep throat at her workplace has already put the finger on another lady that was having a fling on the side. And since she was was sinning already everybody figured a little extra sin wouldn’t make much difference. Even she decided that way eventually. Does the name Maria Vincetti sound familiar?
OK, that’s the general way it works. Let me tell you about an actual example that happened a couple of weeks ago.
I’m in the McDonalds as well but way back, almost out of sight, and the woman who’s just walked in looking very nervous is called Sue Salterly. Now this Sue is a target I’ve been tracking for a long time, a thirty something year old blue eyed blonde with legs guaranted to get a second look from every guy who sees them.
At work she looks as innocent as a Sunday school teacher, let alone the respectable married woman that she’s supposed to be. Yet I know she’s having a steaming hot affair with a guy over on the other side of town, chasing over to his pad at least twice a week to top up her tank with some high octane gas after years of getting by on regular unleaded. And I didn’t say that, she said it herself in her own e-mail to her boyfriend.
But now she’s worried, really worried, because it looks as if the nice tidy pattern of her life is going to become really unravelled. Shame and scandal and a big glass window looming over her career path – a glass window smeared with dirt. She’s staring at Chris and Ed, and she hasn’t got the slightest interest in the glasses wearing geek taking an occasional peek over a computer magazine at the other end of the restaurant. Hell, I could lay my anorak over a puddle for her to step on and she wouldn’t remember me from work.
Still, we’ve got to the interesting bit now. Does she know Mrs Vincetti? I know that’s the point in the spiel Chris has reached and I can see that Sue is nodding … Sure, she knows Senior Office Manager Vincetti. Everybody at the company is afraid of the bossy bitch. Chris grins and lays down a big glossy pix as if he was Wild Bill playing an ace in Dodge City.
I see Sue’s face suddenly tighten in surprise as she looks at it. Ms Vincetti, on her hands and knees in a darkened room with a flashlight shining on her from a few feet away. Ms Vincetti, as ever is, wearing nothing but a silk scarf tied around her wrists, with her large tits getting a double handed mauling from either side. Apart from the udder pullers another athletic male body also looms against her from out of the shadows, thrusting forward as he takes her from behind. The manager’s hair is a mess, her mouth is hanging open and despite her executive position she looks as if she’s getting quite a thrill out of her present position.
Which, incidentally, is quite true. When she got the treatment she went into convulsions at the first touch. By the time her saddle had been filled and emptied four or five times she was virtually off the planet. But that was then, this is now. Ms Salterly has taken a few seconds checking out the scene on the print and a few more looking up at the guys and already she knows exactly what’s in the deal for Chris and Ed — she is. She can also see at a glance that they’re serious, they’ve pulled this blackmail stunt before and they’ve obviously been successful with it. Astonishingly successful, to get a strong willed bitch like Maria Vincetti to go along with them.
So while Sue is still staring at them with bulging eyes Chris is quietly and conscisely explaining exactly where things stand. If Sue wants her husband left in happy ignorance then she’s going to have to put out like Laura Vincetti has done — but nobody is telling any stories in the offices about Ms Vincetti, are they? And the reason for that is because Chris and Ed are very, very discreet. Maria turned up when she was told told to and did as she was told to, so Mr Vincetti never got to hear about her original indiscretion and nobody at the company knows anything about this little bit of fun. Chris taps the photograph again to make his point.
In the seven times we’ve played this scenario out we’ve had one outright refusal, just one woman who threw the picture down and walked, defying us to do our worse. I promptly sent her a letter asssuring her she was quite safe and that nobody was going to tell on her secret. The last thing I wanted was to have her feel she needed any help from anybody. A month later the same woman saw Chris in the street by pure accident and she virtually begged him to start blackmailing her again. Once she stopped being nervous she was as willing a screw as any of the sluts we’ve ever slung up by their heels.
Just now though Ms Salterly is still playing at being embarrassed, blushing and trying to give the photo back to Chris. But then yet another young guy comes along and joins the group, another hunk. Chris introduces him as Don. Just as sure as if I was at their table I know that Don is asking her if she likes the snapshot of Maria. I see Sue twitch like a hooked fish. She hasn’t been involved in this scene for five minutes and already there are three guys sitting around her who all know what’s going down and seem ready to share out the action. Her rather pretty face is looking totally stunned and her bright blue eyes are now trying to avoid all those male eyes staring at her jaunty little tits. Ms Salterly looks to me like a young lady who has suddenly realised that three into one will go and that she’s going to be the one. Or maybe she’s just wondering to herself if the gang’s all here yet.
I see Chris lean forward and put another pix in front of her. Another of the girls from the office — it doesn’t matter which one, they’re all on the same theme, some intimate hetrosexual activities by a multi-partnered lady. Sue seems absolutely knocked out now — not so much by what’s going on in the picture as by the revelation that behind the respectable facade of the company she works for there seems to be all kinds of secret vice going on. God, but I enjoy all this. Eventually I’m going to have to organise some kind of a meeting place where I can vidotape the target’s faces as they get the good word from Chris and the gang.
Chris waits until the first shock has subsided and then points out to Sue that this girl also had the same problem that Ms Vincetti had and solved it the same way. Would Sue prefer to go down the same path herself, or would she rather her husband saw the dossier and the photos?
Maybe this is the best bit of all, seeing the shaken expression on Ms Salterly’s previously snooty features as she tries to figure out what to do. She’s had her guilty little secret found out by somebody, she still doesn’t know who. Now she’s sitting here in a hamburger joint being shown photographs of supposedly respectable female co-workers whoring like harem girls getting their yearly sheikup. It’s also being made clear to Ms Salterly that the guys responsible for taking these photos now have another little project in mind. They’ve picked out another lady to be hog tied and fulsomely worked up and over by one and all. And guess who’s just gotten her draft notice?
She sits and stares at Chris now, her mouth agape as he explains the rules. About how she has to go where and when she’s told, in her sexiest gear, on the clear understanding that when she gets there all the guys can do whatever they like with her. She gasps and almost spills her coke. I can feel the adrenalin pumping into my blood as I wonder if the little blonde will finally give in and agree to become another of Chris’s gang-bang groupies?
It’s soon clear that she’s not getting up and walking. One of the guys gets another round of cokes and Ms Salterly is still sitting with the guys when he comes back, sometimes looking out of the window, but more often blushing and staring around the nearby tables to make sure nobody else is hearing what’s being said to her. I’ll hear it soon enough though because Chris is wearing a wire and he just loves teasing each of the girls at this stage of the game. Usually by showing off two or three pictures of ladies with their mouths full and asking if she thinks she’s got as good a technique as any of them?
Ah, ah! Now Sue’s stopped looking so embarrassed. She’s not staring out of the window now, not pretending to show some grace under pressure but looking at the pictures with real interest and almost on the verge of giggles as she shows a lot of interest in what some of the good old girls can do when they try. Especially Senior Manager Vincetti.
I’m sure the guys are telling Sue about old vacuum mouth Vincetti and how she could probably swallow a python while it was still wriggling if she was turned on enough. And they’ve got the snapshots to prove it. Ms Salterly stares at the pictures now without any false embarrassment and doesn’t even realise she’s moving around so much on her seat. Then Chris really gets her attention as he gives her a piece of paper with the address of the apartment she has to go to and the time she has to be there.
Sue picks up the note and then walks out without taking a second glance back at Chris and the other studs. Me, I’m looking at those really sexy legs underneath that tight skirt as I swirl around the last few pieces of almost melted ice in the bottom of my coke container. I’m happy because I know that the next time I see Sue Salterly’s legs they’ll be stretched wide open and the set of nerve endings between them is all that she’ll be caring about by then. I’m happy because I’ve broken her code. Hers and quite a few others. All that has to happen now is for the guys to put her through her paces and bring me back the shots.
Chris barely pauses by my table on the way out: “This time again next week. Should have some nice video for you to admire, Jennifer.”
The guys just grin at me and move on. They still can’t get used to the idea of it being a girl who organises these treats for them, especially when I refuse to take part. Still, I don’t care what they think and I feel like a goddess when I look at some of the sluts in my company and wonder what they’d say if they knew of the footage I have of them performing on the wild side. And I’m especially looking forward to seeing the tape of Sue Salterly’s initiation. Ed always does a hell of a job with the camera and there are extra mikes around the room to pick up every sound
When I get the tapes I’ll pick out the best vidcaps and transcribe the audio track for everything that was said. It’s like lingering over every morsel of a long, delicious meal …
Chris: “OK, Sue, just sit on the table and hold the rope, then look at us.”
Ed: “Looking good.”
Chris: “That’s great, Sue. Gee, you sure are a sexy looking girl. Isn’t that right, guys?”
Ed: “You bet.”
Don: “She looks beautiful — like a model.”
Chris: “Yeah — have you ever done any modelling work, Sue?”
Chris: “You’d be great. You’ve got a lovely face and a figure that has me panting.”
Don: “Me too.”
Ed: “Can we unwrap the package a little here, Chris?”
Don: “Yeah, let’s give the camera a treat, hey, Sue?
Chris: “That’d be cool. Sue, could you maybe bare one shoulder and lift you skirt up higher. With your legs on the table top, please.”
Chris: “Mmmmm, yes, that’s great. Keep hold of the rope, and that’s fine, hey, Ed?”
Ed: “Hey, Chris, I guess I can see how come she’s got a husband and a boyfriend both happy to look after her. Lucky guys, I guess.”
Don: “Yeah, but it’s our turn to get lucky today. That’s right, hey, Sue?”
Chris: “Cat got your tongue, Sue?”
Sue: “No — no. I’m very spooked by all this.”
Chris: “By all what, Sue?”