My Invisible Stalker

The point is I had followed Ellie's recipe and now, walking to work, there were no eyes on my back! There was even a little spring in my step. I felt great. I continued to feel great throughout the livelong day, even letting my boss and selected coworkers flirt with me for the first time. Everyone saw the difference, and it picked up everyone's mood on a dismal Monday morning. Who would have thought?

I thought about that nasty bitch Veronica Masters, over in Singapore where you could go to jail for spitting on the sidewalk (or so I've heard), trying to have a little adultery with some Chinese or Malaysian or Indian or even Caucasian guy, all while working on some business deals. She'd have to walk a thin line. Meanwhile, I had already laid her cheating husband. I giggled to myself.

**

Three weeks had passed since my liaison with Andrew. For the first time ever, my boss invited me out to lunch. We went to a nice Japanese restaurant close to the office. I was wearing an ass-hugging skirt, slightly on the short side. It was totally correct, and even an inch or two shorter would still have been correct. I wasn't pushing any boundaries. Even so, it rose up when I sat, exposing six or so inches of my thigh. I'm proud of my thin but shapely thighs, so I didn't care and just let it rise up my leg. I was focusing on the menu anyway. I was letting myself be tempted by the smoked mackerel.

We ordered, and I felt a hand on my right thigh. Without thinking I automatically moved my leg. The hand left my thigh but its former presence stayed in my brain. When the hand returned to my thigh 10 or 15 minutes later I was prepared for it. My leg remained immobile, as did the hand.

There I was, sitting high on a stool at the counter, in between my boss and coworker Arnold. My boss had his hand on my right thigh as I was finishing my mackerel, and with one bite left, a second hand grabbed my left thigh. That would be Arnold's hand. This was a bizarre and certainly not a propitious situation.

"Shouldn't we return to work? Lunch break is over," I said, looking forward to standing up and to reclaiming my thighs.

"I thought we'd adjourn to the bar at the Hyatt a block or two away. It has high ceilings and lovely architecture -- and a chocolate mousse to die for," my boss said. "All three of us," he added.

I looked at my boss. Just what was he proposing? This was coming out of the blue!

"The Hyatt is a hotel," I said. I always was a keen one with the observations.

"Yes, it is of course. The bar is great too," he said.

"What about work?" I said, desperately. "We should get back."

"I admire your dedication. No worries, Sally. I've arranged the afternoon off for the three of us," my boss said.

"How nice of you," I replied, my rising panic beginning to manifest as indigestion, as bile rose into my throat.

**

I never thought, never ever, I'd have had a threesome with my very own boss and Arnold, of all people, in the middle of the afternoon, inside a room at the Hyatt Hotel at Union Square. I had not even an inkling such things were being planned or -- if you prefer --- schemed! I had always been left alone at work, greeted with grunts by coworkers if I were greeted at all. Now, I was considered the kind of woman who would jump into bed in a threesome after being bribed by some Japanese mackerel and a few glasses of wine.

Obviously, I said no. I said it politely, but even the need to say it had done the damage. My future at the company was doomed. I could not continue to work there if this was the way I was seen and treated. It made me sad.

"What if I were to make it worth your while?" my boss said.

At this point, the appropriate reply is either to throw water or wine in his face or just to walk away. Saying "I'm not a whore" is a weak response. Instead, out of self-destructive curiosity mixed with extreme stupidity, I asked, "In what way?" By saying that I indicated I might be willing and thus revealed to him that yes, I could be bought. Outrage had morphed into negotiations, a topic at which my boss excelled.

Yes, I did it. To my surprise, I had a threesome and ended up being -- at times -- an enthusiastic participant. Of course, I quit my job the next day and was able to shame my boss into a generous severance package, even more than he had proposed when we were negotiating the afternoon before. I realized why Arnold was included in the threesome when I saw his cock and experienced what he could do with it. He must have fucked me four times that afternoon, while my boss managed twice. I had two real orgasms and had to fake only four more. To be honest and frank, I had a great time. I had the sexual time of my life. There's something about letting your boss fuck you that -- for me at least -- is both unsettling, and erotic in the extreme.

After the tryst at the Hyatt, I came home in a strange state, trying to process but more to understand what had just happened, and why did all of a sudden my boss think I would be up for something as outlandish as an afternoon threesome delight. Even more surprising, to me at least, was that my boss was right!

I found out much later that Arnold had gone to Yale with Andrew. They had talked, and Andrew had recounted how he had picked up this "Smithie slut" at a mixer at the Yale Club, taken her to her home, and fucked her brains out all weekend. Imagine Arnold's surprise when he learned that Andrew's weekend slut was in fact his coworker: the innocent, pretty, shapely, intensely sexy, diminutive Sally Prairie. I certainly was indeed fucked brainless at the end of my weekend of shame and now I was being passed around.

**

I went on the job market three weeks later. There were help-wanted signs everywhere in New York, but alas the positions were not for college graduates trained in accounting.

Nevertheless, it seemed the help-wanted ethos extended to almost everything, and I quickly got invited for an interview at a big company in Midtown. My interview went well. My former boss had raved about me -- not so much for my bedroom talents, which were certainly improving, but for my skill with Excel and my skills in general on the job. His prose about how much he regretted losing me was described to me as lyrical. He laid it on thick, I was told. Good for him.

I had a nice bump in my salary at my new job, and the working stiffs at the company often smiled -- even on Mondays -- so I was happy and all was well. Until it happened, that is. A week into my job I felt the presence of my invisible stalker, the one who had materialized into the incarnation of John James, or JJ. He was there; he was at the company I now worked for. I didn't see him -- he had become invisible again -- but I felt his presence. I felt his eyes on my back.

It's a big company. It occupies five floors of a twenty-story building. So perhaps it's not surprising that I had no idea JJ worked there, since he worked on the 18th floor and I worked on the 15th floor. Indeed, before my invisible stalker reappeared, lo and behold, I saw Veronica Masters -- the bitch herself -- freshly returned from Singapore, where she had drunk her body weight (all 98 pounds of it) in Singapore Slings. I had ascended to the 17th floor to use the ladies', and there she was. I wondered if she knew I spent an entire weekend fucking her husband to smithereens. Hee, hee.

Having those burning eyes on my back was beginning to drive me crazy. After checking the company directory I went up to the 18th floor and confronted JJ. I told him to stop stalking me, that it was illegal in New York, and even a Class D felony. I could see he was silently laughing.

"What do you want from me? How can I get you to stop stalking me?" I asked.

"I'm not stalking you," he replied.

"What do you want?" I repeated.

We kept at it for a while, me telling him to stop, and he asking me to stop what, since he wasn't doing anything. Finally, he told me what it was that he wanted.

"I want the Andrew treatment," he said.

"What is the Andrew treatment?" I asked.

"Oh, come on, Sally. Everyone knows you spent a weekend with Andrew and still smelled of sex when you came to work that Monday morning. Andrew says you're the best he's ever had."

"Even better than Veronica, his wife?" I asked. It just slipped out. I was implicitly admitting I had spent a weekend fucking Andrew's brains out. Shit.

"Oh, trust me, that's not hard to do," JJ said. The implication was all too obvious.

"You've fucked Veronica Masters?" I asked, somewhat incredulous. I hate the implied. I want to know explicitly. To have it all spelled out.

"Don't be impressed, my dear. She's a bigger slut than you are. She's fucked half a dozen guys at this company, me included," JJ said. "She married Andrew only because she got pregnant, and he's a soft touch. She had a miscarriage and lost the baby, however, so now she's stuck with Andrew, and he's stuck with her: at least until the inevitable divorce.

"Wow," I replied, shocked almost speechless.

"I heard about your threesome at your last job, too. I read what you wrote to your sister," JJ said.

"You've hacked into my emails?" I blurted out, now truly scared of JJ.

"I want a weekend like Andrew got. How about we begin this Thursday?" JJ asked.

"Absolutely not. No way. Thursday's not the weekend," I said.

"Sure, it is. Ask for Friday off, and Thursday after work I'll take you out to my place in the Hamptons. You'll love it out there. You can sunbathe topless in my backyard if you want."

"Sunbathing topless in your backyard is not one of my life's goals, JJ," I said.

"Just come with me to the Hamptons. It will be a nice getaway from the city. No Baldwin locks there. It took me quite some time to get into your apartment with your new locks. Did you notice I replaced your bottle of Néroli perfume with a new one?" I thought Franny had done that since she was using it as much or more than I was, and the bottle was well near empty.

"I'm not willing to pay the price you want for me to accompany you to the Hamptons," I said.

"Sally, Sally, Sally. There's no quid pro quo here. This is a genuine offer with no strings," he said.

"There're always strings. In this case, the big string is sex. You said you wanted a weekend like Andrew had. We both know what's going on here. Thank you, but no thanks," I said.

The power of suggestion can be deadly. After my chat with JJ I wanted to go to the Hamptons to lie on the beach all day and maybe eat dinner at one of the great restaurants out there. I couldn't get the idea out of my mind, and JJ had a house -- a free-standing house -- right in Southampton! I was spending my spare time fantasizing about a weekend in the Hamptons, damn it all.

I decided to go on my own, but it was high season and one needs to plan in advance. Everything was full. No room at the inn, at any inn! I finally snagged a room in someone's place out in East Hampton via Airbnb. It had a poor rating, but it was available. The next struggle was finding a rental car for the weekend. That can't be done spur of the moment in New York in the high season. It just can't. I verified it couldn't be done. Gold status with Hertz doesn't guarantee you a car if they're all rented already.

I finally rented a limousine to take me out there. It's 113 miles via the Southern State Pkwy and NY-27 E. Long Island is truly a long island! No kidding, the limousine companies will actually agree to take you there -- for a hefty fee.

I put my weekend bag in the total dump I had rented in East Hampton. I met the landlord, who came complete with a leering, lecherous attitude. I headed out for some dinner since I had skipped lunch, and I was glad to be away from the guy.

After dinner, I headed over to the club I had heard about. It was a boy-meets-girl center of all of the Hamptons. Logically, it was in Southampton, the commercial center of the Hamptons.

It was the best place east of New York City for drinking and dancing. Being a petite woman, drinking isn't my strong suit, but that night I just didn't care. So many strange things had happened to me recently that I truly had to blow off some steam. Steam was already coming out of my ears, so that night it was going to all come out. Sort of like a get-rid-of-your-steam cure. No cucumbers were on my eyes; My eyes were wide open and looking for someone to dance the night away with.

I have a hard body and was rather obviously not wearing a bra, with my nipples trying to burst through the thin weave cotton crop top I had on, so it was not hard to find dancing partners. In fact, it was the best of all worlds, as the men found me. I never had to sit out a dance or dance without a partner. I was on top of the world until once again I felt eyes on my back. I felt them move to my chest. Well, this was new. My invisible stalker likes my boobs. #Bigsurprise. Damn.

Well, fuck it; I ignored my stalker and continued to have fun dancing right up until the power failure. It suddenly became totally black, and people began to panic. It wasn't just the club: the power was off for all of Southampton. The street lights were dark. People were bumping into each other, groping around for the exit. Some guys groping for the exit seemed to think my boobs were a door handle or something. Some mysterious guys got some good gropes in. I just let it go; I was concentrating on getting out of there!

Someone opened the exit doors wide, and I could see them via the small amount of ambient light. The moon was almost a full moon. I now had direction and renewed purpose.

I felt arms go around me. Someone was holding me tight. He was behind me, so I had no idea who he might be, but I figured he was one of my many dancing partners. I was wrong, as it turned out. The guy used the confusion, the dark, the commotion, and the panic to calmly slip his hands under my top and molest my boobs. I tried to pull his arms out, but he was strong. He was too strong. it had no effect. The molester, whoever he was, was getting in some serious molesting of little me.

I don't know why, but I didn't panic. I just stood there, staring at the exit, letting the mystery man molest my boobs. My progress towards the exit became little to none. I gave up yelling: there was so much noise that had I objected to the masher I would not have been heard. Anyway, forget about having a man with a slow hand; this guy moved quickly.

My sexy satin pants fell to my ankles. I was effectively wearing only my panties. When my panties too began to descend, I fought back with an intensity I didn't know I was capable of. I think it was the elbow to his jaw that did the trick, since my attempts to destroy his balls had failed repeatedly.

I got free from his iron grip and promptly fell, tripping over my own pants at my ankles. I quickly pulled them up as I stood up unsteadily. A voice I knew but could not place said, "Come with me, Sally," and I did, and I was led out of the dark hall of doom by the light of an iPhone.

We walked to his car. I fastened my seat belt as he started the car. "It's a ten-minute drive to my place. You okay?"

"Could you please take me to my Airbnb?" I asked. Before I could give him the address he replied.

"No, it's too dangerous. Old Mr. Thrumm is a creep. He has been accused of numerous sexual improprieties. He's an ex-felon and somehow got that little fact under the radar with the Airbnb folks. You would be catnip to him," he said. "I just cannot in good conscience take you there."

"JJ, I'm a little freaked out here. I didn't tell you the address, or anything at all, about my Airbnb. How do you know it's Mr. Thrumm's B&B? I mean, it is that one in fact, but how do you know? How could you know?" I asked.

"You'll be safer at my little house. You'll have the guest room, and it has a door that locks," JJ said.

"A lot of good that will do me, given you picked the locks of my own apartment, including my new Baldwin locks!" I replied. "I'm grateful for your offer, of course, but quite frankly JJ, you've been stalking me, and I'm not sure you're right in the head. I'd be terrified to stay with you." I was already terrified, just being alone with him in his car.

"Sally, we grew up together. I still remember that kiss we exchanged at Bridget's party our senior year of high school. I had a crush on you. You had a climax just from our kiss."

"JJ, that was six years ago! That party was the first time a boy ever kissed me, and the orgasm was my first ever. It's time to get over that. Actually, it's way past time to get over it!"

"My point is, you can trust me," JJ said.

"Everyone says you can never trust your stalker," I replied.

"Well, the truth is I don't see as you have many choices. It's me or risk getting raped by Old Mr. Thrumm. I think he took a shower or a bath a few months back; did you notice his smell?" JJ said.

"Yes. He's quite ripe, you might say," I replied.

"Imagine him on top of you in the middle of the night, ripping off your panties and sticking his ugly, dirty penis inside you while you scream for help. He could even kill you to keep from returning to jail when you report him."

I shivered.

JJ was spot on in terms of his time estimate. We arrived at his adorable little house in less than ten minutes. He lived on Elm Street, which was strange as there were no Elm trees at all on the street. There were big, leafy oak trees, but no Elm trees. Go figure.

We had been talking the whole way, so I was surprised and unprepared when we got there. He gave me the grand tour and offered me a glass of wine, which I felt I needed! He showed me the guest room where I would sleep, and he showed me the master bedroom where he would sleep. It looked as if there was a third bedroom, too, but the door was closed

The streets were still dark, as the streetlights were out, but JJ had his own generator. "The power goes out from time to time out here on the Island, and I need power for my computers," he explained.

"Is that another bedroom?" I asked.

"You need a security clearance to enter that room," JJ replied.

I laughed. "Is it your man cave, JJ? Lots of porn inside?"

"I am a contract employee for a few government agencies. You might recognize their initials. That room is protected. It's where I do my work," he said.

"You're a spook?" I asked, trying and failing to hide how impressed I was. Was it the NSA? The CIA? FBI? Some other agency with a three-letter acronym? I mean, if it was true and not just bullshit.

"After a fashion. I have enough computer equipment in that room to wage a war, or so it feels like."

"I'd love to see it," I ventured.

"Sorry, Sally. Nobody gets to see that room."

"Are there pictures of naked women in there?" I teased.

"Of course not. Never mix work with pleasure. I have the naked pictures outside that room, on my laptop." He paused, thinking for a minute or two, and added, "Want to see my picture of you naked?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," he said.

"How on earth could you get a picture of me naked? There isn't one!" I said. Somehow, though, I guess from his cocksure attitude, I figured there must be one?

"You underestimate me," he said.

"Yeah, I guess so. Let me see the picture, please."

"If I let you see it, will you kiss me?"

He showed me the picture. Brad had taken it several years ago when I was totally in love with him. There I was, in all of my full-frontal majesty. I couldn't believe it. How did JJ get such a picture? He didn't even know Brad! JJ was a more interesting person than I thought. He was kind of frightening, actually.

I asked JJ how he had got such a picture and he just smiled. It was a knowing smile, but somehow, it was not smug. JJ emanated power, and not just digital power, too. He had matured into a big, muscular man. And, apparently, he was still fixated on me after all these years.