It was only after the lockdowns that the habit really crossed the line. I started exploiting weaknesses in my prey's security, accessing private photos, listening in when she was alone in bed getting herself off... it was way over the line, I admit it. But I was lonely and angry and it was the best way of relieving my stress I could find at the time. Trying to stay human, trying to stay connected to a world that I felt increasingly at odds with.
I did still set myself limits, though, trying to preserve my right to call myself an "ethical" hacker. Once the real slip-slide began, I switched my focus to girls from other countries. Not only could I not get to them with all the flights shut down, but I picked girls who didn't speak English, because I didn't feel so much like I was spying on them when I couldn't understand what they were saying, responding only to their body language, that primal, universal communication we all share. Italian girls with their sexy accents and musical laughter. Latinas with the kind of plump ass I always drool over. Arabic girls with sultry moves and dark, smokey eyes that promised to stab me in my sleep if I took it too far.
My illegal and unauthorized attention on them had got me through that difficult time, but I knew it was a dangerous habit, and the fact that these invisible, non-consensual relationships were the closest thing I had to an emotional connection was a big factor in deciding to chuck my old life down the toilet and hit the road in search of something better. It was unhealthy, I knew that, but it was just one symptom of a life that didn't work for me. So I assumed those desires would fade when I was free of the stultifying rat race that had consumed my life and drained me of my spark.
Now, sitting outside the library, uploading code that would kickstart a much more dangerous game, I knew that it was more than a symptom. It felt more like a calling. I had done it well, with good results for both myself and the girls I watched, the obsession usually ending when she got a boyfriend who was always - always, I had the data to prove it - a better catch than she'd ever dated before. And I had done it badly, impressing on me both the level of influence I had and the responsibility I bore to my targets.
I was ready to elevate my hunting habit to a whole new level, one that would get me what I really wanted. The stakes had never been higher, and I was not stupid enough to deny the risk to whichever woman my hunter's gaze eventually fixed itself on. Real risk. Real danger. My cock stirred and I laughed.
"Down boy," I said. I would have to be responsible about this, make sure I did it right, if I did it at all. I couldn't let my dick do all the thinking, even though it was certainly setting my direction.
Waiting for my code to finish uploading, I checked my email and took care of a few boring practicalities, then shut my laptop and headed to the local diner to take care of my simpler physical needs with a big pile of fluffy pancakes.
***
That night, in my tent, lulled by the crickets, I wondered about the girls being tracked by my sniffers. Where were they, who were they, what were they doing right now?
I had had a great afternoon fishing, finally able to clear my mind and think about something else now that I'd taken concrete action to make my plan real. The fish just couldn't leave me alone, a bite on my hook within minutes every time I cast. That had to be a good omen.
Satisfyingly full of campfire-fried fish, I felt relaxed and ease. I stretched my long frame out on my bedroll. I knew that what I was doing was serious, and seriously dangerous. But I had done dangerous things before; I had a lifelong habit of setting out on wilderness adventures that most wouldn't dare attempt, everyone I knew telling me: "You're crazy!", proving them all wrong and having the time of my life.
This was a different kind of wilderness adventure: a more dangerous one and a more compelling one. I knew that if I was going to attempt it at all, it would take a lot of sensible, rational thinking and worst-case-scenario planning. Serious fun requires serious work. But that would come later. This was the dreaming phase, and dreams don't want practical, sensible details. Dreams demand perfection.
So tonight I would allow myself to indulge in totally unrealistic thinking. A perfect scenario, with all the plausibility of a porno.
It's the morning after. I had spent the night wildly fucking her into a wet mess of surrender, pulling cries of pleasure from her in spite of herself before we collapsed in a tangle of exhausted limbs to sleep. I could imagine walking beside her, more closely entwined than I'd ever been with a woman. She was sleeping peacefully in my arms, a serene expression on her face, all her tension washed away by our night of unrestrained passion, her hair like a cloud over the pillow.
I pulled the sheet down to expose her full breasts and started tracing my fingers lightly across their curves. I wondered how long I could stimulate her before she woke. I had always wanted a relationship where I could wake her with sex in the morning, and now that I had established a relationship on my own terms, I could. I pressed my hardness against her thigh and pulled the sheet all the way down, exposing her to my gaze.
I took my time assessing my conquest in the morning light, my hungry eyes devouring every contour and detail of her beautiful body, claiming her with my eyes just as I had claimed her with my touch the night before. She was mine now, and I could do whatever I chose to do.
Very gently, not wanting to wake her too soon, I caressed the underside of her breasts, then trailed my fingertips downwards over the inviting curve of her soft belly. She was breathing evenly, not stirring, her lips slightly parted in a way that compelled me to lean close, just barely brushing her lips with mine. She shifted slightly against my body and sighed, but stayed asleep.
I smiled. It felt like I possessed her completely, waking and sleeping. My fingers found their way lower, into the soft tuft of hair between her legs, still wet from our shared passion the night before, then slid further down to tease her plump thighs apart. I traced circles on her inner thighs, larger circles, then smaller, then wider arcs again. Soon, she was arching her back slightly and, with a gentle sigh, her thighs fell open to my touch.
She wanted me. I had unlocked her, and now she was mine. I moved my body down, trickling barely-there kisses over her neck, down her chest, hovering my mouth just above her nipple, teasing her with my breath. As I breathed on it, her nipple puckered up for me. I grazed her skin with my lips and, moaning softly, she flexed, first her hips rising, then her breast rising to meet my mouth.
She wanted me. She wanted this. I slid my hand between her legs, cupping her pussy and resting my middle finger along the crease where her pussy lips met to conceal the treasure inside. Still asleep, she pushed her pelvis against my hand, her head twisting on the pillow, little "Mmmm" sounds escaping her open lips, lips that made my cock twitch with the thought of how many mornings I would be waking her with my hard erection nudging them apart for my morning blowjob.
But now, this first morning, was all about sating her with pleasure so her resistance would crumble and she would open herself to me fully.
I kept my hand on her pussy, soft and gentle, making her squirm towards me with desire, then whispered my lips in circles around her nipples, coaxing her nubs into full point. Her face and chest began to flush and her breath came faster. She was still unconscious, perhaps a little confused as her eyebrows furrowed at these unexpected sensations. But still her thighs lay open and inviting and she pressed herself into my waiting hand.
Now I brought my almost-kisses down from her breast, across the sensitive, ticklish skin of her stomach and belly, making her shiver. To her side, the delicate curve of her waist, down to the tip of her hip bone, where I placed a kiss, to claim it.
Sensing a change in her muscle tension, I looked up to see her eyes fluttering open prettilly through her long lashes. She seemed confused for a moment, then, suddenly remembering the night before, she blushed beet red and gasped. She tensed up, trying to pull away from me, but only succeeded in clamping her thighs between around my hand, inadvertently releasing a flood onto my fingers that gave away how much I aroused her.
