Warning: This is an erotic story and not for anyone under 18 nor those with a heart condition. You can see the chapter index here.
The pattern of Watcher’s seduction continued every few nights. Pam found herself longing for his 10pm texts. She wondered if on the nights he didn’t text if he were pleasuring, “watching,” some other woman. It made her jealous.
Watcher would tease her for an hour or more and Pam would pleadingly text “please let me come.” Often, when she did, he would tease her longer, not allowing her release until he chose the time and method.
Then after two weeks, the texts stopped. For ten days she heard nothing from Watcher.
“What’s wrong with you?” Emily asked across the table at Barney’s.
“Nothing…” lied Pam. Watcher made her feel young. Sexy. Desirable. The whole part of her she had put away when she got pregnant and married at 18, she now was experiencing with him.
“You’ve been so happy lately. Heck, it seems like Shae’s promotion didn’t even phase you. Now, tonight, you seem pretty down. Actually, you’ve seemed down for the last few days.” Emily was perceptive about her friend.
Pam didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t tell her about Watcher, but her emotions were close to the surface. “It’s just…well…I met someone and we’ve been texting and now he’s…disappeared.”
“I’m so happy to hear you’re trying to date! He’s probably just busy. You’re a catch, he’s not going to find anyone like you. Who is he? How did you meet? Dish, girl, dish.”
“We aren’t dating…we’re mostly, well, just texting.” Pam was trying to figure out what she could say and still appear she wasn’t being reckless with some ax murderer.
“‘Texting’, huh? You mean you’ve been sexting with some guy? That’s kinda hot.” Emily didn’t miss a beat.
“Well..I guess the texts are a bit sexual.” Pam wanted to change the subject before she got in any deeper. She looked down at the menu. “Do you want to order one entree and split it?”
That night she went to bed early, trying to put her mind at rest and stop thinking about Watcher. At precisely 10pm, her phone alerted.
“I want to see you.”
“Where have you been?” Pam typed. Thinking how out of control she was being. Watcher was obviously manipulating her.
“I want to see you.” Watcher repeated.
Pam was frustrated and angry, there was no way she was going to meet a man she had never spoken to, she didn’t even know his name. She did something she had never dared before. She clicked “Call” on his number.
The phone went to voicemail.
“I don’t want to talk to you, I want to see you.” Watcher replied.
“I am NOT going to meet you.” Pam was defiant.
“I don’t want to meet you, I want to see you.” Watcher clarified. “Go to the balcony.”
Pam’s house was in a lightly wooded area with a few more homes, all spaced a hundred yards apart or so, with the small patches of woods between. Outside her bedroom door a balcony overlooked her living room with a vaulted ceiling. The opposite wall was windows, looking out to a small wooded area with a neighboring house behind. The lower windows had blinds, but the upper windows were unshielded.
For the first time Pam realized any time she was on the balcony, like when she walked from her shower naked to her bedroom, anyone in the woods below could see her.
Had Watcher been there, seeing her? The thought both terrified and excited her.
“NO!” Pam texted back, realizing just how vulnerable she was.
Pam waited anxiously for Watcher to reply. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him off or experience the pleasures again. She stayed up until midnight.
There was no reply.
Warning: This is an erotic story and not for anyone under 18 nor those with a heart condition. You can see the chapter index here.
The next day, Pam was filled with diametric emotions. The idea of a stranger watching her, lusting after her made want to hide, but it also made her feel sexy. She dressed more conservatively, but paid close attention to the men around her and how they looked at her.
She wondered if she would ever hear from “Watcher” again. Part of her hoped she would.
After work she met her girl Tiffany at the gym to work out, getting home by 7pm. She climbed into bed to read by 8, and was sound asleep when a text buzzed at 10.
“What are you dreaming about tonight?”
Pam knew she shouldn’t reply. He is probably a crazy stalker. The drowsiness combined with her curiosity overwhelmed her caution.
“Why are you texting me?”
“To teach your hands what my hands would do if I were there.”
Pam didn’t know how to respond. The overt sexuality in Watcher’s reply made her tingle despite the warnings in her logical mind.
“What makes you think I want your hands?”
“You didn’t block me.”
The truth stung. She didn’t block him. She replied. She wanted to see how this would play out. She wanted to be lusted after. She had already imagined him, faceless, moving over her body, thrusting himself inside her. Feeling his touch on her breasts, his lips and tongue on hers.
“I still could.”
“After tonight, you won’t.”
“You must promise me to do what I say and do only what I say,” Watcher continued.
“I make no promises.” Pam attempted to sound resilient.
He started simply, leading her to remove her clothes. She followed, almost. In a last stab at restraint, she kept her panties on. She immediately covered herself with her duvet, feeling exposed to his gaze yet he was only a text.
Move your hands over your body, the way I would touch you, tease you.
I am lying naked next to you on the bed, propped up on my elbow. With my free hand I caress your face, tracing its lines with my fingers…
Pam began touching her face, imagining Watcher next to her.
It’s gentle, intimate the way I touch you. My hand moves over your face and as it does, my thumb parts your lips. I move my hand beneath your neck, bending toward you I pull your mouth toward mine…
I kiss you. Gently at first, then more hungrily, more forcefully as my own passion rises…
Then I relent…it’s too fast, too soon…you need to simmer, to experience the sensation of tease and delay…I move back up to my elbow…
I take my finger and trace the lines of your neck, starting at your jawline and down to the sensitive place where neck meets shoulder…
Pam traced the same lines with her finger, enjoying the sensation while imagining Watcher. She longed for real touch.
I move down from your neck, tracing a line between your breasts, then around them. You feel the brush of my palm against the sides of your breasts…
Pam imitated the movement. She had never touched herself this way before, it was wonderful. The idea of the gentle strokes so close to her breasts yet not actually touching them created a building passion.
I move my hand down to your stomach, flattening my palm against you. I enjoy the feminine softness of you. My hand caresses your skin and I move my palm over your entire torso, not just a finger this time…
I move back up your body and use my palm to cup each of your breasts, gently massaging while avoiding your nipples…
Pam could feel her heart beating faster and was about to ignore his advice and begin teasing your own nipples when Watcher commanded:
Do only as I say…touch only what I would touch…
Pam suddenly felt exposed again. It was as if Watcher could know her thoughts even as she thought them.
I now move my hand once again to your stomach, enjoying the softness of your skin, but then I move lower…
I move my hand closer to your mound, but my fingers stop when I reach it. I move aside and trace the sensual crease where your leg meets your hip…
Moving lower, I place my hand on your thigh and pull your legs slightly apart…
Pam spread her legs slightly, touching her thighs and imagining the feeling of his hand on her.
As I knead and caress your inner thigh, you feel the warmth of my hand close to your growing hunger. I lightly brush against it…
I now slide my other arm beneath your neck, curling it around so I can touch your breast while I continue to stroke your thighs…
My hand fondles your breast, brushing lightly over your nipple…
She felt her nipple harden as she imitated his hand. Her other hand still was between her legs against her thigh. He legs pulled together involuntarily as she longed for release. Still, she obeyed Watcher.
My thumb and index finger now find your nipple and I tease it more intensely, still kneading your breast with my other fingers and palm…
I move my other hand now onto your swelling mound, cupping it but not moving my fingers…
Pam did as directed, despite wanting to find release. Watcher had her mesmerized and she didn’t want to miss out on the pleasures he promised. She slid her hand under her panties and could feel the wet heat beneath her unmoving fingers.
I move my mouth to your other breast, my tongue finding your already hardened nipple…I tease it with my tongue, giving you tempting idea of how I would use my tongue to tease you elsewhere…
Damn, this is hot thought Pam, imaging Watcher’s tongue dancing on her nipple.
Without moving my hand, I slide on finger into you…stroking the ceiling of your vagina slowly…my palm still motionless on your clitoris…
Pam slid a finger into herself, enjoying the sensation as she moved it slowly in and out. She wanted to stroke higher and faster, yet still she obeyed, leaving her own palm firmly fixed.
I lift my hand, my finger still inside you, putting more pressure as I trace a line from deep inside you, out and almost to your clit, then back inside to repeat…
The sensation was amazing. Pam thought she might cum just from touching herself this way.
I begin to move my finger a little higher with each stroke, pressing hard inside then barely brushing your clit as I move over it…
Each stroke becomes a little faster, my tongue darting on one breast while my other hand caresses and strokes the other…
Finally I allow my finger to begin moving more firmly against your clit with each stroke…
With a final stroke, I rest the tip of my finger against your clit and trace circles around and over it…
Pam imitated the movement, she could feel herself rising to climax.
Ending in a wonderful vibrato as I allow you release…
She was no longer able to read the text. Her eyes were closed, her hand moving swiftly and lightly as she felt the waves of pleasure begin. When she finally came, she was paralyzed for minutes after. She finally opened her eyes to see how Watcher had finished his texts.
Sleep well, Watcher.
Suddenly, the waves of passion behind her, Pam was scared. What was she doing? Who is this man – if he even was a man? She curled up under her duvet and wanted to never hear from Watcher again yet wished for the pleasures he provided.
Warning: This is an erotic story and not for anyone under 18 nor those with a heart condition. You can see the chapter index here.
When she woke the next morning, Pam checked her phone once more to assure it was truly a wrong number. No new texts. She felt relief.
She dreaded going into work today. She knew she was a hot topic of conversation, and she wondered how people would view her situation. Would they see Shae as the conniving bitch or would they just assume “Reliable Pam” just wasn’t suited for the job?
She stood in front of her full length mirror after getting out of the shower, giving herself a pep talk.
“You look good. The 23 pounds you’ve lost have given you back your figure. Your breasts are firm. Two grown kids and you still look good.” She wanted to look young, desireable, to turn men’s heads again as she had when she was younger.
“Hell, I’m going to turn some heads today.”
She pulled out a pair of pants she had never worn. She was a size 10 now, but she had bought these in a fit of optimism and they were a size 8. They were snug and made her butt look good. She put on her push-up bra, the pretty one she had spent too much money on and rarely wore. She pulled on a sleeveless top she had worn a few times before, but always with a sweater and scarf. It was too low cut.
From the back of her closet she pulled out her black heels, normally reserved for holiday parties.
Once she fixed her hair and makeup, she apprised herself once more in the mirror. “Damn, I look good. Fuck the haters,” she said to the reflection.
As she walked from her car to the office, she saw two delivery men unloading paper supplies by the door. She managed to sway her hips a bit as she walked by and could see them watching her pass in the reflection of the glass door.
She smiled to herself.
All day she noticed the reactions of the men. More than one of her male coworkers looked at her cleavage before catching themselves and looking her in the eye. She still had it.
Work was still hard, the wondering what people were thinking, saying behind her back, but today she showed them. She was more than “Reliable Pam,” she was a sexy, smart, accomplished, young woman.
She was still feeling the sexual buzz from the day as she readied herself for bed. Just as she turned off the light, her phone buzzed a text.
“You looked sexy today.” It was the same number as the night before.
Pam was paralyzed. It wasn’t a wrong number. Was someone stalking her? As she tried to figure out a reply, another text: “I enjoyed watching you.”
Is this Em trying to boost my confidence? Is this someone else from work? One of the men? It was frightening and yet a little bit exciting.
“Who is this? You need to stop!”
“You wanted to be watched and wanted today. I watched you. I want you.”
“Emily, is this you? This isn’t funny.”
She called Emily.
“It’s late for you to be calling, what’s up?” Pam had the habit of being asleep by 9pm most nights. Emily sounded concerned.
“Have you been texting me?” Pam tried to sound calm.
“No, why, did you get a text from my number? I haven’t texted you since this morning. Maybe someone hacked my phone!” Emily had no understanding of technology and lived in a perpetual fear of being “hacked.”
“No, it’s not that…” Pam wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Emily what was going on. “It’s nothing, I just got a text from an unknown number and I thought it might have been you. Probably a wrong number. See you tomorrow.”
“You can call me Watcher.” The text lit up in her hand.
“Watcher? Really? That’s the best you can do?” Pam still thought this must be a joke. She wasn’t going to show fear only to find it was some co-worker messing with her.
“It seems we’re both watchers. You have observed from a distance your whole life, now it is your turn to be observed, seen, appreciated, lusted after.”
“Who is this?” Pam wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“I’ve told you.”
“I’m going to block you.”
“You can, but then you’ll never experience the pleasures I will lead you through.”
“I’m not responding. Goodbye. Don’t contact me again.”
Pam Hardisty was at the end of a difficult day. When her friend Emily asked if she wanted to go out for dinner, she readily accepted. She pulled into the lot of Barney’s at 6:15 and struggled to find a parking space. She finally spied one at the far end of the lot and pulled in her Camry.
Emily was already at a table in the bar when Pam walked in.
“I need this tonight,” said Pam, sitting at the table.
“I’m sure you do,” replied Emily, “I can’t believe they gave Shae that promotion over you.”
Pam had been assistant comptroller for the last five years. At Earnest & Lowe for twelve. It was common knowledge she was promoted from “Tug” Lowe’s administrative assistant to assistant comptroller for her to “learn the ropes” and take over for him when he retired. While it wasn’t in stone, it was spoken of often. At least, in the first couple years.
Shae Reeder was brought on just two years out of college to be Tug’s new administrative assistant. She was competent enough, but she was young, and a bit flirty with the men. She enjoyed their attention. Her skirts we often too short, with high heels showing her young, fit legs.
It had been 10 years since Pam felt like she turned heads.
Pam had shown her how to do her job in her first months. She did well. She was smart, caught on quickly. Pam was willing to put up with Shae’s flirting as long as she did her job.
“I thought she was my friend, Em.”
Pam could see clearly now Shae’s plan stretched back years, maybe from the time she was hired. She excelled at everything Tug asked her to do. Then she became indispensable to Pam – helping her by often doing the heavy lifting when things became hectic. They both relied on her.
Pam would praise Shae to Tug, often commenting on how helpful and smart she was. She felt as if she were a mentor to the young girl.
All the while Shae was privately saying things to Tug about how overwhelming the job was for Pam, how she needed so much help.
Today, when Tug’s formal retirement was announced, along with his replacement, Shae got the job. Pam pretended to be happy as she willed back the tears.
Tug even reminded Pam of how much Shae would need her. “Shae will rely on you, just like I did, Pam. You guys will make a great team.”
“Reliable Pam,” that’s what people thought of her. Not smart, not pretty, not a leader, just “reliable.”
And Shae was young. Fifteen years younger than Pam.
“She is a snake,” replied Emily. Taking a sip of her wine.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Monday Shae would be her boss.
“What can I get you?” the waiter had popped up without Pam noticing.
“I think I’ll start out with a martini, extra dirty,” answered Pam.
“Like a Catholic school girl” mouthed Emily, it was their joke.
“Another glass of wine, ma’am?”
“Actually, yes,” Emily replied. This was a good night to get buzzed with a hurting friend.
As Emily and Pam talked, they noticed a young couple, probably in their 20’s, at a booth in the corner. They sat close to each other, making out as if no one else were in the bar.
“That looks like fun,” remarked Emily, nodding to the couple.
“God, I haven’t been kissed like that in years,” said Pam, remembering her youth and feeling a longing she had dismissed. “I don’t miss being married, and I don’t want a relationship, but I could go for a good ‘workout’.”
When their waiter brought their meal, they were both buzzed. Pam took time to apprise him with her eyes, taking in his large arms, muscular build, strong jawline. When he walked away she didn’t mind staring at his round, firm butt.
“I could use some of that,” she remarked, only loud enough to for Emily to hear.
“You know, the first step is probably going on some dates, Pam.”
“Like I said, no relationship, Em. That’s where things get messy. I’m not good at relationships. I just want a roll in the hay on occasion.”
“How long has it been?” asked Emily. “It’s been over a year for me. I could use it.”
“Well,” Pam did the math out loud. “Two years since the divorce and then we didn’t actually have sex for the last five, so seven years or so.”
“Sista, that’s too long. We need to take a trip and go make out with some boys.”
It was almost 10pm by the time Pam walked Emily to her minivan and then made the long walk to her own car. As she sat down in the seat, she thought about the waiter, making a mental note to think about him again, later.
She placed her key in the ignition, then something caught her eye. In this deserted end of the parking lot she noticed an SUV. She could see somewhat clearly inside. The young couple from the bar were in the back, she could see the woman moving rhythmically up and down, while his hands hungrily fondled her breasts and flowed over her body.
Pam was transfixed.
Between the martinis, the talk, the waiter and the couple, her libido was in overdrive. Watching them, she began to rub herself through the thin fabric of her pants. As their thrusts became more intense, she undid her pants and slipped her fingers beneath her panties. She imagined being the woman, riding the waiter, feeling him hard inside her while his hands, lips and tongue worked over her body and breasts.
She moved her hand faster as they did, matching their movements.
When she came, she writhed involuntarily, crying out in pleasure. Once her pulsing had died down and she was able to move again, she hurriedly collected herself, wondering if the couple had heard her. It was the best orgasm in years.
When she got home, she dropped her things in the entryway and stripped before heading up to the bedroom. Just as she was plugging in her phone on the nightstand a text alerted.
“I saw you.” was all it said.
A shot of anxiety cleared any liquor blur Pam was feeling. Saw me? Someone was in the parking lot watching me? Oh, hell. She checked the number. (865) 555-9384. Not in her contacts and she didn’t recognize it.
Must be a wrong number and a weird coincidence, Pam consoled herself.
“You must have the wrong number,” typed Pam.
After five minutes with no reply, she assured herself it was most definitely a wrong number. She thought about the waiter and the couple once more before drifting off to sleep.
He woke a little before 5am Sunday morning.
The weather had finally turned cold and so was his apartment this morning. He lay in bed, refusing to leave the warmth of the covers, wishing Her body was next to him.
They were on a “break.” She is complicated and fragile and wonderful. Her fragile reached its limit at the end of October and they decided to take a break until after the holidays. She needed time to be alone, regroup, read and sleep.
This morning He longed for the feel of Her skin.
They had shared many intimate times. Some of the most intimate had nothing to do with making love. They were travelling, experiencing joys and hardships, joking about Rick the convenience store attendant who called him “Boss” and her “Honey.” Debriefing the day and the week.
But for him the most intimate experiences He had with Her focused on just touching Her, feeling the warmth of Her skin beneath His hands.
When He woke in the mornings, She was usually facing away from him. He would put his arm around Her waist and caress the skin of Her stomach. When they made love, He would caress Her entire body with his palms.
He had told Her “touching your skin nourishes my soul.” This morning, He longed for that nourishment.
Sometimes it’s hard, fighting you for you.
Wrestling not against my error but against your fears.
Sometimes it’s hard, discerning thoughts you can’t verbalize.
Reading your mind without the gift of clairvoyance.
Sometimes it’s hard, giving you unlimited space,
to find the you I’ve already seen and know.
Sometimes it’s hard, reminding you of the good,
when all you can visualize is the pain and hurt.
Every time it’s beautiful, to share our lives,
seeing the joy and the pain together.
Every time it’s beautiful, the love we share,
enjoying intimacy beyond the simple physical.
Every time it’s beautiful, the mundane of life,
being someone at your side who is companion, cheerleader, friend.
Every time it’s beautiful, seeing your joy,
sharing private moments of victory no one else will see.
Every time…it’s wonder, an awe and contentment for me.
This needed four more words. Hope you enjoy. -Kevin
“I LOVE your apartment, Jack!” Sarah’s voice was faux-effervescent in the annoying way a woman tries to be “bubbly” at the beginning of a relationship.
“It’ll do” replied Jack’s monotone. “Let me open a bottle of wine and let it breathe. Red or white?”
“Oh, thank you! White please, red makes me blush.”
While Jack busied himself in the kitchen, Sarah surveyed his living room. Neat, orderly, clean. Cleaner than her’s ever. Nice leather furniture, industrial accessories complete with the bare brick wall. Giant television. Expensive looking stereo.
The brick wall anchored shelves displaying an eclectic assortment of oddities, lit by track lighting. Their prominence made Sarah think they must be important to him. She walked over to the display and eyed an antique locket.
“This is a beautiful locket” she spoke over her shoulder to the kitchen.
“Thank you, just one of the things I’ve collected along the way.” Jack was always polite and gracious. “Pick it up if you want, it won’t break, it’s endured worse.”
Sarah’s eyes took inventory of some of the other items. A pair of concert tickets in a small frame, a swatch of cloth in another, a mag strip Hilton hotel key in a third.
Jack joined her at her side, placing his arm around her waist, fingers caressing the curve of her hip.
“Why all the wine bottles?” she asked, counting 11 empties on the shelf.
“Wine represents the joy of life. When I share wine with a friend, I sometimes like to keep the bottle to remind me of the joy of that moment.”
Sarah turned into him, their faces just a few inches apart. “A ‘friend’, huh?”
“Yeah, a friend.” Jack pulled her tight against him, kissing her deeply. His hands explored her back as she felt him harden against her thigh.
They had been dating four weeks. Six dates. He had been to her’s twice, but he had been slow to invite her to his. He had been slow about everything. They would talk late into the night with sexually charged conversations, and they had made out almost to the point of no return several times, but he had refused to take the plunge.
She was sure tonight they would, and she ached for it. He was smart, sexy, funny and surprisingly compassionate. He wasn’t like the other men.
He broke off the embrace. “Let me go pour our wine. You sit on the couch.”
Sarah obliged. She always did as told. Jack returned with two glasses and handed one to her.
“How did you become a crime writer?” she asked, hoping the conversation would be short and they would move to the bedroom. They had talked enough.
“I just find it fascinating, the psychology of criminals. Especially the most deviant ones. Murderers, especially serial killers, have fascinating psychology.”
“That sounds creepy.” Sarah gave a little shiver.
“I guess the fascinating thing for me was discovering they’re not much different than a so-called ‘normal’ person. We all have the capacity to kill for many reasons – financial gain, sex, ego or even just the thrill. The difference in serial killers is they don’t have an ‘off’ switch. We all have the same desires, but serials don’t have the limits other people have.”
“I guess that is fascinating” Sarah lied. “I don’t think I could kill anyone.”
“The crime shows always get it wrong. They picture these people as monsters. We’re all monsters, just some have the ability to suppress it. Some don’t…” Jack’s words trailed off as he took another sip of wine.
“For example: Trophies. They think serials keep trophies so they can go back and, what, masturbate on them? That’s not why serial killers keep trophies.”
“OK, that’s just gross.”
“But, see,” Jack continued, “that’s exactly what I am talking about. The media portrays these people as sex-crazed monsters, but that’s rarely the truth. When you really study them you begin to understand that isn’t an accurate picture.”
“So tell me, newspaper boy, why does a serial killer keep trophies?”
“For the same reason you have that picture of your grandmother on your end table. It makes you smile to remember her, it brings back memories of the time you spent together. It gives you a moment of joy. A smile.”
“But enough about that stuff,” Jack said, standing. “I have plans for you tonight.”
Sarah smiled a coy smile. Jack took her hand, pulled her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. Finally Jack would get the release he had been anticipating for weeks.
An hour later, Sarah emerged, fully satisfied, freshly showered and dressed. She didn’t enjoy the “after”-cleaning up the blood, wiping down the prints. She grabbed the bottle from the counter, pouring it into the sink. Corking it, she placed the bottle in her ample purse.
“Crime writers always get it wrong,” thought Sarah, as she locked the door behind her.