Hacking a Hacker
by Leviticus, Angel Second Class

I like the idea of Leviticus watching over us in these sorts of times. I'd like the story published under that name if you decide to publish it. Please no links to my email address or name. No need to forward any comments either. To me, Leviticus wrote it, not me.



As part of my job, I keep my company's computer system from being hacked by outside forces. In order to gain insight to the hacking world, I practice it as well. I make sure the sites I hack "deserve" it -- like under-protected gambling and porno sites. Since it is my job to keep the rest of the company from visiting those types of sites, I get free access to them without penalty. It is good to be the IT King of a company... until a server blows at one o'clock in the morning.

So anyhow, I hacked this one erotic sex story site. Too easy once you lay a Trojan and plant a back door for later. Patience wins out every time. Or so I thought.

I get called to run a video conference for the executives who want no SNAFUs during their meeting. Just as the video conference gets started without a hitch, my screen goes blank. The meeting's projection screen is running normal. Odd I thought. I decided to let it run.

My screen flashes a message, "Hi Bob."

I was stunned. I had no idea who was doing this, or even how they were. The projector is supposed to be a copy of the monitor.

My screen flashes, "Worried Bob?"

Panic stricken, actually. If the security expert can get hacked, what does that say about his abilities?

My screen flashes, "You should be worried Bob."

I start thinking it is an inside job. After all, the firewalls we run are the top of the line. I scanned the room, and all the executives on our side are old farts with a pad of paper and pen. No laptops. I carefully scan the video cam through the other conference room. One person has a laptop, but they aren't actively operating it when my screen flashes, "Find me yet Bob?"

I dig out my own laptop. I brought it along just in case we had system trouble on the conference room's machine. This system is hack-proof. I designed it myself.

As soon as it boots up, I start scanning through the ports of the network looking for an opening. Nothing unusual, until...

My laptop screen flashes, "Peek-a-boo Bob!"

Damn! I power down laptop in a split second. Someone is in my system.

My screen flashes up a picture of two guys engaged in sex. Just as quick it removes it.

My screen flashes, "Think Mr. Big Ass would like this on his conference Bob?"

I'm about ready to pull the plug. I'm thinking losing the video connection is better than having homosexual images flashing on the screen. Who the hell was this? No one knows I call him Mr. Big Ass behind his back.

My screen flashes, "If you pull the plug, this gets loaded on Mr. Big Ass's home computer Bob."

My screen shows a photoshopped picture of ME fucking Mr. Big Ass's ass.

I turn off my monitor. Then I hear it power back up.

My screen flashes, "Now your punishment for your crimes Bob."

At least that picture is off the monitor.

My screen flashes, "Go get the secretaryís panties Bob."

I'm stunned. How the hell was I suppose to do that? Mr. Big Ass suggests a five minute break. My monitor comes back to the normal screen.

I walk outside and start looking around. Nothing seems out of place. I venture over to a vacant computer and log on.

My screen flashes, "Her panties Bob."

I walk over to the secretary's desk to make small talk. I take her by surprise. Sheís talking on the phone and quickly hangs up without saying good-bye. I ask her, "Any problems with the computers this morning?"

She stares at me, and says, "No. The computer is working just fine. Why?"

"I'm seeing some strange activities on the network."

She blushes. I'm puzzled. So I ask to use her computer for a second. She hims-and-haws, but she does stand up to let me sit down. She suddenly says, "I'll be right back."

I did what I could from her connection, which is not much. But at least her computer doesnít seem to be hacked. I know she had a new VOIP installed last week, so I crawl under the desk to check the wiring. Maybe the installers added something I didnít know about.  I find her panties. Still warm. Still damp. I stuff them into my pocket and sit back up.

Mr. Big Ass walks by and tells me the five minutes are up.

I pass the secretary as I walk into the conference room. I sit down hoping this weird behavior is over.

My screen flashes, "Good job Bob."

How the hell does he know I have her panties? No one could know.

For the next two hours, strange messages flash up on my monitor; often warning me not to do a thing. I decide to follow their advice. Iím worried, especially since I have someoneís panties in my pocket. How the hell could I explain that?

When Mr. Big decides to break for lunch and come back in 90 minutes, I have my chance to run to my lab and start sealing up whatever hole there is in the system. As soon as I touch the keyboard on my system operator's console, the screen flashes, "Hi Bob!"

I figure this was my chance to find them so I turn on several computers and start tracing the log files. One by one the screens flash, "Hi Bob!"

I am locked out of my own system. How the hell they gained control of my console is beyond me. I unplug it from the system. All I can get is access denied messages. I reinstall it and the screen flashes, "Hi Bob!"

I stare at the mess. I am still locked out of my own system.

I can do nothing.

The console screen flashes, "Put on the panties Bob."

I do nothing.

The other screens all flash different photo-shopped images of me and Mr. Big Ass engaged in sex.

I strip from the waist down and slip on the panties. I hear the stitching ripping as I pull them over my thighs. I am in pain. They are too damn tight.

The console screen flashes, "Good job Bob."

I look around for a camera. In my room, it would be too easy to hide a camera. I decide I better get dressed. I slip my own boxers over the panties and pull on my trousers and shoes.

The console screen flashes, "Get a bra Bob."

Where? Whose? I realize it doesn't say. I could get one from anywhere. But where?

As I attempt to race across the floor to the stairs, I realize that the panties are quite painful, and any extra motion may cause damage to my tender parts. I go back into the now empty conference room.

The normal monitor screen changes to "Hi Bob!" Then it flashes, "Time is running out Bob."

Just as I decide to ignore the pain and walk down to a clothing store, in walks the secretary. She says, "Okay, give them to me."

I try to play dumb, "What? Give what to you?"

She stares at me, "You know exactly what you took. I want them back now."

Just as I take a step, I feel the elastic band pinch my right testicle. I nearly double over in pain.

She realizes exactly where her panties are at that moment, "Ewww, gross. You can keep them now."

I manage to call out to her, "Wait! I need your help."

She snapped back, "I think you need lots of help, but about the only help I'll give you is a pointed heel in your groin." If she knew the pain I was having, she'd have known a kick there could not be any worse.

I pull out my wallet, and hand her about two hundred in cash. "I need you to buy me a bra from a store right away."

"You need a bra? You are sick."

"Damn you. Just get the bra and keep the change." She left, and I have no idea whether she will do it or not.

I take the opportunity to make adjustments in the panties whilst I am alone in the conference room. Why I didnít lock door escapes me, but with your right testicle in a vise clamp, you sometimes do not think straight. I have one hand down on the inside of the panties and one attempting to open the leg hole for repositioning. Just then the door swings open. It is the secretary again.

She stares at what looks to be me masturbating in her panties. She throws a bra on the table and says nothing. In the time she was gone, it could only mean one thing. It was her bra. I dive across the table to snatch itÖ with my trousers still wide open.

The projector screen flashes, "Good job Bob!"

Now I know that whoever is tormenting me is good. Damn good. They have independent control over all the computers I've logged in. Then I have a brainstorm. I will disconnect the conference room computer and login back in as an alias user.  I use several different fake accounts to test things. Without me logging in as the system operator, maybe I can limit their access. I have enough time.

First things first -- I pull up my boxers and trousers.

Everything seems normal on the reboot. I make the connection back with the other conference room. Then I realize that when I dove across the table my pants were down and the cameras were on! Fortunately, I never noticed anyone on the other end. I sighed thinking the nightmare was over.

The monitor and the projection screen flash, "Welcome back Bob!"

Over the speakers, I hear someone say, "Better change that. Mr. Walters prefers Robert to Bob."

The screen flashes, "Welcome back Robert!"

Over the speaker I hear someone entering their room and say, "Good to be back are we ready to go?"

I lean over to the speaker and say, "Not ready here. I'm the only one back so far. We have another fifteen minutes to go."

The screens go back to normal, but then my monitor flashes, "14 minutes Bob."

Then it flashes, "13 minutes Bob."

Next it flashes, "Put on the bra Bob."

Followed by, "Strip down to your panties first Bob."

"12 minutes Bob," with a slideshow of the homosexual images.

I quickly pull off my shirt and slip my arms into the bra.

My monitor flashes, "Strip to you panties Bob."

I do it. I fumble with the bra realizing that clasping it out of the question. I get dressed with it under my shirt. I'm sure in bright light everyone will see it under my shirt. I dim the conference room lights.

As if on cue, everyone files back into the room.

The conference goes on for an hour without another message. I'm beginning to hope they have left for the day.

Then my monitor flashes, "Take off your boxers Bob."

I ask if we could take a break for five minutes, but my monitor says, "No, do it here Bob." I apologize to Mr., Big Ass for the interruption, and tell him I won't need the five minutes. Everything is fine. I lie.

I wondered how the hell I am supposed to get my boxers off in a room full of people. Okay, Iím in the back corner and the computer desk hides me. As my monitor starts the slideshow of homo pics, the projector screen flashes an image for a split second. Unless you knew, you could not tell.

Mr. Big Ass asks, "Everything okay there? Or should we take that five minute break now?"

I nearly scream, "Yes. Five minutes should do it."

Most of the people take advantage of the break to use the restroom or get coffee.

My monitor flashes, "4 minutes for the boxers."

I decide to act like I have something to do under the computer table. I crawl down there and pull off my trousers over my shoes. I then pull off my boxers. I hear someone ask, "Where's Bob?" I pop out from under the desk still on my knees hoping to avoid anyone from walking around to see me.

"I'm still here; just checking the connections."

The voice is an employee. He looks over at me and says, "When you have a minute. A bunch of us are getting an email virus or spam or something."

One of the executives responds, "I thought we stopped those bloody things."

Still on my knees and just wearing panties below my waist, I answer, "Everyday there's something new to fight." I turn to the employee and say, "If there's an attachment don't open it. In fact tell people to just not read it. I'll run a clean sweep after the conference is over."

The employee says, "Don't worry about people reading it. Anyone with half a brain won't read a message with a subject Mr. Big Ass and Bob."

I nearly die. I quickly sink below the desk and slip on my trousers leaving my boxers on the floor.

My monitor flashes, "Problem Bob?"

I go ahead and log on as the system operator, and start to scan the inboxes and machines for the email. Someone comes around and says, "I don't know what happened. I opened that email and the attachment would not open. Now my screen says, 'Hi Bob!"

I chew him out for first opening the 'spam' email and then double clicking the attachment. I rip his computer cord out of the socket. I tell him, "Do not plug it back in. You may have infected the entire system with a virus."

When I return to the conference room, Mr. Big Ass speaks as I walk past him, "We pay you to stop those things from coming in. Fix it right after the meeting."

My monitor flashes, "Don't try to stop me Bob."

It flashes again, "Next time, the email will say, 'New Vacation Schedule' with those pictures as attachments."

Figures. The one thing you can count on everyone in the office to read -- vacation schedules.

Just as the meeting is drawing to a close, the projector screen flashes blue then an image of me wearing the bra and panties appears.

Mr. Big Ass turns and yells, "What the fuck are you doing?"

The screen flashes and says, "Do not fuck with fuckers you fucking fuck."

I hear the loudest roar of laughter coming from the office area. I can only assume the "New Vacation Schedules" have hit the floor.

Then the screens show a picture of Mr. Big Ass fucking me.

Mr. Big Ass turns and says, "You're fired!"

I wish I could run. The panties make it impossible. I attempt to leave as quickly as the pain will let me.

I go straight to the car, and start to drive home. The radio DJ says, "Hi Bob! This is from your friend Leviticus." It is Johnny Cash's a "Boy Named Sue."

Since the pain of the panties is getting to me, I try to tear the panties seam on the right side. I have my trousers pulled down as I drive and pull on the fabric. Apparently, Iím speeding. A policeman pulls me over.  He sees me half exposed and arrests me.

At the police station, they force me to take my mug shot wearing the bra. Now, it is public record.

So, the fucking fuckers fucked me for fucking with their fucking website. Even a clean install on any computer I touch seems to pop up with 'Hi Bob!' And is every radio station playing Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue"? Just who is Leviticus, anyhow?  He seems to watching over every move I make. And would someone stop those damn bells from ringing?