'Mask'

ONE WORD CHALLENGE -- "MASK"

I took the interpretation of the word in its verb tense: 'to hide or conceal something, from what it is physically or it's intent.'

TAGS:  [Narrative][Exhibitionism & Being watched][Voyeurism][Strangers to Lovers Fantasy][Stalker, Squatter creeping] Mentions of: [non-consent][rough sex, rape][love][stockholm like?][closed in, madness][marking her, stealing]

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As Madison brushed her voluminous, brunette locks her eyes were staring into the mirror, yet her gaze was intent on things not seen. She licked her lips absently. She had prepared carefully this evening. She had chosen all of his favorites.

Madison let out a small breathless chuckle. Love is a silly thing, a scary, risky thing.

And it comes from the unlikeliest of places.

She looked around her vanity to the things she had purchased for tonight.

Perfume that smelled like creamed vanilla and sweet pea.

Lipstick the color of red wine.

A small hair adornment with pearls.

She considered these things, replacements of the ones she lost. No, not lost. *Taken.*

Recalling those days, she had been so angry with herself. She feared that the addled brain disease that had beset both her parents had come earlier for her. She was wrong. Madison was busy minded, that was her disease. She worked constantly, owning her own business and working from home weren't as dreamy as some might suppose. She set her own hours yes, but many of them were spent networking--solidifying business relationships, creating her own advertising spaces, and producing samples and charts of her work. It consumed her. It wasn't until her favorite shade of lipstick went missing did she realize... she wasn't alone.

A small pre-bottled protein drink from the fridge,

a slice of bread from the box,

that wash cloth gone missing that grossly discounted her expensive matched set of 6.

How much had been stolen before she began to notice? How many months? She put her hand to her chest that day her lipstick disappeared, comprehending now that it might have been years. She had lived in this small house for a handful of them. The neighborhood was quiet and seemed safe enough for a single, professional woman. Concern not buyer's revelry clouded her mind considering how undermarketed the price was for the home. She was nervous for a few days, jittery. She jumped at every bump, every creak. She didn't sleep. She was paralyzed with fear to search the attic, but she continually considered the small wall panel she dismissed when she moved in, the rooms she barely used, the dark corners and the hours she slept- dead to the world and possibly, her hidden housemate's living hours.

She started seeing things just past her vision, she worried she was going crazy like her mother had. She felt ill. Then one day she found an unopened bottle of water at her desk. She wasn't sure when it arrived, but she drank it when thirsty. The next day she was beset by a splitting headache the entire morning, most of her work was replaced with her hunched over her desk rubbing her temples in protest. She decided to take a hot shower. When she returned to her desk, there were two pills next to her diet coke. One aspirin, one ibuprofen. Her chest pounded as she stared down at the gesture of concern and... care? That's when she heard the first knock.

She jumped and retreated, to the doorway, then stopped. There had never been a knock like that. She turned and came back into the room. Her eyes were fixed on the wall across the room, opposite of her bed.

The distance seemed like miles, but her feet walked it in a few moments and she was a lover's lean from the wallpaper. She bit her lip shyly, extended her fingers to gently touch the peach feathering in front of her.

She gave a gentle knock and waited. And waited. The seconds were hours. Then... *knock*. Her gasp was soundless and echoed.

She walked away from the wall after another few minutes, glancing back only once... unsure if it had really happened.

The days carried on like that. She took note of kindnesses masked in secrecy. She also took note that 'he' got closer which each display, bolder. At first it was water, a piece of fruit, waking up with a blanket laid over her. A small picked flower on her desk in the morning. She also noticed things gone missing. Her lipstick had been the first, then a hair piece, her favorite perfume... a soft sweater she had worn in the chill of the morning.

One day she was quite sure she had dozed off at her desk completely, but when she woke she was in her bed and tucked in, the slight scent of sawdust and lemon. Her belly quivered at the thought of being picked up and carried to her bed without waking... the strength, the gentleness. She felt her nipples peak and her face go pink with the thought.

That night she found her self aroused with the thought of such a man touching her, desiring her, and let her hands wander over her body. The vision of her secret partner holding her, carrying her... placing her on her bed, leaning down to smell her neck and shoulder... swallowing down his arousal, his need to kiss or bite. Whether out of respect, or out of fear of discovery, she didn't know- it didn't matter. She pictured him hiding behind the walls, shirtless and gritty, rubbing her sweater against his face before trailing it down; he'd use it to get off, stroking his cock within the silky cashmere before getting it sticky with ropes of cum made just for her. She audibly moaned and whimpered at the thought and amidst her pleasuring, she heard a creak behind the wall and she froze. Her breath was shaky and her skin was a white hot fire of terror... then brave sexuality.

She flipped the comforter off of her body and masturbated to a squealing orgasm imagining her shrouded stranger watching and walking ever closer while she closed her eyes in ecstasy. He wasn't there when she opened her eyes, but she was sure he had seen such.

This went on for several days. Heated nights, Madison reveling in the exhibitionism, the foolhardy wantonness. He never approached though. He never revealed himself. One night she returned from the shower, practically doubting if *he* was just a figment of her imagination, and there it was... black silk and lace laid on her bed. She looked around and approached it slowly, eventually letting her manicured nails rake along the lingerie that had been left for her. It was a piece she hadn't worn in quite some time. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she wore anything sexy to bed, or any where. Her clothes now days consisted of yoga pants and baggy tees or tanks. She grabbed the baby doll outfit and walked to his wall. Staring, she let her towel fall and pulled the piece over her head, feeling herself already excited with the thought of him watching, or possibly appearing tonight at her bedside.

She returned to the mattress and noticed a piece of white polyester she had missed. Panties. White shimmery ones, with a small black bow on them. She grinned and then slid them on. Then she laid out on top of the coverlet. She waited, but he didn't appear. Frustrated and beyond edged, she got up and went back to the wall.

'Are you there?' Nothing.

'Do you understand me?' Nothing.

She wanted to cry, to yell. Was she losing her mind? Was he fucking with her?

...

'Knock once for yes, twice for no... Do you understand me?'  After several moments, she turned t-

*Knock*

Her breasts heaved with thrilled breaths.

'Have you been watching me?'

*Knock*

She licked her lips, 'Do you want to show yourself to me?'

...

*Knock Knock*

She felt the air leave her lungs, her eyes went glassy. She felt confused, hurt. Her hurt confused her more. This *was* madness!

She took a shaky breath, 'Do- Don't you want me?' *KNOCK*

The speed and heavier force of the sound made her jump a centimeter.

'Are you... are you going to hurt me?'  She waited for several moments, but no answer came.

'Do you understand?' *Knock*

She swallowed and understood him too. She whispered 'What do you want from me?', knowing already there would be no knocks to follow.

She swallowed again and asked... 'Will you come tonight?'

*Knock, knock*

She felt her mouth frown and her throat go dry, tears forming. She shaked her head slightly and left the wall to go to her bed. She turned off the light that she had left on the last few nights for him to see her better, and shed a few silent tears. She laid there for quite sometime, quiet and disappointed. She shifted to let sleep take her, but the rub of the black lace against her nipples reminded her of what she had hoped for the evening. Disappointed as she was, she realized she was still primed for him. She rubbbed herself rushed and rough, imagining him unable to control himself, unable to be gentle once he gave all of himself to her. She cried out in a wracking orgasm and then passed out before anymore thoughts took her.

She awoke to the sun high in the morning sky, made her way to the bathroom to pee. When she got there she realized she no longer had panties on. She rushed back to the bedroom and looked everywhere between the sheets and around the bed. They were gone. She shivered. That morning in the shower she got off 4 times in the scalding water thinking of him enjoying her soaked panties.

Every night she approached the wall.  'Will you come tonight?' Always two knocks was the answer. Finally after who knows how many nights, after his answer she rested her forehead against the wall, exhausted.

'Don't you l- ... love me?'  It was barely a whisper, and in return, while his single knock wasn't loud but it was resounding.

She smiled. People would think it crazy, terrifying... that she would have a connection to a man she never met, never seen. That she would fall in love with a man who she had never consciously felt the warmth of his skin, his breath against her ear. But isn't that what love is in it's purest form? Risk? Complete trust in something completely unknown? People come and go all the time in relationships; they love and love, until they wake up one day and say, 'I don't love you anymore.' Nothing guarantees otherwise. But you let someone in anyways, you let them see you, know you, care for you... isn't that love?

She took a deep breath, and it took all the courage to softly state 'Then you'll give me what I need.'

After a few minutes of silence she took another breath.  'Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow, or this ends.' The seconds ticked by until finally a knock. She took a deep breath, raising her shoulders in confidence as she strode to the bed. She didn't touch herself; she wanted to, but her need for more overrode her desires for the moment.

The following morning she woke and noticed that he had made himself scarce, no small displays that day. In the afternoon she left the house for the first time in weeks to go shopping for things. She had plans for tonight.

...

Madison finished brushing out her voluminous, brunette locks and placed the pearl accented pin in hair; Her eyes staring into the mirror, yet her gaze was intent on things not seen. The side of her mouth gave the tiniest twinge of a smile. She was *ready*.

Love is a silly thing, a scary, risky thing.

She was unsure and at the same time, completely sure of what she wanted. She *wanted* to do this, she *needed* this to happen.

She would accept whatever happened.

Her thighs were slick with anticipation, the flesh warm and aching for touch. She troubled her bottom lip with her teeth and stood, letting her satin robe fall to the carpet. She turned her head to the side, but before she made the steps necessary she heard that familiar knock from behind the walls. 'Once for yes, Twice for no.' A second knock never came and she let out the breath she had been holding.

Her feet padded softly to the bed and she slipped between the linen of her sheets. She pulled the copper chain of the antique lamp on her night stand. In the darkness she stared at the wall opposite her bed, just beyond the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. She swallowed, nervous as a virgin bride waiting for her groom.

For the coming together of two,

the surrender,

the breaking,

the creating...  the claiming.



These thoughts would swirl in her mind until sleep took her.

Then... she would sleep until *he* would take her.

Yes.

He would slip out from behind the wall,

from behind his mask,

and finally...

...finally, he would steal *her* this time.