Savage Shadows: Florence in the Grip of the Masked Burglar Part 1
By the Masked Writer
The usual noises of the newsroom were morphing into silence as the lights were going out one by one as Florence told her colleagues the usual “Goodnight, see you tomorrow!” and leaving the place. She had short auburn hair, with a touch of grey. At 49, 5'6" and 138 pounds, she cut a fine figure, helped by a tasteful, yet sexy blue dress, complemented by a great pair of legs. Her silhouette she had maintained more by careful dieting and the demands of her work than by exercise, having never been a fan of gyms.
Florence walked city streets with a confidence. Years chasing down stories had given her a thorough knowledge of the place a woman could walk alone and those she was better avoid.
As she stepped out of the news station, she walked a few thousand feet to the parking lot and slid into her car. Losing no time, she merged into the traffic, anxious to get home and leave the headline of the day behind her.
As she drove, Florence's thoughts drifted towards the comfort of her apartment, which she was looking forward to returning to, as she approached her building.
She parked her car and ascended the familiar staircase to the fifth floor, her heels echoing against the concrete walls. The exercise always left her a bit winded but was part of a familiar, reassuring, routine. She unlocked her apartment door and stepped into the quiet of her sanctuary.
She closed the door behind her, shutting out the outside.
Kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief, Florence enjoyed the feeling of her feet touching the cool hardwood floor. It was late, but she always indulged in a few precious moments of reprieve before going to bed.
At the center of her apartment, a worn leather couch seemed to invite her into its plush embrace.
Florence made her way to the bathroom. The soft light within revealed the usual installations, plus a large mirror, and, most important, a white shower curtain. The tiles were cool beneath her feet as she turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to her liking.
Decided to relax, she took her time as she began to undress.
Her fingers unbuttoned the blouse, revealing her collarbones and her laced black bra. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooling on the floor.
Next, she unzipped her skirt, which glided down her legs joined the blouse on the floor.
Her panties followed suit, and Florence stood naked in her bathroom.
As she prepared to step into the shower, which was warming up, Florence took a moment to look in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.
Her figure, despite its maturity, still had allure. The softness of her tummy, spoke of a woman comfortable in her own skin. Love handles were evidence of a life well-enjoyed. Her legs were indeed great and her buttocks, were soft but not flabby. Her arms and shoulders, while not muscular, bore a certain firmness that aged had not undermined yet.
Coming out of her daydreaming, Florence stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over her body, washing away the grime of the day.
The warmth of the shower enveloped Florence, washing off the day’s stress. Droplets of water clung to her skin as she stepped out onto the bathmat, and began to dry herself, with a towel, the fabric absorbing the moisture from her body. Her hair, now darkened by the water, clung to her forehead. She moved the towel across her shoulders, arms, and down to her legs, reveling in this post-shower ritual.
As the towel wrapped around her figure, she walked towards the sink
She puts on her panties, followed by a short camisole.
Just as she was adjusting the camisole, she heard a noise, coming from inside her home. Florence froze. Her comforting routine was abruptly shattered. There was nobody in the apartment but her. What was that?
Her senses heightened; she strained to listen. Another noise, faint but unmistakable, reached her ears. The weight of uncertainty settled upon her shoulders, and a mix of curiosity and apprehension kicked in. She tiptoed towards the bedroom door.
As she pressed her ear against the wood, the muffled sounds from the other side became clearer. Florence's heart quickened. Now she was sure: there was somebody else in her apartment!
Florence opened the bathroom door and stepped cautiously into the living room. The glow from the bathroom spilled into the room, revealing the scene she dreaded. A young woman, athletic and dressed in a sleek black leotard with a mask obscuring her features, stood in the midst of the room.
Their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, time seemed to hang in suspension. The burglar, though stunned by the unexpected presence of Florence, was surveying the room with an audacity that suggested confidence. Despite the initial surprise, the intruder's eyes betrayed no fear. At all.
Florence's instincts kicked in, a mix of fear and reckless courage. A quick scan of her surroundings revealed that the burglar was rifling through her belongings. The intrusion outraged Florence.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she demanded with a firm voice as she moved toward the intruder.
The burglar’s mask concealed any discernible expression. At first glance, the intruder didn't appear physically imposing, about 5f4 and 125 pounds, shorter and lighter than Florence. However, she was obviously athletic and there was confidence in her stance.
Florence, undeterred, stood her ground. "Get out of her. Now! « She said, pointing at the exit, her gaze unwavering.
The burglar hesitated only for a brief moment. A silence hung between them, for a second. It was a tense standoff, each woman sizing up the other.
Florence was not backing down and reached for her cell phone on a nearby table, her eyes never leaving the intruder. She quickly snatched the phone. The device felt cool and familiar in her hand, a link to the outside world.
"Get out," Florence repeated, her tone unwavering “I am calling the police”.
To be continued
