Pulp Fiction Gimp Mask Novels & Stories

Her face turned just enough to look intimate instead of startled. Timing is everything. The image has already been cropped once to just Lucas’s hand on her leg, her marked neck. A third has been screenshotted so many times it’s lost clarity, which only helps. Blurred photos invite imagination. And imagination is crueler than truth. Hehe. It’s hard to look like a sorrow filled sister, one who’s distraught her sister is such a tramp, a mean liar. But I hold my mask. By first period, the narrative has settled.

However, my hand does not use the cloth to wipe the liquid off the spots. Instead, my fingernails reach up to find the hidden edge of my freckle-covered, hyper-realistic potion mask right by my temples, tearing the fake skin completely off my face with a slow, smooth pull. My sudden action is totally outside Riven’s wildest expectations. His tracking senses truly believed that my face was naturally covered in ugly brown blemish spots. Thus, his inner wolf is hit with a massive, breathless shock when my true face gets revealed after the mask slides away into my lap.

I was restless. My body was heavy, my mind jittery. I’d dozed in snatches, ten minutes here, twenty there, surfacing each time to the same dull ache of frustration. The canvas propped in the corner had been my attempt at distraction. Now it was a mess of angry streaks, black slashing through cobalt like a storm tearing up the sky. I dropped the brush hours ago, leaving the water cloudy and the air smelling faintly of turpentine. Even the smell made me restless.

She wrung it out and pressed the wet cloth against the hardened edge of the clay mask under Kael's chin. The water dissolved the magical seal instantly. Irina dug her fingers under the edge of the mask and pulled upward. There was a sickening, wet tearing sound, like raw meat separating from a butcher's block. The clay peeled off his face in one solid, perfect piece. I looked down at Kael.

I thought to myself since I am aware that these masked people use guns filled with silver bullets. Giofre, baffled by what happened, instantly transformed himself. His animal instinct must’ve triggered despite the wolfsbane that he was inhaling. The weakness from his eyes were still apparent but he managed to pounce on the masked man. The masked man was pinned to the ground of the porch and was helpless due to Giofre’s weight. After pinning the man down, Giofre bit him to his death. Due to the gun wound that I received, I laid myself down to the ground as my consciousness started to drift away.

She had no idea how long she stood there, waiting for Ethan, but it felt like forever. Her thoughts were jumbled, and before she could collect herself, a group of men appeared out of the shadows by the sidewalk. Three of them. They were looking at her in a way that made her stomach tighten. She realized that Ellie had put her mask on for her and they probably thought she was a drunk prostitute. One of them—slightly shorter but stockier than the others—stepped closer, his gaze appraising. “Hey, you lost, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice slow and deliberate.

I clenched my fingers into the fabric of my sleeve. Ace pressed a button, and the footage flickered to life on the large monitor. There, in stark detail, was the masked figure moving through the pack house that morning. The mask hid the face completely, but every movement, the careful step, the slight hesitation, the way the figure reached for the bowl, made my stomach twist. I knew it was me, and yet no one else could tell. At least, not yet.

“Come here. I'll tip you. A man spoke, wearing a golden antelope mask; a fit, blonde-haired man had a slight setting of a normal mask on. In his palms was a tray of fruits he crawled towards the man who had spoken. The hooded, masked man ripped off the band on his stack of cash, tucked lots of hundred-dollar bills into the servers mask, and I watched in fucking disbelief as the man turned his plugged ass towards him I watched a trickle of cum slide down the server's ass as the masked one pulled out a butt plug and shoved his cock in. He didn't snap his hips or move; he just stood, his cock still nudged into the asshole as she jerked off. I watched my pulse quickening and watched wide-eyed w

The car behind her didn’t follow in. Good. She stayed there for twenty minutes, watching the mirror. Finally, the phantom car rolled past, vanishing down the highway like a ghost giving up the hunt. Inside Marco’s apartment, the chaos of her thoughts spilled out. Marco played the video three times. Froze it. Zoomed in. Ran it through filters. His face grew tighter with every second. “That mask isn’t a replica,” he said, voice low. “That’s real. The stitching. The blood patina. That thing is old-school.”

I hadn't replied to him when his gaze dropped to my arm, and his eyes darkened. The deep claw mark they left on me was bleeding. “You're bleeding,” his hand moved to my arm, his finger hovering over the mark “I'm… fine,” my voice cracked barely above a whisper, my heart pounding. He stood and gathered me in his arms. Just as he turned to leave, something caught my attention. The mask on the ground. The mask had fallen off one of the men's faces just before they transformed. His face… I could swear that I've seen it before in the Packhouse.