Ruler of the Mind

3 Misty

A Story in the Dark

Misty breathed out the words. The story began to unfold. It was as if Winter knew the trick to loosen her tongue. She'd been laughing at Brenda's story about a stray dog who followed her to the coffee shop. That was where it all started.

"Two men approached us and told us that we needed to leave. We weren't to cause a scene. One of them had a gun." Winter's hands continued massaging her feet and lower calves as the words began to tumble out. He didn't cringe, turn away or stop what he was doing. He simply listened.

Her skin tingled, and her tight muscles loosened up under his hands as she spoke. His actions felt good even if her words were ugly, black, and evil. His silence wasn't horror, it was simple respect for her words. His hands on her feet offered encouragement to continue.

She spoke. Winter massaged. That seemed to be an equitable trade agreement. The evil left her in the words. Her terror faded.

It was a story, just a story. It had an identifiable beginning, a middle, and an end just as all the ghost stories told around campfires always had. She just needed to tell it. Then it would stop being scary. It would simply be.

"Two more men joined us as we left the shop."

Misty sucked in a breath as she remembered. She'd spent the last weeks trying not to remember. Maybe that wasn't the answer. Maybe she needed to face the truth rather than hide away from it.

"The needle surprised me. They drugged us. The poison burned in my veins." She closed her eyes and stopped to breathe.

Winter simply continued stroking his warm calloused fingers over her skin. He waited while she struggled with the realization that what had happened had not been her fault. She had not had control. What had happened had been done to her without her consent. She had become the definition of a victim. Anger burned in her.

"The men were laughing at me. The sound was echoing and seemed far away. My vision wavered."

Misty felt her voice hitch as Winter's hands moved up her calves and stroked the back of her knees then swirled over her kneecaps. His hands drew her away from the pain and fear of her story. His touch was gentle and warm.

She felt that her anger was justified. As the quiet stretched out she wondered again at what he was doing. Not that he was touching her as odd as that seemed considering that she was broken and ruined and he shouldn't want to do that.

What she wanted to know was how he was doing it. How was his touch easing words she had been unable to say to anyone before? Why he would want to do it was a mystery that could wait a little longer. Exactly what he was doing to her mind was the more important question.

"What are you doing?" she asked Winter, confused by her own disjointed thoughts.

He was changing her somehow. His hands were careful and precise in their touch, deliberate and confident. Her story was less evil. She felt lighter.

"I'm easing the stress, taking away the tension, removing the fear. Should I stop?"

His answer was simple. He admitted what he was doing as if it should be obvious. He sounded confused as to why it even mattered. Maybe it didn't.

He asked her if he should stop as if what he was doing was the most normal thing in the world, and she shouldn't want him to stop.

He asked her anyway. It was her choice. She felt that he would stop if she said he should. Respect mattered. Having a choice mattered.

Misty did feel better. Winter's hands felt good. The fear was less, she was less tense, and the stress had faded. Realizing that her anxiety had faded caused her to believe he was right to do as he was doing.

"No, it feels good, just confusing," she admitted.

She didn't want Winter to stop. He continued.

His hands stroked over her calves and shins and gently squeezed her knees and ankles. It was a bit more involved than a pedicure at that point. His fingers sent electric tingles where he touched her, but it wasn't intrusive. It remained gentle and caring.

How did it work? It felt as if her gift was somehow at work. Did it matter if it worked? Maybe not.

She couldn't concentrate on that because he wanted her to speak to him. She wanted him not to stop stroking her skin so she obliged him.

He'd never said he would stop even if she didn't continue the tale. She felt confident that if she couldn't continue he wouldn't be angry nor withdraw his ministrations. Yet it felt right to continue. A tit for tat even if a horror story in exchange for a massage wasn't a good deal.

"Okay, what happened next?" Winter asked as his big hands massaged her thighs just above her knees which were drawn up with her feet now firmly planted on the bed. When he'd made the move to her thighs from her calves she couldn't say, but it still felt good.

She felt the sensations run up and down her spine. Warmth flooded her lower belly. Winter was slow, methodical, and careful. The fear was being drawn away. It was being replaced with something different, something far more uplifting.

He slowly fanned the flames of desire. That was so different from what she should have expected, yet it seemed right, natural that she should want the faceless man to touch her.

If he was manipulating her mind, she honestly didn't care at that moment. It felt too good to stop. She could analyze it later.

Thank you for reading ch 3. Please be kind and leave a comment to let an old tiger know what you think. -OK