Sherbet Riley
Registered User
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2022
- Messages
- 17
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- 13
Henry awoke damp and disoriented. Rolling over, he tapped his index finger against his phone screen and groaned when he saw that it was a few minutes after two in the morning. This was only the latest interruption of what had been a fitful yet enthralling night’s sleep.
Upon returning home on his bike that evening, Henry suddenly felt flu-ish. His throat itched, his knees ached, and he was suddenly very aware of his lungs and tongue. He was less than ten steps from his bed when the chills overtook him and he collapsed onto his mattress. Henry wrapped himself in blankets and curled into a ball but he couldn’t seem to get warm. He was still wearing his clothes; his socked feet still toasty from his recently removed shoes. The lights were still on. Shit. He’d have to turn them off whenever he next left his bed, but that felt so very long from now. Henry just needed to warm up and rest. Sleep would solve everything.
And so Henry shut his eyes, doing his best to block out the irritating overhead light of his room. He was not entirely successful; a gentle, yellow light was still thrumming behind his eyelids. God, he wished he’d just remembered to turn the lights off. He always had trouble sleeping in anything other than complete darkness. But he was so cold. So tired. He’d just have to fix it in the morning.
Henry lay there for a while with his eyes shut, waiting for his brain to catch up with his body. He hadn’t moved a muscle in who knows how long, yet his mind was racing. A few songs were stuck on a loop, catchy pop hooks he’d heard blasting from passing cars or playing through the PA at the store. He turned to an old meditation trick, one he’d read about but never practiced. The idea was to visualize your thoughts as bubbles and pop them one by one until your mind was quiet. It didn’t work.
Then, little by little, his body began to warm. The chills subsided, and with them the ceaseless churning of his mind. Suddenly, all was still. Henry let out a deep sigh, one that had seemingly had been summoned from the deepest depths of him. Finally, he could relax. His mind was no longer racing, now just merely drifting. He thought of his work that day, how extraordinary his efforts had been. He thought of the freshly built porch glowing in the afternoon sun, how the wood had felt in his hands and under his feet.
Feet…
He thought of Taylor’s feet now, how her plump little toes had pressed into the wood when she’d come outside to meet her date. And how…
Wait…her date…
Henry frowned as it came back to him. He’d felt silly to even think of mentioning it to Mrs. Mullins when he’d come to on her couch. After all, it did sound ridiculous. Of course he hadn’t stumbled across the Mullins Sisters tickling Taylor’s helpless date. The very thought was patently absurd. Not only would he sound utterly insane if he brought it up, Henry didn’t want to offend Mrs. Mullins by suggesting, what, that her daughters were tickle torturing a grown man in the basement? No, the simplest explanation was that he’d simply had a strange fever dream during his hypnotherapy session. That’s all it was. And besides, Henry always had strange dreams after his sessions with Mrs. Mullins.
Oh, Mrs. Mullins…
Henry found himself smiling now. Good ol’ Mrs. Mullins. Boy, was he lucky to have her in his corner. Henry didn’t know where he’d be without her. With all the work she threw his way, he figured he should do something nice for her come the holiday season. If it weren’t for her, Henry would be shit out of luck. Hell, he might have had to move back in with his mother. Not only did Mr. Mullins provide him with a steady stream of work, she often fed him too, not to mention the free hypnotherapy sessions. It seemed so silly now to think that he ever believed what some people used to say about her.
When Henry was little, some of the neighbor boys were afraid of Mrs. Mullins. They’d call her all sorts of names and whisper nasty rumors about her on the playground. Some said she was a witch who kept an army of mindless zombies in her basement. Others suggested she was a vampire, an ageless being that had resided in that old house for hundreds of years and sustained herself by feeding on boys. One even went so far as to claim that he knew a kid (who knew another kid…) that had gone into her house to retrieve an errant Frisbee, only to be never seen again.
It was all nonsense, of course. Just a story the neighborhood boys told themselves for a cheap scare at sleepovers. Mrs. Mullins wasn’t a witch or vampire. The truth was far more mundane. No, Mrs. Mullins was just a sweet old lady who lived with her daughters near the edge of town. She just needed a little help now and again, and who couldn’t say the same? Hell, now Henry felt downright guilty for ever believing otherwise. Why, just that afternoon he’d placed his head in her soft, expansive lap as she gently lulled him into trance during their impromptu hypnotherapy session.
He thought of her hands, her fingers, and how good it felt to have her gently stroking his hair as he counted himself down to sleep. He remembered how soft and comforting her voice was, how calm and still he was in that stuffy little room. He remembered just how heavy his eyes felt before finally allowing them to close and how good it felt to close them. He thought of her massive chest and how beautiful her bare breasts looked as she slowly coaxed them out from her cotton prairie dress.
They’d been paler than he’d anticipated and even larger than he’d dreamed. She was still talking but Henry couldn’t make out what she was saying, instead mesmerized by the way her breasts heaved and jiggled as she spoke. The skin was just ever so slightly wrinkled around her sternum, her chest mottled with light, brown freckles. He could feel the warmth radiating from her breasts against his now-flushed cheeks. The hand that had been stroking his hair now gently cupped his head and guided it toward one of her exposed breasts. As soon as Mrs. Mullins’ nipple brushed against his mouth, Henry’s lips wrapped around it, as if by instinct, and he was rewarded with a contented sigh that escaped his hypnotist’s throat.
“Such a good boy for Mama…” she sighed.
Henry could feel his manhood stiffening between his thighs. Groaning, Henry opened his eyes. He was still in bed in his brightly lit room. Had it all been a dream? No, it couldn’t have been. It was all so vivid, so detailed, more so than any of the dreams he’d had after his previous sessions with Mrs. Mullins. Rationally, Henry knew it was a dream, it had to be a dream, but it had the texture of a memory.
Henry hugged the covers close and turned over, his cheek searching for the cool spot on his pillow. He was still hard, and allowed himself the little ripple of pleasure that came from squeezing his erection between his thighs. It was bad enough that he’d woken up after finally getting to sleep, but to have come to the surface during such a wonderful dream was even more frustrating.
And so Henry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself back to that dream. He tried to focus on the image of her breasts, on the sensation of her nipple against his lips, but no matter how hard he tried he still remained awake – frustrated and hard. It was like trying to throw his arms around vapor.
Switching tactics, Henry instead focused intently on the little details. He started to rebuild Mrs. Mullins’ office from scratch in his mind, one image at a time. He started with the woven rug on the floor, trying to really nail the color and material, the little fraying strands around the edges. The dresser was next. Mrs. Mullins had asked Henry to move it a few months ago. Henry focused on the weight of it, the color, the smell of the wood – oak – and the thin layer of dust that coated the top. There was the stubborn little window, an oddly shaped thing that from the outside resembled an eye. He trained his ear, listening for the way it would creak when being forced open and closed. Then the couch, with its pistachio green color and worn piping, the soft give of the cushions, the smell of baby powder and incense that had long ago permeated the fabric. And the end table, with its pale marble top and wrought iron legs that twisted and curled to the floor. Atop it sat the metronome, tick…tick…ticking away, beside the little candle and bundle of lavender and the little jewelry box with its hinged lid that yawned as it opened and softly clicked as it closed. The way Mrs. Mullins fingers gently opened it and lazily wrapped her fingers around the waxy black cord that attached to her special crystal.
The crystal. A bewitching, many-sided thing that refracted the light so beautifully when held aloft. Henry adored the crystal, just loved to stare and stare as Mrs. Mullins spun it before his widening eyes. It was round and heavy looking, suspended by the thick, black cord that Mrs. Mullins held pinched between her fingers. Sometimes she liked to swing it back and forth, the way a “traditional” hypnotist might use a pocket watch, but today she’d elected to spin the crystal around and around and around, twisting the cord this way and that between her fingers just so. Henry didn’t mind. It felt so good to stare at the mesmerizing trinket. He loved to watch the crystal spin. It was so easy to stare at, much easier than working. Or thinking. When the crystal slowed, he could briefly glimpse his face reflected in the seemingly millions of fragments, each one catching and refracting the light in its own special way. His reflection looked so happy, so peaceful, his eyes half-lidded and his lips just slightly parted. And then the crystal began to speed up once more, spinning and spinning. The more the crystal spun, the more colors he could see, and he liked looking at the pretty colors, didn’t he? Could he name them all?
Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Purple. Orange. Blue. Wait, did he already say blue? Better start over then. And so he’d stare even more intently at the spinning crystal, getting lost in the dizzying, refracting colors and lights until everything else seemed to melt away. The whole time, Mrs. Mullins was talking to him. Was it her voice encouraging him to name the colors, or his own internal monologue? Henry couldn’t be sure. Did he even care? Mrs. Mullins’ voice was so soft and far away. Henry tried to make out what she was saying but the strain made his head spin. Spin. Spin. Words were hard. Wouldn’t he prefer to just stare at Mama’s pretty little crystal?
Henry felt as if he were outside himself now, watching it all unfold, his head lazily lolling this way and that in Mrs. Mullins’ lap as his eyes remained fixed on the crystal spinning just inches from his face. He barely even seemed to notice her exposed chest anymore, far more entertained by the mesmerizing, twirling colors before his eyes. He lazily flexed his socked feet against the armrest at the end of the couch, bucking a little as he noticed the tightness of his jeans. Mrs. Mullins’ other hand was resting on his crotch, gently applying pressure to what he now registered was a biblical erection. Henry looked so happy, a silly grin on his face as he stared at the hypnotic crystal and bucked into the warm palm against his crotch. He felt so, so good. Henry loved it here. He loved the crystal. He loved coming to Mrs. Mullins’ Office. He loved Mrs. Mullins.
Which is why it was so upsetting when the crystal went away. Suddenly, the crystal had drifted out of view and Henry was very sad. He wanted Mama’s crystal, needed Mama’s crystal. What happened to it? Henry felt as though he might cry and started pathetically pouting and whining. Henry instinctively turned his head and buried his face in Mrs. Mullins’ breasts like a fussy child.
“Such a needy little thing,” Mrs. Mullins cooed, giving his erection a gentle squeeze.
A jolt of pleasure shot through Henry at her tough. His eyes rolled back in his head and a guttural moan escaped his throat as every muscle in his body went taut. He’d never felt so aroused in his life, a live wire that could spark at the slightest provocation. But already he could feel his erection fading. He bucked urgently into Mrs. Mullins’ hand and whined even harder when she pulled it away, denying him more of the sweet, sweet bliss she’d bombarded him with just moments ago.
Mrs. Mullins kept talking to Henry in that gentle, motherly tone, but none of the words seemed to register. All that mattered to Henry was diving back into the rapturous pleasure that now cruelly eluded him. His erection was gone now, a useless root in his jeans, and no matter how deeply he buried his face in Mrs. Mullins’ chest, he couldn’t seem to get back to that place. He felt frenzied, could taste the bitter adrenaline creeping up the back of his tongue, salivating at the thought of more erotic bliss. Mrs. Mullins kept whispering to him, the words circling his head and pouring into his ear as his head swam in desperate, needy lust. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what Mama was saying, Henry only knew that it felt so good to listen to her, and good boys listened to their mothers.
And so, after what felt like an eternity of whining and bucking and pleading, the crystal swung back into view and began its seductive spin once again, instantly enrapturing the horny boy in a shimmering dance of color and light. Henry’s body relaxed into Mrs. Mullins’ lap once more as the crystal spun and spun and the old woman’s hand once again came to rest on the denim tent of his jeans.
“That’s right…that’s Mama’s good boy…” Mrs. Mullins encouraged, smiling down at her mesmerized captive, “drowsy and dumb…sleepy and stupid…”
Henry awoke with a start, his clothes damp with sweat, the pillow soaked. The lights of his room were still on, bright as ever, burning his sleep-starved eyes. He rolled over and checked his phone. It was only a few minutes after ten! He’d only been asleep for thirty minutes. His cock throbbed hungrily between his legs, leaking beads of precum into his now-sticky briefs as Henry’s brain tried to focus. But with each passing second, the dream drifted further and further away, every delicious image and sensation turning to vapor in his mind.
Those fucking lights! They were the problem, Henry was sure of it. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. And yet…and yet the light switch seemed so very far away. The effort that it would take to drag himself out of his soft, warm, cozy bed, cross the frigid expanse of his bedroom to the light switch would require herculean strength.
Fuck it.
Henry ripped himself from his bed and practically dove across the room. No sooner had the blankets lifted from his skin did the chills set in again. It was a bone deep thing, immediate and punishing. He felt as though he’d just leapt into a pool. But he had to be strong. The sooner the lights were out, the sooner he could sleep, and the sooner he could sleep, the sooner her could get back to dreaming those beautiful dreams of ma-…Mrs. Mullins.
Henry practically slapped the light switch off. Immediately the room was plunged into a welcoming darkness and Henry leapt into bed, wrapping himself up in his sheets. Soon his body warmed one again and his mind began to drift once more…
“Keep going, sweetie. Tell Mama Lulu allllll about it.”
He was back in the room, his head in Mrs. Mullins lap. The crystal had been put aside and Henry’s eyes were closed. His pants were pulled down, bunched up uncomfortably under his butt, his cock bobbing freely in the air. Mrs. Mullins was running her fingers through his hair again, her nails just gently scratching his scalp while her other hand was gently teasing his throbbing cock. She traced the soft pads of her fingertips along the underside of his erection, just barely touching him, as if beckoning him closer. It was maddening. If Henry hadn’t been so thoroughly subdued he would have leapt right out of his skin.
“She was…so much…bigger than…me…I couldn’t…fight her off…”
Henry was startled by the sound of his own voice. He didn’t so much speak the words as breathe them. He was speaking in a low, monotone voice, as if every word was being exhumed from the deepest depths of him, taking seconds to reach the surface.
“And then it was tickle time for widdle Henwee, wasn’t it?”
Henry furrowed his brow and pouted at the memory, nodding. His frown was quickly turned upside down as he felt Mrs. Mullins fingertips graze the head of his cock, her nails gently tickling the tip. Henry gasped and bucked.
“Please…” he whined, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Keep going, baby boy. How did that make you feel? How did you feel when she tickled you?”
“Small…Helpless…Silly…”
“Because you’re a very ticklish boy, aren’t you?”
Henry nodded slowly, his cock twitching, waiting for another rapturous caress from Mrs. Mullins gentle fingers.
Henry’s eyes opened. He was back in his room. Looking at his phone, Henry groaned. He’d only been asleep for 15 minutes! This was torture. He was still hard, concerningly so. He’d had sex dreams before but never any this vivid. Maybe if he could just pump one out he could finally get some rest.
And so Henry’s hand wandered beneath the sheets, slipping under the elastic waistband of his underwear to touch his needy cock. Immediately he felt his shoulders relax as he responded to his own gentle touch. His cock felt hot in his hands and his back arched as his fingertips gently coaxed it free. Henry began to lazily rub himself, stroking and teasing, but…nothing happened.
If you could sell tickets to masturbation sessions, Henry could sell out Royal Albert Hall. He was a pro. If he wanted to, he could finish himself off in under a minute. He had his technique down. Henry knew just the right amount of pressure, the right speed, the right triggers he could return to over and over again in his mind to ensure release. But for some reason, he couldn’t get himself over the line. Yes, he got quite close, maddeningly close. But no matter what he did he couldn’t make himself cum. He could feel his balls filling up as he brought himself to the edge over and over again in a desperate attempt to finish. Why couldn’t he cum? Frustrated, Henry gave up and turned over, hoping to force himself to sleep.
But sleep never came. Instead, Henry tossed and turned all evening. He’d fall into a shallow sleep for maybe 15-30 minutes at a time, dreaming of Mrs. Mullins. He had a dream where he sat at a desk, writing down what looked like - to him - chicken scratch. But his brain recognized that his hand was drawing real words and letters, but they read as mere scribbles to his dreaming eyes. Mrs. Mullins stood behind him, gently scratching his back and humming affirmatively as Henry kept writing on lined paper. His brain registered one word though, gleaned from the repetitive movement of the pencil between his fingers. It was variations of the word “tickle” - “tickling, ticklish, tickled.” What was Mrs. Mullins having him write?
He awoke once again, and again Henry unsuccessfully tried to masturbate himself to sleep. Again he fell asleep and dreamed of Mama Mulllins, only to wake what felt like seconds later, rock hard and unable to come. What was happening to him?
Around the tenth or eleventh cycle of this, Henry’s room had begun to brighten again. The dim, cool light of dawn phased through his cheap blinds and gently illuminated his room. Henry lay there on his back, exhausted, absently touching his turgid member. Henry’s eyes felt like sandpaper, each blink an admission of defeat. He just had to call it, there was no way he was getting any real sleep.
Henry could hear the faint buzzing of his phone on his bedside table. His eyes widened when he saw the caller ID: Mrs. Mullins. What was she calling him at seven in the morning for? Not that it mattered, as Henry answered the phone immediately without question.
“H’lo?” Henry rasped. God, his mouth was dry.
“Henry? Oh, goodness, I hope I didn’t wake you!” Mrs. Mullins chirped on the other end.
Despite himself, Henry smiled. He loved the sound of her voice.
“No, I’m up. I’m up. Uh, what can I do for you ma - Mrs. Mullins?”
He could hear the faintest giggle through the line before she answered.
“Well, it’s nothing really. I’m honestly embarrassed to even be calling you about this but…oh, you know what, I’m sure we can figure it out.”
“No, what is it?”
“Well…” Mrs. Mullins said, taking an unnaturally long pause, “it seems we have a…leak.”
Suddenly a wave of pleasure crept up Henry’s spine, tickling the base of his brainstem as goosebumps rippled down his arms. Henry’s cock twitched happily. It was enough to nearly make him drop his phone.
“S-sorry?”
“There’s something dripping from my office ceiling. I think it might be a busted pipe or somethin’, it just keeps…leaking.”
There is was again. Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. Henry’s cock throbbed, oozing out a little bead of precum at the word. Henry didn’t know what to do.
“Oh, I- uh, well…”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this,” Mrs. Mullins moaned. “After all your hard work yesterday, I - oh, the girls and I can just google it. I keep saying we need to be a little more self-sufficient around here. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Really, I can fix the…” He didn’t dare say it. “…issue.”
“Are you sure? It feels silly to have you bike all the way out here to fix a little…leak.”
“Unff…” Henry couldn’t help himself, it just slipped out. Another wave of pleasure had crashed over him like a wave atop a beach rock. His cock had never been this hard before, this desperate. He hoped Mrs. Mullins hadn’t heard him. If she did, she didn’t mention it.
“You still there, hon?”
“Y-yes. Yeah, I can be there in 45.”
“Good boy. See you soon.”
——————————————————————————————————————————
It was a small miracle that Henry made it to the Mullins’ house in one piece. He could barely see straight, much less bike. Biking to work with a raging erection was no east feat. His mind was clouded with erotic thoughts and half-remembered dreams. Henry had tried to relieve himself before leaving the house. Oh, how he did try. But frustratingly, no matter how hard he tried to reach completion, he just couldn’t make himself cum. This had never been a problem before, and Henry was starting to worry. He was unsteady on his bike, could feel the wheels wobbling beneath his weight.
He was practically speeding to the Mullins’ mansion. He could feel the wind against his back, pushing him forward as he eagerly pedaled ahead. Henry could scarcely remember a time when he was THIS horny. Even as a teenager he’d never experienced his level of longing, of need. His balls were swollen, forcing Henry to perch awkwardly atop his seat.
Despite the circumstances of this visit, Henry was excited. Hell, he was downright eager. Having spent the whole night wracked by such naughty dreams, the prospect of seeing the bosomy object of his desire made Henry’s heart leap in his chest. He just needed to see her. Maybe…maybe he could negotiate another “session” with Mrs. Mullins after he was done fixing their…leak.
It was an overcast day, foggy and damp, the sun hidden behind milky, grey clouds. Henry smiled when he stepped onto the porch. The wood felt solid under his feet, and the exhausted handyman couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate his own craftsmanship from the day before. He’d taken a beat around the side of the house before approaching the front door to will his erection to rest. The swelling had reduced about 80% but still caused a slightly bow-legged stride as Henry approached the front door. The first few drops of rain began to fall as he rapped his knuckles upon the door, darkening the fresh wood steps one pinprick at a time.
Henry was surprised, and slightly disappointed, when Mimi answered the door. Usually it was her mother who answered.
“Hey, Henry…” Mimi shyly muttered.
“Hi Mimi, is your mother home?”
Mimi shook her head. She was wearing a loose-fitting grey sweater with dark jeans and wool socks on her long, slender feet. Her hair was done up in a bun, held in place with black, plastic chopsticks that only made the strands of grey entwined between them stand out all the more.
“She just stepped out. Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Henry said, doing his best to hide his disappointment. “Um…she told me there was a…an issue in her office?”
“Yes.” Mimi nodded, opening the door a little wider. “Come on in.”
Inside the house was dark, lights off and shades drawn. It took Henry’s eyes a moment to adjust as he followed Mimi inside. Most days the house would shine in the morning light, no matter the weather, but today it seemed especially gloomy.
“Shh,” Mimi shushed, holding a finger to her lips as she nodded to the next room. “Taylor’s sleeping.”
“Long night?”
“Mm.”
From where he was standing, Henry could make out the faint buzz of daytime TV and the flickering glow of the screen. Unable to help himself, he snuck a glance inside as Mimi led him past.
Taylor was lying face down on the couch with her head turned toward the screen. Her eyes were shut, lips slightly parted, but from where he was standing that’s not what Henry could see. Instead, all he could notice were Taylors plump, upturned soles resting on the end of the couch. Remarkably there wasn’t a speck of dust on them, no callous or blemish, despite her penchant for going barefoot. In the dark, lit only by the TV, her arches, the balls of her feet, her toes, all looked incredibly smooth. And soft.
Henry wondered how warm those toes would feel against his lips. He wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and crawl over to those sleepy feet. He’d bury his face between her soles, pop each and every toe into his mouth one by -
“Coming?”
Mimi was already halfway up the stairs. Henry caught himself and cleared his throat. He felt embarrassed, small, as though he’d been caught looking at his uncle’s old Playboys. It didn’t help that he was standing so awkwardly with Mimi looking down on him from her position on the stairs. Christ, was he getting hard?
“Yeah, I, uh…just - think I’ve seen that one before,” he stammered as he willed him semi away. “On the TV, I mean.”
“Oh, sure,” Mimi nodded. “Here, let me show you the leak…”
A fresh rush of arousal rippled through him at the word. What was going on?
By the time they reached Mrs. Mullins’ office Henry was ready to become a monk. Clearly something was very wrong with him. Simply being in this house seemed to have put him on a hair trigger. Every step that brought him closer to the scene of his rapturous dreams only served to make his jeans tighter. If only he’d been able to finish himself off in bed that morning, then he may have been better equipped to prepare himself. As it was, he was practically vibrating by the time he reached the landing and stepped into Mrs. Mullins’ office.
Everything was just as it was when he’d left the previous evening. Hazy morning light filtered in through the round window and Henry could see that the rain had already picked up. What had begun as a drizzle now threatened to turn into a full-blown storm.
Tink!…Tink!…Tink!…
That’s when Henry saw the bucket. Truthfully it was more of a pail, something you might bring to the beach to keep kids entertained. Looking up, Henry could see that the water stain he’d spotted the previous day had widened and was now leaking, drip by drip, into the awaiting receptacle below.
Less than thirty minutes later Henry was at the top of a ladder, scraping away at the soggy plaster to reach the leaky pipe. It wouldn’t be a difficult repair, he figured, and he’d be back in bed within a few hours. Already his mind was racing with dirty thoughts, priming himself for what he hoped would be a fruitful and mind-bending orgasm once he was back in his bed. He was tired too. Exhausted, really. Now that he was working with hands the lack of sleep was really catching u to him. It was a miracle he’d make it this far without some shut eye.
He tried to focus on the task at hand. Already he was nearly halfway done, having just removed the damaged section of the pipe. But it was hard to stay focused. Being back in Mrs. Mullins’ Office was doing funny things to him. No matter how far his mind seemed to stray, his thoughts always seemed to wander back to the sight of Taylor’s smooth, upturned soles. He could almost feel them in his hands he saw them to clearly. He wondered what they smelled like, how her feet might feel against his face, his tongue, his cock. He bet they tasted like -
Suddenly Henry felt his body fighting against gravity as his foot slipped off the ladder. Henry caught himself just in time, his hands grasping on to the ladder for dear life. His heart was pounding, no longer was he in any danger of drifting off. The piece of replacement pipe had fallen to the floor with a startling BANG that had summoned Mimi back into the room?
“Everything alright?” Mimi asked, almost apologetically.
“F-fine…” Henry gasped, still gripping the sides of the ladder. “Sorry, I almost lost my footing.”
“Can I help?”
Without waiting for a response, Mimi took a few steps forward and picked up the fallen piece of replacement pipe. It was easy to forget just how tall she was, Henry thought. From where she was standing, Mimi merely needed to extend her hand to pass the pipe to Henry atop the highest rung.
“Thank you,” he said as he accepted it from her outstretched hand. “I hope I didn’t startle you.” Despite his best efforts, Henry couldn’t stifle a yawn.
“Tired?” Mimi asked.
“Mhm,” Henry hummed as he set about his task again.
“I can help you stay awake if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s not — you don’t have to do that.”
“I’d like to.” It was perhaps the most assured he’d ever heard her.
Henry felt Mimi’s hands take hold of the ladder below him, steadying it. He had to admit, it was nice to have a spotter.
“It’s funny…”
“What is?” Henry was half-listening, intent on finishing the repair and getting out of there as soon as he could. Already he could hear the rain lashing at the window. The drizzle had become a downpour and Henry didn’t want to stick around long enough to get caught in whatever came after.
“When we were little, Taylor and I could be a real handful,” Mimi began. “Neither one of us ever seemed to sleep through the night. Drove mama crazy. If it wasn’t me hollerin’ through the night then it was my sister.”
“That is funny,” Henry mumbled as he fussed with the pipe.
“How’s that?”
“Just can’t imagine you hollerin’ is all. No offense…”
Mimi smiled.
“Well, things were different then. Anyway, I bring it up because our mama couldn’t get any sleep. Lord knows our father wasn’t around to help out with us or the house or anything. So mama made it her job to tire us out during the day. Naps got shorter, chores got harder. Soon it got to be that Taylor and I could barely keep our eyes open come suppertime…”
Mimi’s voice was different. Usually Henry had a hard time understanding her she kept so quiet, but now she spoke plainly, almost musically. Her voice carried a rhythm, a charge to it that Henry had never detected before. It was almost soothing in the way her mother’s voice was soothing whenever he had found his head resting in her lap within this very room.
“I remember one time,” Mimi continued, “Taylor was falling asleep on the couch, just like she is now. It was still light out. Too late for a nap and too early to go to bed. If she drifted off then she’d likely be stirrin’ all night keepin’ Mama up.”
“So what happened?” Though he was still focused on the task at hand, Henry found that he was hanging on her every word.
“Well, Mama set up a little stool at the end of the couch, right by Taylor’s feet. I remember watching as she gently removed her sandals. And it was gentle. Taylor barely noticed as she undid the little strap and worried them off her feet. Sure, she was half awake but…”
Henry could feel his hands slowing as more and more real-estate in his mind was being taken up by Mimi’s story. Already he could feel the arousal building in his stomach and his groin. It was as if he were the one sitting at the end of the couch, slipping the sandals off of those perfect, juicy soles.
“T-then what?” Henry could almost swear that he heard Mimi giggle when he asked.
“Well, once Taylor’s little feet were exposed, Mama started running her finger up and down her soles, tickling them ever so gently. Gently…gently…”
At this, Mimi began tracing a single finger up and down the back of Henry’s calf. Her soft touch made him jump but he did not recoil. Immediately he was hard. Not aroused. Hard. Even through his jeans the gentle tickle was causing a buzz to build at the base of his skull. The combination of her touch and her softly spoken words were having a devastating effect on his psyche.
“Up and down. Around and around. Under the toes and along the arch. She never once stopped moving her finger. She just sat there, patiently tickling Taylor’s feet. It was just one finger, not enough to provoke hysterics or even outright laughter. No, that would just tire her out even more. But my sister’s feet are very ticklish. Did you know that? It’s a wonder she shows off her feet as often as she does. You’d think she’d learn her lesson. Growing up all I needed to do was play with her feet a while and she’d do all my chores. It wasn’t hard to do. I was always bigger than her. But nobody tickles like Mama. Mama’s who I learned it from. Taylor too, but not the same. Mama knew how to tickle my sisters feet juuuuuuust enough to keep her awake and giggling while showing her the perils of nappin’ when she wasn’t supposed to.”
Henry had stopped his work entirely at this point and was now simply holding onto the ladder, painfully erect. He could see it so clearly he nearly felt as though he were both the one at the end of the couch tickling Taylor’s feet and the one being tickled at the same time. His head was swimming. Henry was worried that if he let go of the ladder that he might really fall this time. But Mimi’s words were so enrapturing, her touch so inviting, that all he could bring himself to do was to hold on and listen.
“She tried to resist. Tried to cover one foot with the other, tried to wriggle free. But Mama has a firm grip. If one foot tried to cover the other she’d just tickle that one instead, maybe bringing in a second finger.” Now Mimi was using two fingers to touch the back of Henry’s calf, bicycling her fingers over and over that thin denim. She could feel him tensing up under her gentle touch but at no point did he resist her. Mimi could feel herself smiling as she spoke and the excitement began to rise in her chest.
“Mama kept it up for over an hour. No matter how many sleepy protests my sister managed to mumble between her giggles, Mama kept at it until it got dark out and it was time for bed. But even after Taylor had drifted off to sleep, I could hear her giggling in her sleep, could see her bare, shapely feet shifting beneath the sheets, trying to protect themselves from naughty ticklers in her dreams. This was the night I discovered the power in my voice. I slipped out of bed and knelt beside hers and whispered in her ear. Mama says I could have been a great hypnotist but I don’t know…”
Mimi was openly groping both his calves now, squeezing and massaging them with steady force through his jeans. A low moan escaped Henry’s throat. He was practically swaying atop the ladder now, his mind filled with seductive thoughts of Taylor’s feet and Mimi’s voice. His erection was forcibly pressing against his zipper, almost painfully so. But even this pressure, however unpleasant, only served to arouse him further.
“And so I knelt beside my sister, watching her eyes flit about beneath her slumbering eyelids. And I told her exactly what was happening to her feet. I told her about the feathers that teased her heels, the little kitties that lapped at her soles, the fingers that piggied her toes. I could see as I spoke that I was influencing her dream in real time. Her giggles would rise and fall in line with my words. I was tickling my sister without even touching her. It was a real rush. I bet if I really wanted to I could have made her pee her pants. But then that would only wake her up. And Mama. But I sat there all night long, talking my sister through those dreamy tickles. And I found myself repeating, every now and then, ‘Are you having a tickle dream, Taylor? Are you having a tickle dream?’ I wonder, when you go to sleep tonight, when you finally close those sleepy eyes of yours, what will you dream about?”
Something in Henry told him to turn around. He turned his body in such a way as to allow himself to look down at Mimi from his perch while still keeping his burgeoning tent out of sight. Mimi was looking right at him, her eyes boring right through him.
“Will you have a tickle dream?”
At this, Mimi’s hands formed into pincers and squeezed just above Henry’s knees, tickling him.
As if electrocuted, Henry’s body went rigid and he toppled off the top of the ladder, landing right in Mimi’s waiting arms. Though he knew she was quite tall, Henry was startled by just how strong Mimi was. Her arms had no difficulty catching him and barely gave an inch upon his landing.
Henry blushed as he lay in her arms, no longer able to hide is prominent erection. He wanted to shrink, to disappear he was so embarrassed, and he felt plenty small already. Even Mimi seemed taken aback. Looking down at him, Mimi almost looked startled, like a dog that had finally caught a squirrel. Now that she held Henry close, she wasn’t sure what to do. She was all bark, no bite.
His cheeks flushed, Henry quickly rolled out of Mimi’s arms and felt the hard floor beneath his feet as he ran out of the room. He practically fell as she rushed through the door into the hall. It was difficult to walk, much less run, with a cock as hard as his. Henry felt as though he had a steel rod pressed against his zipper as he stumbled to the bathroom.
Shutting the bathroom door behind him, Henry began splashing cold water on his face. Was this a dream too? Henry’s head swam with erotic visions and dirty words. He needed to get himself straightened out. The rain hitting the window was now indistinguishable from hail stones and the ceaseless rattle and thunder did little to quiet his already cacophonous mind.
In a flash the solution came to him: he was simply too horny. That’s all this was, an overwhelming spell of lust. If he could just get off, pump out a quickie here in the bathroom, then his mind would settle and he could finish his work without distraction. Then he could get home and sleep. Sleep. Sleep…
Henry’s hands blurred as he fumbled with his belt, nearly breaking the buckle as he freed himself from it and yanked his pants down. He was openly masturbating over the sink now, his hand pumping furiously. Henry wasn’t even thinking about anything in particular, relying instead on practiced motions and no small amount of pressure. His left hand worked up and down, up and down. This was not self-love, but instead a desperate sexual act.
But not matter how vigorously he pumped and stroked himself, Henry could not find release. Within a matter of seconds he could feel his cock shrinking from his grip, retreating. Henry could almost cry. It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t he cum? Was he sick? Did he need to see somebody? Even turning his thoughts to the previously arousing memory of Taylor’s feet did little to push the needle.
Still he pumped. He summoned every erotic memory, every 4K video to mind. Nothing. Before he knew it his cock had once again gone soft and he was simply tugging on a fleshy rope. Henry could think of nothing beyond his desperate need for release, his thoughts clouded with lust and anxiety. So consumed was he in his task, he never heard the bathroom door swing open.
“Henry!”
Everything stopped and Henry’s stomach grew cold. Looking up, Henry could see the doorway in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Standing at the door was Mrs. Mullins, her hand over her mouth in shock. Beside her stood her daughters, Taylor and Mimi, each of them trying to get a good look at the desperate and horny boy inside. Henry’s mouth went dry and words failed him.
“M-Mrs. Mu-Muh - I d- I-I - It’s not - I…”
“What on Earth are you doing, Henry? Are you - ? Oh my god.”
Henry could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. This was it. He was finished. He could say goodbye to this gig. That much he knew for sure. And in a small town like this it was nigh inevitable that word of this incident would have spread by morning. “The Horny Handyman.” He could hear it on the judgmental lips of the town gossips already. He’d have to leave town again. Where would he go? What could he do?
“I - I’m sorry, I — ?”
“Henry, I — I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe…I mean what will your mother say?”
At the mention of his mother, Henry's heart rate rocketed. Had he not been so preoccupied with his shame and guilt, Henry would have noticed faint smiles on the faces of the Mullins Sisters. Only their mother needed to play her part now.
“N-no! No! P-please Mrs. Mullins. Don’t t-t-tell m-my mommy!” He’d said it instinctually, but as he heard the word leave his mouth Henry felt his face turn new shades of crimson. His hands were now fumbling with his belt once more as he frantically pulled his pants up.
“Please…” he begged, his eyes wet, “please don’t tell. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”
Mrs. Mullins looked away from him, playing the part of the disappointed parent. She stared at the window, watched the streaks of rain racing down the glass, and did her best to hide her smile.
“Well, I can’t very well send you home in this, can I?”
“I-I really think I’d rather…”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Mullins said, cutting him off. “On a bicycle? In this? You’d catch your death out there.”
Henry looked outside. It wasn’t exactly inviting, but anywhere was better than here at this point. He wanted to die right there, to disappear on the spot. But the Mullins’ had no intention of letting their prey get away that easily.
“No,” Mrs. Mullins sniffed, “I think it’d be best if you stayed. You can still make this right.”
Henry looked between Mrs. Mullins and her daughters. Only now did he recognize the predatory look in their eyes. But what could he do? Either he left and found himself the subject of salacious rumor — fact, in this case — that would horrify his mother, or he stayed and heard them out.
Is it any wonder he chose the latter?
“I can make it right?” He asked, confused and frightened, at this point he’d crawl through broken glass to make all this go away. “How?”
“It’s simple, really,” Mrs. Mullins smiled as she looked him up and down. “By marrying one of my girls.”
Upon returning home on his bike that evening, Henry suddenly felt flu-ish. His throat itched, his knees ached, and he was suddenly very aware of his lungs and tongue. He was less than ten steps from his bed when the chills overtook him and he collapsed onto his mattress. Henry wrapped himself in blankets and curled into a ball but he couldn’t seem to get warm. He was still wearing his clothes; his socked feet still toasty from his recently removed shoes. The lights were still on. Shit. He’d have to turn them off whenever he next left his bed, but that felt so very long from now. Henry just needed to warm up and rest. Sleep would solve everything.
And so Henry shut his eyes, doing his best to block out the irritating overhead light of his room. He was not entirely successful; a gentle, yellow light was still thrumming behind his eyelids. God, he wished he’d just remembered to turn the lights off. He always had trouble sleeping in anything other than complete darkness. But he was so cold. So tired. He’d just have to fix it in the morning.
Henry lay there for a while with his eyes shut, waiting for his brain to catch up with his body. He hadn’t moved a muscle in who knows how long, yet his mind was racing. A few songs were stuck on a loop, catchy pop hooks he’d heard blasting from passing cars or playing through the PA at the store. He turned to an old meditation trick, one he’d read about but never practiced. The idea was to visualize your thoughts as bubbles and pop them one by one until your mind was quiet. It didn’t work.
Then, little by little, his body began to warm. The chills subsided, and with them the ceaseless churning of his mind. Suddenly, all was still. Henry let out a deep sigh, one that had seemingly had been summoned from the deepest depths of him. Finally, he could relax. His mind was no longer racing, now just merely drifting. He thought of his work that day, how extraordinary his efforts had been. He thought of the freshly built porch glowing in the afternoon sun, how the wood had felt in his hands and under his feet.
Feet…
He thought of Taylor’s feet now, how her plump little toes had pressed into the wood when she’d come outside to meet her date. And how…
Wait…her date…
Henry frowned as it came back to him. He’d felt silly to even think of mentioning it to Mrs. Mullins when he’d come to on her couch. After all, it did sound ridiculous. Of course he hadn’t stumbled across the Mullins Sisters tickling Taylor’s helpless date. The very thought was patently absurd. Not only would he sound utterly insane if he brought it up, Henry didn’t want to offend Mrs. Mullins by suggesting, what, that her daughters were tickle torturing a grown man in the basement? No, the simplest explanation was that he’d simply had a strange fever dream during his hypnotherapy session. That’s all it was. And besides, Henry always had strange dreams after his sessions with Mrs. Mullins.
Oh, Mrs. Mullins…
Henry found himself smiling now. Good ol’ Mrs. Mullins. Boy, was he lucky to have her in his corner. Henry didn’t know where he’d be without her. With all the work she threw his way, he figured he should do something nice for her come the holiday season. If it weren’t for her, Henry would be shit out of luck. Hell, he might have had to move back in with his mother. Not only did Mr. Mullins provide him with a steady stream of work, she often fed him too, not to mention the free hypnotherapy sessions. It seemed so silly now to think that he ever believed what some people used to say about her.
When Henry was little, some of the neighbor boys were afraid of Mrs. Mullins. They’d call her all sorts of names and whisper nasty rumors about her on the playground. Some said she was a witch who kept an army of mindless zombies in her basement. Others suggested she was a vampire, an ageless being that had resided in that old house for hundreds of years and sustained herself by feeding on boys. One even went so far as to claim that he knew a kid (who knew another kid…) that had gone into her house to retrieve an errant Frisbee, only to be never seen again.
It was all nonsense, of course. Just a story the neighborhood boys told themselves for a cheap scare at sleepovers. Mrs. Mullins wasn’t a witch or vampire. The truth was far more mundane. No, Mrs. Mullins was just a sweet old lady who lived with her daughters near the edge of town. She just needed a little help now and again, and who couldn’t say the same? Hell, now Henry felt downright guilty for ever believing otherwise. Why, just that afternoon he’d placed his head in her soft, expansive lap as she gently lulled him into trance during their impromptu hypnotherapy session.
He thought of her hands, her fingers, and how good it felt to have her gently stroking his hair as he counted himself down to sleep. He remembered how soft and comforting her voice was, how calm and still he was in that stuffy little room. He remembered just how heavy his eyes felt before finally allowing them to close and how good it felt to close them. He thought of her massive chest and how beautiful her bare breasts looked as she slowly coaxed them out from her cotton prairie dress.
They’d been paler than he’d anticipated and even larger than he’d dreamed. She was still talking but Henry couldn’t make out what she was saying, instead mesmerized by the way her breasts heaved and jiggled as she spoke. The skin was just ever so slightly wrinkled around her sternum, her chest mottled with light, brown freckles. He could feel the warmth radiating from her breasts against his now-flushed cheeks. The hand that had been stroking his hair now gently cupped his head and guided it toward one of her exposed breasts. As soon as Mrs. Mullins’ nipple brushed against his mouth, Henry’s lips wrapped around it, as if by instinct, and he was rewarded with a contented sigh that escaped his hypnotist’s throat.
“Such a good boy for Mama…” she sighed.
Henry could feel his manhood stiffening between his thighs. Groaning, Henry opened his eyes. He was still in bed in his brightly lit room. Had it all been a dream? No, it couldn’t have been. It was all so vivid, so detailed, more so than any of the dreams he’d had after his previous sessions with Mrs. Mullins. Rationally, Henry knew it was a dream, it had to be a dream, but it had the texture of a memory.
Henry hugged the covers close and turned over, his cheek searching for the cool spot on his pillow. He was still hard, and allowed himself the little ripple of pleasure that came from squeezing his erection between his thighs. It was bad enough that he’d woken up after finally getting to sleep, but to have come to the surface during such a wonderful dream was even more frustrating.
And so Henry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself back to that dream. He tried to focus on the image of her breasts, on the sensation of her nipple against his lips, but no matter how hard he tried he still remained awake – frustrated and hard. It was like trying to throw his arms around vapor.
Switching tactics, Henry instead focused intently on the little details. He started to rebuild Mrs. Mullins’ office from scratch in his mind, one image at a time. He started with the woven rug on the floor, trying to really nail the color and material, the little fraying strands around the edges. The dresser was next. Mrs. Mullins had asked Henry to move it a few months ago. Henry focused on the weight of it, the color, the smell of the wood – oak – and the thin layer of dust that coated the top. There was the stubborn little window, an oddly shaped thing that from the outside resembled an eye. He trained his ear, listening for the way it would creak when being forced open and closed. Then the couch, with its pistachio green color and worn piping, the soft give of the cushions, the smell of baby powder and incense that had long ago permeated the fabric. And the end table, with its pale marble top and wrought iron legs that twisted and curled to the floor. Atop it sat the metronome, tick…tick…ticking away, beside the little candle and bundle of lavender and the little jewelry box with its hinged lid that yawned as it opened and softly clicked as it closed. The way Mrs. Mullins fingers gently opened it and lazily wrapped her fingers around the waxy black cord that attached to her special crystal.
The crystal. A bewitching, many-sided thing that refracted the light so beautifully when held aloft. Henry adored the crystal, just loved to stare and stare as Mrs. Mullins spun it before his widening eyes. It was round and heavy looking, suspended by the thick, black cord that Mrs. Mullins held pinched between her fingers. Sometimes she liked to swing it back and forth, the way a “traditional” hypnotist might use a pocket watch, but today she’d elected to spin the crystal around and around and around, twisting the cord this way and that between her fingers just so. Henry didn’t mind. It felt so good to stare at the mesmerizing trinket. He loved to watch the crystal spin. It was so easy to stare at, much easier than working. Or thinking. When the crystal slowed, he could briefly glimpse his face reflected in the seemingly millions of fragments, each one catching and refracting the light in its own special way. His reflection looked so happy, so peaceful, his eyes half-lidded and his lips just slightly parted. And then the crystal began to speed up once more, spinning and spinning. The more the crystal spun, the more colors he could see, and he liked looking at the pretty colors, didn’t he? Could he name them all?
Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Purple. Orange. Blue. Wait, did he already say blue? Better start over then. And so he’d stare even more intently at the spinning crystal, getting lost in the dizzying, refracting colors and lights until everything else seemed to melt away. The whole time, Mrs. Mullins was talking to him. Was it her voice encouraging him to name the colors, or his own internal monologue? Henry couldn’t be sure. Did he even care? Mrs. Mullins’ voice was so soft and far away. Henry tried to make out what she was saying but the strain made his head spin. Spin. Spin. Words were hard. Wouldn’t he prefer to just stare at Mama’s pretty little crystal?
Henry felt as if he were outside himself now, watching it all unfold, his head lazily lolling this way and that in Mrs. Mullins’ lap as his eyes remained fixed on the crystal spinning just inches from his face. He barely even seemed to notice her exposed chest anymore, far more entertained by the mesmerizing, twirling colors before his eyes. He lazily flexed his socked feet against the armrest at the end of the couch, bucking a little as he noticed the tightness of his jeans. Mrs. Mullins’ other hand was resting on his crotch, gently applying pressure to what he now registered was a biblical erection. Henry looked so happy, a silly grin on his face as he stared at the hypnotic crystal and bucked into the warm palm against his crotch. He felt so, so good. Henry loved it here. He loved the crystal. He loved coming to Mrs. Mullins’ Office. He loved Mrs. Mullins.
Which is why it was so upsetting when the crystal went away. Suddenly, the crystal had drifted out of view and Henry was very sad. He wanted Mama’s crystal, needed Mama’s crystal. What happened to it? Henry felt as though he might cry and started pathetically pouting and whining. Henry instinctively turned his head and buried his face in Mrs. Mullins’ breasts like a fussy child.
“Such a needy little thing,” Mrs. Mullins cooed, giving his erection a gentle squeeze.
A jolt of pleasure shot through Henry at her tough. His eyes rolled back in his head and a guttural moan escaped his throat as every muscle in his body went taut. He’d never felt so aroused in his life, a live wire that could spark at the slightest provocation. But already he could feel his erection fading. He bucked urgently into Mrs. Mullins’ hand and whined even harder when she pulled it away, denying him more of the sweet, sweet bliss she’d bombarded him with just moments ago.
Mrs. Mullins kept talking to Henry in that gentle, motherly tone, but none of the words seemed to register. All that mattered to Henry was diving back into the rapturous pleasure that now cruelly eluded him. His erection was gone now, a useless root in his jeans, and no matter how deeply he buried his face in Mrs. Mullins’ chest, he couldn’t seem to get back to that place. He felt frenzied, could taste the bitter adrenaline creeping up the back of his tongue, salivating at the thought of more erotic bliss. Mrs. Mullins kept whispering to him, the words circling his head and pouring into his ear as his head swam in desperate, needy lust. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what Mama was saying, Henry only knew that it felt so good to listen to her, and good boys listened to their mothers.
And so, after what felt like an eternity of whining and bucking and pleading, the crystal swung back into view and began its seductive spin once again, instantly enrapturing the horny boy in a shimmering dance of color and light. Henry’s body relaxed into Mrs. Mullins’ lap once more as the crystal spun and spun and the old woman’s hand once again came to rest on the denim tent of his jeans.
“That’s right…that’s Mama’s good boy…” Mrs. Mullins encouraged, smiling down at her mesmerized captive, “drowsy and dumb…sleepy and stupid…”
Henry awoke with a start, his clothes damp with sweat, the pillow soaked. The lights of his room were still on, bright as ever, burning his sleep-starved eyes. He rolled over and checked his phone. It was only a few minutes after ten! He’d only been asleep for thirty minutes. His cock throbbed hungrily between his legs, leaking beads of precum into his now-sticky briefs as Henry’s brain tried to focus. But with each passing second, the dream drifted further and further away, every delicious image and sensation turning to vapor in his mind.
Those fucking lights! They were the problem, Henry was sure of it. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. And yet…and yet the light switch seemed so very far away. The effort that it would take to drag himself out of his soft, warm, cozy bed, cross the frigid expanse of his bedroom to the light switch would require herculean strength.
Fuck it.
Henry ripped himself from his bed and practically dove across the room. No sooner had the blankets lifted from his skin did the chills set in again. It was a bone deep thing, immediate and punishing. He felt as though he’d just leapt into a pool. But he had to be strong. The sooner the lights were out, the sooner he could sleep, and the sooner he could sleep, the sooner her could get back to dreaming those beautiful dreams of ma-…Mrs. Mullins.
Henry practically slapped the light switch off. Immediately the room was plunged into a welcoming darkness and Henry leapt into bed, wrapping himself up in his sheets. Soon his body warmed one again and his mind began to drift once more…
“Keep going, sweetie. Tell Mama Lulu allllll about it.”
He was back in the room, his head in Mrs. Mullins lap. The crystal had been put aside and Henry’s eyes were closed. His pants were pulled down, bunched up uncomfortably under his butt, his cock bobbing freely in the air. Mrs. Mullins was running her fingers through his hair again, her nails just gently scratching his scalp while her other hand was gently teasing his throbbing cock. She traced the soft pads of her fingertips along the underside of his erection, just barely touching him, as if beckoning him closer. It was maddening. If Henry hadn’t been so thoroughly subdued he would have leapt right out of his skin.
“She was…so much…bigger than…me…I couldn’t…fight her off…”
Henry was startled by the sound of his own voice. He didn’t so much speak the words as breathe them. He was speaking in a low, monotone voice, as if every word was being exhumed from the deepest depths of him, taking seconds to reach the surface.
“And then it was tickle time for widdle Henwee, wasn’t it?”
Henry furrowed his brow and pouted at the memory, nodding. His frown was quickly turned upside down as he felt Mrs. Mullins fingertips graze the head of his cock, her nails gently tickling the tip. Henry gasped and bucked.
“Please…” he whined, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Keep going, baby boy. How did that make you feel? How did you feel when she tickled you?”
“Small…Helpless…Silly…”
“Because you’re a very ticklish boy, aren’t you?”
Henry nodded slowly, his cock twitching, waiting for another rapturous caress from Mrs. Mullins gentle fingers.
Henry’s eyes opened. He was back in his room. Looking at his phone, Henry groaned. He’d only been asleep for 15 minutes! This was torture. He was still hard, concerningly so. He’d had sex dreams before but never any this vivid. Maybe if he could just pump one out he could finally get some rest.
And so Henry’s hand wandered beneath the sheets, slipping under the elastic waistband of his underwear to touch his needy cock. Immediately he felt his shoulders relax as he responded to his own gentle touch. His cock felt hot in his hands and his back arched as his fingertips gently coaxed it free. Henry began to lazily rub himself, stroking and teasing, but…nothing happened.
If you could sell tickets to masturbation sessions, Henry could sell out Royal Albert Hall. He was a pro. If he wanted to, he could finish himself off in under a minute. He had his technique down. Henry knew just the right amount of pressure, the right speed, the right triggers he could return to over and over again in his mind to ensure release. But for some reason, he couldn’t get himself over the line. Yes, he got quite close, maddeningly close. But no matter what he did he couldn’t make himself cum. He could feel his balls filling up as he brought himself to the edge over and over again in a desperate attempt to finish. Why couldn’t he cum? Frustrated, Henry gave up and turned over, hoping to force himself to sleep.
But sleep never came. Instead, Henry tossed and turned all evening. He’d fall into a shallow sleep for maybe 15-30 minutes at a time, dreaming of Mrs. Mullins. He had a dream where he sat at a desk, writing down what looked like - to him - chicken scratch. But his brain recognized that his hand was drawing real words and letters, but they read as mere scribbles to his dreaming eyes. Mrs. Mullins stood behind him, gently scratching his back and humming affirmatively as Henry kept writing on lined paper. His brain registered one word though, gleaned from the repetitive movement of the pencil between his fingers. It was variations of the word “tickle” - “tickling, ticklish, tickled.” What was Mrs. Mullins having him write?
He awoke once again, and again Henry unsuccessfully tried to masturbate himself to sleep. Again he fell asleep and dreamed of Mama Mulllins, only to wake what felt like seconds later, rock hard and unable to come. What was happening to him?
Around the tenth or eleventh cycle of this, Henry’s room had begun to brighten again. The dim, cool light of dawn phased through his cheap blinds and gently illuminated his room. Henry lay there on his back, exhausted, absently touching his turgid member. Henry’s eyes felt like sandpaper, each blink an admission of defeat. He just had to call it, there was no way he was getting any real sleep.
Henry could hear the faint buzzing of his phone on his bedside table. His eyes widened when he saw the caller ID: Mrs. Mullins. What was she calling him at seven in the morning for? Not that it mattered, as Henry answered the phone immediately without question.
“H’lo?” Henry rasped. God, his mouth was dry.
“Henry? Oh, goodness, I hope I didn’t wake you!” Mrs. Mullins chirped on the other end.
Despite himself, Henry smiled. He loved the sound of her voice.
“No, I’m up. I’m up. Uh, what can I do for you ma - Mrs. Mullins?”
He could hear the faintest giggle through the line before she answered.
“Well, it’s nothing really. I’m honestly embarrassed to even be calling you about this but…oh, you know what, I’m sure we can figure it out.”
“No, what is it?”
“Well…” Mrs. Mullins said, taking an unnaturally long pause, “it seems we have a…leak.”
Suddenly a wave of pleasure crept up Henry’s spine, tickling the base of his brainstem as goosebumps rippled down his arms. Henry’s cock twitched happily. It was enough to nearly make him drop his phone.
“S-sorry?”
“There’s something dripping from my office ceiling. I think it might be a busted pipe or somethin’, it just keeps…leaking.”
There is was again. Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. Henry’s cock throbbed, oozing out a little bead of precum at the word. Henry didn’t know what to do.
“Oh, I- uh, well…”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have bothered you with this,” Mrs. Mullins moaned. “After all your hard work yesterday, I - oh, the girls and I can just google it. I keep saying we need to be a little more self-sufficient around here. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Really, I can fix the…” He didn’t dare say it. “…issue.”
“Are you sure? It feels silly to have you bike all the way out here to fix a little…leak.”
“Unff…” Henry couldn’t help himself, it just slipped out. Another wave of pleasure had crashed over him like a wave atop a beach rock. His cock had never been this hard before, this desperate. He hoped Mrs. Mullins hadn’t heard him. If she did, she didn’t mention it.
“You still there, hon?”
“Y-yes. Yeah, I can be there in 45.”
“Good boy. See you soon.”
——————————————————————————————————————————
It was a small miracle that Henry made it to the Mullins’ house in one piece. He could barely see straight, much less bike. Biking to work with a raging erection was no east feat. His mind was clouded with erotic thoughts and half-remembered dreams. Henry had tried to relieve himself before leaving the house. Oh, how he did try. But frustratingly, no matter how hard he tried to reach completion, he just couldn’t make himself cum. This had never been a problem before, and Henry was starting to worry. He was unsteady on his bike, could feel the wheels wobbling beneath his weight.
He was practically speeding to the Mullins’ mansion. He could feel the wind against his back, pushing him forward as he eagerly pedaled ahead. Henry could scarcely remember a time when he was THIS horny. Even as a teenager he’d never experienced his level of longing, of need. His balls were swollen, forcing Henry to perch awkwardly atop his seat.
Despite the circumstances of this visit, Henry was excited. Hell, he was downright eager. Having spent the whole night wracked by such naughty dreams, the prospect of seeing the bosomy object of his desire made Henry’s heart leap in his chest. He just needed to see her. Maybe…maybe he could negotiate another “session” with Mrs. Mullins after he was done fixing their…leak.
It was an overcast day, foggy and damp, the sun hidden behind milky, grey clouds. Henry smiled when he stepped onto the porch. The wood felt solid under his feet, and the exhausted handyman couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate his own craftsmanship from the day before. He’d taken a beat around the side of the house before approaching the front door to will his erection to rest. The swelling had reduced about 80% but still caused a slightly bow-legged stride as Henry approached the front door. The first few drops of rain began to fall as he rapped his knuckles upon the door, darkening the fresh wood steps one pinprick at a time.
Henry was surprised, and slightly disappointed, when Mimi answered the door. Usually it was her mother who answered.
“Hey, Henry…” Mimi shyly muttered.
“Hi Mimi, is your mother home?”
Mimi shook her head. She was wearing a loose-fitting grey sweater with dark jeans and wool socks on her long, slender feet. Her hair was done up in a bun, held in place with black, plastic chopsticks that only made the strands of grey entwined between them stand out all the more.
“She just stepped out. Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Henry said, doing his best to hide his disappointment. “Um…she told me there was a…an issue in her office?”
“Yes.” Mimi nodded, opening the door a little wider. “Come on in.”
Inside the house was dark, lights off and shades drawn. It took Henry’s eyes a moment to adjust as he followed Mimi inside. Most days the house would shine in the morning light, no matter the weather, but today it seemed especially gloomy.
“Shh,” Mimi shushed, holding a finger to her lips as she nodded to the next room. “Taylor’s sleeping.”
“Long night?”
“Mm.”
From where he was standing, Henry could make out the faint buzz of daytime TV and the flickering glow of the screen. Unable to help himself, he snuck a glance inside as Mimi led him past.
Taylor was lying face down on the couch with her head turned toward the screen. Her eyes were shut, lips slightly parted, but from where he was standing that’s not what Henry could see. Instead, all he could notice were Taylors plump, upturned soles resting on the end of the couch. Remarkably there wasn’t a speck of dust on them, no callous or blemish, despite her penchant for going barefoot. In the dark, lit only by the TV, her arches, the balls of her feet, her toes, all looked incredibly smooth. And soft.
Henry wondered how warm those toes would feel against his lips. He wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and crawl over to those sleepy feet. He’d bury his face between her soles, pop each and every toe into his mouth one by -
“Coming?”
Mimi was already halfway up the stairs. Henry caught himself and cleared his throat. He felt embarrassed, small, as though he’d been caught looking at his uncle’s old Playboys. It didn’t help that he was standing so awkwardly with Mimi looking down on him from her position on the stairs. Christ, was he getting hard?
“Yeah, I, uh…just - think I’ve seen that one before,” he stammered as he willed him semi away. “On the TV, I mean.”
“Oh, sure,” Mimi nodded. “Here, let me show you the leak…”
A fresh rush of arousal rippled through him at the word. What was going on?
By the time they reached Mrs. Mullins’ office Henry was ready to become a monk. Clearly something was very wrong with him. Simply being in this house seemed to have put him on a hair trigger. Every step that brought him closer to the scene of his rapturous dreams only served to make his jeans tighter. If only he’d been able to finish himself off in bed that morning, then he may have been better equipped to prepare himself. As it was, he was practically vibrating by the time he reached the landing and stepped into Mrs. Mullins’ office.
Everything was just as it was when he’d left the previous evening. Hazy morning light filtered in through the round window and Henry could see that the rain had already picked up. What had begun as a drizzle now threatened to turn into a full-blown storm.
Tink!…Tink!…Tink!…
That’s when Henry saw the bucket. Truthfully it was more of a pail, something you might bring to the beach to keep kids entertained. Looking up, Henry could see that the water stain he’d spotted the previous day had widened and was now leaking, drip by drip, into the awaiting receptacle below.
Less than thirty minutes later Henry was at the top of a ladder, scraping away at the soggy plaster to reach the leaky pipe. It wouldn’t be a difficult repair, he figured, and he’d be back in bed within a few hours. Already his mind was racing with dirty thoughts, priming himself for what he hoped would be a fruitful and mind-bending orgasm once he was back in his bed. He was tired too. Exhausted, really. Now that he was working with hands the lack of sleep was really catching u to him. It was a miracle he’d make it this far without some shut eye.
He tried to focus on the task at hand. Already he was nearly halfway done, having just removed the damaged section of the pipe. But it was hard to stay focused. Being back in Mrs. Mullins’ Office was doing funny things to him. No matter how far his mind seemed to stray, his thoughts always seemed to wander back to the sight of Taylor’s smooth, upturned soles. He could almost feel them in his hands he saw them to clearly. He wondered what they smelled like, how her feet might feel against his face, his tongue, his cock. He bet they tasted like -
Suddenly Henry felt his body fighting against gravity as his foot slipped off the ladder. Henry caught himself just in time, his hands grasping on to the ladder for dear life. His heart was pounding, no longer was he in any danger of drifting off. The piece of replacement pipe had fallen to the floor with a startling BANG that had summoned Mimi back into the room?
“Everything alright?” Mimi asked, almost apologetically.
“F-fine…” Henry gasped, still gripping the sides of the ladder. “Sorry, I almost lost my footing.”
“Can I help?”
Without waiting for a response, Mimi took a few steps forward and picked up the fallen piece of replacement pipe. It was easy to forget just how tall she was, Henry thought. From where she was standing, Mimi merely needed to extend her hand to pass the pipe to Henry atop the highest rung.
“Thank you,” he said as he accepted it from her outstretched hand. “I hope I didn’t startle you.” Despite his best efforts, Henry couldn’t stifle a yawn.
“Tired?” Mimi asked.
“Mhm,” Henry hummed as he set about his task again.
“I can help you stay awake if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s not — you don’t have to do that.”
“I’d like to.” It was perhaps the most assured he’d ever heard her.
Henry felt Mimi’s hands take hold of the ladder below him, steadying it. He had to admit, it was nice to have a spotter.
“It’s funny…”
“What is?” Henry was half-listening, intent on finishing the repair and getting out of there as soon as he could. Already he could hear the rain lashing at the window. The drizzle had become a downpour and Henry didn’t want to stick around long enough to get caught in whatever came after.
“When we were little, Taylor and I could be a real handful,” Mimi began. “Neither one of us ever seemed to sleep through the night. Drove mama crazy. If it wasn’t me hollerin’ through the night then it was my sister.”
“That is funny,” Henry mumbled as he fussed with the pipe.
“How’s that?”
“Just can’t imagine you hollerin’ is all. No offense…”
Mimi smiled.
“Well, things were different then. Anyway, I bring it up because our mama couldn’t get any sleep. Lord knows our father wasn’t around to help out with us or the house or anything. So mama made it her job to tire us out during the day. Naps got shorter, chores got harder. Soon it got to be that Taylor and I could barely keep our eyes open come suppertime…”
Mimi’s voice was different. Usually Henry had a hard time understanding her she kept so quiet, but now she spoke plainly, almost musically. Her voice carried a rhythm, a charge to it that Henry had never detected before. It was almost soothing in the way her mother’s voice was soothing whenever he had found his head resting in her lap within this very room.
“I remember one time,” Mimi continued, “Taylor was falling asleep on the couch, just like she is now. It was still light out. Too late for a nap and too early to go to bed. If she drifted off then she’d likely be stirrin’ all night keepin’ Mama up.”
“So what happened?” Though he was still focused on the task at hand, Henry found that he was hanging on her every word.
“Well, Mama set up a little stool at the end of the couch, right by Taylor’s feet. I remember watching as she gently removed her sandals. And it was gentle. Taylor barely noticed as she undid the little strap and worried them off her feet. Sure, she was half awake but…”
Henry could feel his hands slowing as more and more real-estate in his mind was being taken up by Mimi’s story. Already he could feel the arousal building in his stomach and his groin. It was as if he were the one sitting at the end of the couch, slipping the sandals off of those perfect, juicy soles.
“T-then what?” Henry could almost swear that he heard Mimi giggle when he asked.
“Well, once Taylor’s little feet were exposed, Mama started running her finger up and down her soles, tickling them ever so gently. Gently…gently…”
At this, Mimi began tracing a single finger up and down the back of Henry’s calf. Her soft touch made him jump but he did not recoil. Immediately he was hard. Not aroused. Hard. Even through his jeans the gentle tickle was causing a buzz to build at the base of his skull. The combination of her touch and her softly spoken words were having a devastating effect on his psyche.
“Up and down. Around and around. Under the toes and along the arch. She never once stopped moving her finger. She just sat there, patiently tickling Taylor’s feet. It was just one finger, not enough to provoke hysterics or even outright laughter. No, that would just tire her out even more. But my sister’s feet are very ticklish. Did you know that? It’s a wonder she shows off her feet as often as she does. You’d think she’d learn her lesson. Growing up all I needed to do was play with her feet a while and she’d do all my chores. It wasn’t hard to do. I was always bigger than her. But nobody tickles like Mama. Mama’s who I learned it from. Taylor too, but not the same. Mama knew how to tickle my sisters feet juuuuuuust enough to keep her awake and giggling while showing her the perils of nappin’ when she wasn’t supposed to.”
Henry had stopped his work entirely at this point and was now simply holding onto the ladder, painfully erect. He could see it so clearly he nearly felt as though he were both the one at the end of the couch tickling Taylor’s feet and the one being tickled at the same time. His head was swimming. Henry was worried that if he let go of the ladder that he might really fall this time. But Mimi’s words were so enrapturing, her touch so inviting, that all he could bring himself to do was to hold on and listen.
“She tried to resist. Tried to cover one foot with the other, tried to wriggle free. But Mama has a firm grip. If one foot tried to cover the other she’d just tickle that one instead, maybe bringing in a second finger.” Now Mimi was using two fingers to touch the back of Henry’s calf, bicycling her fingers over and over that thin denim. She could feel him tensing up under her gentle touch but at no point did he resist her. Mimi could feel herself smiling as she spoke and the excitement began to rise in her chest.
“Mama kept it up for over an hour. No matter how many sleepy protests my sister managed to mumble between her giggles, Mama kept at it until it got dark out and it was time for bed. But even after Taylor had drifted off to sleep, I could hear her giggling in her sleep, could see her bare, shapely feet shifting beneath the sheets, trying to protect themselves from naughty ticklers in her dreams. This was the night I discovered the power in my voice. I slipped out of bed and knelt beside hers and whispered in her ear. Mama says I could have been a great hypnotist but I don’t know…”
Mimi was openly groping both his calves now, squeezing and massaging them with steady force through his jeans. A low moan escaped Henry’s throat. He was practically swaying atop the ladder now, his mind filled with seductive thoughts of Taylor’s feet and Mimi’s voice. His erection was forcibly pressing against his zipper, almost painfully so. But even this pressure, however unpleasant, only served to arouse him further.
“And so I knelt beside my sister, watching her eyes flit about beneath her slumbering eyelids. And I told her exactly what was happening to her feet. I told her about the feathers that teased her heels, the little kitties that lapped at her soles, the fingers that piggied her toes. I could see as I spoke that I was influencing her dream in real time. Her giggles would rise and fall in line with my words. I was tickling my sister without even touching her. It was a real rush. I bet if I really wanted to I could have made her pee her pants. But then that would only wake her up. And Mama. But I sat there all night long, talking my sister through those dreamy tickles. And I found myself repeating, every now and then, ‘Are you having a tickle dream, Taylor? Are you having a tickle dream?’ I wonder, when you go to sleep tonight, when you finally close those sleepy eyes of yours, what will you dream about?”
Something in Henry told him to turn around. He turned his body in such a way as to allow himself to look down at Mimi from his perch while still keeping his burgeoning tent out of sight. Mimi was looking right at him, her eyes boring right through him.
“Will you have a tickle dream?”
At this, Mimi’s hands formed into pincers and squeezed just above Henry’s knees, tickling him.
As if electrocuted, Henry’s body went rigid and he toppled off the top of the ladder, landing right in Mimi’s waiting arms. Though he knew she was quite tall, Henry was startled by just how strong Mimi was. Her arms had no difficulty catching him and barely gave an inch upon his landing.
Henry blushed as he lay in her arms, no longer able to hide is prominent erection. He wanted to shrink, to disappear he was so embarrassed, and he felt plenty small already. Even Mimi seemed taken aback. Looking down at him, Mimi almost looked startled, like a dog that had finally caught a squirrel. Now that she held Henry close, she wasn’t sure what to do. She was all bark, no bite.
His cheeks flushed, Henry quickly rolled out of Mimi’s arms and felt the hard floor beneath his feet as he ran out of the room. He practically fell as she rushed through the door into the hall. It was difficult to walk, much less run, with a cock as hard as his. Henry felt as though he had a steel rod pressed against his zipper as he stumbled to the bathroom.
Shutting the bathroom door behind him, Henry began splashing cold water on his face. Was this a dream too? Henry’s head swam with erotic visions and dirty words. He needed to get himself straightened out. The rain hitting the window was now indistinguishable from hail stones and the ceaseless rattle and thunder did little to quiet his already cacophonous mind.
In a flash the solution came to him: he was simply too horny. That’s all this was, an overwhelming spell of lust. If he could just get off, pump out a quickie here in the bathroom, then his mind would settle and he could finish his work without distraction. Then he could get home and sleep. Sleep. Sleep…
Henry’s hands blurred as he fumbled with his belt, nearly breaking the buckle as he freed himself from it and yanked his pants down. He was openly masturbating over the sink now, his hand pumping furiously. Henry wasn’t even thinking about anything in particular, relying instead on practiced motions and no small amount of pressure. His left hand worked up and down, up and down. This was not self-love, but instead a desperate sexual act.
But not matter how vigorously he pumped and stroked himself, Henry could not find release. Within a matter of seconds he could feel his cock shrinking from his grip, retreating. Henry could almost cry. It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t he cum? Was he sick? Did he need to see somebody? Even turning his thoughts to the previously arousing memory of Taylor’s feet did little to push the needle.
Still he pumped. He summoned every erotic memory, every 4K video to mind. Nothing. Before he knew it his cock had once again gone soft and he was simply tugging on a fleshy rope. Henry could think of nothing beyond his desperate need for release, his thoughts clouded with lust and anxiety. So consumed was he in his task, he never heard the bathroom door swing open.
“Henry!”
Everything stopped and Henry’s stomach grew cold. Looking up, Henry could see the doorway in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Standing at the door was Mrs. Mullins, her hand over her mouth in shock. Beside her stood her daughters, Taylor and Mimi, each of them trying to get a good look at the desperate and horny boy inside. Henry’s mouth went dry and words failed him.
“M-Mrs. Mu-Muh - I d- I-I - It’s not - I…”
“What on Earth are you doing, Henry? Are you - ? Oh my god.”
Henry could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. This was it. He was finished. He could say goodbye to this gig. That much he knew for sure. And in a small town like this it was nigh inevitable that word of this incident would have spread by morning. “The Horny Handyman.” He could hear it on the judgmental lips of the town gossips already. He’d have to leave town again. Where would he go? What could he do?
“I - I’m sorry, I — ?”
“Henry, I — I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe…I mean what will your mother say?”
At the mention of his mother, Henry's heart rate rocketed. Had he not been so preoccupied with his shame and guilt, Henry would have noticed faint smiles on the faces of the Mullins Sisters. Only their mother needed to play her part now.
“N-no! No! P-please Mrs. Mullins. Don’t t-t-tell m-my mommy!” He’d said it instinctually, but as he heard the word leave his mouth Henry felt his face turn new shades of crimson. His hands were now fumbling with his belt once more as he frantically pulled his pants up.
“Please…” he begged, his eyes wet, “please don’t tell. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”
Mrs. Mullins looked away from him, playing the part of the disappointed parent. She stared at the window, watched the streaks of rain racing down the glass, and did her best to hide her smile.
“Well, I can’t very well send you home in this, can I?”
“I-I really think I’d rather…”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Mullins said, cutting him off. “On a bicycle? In this? You’d catch your death out there.”
Henry looked outside. It wasn’t exactly inviting, but anywhere was better than here at this point. He wanted to die right there, to disappear on the spot. But the Mullins’ had no intention of letting their prey get away that easily.
“No,” Mrs. Mullins sniffed, “I think it’d be best if you stayed. You can still make this right.”
Henry looked between Mrs. Mullins and her daughters. Only now did he recognize the predatory look in their eyes. But what could he do? Either he left and found himself the subject of salacious rumor — fact, in this case — that would horrify his mother, or he stayed and heard them out.
Is it any wonder he chose the latter?
“I can make it right?” He asked, confused and frightened, at this point he’d crawl through broken glass to make all this go away. “How?”
“It’s simple, really,” Mrs. Mullins smiled as she looked him up and down. “By marrying one of my girls.”
This is a fine series. 
