couchman
06-26-2009, 2:56 AM
Felicia’s Fine Furniture
By
Couchman
Gregory was considered by most, and by his own admission, a bit of a nerd. Much to his dismay, Gregory was born with an I.Q. larger than his muscles… pleasing in a way; his brain got him into a great college, but un-pleasing in that girls, the ones he most lusted after, beautiful with shapely butts and legs and intelligent, but not the brainiac he was, wanted nothing much to do with him.
Complicating any chance he might have with said girls was his long time fetish-driven fantasy world. More than anything in the world, Gregory wanted to be a chair seat—not just any chair seat, of course… a chair seat that received the sexy butts of some of the college coeds he secretly stared at in the student center. He watched intently as a gaggle of them often approached an empty table, the chairs arranged about it simply waiting, as was their lowly station in life, for girls in tight blue jeans, shorts, and, his favorite, mini-skirts, to sit on them and engulf their wooden chair faces with round buttocks, often crossing tanned thighs as they chatted and laughed—oblivious to the furniture, the inanimate things, they were sitting on. He watched, he fantasized being one of the seats, his upturned face there for the sole purpose of being sat on as they nonchalantly lowered their fabulous fannies to his face, totally dominating him with their entire, curvaceous weight.
Usually, the completely rational part of his fine mind reminded him that he would never, could never, be a chair or couch seat. Yet, the concept so appealed to him he couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t just his fascination for girls and women with tight, sexy butts, and smooth thighs, there was something more that kept his fantasy life so vivid and alive. As a chair or couch seat, he could transcend the often silly social constraints that human beings force upon each other before any intimate physical contact is allowed. He wasn’t allowed close physical contact with these girls because he wasn’t, in their minds, good enough for them. He didn’t look like a movie star, he wasn’t an athlete, and he wasn’t rich. But a chair… Ah, yes. A chair has the singular function in this world to be sat on. None of those girls asked expected anything of it but to be there so they can, simply, sit on it. It seemed to him mysteriously unfair that an inanimate object designed to be sat on could routinely be mashed under female butts and he couldn’t—because he, social outcast that he was, was still human.
The paradox frustrated him so much one afternoon that he just had to get away. He got in his car and drove aimlessly about campus and then off campus. He found himself negotiating the curves of a rural road when suddenly his car began to accelerate. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal but the car kept accelerating, faster, faster, faster, until the wooded landscape became a blur. Strangely, he couldn’t feel any G forces on his body that would be the normal result of acceleration. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, he realized he was driving at normal speed.
“What the hell!” he shouted. He looked back at the stretch of road that had grabbed his car like some giant hand and catapulted him into speeds he didn’t thing even physically possible. He wiped sweat from his brow. He must have fallen asleep at the wheel, he reasoned. He must have been dreaming. He had been carrying a heavy class load. He vowed to get more sleep and was satisfied with that explanation until he noticed flashing lights in his rear view mirror. “Damn!” he thought. He must have been speeding-- sleep-driving and speeding. He pulled over. A police car pulled up behind him. A woman police officer got out and slowly approached him. She peered at him with amused eyes.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he apologized. “I know I was speeding but…”
“Speeding,” said the officer. “You shouldn’t even be driving.”
“Here’s my license,” said Gregory, reaching into his back pocket.
“Hands on the wheel,” she ordered. “ Let’s see where you belong.” His eyes widened with confusion as she tilted a large tag, a price tag, hanging from his shirt collar.
“Felica’s Fine Furniture,” she read.
“What!... I’ve never seen that tag before. What is going on here?
“Oh, act innocent… That’s what they all do… They try to escape and then act like they haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Escape?” said Gregory. “Escape from where?”
“Felicia’s Fine Furniture,” said the officer, waving the price tag. “Come with me. I’m taking you back where you belong.”
Gregory got followed her to her car but continued to whine. “I belong in college,” he told her. “I’m a college student.”
“A college student?” said the officer, forcing him into the back seat of her cruiser. “Now that’s a good one… Wait till I tell the women at the precinct about this one.”
As they drove back to the campus area, Gregory observed that there were no men on the streets, in cars, anywhere… only girls and women. “Where are the boys?” he asked. “Where are the men? This is so weird.”
“Boys?... Men?” she chuckled. “They are all being put to some good use—as you should be.”
She pulled her police car up to a shop. The store front had a large sign that announced: Felicia’s Fine Furniture with the same style of lettering that was on his tag. The officer ordered him to get out. She took hold of his arm and ushered him into the store. Once inside, he shook his head at the surreal sight of men lying upon couches and chairs as women walked about and, much to his great surprise, sitting on the men as a dark haired woman seemed to explain certain features about the men as if they were part of the furniture.
“Did you lose one, Felicia,” said the officer to the dark haired woman. “He actually thought he could make a gataway in a car. Can you believe that?” she said, and chuckled.
“Oh, my, my…” said Felicia. She took him by the arm and ordered him to lie down on a couch.
“I’d punish him, if I were you,” said the officer.
“I’ll punish him, all right,” said Felicia. “I’ll do it the usual way. I’ll sit on his face without the air tube.” The officer nodded in agreement. Gregory laid there, a mixture of confusion and anticipation filled his mind. Felicia was a gorgeous woman in her thirties. She wore a tight black dress which accentuated the curves of her butt, a dress with a hemline at least six inches above her knees, showing off lovely thighs, calves, and heels.
Gregroy looked up at her as she stood next to the couch, looking down at him.
“What are you going to do?” His voice was shaking with anticipation.
“I’m going to sit on your face, of course,” replied Felicia, as if the question was absurd. “But since you tried to escape, I’m going to sit on you without the air tube… Let’s see how you like getting smothered under my butt for awhile.” She turned around. The black dress tightened over her rounded butt. His vision was suddenly obscured by her beautiful bottom descending to his face. Felicia sat down on him full weight. His head pushed deep into the couch beneath him. She crossed nylon thighs and simply sat there, atop his face, as if it were a common thing to do to a young man. The experience was like something he had fantasized many times, but without the real crushing weight of Felica’s body atop him. “When are you men going to learn that we women only keep you around to sit on.” She admonished him.
His mind whirled as she sat on his face. He had never had a fantasy or dream as realistic as this. It appeared that Felicia was, in fact, perceiving him as something to sit on. She sat on his face until he felt dizzy and about to pass out. She finally got up from his tortured face and returned with some kind of flexible tube apparatus. She started to place the tube in his mouth but then changed her mind. “Hmmm. No.” she said. “I think I’ll leave this out for awhile.”
Gregory glanced about the store. Men of various size and age seemed so docile as they lay there, waiting for a female customer to try them out by sitting on them—sometimes on their chest or stomach—but often squarely upon their faces.
“What is this place?” asked Gregory to himself. “Is this some kind of S/M club? Are these women being paid to sit on men? It certainly didn’t seem so. He recalled the terrifying experience he’d had with unfathomable acceleration and began to wonder if he had actually gone through a wormhole, a theoretical door in the universe which transcends time and space, into one of an infinite number of universes. This one, perhaps, exactly like the one he came from, but with the exception that women were totally dominant over men and used them as furniture. He was even more surprised when two of the girls he’d seen at the student center came in the store. One was a blonde wearing tight blue jeans and the other a brunette in a white, mini-skirt. The girls were whispering and giggling to each other as they strolled about the store. They approached the couch where Gregory lay. The blonde girl seemed to be checking to see if Felicia was watching. She whispered something to he friend and then sat down on his chest.
“I’ll sit on his face,” the brunette told her friend.
“He doesn’t have a breathing tube,” her friend cautioned her.
“So?” replied the brunette. “I’ll sit on him.” She turned around, her legs bent, and her skirt went over his head as she lowered her panty clad butt to his face. The girls sat on him, whispering and giggling when he heard Felicia’s voice. “ Are you girls buying or just looking?” said Felicia, sternly.
“Oh. We’re just looking,” said the brunette with her butt planted heavily on his face.
“We don’t encourage loitering here,” said Felecia. “Come on. Up… Up…”
“You’re no fun,” the brunette told Felicia as she got up from his face. The girls scurried out the door, laughing and giggling mischievously.
“College kids,” said Felecia. “… can’t afford a man seat of their own so they come in and use mine.”
Gregory watched them leave. He would have gladly gone with them to be their man seat for free. But it wasn’t up to him. Felecia owned him. This was a business, and he was for sale.
A few minutes later a woman entered the store. He immediately recognized her. It was Erin Johnson, a news anchor he’d seen on T.V. She was a woman of about forty, tall with shoulder length dark blonde hair. Erin was a stunningly beautiful woman with greenish eyes and a wide, voluptuous mouth that often widened into a brilliant smile. She was dressed in a pink summer dress that flared out about six inches above her tanned thighs.
Felicia greeted her and showed her some of the men, stopping at a couch where a chubby man lay. Gregory watched in awe as Erin nonchalantly sat down on the man’s face, allowing her dress to go over his head. She crossed her legs and spoke with Felicia a few moments. Gregory had often seen her sit like that while she interviewed people on T.V.—but she wasn’t sitting on a human face! He listened intently as she spoke.
“This one would be okay,” said Erin, “but my daughters kind of wanted a skinny one to sit on.”
“A skinny one?” asked Felicia.
Erin chuckled. “Yes. I guess they like to hear his bones crunch when they sit on him.”
“How old are your daughters now?” asked Felicia.
“Erica is eighteen, Emily is nineteen, and Elise is twenty… Eighteen, nineteen, and twenty,” she chirped. “All of them in college now,” she said, proudly.
“That must have kept you busy at the Baby Center,” said Felicia.
“Baby Center?” thought Gregory. “Of course… In this woman dominated parallel universe, babies were all created in a lab.”
He saw Erin gazing directly at him and his cock warmed. “Oh, my!” he thought. “Is she thinking about coming over and sitting me!”
Erin got up from the man’s face, and she and Felicia towered over him. “This one tried to escape,” she explained to Erin. “So I sat on his face without the air tube.”
Erin smiled broadly as she gazed down at him. “May I?” she said.
Gregory’s mind filled with anticipation. Erin turned around. Her dress floated over his head as he viewed her rounded butt, pink bikini panties clinging to it, and the underside of lovely tanned thighs, as she sat down full on his face.
“I like this one,” said Erin. “But I must be smothering him without the air tube.” She laughed. Erin crossed her legs and continued to sit on him as if it didn’t really matter to her if he smothered or not. “So he tried to escape, eh,” she said. “I can’t imagine why,” she said, coyly. “… getting crushed under butts like mine.”
Gregory’s mind whirled. Erin Johnson was actually sitting on his face, her entire sexy weight pressing his head into the couch as if that’s what it was there for: to sit on!
“I’ll take him,” said Erin. “Poor thing,” she laughed. “He’s in for a hard time when I get him home and the girls see him.”
… to be continued
By
Couchman
Gregory was considered by most, and by his own admission, a bit of a nerd. Much to his dismay, Gregory was born with an I.Q. larger than his muscles… pleasing in a way; his brain got him into a great college, but un-pleasing in that girls, the ones he most lusted after, beautiful with shapely butts and legs and intelligent, but not the brainiac he was, wanted nothing much to do with him.
Complicating any chance he might have with said girls was his long time fetish-driven fantasy world. More than anything in the world, Gregory wanted to be a chair seat—not just any chair seat, of course… a chair seat that received the sexy butts of some of the college coeds he secretly stared at in the student center. He watched intently as a gaggle of them often approached an empty table, the chairs arranged about it simply waiting, as was their lowly station in life, for girls in tight blue jeans, shorts, and, his favorite, mini-skirts, to sit on them and engulf their wooden chair faces with round buttocks, often crossing tanned thighs as they chatted and laughed—oblivious to the furniture, the inanimate things, they were sitting on. He watched, he fantasized being one of the seats, his upturned face there for the sole purpose of being sat on as they nonchalantly lowered their fabulous fannies to his face, totally dominating him with their entire, curvaceous weight.
Usually, the completely rational part of his fine mind reminded him that he would never, could never, be a chair or couch seat. Yet, the concept so appealed to him he couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t just his fascination for girls and women with tight, sexy butts, and smooth thighs, there was something more that kept his fantasy life so vivid and alive. As a chair or couch seat, he could transcend the often silly social constraints that human beings force upon each other before any intimate physical contact is allowed. He wasn’t allowed close physical contact with these girls because he wasn’t, in their minds, good enough for them. He didn’t look like a movie star, he wasn’t an athlete, and he wasn’t rich. But a chair… Ah, yes. A chair has the singular function in this world to be sat on. None of those girls asked expected anything of it but to be there so they can, simply, sit on it. It seemed to him mysteriously unfair that an inanimate object designed to be sat on could routinely be mashed under female butts and he couldn’t—because he, social outcast that he was, was still human.
The paradox frustrated him so much one afternoon that he just had to get away. He got in his car and drove aimlessly about campus and then off campus. He found himself negotiating the curves of a rural road when suddenly his car began to accelerate. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal but the car kept accelerating, faster, faster, faster, until the wooded landscape became a blur. Strangely, he couldn’t feel any G forces on his body that would be the normal result of acceleration. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, he realized he was driving at normal speed.
“What the hell!” he shouted. He looked back at the stretch of road that had grabbed his car like some giant hand and catapulted him into speeds he didn’t thing even physically possible. He wiped sweat from his brow. He must have fallen asleep at the wheel, he reasoned. He must have been dreaming. He had been carrying a heavy class load. He vowed to get more sleep and was satisfied with that explanation until he noticed flashing lights in his rear view mirror. “Damn!” he thought. He must have been speeding-- sleep-driving and speeding. He pulled over. A police car pulled up behind him. A woman police officer got out and slowly approached him. She peered at him with amused eyes.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he apologized. “I know I was speeding but…”
“Speeding,” said the officer. “You shouldn’t even be driving.”
“Here’s my license,” said Gregory, reaching into his back pocket.
“Hands on the wheel,” she ordered. “ Let’s see where you belong.” His eyes widened with confusion as she tilted a large tag, a price tag, hanging from his shirt collar.
“Felica’s Fine Furniture,” she read.
“What!... I’ve never seen that tag before. What is going on here?
“Oh, act innocent… That’s what they all do… They try to escape and then act like they haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Escape?” said Gregory. “Escape from where?”
“Felicia’s Fine Furniture,” said the officer, waving the price tag. “Come with me. I’m taking you back where you belong.”
Gregory got followed her to her car but continued to whine. “I belong in college,” he told her. “I’m a college student.”
“A college student?” said the officer, forcing him into the back seat of her cruiser. “Now that’s a good one… Wait till I tell the women at the precinct about this one.”
As they drove back to the campus area, Gregory observed that there were no men on the streets, in cars, anywhere… only girls and women. “Where are the boys?” he asked. “Where are the men? This is so weird.”
“Boys?... Men?” she chuckled. “They are all being put to some good use—as you should be.”
She pulled her police car up to a shop. The store front had a large sign that announced: Felicia’s Fine Furniture with the same style of lettering that was on his tag. The officer ordered him to get out. She took hold of his arm and ushered him into the store. Once inside, he shook his head at the surreal sight of men lying upon couches and chairs as women walked about and, much to his great surprise, sitting on the men as a dark haired woman seemed to explain certain features about the men as if they were part of the furniture.
“Did you lose one, Felicia,” said the officer to the dark haired woman. “He actually thought he could make a gataway in a car. Can you believe that?” she said, and chuckled.
“Oh, my, my…” said Felicia. She took him by the arm and ordered him to lie down on a couch.
“I’d punish him, if I were you,” said the officer.
“I’ll punish him, all right,” said Felicia. “I’ll do it the usual way. I’ll sit on his face without the air tube.” The officer nodded in agreement. Gregory laid there, a mixture of confusion and anticipation filled his mind. Felicia was a gorgeous woman in her thirties. She wore a tight black dress which accentuated the curves of her butt, a dress with a hemline at least six inches above her knees, showing off lovely thighs, calves, and heels.
Gregroy looked up at her as she stood next to the couch, looking down at him.
“What are you going to do?” His voice was shaking with anticipation.
“I’m going to sit on your face, of course,” replied Felicia, as if the question was absurd. “But since you tried to escape, I’m going to sit on you without the air tube… Let’s see how you like getting smothered under my butt for awhile.” She turned around. The black dress tightened over her rounded butt. His vision was suddenly obscured by her beautiful bottom descending to his face. Felicia sat down on him full weight. His head pushed deep into the couch beneath him. She crossed nylon thighs and simply sat there, atop his face, as if it were a common thing to do to a young man. The experience was like something he had fantasized many times, but without the real crushing weight of Felica’s body atop him. “When are you men going to learn that we women only keep you around to sit on.” She admonished him.
His mind whirled as she sat on his face. He had never had a fantasy or dream as realistic as this. It appeared that Felicia was, in fact, perceiving him as something to sit on. She sat on his face until he felt dizzy and about to pass out. She finally got up from his tortured face and returned with some kind of flexible tube apparatus. She started to place the tube in his mouth but then changed her mind. “Hmmm. No.” she said. “I think I’ll leave this out for awhile.”
Gregory glanced about the store. Men of various size and age seemed so docile as they lay there, waiting for a female customer to try them out by sitting on them—sometimes on their chest or stomach—but often squarely upon their faces.
“What is this place?” asked Gregory to himself. “Is this some kind of S/M club? Are these women being paid to sit on men? It certainly didn’t seem so. He recalled the terrifying experience he’d had with unfathomable acceleration and began to wonder if he had actually gone through a wormhole, a theoretical door in the universe which transcends time and space, into one of an infinite number of universes. This one, perhaps, exactly like the one he came from, but with the exception that women were totally dominant over men and used them as furniture. He was even more surprised when two of the girls he’d seen at the student center came in the store. One was a blonde wearing tight blue jeans and the other a brunette in a white, mini-skirt. The girls were whispering and giggling to each other as they strolled about the store. They approached the couch where Gregory lay. The blonde girl seemed to be checking to see if Felicia was watching. She whispered something to he friend and then sat down on his chest.
“I’ll sit on his face,” the brunette told her friend.
“He doesn’t have a breathing tube,” her friend cautioned her.
“So?” replied the brunette. “I’ll sit on him.” She turned around, her legs bent, and her skirt went over his head as she lowered her panty clad butt to his face. The girls sat on him, whispering and giggling when he heard Felicia’s voice. “ Are you girls buying or just looking?” said Felicia, sternly.
“Oh. We’re just looking,” said the brunette with her butt planted heavily on his face.
“We don’t encourage loitering here,” said Felecia. “Come on. Up… Up…”
“You’re no fun,” the brunette told Felicia as she got up from his face. The girls scurried out the door, laughing and giggling mischievously.
“College kids,” said Felecia. “… can’t afford a man seat of their own so they come in and use mine.”
Gregory watched them leave. He would have gladly gone with them to be their man seat for free. But it wasn’t up to him. Felecia owned him. This was a business, and he was for sale.
A few minutes later a woman entered the store. He immediately recognized her. It was Erin Johnson, a news anchor he’d seen on T.V. She was a woman of about forty, tall with shoulder length dark blonde hair. Erin was a stunningly beautiful woman with greenish eyes and a wide, voluptuous mouth that often widened into a brilliant smile. She was dressed in a pink summer dress that flared out about six inches above her tanned thighs.
Felicia greeted her and showed her some of the men, stopping at a couch where a chubby man lay. Gregory watched in awe as Erin nonchalantly sat down on the man’s face, allowing her dress to go over his head. She crossed her legs and spoke with Felicia a few moments. Gregory had often seen her sit like that while she interviewed people on T.V.—but she wasn’t sitting on a human face! He listened intently as she spoke.
“This one would be okay,” said Erin, “but my daughters kind of wanted a skinny one to sit on.”
“A skinny one?” asked Felicia.
Erin chuckled. “Yes. I guess they like to hear his bones crunch when they sit on him.”
“How old are your daughters now?” asked Felicia.
“Erica is eighteen, Emily is nineteen, and Elise is twenty… Eighteen, nineteen, and twenty,” she chirped. “All of them in college now,” she said, proudly.
“That must have kept you busy at the Baby Center,” said Felicia.
“Baby Center?” thought Gregory. “Of course… In this woman dominated parallel universe, babies were all created in a lab.”
He saw Erin gazing directly at him and his cock warmed. “Oh, my!” he thought. “Is she thinking about coming over and sitting me!”
Erin got up from the man’s face, and she and Felicia towered over him. “This one tried to escape,” she explained to Erin. “So I sat on his face without the air tube.”
Erin smiled broadly as she gazed down at him. “May I?” she said.
Gregory’s mind filled with anticipation. Erin turned around. Her dress floated over his head as he viewed her rounded butt, pink bikini panties clinging to it, and the underside of lovely tanned thighs, as she sat down full on his face.
“I like this one,” said Erin. “But I must be smothering him without the air tube.” She laughed. Erin crossed her legs and continued to sit on him as if it didn’t really matter to her if he smothered or not. “So he tried to escape, eh,” she said. “I can’t imagine why,” she said, coyly. “… getting crushed under butts like mine.”
Gregory’s mind whirled. Erin Johnson was actually sitting on his face, her entire sexy weight pressing his head into the couch as if that’s what it was there for: to sit on!
“I’ll take him,” said Erin. “Poor thing,” she laughed. “He’s in for a hard time when I get him home and the girls see him.”
… to be continued