couchman
08-28-2010, 11:22 AM
The Practice Dummy-- Part 6
By
Couchman
The girls gathered in a group as they walked away from Brad. He had just been sat on by four girls. His whole body felt crushed from the weight of four of them sitting across his body. His head especially hurt from Emily sitting on it. This was the reality of what it would be like to be used as a piece of furniture. He had an offer now to present himself to their apartment to get sat on some more. He thought it curious how a fantasy can sometimes cross from the realm of imagination into the real world, a real world where he could be truly injured if the girls actually used him as a living seat. He wondered if they would sit down on him as nonchalantly as they did when he was in mannequin form. Surely they were aware that sitting on his face as a live man would smother him. He had no need for oxygen as a mannequin, but as a human being…Surely they wouldn’t sit so long on his face as to smother him to death.
As the gaggle of girls walked away from him they looked back at him. Some of the girls wore curious expressions on their faces. Some of the smiled, and one of them, the sexy brunette, the snooty sorority type girl who, along with her blonde friend, had been sitting on the campus bench that fateful day when he helped the magical woman across the street, cast those self-absorbed eyes at him and bent over as if showing the others how she was going to sit on him. The other girls laughed. Angie then bent over, her tightened blue jean butt forming a perfect orb and began to sit down on thin air, as if demonstrating to him what she was going to do to him.
Instead of going to his next class, Brad thought he would send himself back to the apartment, back to the apartment in mannequin form where Lea and Emily’s mother were. He thought the word: transform.
He was still lying on the couch, a motionless mannequin. He was alone in the living room. Anticipation grew as he waited for either Lea, Emily’s mother, or both to return to the living room and decide to sit on him. He lay there for awhile when he heard Lea’s voice and the sound of heels on floor as Lea and Misses Thompson, Emily’s mother, walked back into the room. The clack of heels on floor reminded him again that these women had weight, weight that could crush him sitting on him.
He gazed at their lovely female forms. Misses Thompson had changed clothes. She was wearing a yellow sun dress with a hem wider than her previous form fitting skirt.
“I’m sorry,” Lea said to her, “that we don’t have more room for you. Emily says you’re going to spend the night.”
“It’s okay,” said Misses Thompson. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” She gazed down at Brad in mannequin form. “I might even sleep on… Him.” Brad’s mannequin cock warmed at the thought of her lying down on top of him and actually sleeping on him!
Lea turned and sat down heavily on his torso with a whoosh. Then, much to his delight, Misses Thompson also turned, directing her voluptuous hips into and arc that sent the sun dress over his face. He got a quick glimpse of the underside of her tanned thighs and rounded, panty-covered butt as she sat down squarely on his face.
“Will you sit on that seat guy like that?” asked Lea.
“Like what?” replied Misses Thompson.
Lea chuckled and said, “With your dress over his head.”
“Well,” replied Misses Thompson, the warm flesh of her butt and thin panty material smothering his mannequin face. “I don’t usually let a man look under my skirt… but… I guess… If this um… seat guy… wants to be treated like something to sit on… I don’t think about where my skirt or dress goes when I sit on something.” She crossed her legs, allowing Brad to gaze with one eye under the elevated leg with yellow dress material draped over it. He asked himself, “Will she actually sit on my face like this when I present my real self to her as a human seat?” Perhaps it was that once the girls and Misses Thompson established in their minds that he was there as something to sit on, modestly would become a thing of the past. If he were to simply ask any of these girls if he could look up their skirts so he could see their panties he’d probably get slapped (although even that might feel good) he laughed to himself, his mirth concealed inside the mannequin. He thought it interesting that if, in their minds, his real self was reduced to the lowly social status of a seat, sitting on his face with their skirts over his head would seem natural to them.
Misses Thompson and Lea sat on his mannequin body for quite awhile while they chatted casually about a variety of subjects, Misses Thompson perched atop his face and Lea on his torso. When they finally arose from his mannequin body, Misses Thompson looked down at him and said, “Well… How did you like my butt on your face for so long?” She thought she was speaking to an inanimate object, of course, and she and Lea laughed.
Misses Thompson added, “If I had been sitting on your seat guy’s face like that… well… what would we do with his body?” They laughed some more.
Brad certainly hoped they wouldn’t do that. No. The girls or Misses Thompson weren’t murderers, yet the mental image of them smothering him to death by sitting on his face sent shivers through his mannequin body.
Misses Thompson and Lea left the room again, and Brad returned to his real self. He managed to attend one of his classes, yet, with all the coeds in class sitting on chairs, listening to the professor lecture, he continued to fantasize he was the chair seat that were sitting on. He knew exactly what if would feel like if they were sitting on his face instead of the chair. It was like the beauty of insignificance-- if there was such a thing.
That evening he presented himself to their apartment. Jenna, the girl who had first sat on his face for the video, answered the door.
“Brad,” she said, smiling. “I hope you realize what you’re getting yourself into.” Jenna wore cut off blue jeans which caressed every curve of her butt.
“I’m ready,” said Brad, unable to take his eyes off her lower half, her tight butt and those long tanned thighs.
“Okay,” said a cautionary Jenna. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
The first thing he saw as he entered the apartment was Lea and Angie sitting on the couch, sitting on the mannequin. Angie had changed into a mini-skirt and was sitting on the mannequin’s face, while Lea occupied his torso with her own lovely bottom.
Angie spoke up, “I think you’ll be more comfortable to sit on than this mannequin.”
“Is someone here?” Angie’s sister Mandy came into the room. She had also changed into a skirt. When she saw it was Brad she said, “Oh… It’s you, seat guy.”
Angie said, “ I was just telling him he might be more comfortable to sit on than this mannequin.”
“I agree,” said Mandy. “We might be more comfortable, but I don’t think that, he, will be comfortable when we sit on him.” An evil grin broke her face.
“You are going to be sorry,” said Jenna, again with a cautionary voice.
There were two couches in their large apartment, the one with the mannequin on it, and another couch that stood unoccupied.
“We’ve reserved this one for you,” said Angie. “Why don’t you just go over and lie down on it… So we can sit on you,” she added.
Brad took her up on her offer. He had just laid down on his back on the couch when Emily and her mother came into the room. Emily’s mother, Misses Thompson stared at him and then spoke. “Are you sure you want to be used like this?” she asked.
Brad nodded.
“Well, well,” said Misses Thompson. “I’ve never sat on a living couch before.” She walked over close to the couch and looked down at him. She was wearing the yellow sun dress she had on when she sat on his face as the mannequin.
“Sit on his face, mom,” encouraged Emily. “Show him what it’s really like to be a couch seat.”
“And you don’t care if I hurt you?” asked Misses Thompson. “Are you sure you want a hundred forty pound woman sitting on your face?” Brad gazed up at her towering over him. Every inch of her hundred forty pound body curved to form a magnificent middle aged woman.
“Sit on him. Sit on him. Sit on him.” the girls chanted.
Misses Thompson turned around. Her legs were together. She smoothed the yellow dress material into her butt and thighs. He knees bent, and her rounded butt descended to it’s fleshy target. She sat down gently at first, merely touching his face with her butt. He could feel the twin globes of her buttocks through the dress material.
“I’m going to put my whole weight on you,” she warned. Brad said nothing to stop her, and she settled down squarely atop his face, her weight pushing his head deeper into the couch beneath him.
Emily encouraged, “Put your dress over his face, mom.” to which Misses Thompson replied, “Hmmm… I don’t know about that.”
“You said you would,” Lea chimed in. “You sat on the mannequin’s face with your dress over his head… You said if the seat guy shows up you’d sit on him the same way.”
“I guess I did,” replied Misses Thompson… Okay,” she added, hesitantly. “Enjoy the view young man, before I squish you.” She arose slightly from his face. Yellow dress material was replaced by a rounded butt with panty material as she tossed the back of her dress over his head. She hesitated a moment and Brad gazed up at her unconcealed butt hovering above his face. And then Misses Thompson, a beautiful yet conservative middle-aged woman, sat down full on his face, engulfing it under warm female flesh and panty material. As usual, her weight pushed his head deeper into the couch below. Misses Thompson sat on him the same as earlier, when he was in mannequin form, but now it was different. Now she was sitting full weight on his face as a human being. This is what he yearned for, or at least thought he wanted: to be treated as something to sit on despite an awareness of him as a live man. But soon the reality of his situation broke into his mind. As a real person being used as a seat, he could not breathe. His mouth and nose were sealed off under the weight of her voluptuous body.
“I must be smothering you,” said Misses Thompson, teasingly. “But you wanted to be a seat… If I squish you… and if I smother you sitting on your face like this… well… that’s just too bad, isn’t it.” She crossed her legs and continued to sit, nonchalantly, on his face.
“Let’s sit on him,” he head Angie say. Then he felt the additional weight of her when she sat down on his chest, making it even more difficult for him to breathe as her butt squashed any remaining air from his lungs.
“Fun!” said Mandy. He heard two more sets of heels on floor as Mandy and Lea approached the couch. The two girls sat down in unison on his crotch and legs, his entire body now flattened under four female butts.
“Got room for me?” said Emily.
“No!” thought Brad. “This is too much weight on me… not another girl!” he attempted to voice his objection, but all he could muster was a muffled groan under Misses Thompson’s butt.
“I’ll sit on your lap, mom,” said Emily. Brad’s head was forced even deeper into the couch as Emily sat on her mother’s lap. He was now experiencing more weight atop him than he expected, more weight crushing him than he could handle. The scene became a mixture of pleasure and pain with pain soon becoming the dominate factor. He thought the word transform and switched to the mannequin on the other couch. Out of the corner of his mannequin eye, he could see the pile of crushing womanliness atop his real body. Now he could see the expression on their faces as they sat on his real self. Angie and her sister Mandy chuckled, evilly. Lea was smiling. Misses Thompson with Emily on her lap wore a look of triumph as if to say, there, how do you like being a seat now?
A terrifying thought entered his mind, hidden inside the mannequin. “What if they sit on me over there as a real person, sit on me so long that I smother to death? Will I remain trapped in this mannequin body forever?” He stared over at the four girls and Misses Thompson, there legs crossed casually, as they sat across the body of his real self, and he could not resist transforming back to his vulnerable real self. Immediately, he felt the oppressive weight of Misses Thompson’s butt mashing onto his face, with the added weight of Emily sitting on her lap.
Said Emily to her mother, “I guess we’d better get up before we kill him.” His head rose up as Emily got up off her mother’s lap. Then his head rose up more as Misses Thompson relieved his face from her own weight. He gasped air into his now unoccupied mouth and nose. But Angie, Mandy, and Lea remained seated on the rest of his body making it still difficult to breathe. Amid grunts and groans he looked up at Angie, her butt spread across his chest, her legs crossed, with a soft hand resting on one thigh, and again he felt that strange contradiction between fantasy and reality. How could such a soft and feminine body cause him so much discomfort? Angie only weighed perhaps one hundred twenty pounds, but as she sat on his chest he felt every pound of her channeled into her hips and buttocks. That was the purpose of anything a woman decides to sit on: to take their body weight off their feet and redistribute it to the thing they were sitting on. He gazed up at her torso-- firm breasts pushing out a halter top, her lovely face nestled into a bed of lustrous brown hair. She looked down at him a moment and then turned her head towards the others seated across his body. Angie was deliberately ignoring him, demonstrating to him that he was nothing but a seat for her, as she spoke to her roommates.
“So,” she said to the others, “What do you have planned this weekend?”
The girls chatted about bar hopping, and they made no attempt to get up off of him as they did so. His chest heaved under Angie’s weight. His stomach, groin and legs ached from the others relentless weight crushing them, but the girls continued to sit and chat as if his pain meant nothing to them. He felt totally dominated, de-humanized. And suddenly, without warning, Angie shifted her butt from his chest to his face, sitting squarely upon it, her skirt over his face, her rounded panty-clad butt mashing his nose and mouth as naturally as if it were just another part of the couch. With his air passages again sealed off, he strained for air that wasn’t available. Angie and the others were treating him as if he were a nothing, simply a seat to rest their butts upon. He began to feel weak and drowsy from Angie sitting on his face. He felt as if he were about to pass out when she finally stood up, relieving her weight from his face. He gasped in air, and Angie looked down at him and smirked.
“So,” said Lea. “Who gets to sit on his face next?”
“I will,” said Mandy, rushing over to where his upturned face awaited. Her rounded butt and skirt hovering over his face as she began to sit down.
“No,” giggled Jenna. “I will.” She too rushed over, placing her own cut off jean rounded butt hovering above him. The scene became a light-hearted battle over which one would sit on his face, each girl trying to nudge the other over so she could sit down squarely on his face. Jenna won the battle, engulfing his face beneath blue denim, stretched tight over her buttocks as it made contact with his face, pushing his head into the couch from her weight. And no sooner than Jenna sat on his face, Mandy sat on her lap, adding additional weight to his tortured head. The girls laughed and Mandy teased, “Oh… poor couch seat… Are we squishing you.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Misses Thompson. “This fool is going to learn just how painful it is being used as something to sit on.”
Jenna removed her butt from his face, but as she got up, Mandy slid off her lap and assaulted his face with her own butt, sitting on it amid a flurry of skirt and panty material. Mandy sat down on his face and crossed her legs. “I love this,” she told the others. “It’s like sitting on the mannequin’s face only better.” Than she added, “I think I’ll sit on your face like this all day.”
“Yeah,” said Lea and laughed. “And not get up-- not even to go to the bathroom.”
“We should do that,” said Emily. There was a malevolence in her voice that frightened Brad. “If he wants to be a seat, why can’t we sit on his face as long as we want.”
“You aren’t serious,” said Mandy, getting up off his face.
“Yes I am,” replied Emily. She approached the couch, and Brad stared up at her stern face. This was Emily, the most conservative one of the bunch. Brad looked into her eyes and saw the pent up anger she had for her father. She was projecting the anger towards him.
He stared to say, “I don’t want to be sat on for a long time,” but Emily cut him off. “Excuse me… Seat… I’ll sit on you as long as I want.” She tossed her skirt over his head and sat down harshly on his face. She bounced a couple times, mashing his nose and mouth with her panty-clad butt. She crossed her legs as she sat on his face.
“Be careful, honey,” said her mother, taking note of her apparent anger.
“Why?” she curdled. “He is, only, a seat… I’m going to sit on him as long as I want.”
After about thirty seconds he started to panic. He didn’t trust Emily. He didn’t trust her not to actually kill him sitting on him. He reached up in an attempt to push her off him. Emily grabbed his outstretched arm and he felt sharp teeth penetrate the skin of his hand. He recoiled from her bite.
“Don’t try to push my off,” Emily warned him, “or I’ll bite you again.”
“Yeah,” laughed Angie. “Bite him.”
Brad was now terrified. He was convinced that Emily was trying to kill him! He felt around for her hips again, found them, and tried to push her off. And, again, she grabbed his hand and he felt her sharp teeth clamp down on it. He moaned into her un-yielding butt, but to no avail. Emily kept her butt firmly planted atop his face, smothering him. He had lost control of his situation and it scared him. His oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t even remember the word that would transform him into the mannequin where he at least didn’t need to breathe. Just before he lost consciousness, an image of himself dying and re-incarnating into a chair seat entered his blurred mind.
The next thing he felt was a sharp slap on his cheek. His nostrils were assaulted by a powerful scent. He opened bleary eyes and saw Misses Thompson leaning over him with smelling salts.
“Come on,” she encouraged. “Wake up, you fool.”
He slowly re-oriented himself to the conscious world. There he was in their apartment, surrounded by four girls and a middle-aged woman all staring at him.
Misses Thompson turned to her daughter and said, sharply, “What were you trying to do, Emily? Kill him?”
“Look, mom,” Emily retorted. “He’s the one who wants to be used like a piece of furniture, a seat. And when I sit on something, I don’t ask it permission on how long I can sit.”
“This is getting to be ridiculous,” said Jenna, as if coming to his rescue. “Do you want to leave, Brad?”
“It’s up to you,” added Angie. “But we love sitting on you.”
“Yeah,” agreed her sister.
“You can stay,” said Jenna. “But I can’t guarantee you won’t end up getting smothered to death.”
Lea chimed in, “I’m surprised at you, Emily.”
“Yep,” said Angie, chuckling. “The mouse that roared.”
Emily stared daggers at her and left the room in a huff.
“I’ll stay,” said Brad, his voice still weak. He thought the word: transform and turned himself into the mannequin on the other couch.
“Let’s give him a rest,” said Jenna. She strode over to the other couch where he now lay as a mannequin. Jenna plopped down on his mannequin face. “We can sit on the mannequin for now,” she told the others. And, again, his face and head were pushed into the couch by Jenna’s weight. But he didn’t have to breathe. Jenna crossed her legs, and he was able to look through a thin slice of vision at his real self body lying limp on the couch. His face, his real self’s face, was red from getting sat on. And he wondered if he might have suffered internal damage from the experience. It occurred to him that he could stay where he was as a mannequin and he wouldn’t have to worry about injury. It was a dilemma he had to sort out.
… to be continued.
By
Couchman
The girls gathered in a group as they walked away from Brad. He had just been sat on by four girls. His whole body felt crushed from the weight of four of them sitting across his body. His head especially hurt from Emily sitting on it. This was the reality of what it would be like to be used as a piece of furniture. He had an offer now to present himself to their apartment to get sat on some more. He thought it curious how a fantasy can sometimes cross from the realm of imagination into the real world, a real world where he could be truly injured if the girls actually used him as a living seat. He wondered if they would sit down on him as nonchalantly as they did when he was in mannequin form. Surely they were aware that sitting on his face as a live man would smother him. He had no need for oxygen as a mannequin, but as a human being…Surely they wouldn’t sit so long on his face as to smother him to death.
As the gaggle of girls walked away from him they looked back at him. Some of the girls wore curious expressions on their faces. Some of the smiled, and one of them, the sexy brunette, the snooty sorority type girl who, along with her blonde friend, had been sitting on the campus bench that fateful day when he helped the magical woman across the street, cast those self-absorbed eyes at him and bent over as if showing the others how she was going to sit on him. The other girls laughed. Angie then bent over, her tightened blue jean butt forming a perfect orb and began to sit down on thin air, as if demonstrating to him what she was going to do to him.
Instead of going to his next class, Brad thought he would send himself back to the apartment, back to the apartment in mannequin form where Lea and Emily’s mother were. He thought the word: transform.
He was still lying on the couch, a motionless mannequin. He was alone in the living room. Anticipation grew as he waited for either Lea, Emily’s mother, or both to return to the living room and decide to sit on him. He lay there for awhile when he heard Lea’s voice and the sound of heels on floor as Lea and Misses Thompson, Emily’s mother, walked back into the room. The clack of heels on floor reminded him again that these women had weight, weight that could crush him sitting on him.
He gazed at their lovely female forms. Misses Thompson had changed clothes. She was wearing a yellow sun dress with a hem wider than her previous form fitting skirt.
“I’m sorry,” Lea said to her, “that we don’t have more room for you. Emily says you’re going to spend the night.”
“It’s okay,” said Misses Thompson. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” She gazed down at Brad in mannequin form. “I might even sleep on… Him.” Brad’s mannequin cock warmed at the thought of her lying down on top of him and actually sleeping on him!
Lea turned and sat down heavily on his torso with a whoosh. Then, much to his delight, Misses Thompson also turned, directing her voluptuous hips into and arc that sent the sun dress over his face. He got a quick glimpse of the underside of her tanned thighs and rounded, panty-covered butt as she sat down squarely on his face.
“Will you sit on that seat guy like that?” asked Lea.
“Like what?” replied Misses Thompson.
Lea chuckled and said, “With your dress over his head.”
“Well,” replied Misses Thompson, the warm flesh of her butt and thin panty material smothering his mannequin face. “I don’t usually let a man look under my skirt… but… I guess… If this um… seat guy… wants to be treated like something to sit on… I don’t think about where my skirt or dress goes when I sit on something.” She crossed her legs, allowing Brad to gaze with one eye under the elevated leg with yellow dress material draped over it. He asked himself, “Will she actually sit on my face like this when I present my real self to her as a human seat?” Perhaps it was that once the girls and Misses Thompson established in their minds that he was there as something to sit on, modestly would become a thing of the past. If he were to simply ask any of these girls if he could look up their skirts so he could see their panties he’d probably get slapped (although even that might feel good) he laughed to himself, his mirth concealed inside the mannequin. He thought it interesting that if, in their minds, his real self was reduced to the lowly social status of a seat, sitting on his face with their skirts over his head would seem natural to them.
Misses Thompson and Lea sat on his mannequin body for quite awhile while they chatted casually about a variety of subjects, Misses Thompson perched atop his face and Lea on his torso. When they finally arose from his mannequin body, Misses Thompson looked down at him and said, “Well… How did you like my butt on your face for so long?” She thought she was speaking to an inanimate object, of course, and she and Lea laughed.
Misses Thompson added, “If I had been sitting on your seat guy’s face like that… well… what would we do with his body?” They laughed some more.
Brad certainly hoped they wouldn’t do that. No. The girls or Misses Thompson weren’t murderers, yet the mental image of them smothering him to death by sitting on his face sent shivers through his mannequin body.
Misses Thompson and Lea left the room again, and Brad returned to his real self. He managed to attend one of his classes, yet, with all the coeds in class sitting on chairs, listening to the professor lecture, he continued to fantasize he was the chair seat that were sitting on. He knew exactly what if would feel like if they were sitting on his face instead of the chair. It was like the beauty of insignificance-- if there was such a thing.
That evening he presented himself to their apartment. Jenna, the girl who had first sat on his face for the video, answered the door.
“Brad,” she said, smiling. “I hope you realize what you’re getting yourself into.” Jenna wore cut off blue jeans which caressed every curve of her butt.
“I’m ready,” said Brad, unable to take his eyes off her lower half, her tight butt and those long tanned thighs.
“Okay,” said a cautionary Jenna. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
The first thing he saw as he entered the apartment was Lea and Angie sitting on the couch, sitting on the mannequin. Angie had changed into a mini-skirt and was sitting on the mannequin’s face, while Lea occupied his torso with her own lovely bottom.
Angie spoke up, “I think you’ll be more comfortable to sit on than this mannequin.”
“Is someone here?” Angie’s sister Mandy came into the room. She had also changed into a skirt. When she saw it was Brad she said, “Oh… It’s you, seat guy.”
Angie said, “ I was just telling him he might be more comfortable to sit on than this mannequin.”
“I agree,” said Mandy. “We might be more comfortable, but I don’t think that, he, will be comfortable when we sit on him.” An evil grin broke her face.
“You are going to be sorry,” said Jenna, again with a cautionary voice.
There were two couches in their large apartment, the one with the mannequin on it, and another couch that stood unoccupied.
“We’ve reserved this one for you,” said Angie. “Why don’t you just go over and lie down on it… So we can sit on you,” she added.
Brad took her up on her offer. He had just laid down on his back on the couch when Emily and her mother came into the room. Emily’s mother, Misses Thompson stared at him and then spoke. “Are you sure you want to be used like this?” she asked.
Brad nodded.
“Well, well,” said Misses Thompson. “I’ve never sat on a living couch before.” She walked over close to the couch and looked down at him. She was wearing the yellow sun dress she had on when she sat on his face as the mannequin.
“Sit on his face, mom,” encouraged Emily. “Show him what it’s really like to be a couch seat.”
“And you don’t care if I hurt you?” asked Misses Thompson. “Are you sure you want a hundred forty pound woman sitting on your face?” Brad gazed up at her towering over him. Every inch of her hundred forty pound body curved to form a magnificent middle aged woman.
“Sit on him. Sit on him. Sit on him.” the girls chanted.
Misses Thompson turned around. Her legs were together. She smoothed the yellow dress material into her butt and thighs. He knees bent, and her rounded butt descended to it’s fleshy target. She sat down gently at first, merely touching his face with her butt. He could feel the twin globes of her buttocks through the dress material.
“I’m going to put my whole weight on you,” she warned. Brad said nothing to stop her, and she settled down squarely atop his face, her weight pushing his head deeper into the couch beneath him.
Emily encouraged, “Put your dress over his face, mom.” to which Misses Thompson replied, “Hmmm… I don’t know about that.”
“You said you would,” Lea chimed in. “You sat on the mannequin’s face with your dress over his head… You said if the seat guy shows up you’d sit on him the same way.”
“I guess I did,” replied Misses Thompson… Okay,” she added, hesitantly. “Enjoy the view young man, before I squish you.” She arose slightly from his face. Yellow dress material was replaced by a rounded butt with panty material as she tossed the back of her dress over his head. She hesitated a moment and Brad gazed up at her unconcealed butt hovering above his face. And then Misses Thompson, a beautiful yet conservative middle-aged woman, sat down full on his face, engulfing it under warm female flesh and panty material. As usual, her weight pushed his head deeper into the couch below. Misses Thompson sat on him the same as earlier, when he was in mannequin form, but now it was different. Now she was sitting full weight on his face as a human being. This is what he yearned for, or at least thought he wanted: to be treated as something to sit on despite an awareness of him as a live man. But soon the reality of his situation broke into his mind. As a real person being used as a seat, he could not breathe. His mouth and nose were sealed off under the weight of her voluptuous body.
“I must be smothering you,” said Misses Thompson, teasingly. “But you wanted to be a seat… If I squish you… and if I smother you sitting on your face like this… well… that’s just too bad, isn’t it.” She crossed her legs and continued to sit, nonchalantly, on his face.
“Let’s sit on him,” he head Angie say. Then he felt the additional weight of her when she sat down on his chest, making it even more difficult for him to breathe as her butt squashed any remaining air from his lungs.
“Fun!” said Mandy. He heard two more sets of heels on floor as Mandy and Lea approached the couch. The two girls sat down in unison on his crotch and legs, his entire body now flattened under four female butts.
“Got room for me?” said Emily.
“No!” thought Brad. “This is too much weight on me… not another girl!” he attempted to voice his objection, but all he could muster was a muffled groan under Misses Thompson’s butt.
“I’ll sit on your lap, mom,” said Emily. Brad’s head was forced even deeper into the couch as Emily sat on her mother’s lap. He was now experiencing more weight atop him than he expected, more weight crushing him than he could handle. The scene became a mixture of pleasure and pain with pain soon becoming the dominate factor. He thought the word transform and switched to the mannequin on the other couch. Out of the corner of his mannequin eye, he could see the pile of crushing womanliness atop his real body. Now he could see the expression on their faces as they sat on his real self. Angie and her sister Mandy chuckled, evilly. Lea was smiling. Misses Thompson with Emily on her lap wore a look of triumph as if to say, there, how do you like being a seat now?
A terrifying thought entered his mind, hidden inside the mannequin. “What if they sit on me over there as a real person, sit on me so long that I smother to death? Will I remain trapped in this mannequin body forever?” He stared over at the four girls and Misses Thompson, there legs crossed casually, as they sat across the body of his real self, and he could not resist transforming back to his vulnerable real self. Immediately, he felt the oppressive weight of Misses Thompson’s butt mashing onto his face, with the added weight of Emily sitting on her lap.
Said Emily to her mother, “I guess we’d better get up before we kill him.” His head rose up as Emily got up off her mother’s lap. Then his head rose up more as Misses Thompson relieved his face from her own weight. He gasped air into his now unoccupied mouth and nose. But Angie, Mandy, and Lea remained seated on the rest of his body making it still difficult to breathe. Amid grunts and groans he looked up at Angie, her butt spread across his chest, her legs crossed, with a soft hand resting on one thigh, and again he felt that strange contradiction between fantasy and reality. How could such a soft and feminine body cause him so much discomfort? Angie only weighed perhaps one hundred twenty pounds, but as she sat on his chest he felt every pound of her channeled into her hips and buttocks. That was the purpose of anything a woman decides to sit on: to take their body weight off their feet and redistribute it to the thing they were sitting on. He gazed up at her torso-- firm breasts pushing out a halter top, her lovely face nestled into a bed of lustrous brown hair. She looked down at him a moment and then turned her head towards the others seated across his body. Angie was deliberately ignoring him, demonstrating to him that he was nothing but a seat for her, as she spoke to her roommates.
“So,” she said to the others, “What do you have planned this weekend?”
The girls chatted about bar hopping, and they made no attempt to get up off of him as they did so. His chest heaved under Angie’s weight. His stomach, groin and legs ached from the others relentless weight crushing them, but the girls continued to sit and chat as if his pain meant nothing to them. He felt totally dominated, de-humanized. And suddenly, without warning, Angie shifted her butt from his chest to his face, sitting squarely upon it, her skirt over his face, her rounded panty-clad butt mashing his nose and mouth as naturally as if it were just another part of the couch. With his air passages again sealed off, he strained for air that wasn’t available. Angie and the others were treating him as if he were a nothing, simply a seat to rest their butts upon. He began to feel weak and drowsy from Angie sitting on his face. He felt as if he were about to pass out when she finally stood up, relieving her weight from his face. He gasped in air, and Angie looked down at him and smirked.
“So,” said Lea. “Who gets to sit on his face next?”
“I will,” said Mandy, rushing over to where his upturned face awaited. Her rounded butt and skirt hovering over his face as she began to sit down.
“No,” giggled Jenna. “I will.” She too rushed over, placing her own cut off jean rounded butt hovering above him. The scene became a light-hearted battle over which one would sit on his face, each girl trying to nudge the other over so she could sit down squarely on his face. Jenna won the battle, engulfing his face beneath blue denim, stretched tight over her buttocks as it made contact with his face, pushing his head into the couch from her weight. And no sooner than Jenna sat on his face, Mandy sat on her lap, adding additional weight to his tortured head. The girls laughed and Mandy teased, “Oh… poor couch seat… Are we squishing you.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Misses Thompson. “This fool is going to learn just how painful it is being used as something to sit on.”
Jenna removed her butt from his face, but as she got up, Mandy slid off her lap and assaulted his face with her own butt, sitting on it amid a flurry of skirt and panty material. Mandy sat down on his face and crossed her legs. “I love this,” she told the others. “It’s like sitting on the mannequin’s face only better.” Than she added, “I think I’ll sit on your face like this all day.”
“Yeah,” said Lea and laughed. “And not get up-- not even to go to the bathroom.”
“We should do that,” said Emily. There was a malevolence in her voice that frightened Brad. “If he wants to be a seat, why can’t we sit on his face as long as we want.”
“You aren’t serious,” said Mandy, getting up off his face.
“Yes I am,” replied Emily. She approached the couch, and Brad stared up at her stern face. This was Emily, the most conservative one of the bunch. Brad looked into her eyes and saw the pent up anger she had for her father. She was projecting the anger towards him.
He stared to say, “I don’t want to be sat on for a long time,” but Emily cut him off. “Excuse me… Seat… I’ll sit on you as long as I want.” She tossed her skirt over his head and sat down harshly on his face. She bounced a couple times, mashing his nose and mouth with her panty-clad butt. She crossed her legs as she sat on his face.
“Be careful, honey,” said her mother, taking note of her apparent anger.
“Why?” she curdled. “He is, only, a seat… I’m going to sit on him as long as I want.”
After about thirty seconds he started to panic. He didn’t trust Emily. He didn’t trust her not to actually kill him sitting on him. He reached up in an attempt to push her off him. Emily grabbed his outstretched arm and he felt sharp teeth penetrate the skin of his hand. He recoiled from her bite.
“Don’t try to push my off,” Emily warned him, “or I’ll bite you again.”
“Yeah,” laughed Angie. “Bite him.”
Brad was now terrified. He was convinced that Emily was trying to kill him! He felt around for her hips again, found them, and tried to push her off. And, again, she grabbed his hand and he felt her sharp teeth clamp down on it. He moaned into her un-yielding butt, but to no avail. Emily kept her butt firmly planted atop his face, smothering him. He had lost control of his situation and it scared him. His oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t even remember the word that would transform him into the mannequin where he at least didn’t need to breathe. Just before he lost consciousness, an image of himself dying and re-incarnating into a chair seat entered his blurred mind.
The next thing he felt was a sharp slap on his cheek. His nostrils were assaulted by a powerful scent. He opened bleary eyes and saw Misses Thompson leaning over him with smelling salts.
“Come on,” she encouraged. “Wake up, you fool.”
He slowly re-oriented himself to the conscious world. There he was in their apartment, surrounded by four girls and a middle-aged woman all staring at him.
Misses Thompson turned to her daughter and said, sharply, “What were you trying to do, Emily? Kill him?”
“Look, mom,” Emily retorted. “He’s the one who wants to be used like a piece of furniture, a seat. And when I sit on something, I don’t ask it permission on how long I can sit.”
“This is getting to be ridiculous,” said Jenna, as if coming to his rescue. “Do you want to leave, Brad?”
“It’s up to you,” added Angie. “But we love sitting on you.”
“Yeah,” agreed her sister.
“You can stay,” said Jenna. “But I can’t guarantee you won’t end up getting smothered to death.”
Lea chimed in, “I’m surprised at you, Emily.”
“Yep,” said Angie, chuckling. “The mouse that roared.”
Emily stared daggers at her and left the room in a huff.
“I’ll stay,” said Brad, his voice still weak. He thought the word: transform and turned himself into the mannequin on the other couch.
“Let’s give him a rest,” said Jenna. She strode over to the other couch where he now lay as a mannequin. Jenna plopped down on his mannequin face. “We can sit on the mannequin for now,” she told the others. And, again, his face and head were pushed into the couch by Jenna’s weight. But he didn’t have to breathe. Jenna crossed her legs, and he was able to look through a thin slice of vision at his real self body lying limp on the couch. His face, his real self’s face, was red from getting sat on. And he wondered if he might have suffered internal damage from the experience. It occurred to him that he could stay where he was as a mannequin and he wouldn’t have to worry about injury. It was a dilemma he had to sort out.
… to be continued.