Human furniture request


New Member
Jul 17, 2018
I've been a long time fan of this site and I've scoured the pages of this forum and many of the others for stories specifically linking to human furniture or objectification and I think I've found everything there is to see regarding stories where the title gives it away

like "felica's fine furniture" or "the human couch" for example but I'm sure there are plenty of other stories on here that also match this setting but with names that don't make that obvious like "The brutal Contract" I just wanted to know if anyone had some recommendations? It can be any object really as long as the victim is treated as if he were that object I'm all for it though I'm assuming it's mostly going to be chairs based on the forum I'm positing in.

Dec 5, 2002
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I wrote these a long long time ago around 2013 I think.

These are true stories about a deal me and my girlfriend at the time had, where she could play a computer game she was addicted to as much as she wanted so long as she was sitting on my face.

We built a home made smother box with a bench for m body that went under the desk and she would bind me in there and I was at her mercy.

She was amazing at it and I think I got about 4 stories in before I kind of stopped updating them.

I could find these 2 on the page
Jul 10, 2002
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I wrote these a long long time ago around 2013 I think.

These are true stories about a deal me and my girlfriend at the time had, where she could play a computer game she was addicted to as much as she wanted so long as she was sitting on my face.

We built a home made smother box with a bench for m body that went under the desk and she would bind me in there and I was at her mercy.

She was amazing at it and I think I got about 4 stories in before I kind of stopped updating them.

I could find these 2 on the page
Oh man! You're stories are awesome!!! I wish you'd write more!
Aug 27, 2002
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This is a story that I posted here a long time ago, which appears to have vanished with the changeover of the board itself. It's a work in progress which I thought I'd repost for your perusal. I hope it hits the spot...


Being here now, like this, I gaze up at the strip lighting and the ceiling squares I have come to know so well now. The luxury of time seems to have no meaning for me anymore, and I have no recollections as to how long I have been here, the days blending into the nights, the weeks into months, the months into years. Each day, the base of my pillar is opened up and my waste containers removed, emptied and replaced, my catheterizations are checked for security, my nutrition pack replaced with a new one. And then I am returned to service.

In my permanent station I can feel nothing but the internal padding bearing tightly against what is left of me, I have no arms, no legs, no visible resemblance to a human being anymore other than my surgically altered face which is now visible within the carefully moulded seat of the chair that comprises my pillar and the padded back rest rising away above me.

All about me, the hustle and bustle of the busy office goes on, no one pays me any attention at all other than for the purpose I am intended to be used for. Namely, to be sat upon …. for I am a seat, nothing more, nothing less. Occasionally, my face will be brushed by the delicate hem of a skirt as a secretary comes into view above me, my vista might fill with an unashamed view up her skirts at her nylon covered panties. Will she, won’t she? Perhaps she will move away, perhaps not.

Time will tell. It always does.

Sometimes I try and remember the outside world from whence I once came, the trees, the sky, and the everyday goings on of life. I however am no longer a part of any of that, for my life is now here, and whereas others can see and experience the changes of the seasons, the transitions of day to night, a sunset, a moonrise, the only change that I now see is the changing face of fashion, the latest underwear styles, the current length and style of a skirt, whether slips are back in fashion or whatever is ‘en vogue’ at the time just prior to the point when they move in upon me and obliterate me from the light.

In the time that I have been here, not one person that works here during the day has ever addressed me, spoken to me or otherwise given me any notion that I am a still a human being, and I am treated as furniture with all the connotations normally associated with furniture. I am moved as and when needed to wherever I am required. One day I may be in the secretarial bay of the front entrance, the next in the conference room, each time however I remain what I am and am treated as such without regard… and I am ignored. UTTERLY!

Today I am in my most usual place at the main desk, nobody can see me now for I am hidden from view behind the large semi-circular teak reception desk that looks out onto reception and the main doors to the building. To my right someplace, the duty receptionist is speaking with an electrician about a job needing to be completed on floor four, he is arguing that the job will require a little more time than first expected, and she is insisting that the prior deadline be met. He then walks off after saying that he will see what he can do and the receptionist is then talking to someone else.

This time it’s a Woman and her daughter. They are here to see Mrs Leyton on floor one.

After that, the receptionist is quiet, I cannot see nor hear her but every now and then I can hear shuffling from behind me and someone filing papers in one of the cabinets that stands against the wall. I look up again at the ceiling, I open my mouth and attempt to voice some distress that I feel, but nothing comes out. Butchered vocal chords it seems, do not have any capacity to make audible sound, so all that issues forth from my lips is a soft huff as my lungs force air through my now ruined voicebox.

A few minutes pass and the material of a grey A-Line skirt is suddenly blocking out the light of the strip light above me as its apparently oblivious wearer stands near. I can smell the perfume she has applied that morning at home before leaving for work and I can detect a slight aroma of washing powder also on her immaculately laundered skirt as its folds crease this way and that in response to the movement of her upper body, apparently oblivious to my presence. For a brief moment it almost touches my face as she leans back slightly against the leading edge of the seat itself, then it moves again as she leans towards the desk to pick up a telephone.

“Reception, Angela speaking”, she says in a pleasant joyful sounding voice. “One moment, putting you through”, she adds and then she moves back again. This time the material of her skirt bunches up slightly and spills onto my forehead and eyes due to the way she has moved back after leaning forwards.

I shiver within my pedestal and strain to move my head just a little. It’s no use of course for my neck vertebra were fused long ago to render me permanently fixed into a right angled bend with the line of the rest of my butchered body. I take a quick breath, the intake balancing bizarrely between my lips and the tube surgically fixed into my throat, which wheezes just slightly as the valve opens up. My mouth is so dry now, my salivary glands removed of course to prevent wettening and the consequent embarrassment to the Woman using me by having to deal with a wet patch upon her skirt through her constant seating upon her chair.

Then all of a sudden she is gone again, the departing staccato tap, tap of her heels retreating from me now, and the light is once again upon my face.

I can still hear her now though. She’s near the coffee machine. I can hear the coins she deposits within it drop through the mechanism, and then the machine itself whirring away as it delivers her chosen beverage. Then it stops and the advancing tap, tap of her heels signals her return and then she’s back once again to stand near my face.

This time my pedestal is moved outwards from the desk as she moves around it and then steps in towards it, this is it now, I’m about to be sat upon. Her tailored skirt is moving over me again, my pedestal is being pulled slowly forwards again as her knees begin to bend. A humid, scented darkness begins to descend all around me and then within seconds, I can feel her large spreading silk clad backside contacting first my forehead, and then my eyes, nose, mouth and chin as it slowly rolls over each in turn, the weight increasing upon each until her full weight is pressed completely onto the chair to splurge over its entirety as she settles back into the backrest.

In an instance my world is now dark, my eyes squashed deeply into my sockets as she makes herself comfortable on her chair. I can feel my cranium strain and flex as she sits, my throat tube opening up slightly to prevent me from suffocating to death beneath her.

Then there is nothing and my world is black.

The receptionist attends to her work oblivious to my wretched presence beneath her. I am but a chair for her to sit upon, nothing more, nothing less, and for the rest of her working day!

It is now approaching ‘that’ time once again, the only time that I get when I’m not being used.

From where I am now though I can hear the various people that work here going off to wherever they may be going. Some are heading home to their husbands, their wives or their families, whilst others are going to meet someplace for lunch or a drink with friends. For me however, it is fast approaching a time of utter loneliness, it is the time when I recollect on the past that was and my time as a human being walking about in the real world as others do.

When the doors finally lock, I am simply left wherever I was when I was last used, and tonight I remain in place just beneath the front desk in the entrance foyer. My face has been crushed remorselessly as always beneath the oppressive weight of the uncaring receptionist stationed here throughout the day. Just as decreed by those that ordered me put here, not once has any of her attention gone towards me, and why indeed should it? I am nothing but a seat after all and it’s all part of the punishment for the crime that I apparently committed.

Did I commit a crime? I don’t even remember anymore it’s been so long now.

From the very moment that the harsh sentence was passed however I ceased to be considered a Human Being in the eyes of the law, for from that moment on the law said that I was now nothing more than a surgically altered object to be used by all and sundry. It is completely random where those such as myself end up of course, but my fate was to see me mutilated, converted and then installed in an office block.

A seat to be sat upon!

It is at the very start of my evenings here however that I receive what is possibly the only acknowledgement that I am even sentient anymore, for at this particular time, and for about two hours anyway, I am the prey of the cleaners that come and clean the offices here. During the daytime hours I am completely ignored as always by those that use me, but to these cruel women, I am more than just something to be perpetually ignored as I am during the day. To these women I am an object to be teased and tormented, and they certainly have their fill of me on each and every occasion. Once they know that the office staff are finally gone, their fun begins as they seek my position out and suddenly appear haughtily above me.

Margot, the forty nine year old owner of the cleaning company employed to clean the offices is more often than not the Woman who subjects me to the oppressive countenance of her somewhat huge backside. Her girth is frightening and I often fear that my adapted face will one day crush into pieces underneath her regardless of the fact that it never seems to. Tonight she has found me in record time it would seem, for she now stands above my stool looking down into my tormented visage with positive glee in her eyes.

“Did you miss me honey?” she says, “did you miss Margot’s big fat ass uh”, she adds.

I cannot utter a sound of course and she knows this, for my vocal chords have long since ceased in their ability to cry out as she proceeds then to torment me in my wretched, hopeless position.

“Aww, poor baby, do you want me to get you outta there, sweety? You want me to take you away from this hell you’re being forced to live?”, she says, pouting like some cruel demented teenager now.

If I could only move my head or cry out then I would do, in my mind however I only scream.

“Oh please, yes please” but only my eyes show any sign of animation upon my quite pitiable face.

“Speak up now or forever hold your tongue”, she says tormentingly, “if you don’t answer me I’m just going to have to assume that you want to remain here in this chair to be sat on forever by me and all the rest of the ladies that work here”, she adds, knowing full well of course that the ability for me to answer is quite beyond me. It’s all just a part of her cruel, tormenting little game.

From seemingly nowhere though, I am aware of another voice from somewhere beyond the front desk.

“Can’t you leave that thing alone for one day Margot”, says the disembodied female voice, “It isn’t supposed to be treated as a Human Being anymore, it’s supposed to be completely ignored, you aren’t even supposed to speak to it. It’s not like us”

Margot looks down into my face again and smiles.

“Oh I know, but it’s so lonely in here, I want to remind it of the life that it’s left behind, I want it to know that someone still sees it as a Human Being, albeit one that’s trapped inside a Woman’s chair”, she says.

“Well if Ron sees you he’ll report you”, says the other woman, “you aren’t supposed to talk to the damn thing, that’s what it’s here for after all… to be punished”.

“Ron won’t say a thing”, says Margot turning to look up at the security camera with a smile, “I think the randy lil perv likes watching anyway, probably jerks off in the control room watching me sitting on it and smothering it under my skirts and dresses”, she adds.

“Don’t ya Ronnie boy”, she says as she winks sexily at the camera and then blows the invisible watcher a kiss as she turns slightly and then slowly lowers her big skirted ass onto my helplessly trapped face.

In the security office, I just know that Ron is leaning towards the monitor now, his flies likely undone and his big fat cock in his hand as he watches Margot’s cruel show. I know he gets off on it you see as he’s looked in on me occasionally when clocking off, and his words are never encouraging.

“Nice show tonight, Boy” he teases. “I just loved the way her skirt just took you out of the frame before you got SQUASHED!”

He generally has this sick smile on his face as he talks to me, and occasionally he grabs at his crotch with one hand. “I came in minutes”, he adds. “Fucking gallons” And then he walks off laughing at my cruel predicament.

Meanwhile though, and just for a moment, my entire world exists only on the inside of the skirts of Margot’s flowery dress as I glance fearfully to the left and to the right, my terrified eyes taking in the smooth shiny champagne coloured silk of the full slip lining it, whilst above me my inevitable satin bloomer encased doom approaches as Margot allows the seat of the chair to go slowly, but inexorably up inside the dress she wears in unison with her cruel seating.

In an instance, I’m utterly dominated and squashed by heavy female pulchritude as her heavy rayon/satin bloomer style knickers completely encompass my entire existence. Margot is heavier than any of the women that use me with the exception perhaps of Rose Philips, the deputy MD who occasionally makes use of me in her study when she has a particularly heavy workload to attend to. There are times indeed when I wonder just how the human facial structure can sustain such torment without actually breaking, but I forget that mine has been altered and smoothed and strengthened to support the female derrière in the most comfortable manner possible, no matter how fleshy or ample that derrière might actually be.

All about me though, I can feel the outer construct of the chair that imprisons me creaking and flexing under the weight of Margot's seventeen or so stones. The chair moves slightly as she crosses a leg or shifts a little upon it, her seating is sustained without remorse knowing as she does so that I cannot expire underneath her due to the tracheal implant that enables me to continue to breath. Unfortunately though, Margot knows of the shut off valve installed within it, and she often reaches under the seat to close it off every once in a while, just to keep me on my toes.

Well, if I had toes that is!!

It is all part of her cruel streak of course, my struggles within the tube base of the chair upon realizing that my breathing is being denied only serving to increase her enjoyment as she remains seated. Then just at the moment I feel death will finally take me away from all this suffering, the valve is opened again and my tormented and tortured lungs fill once again.

Eventually of course, Margot rises from the chair as always to gaze down into my face all but moulded into the seat as it now is. Then she begins to torment me again.

“If you want me to let you out of there, I will do you know”, she says, “all you have to do is tell me and I’ll release you from this horrible torment that you have to endure”, she adds smiling now at the thought that I simply cannot.

“No? You don’t want to leave here then? You want to be a Woman’s seat until you die beneath one of our butts?” she asks. “Do you like being nothing more than a seat for Women to sit on?” she says.

Again I gaze up into her mocking eyes willing my voice to work, willing myself to make her aware of my thoughts, even though I know of course that she is only tormenting me, for inside I am crying and begging for release and she knows it, but I have no voice anymore with which to articulate these desires.

“Well, I can’t stand around all day waiting for you to talk to me”, says Margot in a matter of fact tone of voice, “I guess I shall just have to sit down again then”, she adds, and with that I’m lost beneath her once again until the next time she arises from my tortured visage.

It seems like hours, but then time has no meaning for me anymore, I don’t measure my day in minutes or seconds anymore, only by the many Women’s backsides that smother me without remorse.

Again, another female voice reaches my ears, is it the same one as before, I can’t be sure now with Margot's skirts dropped all around my tiny cell as she sits, sound is being filtered through the expensive silk of her slip and the outer skirt of her dress now and the voice could be another's. I’m just not sure.

“How long have you been sitting on that thing Margot?”, says the voice. “Oh, about an hour or so”, says Margot. “Well I’m almost done in 1D now, Sandra’s finished in the conference lounge, there’s just the bins to empty and the toilets to do, then were done”, says the woman. “I’ll do the toilets now”, say’s Margot as she rises up off of the chair and then moves away to look down into my eyes before leaving.

“Don’t worry honey, I’m not gone for good”, she says as the face of the second woman appears across the front desk to look down at me also.

“Eww, you poor thing you”, she says, “whatever crime did you commit to get this heaped upon you”, she adds. “Can you imagine that”, she adds looking over to Margot now, “being a seat for people to sit on, like all the time, and forever”, she says.

“Yeah, poor thing uh, but I do enjoy sitting on it though”, says Margot as she finally disappears from view with the other woman, laughing amongst themselves now as they go.

When they finally leave me I am at peace once again. When they are gone it’s one of the very few times I get to do one of the only things that remind me that I am still a Human Being. I can sleep. And when I sleep, I dream of the times when I was a free man and when I walked amongst people and interacted with them on the level of an equal whilst still bearing some semblance of a human being.

I dream of lying upon the cool grass of a field, the sun beating down upon me from within a blue sky devoid of clouds. In these dreams I hear the voices of others talking with me, speaking to me as one would address another human being. I’m living and breathing amongst them…. and it’s wonderful.

But then come the nightmares that always follow, the remorseless staccato click clack of heels upon a polished stone floor, becoming louder and louder to herald my forthcoming torment once again. My heart begins to beat faster in my chest, my breathing increases in response. Then all of a sudden I’m upon a beach. I am as I am now, I have no legs, no arms, I am just a helpless writhing thing upon the sand wriggling about in desperation as women approach me from all directions.

In seconds they are within feet of me, I can see up into the silken confines of their skirts and their dresses as I crane my head in an attempt to maintain eye contact with them all. They are smiling, they care not one iota of the views I have up into the secrecy of their clothing, why should they, I’m a nothing, not even a human being, I’m less than an insect to them now and am treated accordingly.

Some of them bear looks of anger and aggression as they move slowly about me, eyeing me curiously like hunters assessing their prey. Some of them laugh at my futile struggles as I squirm hopelessly under their gaze.

Without realizing it though, my struggles have caused my body to begin burying itself into the sand and I am sinking into it now, the more I struggle though the deeper I go and soon all that is above the sand is my head. Then all of a sudden the women move closer to stand around it, they are inches away from it now, I can smell the heady mix of leather and perspiration coming from their shoes they are so close.

Within seconds I can feel the occasional press of a scuffed leather sole and then a sharp heel against my vulnerable flesh as they step upon me, laughing gleefully as they do so.

Some of them begin standing full weight upon my face causing my face to contort painfully beneath their weight as they tread upon me without regard and with utter disdain. Then my dream changes again as they fade away, leaving me looking up at the buttocks of a huge, domineering woman as she stands haughtily above me looking down into my face.

Her hands are upon her hips in a classic dominating stance, she is sneering over the bridge of her nose as she moves closer, then she squats down onto my tear streaked visage to compress my battered head and face beneath her ample flesh until she sits full weight upon me. A myriad of coloured stars begin flashing inside my skull as my breathing is cut short, then as I begin to pass slowly into unconsciousness and my lungs collapse in response to their cries for oxygen, I am once again brought back to the reality of my situation.

The dream has dissipated, reality comes flooding back. I am still within the chair as before!!!

It is morning once again and another day of torment is about to begin, the chair in which I am now permanently imprisoned is once again in motion, I am well aware that I am being moved now to one of the upper chambers and it doesn’t take long to realize where it is that I’m heading. The smell of leather upholstery is unmistakable as I am moved through the doors to the large office. Today it seems that I am to be used again by the deputy MD, Rose Phillips.

Rose Phillips is married to the CEO, Roland Phillips, she is fifty four years of age and has all the grace, manner and countenance of a gentrified woman. Her cloths are always immaculate and prohibitively expensive to other, lesser mortals, and her large, wholesome physique is quite in being with the richly conservative, upper class business lunches that she regularly attends.

Being one of the elite upper classes, she of course has a very definite intolerance of those beneath her, both in class and also physically, which is not good for me at all.

The last time that I was used in her office, she sat for four hours hardly moving once whilst attending important financial arrangements.

And today, I just know that it is going to be much the same!
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Likes: Zonyt
May 21, 2007
Hey there. This is a really great story, but the links at the top to the other chapters show nothing. I don't suppose you could repost could you?
Well I could repost I suppose. However, the stories are still here, just under different links. If you search "Aftermath" in the stories forum, they do show up.

But anyways here they are. Make sure to comment now :p

Keep in mind that I wrote the initial chapters a long time ago, so they may not have the quality of the later ones. Also I notice 4 is missing. Hmm lemme see