Chapter 1: Human Furniture Service
The only sound in the opulent living room was the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional, delicate turn of a page. Susan shifted on the plush leather couch, sighing with contentment as she found a more comfortable position. She wiggled her bare toes, the skin soft and pale against the dark leather, and settled her heels firmly into the small of Bill’s back.
He was kneeling on the intricate Persian rug, bent over so his forehead rested on his folded arms, his body forming a human footstool. A tremor ran through him at the increased pressure.
Susan took a slow sip of her Cabernet, her eyes never leaving her novel. She reached out and tapped the ash from her cigarette onto the small, polished silver tray that was strapped to the waistband of Bill’s trousers. The movement was casual, automatic. A fine chain connected the tray to two small, silver clamps that bit into the tender flesh of his nipples. The ash fell; the chain jingled, tugging cruelly. A sharp, stifled gasp escaped him.
“Good little furniture doesn’t whimper,” Susan murmured, her voice a low, smooth contralto that held no anger, only absolute authority. She didn’t even look up from her book. “Hold still while Mommy enjoys her novel.”
She turned another page. The firelight played over the sharp planes of her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and the determined set of her jaw. Her medium-length red hair was a cascade of copper against the dark cushion. She was the picture of relaxed command.
Beneath her, Bill trembled, trying to obey, to become inanimate. It was impossible. Every nerve ending was on fire. The feel of her heels digging into his muscles was a brand of ownership. The dull, persistent ache in his groin was a constant, humiliating reminder of his state. His cock strained, painfully hard, against the unyielding steel of the chastity cage that confined him. It was a futile, maddening pressure, a need that had no outlet. He was locked away, and she held the key on a chain around her neck, the small silver token resting just in the shadow of her cleavage.
Susan took another long drag from her cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the vaulted ceiling. She let her free hand drift down, her fingers tracing a lazy pattern on the sole of her own foot before she pressed that foot down harder, grinding her heel into his ass.
He jolted, a choked sound catching in his throat.
“Is my footstool getting restless?” she asked, her tone one of mild, amused curiosity. She finally lowered her book, her piercing green eyes fixing on the back of his head. “Do you need a reminder of your place?”
“No, Mommy,” he breathed, the words muffled by his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You’re disrupting my peace.” She placed the book face down on the cushion beside her and stubbed out her cigarette in the tray on his back. The finality of the act sent another jolt through the chain to his nipples. He winced.
“Look at me, Bill.”
Slowly, stiffly, he pushed himself up onto his knees. His face was flushed, his eyes wide and pleading. He kept his gaze lowered, fixed on the rug between them. The position made the strain in the cage all the more obvious, the metal pressing tight against his slacks.
Susan’s eyes roamed over him, a slow, appraising look. She smiled, a small, predatory curve of her lips. “Look at you. Pathetic. So desperate for a touch you’ll never get. Not unless I decide to grant it.” She leaned forward, cupping his chin in her hand, her grip firm. Her thumb stroked his jawline, a mockery of a caress. “Do you know why you’re locked away?”
“Because I belong to you,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
“Louder.”
“Because I belong to you!” The words were torn from him, laced with equal parts shame and fervent belief.
“That’s right.” She released his chin and leaned back, her hands going to the hem of her silk blouse. “And what does Mommy own?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. With deliberate, slow movements, she began to unbutton the blouse. One button. Two. Three. The dark silk parted to reveal the lacy edge of a black bra. She kept going, until the blouse was fully open, hanging off her shoulders. Her breasts were magnificent, full and heavy, the deep cleavage promised by the bra now fully on display. She made no move to take it off. This was the tease. The torture.
His eyes were locked on her, hungry, devouring.
“You see these?”