The Sofa Ch. 01

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Bdsm

(Author’s notes: This is a work of fiction. In this fantasy, nobody is worried about STDs. In real life, all non-monogamous sex should be practiced using accepted safe-sex precautions.

This story has parts that could be placed in the First Time category, but it has lengthy sections that are Erotic Couplings without a trace of First Time, so Erotic Couplings is where it will go.

All characters involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.)

It was nearly dark. A gentle misty rain had been falling for half an hour. I was sitting out on the curb in a solidly middle-class neighborhood. I was only damp so far, but soaking wet seemed to be in my immediate future. I used to live in the house behind me, but apparently when they said I had to go, they meant it. I’d been sitting there for nearly three days, and no one seemed to want to take me in, even with the sign they taped on me: ‘Free Sofa.’ How could this happen? This could be the end — bulk trash pick-up was the next day.

A white pickup came to a stop beside me. It was rough and shoddy looking, with worn paint, a heavily dented door, and a mismatched fender. It was clearly out of place amid the well-maintained houses and their tidy manicured lawns. It seemed mechanically sound, though — the brakes didn’t squeal, the tailpipe didn’t smoke, and the engine purred. The driver got out, leaving the motor running. He lifted my cushions, checking the undersides for rips and stains. He pressed down on my back, seat, legs, and arms, making sure my frame was sturdy and intact. He knew his stuff, doing everything short of having me turn my head and cough. He seemed to think what he saw was acceptable. He loaded me onto the back of his truck, and due to the rain even wrapped me in a plastic painter’s drop — nice touch. In the next two hours he picked up a broken Kirby vacuum cleaner and a non-running lawn mower, both of which he thought he could fix, and a couple of lamps, all discarded on the curb like I was. It was almost midnight when he unloaded us at our new home, the man’s thrift store.

He considered me inanimate, as all people do. I understand; I have no way to let them know otherwise. I’m sure a human would find having active thoughts but no way to express them extremely frustrating. I don’t, it’s all I’ve ever known. I’m happy to be able to observe the life that goes on around me. I have no idea if the other pieces of furniture I have shared spaces with over the years are also sentient. They, like me, would have no way to show it. I have ‘sensed’ a sort of ‘aura’ from several of them, which may be a sign we are kindred spirits, or maybe I’m just projecting my own state of being onto them.

One thing I envy about objects which are inanimate is, they can’t get depressed. Unfortunately, I can. I definitely did that first night at the thrift store. By the time it opened the following morning, I had worked myself into a deep state of despair. It wasn’t that I was worried anyone would want me. Compared to the other furniture, I was not only in the best shape with no frayed corners, I’m a neutral color, a welcome relief from the lurid fuchsia and chartreuse of some of the other pieces.

I was, however, extremely anxious about who might take me. I admit it, I’m spoiled. I’ve never belonged to anyone morbidly obese, someone with out-of-control kids, a dog that chews, cats that scratch, or even, with one exception, any smokers. I doubted the type of person who shops at stores like this would be someone I would want to belong to. I felt like I had crossed the river Styx into purgatory.

I didn’t have to worry for long. Shortly after lunch, a young, attractive couple, tastefully but inexpensively dressed, strolled into the store. She saw me first, came right over and said, “Damon, look here, what do you think?”

: : : Young Married Couple : : :

Damon and Gwen bought me. I hit the jackpot — they are great. He is within a year of earning his MBA, she’s a waitress at a high-end restaurant, earning tips in proportion with her beauty and personality — substantial, in other words. He has already been recruited by a large national company with local headquarters, and will begin there as soon as he graduates. Their plan is for her to wait tables until then, then she’ll go back and finish her degree.

They’re both very fit and attractive. She is that rare, devastatingly adorable combination of pretty and cute — think Meg Ryan in Top Gun or Kristen Bell in Veronica Mars. Her breasts are bigger and fuller than Meg’s or Kristen’s though, right on the boundary between C and D cups.

More importantly, they love sex. Wild, uninhibited sex. I’m one of their favorite places, and they have incredible imaginations. I’ve been around a long time, and have seen a lot of different things from individuals, couples, and groups, but they regularly come up with things I never imagined. I am one lucky sofa.

: : : First Young Married Couple : : :

I was originally purchased brand new from a furniture store by Bill and Helen. güvenilir bahis Let’s not get too specific about exactly when, but it was decades ago. Like me, they were young and innocent. They were recently married, and while maybe they weren’t as physically striking as Brad and Angelina or Bennifer, they were quite attractive.

They gave me my first taste of human sexuality. They were innocent and dull compared to what came later, but at the time, in my naïve youth, I thought they were quite exciting. I would hear Helen moan from the bedroom, occasionally anyway. I didn’t have any idea what they were doing, but it sounded hot. From what I know now, their carnal repertoire was quite limited. I thought at the time that I should tune them out, pretend I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t, though. It was so different from how they usually sounded, so intriguing, so intimate, so exciting, I couldn’t ignore it. It made me tingle all over.

I wanted more.

I got more. One night after I thought they had gone to bed, they came back out into the living room. They sat on me in their bathrobes, his arm around her, her hand on his knee, and kissed. I thought that was over-the-top exciting — like I said, I was so inexperienced. Helen untied the sash of her robe without opening it, and slumped down onto her back. Bill reached inside the folds of her robe and did something to her, I couldn’t tell what. He loosened his own sash and got on top of her. I thought I was finally going to get to see what they did when they made those bedroom sounds. There was no way, though. Their robes, hers below and his above, completely blocked me from seeing anything. I did feel them wiggling and squirming, and that was plenty exciting to me.

I couldn’t believe they were indulging themselves so decadently on top of me. After a few minutes they writhed and twisted even more urgently, hard and fast enough to get them both out of breath. They stopped, sat up, and cinched their robes securely back around themselves. She tucked her head onto his shoulder, and they cooed softly to each other for a few moments and kissed a little more. When their breathing returned to normal, they disappeared back into their bedroom. I hadn’t actually seen anything, but I was thrilled out of my mind.

They repeated that a few other times, doing almost exactly the same thing every time. I was so innocent I thought missionary position on me three or four times a year was pretty wild. For them it probably was. Knowing what I know now, they didn’t seem to know much about foreplay, and I never saw them do anything oral — I think both of them were too inhibited or repressed to do anything with their mouths besides kiss. They always wore robes into the living room and never took them off to do the deed.

One day Bill brought home a little device of some sort he had borrowed from a co-worker. He held it in his hand and pointed it at Helen. It clicked, flashed a bright white light for a micro-instant, whirred, and ejected a small white square, which turned out to be an instant photo. He waved the photo in the air for a minute, drying it, and they both peered at it. They repeated that process, then Helen disappeared into the bedroom and came out a little bit later wearing different clothes.

I found out later the device was called a Polaroid camera. Before cell phones could take pictures, Polaroids were how people took private, risqué shots of each other. Regular film had to be developed at a lab, where the intimate details could be seen by anyone who worked there. Polaroid prints were completely confidential, even though they were lesser quality, lower resolution, and they faded away over time.

Bill took shots of Helen in several different outfits. Sometimes they would smile and gaze intently at the result, other times they would quickly set it aside and shoot another one.

After four or five of those, Bill said, “How about your bikini?”

Helen said, “I, I, I don’t think so…”

“Please?”

“You know I don’t like wearing that thing. I don’t know why you bought it for me. It’s so small…”

He must have pled convincingly with his eyes. No one said anything, but she disappeared into the bedroom again, sighing as she left.

I wasn’t ready for what came back out a few minutes later. She was practically naked, wearing only a few tiny triangles of fabric. I had seen women in swimsuits on the television that was in front of me, but those were modest enough to be acceptable for family viewing. I had never seen anything as tiny as what Helen had on, and I had never seen her wearing less than Bermuda shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. I was learning from TV the difference in a great figure and an ordinary one, and I already suspected she had a good one, but I had no idea how spectacular she actually was.

She was slender, sleekly feminine, with lush curves flowing seamlessly from her shoulders to the floor. Her breasts seemed to be trying to spill out of those triangles, showing that she had far more up top than I ever güvenilir bahis siteleri realized. Her ass, oh jeez her ass was amazing. Her bikini wasn’t a thong, not that I knew what a thong was back then. The bottoms covered her crack, but didn’t even try to contain her sweet ass, exposing the creases where her butt met her upper thighs as well as the meaty parts of the cheeks themselves.

Then she sat on me, giving me a breathtaking eyeful of parts of her I had never seen. When she sat the bikini bottom rode way up into her crack, putting her upper thighs and her alluring butt in direct contact with my upholstery. I had never been touched by bare skin before; I was in sensory overload.

Bill posed her lying on her side, holding herself up with her elbow, her knees curled up. At first she rested her upper knee on my cushion, shielding most of her bikini bottom from the camera. After he took a shot of her like that, he got her to rearrange her legs so her upper knee rested on her lower ankle. Now the camera could see the entire lower triangle and her sweet tummy.

He took a shot, but she tore it up, saying it showed too much of the thin gusset of bikini fabric between her legs. She adjusted the angle of her hips so her tummy showed, but the gap between her upper thighs didn’t. Bill saw the shot first and grinned widely, then he handed it to her. She wasn’t as thrilled with it as he was, but she didn’t tear it up.

Next he had her lie on her back, her legs draped over my arm. He took that shot and asked her to put one of her legs over my back, but she placed both of them there, her knees nearly touching. He shot that and directed her to leave one leg over my back and put the other one over my arm, but she moved them both together. It turned out she knew exactly what he wanted but she didn’t want a photo with her legs spread. She finally gave in, and he took the shot, but she made him give it to her for approval before she let him see it. I think if it had looked too lewd or prurient she would have torn it up.

Next he had her lie on her tummy, with her knees bent and her feet lifted up. He took that shot, then moved around to the side, his framing centered on her face and looking down the length of her back, across her butt and down her legs.

He shot that, and stared at it for longer than usual.

“What?” she said.

He was so engrossed in the photo it took him a moment to answer. He spoke so softly his voice cracked. “Take off your top…” he said breathily.

She tensed up and snapped at him, “Not gonna happen! I told you I wasn’t doing any nudes.” She added, sounding frustrated, “You agreed.”

He snapped out of his reverie. “I know, I know, but look.” He showed her the picture. “Nothing will show, see? Your boobs are hidden behind your arm.”

She looked. After a moment, her posture relaxed a bit, and she seemed slightly less inclined to call a halt to the whole shoot. He continued, “Look how your top is crumpled against your arm. It separates from your chest and it looks like you can see down behind it. You can’t, but it looks like you could. It actually draws more attention there than if the top was gone.”

She didn’t reply. She broke the pose and sat up, staring intently at the photo. I thought he had pushed her too far, that she would bolt back to the bedroom. I couldn’t believe what happened next.

She said, “This will be the last shot.” She reached behind her back, unclipped her top, and also unclipped it behind her neck. I didn’t get to see anything; she clamped a forearm over her nipples, not even letting Bill see them. She only released them when she had resumed the pose on her tummy. But there they were, her naked breasts, resting on my cushion. Her nipples were diamond hard, pressing deep indentations into my fabric, but everything else was soft and luscious. I was so excited I trembled; I hoped she couldn’t feel it. Wowsers!

Bill took the shot and showed it to her. She didn’t like it. Her bikini bottoms had ridden up her crack, and she hated how her butt looked entirely naked except for the tiny whale tail of fabric coming out from between her cheeks.

What happened next kept my mind churning for months. She forgot all about hiding her nipples. She reached behind her and rearranged her bottoms to cover her ass as much as she could arrange.

I remember vividly how her tits released from her arm. I can still see them in slow motion, bouncing dreamily in the open air. Her nipples were rock hard, as I had already felt. Her areolae were pink and larger than I imagined, at least a couple of inches across, maybe three. The breasts themselves were the most amazing things I had ever seen, nicely round, sitting high, firm, and proud on her chest, with the most adorable ripple across their surface as she wiggled back into her pose. Then I couldn’t see them anymore, because they were pressed tightly against me. Aaah, sweet heaven! A guy, even ‘an inanimate’ guy, could get used to that!

Bill took the shot, and as she promised, iddaa siteleri that was the end of the shoot. She stood, her arm shielding me from another view of her wonder nipples, although the way her boobs squeezed out from behind her arm, mashed tight against her chest, was almost as good. She returned to the bedroom and the next time I saw her she was fully dressed. The sighs, moans, and squeaking noises that emanated from the bedroom that night were as long and loud as I ever heard from them.

They left that final shot on my cushion. I don’t think Helen looked at it very closely. Her butt cheeks were covered as much as that bikini bottom was able to do, and her nipples were fully shielded from the camera. What she missed, though, was in pulling the seat of her bikini down into place, she exposed the top part of her butt crack, much more than a mere hint or shadow. To me, it was even more thrilling than when her cheeks were out. Like I said before, wowsers!

Bill borrowed the Polaroid a few more times. He tried to talk her into repeating that final shot, but without the bikini bottom. He showed her that with her face in focus her butt would be quite blurry, but all she saw was that her naked ass would be visible, even if it was in soft focus. She never even posed in her bikini again. Apparently Polaroid film was expensive, and before long he didn’t borrow the camera any more.

: : : The Babysitter : : :

Then baby Lynn came, and I didn’t see any action at all until she was old enough for a babysitter. Lynn’s favorite sitter was Lisa, who soon became my favorite, too. They played together very sweetly. Lisa learned that Lynn was a deep sleeper, and that Bill and Helen never came home early. That’s when her boyfriend Mark began coming over, and that’s when I learned that there was such a thing as sex beyond missionary position.

Lisa was drop-dead gorgeous — think young Pamela Anderson on Tooltime, before she had any cosmetic surgery (can you tell I’ve spent most of my life in front of a television?).

Sexual energy emanated from her like one of those science museum plasma balls. Mark obviously knew where her special spots were and how to excite them, and she clearly loved that he not only adored her but focused his attention on doing anything that gave her pleasure. They showed me a lot.

Lisa, or Mark, or maybe both of them, I don’t know, had a wicked imagination. The first time Mark came over, they kissed passionately for a long while. He groped her tits over her clothes, then slid his hand under her skirt and fingered her panties. She eagerly curled her hips forward, pressing her groin onto his hand. He stood, pulled her to her feet, and bent her over my arm. He lifted her skirt, revealing her panties — zebra stripes! He slid them down to her ankles. She squealed and held her skirt up out of the way. He unzipped, lowered his jeans and boxers to his knees, and entered her from behind.

Watching television might have been teaching me about much of the world of human interactions, up to and including the occasional semi-passionate kiss, but TV never showed a couple doing more than kissing. From Bill and Helen I knew that kissing sometimes led to intriguing noises emanating from the bedroom, and the occasional robe-clad tryst in the living room, but I had no idea people were ever as sexually overt as what I was seeing from Lisa and Mark. Wow!

He energetically thrust into her, and she arched her back and pushed back onto him. They faltered slightly but kept going as they both took off their shirts. She started to reach behind her back to unclip her bra, but he beat her to it. She giggled as he struggled with it, but he finally got it off. As soon as her bra hit the floor he grasped her hips and they got serious, bucking fiercely against each other. The room echoed with the sound of his thighs slapping her ass, and her tits hung loosely from her chest, bouncing sweetly in time with their thrusting.

She disconnected from him and he groaned, but it was only for a moment. She stepped out of her panties, slipped off the inconvenient skirt, and there she was, my first completely naked girl!

She sat on me. Damn she felt nice, her ass and thighs so sweet and firm. I was hyper-aware of her naked pussy next to my cushion. I felt like it radiated intense heat, like the surface of the sun on an astronomy documentary. She was so visibly wet I was afraid she was going to drip on me, but if she did, it didn’t leave a stain. Mark stood in front of her, and she pulled his pants the rest of the way off.

He knelt, she slid forward, and they both watched intently as he guided his cock, visibly throbbing, into her eagerly awaiting slit. He pushed in slowly, bottomed out, and held there, both of them quivering in eagerness. He squeezed her tits in his hands, releasing them with a flourish of fingertips across her nipples.

She blinked her doe eyes at him, and gently pulled him forward into a deep kiss. As their tongues wrestled, he began to slide in and out of her, slightly at first, adding a bit more depth each trip, staying slow and intense, until he was pumping his full length into her, from tip to base. She rocked her hips with him, matching his rhythm, curling her legs behind the small of his back.

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