The Chair sex stories

“Damn it!” She heard him yell from the far end of the house.

He was in his office. He had spent most every night the last few weeks working at his desk, well into the night, leaving early in the morning before she woke.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Her voice was soft, sweet. The accent of her small town southern roots had long ago faded but he could still catch its slight presence, especially when her emotions were high. He had said, what seemed a lifetime ago, her voice was angelic and one of the few things left in the world that would soothe him. Lately, she wondered if there was anything that could ease his restless, sleepless nights.

“It’s this damn chair, again.”

She walked down the foyer of the sprawling home and came to his office. She saw the old leather chair, once the color of rich mahogany, now faded and worn. It was in two pieces, covering the intricate circular design in the middle of a Persian rug laid in the center of the room.

“I think it’s time for a new chair, Sweetheart.”

He stood up, frustration visible on his reddened face. He looked at his old friend, legs amputated, laying on his side. “I love this chair.” His voice almost cracked, as if he had truly lost an old love.

“But it’s old and worn out. See, it won’t even stay together anymore.”

“It’s not old, it’s an antique,” he said defiantly. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Could you please get me another chair? I don’t really have time for this, right now.”

“Sure, I’ll grab one from the dining room.”

She entered the dining room, she stood in front of the chair; a smile crept across her lips. The chair, made from a dark, hardwood, sat off to the side of the dining room away from the large table that stretched across the wood floor. It had a straight, tall back. There were no armrests on the sides. A subtle scrolling design was carved by hand into the wood. The cushion was wrapped in a silk-like fabric the pattern was woven by elderly Berber women from small villages deep inside the Atlas mountain range of North Africa.

She had haggled over that chair for hours with a vendor in a Moroccan market. He hated haggling with the vendors and would have paid twice the price just to save himself the hassle. She loved to bargain; especially, in a culture where women are often subservient to men. She felt empowered, negotiating down to an absurdly low price as he silently stood beside her, occasionally shaking his head.

She picked up the chair, cushion facing away from her, holding onto each side of the back. It was solid, but she easily managed the weight and carried it into his office.

He was sitting on the floor beside his old chair like a master with his sick dog. He looked up, laughed when he saw her bring it in. “That’s the one you picked?”

She smiled, looking a bit coy, “It’s always been my favorite. I don’t know why you don’t like it.”

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m just tired.” He looked up at her and forced a slight smile. His eyes were dark; circles had formed below them, making them appear even darker. The lines in his face had only begun to creep up, but were mostly visible around those dark eyes. His hair was short now, dark, and the slight appearance of grey had begun to creep in on the sides.

He looked at her; his eyes met the amber glow in her own eyes, still bright and full of life. He noticed her silk robe, which extended halfway down her calf, and was slightly open. A hint of lace protruded from the flaps.

She placed the chair at the end of his desk. It faced out the window, looking out the front of the house. “Here, come sit down. You should really come to bed, though.”

“You know I don’t have time. I have to finish this proposal. Besides, I would just lie there, anyway.”

“I know,” she said.

He stood up and walked to the chair she had just placed for him. He sat down and thought about that day in Morocco. She was about to leave; then, turned and looked at the man sitting in her favorite chair. He looked out the window and his face bore an anguish and sorrow she could never understand, she found it beautiful and intoxicating.

“I found your notebook.” She looked down, shyly.

“What?” He had heard what she said, but was not yet aware of what she meant.

“I wasn’t sure it was yours at first, but it’s definitely your writing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go through your things. I was going through some old pictures. I just came across it.”

He stared blankly at her. That was so long ago, a different time, an emotional time. He was a different man, then. Someone he had almost forgotten.

“It’s just, we’ve been so distant for so long, I wanted to feel closer to you. So, I read some of it.”

She could see his face begin to change, slightly. A look of surprise and almost embarrassment crept into the corners of his mouth. His thick lips tightened and became tense. “I wish you wouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.

She moved toward him, still sitting in the chair. She moved around the chair in front of him, stood close to him, their legs almost touching. She looked down at him. Not wanting to look into her eyes, he stared into her chest. She ran her fingers through his dark hair.

“The way you wrote…when did you? I must not have known you.” He stayed silent, barely moving. “I’ve never read anything like it. I’ve never felt like that about something I read. I mean, it affected me, physically.” He looked up at her, now. He noticed her eyes had changed, something almost primitive appeared inside them. The slightest appearance of red brush across her cheeks.

“I want to be her,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Be, who?”

“In the stories, what you wrote, that woman. She must have really inspired you.”

“That was a long time ago. It was fiction.”

“No, I don’t think it was, entirely.” She looked down at him, her fingers still stroking his hair; she reached to the back of his neck, grasped a small patch of hair and pulled slightly. His head slid backward, he saw her eyes, seeming more primal, even fierce. She bent down, her eyes locked on his, she kissed him forcefully. It was an intensity he had never felt from her. Her soft lips transmitted a fire that was deep inside of her and he could not help but to be consumed by her desire.

Her body moved towards him. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, she felt it through her thin, silk robe. She reached down, slid her slender fingers beneath the band tied around her waist that held her robe closed. It slid to the floor, revealing a white, thin, lace negligee she had been wearing beneath. She moved her knees up to either side of his thighs and climbed onto the chair.

Their kisses intensified. She explored deep inside his mouth. She could feel a new passion begin to emerge in him. The taste of his mouth, the sensation of his tongue on hers began to send her into a frenzy. Her hips moved in rhythmic motions across the tops of his thighs, grinding along the long muscles of his legs.

She could feel his excitement through the thin slacks he wore. She pressed his legs towards one another, squeezing her thighs inward on his. She lowered herself onto his, now bulging, crotch and began to move along its length.

She lifted the cotton t-shirt over his head and tossed it casually to the floor and ran the tips of her fingers along his broad shoulders and down his arms. Every muscle in his upper body was tense and tight. She kissed his neck, kissed down his body towards his chest.

She raised her hips off his lap and continued to travel down his torso. He reached for her, placed both hands around her waist. She grabbed his wrists and held them to his side. “Sit there, you’re in my chair, you’re mine.” The firmness in her voice startled him and excited him at the same time.

She reached down and unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper with her delicate fingers. She could see the distinct outline of his fully engorged member. She put her feet back on the floor, grabbed the waste of his pants and pulled them completely off and onto the floor in one swift motion. He was completely naked now, exposed and vulnerable to this ferocious, lustful woman he now recognized only in physical appearance; the polite, southern belle he’d known for so long was no longer there.

She stepped back, hungrily looked at him in her chair. He was breathing heavily; his chest moved up and down quickly, he was tense and ready. His large cock stood completely erect for her and she found it beautiful. He was her prey, and she would have him, tonight. She moved back towards the chair, quickly.

She moved over him, still standing, her legs straddled the chair and his lap. She looked in his eyes, grabbed his hands, placed them on her hips, beneath the thin negligee. She had nothing on underneath. “Now, you can touch me. Lower me on you. Do you want it fast or slow?”

He slowly lowered her onto him, she reached down between his legs and grabbed him, guided it into her. She was completely ready for him. He felt her excitement, immediately, as the tip of his penis slowly entered her. She slid all the way down him, grabbed the back of the chair and pulled herself closer to him, allowing him to slide deeper inside.

She grinded her hips, back and forth, pulling him deeper into her, feeling him completely inside her. He always felt good to her, he filled her as well as any man ever had, but this time she felt him like never before.

He pulled the front of her negligee down, exposing her supple, round breasts and kissed her nipple, softly. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into her chest, hard. She continued riding his long, hard shaft, grinding harder.

She grasped the back of the chair; the old wood was warm and alive in her hand. She could feel the blood pounding through her fingers. The intensity of her thrusts increased with each pull. She was ravenous; he could do nothing but grasp the legs of the chair beneath him. He could feel her wetness dripping down the curvature of his balls.

He was throbbing now, deep inside of her and could not control his excitement for much longer. She felt his tension and rode him harder and faster. Each thrust was a battle of control, bringing him closer to climax. She loved taking away his control and wanted him to lose it all, now. His head went back, she leaned in close to him, their foreheads touching, “let go,” she growled.

At that moment, there was nothing that could have stopped the inevitable release that had been building inside of him. One tremendous pulse, felt deep in his shaft. She could feel his fluids mix with hers, deep inside of her. She could no longer take it, either. Her entire body was pulsing, shaking, an animalistic sound warbled from her throat. She collapsed onto him, her body limp on his.

She kissed his forehead, then his lips. Gently, she raised herself off of him. His, once pulsing, hard cock, lay along his thigh. She still thought it was beautiful. “See, the chair’s not that bad”, she said with a smile.

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