The Chair_(7)

It is lovely, isn’t it?



Yes, quite lovely. Danish? Some sort of Scandi design anyway. They’re so stylish, aren’t they? The Danes? Effortless, apparently. Something to do with Hygge, perhaps?



In the centre of the room. Knees apart. Arse: high. Sternum pressed onto the unyielding chairback.

Are you new to the area? The flats on the Kings Road? How. Lovely. Well done you. Quite an investment- you must have an eye for property and style! Well! You are here, aren’t you? We have some lovely things…



Blinded to the world. Not a chink of light entering your retinas.

You can hear me moving. Moving around you. The instructions are clear- “If you move, or say a single syllable, I will simply leave. If you cum, I will leave. Do you understand?”

Nodded acquiescence. Ankles roped with purpose. Scant regard for anything other than effect. Comfort: secondplace. Aesthetic: immaterial. Left ankle to one arm of the chair. Right, to the other. Facing the back of the chair; knees spread. Cushioned by increasingly threadbare velvet.

Now, I do need to add a petit health warning; I know the velvet is just adorable- god- just feel it- but it’s not suitable if you’re going to use it a lot. All of my pieces are professionally cleaned of course- it’s a perk- but this chair’s not suitable if we’re going to have breakfast cereal or God-know-what-else smeared into it.



I bind your wrists.