I looked at the card. Imogen L, an address, a phone number, then three logos beneath for WhatsApp, Twitter and one with an OF for a logo. It didn’t include a job title.
“No offence,” she sighed “but a lot of your stuff – its, erm… very practical. What I’m looking for is something for more intimate occasions. Do you know what I mean?”
I didn’t but nodded anyway. She probably meant family gatherings, that kind of thing…
“If you get anything in, which you think I might like, you’ve got my details babe.” and with that and a last swish of her perfume, she walked out.
From outside, the sound of a petrol-head’s car fired up, a loud grunt as it reversed, then a roar as it drove off, fading slowly to silence. Just the birds twittering outside.
Did she just call me “babe”?
—
A week later, and I was out doing my annual tour of various furniture shows and a few carpentry outfits. Huge exhibition centres, with dark lofty ceilings, a lot of coffees, and a plastic visitors’ name badge on my shirt proudly announcing me as visitor Carl Lovelick.
At these places you see old furniture, new furniture, furniture that turns into other furniture, furniture apps, furniture colour pickers, furniture fabric dealers and the occasional guy like me, wandering round with a possible view to actually buying some of it for his furniture business.
Grown men in sharp suits with a round-the-ear headset, trying to demonstrate how quickly fabric wears out without their special protective snake oil. “You keep rubbing mate!” I thought as I walked on, out of earshot of his over-enthusiastic voice.
At today’s show, I’d already been on my feet for a few hours and was ready to call it a day. It’s easy to get lost in these places, so I headed for an outer wall and instead of finding an exit, found myself near the back of the huge building. It had been a rather poorly attended show, where at times I felt I was the only visitor. Here, at the back there were a couple of lightless empty stands casting a little darkness over the aisle.
Here, tucked into a corner of the show, was a new company, I’d not heard of before, selling their stuff. Compared to the other, more traditional looking stands, it’s odd choice of low red lighting drew me in. I smiled at the petite blonde-haired lady manning the display and looked around.
It took me a few seconds for my brain to catch up with my eyes and realise what I’d walked into. There were a lot of reds, blacks and chrome in the room. Red leather, black PVC, chrome fittings. Some weirdly shaped designs too: all curves, or industrial fittings. I took a look back at the lady manning the display and she threw me another smile. “Good afternoon sir.”
I raised both eyebrows in acknowledgement and waved a hello. She looked a little like an air hostess: petite, blonde hair, red lipstick, white blouse, short black skirt, white stockings, heels. Tidy.
“If there’s anything you like the look of today sir, just call me over.”
It came across matter-of-factly so I bit back my reply about at least one thing catching my eye.
I went back to checking the merchandise. Furniture for the more sexually adventurous — that probably describes it best. It was kind of cliched but at the same time, very tastefully done and sturdily made. Everything looked as though it could command its price tag. No particle-board, or bare screw-heads here.
I touched a few padded benches, jangled a few chains and raised my eyebrows a lot of times. Remembering Imogen’s comments from the previous week and my little investigation into what the OF on her business card was, I suspected these were maybe the things she’d been looking for in my shop.
Half-way around, I found a strange chair. Its front, where your legs might go was angled down to the floor, with what I took to be a footrest jutting out — kind of like an old-fashioned dentist’s chair, or a recliner. The flat seat looked a bit short for most people with a very deliberate round indentation at the front, like you could rest a rounded football in it.
The seat’s back had a weird curved support bar running across it. Padded but still looked like an uncomfortable thing to rest your head against. But the oddest thing was its sides. Instead of arms above the seat, it had none and below where the arms would have been, two wide vertical gaps in the sides that I didn’t understand.
“Do you want to give it a go sir?” came the voice of the lady, now beside me, smiling, hands behind her back, her small chest pushed forwards against her white buttoned blouse.
“Er, yeah, sure.” I said, putting my bag of collected free merchandise down. I looked the chair up and down, turned my back to it and sat down awkwardly.
The woman laughed gently. “No sir! That’s not how you sit on it.” and held out her small hand with pink painted nails to help me up.
“Please. Face the other way and hook your knees into the gaps at the side. Like you’re riding a motorbike.”
The other way round? I tried again, bent legs slotting into the sides, my weight on my shins and knees as I mounted the seat. It left me off balance and hovering, so I leaned forward and gripped the support bar at the back of the chair.
“Like this?” I asked.
“That’s the general idea sir.”
I looked down and realised I was hovering a few inches above the seat and couldn’t actually sit down.
Clambering off, I told the lady it was nice but maybe not a product for me.
“Ah sir, that’s because you haven’t used it properly yet sir. This time, try sitting face forwards again……no, not there sir. Put your bum where you were using it like a footrest. That’s right sir…”
I found myself sitting in what I’d previously thought was the footrest, my back leaning against the angled part that my calves had rested on, my neck somewhere near the edge of the seat and the slight indentation.
“Put your head back sir.” And I did. It actually felt quite comfortable.
“Why don’t you relax and close your eyes sir? Here. Use this eye mask.” I closed my eyes and put it on, elastic pinging against my shaved head, thinking I should play along, not look like too much of a prude. I guess any serious buyers would want to at least sit in the stuff they buy and see if it was basically okay.
“Are you comfortable sir?”
“Yes, very, thanks. The headrest seems to support my head really nicely. Its well-built”
“Oh good sir. And maybe let your hands drop to your sides sir. Totally relax.” And I did, my arms dropping down behind me from my shoulders, hands just touching the floor.
“Is that relaxing sir” she asked and before I could reply, I heard a faint click and a small ratchet sound and a light feeling of something round my right wrist.
“What’s tha…” I started before hearing and feeling the same on my other wrist.
I went to raise my arms to feel what was on either wrist, but they couldn’t move. I’d been handcuffed!
“Haha! I guess you really do show your buyers what this thing can do. Very good. If you can just let me go now, I think you may have got yourself an order.”
But now I could hear the rustling of her clothes and the creak of material. The woman was getting onto the chair! Her thighs glanced against my torso, and I felt a hand on the top of my head, gently holding it down.
“You did want a full demonstration sir?”
She puIled the eye mask off and she was over me. Her stretchy skirt was pulled up over her waist and her spread thighs fell to either side of my ears. She wore blue lacy knickers. My cock tingled.
“Yes but mfffffffn mmmnnnfff” was all I managed before blue lace pressed against my lips and soft thighs stroked my cheeks. Even as my eyes widened with surprise, I noticed that her scent was delicious.
Without releasing the pressure much, her hips started to slowly gyrate, pushing my lips a little.
“Just demonstrating the chair’s full potential, sir.” This time the words came out of her throat less smoothly. A little huskiness had crept in from somewhere.
Her hands reached down, and she untucked her blouse from the ruffled skirt and then began unbuttoning it from the top down. With the last button popped, she leaned forward and grasped the support bar, my eyes focussing on her small perky boobs still in their blue lacy bra.
Above the crumpled skirt, I could see her stomach compress and stretch as her hips and thighs moved and the pressure on my lips increased, forcing them open. Instinctively, I licked, then licked again, my long pink tongue crushed against the blue lace, and I couldn’t tell if the warm dampness there was my own saliva.
After a few minutes, she reached down and tugged at something in the gusset of her knickers. A second tug and the gusset came apart, material moving elastically out of the way, my mouth and nose now directly being ridden by her sopping wet pussy. It was waxed clean with big lips and a larger than usual clit.
The front gusset end tapped rhythmically on my forehead as she ran her fat clit over my nose and tongue. One hand returned to the top of my head, holding it in place, guiding me.
“Do you like it sir?” she asked, raising off me a fraction before she again dropped her weight.
“Ynffff!”I replied, again finding my mouth clamped to her pussy, my nose pressed against her groin. I was breathing in snorts now, each breath in filled with her scent.
The woman continued to grind, and with one hand firmly on the chair’s back support, she was like a jockey riding a horse. I had no real choice but to keep licking, though it wasn’t like I didn’t want to. She was delicious and this felt so naughty! Almost forgotten about, my cock was bulging against my trousers, trapped.
I could see her chin and face from below, her blonde hair bouncing around it. Her respectable saleswoman’s look had curled up into feisty animal, nose pinched, mouth open, eyes rolling. Her lips opened to make unspoken gibberish words and her panting became regular. Occasionally I’d hear a “Yes, yes, fuck yes!” whispered, or she’d go silent and bite her lip.
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