The Chair

Not too long ago he ended the relationship. The pain still sits deep. My thoughts are still constantly consumed by him and his character, his demeanor, his appearance, his body. And worst of all, I still feel hopelessly attracted to him. My first true love. For so many years. And then he didn't even have the nerve to say that he left me because of Tina. I know her and don't particularly care for her. For me, she was simply too dolled up. Sure, not unattractive. But at the same time, always trying to place her appearance in a favorable light. And of course, her big tits certainly didn't hurt when she took my Lars away from me. He simply likes big breasts, I think to myself, and I can't help but smile.

My best friend gave me a tip yesterday. She knows that I'm very much into antiques and vintage items, and this shop specializes exclusively with antique furniture. As I peer through the window I see some stylishly decorated old furniture displayed under modern lighting. A chest of drawers stands in the middle. That could be from the middle ages, I think to myself. Further into the shop I discover a pair of old sofas, tables and chairs. Here they are also arranged quite elegantly. Obviously I don't want to buy any furniture, but the shop appeals to me and so I decide to take a closer look.

As I open the door I encounter a musty smell which I attribute to the antique furniture. I look around curiously; despite the ringing doorbell, no one comes to greet me, so I continue to look around. Old shelves are on the walls, filled with dusty old books, and in front of them lies one of those antique sofas. So this is how the wealthy used to sit long ago, I think to myself as I sit down. It felt as if there was hardly any padding, almost as if the wood underneath was simply covered by mere fabric -- I had never imagined that the reality of the past would be so hard.

"Would you please take your backside off the sofa, Madam?" says the raspy voice of an older gentleman as he approaches me.

"Oh, excuse me..." I answer embarrassed, turning bright red. I understand his words perfectly, but I don't react to his request; my brain is too busy thinking about the man before me.

It seems that the gentleman is in his late 50s, maybe early 60s, with somewhat long, gray hair and a bit of a gut, wearing a light blue shirt and gray trousers. Not exactly the latest fashion -- maybe even as old as his furniture.

"If you're looking for something special to sit on, then maybe I have something for you, young lady," he says as he urges me again to get off the sofa.

"Uh, pardon me?" I reply, irritated

"Would you please not sit on my furniture without my permission?" he asks, his tone now more insistent.

A shiver courses through my body; his deep voice and authoritative demeanor hit me in an unexpected manner. As if acting of its own accord, I feel my body stand up directly in front of him. He takes a step back, sizes me up from head to toe, his gaze lingering a short moment at my chest.

The situation suddenly became very uncomfortable; it hadn't even occurred to me that you weren't allowed to sit on the furniture.

"Recently I won a chair at an auction -- a very special chair. If you'd like, I'd be delighted to show it to you." The shopkeeper renewed his offer and indicated with an elegant gesture that I should take his arm.

Again I'm surprised, but I don't think long about it and happily take his arm. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the shop owner leads me to a door at the back of the store. A truly massive wooden door. As he opens it I don't see much of what's inside. One wall has a few, old-fashioned looking pictures and another wall is covered with a large curtain. And in the middle is a very strange, old-looking chair. Massive, with very sturdy legs and solid, rugged-looking armrests. The backside of the chair, however, was made of just two boards arranged in a V shape. And to my surprise, the seat seems to be missing; only the legs of the chair, also arranged in a V shape, seem to be visible.

"This chair is from the 16th century. A very special kind of chair," the old shopkeeper explains while eyeing me up and down.

"A very special kind?" I asked, not understanding what he meant.

"You see, the ruling class had to maintain law and order. And if the allegedly guilty weren't especially forthcoming with their confessions... then this chair here was employed and put to use."

"You mean that this chair was used for... uh... torture?" I practically stammer as I again feel myself turn bright red. I lower my gaze and I can see how my nipples react to this information, now visible through my shirt. Due to the warm weather I'm only wearing a T-shirt and had somehow forgotten to put on a bra, likely to the satisfaction of the old man. Out of the corner of my eye I feel his gaze lingering.

"Perhaps you'd like to try it out, Madam?" he asks me with a beaming smile.

"Uh, you mean sit on the chair?"

"Of course. Otherwise there's nothing else for you to sit on," he snapped.

I feel incredibly uncomfortable. I'm standing in an unknown shop, behind a heavy door with the owner asking me if I would like to sit on a torture chair from the 16th century.

"First you'll have to attach the missing seat," I replied meekly.

"Come on, just give it a try," he said with a wide smile and again offered his arm to me like a gentleman.

As if we had already known each other for years and it was the most natural thing in the world, I take his arm and he leads me gallantly to the chair.

"You see, that wasn't so difficult, Madam," he says, flattering my compliance.

"Now you can simply place your legs on both of the legs of the chair," he adds while placing his hand on my shoulder. He presses me down and I simply give in and sit.

"Isn't that much better, Madam? Now you can truly experience what this chair has to offer, wouldn't you agree?"

Once again I am speechless. I sit down on the V shaped legs of the chair and am forced to spread my legs wide apart to find footing and remain seated

"You just want to get a look at my panties." Suddenly aware of my spoken thought I immediately try to pull the hem of my skirt down with my hand.

Sitting on this chair scares me. And it's anything other than comfortable. But the effect on my nipples is all the more obvious. They stand out clearly from under my shirt, hard and fully erect.

The shopkeeper checks me out from a few steps away. As if he was a photographer that was searching for the perfect angle for the perfect shot.

"Of course, testing this kind of chair tended to be unpleasant." He spoke up again after a pause. "Unpleasant because each person condemned to the chair naturally had their arms bound."

"You really should try it out -- if only for a moment -- to see what it feels like, Madam."

Fireworks started going off in my head: Try it out? To see what it feels like to have my arms bound? Most certainly not. Clearly he's a sicko, who brings all his female patrons here to bind on the chair only to then brutally murder them in cold blood after he... the hairs on my neck stand on end. My mother had always warned me about such a situation. Never go with strangers, regardless of which sweets they offer you. And right now this feels like a very forbidden sweet.

The shopkeeper stands by me and places a binding around my wrist, connecting it to a velcro strap on the armrest.

Before I am able to react he has already bound my other hand, quickly securing it to the other armrest.

"You see, Madam. It's much more authentic when you're no longer able to break away."

For heaven's sake. What have I just done? What did I just get myself into? I've always had a talent for getting myself into unpleasant situations, but before it was merely unpleasant for my honor and my pride. Now it feels dangerous as well.

And my nipples are now practically poking through my shirt.

Yep, a very unpleasant situation. Sitting there with an unknown man legs spread wide apart on a torture chair and all while becoming more and more aroused. Meanwhile, my skirt had slipped a bit higher and I could see the shopkeeper once again checking me out.

"Apparently it seems you've taken quite the liking to this ancient chair, Madam."

"Taken a liking to? No, not in the slightest, sir. Will you please let me go?"

"It may very well be that it doesn't meet your standards for comfort," he retorted coldly while walking towards me.

"But somehow it seems this chair has its own special kind of magic. Wouldn't you agree, Madam?" he asks me as his fingers gloss over and caress my nipples.

It's as if I was struck by lightning. Somehow it's obvious what this all has to lead to. Despite this, his direct touch catches me completely off guard and I have to gasp desperately for air.

"That's exactly what I mean, dear lady. And I'd be happy to see if we could make your experience all the more authentic."

"I want to go now!" I practically screamed.

"You may leave in a moment. But not before I bind your feet as well," he replied, callous and domineering.

Another shiver courses down my spine as I feel him binding my ankles to the legs of the chair.

Oh my God. What exactly am I doing here with an old man sitting between my open thighs and gazing at my crotch as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do? A rather imprudent gaze as well; not one that causes shivers down my spine, but one that makes the juices overflow in my pussy.

This whole time I've been quite aroused. Actually, since I first saw the chair --  even before I had sat down. And now it's far more intense given that he was actually able to persuade me to let him tie me up.

But can I please not get so aroused right now of all times? Somehow his incessant, brazen gaze at my crotch is driving me absolutely crazy.

"I want to go home," I moan, now on the verge of tears

"I beg to differ, my dear lady. It seems to me your pretty little pussy is of a completely separate opinion, wouldn't you agree?" I hear him say.

Without preamble he reaches for my pussy. In my position with my skirt pulled up I can't see if there are traces of arousal on my panties, but what he says next made me think that there were.

And yeah, I am turned on. More turned on than I had been in a long time. Since Lars and I had broken up I had hardly orgasmed at all. No sex without a partner and too shaken up by the break up to masturbate -- I was still thinking about him far too much.

And now I am sitting -- with my pussy soaking wet -- in front of a complete stranger much older than me, clearly getting off as he stared at my pussy.

And then those exploring fingers start to caress the fabric over my clitoris. I feel my body shake uncontrollably with the first touch and had to grasp for air. At this moment he pulls my panties aside and slides his finger over my swollen lips. The more he does this the deeper he pushes between them, feeling the heat and wetness.

"No, no, no!" I try to dissuade him from continuing.

"It seems to me that someone is in dire need of help," he says, looking at me questioningly.

"Oooooooh... I want to.... Ooooh... go please," I moan while lying through my teeth.

With the very first touch of my clitoris I am completely lost and the flames are now burning out of control. Despite this I still try to be the proper girl that my mother raised me to be, and I continue to protest. However, this only seems to encourage the older gentlemen to continue his indecent game between my legs.

"With such soaking panties I simply can't let you leave, my dear lady."

I watch as the older gentleman reached into his jacket.

"This little vibrating egg here will certainly help. May I, my dearest lady?"

His 'my dearest lady' crap was really starting to piss me off. But all I want now is for him to not stop playing with my clit.

But naturally I must continue to play the role of the one who protests, regardless of how turned on I am.

"Oh, no. Please don't. After all, I'm a self-respecting girl," I manage to blurt out though probably not very convincingly. Once more he pulls my panties to the side and slides the egg directly inside me. With his fingers he give it a little shove, presumably to ensure that it is well placed.

And wow, yes it is. Feeling both the egg and his fingers inside me makes me shake uncontrollably all over again. Unfortunately he quickly removes his fingers before sliding my sticky panties over my pussy.

"Decent girls don't get turned on when total strangers stick things inside them," I say, maintaining my resistance.

I guess that was the cue he was looking for to turn on the egg. Oh. My. God. It feels sooo good! The egg softly vibrating in my pussy forces me to let out a deep moan. And then there's this older gentleman shamelessly staring at my panties while controlling the intensity with his phone.

"I guess we'll see what kind of 'decent girl' is sitting on the chair today," he replies and stands up. With his eyes on his phone he experiments with different intensity levels and then observes how I react. Right at this moment, we hear the shop door chime.

"I'll be right back with you, my dear lady." After making one final adjustment to the vibrating egg with his phone, he leaves the room and closes the massive wooden door behind him.

Right now I simply don't care about anything else. The only thing I do care about is the vibrations between my legs that are constantly changing in both rhythm and intensity. I shift my lower body slightly in order to bring the egg to a different position. With the next vibration being stronger, waves of bliss course through me as I once again shake uncontrollably.

There I am sitting and the only thing I could think about is how desperately I want to come. But maybe that is simply because it is so terribly arousing to be tied down to a torture chair, as I am literally shaking with excitement and my overflowing juices continue to drip through my panties.

In the other room I can hear the old man upselling his furniture. Unfortunately I can't make out who he's speaking with --  if it's a man or a woman. Should I scream out for help now? But how painfully embarrassing would it be if that man or woman opens the door and sees me sitting here on this chair, literally moaning with excitement?

It certainly wouldn't seem like I am in need of help. And even if I try to ask, my moans would surely be misinterpreted.

Once more the egg vibrates so deliciously in my pussy and I start panting heavily.

The door chime rings again and shortly after the door opens and the old man steps back into the room. As he approaches me I notice the enormous bulge in his trousers. Did he really have that bulge when interacting with the customer?

"Has the 'decent girl' come yet?" he asks, interrupting my thoughts as he comes near.

I can't look away from this bulge, and I start shaking yet again as the egg changes once more the intensity and rhythm of the vibrations. He probably did this intentionally just to make me writhe in suspense as long as possible. Oh my God. I just want to finally come.

"No, no, no, no, still not yet," I answer while panting in rhythm with the vibrations.

"And decent women don't let.... Oooooh... absolutely never... a complete stranger..." I desperately try to form a coherent sentence.

I still have my gaze fixed on his crotch and I'm pretty sure that the bulge even pulsates slightly, as my egg once more causes me to moan uncontrollably. I catch the whiff of a masculine scent. Of course, I never would have dared to reach out and touch him. How could I anyway with my arms bound to the chair? But if my hands were free I wouldn't hesitate for a moment to finger my clit and nipples so that I could finally come.

As if he had read my thoughts, he appears suddenly behind me. Unfortunately I can no longer see his bulge, but I can almost feel the heat radiating from his trousers by my ear.

Meanwhile, the old man has switched the egg to a continuous vibration, and I feel his hands on my neck.

Oh my God. The thought that it is finally over and that he is going to strangle me races through my head. But he gives me no further opportunity to think about it. The vibrations of the egg is cranked up another notch and I moan even louder.

This whole situation is giving me an incredible rush. To be shaking and moaning like this in front of a complete stranger while he begins to move his hands down from my shoulders toward my torso... His fingers brushes against my rock-hard nipples, and I'm on the verge of coming right then and there.

A loud, penetrating moan fills the room.

My nipples have always been my weak spot. When guys first started playing with them when I was younger, I was always instantly turned on. And some of them were rather quite shameless with how they exploited that weakness. Unfortunately, Lars didn't do that enough in my opinion.

The old man continues to stand behind me and my moans now encourage him to start twisting my nipples.

"Do 'decent girls' usually have such hard nipples, Madam?" he asks me in an almost reproachful tone.

"Never!" I blur out this lie with great difficulty as I'm consumed by yet another wave of bliss.

The old man then suddenly pulls up my T-shirt and a cool breeze caresses my rock hard nipples, which seem to be brazenly straining toward his fingers.

While he continues to twist my nipples with one hand, I can feel the old man stroking his penis with the other.

I have to admit that the sight of that enormous bulge, right there by my face, is driving my pussy crazy. As hard as I try to maintain self-control and fight off the upcoming orgasm, the sight of that enormous bulge takes me to another world.

Fucking hell, I want to see it...

"Does a thick bulge like this really turn decent girls on?" I hear him say.

How unfair of him. To stick a vibrating egg inside me then to ask if the sight of his bulging member is arousing?

"No..." I moan deliriously, turning my face toward the handsome monster.

"...that's not true at all..." I continue trying to protest.

But by then, it's already too late. I simply can no longer stop my pussy from eagerly anticipating the vibrating rhythm of the egg, forcing me to have a glorious, unbelievably intense orgasm. The sensation of sitting here on this chair, utterly defenseless and at the mercy of the old man's lust-filled gaze, causes me to reach a breaking point. And knowing that I'm also giving him such a massive hard on is what ultimately pushes me over the edge.

"Now that's a good little girl," I hear him grunt and moan.

A jolt courses through me; my entire body is seized by waves of multiple orgasms, and I simply shake uncontrollably in the chair. Completely lost in the here and now, I savor this beautiful climax, completely transported to another world. The world of this antique chair? The vibrating egg is still buzzing inside my pussy, and it's already making me horny again? Yet I've already come so many times. Damn it.

Then we hear the doorbell ring again. He disappears behind the door without a word, and I can't help but moan uncontrollably as the egg shifts gear.

Did he forget that the egg is still running? Did he forget his promise that I'd be allowed to leave after my orgasm? Or did he simply fail to notice just how intensely I'd just come?

Well, I have to rule out that last one. A man of his maturity couldn't possibly have missed that.

Surely he would be back any moment now to set me free and let me go.

Oh God, how embarrassing. I just came so hard while a complete stranger was staring right at my soaking wet panties? Hell, yeah. That actually gives me a huge rush. But what turned me on even more was that incredibly thick bulge in his pants. I absolutely have to tell my friend Sophie about this. She's pretty kinky in my book, and she's always trying to force me out of my comfort zone when we go clubbing.