Human Furniture Training - FULL

I walk in. he’s already there — naked, on his knees like a dog, head down. he knows i hate waiting. i snap my fingers. — on the floor. like the piece of dog you are. he drops instantly, eyes locked on the floorboards. i settle on the sofa like a queen, legs crossed, and offer my feet. — massage. he starts, focused, silent. but that’s not enough. — now lick. filthy. his tongue goes to work. he’s drooling already. i glare at him. i take my heel and shove it into his mouth, slowly, until he chokes a little. — wider. that’s it. swallow it. i laugh. he’s hard. this pathetic thing loves it. i stand and start trampling him. i don’t hold back. i press, grind, crush. his skin bruises, he moans, but stays still, offering himself completely. i kick him in the face. he takes it. another. he growls, eyes wet. he wants more. so i sit on his face, denim rubbing against his flushed skin. i smother him a little — just enough. he gasps beneath me. — look at you. just look. you’re nothing. just my living footstool. and you fucking love it, don’t you? he nods, crushed beneath me, humiliated to the core.