Boss Girls Productions - Permanent Seat Cushion: Facesitting Training with Jasmina
As the door opened, Jasmina strode in with purpose. She was dressed casually but exuded an air of dominance that demanded respect. In her hand was a small pillow, which she held up for the slave to see. "This," she said, her voice commanding, "is your new home."
The slave trembled, his heart racing as he realized the implications of her words. Jasmina was training him to be her permanent seat cushion. It was both an honor and a burden that he didn't think he could bear. But he knew he had no choice; he was at her mercy.
He watched as she walked over to the couch and gently laid the pillow down. Then, she turned to him and motioned for him to approach. As he hesitantly moved forward, he felt a wave of anticipation wash over him. This was it – the moment of truth.
"Now," she said calmly, "you're going to sit on that for some time. And when you're done, it will be perfectly molded to my ass. Do you understand?"
The slave nodded, his throat feeling dry. He took a deep breath and knelt down on the pillow, feeling it give slightly beneath his weight. As he adjusted his position, he felt a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort. It was as if his entire being was focused on this one task – pleasing Jasmina in any way he could.
"Good," she said, watching him closely. "Now, stay there. And don't move until I tell you to."
The slave closed his eyes, trying to block out the world around him. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as Jasmina moved around the room. Time seemed to stand still as he sat there, obeying her every command.
Slowly, he began to feel the weight of his body pressing down onto the pillow. It was a strange sensation – almost as if he were becoming one with it. He could feel the warmth of his skin seeping into the fabric, molding it to his shape. And with each passing minute, he knew that he was getting closer to being the perfect seat cushion for Jasmina.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jasmina spoke. "Alright, slave," she said, her voice softening slightly. "You can stand up now."
The slave hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting himself off the pillow. As he stood there, he could feel the imprint of his body on the cushion, a permanent record of his submission to Jasmina.
"Not bad," she said, examining the pillow carefully. "But we'll need to do this a few more times to really get it right."
And with that, she turned and left the room, leaving the slave to wonder what the future held. Would he be able to endure the training? And more importantly, would he ever be able to truly please her as her permanent seat cushion? Only time would tell.
