As I scrolled through various online shops, searching for a new office chair, I couldn't help but notice the familiar contours of my poor, suffering assistant's face beneath me. Despite being extremely uncomfortable and with his pathetic cock completely useless, he still had the audacity to provide a soft surface for me to rest my weary keystrokes upon.
My mind wandered as I weighed the pros and cons of just continuing to use him as my personal chair or actually investing in a new piece of furniture. His face was slowly turning redder from the lack of oxygen, but it was oddly comforting. The soft whimpers he made every time I leaned my full weight on his face only seemed to amplify the warmth radiating from within him.
With a tired sigh, I decided that maybe I didn't need a new chair after all; his pathetic mug served its purpose quite well. Besides, it was quite amusing watching him squirm under the constant onslaught of my ass. As if reading my mind, he started pleading with me through his muffled cries for just one break from being my personal seat cushion.
"Please, Mistress Marissa," he begged. "Just give me some air. I can't take any more of this."
Chuckling darkly, I leaned back in my chair and looked down at him. His eyes were pleading with me as he struggled to breathe beneath the weight of my ass. "Let me see if you can survive being my chair for a bit longer," I said with a grin.
Picking up my phone, I browsed through some photos of various models of office chairs, debating which one would be the most suitable replacement. As I scrolled through the pictures, I continued to ignore my pathetic assistant's increasingly desperate pleas for mercy.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I decided on a new chair and placed the order. Standing up from my desk, I hovered over my groveling assistant, considering for a moment how best to punish him for his inability to keep up with my demands.
With a wicked grin, I pulled down my pants and sat down on his face once again, burying his nose in my crotch. "This," I said, pushing my weight down on him and holding it there, "is what happens when you fail to meet my expectations."
As I began to grind against his face, feeling his hot breath on my slick folds, the realization that he might actually be relieved that I was no longer using him as a chair crept into my mind. Shaking my head, I pressed harder against his face, determined to make him suffer for any glimmer of hope he might have found.
"You are my chair," I whispered into his ear, "and you will always be my chair. Now clean your face and get back to work."
With that, I pulled up my pants and walked away, leaving him there, cowering on the floor. In the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my new office chair, waiting patiently for me to sit down. I couldn't help but wonder how my pathetic assistant would react when he saw it. Would he finally understand that he was nothing but a piece of furniture to me, or would he continue to delude himself into thinking that he had any worth beyond his usefulness as my personal furniture?
Only time would tell.
