Oscar’s body becomes rigid as the sound of a door slamming pushes into the living room from the front hall. His back straight, legs at a perfect perpendicular, knees bent at exact 90 degree angles, and each foot resting hips width apart on the glossy marble floor. He feels his cock twitch and rise against his stomach, and hears Alice snort quietly beneath him.
He wants to tell her to shut up, to kick at her scrawny, toothpick legs. Wants to lament that it’s fucking Wednesday, and he doesn’t get to top with Victor again until the week-end. But someone is home, and his feelings are no longer relevant. In this moment, Oscar is not a man, but the warm, delectable cushion of a very human chair.
His biceps bulge slightly as he holds his arms still, his elbow forming another gorgeous 90 degree angle. Georgina likes her armrests, and Oscar is more than happy to endure the ache in the hope that she will utilize him before rushing to dress for dinner. Oscar closes his glassy amber eyes and imagines the light brushing of her skirts against his ankles. The feel of fabric tumbling down his legs, shielding the hot mesh of her naked flesh on his from view.
It’s Clarence’s shrill, buzzy voice that cuts through Oscar’s daydreams, however, instead. Clarence’s cocky, rushed gait clapping his hard soled shoes loudly on floor and wresting Oscar from his musings.
Clarence glares at the chair, leering silently at Alice’s thin, twiggy legs. Her slightly arched back supporting Oscar’s tan, muscled buttocks, milky white skin glowing in stark contrast. He walks past them, smacking Alice’s ass on his way to the couch where Ella, Laura, and Edith smile, offering the soft pillows of their upper legs and thighs to Clarence’s soiled breeches.
Sighing and stretching lengthwise along the laps of the three prone women, Clarence turns his head and suckles roughly at Edith’s teet, chuckling at her sharp intake of breath as his teeth rake across her hardening nipple. He reaches up to pull at the strawberry blonde hair that cascades over her porcelain white shoulder with his right arm, while moving Laura’s hand to his crotch with the other.
Laura moves her delicate, pale, fingers slowly over Clarence’s growing bulge. She squeezes, then pauses slightly before slowly digging under the waist of this pants. Clarence grunts, mouth still firm over Edith’s breast, and all three women set their hands to work in freeing his bulging member from the constrictive garments.
Once free, one of six nimble hands slides over his turgid shaft, moving up and down in firm, deliberate strokes. Another rubs and squeezes his balls, caressing him in wide, gentle circles. A third sliding deftly beneath him, playing at the tight asterisk of Clarence’s ass as he moans loudly into Edith’s chest. The remaining hands of the couch rubbing, traveling, and tweaking whatever flesh they can reach.
Clarence writhes, pumping his hard, pulsing cock into Laura’s hand. Moistening it with his pre-seed as he draws closer and closer to climax. Ella catches Clarence’s foggy eyes and whispers in a hushed moan, “come for us Clarence, oh, won’t you come for us Clarence?” and slides her free hand up his thigh, toying briefly with his balls, before adding her hand to the one already pumping at his shaft. Now taking turns spiraling her hand up and down, around and around his bouncing dick.
Removing his mouth from Edith, he locks his eyes to Ella as she moans and strokes him. Shoving his body up and into Ella and Laura’s hands one final time, Clarence cries out with the force of his orgasm — which seems to last forever, as he watches his seed squirt and splash into Laura’s open, eager mouth and over her ample, heaving breasts.
The couch’s steady, wave-like movements slow and cease as each of the three lady cushions steady their breathing and move back into their original places. Clarence lying still a moment. Reveling in the moment just passed, before righting himself and fumbling for his breeches, now tossed over Leo, the ottoman, who kneels toward the center of the room.
When Clarence stands, all of the room’s furniture quickly closes their eyes, as he prefers upon his exit. He checks his pocket watch with a disconcerted snort, and clomps loudly out of the room much as he entered it, with all the grace and composure of a dizzy baby elephant.
Sure of the living room being empty once more, Oscar sighs and stands, bouncing his half numb hands at his sides and slinking to the servant’s door to fetch wet cloths to wipe down the now soggy couch before the next late afternoon arrival.
Probably not Georgina though, he laments. No, probably not Georgina.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3o5y7w/the_living_room_mfff_bdsm_fsub