My Mom And Her Chair

I spent weeks crafting the chair in secret, sneaking tools into my room whenever Mom left for work. The fantasy of being used as a human chair had festered for years deep inside me, but remained a shameful secret I never dared confess to anyone. Facesitting consumed my thoughts with the promise of being trapped and smothered beneath a woman's weight. No way could I afford a real queening chair on my allowance, so I built one from an old dining chair I scavenged from the garage.

I sanded the wood and reinforced the frame before carving a hole in the seat just wide enough for my face to poke through. Below I bolted a cushioned platform shaped to cradle my body and double as a footrest. The chair was rough but effective and its dark stain concealed my obsession. I tested the fit by sliding inside with my head poking through the hole and a cushion supporting my back. The claustrophobia and humiliation felt perfect. I dreamed of a day when I'd muster the courage to invite someone to use it, like the barista who smiled at my clumsiness. For now the chair stood in my room as a silent testament to my hidden desires.

Since then I often snuck into the chair, fantasising about being sat on and smothered. One day, Mom was supposed to be shopping so I closed my bedroom door and stripped to my boxers for comfort before sliding into the chair's base again. My body fit snugly with a cushion cradling my torso and my legs bent at the knees. I adjusted my head on another cushion until my face slightly protruded from the hole in the seat. I could spend hours daydreaming in it. The room was dim with curtains half drawn and casting shadows over the chair. I snapped the base's latch shut. It was a flimsy lock I'd rigged for the thrill of feeling trapped but it wasn't truly secure. Lying there with my breath shallow I let the fantasy consume me. I imagined different women using me in the chair as their soft asses press down on my face. The cute barista, my math teacher Mrs. Mendez, Hilary Duff, my mom...

The door clicked open. I was abruptly pulled out of my daydream and my heart stopped. I hadn't heard Mom come home. Almost 40 years old, she had a striking, curvaceous figure with full hips and strong, shapely legs. Standing at 5'10" and weighing 155 pounds, she was a gorgeous woman with a devilish smile. Her dark hair and deep brown eyes created a stunning contrast against her fair skin.

Her voice boomed through the room as she entered with her phone pressed to her ear. She was chatting with Aunt Lisa and sounded both gossipy and annoyed. "And then she says she's skipping the reunion unless I apologize. Can you believe her? Anyway I need to find Jake because you've got to talk to him. He's been dodging your calls."

I froze with my body rigid in the chair's base. The dim room hid me and my face was just a shadow in the seat's hole. I couldn't speak or move without revealing myself. My breath caught as Mom scanned the room and her eyes settled on the chair. She didn't hesitate.

"Well he's not here but I'll wait" she said and stepped closer. "He's probably in the bathroom or something."

Before I could react she turned with her yoga pants stretched tight over her ass and sat down. Her weight crashed onto my face and smothered my nose and mouth against the fabric. The pressure was crushing and her warmth suffocated me with a mix of detergent and skin scent. I couldn't believe it. Was I still daydreaming? My mother was sitting on my face, completely unaware and pinning me into the chair I'd built for my darkest fantasies.

She wiggled her ass as she settled in and crossed her legs casually. Her foot landed on the cushioned base directly over my crotch. Her heel pressed into my balls and caused a sharp ache that made me wince inwardly. I couldn't cry out or move. If she found me under her, I couldn't imagine how she would react?

She kept talking but her voice was muffled against the fabric covering my ears. "Lisa, you should've seen her face when I said no. Like I'm the villain. Hold on while I get comfortable."

She shifted and ground her ass against my face, her cheeks spreading to envelop me completely. Looking from outside, my face must have completely disappeared. Just a woman sitting in a weird chair. "This chair's weird but I'll make it work" she muttered and adjusted her position again with a slow grind that pressed my nose deeper into the fabric and between her enormous ass cheeks. The movement felt deliberate to me and sent a jolt of shameful arousal through my body even though she was just getting comfortable. A low rumble vibrated through her,

Pppffrssbbt!

A sharp fart blasted against my nose. The stench was pungent and burned my sinuses. The warm gas filled my throat and lungs as I inhaled. I wanted to gag but her weight sealed my mouth shut.

Ppppssffft!

Another fart followed, softer but just as foul and she didn't even pause her conversation while I silently choked under her ass. "Must be that kale smoothie" she muttered with a chuckle. "Anyway, what were you saying about the kids?"

I was trapped and my world shrank to her smothering presence. Her foot on my crotch shifted as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Her toes dug into my balls and the pressure intensified. Then she started shaking her foot in that fidgeting habit of hers and each bounce sent a jolt of pain through me. The ache radiated up my spine yet it mingled with a twisted thrill. This was my fantasy wasn't it? The sensation of being used and ignored was everything I'd craved. But this first experience was overwhelming, from the heavy ass and dense farts suffocating me, to the sharp pain in my balls every time she shook her feet, the sensations were far beyond what I had ever imagined.

She shifted again and her ass ground against my face with a slight wiggle and muttered, "This seat's so lumpy, where did he find this thing?" The grinding pressure crushed my nose and made my head swim with humiliation and a deep thrill as I lay helpless beneath her.

Minutes stretched into eternity. My lungs burned and I stole shallow tainted breaths from between her ass cheeks whenever she shifted. My face ached and my jaw grew numb from the pressure. Her farts came in waves and each one humiliated and burned me further as the warm gas flooded my throat and lungs. I counted maybe six and each sank me deeper into a haze of shame and arousal. Her foot never left my crotch and the bouncing rhythm tortured my balls relentlessly.

After some time she adjusted her position once more and wiggled her hips in a slow circle against my face while saying to Aunt Lisa, "I'm still trying to get comfy on this odd chair." The deliberate motion to her felt casual but to me it was a dominant act that deepened my submission and left me reeling.

She laughed at something Aunt Lisa said and her body shook, bouncing her ass on my face. "Oh you're terrible. Yeah I'll make Jake call you, he's got to stop hiding."

I wanted to scream or confess but I couldn't. The chair held me as my own creation betrayed me. I was invisible and just a piece of furniture and the thought was both terrifying and intoxicating. My mind raced with questions of how I'd explain this or what if she found out. But she didn't. She just sat unaware and her weight was a constant crushing reminder of my secret. Before settling back she gave one final grind and shifted her hips with a sigh. My face was now aligned perfectly with her ass crack, my nose wedged deep, and she said, "Finally got this chair right." Her weight flattened my nose and sealed me completely in a world of shame and musk.

An hour passed or so it felt. My body was numb and my mind was a fog of conflicting emotions. The doorbell rang and a sharp chime cut through the room. Mom sighed mid sentence.

"Hold on Lisa, someone's at the door."

She stood abruptly, and a wave of relief went through me as I inhaled clean air. But shifted her full weight onto her foot which crushed my balls with brutal force. I bit back a silent scream as stars exploded behind my eyes. She stepped off the cushion and casually walked out while still chatting on the phone.

I didn't wait. My hands fumbled with the latch and trembled as I unclipped it. I slid out of the chair's base with my body aching and my face slick with sweat and her lingering heat and scent. I stumbled to my feet and wiped my face with my sleeve while my balls throbbed with every step. I had to cover this up so she wouldn't suspect anything weird.

I hurried downstairs and caught my breath before finding Mom at the door signing for a package. She glanced at me with her phone still to her ear.

"Jake, where were you? I was looking for you" she said exasperated.

"Bathroom" I mumbled with my voice hoarse.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her conversation. "Lisa he's here. Yeah I'll put him on in a second." She turned to me, "Where did you get that ugly chair in your bedroom?"

"Oh...umm...I built it for my woodwork class. Yeah, it was a project."

She looked at me for a second and then shrugged. I forced a smile but my heart pounded. My secret was safe for now, yet the chair loomed in my mind as a dangerous puzzle I'd built and couldn't unmake. Mom handed me the phone oblivious to the marks on my face or the strain in my body or the chaos in my head.

"Talk to your aunt" she said and brushed past me. "And don't disappear again."

I nodded with my voice steady as I spoke to Aunt Lisa but my thoughts were upstairs. The chair waited as a silent witness to my shame. I'd clean it or hide it or maybe destroy it. Or maybe I wouldn't. The thought lingered both dangerous and thrilling as Mom's laughter echoed from the kitchen.

Three days later, I sprawled on my bed with my nerves frayed and tried to drown out the chair's presence in the corner. Its dark frame haunted me with flashes of Mom's smothering ass and weight, her rancid yet intoxicating farts, and her foot's crushing force on my balls. I couldn't sleep well and dreaded her asking more about my "woodwork project." Her shrug had seemed too casual and her eyes too piercing.

The door opened and Mom stepped in with a curious smirk. She walked straight to the chair and ran her fingers over the frame. "This thing's so odd," she said and leaned down to study the seat. "A hole right here? And this cushioned base? Jake, what's this really for?"

My throat closed and I stammered, "Just a...quirky design for the project." My voice cracked and exposed my fear.

She grinned and sat on the chair with her thighs framing the hole. "It was comfy when I sat on it. Really comfy. But right now...something feels missing. Like something should be in this hole." She rocked slightly and tested the seat, and her grin turned playful. "I'm onto you, Jake. You're hiding something."

I looked away and my heart raced, but words failed me. She stood and left with a chuckle and her footsteps echoed down the hall. Her words... something feels missing, should be in this hole. They kept swirling in my head. That night I heard her typing in her room and saw her laptop's glow under the door. I lay awake, fearing what she'd look for and find.

In her bedroom Mom sat cross legged on her bed with her laptop humming. She typed "chair with face hole" and frowned as results loaded. Articles about queening chairs and femdom sites popped up with images of thrones with bound men and women in control. Her eyes widened and she clicked "What Is a Queening Chair?" She read about facesitting and dominance and power exchange and felt a jolt of shock. Jake's chair matched the descriptions with its hole and cushion and secretive build. She smirked and leaned back and imagined her son's hidden desires. Amused and intrigued she scrolled further and absorbed stories of control and submission. Her shock faded and curiosity bloomed, and she decided to confront him and test this strange new world.

The next morning Mom marched into my room with a teasing glint in her eyes and stood by the chair. Its dark frame loomed in the corner, filled with my secrets. She crossed her arms and said, "I know what this chair's for, Jake. Facesitting and queening and all that kinky femdom stuff, right? Don't lie to me."

My face burned and I scrambled to deflect and said, "No way, it's just a weird design for class." My voice shook and I tried to laugh it off and added, "Maybe I messed up the measurements or something."

She stepped closer and her smirk sharpened and she said, "You're dodging, Jake. I read all about it online and this isn't some school project. Admit it or I'll smother it out of you."

My heart pounded and I mumbled, "It's not like that I swear." But her stare pinned me and my excuses crumbled. With a red face I whispered, "Okay yeah it's true." I looked down as shame flooded me but a flicker of relief sparked too.

She laughed softly and said, "You're full of surprises. I never imagined you would be into this kind of stuff. But then you always have been a shy and masochist pushover." She turned back looking at the chair. A coy smile crept on her face and she spoke, "I'm curious now. Let's see what this thing does. Get in."

What?! I couldn't believe what I just heard. Did she really just tell me to get in the chair? Even after finding out what it actually is. But her face didn't show any hesitation, just calm and confidence which sent a chill down my spine.

I hesitated but her gaze held me and seeing no way out I got off my bed and slowly walked towards the chair. I slid into the chair's base with my body trembling. I adjusted my torso so my head poked through the hole and my face slightly protruded out of the seat. Mom grinned and without hesitation lowered herself onto my face, her yoga pants snug against my nose and mouth. Her weight crushed me and her warmth suffocated me as she ground her ass slowly and covered my face with her cheeks. My mind was a storm, she was actually, deliberately using the chair, with me in it!

She wiggled her butt for a moment and said, "Wait a second...this is exactly how it felt when I first sat on this chair. Don't tell me, you were in it that time? Hahaha...that's amazing. I had sat on your face for like an hour and never even realised it. And you...you just stayed there under me without making a noise. Haha, you like it that much? Hmm...This feels so much better. So your face is what was missing from it last night." She laughed out loud and I could feel her ass vibrating on my face. "This is what you wanted, right, son? Feels kind of fun." I heard a familiar rumble and my heart skipped a beat. Would she still do it knowing I am under her?

Prrfftsssbbbtt!

A fart blasted against my face with its stench searing my sinuses. She giggled and ground her ass harder, smearing the musky air and stench on my face and teased, "Bet you didn't expect this, huh?"

She shifted and pressed her foot on the cushioned base and felt my body beneath. "Your whole body's in here?" she said and stomped hard on my balls. Pain exploded and my face twitched, and I groaned under her ass. She laughed and stomped again and said, "I see, your balls are here under my feet. Stomping on them makes your face squirm and I must say...it's soo much fun." I couldn't believe her words, was she actually enjoying this? My heart exploded with a sense of dread but also a rising thrill.

My groans vibrated against her cheeks and she rocked her ass with delight, enjoying the tickling vibration and groans in her ass. She kept her foot planted on my balls and tapped rhythmically on them, each tap sending another groan for her to enjoy.

Her confidence grew and she pulled out her phone. She opened a femdom video with the volume at max so I could hear too. She watched a woman dominate a man and mimicked her tone and said, "You must love this, just like those video guys. You're my little seat, aren't you, my masochist pushover?" She ground her ass in circles like the video and farted again,

Psssffffrrrssst!

The rancid stench choked me and filled my lungs as I inhaled deep. She heard me inhale and with a smirk said, "Oh My God! You are actually breathing in my farts. And so eagerly. Do they smell that nice? This is so fascinating and strangely empowering for me." She wiggled her ass and my face sunk deeper into her soft gorgeous ass cheeks. She giggled, "According to these videos you're enjoying this and your squirms and deep breaths prove it."

Ignoring me for a moment she called Aunt Lisa. She chatted casually while grinding against my face and treating me like an actual piece of furniture. "Lisa, you won't believe this chair Jake made" she said and chuckled at my muffled reactions. "It's so comfy and the extra padding feels great against my ass. I'm loving it right now."

PPpfffrrsssbtt!

Another fart ripped out and its heat burned my throat but she didn't pause and continued her unbothered gossip about the reunion. My lungs ached and I stole breaths when she shifted but her weight never let up. She was treating me like a chair. My deepest fantasies were being fulfilled and my heart was pounding with fear and arousal.

After talking with aunt for half an hour and a few small silent farts, she closed the call and flipped back to her domination videos. She leaned forward and taunted, "Look at you trapped under there. You're just a piece of furniture and you love it, don't you?" She tapped her foot harder on my balls and rocked her ass. The pain and pleasure mixing together. For the next hour she pushed me to my limits. All the while I kept wondering how I got in this position and counted my lucky stars.

PPPpfffrsssbt!

She farted again and its warm stench sank me deeper into shame and lust. She said, "This is what you built it for right? And your face feels perfectly made for my ass." Her humiliating taunts echoed the videos she had been watching and crushed my pride, but my body betrayed me with arousal. She stood up finally, standing full weight on my balls and looked down with a triumphant smirk. "This chair's mine now, Jake. And so are you. You built a throne and I'm claiming it. Though there is certainly room for improvement."

Over the next week Mom ruled with an iron foot. She made me do house chores and serve her in the chair whenever she needed to relax or just spend some time on the phone or online. Eventually she made me pour my allowance into upgrading the chair. I trudged to the hardware store with her words echoing in my head, "Turn it into a throne fit for your queen's ass, boy." I bought black varnish and plush cushions and a sleek lever mechanism and a hinged hatch.

Under her watchful gaze I transformed the chair into a dark throne with wood gleaming black like her dominance and cushions soft as her gorgeous cheeks. The lever raised or lowered my face through the hole with a padded base behind my head for her perfect comfort and the hatch was installed on the base to expose my balls for her to play with. I replaced the flimsy latch on the inside with a sturdy one on the outside which allowed her to control how long I would stay in the chair. My hands shook as I worked and my heart raced with dread and thrill, knowing each screw I tightened also tightened her control over me.

She inspected the throne and giggled, "This is a queen's seat now, my little pet. Your squirms will feel even better under my ass now." How did my fantasy trap me so perfectly? I marveled at my twisted fate and fearfully awaited her next command.

She declared the throne belonged in her home office where she could use it for long hours while working at the same time. She made me drag it through the house while walking behind me like a mistress. Her office was a mess of papers and a computer table and a window framing the yard. She worked long hours and often attended online meetings and wanted the throne to spice up her monotonous grind. "Your face makes this chair perfect, Jake" she said with a teasing wink as I set the chair replacing her old boring computer chair. "Get ready to serve your queen's ass." She purred while caressing the chair and looking down at me with a spark in her eyes. My deepest fantasies were her playground now and my heart pounded just thinking about it.