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"The Face Seat"
"The Face Seat"
Published by Susan Strict
Default "The Face Seat"

"The Face Seat" was a short incomplete novel I received from an author by the pen name of "Maxwell Crush". I edited and finished the story, and it's now available as an e-book.

Here's an extract:

Mrs Abdul pointed to a side room off the main entrance hall to her rather grand apartment. The sheer beauty of the décor and ornamentation astonished David, and in this particular room the sight that met him took his breath away. The room, painted in deep crimson, was adorned by numerous framed drawings of rather plump ladies sitting on the faces of male slaves who were without exception much weaker and pathetic in stature. In the centre of the room was a leather-topped, narrow table, about three feet high, and upon this table was a heavily restrained man.

“Meet my husband Kalib, David,” said Mrs Abdul, as though making polite introductions at a society tea party. “I sit on his face quite a lot, so I prefer to keep him in this position most of the time.”

David was stunned. What could he say?

“The thing is, David,” Mrs Abdul continued, “I fear that I am wearing him out. Just look at his face – all red and blistered. I only sit on him for 14 hours a day and as you can see he blisters up and goes all red. That’s a great pity, don’t you think?”

“I... I... don’t really know Mrs Abdul. I...” David’s brain could not absorb the reality of the dream that now faced him. Mr Abdul’s groaning and the pleading look in the eyes shook David out of his illusions.

Just he thought he had worked out what he wanted to say, there was a loud SLAP. Mrs Abdul’s well aimed backhand struck accurately and very severely across her husband’s face.

“He needs another sitting!” she declared.

With that, Mrs Abdul hiked up her skirt and stepped into the stirrups hanging down either side of the “seatmount”, as she liked the framework to be called. With remarkable agility, she swung her right leg over the prone face of her husband quickly plonked her magnificent derriere right onto his face, her anus pressed brutally against his upturned but very bruised nose. Her moistening cunt engulfed his lower face with only her moist, silky black panties separating her from him.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” Mrs Abdul sighed loudly. “This is what I crave, David, and that is why I have my husband restrained here on this table. I sit on his face regularly, every day. His nose must be against my anus for at least ten hours. I demand that he spend four hours as a minimum with his tongue up my backside, but that’s where he fails. Of course I whip him hard. Of course I beat his testicles... but still he is not good enough.”

With that, Mrs Abdul lifted a mallet from the side table and just as promptly dropped it down again, bringing an involuntary shudder from the victim beneath her,

“And, of course,” she continued, “I piss all over his face and down his throat, but still he fails to insert his tongue properly into my magnificent arse! It is easy to facesit him and to force him to smell me. It is no problem to control his breathing, to smother him whenever I wish, but to make his tongue do as I wish it to do is quite an impossible task. He will never do it properly, despite the pain, and that’s why I keep him tied up like this – the bastard WILL do it properly. Eventually.”

With that, Mrs Abdul started to gyrate rhythmically backwards and forwards upon her husband’s compressed and smothered face, making guttural sounds as she moved. Somehow, the noises she made seemed to David to match her actions perfectly, as her husband suffered and his bruising was undoubtedly increasing with every move she made.

David felt light headed. Mrs Abdul, even through her orgasmic motions, realised the effect she was having on him. She slowed to a gentle rocking, taking the opportunity to reflect on the possibilities. She opened her eyes wide, and gazed at her now-shaking tenant.

“So, David? What do you think?”

“I... I... I don’t know wha...”

“Perhaps you wish you were my husband?”

Her question was direct. It was deliberate. It had not taken Mrs Abdul long to work out the potential she had with such a man living downstairs. She already knew that David was a regular masturbator. Although he had no idea she had seen him, much less that she watched him regularly, the truth was that she could see in through his windows from hers on the higher floor, and she had made the most of opportunity to watch. She had taken note of everything she saw.

A sudden gasp from beneath her made Mrs Abdul extremely angry. She raised her body, and then dropped her heavy buttocks down onto the face of her husband.


Her husband groaned. His wife’s full weight was never easy to take, and those magnificent buttocks came close to crushing his skull when she pounded down onto him. Her aroma intoxicated him, blurring his senses. Her bottom had filled his vision and had pressed down onto his face for many thousands of hours in total since she had first introduced him to her preferred form of subjugation.

“Mmmmmphhhhhhh!” was the only sound Mr Abdul could make.

“Of course... there is always an alternative!”

Mrs Abdul eyed David questioningly as he still stood transfixed at what he was seeing, swaying to and fro slightly.

“Mrs Abdul...?” David asked stupidly.

“Yes. YOU!!!”

“Me, Mrs Abdul?”

“Yes, you David. I am sure YOU will agree to become my seat, AND I have no doubt that you will obediently use your tongue where and when I demand it. Would you do that? Would you put your tongue right up my backside as and when I demand it? I think so. And then, you see, I might possibly go a little more gently on my poor squashed husband. I think that would be a very good thing. Don’t you agree it would be a very good thing?”

Mrs Abdul paused, waiting for a reply from David. None came, so she continued:

“So, are you game? Or not? Of course, you know that if you don’t agree then I would have no hesitation in making sure everyone knows all about your little fetish. Do you think that might be difficult for you? Just remember it when you make your decision, won’t you?”

David’s gaze was drawn to the reddened forehead of Mr Abdul, just visible from beneath his wife’s spreading buttocks. The forehead showed just how completely crushed under her he really was. It was turning a deep purple. Mrs Abdul sat, picking at her nails, seemingly oblivious to the suffering underneath her. Her eyes flitted from her beautiful hands, to David and then back again. Her smile was bewitching, but for her husband there was no relief from the crushing weight on top of him. It was as if her bottom was becoming part of the face beneath her; that was her way, and that was how she wanted it to be.

“Gravity is a wonderful thing, David. Don’t you agree?”

“You’ll kill him, Mrs Abdul!”

Mr Abdul’s shuddering form was evidence of his desperate need for air.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I never let it get to that stage. Look, he still has a bit more submission in him right now.” And with that, Mrs Abdul pressed down even more heavily on the face of her poor enslaved seat-husband, squeezing her buttocks onto him so powerfully that it made the leather table creak under the strain.

Mr Abdul was on the edge; on the edge of consciousness. Whilst he knew that his wife’s sitting desire was extreme, he also knew from experience that she would not let him pass out. For a seat to pass out was, from Mrs Abdul’s point of view, a failure. A good queening or smothering Mistress had to keep the slave conscious at all times. Any less would be failure. After all, if he was unconscious, he was not suffering. Not only that, but there was absolutely no chance of her seat providing proper worship with his tongue if he were unconscious, and that was most definitely what she still sought.

Her buttocks lifted suddenly, and Mr Abdul gasped and coughed heavily, much in the way a half-drowned man might gasp and cough as he was revived by a lifeguard..

“You see David,” Mrs Abdul explained, once again as calm as if explaining to the vicar how to make a perfect cup of tea, “I know what I’m doing when it comes to facesitting. Does it surprise you to hear me use that word? Does it stir anything in you? I KNOW it does!”

All David could do was to stare at the spluttering Mr Abdul. The man was beaten, straining at his bonds weakly, fingers stretching out to some nonexistent saviour. He began to cry loudly and to plead, “No more. Please... No more... M...Mistress. Goddess... My Sitting Goddess... N...No more, I beg you...”

His words faded away. He had been taught to refer to his wife at all times as his “Sitting Goddess” and he kept to that as much as he could, even when his senses were confused and fading.

David looked at Mrs Abdul. She smiled sweetly, and dismounted from her prone husband. She walked slowly towards David.

“I will offer you one concession, David. If you agree to become my permanent seat in place of my husband, I will not charge you any more rent at all. But be warned: once I strap you down, I will keep you there. You will be allowed three toilet breaks per day and two food breaks. I will check on you and enforce the conditions rigorously. Mr Abdul will be placed into mobile bondage as and when I choose, and it will be his duty to report to me about you. He will be free from my bottom, mostly, but I shall punish him severely if you do not please my bottom. Equally, you will be punished underneath me (and, believe me, I can administer a punishment far worse than anything you have seen or anything you could possibly imagine) if either you or he incurs my displeasure. You see, David, I want to spend my time sitting on a man. I want him to do as I desire, and my desires are quite intense. I have no other demands on my time. I earn enough income from the other apartments in this building so that I do not have to work elsewhere. That is my advantage. I am self-contained. I need nothing, except a worthwhile seat.”

Her pleasant smile never faltered as she spoke, but David did not underestimate the seriousness of what she was proposing.

“Well? What is it to be?”

David looked down into the eyes of the prone Mr Abdul, whose pleading look said it all. Then he thought of the images he had seen so briefly on his PC. Any of those male (or, indeed, female) slaves he had seen with bottoms on their faces would no doubt jump at the chance of such an offer as Mrs Abdul had just made him. It was the ultimate fantasy: to be under such a superior and beautifully majestic being as she.

“OK,” David agreed, his voice no more than a whisper…

Cover art adapted from artwork by Rodzo
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By joystick on 05-28-2010, 04:48 AM
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Great tbanks!
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