Booktok Chair Novels & Stories

Her sweeping eyes paused on the sleek furniture —low and modern—which was placed with surgical precisions. Nirvana couldn’t see any photos or clutter anywhere near, but she could see a chair which was clearly used often by the window and it was the only one that looked slightly softened compared to the others. An unfinished book with a paper—probably a sketch— tucked into it was placed on the chair and on the table beside the chair was a terrarium.

(Hint: Anita Pallenberg as the One-eyed Wench. Once I was undressed I got on my reclining seat/bench, it was adjustable but the initial position was reclining at about a 45 degree angle. It was a minimal reclining chair, it was narrow, and had no sides except at the torso. It was designed to allow a woman, on a second intersecting chair, to recline while impaled.

Oh my god. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. But it wasn’t the chains or cuffs that made my breath catch. No, it was the throne-like chair at the very center—a dark, high-backed seat with broad armrests and a slightly reclined angle. There were subtle restraints embedded in its design, meant to hold someone’s wrists and ankles in place. It was a chair meant for display, for control. A place where a submissive would kneel at their master’s feet. I could almost picture myself there, looking up at Alex, his gaze dark and commanding, that deep voice of his rumbling, “Kneel for me.”

I know who’s organized this. The guy runs through how to charge and operate it, and how to fold it down, and I listen as best as I can while my head spins. When he’s done, I bring the chair inside and take it into the living room. Mum looks up from her crochet and stares at it. “It’s from Kip,” I say, my voice squeaky with emotion. We both know it’ll mean increased freedom for her around the house, and maybe even when we go out, if I can figure a way to get it in and out of the car.

Right next to his large bed sat a particular chair. I wasn't naive. I knew exactly what that chair was; it was all over the internet. It was a tantra chair. Good grief. My face turned beet red. I hadn't seen this chair the last time I was in his room. Heaven help me, my man was truly a pervert. He could actually go this far. He definitely had plans for me, which is why he bought that chair. If I hadn't seen it today, I wouldn't have known what kind of trap I was walking into.

“No. The doctor said I should not walk too much or put too much pressure on it.” “Alright, no problem. We will give you easier tasks.” ‘I wonder what those tasks are.” She thought. ‘They will not be easy for me.’ “Bring the chair.” There was a sound of shuffling feet and a chair was brought into the room. Sahithi glanced at it from the corner of her eye. It was a peculiar chair – instead of a normal seat it had a single rod right in the middle of where the seat should have been. “Sit!” “What! How?” she was flustered when she saw that the rod was shaped like a penis.

The furnishings were made of a dark, heavy wood, and his desk, the focal point, must have been an antique. Directly before it stood a leather sofa, and the shelves along two of the walls contained floor to ceiling books. Set apart from the desk and sofa was an L arm chair, the leather well worn, with a matching ottoman at its foot. The reading lamp behind the chair was on, and although it was sunny outside, this room remained darker. Masculine. Even the scent here was different, all man.

“Okay. Time’s up. Bring out the chair.” “What—?” Adonis muttered, his brows tightening. “What chair?” From the hallway, Samuel returned wheeling in a brutal-looking black metal chair—cold, industrial, and clearly not designed for comfort. Leather straps hung like snakes from the armrests. Bolts lined the seat. The entire thing looked like it had a memory. A favorite scream. Samuel tapped one side playfully. “Look familiar, Adonis? No? Good. Makes it more fun.” Adonis took a step back, but Moses was already there.

It was my favorite part of the room. It seemed to contain everything from fiction to textbooks to non fiction and biographies. A smooth oak table carved in a semicircle faced the bookshelf directly. I sat behind the table in one of the two comfy brown chairs. My bag sat at my feet and a beautifully reading lamp hung overhead, currently switched off because the light from the floor to ceiling windows was more than sufficient. Micah was running a little late today which was okay I guessed. He was always early afterall.

I felt a strange wave of pity for whoever had to dust this office, it was probably terrifying to clean things that were so valuable looking. The desk was absolutely massive and dark black. It looked sleek, imposing, cool. Just like Elliott. There was a large black leather chair behind the desk, similar chairs on the other side of the desk but they didn’t have wheels like Elliott’s chair. I looked at the other walls on either side of the room, one with a large reader’s nook with a drink cart similar to the one in my office just to the side of that. There was a very plush looking set of two deep green velvet chairs with a small table in the middle of them directly in front of the window, facin