Chair For Crossed Legged Sitting Novels & Stories

She pushed the kid into the chair and buckled him in. She snapped the seat belt in place then snapped the belt around his legs. The kid asked, “Why do you have to strap my legs to the chair?” She answered, “Because you are being Blaine today and Blaine has to have his legs strapped to the chair because he gets spasms in his legs sometimes and they cause his legs to jump off the leg rest. It’s not something he can control.”

Well, it looked like a chair, but was different in some aspects. It was made with leather and its back panel was slanted in a way to make you recline your back, while still sitting. It also had leg sockets, in which you could insert your legs, and a large armrest for comfort. A very unique type of chair indeed, one he had not seen before. Once the carriers had off-loaded the chair and left, an elder spoke up "So this treasure you speak about is a chair?"

I paused " For how long is he gonna be gone?" "Maybe a week" he shrugged. "What?? No please you need to find a way to get me out of this chair. Please" "Well, there is one way. I think it's the only way too. What do you say? Wanna try it?" I nodded. "You need to fall asleep. The chair is a relaxing chair,and it only grips people who are scared. I'm sure you weren't relaxed when you sat down on it" "Yes" boss Levi had scared the living daylights out of me.

Soon enough, she would discover that she was right. In the far corner was a motorcycle lift that had been modified with cuffs and straps. In the opposite corner was a spanking bench and prayer bench. Both of these intrigued her. Between these were two Saint Andrew’s crosses. One was wooden with padding, while the other was metal and no padding. Along the wall opposite the bed was a convertible sex chair, a sex swing and a hook attached to a wench.

And I can also believe that I am her. "Lia will sit on this chair." They showed us a chair that looks like a throne, but more like a Fairy Queen because of how magical it looks with sparkling vines and pastel-colored flowers. "This will be placed in the middle, while Jasper and Kyle should stand behind her on both sides." Like what the camera director said, they placed the chair in the middle, and as I was about to sit on it, Aria tripped me using her leg, which made me almost kiss the floor.

Ivan let out an annoyed breath as he got to his feet and picked up the deformed chair. A few chairs scraped across the floor as people thought he would explode angrily. That’s not at all what my gentle giant did. He frowned at the chair and proceeded to unbend the legs before placing it back. I smiled because his behavior wasn’t what anyone watching probably expected from a man of his stature. He moved to the far side of the table, closest to the wall, moved the chair out, and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

She closed the door. The click was small. It still sounded like something being locked. Now I was alone in my office, sitting in a chair too large and too comfortable for a woman currently considering a list of people she wanted to destroy legally. I had chosen the chair myself two years ago after spending three weeks in a designer chair that looked beautiful but made my spine want to sue. The leather was dark cognac, tall, wide, with a backrest that made me look like the CEO of an interiors magazine, not the mother of a four-year-old who had just accused chicken soup of being propaganda.

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.”

In fact it wasn't dark at all; light filtered through the curtains and showed shapes against the paleness of the walls; her picture of Lindisfarne, her bookcase, her television on its stand, over there by the door her dining table set into its corner bench with the chairs tucked into its other two sides. It would make a useful weapon, a hard chair. Better than this foot stool she was pushing aside. She levered herself to her feet and stood for a second judging the distance to the nearer dining chair, testing her injured knee to find out how much of her weight it would bear. Then she set off across the floor . . .

The door closed with a thud and it was silent again. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, which gave off a creak of protest under my moving weight. I glared down at the offending object, daring it to even think about collapsing. It wasn’t like I was overweight; far from it. It was just that at 18, I was about 10 years too old to be sitting in it. It was just another symbol of the divide between me and them. I was sat on this shitty green excuse for a chair, while they would be sat on the best hand carved, Indian Oak chairs with velvet inlays and extra padding.