Double Throne Chair Rental Novels & Stories

“Where the hell is the other throne? Do you people think my little girl made this baby by herself?!” I wanted to tell her that a normal chair was fine, but she was already heading right for a terrified-looking man standing beside a box truck. Five minutes later, an insanely huge throne was carted over and sat next to Taylor’s. It looked like it weighed five hundred pounds, at least. “Wow.” “Matthew, you sit. We’re almost ready,” Nancy demanded. Taylor looked at my face, then darted her eyes to the throne, letting me know to just do what I was being told.

Also there was two thrones at the back of the stage and six smaller seats on either side, three for each side, waiting for their owners to take over them. The seat to the left of the two thrones, which was painted in silver, was shaped to show a soft and elegant femininity with flowery vines crafted on it, while the golden colored throne on the right showed a slightly rougher and more solemn masculinity, as both of thrones had the greek "Alpha[α]" letter crafted on the center of their head plates.

0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:107%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} Straight ahead, there is a raised platform and there are four thrones on it, each has a person sat in them.

and then they land on something that knocks the air right out of my lungs. At the far end of the hall, raised high above the floor, sits a massive platform—and on it, three thrones. My mouth goes dry. The middle throne is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Made of black iron, towering, cold, powerful. Etched with moons, wolves, and ancient symbols I can’t even read. Even empty, it radiates authority. Darkness. Strength. That throne belongs to someone who doesn’t ask for power—they are power.

The throne that were located in the middle of the room were already dismantled, what is left of it, were the large golden chair, which ultimately has become my personal chair, that settled at the head of the long expensive oak table. “...Alright, since you all are here….today big agenda of the meeting is simple……let’s end this freaking war….”.

and sweat. And for a moment, she realized just how far from home she truly was. The wind bit less fiercely inside the arena loft. The interior was a shallow arc of detailed carving, backed with a high-backed obsidian seat. Only one chair. Saeris stiffened slightly as a girl, a new face, wordlessly slid the fur from her shoulders. The chill ghosted over her skin, bare from her upper back to the curve of her hip, courtesy of the midnight-blue gown Vaelen had insisted she wear. She didn’t ask where he got it. She only knew it fit too perfectly not to be planned. Vaelen sank into the throne, all confidence and dark grace, one leg draped over the other like this was just another courtly meet

ALEC. The smell of colours and perfumes hit my nostrils first upon setting foot outside the palace, and inside the kingdom of Serenacia. The scene in front of me beautiful and adoring, as I watch the people of Serenacia roam around with such happiness and delight in them, as they walk from one shop to another, buying their accessories for the upcoming event, which is the people's ceremony. I continue to watch them as the vendors who sell decorations and wears, are the ones to mostly get the populated customers, followed by the shops selling colours and perfumes.

At the same time, the swing would be difficult to install into her ceiling. London did like the fuck machine as it was called. However, she didn’t know how she wanted to install it. There was a type of chair that didn’t have a proper seat. It was made from two separate planks with a huge gap in between. Supposedly each side was meant for legs to be spread and bound. The in-between was where the fuck machine should fit. The name for such a chair was known as “Queening Chair”. What a befitting theme!

I muttered, getting a stifled giggle from Ismene-Eirene, who nudged me with her arm. “Lord Ares, at least you are better at keeping appointments than Lord Eugenius or your father, for that matter." Eumeila greeted seated on her throne. Gods, her throne is gaudy with its golden frame and the large peacock feathers for a back. It reminded me that I needed to change the ‘throne’ room at the House. I refuse to use that awful chair that Eugenius did. It’s not like it was a relic of the original Ares. It’s just a hideous chair Eugenius placed there to try and intimidate others by having it made of Minotaur skulls. It churned my stomach every time I looked at it.

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.”