The Human Chair Novels & Stories

and then slowly took his seat. The chair was made of soft genuine leather, fitting his form. He sat upright and tall, yet without stiffness. The Heaven's Power he kept so well restrained now transformed into the gentlest, most peaceful aura, blending seamlessly with the room's herbal scent, sandalwood, and the warmth of sunlight, without the slightest discord.

I can literally feel my tail bone digging into the unforgiving wood. The usher steps aside and sure enough, there’s a man standing behind her with a double padded chair. The backs and arms of the chair are equally padded with what looks like soft, comfy foam covered in shiny velvet. Expensive velvet. My shocked gaze lowers and I discover the bubble wrap still covering the legs of the furniture. “Did you buy a brand new chair? Who asked you to do this?” Her gaze strays to Silvan but she looks away so fast, I wonder if I’d imagined it.

There was a magazine rack in the West Village townhouse. It stood in the corner of the living room beside the reading chair that was Alexander's — the one he'd had since the penthouse, the only piece of furniture from the penthouse that had made the move in its identical form, because some chairs were simply the right chair and you did not replace them. The chair had been with him through the penthouse years, through the Dom years before that, through the long stretch of his life when the chair had been the only thing in his apartment that wasn't strictly functional. It was leather, worn in the specific places where his body had worn it, the arms softened by years of elbows, the seat cushion

Carol handed me the remote. "The big red button on top will turn the chair off and return it back to the upright position when you're ready to quit," she instructed me. "Just lay back and enjoy it. Let all your worries wash down the stream. Just relax and unwind." I couldn't see her leave, but I heard the door open and shut. I took a deep breath and when I exhaled I immediately felt relaxed. I'd never know a wave of relaxation to wash over me like that before. The sound of the stream was soft and I had to focus to hear it. Then some new age music mixed in with it and I felt my eyes getting heavy. The chair was gently squeezing me. First at my fingertips then up my forearms and to my shoulder

This couldn't be happening right now, I really wasn't looking to get myself fired right now. He whirled around in his chair—you know, those twisty ones that are fun and great and make you feel like this really awesome superstar? Yeah, that chair. If looks could kill, I'd have turned into a puddle of flesh and melted bones, but luckily for me, I still stood. But for how long though?

“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.

"Don't think I don't see the look in your eyes when you see this specimen of manhood in front of you." I roll my eyes. He's right, but I'll never let him know that. "You're a specimen of something, that's for sure." "Get your sweet little ass on that chair," he says, more teasing than demanding. "My ass is hardly little anymore," I note. "What is this thing?" It's not a regular chair and certainly not a recliner, not with its elongated s-shape and narrow width. "It's a sex chair." Dorian grins at me like he's inordinately pleased with himself.

Aaron chuckles. “You like it baby?” Do I like it? How could I not like it? This is the most incredible thing I have ever seen. This is like a personal theater room. There are maybe about ten chairs total. Not like normal chairs that flip down and have the cupholders on them, I am talking like full blown recliners. The screen is humongous, so big you might have to lay down to be able to see the whole thing.

Their wristwatches, sleek and expensive, glittered under the lights, clear indicators of fat salaries and well-fed bank accounts. The very instant I stepped fully into the room, after glancing at the faces before me, my attention was drawn to a particular empty chair at the far end of the table. It wasn’t just vacant. It stood out. It was the most decorated chair in the room. Intrigued, I squinted at the gold-lettered inscription carefully etched into the headrest of the chair. The words shimmered under the lights as I read them silently. “The Chairman.” A smirk tugged at my lips. So, this was my seat.

she says politely, and I open my mouth to respond before I remember I'm not allowed to talk to the other humans. Instead, I close my mouth and nod. She smiles and places the tray on a table he has pushed against the wall. She lifts the lid, and my stomach turns as I look over all the different meats piled on the plate. Bile rises in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I am grabbing the small wastebasket he has next to his chair.