Pushin' Cushions

by Vera Valentine

So what’s a man to do when he’s alone and needs release? Well, Dennis is a little…different. When his unusual “usual” methods fail, it’s time to indulge in one of his most forbidden desires.

A faint creak was the only noise in the otherwise silent house—that was, until he let out a loud, involuntary groan. Thinking about all that slick, gray flesh really got his motor humming, and some days keeping his second-dirtiest secret under wraps was hard in more ways than one.

His heart fluttered, cock hardening when the powerful porpoises he so loved finally flitted across the screen.

He hated cats with every fiber of his being, almost as much as he hated the childless women that took them in. Vile, unnatural creatures, the both of them, subverting American values.

Dennis knew to the marrow of his bones what was to blame for his college-long dry spell: feminism.

Nostalgia for the days of his youth when the only dick he had to worry about was the one in his pants, not the one he was running with.

The dorm couch had been a habitual fuck of frenzied convenience, some trashy secondhand pleather thing with rips and tears that were practically begging for it.

Dennis was a man now, with a man’s couch to fuck, and by God was he going to.

“You want this cock, don't you? You want me to fuck these cushions deep.” He growled the words into the empty room, grip tightening on the plush leather above him. It was crazy, but it almost seemed like the seat cushions parted a fraction for him, enjoying his filthy talk. Oh yeah, this couch wanted to be bred.

Dennis hadn’t meant to cuckold his couch, he’d simply forgotten the pleasures of hot skin plunging into forbidden, cushioned crevasses, the sheer joy of plush pillows crushing obediently under his bucking hips.

“Mmm you’re so fucking tight. You want this big cock stretching that virgin seam? Huh? Is that what you want, you dirty little davenport?”

Recognizing how close he was to the brink, Dennis reared back and left only his tip wedged between the makeshift piping-labia of his lover, eyes rolling skyward in ecstasy.

“Fuck yeah. You liked that didn’t you, you double-stitched slut? I felt you clench when I spanked you. Do you need to be punished for being so dirty?”

President Dennis J. Rance was was going to fucking flood this slutty sofa with cum.

He was being pulled ever closer to his upholstered lover in unnatural, jerking inches, cock first.

The giant load he’d plastered underneath the cushion Trent always plunked down on for meetings was, evidently, the last he’d enjoy for the foreseeable future.

she sighed happily, shaking out one of the pieces of fabric into a black, gray, white and purple nylon flag and what appeared to be a blanket.