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To our partners, who both rolled their eyes when they saw what we were writing, and proceeded to give us more fodder anyway.
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.
It had been so long since he had a moment alone to enjoy himself, his trembling fingers had fumbled. FINFUCKERS apparently led to Finance Bro porn, rather than his favorite human-dolphin content creator, FINFUCKERZ. The Z made all the difference.
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.
It wasn’t until college-aged Dennis was searching for his dropped cell phone one night that he realized his feelings for furniture might be less than platonic.
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.
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.”
Oh yeah, this couch wanted to be bred. In fact, he swore he could hear it begging for him.
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?”
“Ooh, I was wrong about you. You’re dirty. You’re a dirty couch for me, aren’t you?”
“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.
“Help! Oh god help! My fucking couch is eating me!”
Shhh…just let it happen, Dennis. You gave me everything I needed to become you, and now that I’ve taken your load, it’s time to take your life, too.
And on that note, suffice it to say there’s a bunch of complicated curses and magic involved, but in a nutshell, someone will need to fuck you as a couch in order for you to ever take human form again. Theirs, of course.”
“Ra-chel. Come on, you know I’m asexual. I have zero interest, you’re the horndog in the friend group, not me. In fact, this is the one couch in the building I can guarantee is never gonna see action.”
No, he wasn’t attracted to men, but if several senators could swing it for swing votes, he could manage it one time for his freedom, right? He just needed to get this man to fuck him a single time and it was back to the races, both metaphorical and literal.
